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starkidpotty · 4 years ago

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When Will I See You Again? [RBW]

Ron’s favorite summer is the summer he met you.

Pairing: Ron Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none–it’s absolute, pure, unadulterated fluff.

Word Count: ~5.3k

A/N: finally a fic that isnt harry hsfhasdfa i plan to make this multiple parts but let me know if u guys wud like that aaa i hope u enjoy! <3

“Fred, you are a right foul git!” cursed Ron as he chased after the twin.

“Ron’s in love!” Fred bellowed as he held a crumpled photograph in his hand. Before Ron carelessly pounced on Fred, the twin passed the photograph to the other half of his whole, George.

George uncrumpled the photograph to take a good look at it, “In love is Ron!” George recrumpled the photograph into a ball and threw it back at Fred, making Ron the monkey in the middle.

Ron jumped and jumped, unable to catch the crumpled polaroid as his brothers threw it around. Fred made the mistake of passing it to Ginny, who was caught off-guard, allowing Ron to snatch it from her hands.

“Now, look at it! It’s unsalvageable!” Ron exclaimed at the polaroid. There was a fold right across the center, discoloring that part of the photograph.

“Are you not a wizard, little brother?” Said Fred.

Ron was, of course, just not adept or knowledgeable enough to fix the muggle object.

“Does it look like I’d know a spell to fix this? This is the only thing I have to remember her by!” Ron bellowed in anger. Fred and George merely snickered at him.

“You make very funny faces.” George said to him, mimicking the last conversation Ron had with you.

The teasing started the first day the Weasleys decided to take a muggle-led tour of the famed pyramids in Egypt at Arthur’s request (demand, actually). The family tried very hard to fit into the muggle-led tour group, which to their credit, they did quite well. Arthur kept his little quips at bay–with much help from Molly and Bill. Percy droned on about his guesses for Head Boy (guesses, meaning reasons as to why he was most deserving of the role) to anyone family member within earshot. Fred and George were accompanied by Charlie, who was better accustomed to muggles due to his time in Romania. Ginny quietly observed her family. While Ron, who was holding Scabbers in his right hand and a handful of wizard sweets in his left, did not notice his untied shoelaces because he tripped over them and took a muggle girl down in the process. It was a scene out of a muggle romantic comedy–13-year-old Ron swore he fell in love the moment he and your eyes met. Scabbers scattered out of his hand at the moment of impact and as he stood up, he offered her his sticky and crumby left hand. You didn’t seem to mind, as you dusted yourself, and thanked Ron for his help. Of course, Fred and George were the primary witnesses of Ron’s unfortunate incident, as they had temporarily escaped Charlie’s watchful eye.

The second day of the muggle-led tour of the pyramids, he saw you again. He tried to steer clear of Fred and George, but he could only do much in the small space in the pyramids. Luckily, Fred and George were on a mission to seal Percy in a mummy tomb and Charlie merely watched, as he was quite amused at the whole scene. As Fred and George shoved Percy into an unknown Pharaoh’s room. Ron took this chance to talk to you as he spotted you at the front of the tour group. He looked left and right, making sure his family did not notice him and he walked to you.

“Hullo,” Ron started. You didn’t notice him, as you were transfixed on the Egyptian tombs.

Ron cleared his throat in an attempt to catch her attention and he repeated, “Hullo.”

You finally turned to him, “‘Hello,”

Oh merlin, she’s French, Ron thought, as the sound of your accent sounded like harps and the gates of heaven themselves opening. He kept himself grounded as he reminded himself that you were essentially a muggle-girl who could not understand wizard things and should he slip, it’ll be only his mother’s voice he’d have to hear.

“Er–hullo, I want to apologize, for tripping you yesterday in King Tut’s tomb yesterday.”

“Oh! There is no–what is the word–problem, thank you again–er–for, for, helping me up.” You said, fishing for the translations of the French words you knew.

By Merlin’s left tit, Ron swore up and down he was already in love with her. Her hair was shiny and soft, her eyes glittering, and lips so full. It was hard to concentrate, it was almost as though he were in a trance.

“Is it your first time in Egypt?” Ron continued. Fred and George emerged from the tomb of the unknown pharaoh, unsuccessful in their plight to banish Percy. They did not meddle with Ron’s feeble attempt at female interaction, but instead sniggered at the sight of it.

Ron himself was quite taken aback with his behavior, as he was talking to a girl–a member of the opposite sex, someone who was not his mother or his sister or Hermione. You were a pretty girl too, and this all the more heightened his nerves. Ron was exercising so much control over his words so as not to spill the secrets of the wizarding world to a 13-year-old girl that his head was spinning. The polite conversation was riddled with small talk, the normal exchanging of basic information such as names, ages, and where you were from.

Arthur spotted Ron, eyes wide. His son, his very immature & unaccustomed-to-muggles son (relative to himself, of course), was conversing with a muggle, all while his damned broken wand was poking out of his pocket. Arthur rushed to Ron’s side, and Ron hadn’t seemed to notice–too busy ogling you. Arthur put an arm around Ron, effectively startling him.

“Good day! Might I borrow my son for a minute?” He says to you. You nod and watch Ron as he gets whisked away by his father.

Arthur didn’t know whether to scold him or egg him on–it was a muggle he was talking to! Everything he’d want to know about muggles from the perspective of a 13-year-old girl right there. Then Arthur imagined the scolding he’d get from Molly if he chose the former. So, he lectured Ron on the dangers of revealing the secrets of the wizarding world to a muggle, citing an incident he’d had recently at work when a Muggle walked in on he and his fellow co-workers during a raid.

“The obliviate charm, though quite useful, was a nasty thing to inflict onto somebody and I wouldn’t want to do that to her.” Arthur told Ron. Ron didn’t care to listen to his father and began to imagine your face on his father’s to make the lecture more bearable. Arthur kept Ron glued to his hip the rest of the tour for the day until they made it back to Bill’s flat.

The third day was the most eventful yet, as the tour group finally had their last group lunch at an authentic Egyptian muggle restaurant. Ron took this as his last opportunity to interact with his muggle-tour-group crush and indiscreetly took a seat next to you. Unfortunately for Ron, Fred and George decided upon the seats across him and you. Ron tried so hard to talk to you, he really did, but he was worse off than yesterday. He was skidding over his words like a car whose tires popped and the steel was grinding itself across the road. Fred and George didn’t even hide the fact they were making fun of him, making kissy noises and drawing hearts in the air with their fingers. It was a miracle you ignored them, and even more of a miracle you paid attention to Ron. Your mother saw the sight and took out her polaroid camera.

“[Y/N], [Y/N]! Look at me, my love!” Your mom said as she clicked the camera, film printing from the slot. She shook it to make it develop faster. The picture was ghastly–your eyes were half-closed with a forkful of spaghetti in your mouth and Ron’s face was contorted into a cross between a sneeze and anger.

“How about another one, for good measure? Yes?” Your mother proposed. You shyly inched closer to Ron, and you swear you hear him gulp. You smile and Ron partly does the same (he was never really quite good at modulating his expressions, so now instead of a cross between a sneeze and anger, it was now fear pretending to be happy).

Your mother hands you both pictures after they’ve fully developed, and you give Ron the second one.

“I like how silly we look here,” You reasoned to him, beaming. Ron was going to explode.

“Oh yes, me too.” He replied, shaking his polaroid of the two of you to get it to move, forgetting for a moment it came from a muggle camera. You chuckle at him.

“You make very funny faces, it’s, uh, very amusing.” You mused. Ron turned red to his ears.

“You should’ve seen the faces I made when I threw up slugs!” Ron laughed, then his face straightened to a stony expression.

“Slugs?” You asked. At this point Ron was panicking and he sent a side-eye to Fred & George, who were laughing even harder than before.

“Candied slugs,” Ron managed to say quickly

“Candied slugs?” You repeated, “That sounds so, er, awful! Disgusting, yes? Why would you eat such an ‘orrible thing?”

Ron was pink to the ears.

“Well, er, candied slugs….are a delicacy?” Ron could not help but sound confused with the lie he was making up. You furrowed your brows.

“In England?” You ask.

“Only up north?” He asks with a very highlighted question mark.

“Up north?” You couldn’t wrap your head around it, who the hell ate candied slugs in England?

“It’s quite rare, might I add. Only a few mugg–” Ron stopped himself again, “people, I mean make them.”

“Really, uh, candied slugs?”

“Yes. Blimey, the feeling you when they go back up your throat!” Ron laughed, trying to keep his cool. “Well, what do you have in France? I reckon it's much better than slugs.”

You tell him about the wonders of French culture, especially about food. Ron tries very hard to ask the questions, and you answer them. Lunch ends, signalling the end of the tour. All the members of the tour group finish their food, pay their share of the bills–Arthur took his time with muggle Egyptian money as he’d never see any other muggle currency aside from the British pound. When all was said and done, everyone stood up and went their separate ways. You stood, and so did Ron.

Turning to him, you say,“It was, uh, nice to have someone my age ‘ere.” You were compelled to hug him, and you do. Ron was flushed, flustered, redder than his family’s signature red hair. His face looked like hues of red at a paint shop. Ron didn’t hug back due to shock, but you paid it no mind. You left as your mother called you to her, you skipped towards her happy to have made a friend in your time in Egypt. Ron stood there, almost in a petrificus-totalus-like state, staring at you as you walked away from him. Fred and George laughed at Ron incessantly. They made fun of him the whole walk back to Bill’s flat. Ron knew that he’d never see you again, but he resigned to replaying the last conversation you and he had.

Ron’s remaining time in Egypt saw him thinking about you endlessly, it was the most teenageric thing he’d done thus far. The rest of the weeks were spent doing usual Weasley family activities, far away from muggles now, much to Arthur’s dismay. Bill gave them tours of the tombs he’d broken curses at and the satellite Gringotts office. The vacation ended and the Weasleys were well on their way back home with Ron still thinking about you all the way to Burrow.

At the Leaky Cauldron, he told Hermione and Harry what he could about you. Harry was quite supportive of the whole escapade, while Hermione rolled her eyes and told him off as you were probably just being nice. The initial crush faded as the year progressed, but Ron still thought about you from time to time, wondering if you were enjoying home and if he’d ever run into you should he find himself in muggle France. He’d find you being the topic of conversation when he was alone with Harry–to avoid an earful from Hermione–on days where there would be nothing to talk about. He’d run through hypothetical situations and ask Harry how he should act around a muggle to not scare them off.

His last conversation with you would occasionally creep up in his mind before he’d go to bed at Gryffindor tower, smiling at the thought of it.

“Some girls really are something else,” Ron would think before drifting off to sleep, the crumpled polaroid hidden in his sock drawer.

___

Year 3 at Hogwarts came and passed, Ron made it through in one piece, now without a pesky Scabbers by his side as it was revealed to have been Peter Pettigrew. He now had longer hair, more defined features, and grew a few inches taller. Summer was eventful to say the least with his family and his two best friends going to the Quidditch world cup and it being attacked by Death Eaters. He still thought about you from time to time in passing but not as obsessively as in the 3rd year. Yours and his interaction became an anecdote–the time Ron finally talked to a girl who wasn’t family or Hermione and almost slipped the secrets of the wizarding world to. Fred and George would not let him forget.

“...This year, Hogwarts will play host to a legendary event: the Triwizard Tournament. During which time a single student gets to represent his or her school in a series of magical contests. Eternal glory awaits the student who wins the tournament.” Bellowed Dumbledore from his stand at the front of the hall. Ron was too busy working at his chicken pot pie, but picked up keywords from Dumbledore’s speech in between bites–Triwizard tournament, eternal glory. Dumbledore’s speech was interrupted by a frantic Filch running through the aisle of the Great Hall, clutching Mrs. Norris in his hands. He whispered a few words to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore continued. Ron had moved on from his chicken pot pie to the mashed potatoes drowning in the signature Hogwarts gravy.

“...For now, please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and their headmistress Madame Maxime!” At once, the doors of the Great Hall burst open, giving sight to the students of Beauxbatons.

Ron’s head was still down as he was basically breathing in the mashed potatoes, even though he knew that there would be plenty of mashed potatoes to go around. Seamus, sat to his left, accidentally nudged him thinking he was Dean, causing Ron to look up. Ron’s eyes immediately darted to the Beauxbatons girls who made quite an entrance with butterflies erupting from their sides. Ron was ogling them, now ignoring the mashed potatoes in front of him, his chin resting on his hand. He stared at them all, darting from girl to girl, focusing on them a few seconds each. His eyes moved down the line of girls, until he reached the last student–you.

Ron froze, not out of fear, but out of utter shock. It was you, in the flesh–the muggle girl he had tripped in King Tut’s tomb a year prior to now. Of course now, he realized you were not a muggle, but a wizard like him. You were still gracefully dancing around as rehearsed, your arms extending and flexing forward like a ballerina. Ron was still staring at you.

Hermione snapped her fingers at his face, “Excuse me! Women aren’t objects!”

“It’s her.” Ron simply stated. Hermione looked at Harry from across the table in confusion.

“Who?” Harry asked.

“D’you remember the muggle girl I kept talking about last year? She isn’t a muggle, she’s literally right there, in the flesh, prancing around, butterflies shooting out of her sides! Blimey, she’s a witch!” Ron exclaimed.

His two friends turned their heads to the front of the Great Hall, where you were bowing down. You and your fellow classmates separated among the four tables in the Great Hall, with you to the Gryffindor table. Ron was watching you the whole time until you sat at the table, only a few students away from him.

Harry was in disbelief, unwilling to believe Ron, “Merlin, Ron, are you sure?”

Fred and George noticed Ron’s awestruck face and shifted around a few fellow Gryffindors to get to their little brother.

“Georgie, it seems as though Ron has his eye on a certain French lady,” Fred starts. The twins follow Ron’s line of sight, landing on you.

“Blimey, Freddie, she looks familiar does she not?” George notices.

Fred squints, “Good god, isn’t that girl you couldn’t,”

George continues, “Wouldn’t”

Fred says, “Stop talking about?”

George connects, “Every hour,”

“Of every day, last summer to now?” finishes Fred, finally. Fred and George turn to each other in amazement, wondering how they’ll be spending the next year torturing Ron.

“Why don’t you go up to her and offer her some candied slugs then, little brother? It’s a delicacy in Northern England! Up north, yes!” George says mimicking 13-year-old Ron’s voice.

“Shove off, George,” Ron mutters as he brings his attention back down to his mashed potatoes, trying to calm himself down. He was picking at the plate with his spoon, tossing around the meal carelessly.

You were enjoying a classic Hogwarts meal of baked chicken and potatoes, while a first-year sat beside you making chit-chat. The student knew just as much as you did about Hogwarts, but you hung onto every word. A girl in front of you at you and back down at her plate. You caught her eye and you both smiled.

“‘Ello,” You say to her. She seemed to have gone as red as her hair.

“Hello,” She replied to you shyly.

“My name is [Y/N],” You say smiling at her.

The girl paused and smiled back, “I’m Ginny.”

A pause ensues.

“Sorry for, er, staring, you just seem so familiar,” Ginny says to you.

“Oh? Sorry, I do not remember you,” You say remorsefully. “It is my first time here at Hogwarts, I’ve never met anyone from here.” “It’s in the face is all,” Ginny smiles at you, before returning to her food. The Durmsrang fellows finished their introduction into the Great Hall, breathing fire and finding their places at different Hogwarts tables. A bulky Durmstrang boy finds a spot next to you, and you both exchange niceties and finish your meals.

Ron finally clears his plate of the mashed potatoes. Fred and George were recounting the events in Egypt to Lee, who was now laughing at Ron as well. Hermione finished her meal and got up, beckoning Ron to go with them, as they had classes the next day. Harry, however, was looking at Ron and back at you, shooting a look at him–like he was egging him on. Ron instead decides to get up to go back to the common rooms, and Harry, a little disappointed, follows.

The hall of students seem to finish their meals the same time as you, as one by one they leave their seats. Your fellow Beauxbaton classmates leave their seats as well, as Madame Maxime gave full permission to explore the grounds and fraternize with other Hogwarts students, so as long as they return to her by a certain period. Ginny gets up in front of you to join her other friends, and you contemplate on your next move. You get up from your table and saunter towards her.

“Uh, Ginny, yes?” You ask her, as she spins around to meet you.

“Yes, [Y/N]?” she responds neutrally.

“I would just like to say–ask, I think is a better word–if we could be friends? I know not much about Hogwarts or anything, really,” You question, “You seem very nice,”

Ginny is taken aback, but gladly obliges. She introduces you to her group of friends, and you try to keep their names in mind.

“Bloody hell,” Ron exclaims.

“What now, Ronald?” Hermione complains.

“I forgot my bloody wand in the Hall, d’you mind?” He asks her. Without waiting for a response, he runs back to the hall and spots you, Ginny, and her friends stopped to the side while groups of students pour out the hall. He freezes in place foo two reasons: (1) He is absolutely mesmerized by your face, (2) you’re talking to his little sister. He takes a few steps to where he was sat a few minutes ago and grabs his wand. He could do two things right about now–leave or make up some pathetic excuse to talk to Ginny, and by extension talk to you.

He chose the latter.

He was rehearsing all kinds of stupid excuses to talk to Ginny and veer the conversation to you.

“Ginny! Mom sent you a howler, telling you off for being annoying, I mean I could tell you that myself.”

“Ginny! Hermione says your hair looked greasy today, you should probably start a fight.”

“Ginny! Remember when you poured your heart to a diary and almost got the life sucked out of by You-Know-Who in the flesh?”

He was distracted and by the time he reaches you and Ginny and her friends, he’s stone-faced. His blood goes cold and a sweat starts to trickle on the nape of his neck.

“Hello, hello, uh,” He stammers. Ginny looks at him, in turn making you look at him. He sees you now, up close. You’ve grown a lot since that summer in Egypt. Your lips fuller, your hair longer, and you’ve grown into your features. You were sporting a paler look than you had last seen him, but he still thought you were glowing.

“Slugs–” He starts out. Ron didn’t know why he began with slugs. Ginny gives him a bizarre look and your eyes widen. It’s as though your brain was flipping through pages of memories and it finally landed on the page it was looking for–Egypt, 1993.

“It’s you!” You exclaimed. Ginny was now giving you a bizarre look. “You were the boy who ate slugs, correct?” Ron was so nervous, and he felt all his blood pooling in his face.

“What did you say then, er,– candied, yes?” Ron was silent through this, he was unaware of what to say.

Ginny’s eyes light up, as she finally put two and two together, “You’re the french muggle girl Ron went on about!”

“He went on about me?” You questioned. Ginny’s friend’s had sensed this was a conversation amongst the three of you, and left, telling her they’d meet her in the common room and left.

Ginny’s arms were now crossed against her chest, looking between you and Ron. You took off the signature Beauxbaton hat and fixed your hair, now conscious of the way you looked. Ron was too nervous to fix himself. Half his button-up was untucked and peeking from underneath his sweater, his collar was lopsided and his tie was arbitrarily knotted into a poor excuse of a windsor. He was transfixed on you, studying your features as though he were making sure that it was really you he tripped at King Tut’s tomb a year ago.

Ginny turned to her brother, and their eyes met, gesturing him to talk. Ron opened his mouth but his vocal chords refused him any vibration. You stared at him, as the gears grinded in his head.

“Er, I wouldn’t say went on about you,” Ron explained

“Wouldn’t say? Don’t lie, Ron.” Ginny said. Ron looked at her annoyedly, and Ginny smiled in return.

You smile, “Is it true you eat candied slugs here?”

Ginny chortles, “Candied slugs?”

“Is it not, uh, a delicacy? He told me that last year,” You ask, pointing to Ron

“Blimey…” Ron mutters. Ginny laughs. He reasons, “I thought you were a muggle.” You shoot him a puzzled look, “Muggle?”

“Normal, non-magic,” Ginny cuts in. Ron shoots her another look.

“Oh? Did, uh, I look not magical?” You ask jokingly.

“You were more than magical,” Ron says in a dream-like tone.

You fluster at his words and Ginny’s face turns into a disgusted look.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Ginny says, turning her heel to exit the hall. Ron pleads at Ginny through his eyes, but she takes no notice and leaves him with you.

A pause takes you both. You recollect yourself, planning out what you want to say to Ron.

“I still have our, uh, polaroid.” You say warmly at Ron. He feels lighter, more comfortable knowing you kept the little piece of memorabilia from Egypt.

“So do I!” He exclaims, too enthusiastically. He sinks back down into composure, silently scolding himself for the unwanted burst of energy. “I thought you weren’t a witch, honestly.”

You smile, “I could see your wand.”

Ron blushes fiercely, shades of red slowly taking place on his face, soon it becomes so strong, it’s enough to rival his hair, “I-I’m sorry?”

“Your, uh, wand. It was held together, by, uh, tape.” You declare.

Ron sighed in relief, “You did?”

“Yes, it was in your back pocket the whole time, no?”

“Call me daft, I really thought no one would notice.”

“It’s why I thought you knew I was a witch,” You say. “I didn’t care to point it, er, out.”

Ron laughed humorlessly.

“Would you, er, care to show me around the castle?” You ask him. Ron inhaled deeply and his mouth crunched into himself, a habit that showed when he was nervous.

He carefully pushed a bang out of his face, before responding, “Uhm, okay.”

Ron feigns gentlemanliness, gesturing you to the exit of the hall. His feet don’t move in tune with each other, causing him to lose balance. He utters choice words, but you don’t seem to notice. You walk towards the exit and Ron is right behind you, eyeing you up and down, while whispering a strained bloody hell.

As Harry and Hermione waited for Ron at the hall doors, they were surprised to see you come out first with him on your tail. Hermione’s jaw dropped and Harry’s face lit up in approval.

“‘Ello!” You greeted them, “My name is [Y/N]!”

Harry’s eyes were wide, blinking away; Hermione scoffed in Ron’s direction. Ron merely shrugged, one of his bangs falling over his right eye. You looked back at Ron and at them, smiling. You were absolutely oblivious to the unspoken conversation the three were having amongst themselves. Ron’s head tilts in your direction, begging with Harry to say something.

“I’m Harry, Ron has told us so much about you, this here is Hermione,” Harry says, gesturing to her. Ron panics silently and makes a pained noise, causing you to look back at him. Harry is losing it and trying very hard to stay composed. Hermione is still silent, looking at you and looking back at Ron.

“Has he?” You ask Hermione and Harry.

“Oh, loads.” Says Harry simply. Ron wants to die.

“Er, why don’t we walk her around for a bit, yeah?” Ron takes you by the wrist, shuffling between Harry and Hermione. Hermione looks to Harry in disapproval, arms crossed. Harry shrugs and follows Ron.

Hermione catches up to Harry and whispers angrily, “What? Like she’s a dog?”

Hermione decides to leave the group, taking a right to the moving staircases, and she drags Harry along with her, much to his dismay. Ron was alone with you now.

The walk around the castle was quiet but you didn’t seem to mind. Ron was looking at you the whole time, looking away when you looked at him. Ron was taken back with how you were willingly donating your time to him, when you could have joined the Durmstrang boy who sat next to you during the feast. He could swear you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Though he was supposed to be leading you around Hogwarts, he was letting you lead and following you like a puppy.

You two finally stop at the courtyard, taking a seat on the grass. Ron stays standing, hands in pockets, pushing his cloak back. He’s looking around, avoiding your gaze. You catch his eye and pat the grass next to you. He cautiously sits down and assumes a long-sit. It is silent for a while, as you are basking in the moonlight. Ron is holding his breath, trying to emulate your relaxed demeanor but failing miserably.

“I think it’s important to tell you,” You start, breaking the silence, “I’m part veela.”

Ron is bewildered, “Veela?”

“I think it is why you are so nervous around me,”

“Nervous? Who said I was nervous?” He chuckles humorlessly and boomerangs back to a neutral expression. You laugh in response.

“It’s not really an, uh, intended effect. It comes with it, like how you are a wizard who does magic. Veelas attract other people very much so.”

“Oh,” Ron musters as a response. He stays silent, and so do you. It gets dark quickly, and you shoot up immediately.

“I didn’t realize how late it has gotten!” You exclaim to Ron, who stands quickly. You dust off your uniform, while Ron watches you. You’re quite the sight under the stars and Ron is absolutely lovestruck. “Madame Maxime will, as the English say, have my head.”

Ron smiles at you, unable to muster an answer as your smile is distracting and mesmerizing and simply put, beautiful. You grab his hand and pull him closer, landing a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you for bringing me around,” You whisper in a hug. As you pull away, you continue, “I hope to see you around again Don’t, uh, worry. I think I can find my way back.”

Ron is staring at you, rubbing his palm over his cheek. You giggle and walk back the same route you came. Ron is behind you again, looking you up and down again, while whispering a signature bloody hell again. He sees you walk down the hall until he can no longer see your figure and he makes his way back to the common room.

Harry is waiting on the sofa, as Hermione tucked herself in an hour before.

“I’m in love!” exclaims Ron to Harry. “I think I love her. I love her.”

Harry laughs in response.

“I’m not joking, mate!” Ron says to him in a serious tone. “I have to see her again.”

“Alright, you aren’t joking!” Harry replies back strongly.

“Harry, I mean it I have to see her again!” Ron says again, with such a remarkable tone of desperation in his voice. His face is so close to Harry’s, Harry wrings his head backward for protection.

“They’ll be here the whole year, Ron. You don’t have to worry.”

Ron is satisfied with Harry’s answer, and wordlessly climbs up the stairs to his bed. He makes a beeline for his sock drawer, thrashing it open, throwing sock after sock out of it until he finds the polaroid of you two together. He lays it on his bed, photo in hand, resting it on his chest. He repeats your name with a smile on his face. He doesn’t bother to change out of his school clothes, and falls asleep hoping to see you the next day and the day after that and the day after that.

part 2? lmk! <3

masterlist here

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley x y/n #ron weasley #ron weasly imagine #ron weasley fic #ron weasley x female reader #ron weasley fluff

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aboveallarescuer · 4 years ago

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All mentions of Dany in other POVs

This is a list with all mentions of Dany and/or her dragons and/or events involving Dany in other POVs.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Epilogue

“We have these tales coming from the east as well. A second Targaryen, and one whose blood no man can question. Daenerys Stormborn.”

“As mad as her father,” declared Lord Mace Tyrell.

That would be the same father that Highgarden and House Tyrell supported to the bitter end and well beyond. “Mad she may be,” Ser Kevan said, “but with so much smoke drifting west, surely there must be some fire burning in the east.”

Grand Maester Pycelle bobbed his head. “Dragons. These same stories have reached Oldtown. Too many to discount. A silver-haired queen with three dragons.”

“At the far end of the world,” said Mace Tyrell. “Queen of Slaver’s Bay, aye. She is welcome to it.”

“On that we can agree,” Ser Kevan said, “but the girl is of the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, and I do not think she will be content to remain in Meereen forever. If she should reach these shores and join her strength to Lord Connington and this prince of his, feigned or no … we must destroy Connington and his pretender now, before Daenerys Stormborn can come west.”

ADWD The Queen's Hand

He stood beside the parapets of the highest step of the Great Pyramid, searching the sky as he did every morning, knowing that the dawn must come and hoping that his queen would come with it. She will not have abandoned us, she would never leave her people, he was telling himself, when he heard the prince’s death rattle coming from the queen’s apartments.

At his command, Quentyn Martell had been laid out in the queen’s own bed. He had been a knight, and a prince of Dorne besides. It seemed only kind to let him die in the bed he had crossed half a world to reach. The bedding was ruined—sheets, covers, pillows, mattress, all reeked of blood and smoke, but Ser Barristan thought Daenerys would forgive him.

He should have stayed in Dorne. He should have stayed a frog. Not all men are meant to dance with dragons. As he covered the boy once more, he found himself wondering whether there would be anyone to cover his queen, or whether her own corpse would lie un-mourned amongst the tall grasses of the Dothraki sea, staring blindly at the sky until her flesh fell from her bones.

“No,” he said aloud. “Daenerys is not dead. She was riding that dragon. I saw it with mine own two eyes.” He had said the same a hundred times before … but every day that passed made it harder to believe. Her hair was afire. I saw that too. She was burning … and if I did not see her fall, hundreds swear they did.

“They await the Hand’s pleasure below.”

I am no Hand, a part of him wanted to cry out. I am only a simple knight, the queen’s protector. I never wanted this. But with the queen gone and the king in chains, someone had to rule, and Ser Barristan did not trust the Shavepate.

“The fighting pits will remain closed,” said Selmy. “Blood and noise would only serve to call the dragons.”

“All three, perhaps,” suggested Marselen. “The black beast came once, why not again? This time with our queen.”

Or without her. Should Drogon return to Meereen without Daenerys mounted on his back, the city would erupt in blood and flame, of that Ser Barristan had no doubt. The very men sitting at this table would soon be at dagger points with one another. A young girl she might be, but Daenerys Targaryen was the only thing that held them all together.

“Her Grace will return when she returns,” said Ser Barristan.

The hostages again. He would kill them every one if I allowed it. “I heard you the first hundred times. No.”

“Queen’s Hand,” Skahaz grumbled with disgust. “An old woman’s hand, I am thinking, wrinkled and feeble. I pray Daenerys returns to us soon.” He pulled his brazen wolf’s mask down over his face. “Your council will be growing restless.”

“They are the queen’s council, not mine.”

Though he had assumed the title of Hand, Ser Barristan would not presume to hold court in the queen’s absence, nor would he permit Skahaz mo Kandaq to do such. Hizdahr’s grotesque dragon thrones had been removed at Ser Barristan’s command, but he had not brought back the simple pillowed bench the queen had favored. Instead a large round table had been set up in the center of the hall, with tall chairs all around it where men might sit and talk as peers.

“You had best guard that tongue, ser.” Ser Barristan did not like this Gerris Drinkwater, nor would he allow him to vilify Daenerys. “Prince Quentyn’s death was his own doing, and yours.”

“He offered her his heart,” Ser Gerris said again. “She needed swords, not hearts.”

“He would have given her the spears of Dorne as well.”

“Would that he had.” No one had wanted Daenerys to look with favor on the Dornish prince more than Barristan Selmy.

“What he did he did for love of Queen Daenerys,” Gerris Drinkwater insisted. “To prove himself worthy of her hand.”

The old knight had heard enough. “What Prince Quentyn did he did for Dorne. Do you take me for some doting grandfather? I have spent my life around kings and queens and princes. Sunspear means to take up arms against the Iron Throne. No, do not trouble to deny it. Doran Mar-tell is not a man to call his spears without hope of victory. Duty brought Prince Quentyn here. Duty, honor, thirst for glory … never love. Quentyn was here for dragons, not Daenerys.”

The Dornishmen, Hizdahr, Reznak, the attack … was he doing the right things? Was he doing what Daenerys would have wanted? I was not made for this. Other Kingsguard had served as Hand before him. Not many, but a few. He had read of them in the White Book. Now he found himself wondering whether they had felt as lost and confused as he did.

Galazza Galare was attended by four Pink Graces. An aura of wisdom and dignity seemed to surround her that Ser Barristan could not help but admire. This is a strong woman, and she has been a faithful friend to Daenerys.

“Have there been any further tidings of our sweet queen?”

“None as yet.”

“I shall pray for her. And what of King Hizdahr, if I may be so bold? Might I be permitted to see His Radiance?”

“Soon, I hope. He is unharmed, I promise you.”

“I am pleased to hear that. The Wise Masters of Yunkai asked after him. You will not be surprised to hear that they wish the noble Hizdahr to be restored at once to his rightful place.”

“He shall be, if it can be proved that he did not try to kill our queen. Until such time, Meereen will be ruled by a council of the loyal and just. There is a place for you on that council. I know that you have much to teach us all, Your Benevolence. We need your wisdom.”

“I fear you flatter me with empty courtesies, Lord Hand,” the Green Grace said. “If you truly think me wise, heed me now. Release the noble Hizdahr and restore him to his throne.”

“Only the queen can do that.”

“I know these were not the words you wished to hear,” said Galazza Galare. “Yet for myself, I understand. These dragons are fell beasts. Yunkai fears them … and with good cause, you cannot deny. Our histories speak of the dragonlords of dread Valyria and the devastation that they wrought upon the peoples of Old Ghis. Even your own young queen, fair Daenerys who called herself the Mother of Dragons … we saw her burning, that day in the pit … even she was not safe from the dragon’s wroth.”

“Her Grace is not … she …”

“… is dead. May the gods grant her sweet sleep.” Tears glistened behind her veils. “Let her dragons die as well.”

ADWD The Dragontamer

“Is that rain? Your whores will be gone.”

“Not all of them. There are little snuggeries in the pleasure gardens, and they wait there every night until a man chooses them. Those who are not chosen must remain until the sun comes up, feeling lonely and neglected. We could console them.”

“They could console me, is what you mean.”

“That too.”

“That is not the sort of consolation I require.”

“I disagree. Daenerys Targaryen is not the only woman in the world. Do you want to die a man-maid?”

Quentyn did not want to die at all. I want to go back to Yronwood and kiss both of your sisters, marry Gwyneth Yronwood, watch her flower into beauty, have a child by her. I want to ride in tourneys, hawk and hunt, visit with my mother in Norvos, read some of those books my father sends me. I want Cletus and Will and Maester Kedry to be alive again. “Do you think Daenerys would be pleased to hear that I had bedded some whore?”

“She might be. Men may be fond of maidens, but women like a man who knows what he’s about in the bedchamber. It’s another sort of sword-play. Takes training to be good at it.”

The gibe stung. Quentyn had never felt so much a boy as when he’d stood before Daenerys Targaryen, pleading for her hand. The thought of bedding her terrified him almost as much as her dragons had. What if he could not please her? “Daenerys has a paramour,” he said defensively. “My father did not send me here to amuse the queen in the bedchamber. You know why we have come.”

“You cannot marry her. She has a husband.”

“She does not love Hizdahr zo Loraq.”

“What has love to do with marriage? A prince should know better. Your father married for love, it’s said. How much joy has he had of that?”

“Dorne remembers Aegon and his sisters. Dragons are not so easily forgotten. They will remember Daenerys as well.”

“Not if she’s died.”

“She lives.” She must. “She is lost, but I can find her.” And when I do, she will look at me the way she looks at her sellsword. Once I have proven myself worthy of her.

“What’s that for?” Arch asked.

“Daenerys used a whip to cow the black beast.” Quentyn coiled the whip and hung it from his belt. “Arch, bring your hammer as well. We may have need of it.”

Warrior, grant me courage, he prayed. He did not want to do this, but he saw no other way. Why else would Daenerys have shown me the dragons? She wants me to prove myself to her. Gerris handed him a torch. He stepped through the doors.

The green one is Rhaegal, the white Viserion, he reminded himself. Use their names, command them, speak to them calmly but sternly. Master them, as Daenerys mastered Drogon in the pit. The girl had been alone, clad in wisps of silk, but fearless. I must not be afraid. She did it, so can I. The main thing was to show no fear. Animals can smell fear, and dragons … What did he know of dragons? What does any man know of dragons? They have been gone from the world for more than a century.

Last and longest the beast stared at Pretty Meris, sniffing. The woman, Quentyn realized. He knows that she is female. He is looking for Daenerys. He wants his mother and does not understand why she’s not here.

Quentyn wrenched free of Gerris’s grip. “Viserion,” he called. The white one is Viserion. For half a heartbeat he was afraid he’d gotten it wrong. “Viserion,” he called again, fumbling for the whip hanging from his belt. She cowed the black one with a whip. I need to do the same.

ADWD The Kingbreaker

“One guardsman amongst forty. All waiting for the empty tabard on the throne to speak the command so we might cut down Bloodbeard and the rest. Do you think the Yunkai’i would ever have dared present Daenerys with the head of her hostage?”

No, thought Selmy. “Hizdahr seemed distraught.”

“Sham. His own kin of Loraq were returned unharmed. You saw. The Yunkai’i played us a mummer’s farce, with noble Hizdahr as chief mummer. The issue was never Yurkhaz zo Yunzak. The other slavers would gladly have trampled that old fool themselves. This was to give Hizdahr a pretext to kill the dragons.”

Ser Barristan chewed on that. “Would he dare?”

“He dared to kill his queen. Why not her pets? If we do not act, Hizdahr will hesitate for a time, to give proof of his reluctance and allow the Wise Masters the chance to rid him of the Stormcrow and the bloodrider. Then he will act. They want the dragons dead before the Volantene fleet arrives.”

Aye, they would. It all fit. That did not mean Barristan Selmy liked it any better. “That will not happen.” His queen was the Mother of Dragons; he would not allow her children to come to harm.

“Daario might piss on us if we were burning. Elsewise do not look to him for help. Let the Stormcrows choose another captain, one who knows his place. If the queen does not return, the world will be one sellsword short. Who will grieve?”

“And when she does return?”

“She will weep and tear her hair and curse the Yunkai’i. Not us. No blood on our hands. You can comfort her. Tell her some tale of the old days, she likes those. Poor Daario, her brave captain … she will never forget him, no … but better for all of us if he is dead, yes? Better for Daenerys too.”

Better for Daenerys, and for Westeros. Daenerys Targaryen loved her captain, but that was the girl in her, not the queen. Prince Rhaegar loved his Lady Lyanna, and thousands died for it. Daemon Blackfyre loved the first Daenerys, and rose in rebellion when denied her. Bittersteel and Bloodraven both loved Shiera Seastar, and the Seven Kingdoms bled. The Prince of Dragonflies loved Jenny of Oldstones so much he cast aside a crown, and Westeros paid the bride price in corpses. All three of the sons of the fifth Aegon had wed for love, in defiance of their father’s wishes. And because that unlikely monarch had himself followed his heart when he chose his queen, he allowed his sons to have their way, making bitter enemies where he might have had fast friends. Treason and turmoil followed, as night follows day, ending at Summerhall in sorcery, fire, and grief.

Her love for Daario is poison. A slower poison than the locusts, but in the end as deadly. “There is still Jhogo,” Ser Barristan said. “Him, and Hero. Both precious to Her Grace.”

“We have hostages as well,” Skahaz Shavepate reminded him. “If the slavers kill one of ours, we kill one of theirs.”

For a moment Ser Barristan did not know whom he meant. Then it came to him. “The queen’s cupbearers?”

“Hostages,” insisted Skahaz mo Kandaq. “Grazdar and Qezza are the blood of the Green Grace. Mezzara is of Merreq, Kezmya is Pahl, Azzak Ghazeen. Bhakaz is Loraq, Hizdahr’s own kin. All are sons and daughters of the pyramids. Zhak, Quazzar, Uhlez, Hazkar, Dhazak, Yherizan, all children of Great Masters.”

“Innocent girls and sweet-faced boys.” Ser Barristan had come to know them all during the time they served the queen, Grazhar with his dreams of glory, shy Mezzara, lazy Miklaz, vain, pretty Kezmya, Qezza with her big soft eyes and angel’s voice, Dhazzar the dancer, and the rest. “Children.”

“Children of the Harpy. Only blood can pay for blood.”

“So said the Yunkishman who brought us Groleo’s head.”

“He was not wrong.”

“I will not permit it.”

“What use are hostages if they may not be touched?”

“Mayhaps we might offer three of the children for Daario, Hero, and Jhogo,” Ser Barristan allowed. “Her Grace—”

“—is not here. It is for you and me to do what must be done. You know that I am right.”

“Prince Rhaegar had two children,” Ser Barristan told him. “Rhaenys was a little girl, Aegon a babe in arms. When Tywin Lannister took King’s Landing, his men killed both of them. He served the bloody bodies up in crimson cloaks, a gift for the new king.” And what did Robert say when he saw them? Did he smile? Barristan Selmy had been badly wounded on the Trident, so he had been spared the sight of Lord Tywin’s gift, but oft he wondered. If I had seen him smile over the red ruins of Rhaegar’s children, no army on this earth could have stopped me from killing him. “I will not suffer the murder of children. Accept that, or I’ll have no part of this.”

That is what I fear. If King Hizdahr was innocent, what they did this day would be treason. But how could he be innocent? Selmy had heard him urging Daenerys to taste the poisoned locusts, shouting at his men to slay the dragon. If we do not act, Hizdahr will kill the dragons and open the gates to the queen’s enemies. We have no choice in this. Yet no matter how he turned and twisted this, the old knight could find no honor in it.

Some of them had been training for the fighting pits when Daenerys Targaryen took Meereen and freed them from their chains. Those had had a good acquaintance with sword and spear and battle-axe even before Ser Barristan got hold of them. A few might well be ready. The boy from the Basilisk Isles, for a start. Tumco Lho.

Rhaegar had chosen Lyanna Stark of Winterfell. Barristan Selmy would have made a different choice. Not the queen, who was not present. Nor Elia of Dorne, though she was good and gentle; had she been chosen, much war and woe might have been avoided. His choice would have been a young maiden not long at court, one of Elia’s companions … though compared to Ashara Dayne, the Dornish princess was a kitchen drab.

Even after all these years, Ser Barristan could still recall Ashara’s smile, the sound of her laughter. He had only to close his eyes to see her, with her long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders and those haunting purple eyes. Daenerys has the same eyes. Sometimes when the queen looked at him, he felt as if he were looking at Ashara’s daughter …

The boy went running off, and the king turned back to Selmy. “I dreamed you found Daenerys.”

“Dreams can lie, Your Grace.”

“It was your pit, your box, your seats. Sweet wine and soft cushions, figs and melons and honeyed locusts. You provided all. You urged Her Grace to try the locusts but never tasted one yourself.”

“I … hot spices do not agree with me. She was my wife. My queen. Why would I want to poison her?”

Was, he says. He believes her dead. “Only you can answer that, Magnificence. It might be that you wished to put another woman in her place.” Ser Barristan nodded at the girl peering timidly from the bed-chamber. “That one, perhaps?”

The king looked around wildly. “Her? She’s nothing. A bedslave.” He raised his hands. “I misspoke. Not a slave. A free woman. Trained in pleasure. Even a king has needs, she … she is none of your concern, ser. I would never harm Daenerys. Never.”

“You urged the queen to try the locusts. I heard you.”

“I thought she might enjoy them.” Hizdahr retreated another step. “Hot and sweet at once.”

“Hot and sweet and poisoned. With mine own ears I heard you commanding the men in the pit to kill Drogon. Shouting at them.”

Hizdahr licked his lips. “The beast devoured Barsena’s flesh. Dragons prey on men. It was killing, burning …”

“… burning men who meant harm to your queen. Harpy’s Sons, as like as not. Your friends.”

“Not my friends.”

“You say that, yet when you told them to stop killing they obeyed. Why would they do that if you were not one of them?”

Hizdahr shook his head. This time he did not answer. “Tell me true,” Ser Barristan said, “did you ever love her, even a little? Or was it just the crown you lusted for?”

“Lust? You dare speak to me of lust?” The king’s mouth twisted in anger. “I lusted for the crown, aye … but not half so much as she lusted for her sellsword. Perhaps it was her precious captain who tried to poison her, for putting him aside. And if I had eaten of his locusts too, well, so much the better.”

“You will be kept a prisoner until the queen returns. If nothing can be proved against you, you will not come to harm. You have my word as a knight.”

ADWD Victarion I

The war for Meereen was won, the captain claimed; the dragon queen was dead, and a Ghiscari by the name of Hizdak ruled the city now.

Victarion had his tongue torn out for lying. Daenerys Targaryen was not dead, Moqorro assured him; his red god R’hllor had shown him the queen’s face in his sacred fires. The captain could not abide lies, so he had the Ghiscari captain bound hand and foot and thrown overboard, a sacrifice to the Drowned God.

Sailing out of Myr, the Dove brought them no fresh news of Meereen or Daenerys, only stale reports of Dothraki horsemen along the Rhoyne, the Golden Company upon the march, and others things Victarion already knew.

They had been running empty, Victarion learned, making for New Ghis to load supplies and weapons for the Ghiscari legions encamped before Meereen … and to bring fresh legionaries to the war, to replace all the men who’d died. “Men slain in battle?” asked Victarion. The crews of the galleys denied it; the deaths were from a bloody flux. The pale mare, they called it. And like the captain of the Ghiscari Dawn, the captains of the galleys repeated the lie that Daenerys Targaryen was dead.

“Give her a kiss for me in whatever hell you find her,” Victarion said. He called for his axe and took their heads off there and then. Afterward he put their crews to death as well, saving only the slaves chained to the oars. He broke their chains himself and told them they were now free men and would have the privilege of rowing for the Iron Fleet, an honor that every boy in the Iron Islands dreamed of growing up. “The dragon queen frees slaves and so do I,” he proclaimed.

“The silver queen is gone,” the ketch’s master told him. “She flew away upon her dragon, beyond the Dothraki sea.”

“Where is this Dothraki sea?” he demanded. “I will sail the Iron Fleet across it and find the queen wherever she may be.”

The fisherman laughed aloud. “That would be a sight worth seeing. The Dothraki sea is made of grass, fool.”

“He bearded the lion in his den and tied the direwolf’s tail in knots, but even Dagon could not defeat the dragons. But I shall make the dragon queen mine own. She will share my bed and bear me many mighty sons.”

His dusky woman was enough to satisfy his appetites until he could reach Meereen and claim his queen.

A great wind came up then, a wind that filled their sails and swept them north and east and north again, toward Meereen and its pyramids of many-colored bricks. On wings of song I fly to you, Daenerys, the iron captain thought.

ADWD The Griffin Reborn

“Prince Doran’s younger son has been betrothed to Myrcella Baratheon, which would suggest that the Dornishmen have thrown in with House Lannister, but they have an army in the Boneway and another in the Prince’s Pass, just waiting …”

“Waiting.” He frowned. “For what?” Without Daenerys and her dragons, Dorne was central to their hopes. “Write Sunspear. Doran Martell must know that his sister’s son is still alive and has come home to claim his father’s throne.”

“My lord does have one prize to offer,” Haldon Halfmaester pointed out. “Prince Aegon’s hand. A marriage alliance, to bring some great House to our banners.”

A bride for our bright prince. Jon Connington remembered Prince Rhaegar’s wedding all too well. Elia was never worthy of him. She was frail and sickly from the first, and childbirth only left her weaker. After the birth of Princess Rhaenys, her mother had been bedridden for half a year, and Prince Aegon’s birth had almost been the death of her. She would bear no more children, the maesters told Prince Rhaegar afterward.

“Daenerys Targaryen may yet come home one day,” Connington told the Halfmaester. “Aegon must be free to marry her.”

ADWD The Spurned Suitor

“Even if the queen returns, she’ll still be married.”

“Not if I give King Harzoo a little smack with my hammer,” suggested the big man.

“Hizdahr,” said Quentyn. “His name is Hizdahr.”

“One kiss from my hammer and no one will care what his name was,” said Arch.

They do not see. His friends had lost sight of his true purpose here. The road leads through her, not to her. Daenerys is the means to the prize, not the prize itself. “ ‘The dragon has three heads,’ she said to me. ‘My marriage need not be the end of all your hopes,’ she said. ‘I know why you are here. For fire and blood.’ I have Targaryen blood in me, you know that. I can trace my lineage back—”

“Fuck your lineage,” said Gerris. “The dragons won’t care about your blood, except maybe how it tastes. You cannot tame a dragon with a history lesson. They’re monsters, not maesters. Quent, is this truly what you want to do?”

“This is what I have to do. For Dorne. For my father. For Cletus and Will and Maester Kedry.”

“They’re dead,” said Gerris. “They won’t care.”

“All dead,” Quentyn agreed. “For what? To bring me here, so I might wed the dragon queen. A grand adventure, Cletus called it. Demon roads and stormy seas, and at the end of it the most beautiful woman in the world. A tale to tell our grandchildren. But Cletus will never father a child, unless he left a bastard in the belly of that tavern wench he liked. Will will never have his wedding. Their deaths should have some meaning.”

“Denzo, I thought you told me that the dragon queen had married some Ghiscari.”

“A Meereenese nobleman. Rich.”

The Tattered Prince turned back to Quentyn. “Could that be true? Surely not. What of your marriage pact?”

“She laughed at him,” said Pretty Meris.

Daenerys never laughed. The rest of Meereen might see him as an amusing curiosity, like the exiled Summer Islander King Robert used to keep at King’s Landing, but the queen had always spoken to him gently. “We came too late,” said Quentyn.

“How long do you think the Yunkishmen will want to continue paying wages to four free companies?”

The Tattered Prince took a sip of wine and said, “A vexing question. But this is the way of life for we men of the free companies. One war ends, another begins. Fortunately there is always someone fighting someone somewhere. Perhaps here. Even as we sit here drinking Bloodbeard is urging our Yunkish friends to present King Hizdahr with another head. Freedmen and slavers eye each other’s necks and sharpen their knives, the Sons of the Harpy plot in their pyramids, the pale mare rides down slave and lord alike, our friends from the Yellow City gaze out to sea, and somewhere in the grasslands a dragon nibbles the tender flesh of Daenerys Targaryen. Who rules Meereen tonight? Who will rule it on the morrow?” The Pentoshi gave a shrug. “One thing I am certain of. Someone will have need of our swords.”

“So. Let me see if I understand. A proven liar and oathbreaker wishes to contract with us and pay in promises. And for what services? I wonder. Are my Windblown to smash the Yunkai’i and sack the Yellow City? Defeat a Dothraki khalasar in the field? Escort you home to your father? Or will you be content if we deliver Queen Daenerys to your bed wet and willing? Tell me true, Prince Frog. What would you have of me and mine?”

“I need you to help me steal a dragon.”

ADWD The Discarded Knight

Daenerys Targaryen had preferred to hold court from a bench of polished ebony, smooth and simple, covered with the cushions that Ser Barristan had found to make her more comfortable. King Hizdahr had replaced the bench with two imposing thrones of gilded wood, their tall backs carved into the shape of dragons. The king seated himself in the right-hand throne with a golden crown upon his head and a jeweled sceptre in one pale hand. The second throne remained vacant.

The important throne, thought Ser Barristan. No dragon chair can replace a dragon no matter how elaborately it’s carved.

“Is it true?” a freedwoman shouted. “Is our mother dead?”

“No, no, no,” Reznak screeched. “Queen Daenerys will return to Meereen in her own time in all her might and majesty. Until such time, His Worship King Hizdahr shall—”

“He is no king of mine,” a freedman yelled.

Men began to shove at one another. “The queen is not dead,” the seneschal proclaimed. “Her bloodriders have been dispatched across the Skahazadhan to find Her Grace and return her to her loving lord and loyal subjects. Each has ten picked riders, and each man has three swift horses, so they may travel fast and far. Queen Daenerys shall be found.”

A tall Ghiscari in a brocade robe spoke next, in a voice as sonorous as it was cold. King Hizdahr shifted on his dragon throne, his face stony as he did his best to appear concerned but unperturbed. Once again his seneschal gave answer.

Ser Barristan let Reznak’s oily words wash over him. His years in the Kingsguard had taught him the trick of listening without hearing, especially useful when the speaker was intent on proving that words were truly wind. Back at the rear of the hall, he spied the Dornish princeling and his two companions. They should not have come. Martell does not realize his danger. Daenerys was his only friend at this court, and she is gone. He wondered how much they understood of what was being said. Even he could not always make sense of the mongrel Ghiscari tongue the slavers spoke, especially when they were speaking fast.

Prince Quentyn was listening intently, at least. That one is his father’s son. Short and stocky, plain-faced, he seemed a decent lad, sober, sensible, dutiful … but not the sort to make a young girl’s heart beat faster. And Daenerys Targaryen, whatever else she might be, was still a young girl, as she herself would claim when it pleased her to play the innocent. Like all good queens she put her people first—else she would never have wed Hizdahr zo Loraq—but the girl in her still yearned for poetry, passion, and laughter. She wants fire, and Dorne sent her mud.

Martell was dancing in a vipers’ nest, and he did not even see the snakes. His continued presence, even after Daenerys had given herself to another before the eyes of gods and men, would provoke any husband, and Quentyn no longer had the queen to shield him from Hizdahr’s wroth. Although …

The thought hit him like a slap across the face. Quentyn had grown up amongst the courts of Dorne. Plots and poisons were no strangers to him. Nor was Prince Lewyn his only uncle. He is kin to the Red Viper. Daenerys had taken another for her consort, but if Hizdahr died, she would be free to wed again. Could the Shavepate have been wrong? Who can say that the locusts were meant for Daenerys? It was the king’s own box. What if he was meant to be the victim all along? Hizdahr’s death would have smashed the fragile peace. The Sons of the Harpy would have resumed their murders, the Yunkishmen their war. Daenerys might have had no better choice than Quentyn and his marriage pact.

Reznak mo Reznak cleared his throat noisily. “Meaning no offense, yet it seems to me that Her Worship Queen Daenerys gave you … ah … seven hostages. The other three …”

“The others shall remain our guests,” announced the Yunkish lord in the breastplate, “until the dragons have been destroyed.”

A hush fell across the hall. Then came the murmurs and the mutters, whispered curses, whispered prayers, the hornets stirring in their hive. “The dragons …” said King Hizdahr.

“… are monsters, as all men saw in Daznak’s Pit. No true peace is possible whilst they live.”

Reznak replied. “Her Magnificence Queen Daenerys is Mother of Dragons. Only she can—”

Bloodbeard’s scorn cut him off. “She is gone. Burned and devoured. Weeds grow through her broken skull.”

Ser Barristan watched them, thoughtful. What would Daenerys want? he asked himself. He thought he knew.

“Leave the city. Return to Dorne.”

The Dornishmen exchanged a look. “Our arms and armor are back in our apartments,” said Gerris Drinkwater. “Not to mention most of the coin that we have left.”

“Swords can be replaced,” said Ser Barristan. “I can provide you with coin enough for passage back to Dorne. Prince Quentyn, the king made note of you today. He frowned.”

Gerris Drinkwater laughed. “Should we be frightened of Hizdahr zo Loraq? You saw him just now. He quailed before the Yunkishmen. They sent him a head, and he did nothing.”

Quentyn Martell nodded in agreement. “A prince does well to think before he acts. This king … I do not know what to think of him. The queen warned me against him as well, true, but …”

“She warned you?” Selmy frowned. “Why are you still here?”

Prince Quentyn flushed. “The marriage pact—”

“—was made by two dead men and contained not a word about the queen or you. It promised your sister’s hand to the queen’s brother, another dead man. It has no force. Until you turned up here, Her Grace was ignorant of its existence. Your father keeps his secrets well, Prince Quentyn. Too well, I fear. If the queen had known of this pact in Qarth, she might never have turned aside for Slaver’s Bay, but you came too late. I have no wish to salt your wounds, but Her Grace has a new husband and an old paramour, and seems to prefer the both of them to you.”

“This Ghiscari lordling is no fit consort for the queen of the Seven Kingdoms.��

“That is not for you to judge.” Ser Barristan paused, wondering if he had said too much already. No. Tell him the rest of it. “That day at Daznak’s Pit, some of the food in the royal box was poisoned. It was only chance that Strong Belwas ate it all. The Blue Graces say that only his size and freakish strength have saved him, but it was a near thing. He may yet die.”

The shock was plain on Prince Quentyn’s face. “Poison … meant for Daenerys?”

“Her or Hizdahr. Perhaps both. The box was his, though. His Grace made all the arrangements. If the poison was his doing … well, he will need a scapegoat. Who better than a rival from a distant land who has no friends at this court? Who better than a suitor the queen spurned?”

Quentyn Martell went pale. “Me? I would never … you cannot think I had any part in any …”

That was the truth, or he is a master mummer. “Others might,” said Ser Barristan. “The Red Viper was your uncle. And you have good reason to want King Hizdahr dead.”

“So do others,” suggested Gerris Drinkwater. “Naharis, for one. The queen’s …”

“… paramour,” Ser Barristan finished, before the Dornish knight could say anything that might besmirch the queen’s honor.

ADWD Tyrion XI

“The silver queen—”

“—is dead,” insisted Sweets. “Forget her! The dragon took her across the river. She’s drowned in that Dothraki sea.”

“You can’t drown in grass,” the goat boy said. “If we were free,” said Penny, “we could find the queen. Or go search for her, at least.”

You on your dog and me on my sow, chasing a dragon across the Dothraki sea. Tyrion scratched his scar to keep from laughing. “This particular dragon has already evinced a fondness for roast pork. And roast dwarf is twice as tasty.”

The fact that there were any good wells at all within a day’s march of the city only went to prove that Daenerys Targaryen was still an innocent where siegecraft was concerned. She should have poisoned every well. Then all the Yunkishmen would be drinking from the river. See how long their siege lasts then. That was what his lord father would have done, Tyrion did not doubt.

There was no better place to hear the latest news and rumors than around the well. “I know what I saw,” an old slave in a rusted iron collar was saying, as Tyrion and Penny shuffled along in the queue, “and I saw that dragon ripping off arms and legs, tearing men in half, burning them down to ash and bones. People started running, trying to get out of that pit, but I come to see a show, and by all the gods of Ghis, I saw one. I was up in the purple, so I didn’t think the dragon was like to trouble me.”

“The queen climbed onto the dragon’s back and flew away,” insisted a tall brown woman.

“She tried,” said the old man, “but she couldn’t hold on. The cross-bows wounded the dragon, and the queen was struck right between her sweet pink teats, I hear. That was when she fell. She died in the gutter, crushed beneath a wagon’s wheels. I know a girl who knows a man who saw her die.”

In this company, silence was the better part of wisdom, but Tyrion could not help himself. “No corpse was found,” he said.

The old man frowned. “What would you know about it?”

“They were there,” said the brown woman. “It’s them, the jousting dwarfs, the ones who tilted for the queen.”

The old man squinted down as if seeing him and Penny for the first time. “You’re the ones who rode the pigs.”

Our notoriety precedes us. Tyrion sketched a courtly bow, and refrained from pointing out that one of the pigs was really a dog. “The sow I ride is actually my sister. We have the same nose, could you tell? A wizard cast a spell on her, but if you give her a big wet kiss, she will turn into a beautiful woman. The pity is, once you get to know her, you’ll want to kiss her again to turn her back.”

Laughter erupted all around them. Even the old man joined in. “You saw her, then,” said the redheaded boy behind them. “You saw the queen. Is she as beautiful as they say?”

I saw a slender girl with silvery hair wrapped in a tokar, he might have told them. Her face was veiled, and I never got close enough for a good look. I was riding on a pig. Daenerys Targaryen had been seated in the owner’s box beside her Ghiscari king, but Tyrion’s eyes had been drawn to the knight in the white-and-gold armor behind her. Though his features were concealed, the dwarf would have known Barristan Selmy anywhere. Illyrio was right about that much, at least, he remembered thinking. Will Selmy know me, though? And what will he do if he does?

“The queen watched us tilt,” Penny was telling the other slaves in line, “but that was the only time we saw her.”

“You must have seen the dragon,” said the old man.

Would that we had. The gods had not even vouchsafed him that much. As Daenerys Targaryen was taking wing, Nurse had been clapping irons round their ankles to make certain they would not attempt escape on their way back to their master. If the overseer had only taken his leave after delivering them to the abbatoir, or fled with the rest of the slavers when the dragon descended from the sky, the two dwarfs might have strolled away free. Or run away, more like, our little bells a-jingle.

“Was there a dragon?” Tyrion said with a shrug. “All I know is that no dead queens were found.”

“...Might be they did but decided to say elsewise, to keep you slaves quiet.”

“Us slaves?” said the brown woman. “You wear a collar too.”

“Ghazdor’s collar,” the old man boasted. “Known him since we was born. I’m almost like a brother to him. Slaves like you, sweepings out of Astapor and Yunkai, you whine about being free, but I wouldn’t give the dragon queen my collar if she offered to suck my cock for it. Man has the right master, that’s better.”

ADWD The Iron Suitor

And I must needs reach the dragon queen before the Volantenes.

In Volantis he had seen the galleys taking on provisions. The whole city had seemed drunk. Sailors and soldiers and tinkers had been observed dancing in the streets with nobles and fat merchants, and in every inn and winesink cups were being raised to the new triarchs. All the talk had been of the gold and gems and slaves that would flood into Volantis once the dragon queen was dead.

“Is it still to be Meereen?”

“Where else? The dragon queen awaits me in Meereen.” The fairest woman in the world if my brother could be believed. Her hair is silver-gold, her eyes are amethysts.

Was it too much to hope that for once Euron had told it true? Perhaps. Like as not, the girl would prove to be some pock-faced slattern with teats slapping against her knees, her “dragons” no more than tattooed lizards from the swamps of Sothoryos. If she is all that Euron claims, though … They had heard talk of the beauty of Daenerys Targaryen from the lips of pirates in the Stepstones and fat merchants in Old Volantis. It might be true. And Euron had not made Victarion a gift of her; the Crow’s Eye meant to take her for himself. He sends me like a serving man to fetch her. How he will howl when I claim her for myself. Let the men mutter. They had sailed too far and lost too much for Victarion to turn west without his prize.

ADWD The Queensguard

You were the queen’s man,” said Reznak mo Reznak. “The king desires his own men about him when he holds court.”

I am the queen’s man still. Today, tomorrow, always, until my last breath, or hers. Barristan Selmy refused to believe that Daenerys Targaryen was dead.

Perhaps that was why he was being put aside. One by one, Hizdahr removes us all.

Despite all the queen had done, the sickness had spread, both within the city walls and without. Meereen’s markets were closed, its streets empty. King Hizdahr had allowed the fighting pits to remain open, but the crowds were sparse. The Meereenese had even begun to shun the Temple of the Graces, reportedly.

The slavers will find some way to blame Daenerys for that as well, Ser Barristan thought bitterly. He could almost hear them whispering—Great Masters, Sons of the Harpy, Yunkai’i, all telling one another that his queen was dead. Half of the city believed it, though as yet they did not have the courage to say such words aloud. But soon, I think.

Not for the first time, Selmy wondered at the strange fates that had brought him here. He was a knight of Westeros, a man of the stormlands and the Dornish marches; his place was in the Seven Kingdoms, not here upon the sweltering shores of Slaver’s Bay. I came to bring Daenerys home. Yet he had lost her, just as he had lost her father and her brother. Even Robert. I failed him too.

Perhaps Hizdahr was wiser than he knew. Ten years ago I would have sensed what Daenerys meant to do. Ten years ago I would have been quick enough to stop her. Instead he had stood befuddled as she leapt into the pit, shouting her name, then running uselessly after her across the scarlet sands. I am become old and slow. Small wonder Naharis mocked him as Ser Grandfather. Would Daario have moved more quickly if he had been beside the queen that day? Selmy thought he knew the answer to that, though it was not one he liked.

He had dreamed of it again last night: Belwas on his knees retching up bile and blood, Hizdahr urging on the dragonslayers, men and women fleeing in terror, fighting on the steps, climbing over one another, screaming and shouting. And Daenerys …

Her hair was aflame. She had the whip in her hand and she was shouting, then she was on the dragon’s back, flying. The sand that Drogon stirred as he took wing had stung Ser Barristan’s eyes, but through a veil of tears he had watched the beast fly from the pit, his great black wings slapping at the shoulders of the bronze warriors at the gates.

The rest he learned later. Beyond the gates had been a solid press of people. Maddened by the smell of dragon, horses below reared in terror, lashing out with iron-shod hooves. Food stalls and palanquins alike were overturned, men knocked down and trampled. Spears were thrown, cross-bows were fired. Some struck home. The dragon twisted violently in the air, wounds smoking, the girl clinging to his back. Then he loosed the fire.

It had taken the rest of the day and most of the night for the Brazen Beasts to gather up the corpses. The final count was two hundred fourteen slain, three times as many burned or wounded. Drogon was gone from the city by then, last seen high over the Skahazadhan, flying north. Of Daenerys Targaryen, no trace had been found. Some swore they saw her fall. Others insisted that the dragon had carried her off to devour her. They are wrong.

Ser Barristan knew no more of dragons than the tales every child hears, but he knew Targaryens. Daenerys had been riding that dragon, as Aegon had once ridden Balerion of old.

“She might be flying home,” he told himself, aloud. “No,” murmured a soft voice behind him. “She would not do that, ser. She would not go home without us.”

Ser Barristan turned. “Missandei. Child. How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long. This one is sorry if she has disturbed you.”

It was his failures that haunted him at night, though. Jaehaerys, Aerys, Robert. Three dead kings. Rhaegar, who would have been a finer king than any of them. Princess Elia and the children. Aegon just a babe, Rhaenys with her kitten. Dead, every one, yet he still lived, who had sworn to protect them. And now Daenerys, his bright shining child queen. She is not dead. I will not believe it.

Afternoon brought Ser Barristan a brief respite from his doubts. He spent it in the training hall on the pyramid’s third level, working with his boys, teaching them the art of sword and shield, horse and lance … and chivalry, the code that made a knight more than any pit fighter. Daenerys would need protectors her own age about her after he was gone, and Ser Barristan was determined to give her such.

The lads he was instructing ranged in age from eight to twenty. He had started with more than sixty of them, but the training had proved too rigorous for many. Less than half that number now remained, but some showed great promise. With no king to guard, I will have more time to train them now, he realized as he walked from pair to pair, watching them go at one another with blunted swords and spears with rounded heads. Brave boys. Baseborn, aye, but some will make good knights, and they love the queen. If not for her, all of them would have ended in the pits. King Hizdahr has his pit fighters, but Daenerys will have knights.

If the queen had commanded me to protect Hizdahr, I would have had no choice but to obey. But Daenerys Targaryen had never established a proper Queensguard even for herself nor issued any commands in respect to her consort. The world was simpler when I had a lord commander to decide such matters, Selmy reflected. Now I am the lord commander, and it is hard to know which path is right.

“I have the poisoner.”

“Who?”

“Hizdahr’s confectioner. His name would mean nothing to you. The man was just a cats paw. The Sons of the Harpy took his daughter and swore she would be returned unharmed once the queen was dead. Belwas and the dragon saved Daenerys. No one saved the girl. She was returned to her father in the black of night, in nine pieces. One for every year she lived.”

“Why?” Doubts gnawed at him. “The Sons had stopped their killing. Hizdahr’s peace—”

“—is a sham. Not at first, no. The Yunkai’i were afraid of our queen, of her Unsullied, of her dragons. This land has known dragons before. Yurkhaz zo Yunzak had read his histories, he knew. Hizdahr as well. Why not a peace? Daenerys wanted it, they could see that. Wanted it too much. She should have marched to Astapor.” Skahaz moved closer. “That was before. The pit changed all. Daenerys gone, Yurkhaz dead. In place of one old lion, a pack of jackals. Bloodbeard … that one has no taste for peace. And there is more. Worse. Volantis has launched its fleet against us.”

“Volantis.” Selmy’s sword hand tingled. We made a peace with Yunkai. Not with Volantis. “You are certain?”

“Certain. The Wise Masters know. So do their friends. The Harpy, Reznak, Hizdahr. This king will open the city gates to the Volantenes when they arrive. All those Daenerys freed will be enslaved again. Even some who were never slaves will be fitted for chains. You may end your days in a fighting pit, old man. Khrazz will eat your heart.”

His head was pounding. “Daenerys must be told.”

“Find her first.” Skahaz grasped his forearm. His fingers felt like iron. “We cannot wait for her.

“Daenerys signed that peace,” Ser Barristan said. “It is not for us to break it without her leave.”

“And if she is dead?” demanded Skahaz. “What then, ser? I say she would want us to protect her city. Her children.”

Her children were the freedmen. Mhysa, they called her, all those whose chains she broke. “Mother.” The Shavepate was not wrong. Daenerys would want her children protected. “What of Hizdahr? He is still her consort. Her king. Her husband.”

“Her poisoner.”

Is he? “Where is your proof?”

“The crown he wears is proof enough. The throne he sits. Open your eyes, old man. That is all he needed from Daenerys, all he ever wanted. Once he had it, why share the rule?”

Why indeed? It had been so hot down in the pit. He could still see the air shimmering above the scarlet sands, smell the blood spilling from the men who’d died for their amusement. And he could still hear Hizdahr, urging his queen to try the honeyed locusts.

ADWD Tyrion X

The next piece of chattel was already being led up to take their place. A girl, fifteen or sixteen, not off the Selaesori Qhoran this time. Tyrion did not know her. The same age as Daenerys Targaryen, or near enough. The slaver soon had her naked. At least we were spared that humiliation.

Mormont paid no mind to the mongrel crowd; his eyes were fixed beyond the siege lines, on the distant city with its ancient walls of many-colored brick. Tyrion could read that look as easy as a book: so near and yet so distant. The poor wretch had returned too late. Daenerys Targaryen was wed, the guards on the pens had told them, laughing. She had taken a Meereenese slaver as her king, as wealthy as he was noble, and when the peace was signed and sealed the fighting pits of Meereen would open once again. Other slaves insisted that the guards were lying, that Daenerys Targaryen would never make peace with slavers. Mhysa, they called her. Someone told him that meant Mother. Soon the silver queen would come forth from her city, smash the Yunkai’i, and break their chains, they whispered to one another.

And then she’ll bake us all a lemon pie and kiss our widdle wounds and make them better, the dwarf thought. He had no faith in royal rescues. If need be, he would see to their deliverance himself.

ADWD Jon IX

“Let us hope so. The narrow sea is perilous this time of year, and of late there have been troubling reports of strange ships seen amongst the Step-stones.”

“Salladhor Saan?”

“The Lysene pirate? Some say he has returned to his old haunts, this is so. And Lord Redwyne’s war fleet creeps through the Broken Arm as well.

On its way home, no doubt. But these men and their ships are well-known to us. No, these other sails … from farther east, perhaps … one hears queer talk of dragons.”

“Would that we had one here. A dragon might warm things up a bit.”

“My lord jests. You will forgive me if I do not laugh. We Braavosi are descended from those who fled Valyria and the wroth of its dragonlords. We do not jape of dragons.”

ADWD Tyrion IX

“We failed at that as well. No one threw coins.” Not a penny, not a groat.

“They will when we get better.” Penny pulled off her helm. Mouse-brown hair spilled down to her ears. Her eyes were brown too, beneath a heavy shelf of brow, her cheeks smooth and flushed. She pulled some acorns from a leather bag for Pretty Pig. The sow ate them from her hand, squealing happily. “When we perform for Queen Daenerys the silver will rain down, you’ll see.”

At Joffrey’s wedding feast, he recalled, one rider had displayed the direwolf of Robb Stark, the other the arms and colors of Stannis Baratheon. “We will need both animals if we’re to tilt for Queen Daenerys,” he said. If the sailors took it in their heads to butcher Pretty Pig, neither he nor Penny could hope to stop them … but Ser Jorah’s longsword might give them pause, at least.

“Is that how you hope to keep your head, Imp?”

“Ser Imp, if you please. And yes. Once Her Grace knows my true worth, she’ll cherish me. I am a lovable little fellow, after all, and I know many useful things about my kin. But until such time I had best keep her amused.”

“Caper as you like, it won’t wash out your crimes. Daenerys Targaryen is no silly child to be diverted by japes and tumbles. She will deal with you justly.”

Oh, I hope not. Tyrion studied Mormont with his mismatched eyes. “And how will she welcome you, this just queen? A warm embrace, a girlish titter, a headsman’s axe?” He grinned at the knight’s obvious discomfit. “Did you truly expect me to believe you were about the queen’s business in that whorehouse? Defending her from half a world away? Or could it be that you were running, that your dragon queen sent you from her side? But why would she … oh, wait, you were spying on her.” Tyrion made a clucking sound. “You hope to buy your way back into her favor by presenting her with me. An ill-considered scheme, I’d say. One might even say an act of drunken desperation. Perhaps if I were Jaime … but Jaime killed her father, I only killed my own. You think Daenerys will execute me and pardon you, but the reverse is just as likely. Maybe you should hop up on that pig, Ser Jorah. Put on a suit of iron motley, like Florian the—”

The blow the big knight gave him cracked his head around and knocked him sideways, so hard that his head bounced off the deck.

“The widow said this ship would never reach her destination. I took that to mean that once we were out to sea beyond the reach of triarchs, the captain would change course for Meereen. Or perhaps that you would seize the ship with your Fiery Hand and take us to Daenerys. But that isn’t what your high priest saw at all, is it?”

“No.” Moqorro’s deep voice tolled as solemnly as a funeral bell. “This is what he saw.”

ADWD Tyrion VIII

“Have you come to pray with me?”

“Someone told me that the night is dark and full of terrors. What do you see in those flames?”

“Dragons,” Moqorro said in the Common Tongue of Westeros. He spoke it very well, with hardly a trace of accent. No doubt that was one reason the high priest Benerro had chosen him to bring the faith of R’hllor to Daenerys Targaryen. “Dragons old and young, true and false, bright and dark. And you. A small man with a big shadow, snarling in the midst of all.”

Twice exiled, and small wonder, Tyrion thought. I’d exile him too if I could. The man is cold, brooding, sullen, deaf to humor. And those are his good points. Ser Jorah spent most of his waking hours pacing the forecastle or leaning on the rail, gazing out to sea. Looking for his silver queen. Looking for Daenerys, willing the ship to sail faster. Well, I might do the same if Tysha waited in Meereen.

“Daenerys has a kind heart and a generous nature.” It was what she needed to hear. “She will find a place for you at her court, I don’t doubt. A safe place, beyond my sister’s reach.”

Penny turned back to him. “And you will be there too.”

Unless Daenerys decides she needs some Lannister blood, to pay for the Targaryen blood my brother shed. “I will.”

“Does our captain mean to test the curse?”

“Our captain would prefer to be fifty leagues farther out to sea, well away from that accursed shore, but I have commanded him to steer the shortest course. Others seek Daenerys too.”

Griff, with his young prince. Could all that talk of the Golden Company sailing west have been a feint? Tyrion considered saying something, then thought better. It seemed to him that the prophecy that drove the red priests had room for just one hero. A second Targaryen would only serve to confuse them. “Have you seen these others in your fires?” he asked, warily.

“Only their shadows,” Moqorro said. “One most of all. A tall and twisted thing with one black eye and ten long arms, sailing on a sea of blood.”

ADWD Tyrion VII

“What is he saying?” Tyrion asked the knight.

“That Daenerys stands in peril. The dark eye has fallen upon her, and the minions of night are plotting her destruction, praying to their false gods in temples of deceit … conspiring at betrayal with godless outlanders …”

The hairs on the back of Tyrion’s neck began to prickle. Prince Aegon will find no friend here. The red priest spoke of ancient prophecy, a prophecy that foretold the coming of a hero to deliver the world from darkness. One hero. Not two. Daenerys has dragons, Aegon does not. The dwarf did not need to be a prophet himself to foresee how Benerro and his followers might react to a second Targaryen. Griff will see that too, surely, he thought, surprised to find how much he cared.

Tyrion had just swallowed another locust. He almost choked on it. Is he mocking me? How much could he know of Griff and Aegon? “Bugger,” he said. “I meant to hire the Golden Company myself, to win me Casterly Rock.” Could this be some ploy of Griff’s, false reports deliberately spread? Unless … Could the pretty princeling have swallowed the bait? Turned them west instead of east, abandoning his hopes of wedding Queen Daenerys? Abandoning the dragons … would Griff allow that?

“We need swift passage to Meereen.”

One word. Tyrion Lannister’s world turned upside down.

One word. Meereen. Or had he misheard?

One word. Meereen, he said Meereen, he’s taking me to Meereen. Meereen meant life. Or hope for life, at least.

“Why come to me?” the widow said. “I own no ships.”

“You have many captains in your debt.”

Deliver me to the queen, he says. Aye, but which queen? He isn’t selling me to Cersei. He’s giving me to Daenerys Targaryen. That’s why he hasn’t hacked my head off. We’re going east, and Griff and his prince are going west, the bloody fools.

Oh, it was all too much. Plots within plots, but all roads lead down the dragon’s gullet. A guffaw burst from his lips, and suddenly Tyrion could not stop laughing.

“Your dwarf is having a fit,” the widow observed. “My dwarf will be quiet, or I’ll see him gagged.”

Tyrion covered his mouth with his hands. Meereen!

“...Have you heard Benerro preach?”

“Last night.”

“Benerro can see the morrow in his flames,” the widow said. “Triarch Malaquo tried to hire the Golden Company, did you know? He meant to clean out the red temple and put Benerro to the sword. He dare not use tiger cloaks. Half of them worship the Lord of Light as well. Oh, these are dire days in Old Volantis, even for wrinkled old widows. But not half so dire as in Meereen, I think. So tell me, ser … why do you seek the silver queen?”

“Keep your silver. I have gold. And spare me your black looks, ser. I am too old to be frightened of a scowl. You are a hard man, I see, and no doubt skilled with that long sword at your side, but this is my realm. Let me crook a finger and you may find yourself traveling to Meereen chained to an oar in the belly of a galley.” She lifted her jade fan and opened it. There was a rustle of leaves, and a man slid from the overgrown archway to her left. His face was a mass of scars, and in one hand he held a sword, short and heavy as a cleaver. “Seek the widow of the waterfront, someone told you, but they should have also warned you, beware the widow’s sons. It is such a sweet morning, though, I shall ask again. Why would you seek Daenerys Targaryen, whom half the world wants dead?”

Jorah Mormont’s face was dark with anger, but he answered. “To serve her. Defend her. Die for her, if need be.”

That made the widow laugh. “You want to rescue her, is that the way of it? From more enemies than I can name, with swords beyond count … this is what you’d have the poor widow believe? That you are a true and chivalrous Westerosi knight crossing half the world to come to the aid of this … well, she is no maiden, though she may still be fair.” She laughed again. “Do you think your dwarf will please her? Will she bathe in his blood, do you think, or content herself with striking off his head?”

Ser Jorah hesitated. “The dwarf is—”

“—I know who the dwarf is, and what he is.” Her black eyes turned to Tyrion, hard as stone. “Kinslayer, kingslayer, murderer, turncloak. Lannister.” She made the last a curse. “What do you plan to offer the dragon queen, little man?”

My hate, Tyrion wanted to say. Instead he spread his hands as far as the fetters would allow. “Whatever she would have of me. Sage counsel, savage wit, a bit of tumbling. My cock, if she desires it. My tongue, if she does not. I will lead her armies or rub her feet, as she desires. And the only reward I ask is I might be allowed to rape and kill my sister.”

“If I were Volantene, and free, and had the blood, you’d have my vote for triarch, my lady.”

“I am no lady,” the widow replied, “just Vogarro’s whore. You want to be gone from here before the tigers come. Should you reach your queen, give her a message from the slaves of Old Volantis.” She touched the faded scar upon her wrinkled cheek, where her tears had been cut away. “Tell her we are waiting. Tell her to come soon.”

ADWD The Windblown

The word passed through the camp like a hot wind. She is coming. Her host is on the march. She is racing south to Yunkai, to put the city to the torch and its people to the sword, and we are going north to meet her.

“We’ll get provisions in Yunkai, maybe fresh horses, then it will be on to Meereen to dance with the dragon queen. So hop quick, Frog, and put a nice edge on your master’s sword. Might be he’ll need it soon.”

“Arch is the best fighter of the three of us,” Drinkwater had pointed out, “but only you can hope to wed the dragon queen.”

Wed her or fight her; either way, I will face her soon. The more Quentyn heard of Daenerys Targaryen, the more he feared that meeting. The Yunkai’i claimed that she fed her dragons on human flesh and bathed in the blood of virgins to keep her skin smooth and supple. Beans laughed at that but relished the tales of the silver queen’s promiscuity. “One of her captains comes of a line where the men have foot-long members,” he told them, “but even he’s not big enough for her. She rode with the Dothraki and grew accustomed to being fucked by stallions, so now no man can fill her.” And Books, the clever Volantene swordsman who always seemed to have his nose poked in some crumbly scroll, thought the dragon queen both murderous and mad. “Her khal killed her brother to make her queen. Then she killed her khal to make herself khaleesi. She practices blood sacrifice, lies as easily as she breathes, turns against her own on a whim. She’s broken truces, tortured envoys … her father was mad too. It runs in the blood.”

It runs in the blood. King Aerys II had been mad, all of Westeros knew that. He had exiled two of his Hands and burned a third. If Daenerys is as murdeous as her father, must I still marry her? Prince Doran had never spoken of that possibility.

Their mistress could not have been more than sixteen and fancied herself Yunkai’s own Daenerys Targaryen.

“Daenerys may be halfway to Yunkai by now, with an army at her back,” Quentyn said as they walked amongst the horses.

“She may be,” Gerris said, “but she’s not. We’ve heard such talk before. The Astapori were convinced Daenerys was coming south with her dragons to break the siege. She didn’t come then, and she’s not coming now.”

“We can’t know that, not for certain. We need to steal away before we end up fighting the woman I was sent to woo.”

“Wait till Yunkai.” Gerris gestured at the hills. “These lands belong to the Yunkai’i. No one is like to want to feed or shelter three deserters. North of Yunkai, that’s no-man’s-land.”

He was not wrong. Even so, Quentyn felt uneasy. “The big man’s made too many friends. He knows the plan was always to steal off and make our way to Daenerys, but he’s not going to feel good about abandoning men he’s fought with. If we wait too long, it’s going to feel as if we’re deserting them on the eve of battle. He will never do that. You know him as well as I do.”

“You’d have us turn our cloaks?”

“I would,” said the Tattered Prince.

Quentyn Martell almost laughed aloud. The gods are mad.

The Westerosi shifted uneasily. Some stared into their wine cups, as if they hoped to find some wisdom there. Hugh Hungerford frowned. “You think Queen Daenerys will take us in …”

“I do.”

“Meris will command you,” said the Tattered Prince. “She knows my mind in this … and Daenerys Targaryen may be more accepting of another woman.”

“The best ruses always have some seed of truth,” said the Tattered Prince. “Every one of you has ample reason for wanting to abandon me. And Daenerys Targaryen knows that sellswords are a fickle lot. Her own Second Sons and Stormcrows took Yunkish gold but did not hesitate to join her when the tide of battle began to flow her way.”

ADWD The Lost Lord

A ferocious southern sun beat down upon the crowded riverfront of Volon Therys, but heat was the last and least of Griff’s concerns. The Golden Company was encamped three miles south of town, well north of where he had expected them, and Triarch Malaquo had come north with five thousand foot and a thousand horse to cut them off from the delta road. Daenerys Targaryen remained a world away, and Tyrion Lannister … well, he could be most anywhere.

“The plan was to reveal Prince Aegon only when we reached Queen Daenerys,” Lemore was saying.

“That was when we believed the girl was coming west. Our dragon queen has burned that plan to ash, and thanks to that fat fool in Pentos, we have grasped the she-dragon by the tail and burned our fingers to the bone.”

“Illyrio could not have been expected to know that the girl would choose to remain at Slaver’s Bay.”

“No more than he knew that the Beggar King would die young, or that Khal Drogo would follow him into the grave. Very little of what the fat man has anticipated has come to pass.”

“I assume you know that the Targaryen girl has not started for the west?”

“We heard that tale in Selhorys.”

“No tale. Simple truth. The why of it is harder to grasp. Sack Meereen, aye, why not? I would have done the same in her place. The slaver cities reek of gold, and conquest requires coin. But why linger? Fear? Madness? Sloth?”

“The why of it does not matter.” Harry Strickland unrolled a pair of striped woolen stockings. “She is in Meereen and we are here, where the Volantenes grow daily more unhappy with our presence. We came to raise up a king and queen who would lead us home to Westeros, but this Targaryen girl seems more intent on planting olive trees than in reclaiming her father’s throne. Meanwhile, her foes gather. Yunkai, New Ghis, Tolos. Bloodbeard and the Tattered Prince will both be in the field against her … and soon enough the fleets of Old Volantis will descend on her as well. What does she have? Bedslaves with sticks?”

“Unsullied,” said Griff. “And dragons.”

“Dragons, aye,” the captain-general said, “but young ones, hardly more than hatchlings.” Strickland eased his sock over his blisters and up his ankle. “How much will they avail her when all these armies close about her city like a fist?”

Tristan Rivers drummed his fingers on his knee. “All the more reason that we must reach her quickly, I say. If Daenerys will not come to us, we must go to Daenerys.”

“Can we walk across the waves, ser?” asked Lysono Maar. “I tell you again, we cannot reach the silver queen by sea. I slipped into Volantis myself, posing as a trader, to learn how many ships might be available to us. The harbor teems with galleys, cogs, and carracks of every sort and size, yet even so I soon found myself consorting with smugglers and pirates. We have ten thousand men in the company, as I am sure Lord Connington remembers from his years of service with us. Five hundred knights, each with three horses. Five hundred squires, with one mount apiece. And elephants, we must not forget the elephants. A pirate ship will not suffice. We would need a pirate fleet … and even if we found one, the word has come back from Slaver’s Bay that Meereen has been closed off by blockade.”

And then Prince Aegon spoke. “Then put your hopes on me,” he said. “Daenerys is Prince Rhaegar’s sister, but I am Rhaegar’s son. I am the only dragon that you need.”

Griff put a black-gloved hand upon Prince Aegon’s shoulder. “Spoken boldly,” he said, “but think what you are saying.”

“I have,” the lad insisted. “Why should I go running to my aunt as if I were a beggar? My claim is better than her own. Let her come to me … in Westeros.”

Franklyn Flowers laughed. “I like it. Sail west, not east. Leave the little queen to her olives and seat Prince Aegon upon the Iron Throne. The boy has stones, give him that.”

The captain-general looked as if someone had slapped his face. “Has the sun curdled your brains, Flowers? We need the girl. We need the marriage. If Daenerys accepts our princeling and takes him for her consort, the Seven Kingdoms will do the same. Without her, the lords will only mock his claim and brand him a fraud and a pretender. And how do you propose to get to Westeros? You heard Lysono. There are no ships to be had.”

“By now the lion surely has the dragon’s scent,” said one of the Coles, “but Cersei’s attentions will be fixed upon Meereen and this other queen. She knows nothing of our prince. Once we land and raise our banners, many and more will flock to join us.”

“Some,” allowed Homeless Harry, “not many. Rhaegar’s sister has dragons. Rhaegar’s son does not. We do not have the strength to take the realm without Daenerys and her army. Her Unsullied.”

“The first Aegon took Westeros without eunuchs,” said Lysono Maar. “Why shouldn’t the sixth Aegon do the same?”

“The plan—”

“Which plan?” said Tristan Rivers. “The fat man’s plan? The one that changes every time the moon turns? First Viserys Targaryen was to join us with fifty thousand Dothraki screamers at his back. Then the Beggar King was dead, and it was to be the sister, a pliable young child queen who was on her way to Pentos with three new-hatched dragons. Instead the girl turns up on Slaver’s Bay and leaves a string of burning cities in her wake, and the fat man decides we should meet her by Volantis. Now that plan is in ruins as well.

“I have had enough of Illyrio’s plans. Robert Baratheon won the Iron Throne without the benefit of dragons. We can do the same. And if I am wrong and the realm does not rise for us, we can always retreat back across the narrow sea, as Bittersteel once did, and others after him.”

Strickland shook his head stubbornly. “The risk—”

“—is not what it was, now that Tywin Lannister is dead. The Seven Kingdoms will never be more ripe for conquest. Another boy king sits the Iron Throne, this one even younger than the last, and rebels are thick upon the ground as autumn leaves.”

ADWD Tyrion VI

“And when the pisswater prince was safely dead, the eunuch smuggled you across the narrow sea to his fat friend the cheesemonger, who hid you on a poleboat and found an exile lord willing to call himself your father. It does make for a splendid story, and the singers will make much of your escape once you take the Iron Throne … assuming that our fair Daenerys takes you for her consort.”

“She will. She must.”

“Must?” Tyrion made a tsking sound. “That is not a word queens like to hear. You are her perfect prince, agreed, bright and bold and comely as any maid could wish. Daenerys Targaryen is no maid, however. She is the widow of a Dothraki khal, a mother of dragons and sacker of cities, Aegon the Conqueror with teats. She may not prove as willing as you wish.”

“She’ll be willing.” Prince Aegon sounded shocked. It was plain that he had never before considered the possibility that his bride-to-be might refuse him. “You don’t know her.” He picked up his heavy horse and put it down with a thump.

The dwarf shrugged. “I know that she spent her childhood in exile, impoverished, living on dreams and schemes, running from one city to the next, always fearful, never safe, friendless but for a brother who was by all accounts half-mad … a brother who sold her maidenhood to the Dothraki for the promise of an army. I know that somewhere out upon the grass her dragons hatched, and so did she. I know she is proud. How not? What else was left her but pride? I know she is strong. How not? The Dothraki despise weakness. If Daenerys had been weak, she would have perished with Viserys. I know she is fierce. Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen are proof enough of that. She has crossed the grasslands and the red waste, survived assassins and conspiracies and fell sorceries, grieved for a brother and a husband and a son, trod the cities of the slavers to dust beneath her dainty sandaled feet. Now, how do you suppose this queen will react when you turn up with your begging bowl in hand and say, ‘Good morrow to you, Auntie. I am your nephew, Aegon, returned from the dead. I’ve been hiding on a poleboat all my life, but now I’ve washed the blue dye from my hair and I’d like a dragon, please … and oh, did I mention, my claim to the Iron Throne is stronger than your own?’ ”

Aegon’s mouth twisted in fury. “I will not come to my aunt a beggar. I will come to her a kinsman, with an army.”

“A small army.” There, that’s made him good and angry. The dwarf could not help but think of Joffrey. I have a gift for angering princes. “Queen Daenerys has a large one, and no thanks to you.” Tyrion moved his crossbows.

“Say what you want. She will be my bride, Lord Connington will see to it. I trust him as much as if he were my own blood.”

“But,” Prince Aegon said, “without Daenerys and her dragons, how could we hope to win?”

“You do not need to win,” Tyrion told him. “All you need to do is raise your banners, rally your supporters, and hold, until Daenerys arrives to join her strength to yours.”

“You said she might not have me.”

“Perhaps I overstated. She may take pity on you when you come begging for her hand.” The dwarf shrugged. “Do you want to wager your throne upon a woman’s whim? Go to Westeros, though … ah, then you are a rebel, not a beggar. Bold, reckless, a true scion of House Targaryen, walking in the footsteps of Aegon the Conqueror. A dragon.

“I told you, I know our little queen. Let her hear that her brother Rhaegar’s murdered son is still alive, that this brave boy has raised the dragon standard of her forebears in Westeros once more, that he is fighting a desperate war to avenge his father and reclaim the Iron Throne for House Targaryen, hard-pressed on every side … and she will fly to your side as fast as wind and water can carry her. You are the last of her line, and this Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, is above all a rescuer. The girl who drowned the slaver cities in blood rather than leave strangers to their chains can scarcely abandon her own brother’s son in his hour of peril. And when she reaches Westeros, and meets you for the first time, you will meet as equals, man and woman, not queen and supplicant. How can she help but love you then, I ask you?”

“Then rouse him. We have tidings he’d best hear. The queen’s name is on every tongue in Selhorys. They say she still sits in Meereen, sore beset. If the talk in the markets can be believed, Old Volantis will soon join the war against her.”

Haldon pursed his lips. “The gossip of fishmongers is not to be relied on. Still, I suppose Griff will want to hear. You know how he is.” The Halfmaester went below.

The girl never started for the west. No doubt she had good reasons. Between Meereen and Volantis lay five hundred leagues of deserts, mountains, swamps, and ruins, plus Mantarys with its sinister repute. A city of monsters, they say, but if she marches overland, where else is she to turn for food and water? The sea would be swifter, but if she does not have the ships …

“That was another age. Come, we’d best hear what that priest is going on about. I swear I heard the name Daenerys.”

Across the square they joined the growing throng outside the red temple. With the locals towering above him on every hand, the little man found it hard to see much beyond their arses. He could hear most every word the priest was saying, but that was not to say he understood them. “Do you understand what he is saying?” he asked Haldon in the Common Tongue.

“I would if I did not have a dwarf piping in my ear.”

“I do not pipe.” Tyrion crossed his arms and looked behind him, studying the faces of the men and women who had stopped to listen. Everywhere he turned, he saw tattoos. Slaves. Four of every five of them are slaves.

“The priest is calling on the Volantenes to go to war,” the Halfmaester told him, “but on the side of right, as soldiers of the Lord of Light, R’hllor who made the sun and stars and fights eternally against the darkness. Nyessos and Malaquo have turned away from the light, he says, their hearts darkened by the yellow harpies from the east. He says …”

“Dragons. I understood that word. He said dragons.”

“Aye. The dragons have come to carry her to glory.”

“Her. Daenerys?”

Haldon nodded. “Benerro has sent forth the word from Volantis. Her coming is the fulfillment of an ancient prophecy. From smoke and salt was she born to make the world anew. She is Azor Ahai returned … and her triumph over darkness will bring a summer that will never end … death itself will bend its knee, and all those who die fighting in her cause shall be reborn …”

“Do I have to be reborn in this same body?” asked Tyrion. The crowd was growing thicker. He could feel them pressing in around them. “Who is Benerro?”

Haldon raised an eyebrow. “High Priest of the red temple in Volantis. Flame of Truth, Light of Wisdom, First Servant of the Lord of Light, Slave of R’hllor.”

The only red priest Tyrion had ever known was Thoros of Myr, the portly, genial, wine-stained roisterer who had loitered about Robert’s court swilling the king’s finest vintages and setting his sword on fire for mêlées. “Give me priests who are fat and corrupt and cynical,” he told Haldon, “the sort who like to sit on soft satin cushions, nibble sweetmeats, and diddle little boys. It’s the ones who believe in gods who make the trouble.”

“What news from downriver? Will it be war?”

Qavo shrugged. “The Yunkai’i would have it so. They style themselves the Wise Masters. Of their wisdom I cannot speak, but they do not lack for cunning. Their envoy came to us with chests of gold and gems and two hundred slaves, nubile girls and smooth-skinned boys trained in the way of the seven sighs. I am told his feasts are memorable and his bribes lavish.”

“The Yunkishmen have bought your triarchs?”

“Only Nyessos.” Qavo removed the screen and studied the placement of Tyrion’s army. “Malaquo may be old and toothless, but he is a tiger still, and Doniphos will not be returned as triarch. The city thirsts for war.”

“Why?” wondered Tyrion. “Meereen is long leagues across the sea. How has this sweet child queen offended Old Volantis?”

“Sweet?” Qavo laughed. “If even half the stories coming back from Slaver’s Bay are true, this child is a monster. They say that she is blood-thirsty, that those who speak against her are impaled on spikes to die lingering deaths. They say she is a sorceress who feeds her dragons on the flesh of newborn babes, an oathbreaker who mocks the gods, breaks truces, threatens envoys, and turns on those who have served her loyally. They say her lust cannot be sated, that she mates with men, women, eunuchs, even dogs and children, and woe betide the lover who fails to satisfy her. She gives her body to men to take their souls in thrall.”

Oh, good, thought Tyrion. If she gives her body to me, she is welcome to my soul, small and stunted though it is.

“They say,” said Haldon. “By they, you mean the slavers, the exiles she drove from Astapor and Meereen. Mere calumnies.”

“The best calumnies are spiced with truth,” suggested Qavo, “but the girl’s true sin cannot be denied. This arrogant child has taken it upon herself to smash the slave trade, but that traffic was never confined to Slaver’s Bay. It was part of the sea of trade that spanned the world, and the dragon queen has clouded the water. Behind the Black Wall, lords of ancient blood sleep poorly, listening as their kitchen slaves sharpen their long knives. Slaves grow our food, clean our streets, teach our young. They guard our walls, row our galleys, fight our battles. And now when they look east, they see this young queen shining from afar, this breaker of chains. The Old Blood cannot suffer that. Poor men hate her too. Even the vilest beggar stands higher than a slave. This dragon queen would rob him of that consolation.”

Tyrion advanced his spearmen. Qavo replied with his light horse. Tyrion moved his crossbowmen up a square and said, “The red priest outside seemed to think Volantis should fight for this silver queen, not against her.”

“The red priests would be wise to hold their tongues,” said Qavo Nogarys. “Already there has been fighting between their followers and those who worship other gods. Benerro’s rantings will only serve to bring a savage wrath down upon his head.”

“What rantings?” the dwarf asked, toying with his rabble.

The Volantene waved a hand. “In Volantis, thousands of slaves and freedmen crowd the temple plaza every night to hear Benerro shriek of bleeding stars and a sword of fire that will cleanse the world. He has been preaching that Volantis will surely burn if the triarchs take up arms against the silver queen.”

“That’s a prophecy even I could make. Ah, supper.”

Supper was a plate of roasted goat served on a bed of sliced onions. The meat was spiced and fragrant, charred outside and red and juicy within. Tyrion plucked at a piece. It was so hot it burned his fingers, but so good he could not help but reach for another chunk. He washed it down with the pale green Volantene liquor, the closest thing he’d had to wine for ages. “Very good,” he said, plucking up his dragon. “The most powerful piece in the game,” he announced, as he removed one of Qavo’s elephants. “And Daenerys Targaryen has three, it’s said.”

“Three,” Qavo allowed, “against thrice three thousand enemies. Grazdan mo Eraz was not the only envoy sent out from the Yellow City. When the Wise Masters move against Meereen, the legions of New Ghis will fight beside them. Tolosi. Elyrians. Even the Dothraki.”

“You’re mine, Hugor.”

Tyrion could no more outrun him than outfight him. Drunk as he was, he could not even hope to outwit him. He spread his hands. “And what do you mean to do with me?”

“Deliver you,” the knight said, “to the queen.”

ADWD Davos II

The old fellow made a face. “Prince Viserys weren’t the only dragon, were he? Are we sure they killed Prince Rhaegar’s son? A babe, he was.”

“Wasn’t there some princess too?” asked a whore. She was the same one who’d said the meat was grey.

“Two,” said the old fellow. “One was Rhaegar’s daughter, t’other was his sister.”

“Daena,” said the riverman. “That was the sister. Daena of Dragon-stone. Or was it Daera?”

“Daena was old King Baelor’s wife,” said the oarsman. “I rowed on a ship named for her once. The Princess Daena.”

“If she was a king’s wife, she’d be a queen.”

“Baelor never had a queen. He was holy.”

“Don’t mean he never wed his sister,” said the whore. “He just never bedded her, is all. When they made him king, he locked her up in a tower. His other sisters too. There was three.”

“Daenela,” the proprietor said loudly. “That was her name. The Mad King’s daughter, I mean, not Baelor’s bloody wife.”

“Daenerys,” Davos said. “She was named for the Daenerys who wed the Prince of Dorne during the reign of Daeron the Second. I don’t know what became of her.”

"I do," said the man who'd started all the talk of dragons, a Braavosi oarsman in a somber woolen jack. "When we were down to Pentos we moored beside a trader called the Sloe-Eyed Maid, and I got to drinking with her captain's steward. He told me a pretty tale about some slip of a girl who come aboard in Qarth, to try and book passage back to Westeros for her and three dragons. Silver hair she had, and purple eyes. 'I took her to the captain my own self,' this steward swore to me, 'but he wasn't having none of that. There's more profit in cloves and saffron, he tells me, and spices won't set fire to your sails.' "

ADWD Tyrion III

Griff ignored the request. Instead he touched the letter to the candle flame and watched the parchment blacken, curl, and flare up. “There is blood between Targaryen and Lannister. Why would you support the cause of Queen Daenerys?”

“For gold and glory,” the dwarf said cheerfully. “Oh, and hate. If you had ever met my sister, you would understand.”

ADWD The Merchant's Man

That was before Prince Doran had summoned him to the Water Gardens. And now the most beautiful woman in the world was waiting in Meereen, and he meant to do his duty and claim her for his bride. She will not refuse me. She will honor the agreement. Daenerys Targaryen would need Dorne to win the Seven Kingdoms, and that meant that she would need him. It does not mean that she will love me, though. She may not even like me.

“Perhaps your silver queen would like a monkey,” said Gerris.

Quentyn had no idea what Daenerys Targaryen might like. He had promised his father that he would bring her back to Dorne, but more and more he wondered if he was equal to the task.

“And if Daenerys is dead before we reach her?” Quentyn said. “We must have a ship. Even if it is Adventure.”

Gerris laughed. “You must be more desperate for Daenerys than I knew if you’d endure that stench for months on end. After three days, I’d be begging them to murder me. No, my prince, I pray you, not Adventure.”

ADWD Tyrion II

“How many days until we reach the river?” he asked Illyrio that evening. “At this pace, your queen’s dragons will be larger than Aegon’s three before I can lay eyes upon them.”

“Would it were so. A large dragon is more fearsome than a small one.” The magister shrugged. “Much as it would please me to welcome Queen Daenerys to Volantis, I must rely on you and Griff for that. I can serve her best in Pentos, smoothing the way for her return. So long as I am with you, though … well, an old fat man must have his comforts, yes? Come, drink a cup of wine.”

“Tell me,” Tyrion said as he drank, “why should a magister of Pentos give three figs who wears the crown in Westeros? Where is the gain for you in this venture, my lord?”

The fat man dabbed grease from his lips. “I am an old man, grown weary of this world and its treacheries. Is it so strange that I should wish to do some good before my days are done, to help a sweet young girl regain her birthright?”

Next you will be offering me a suit of magic armor and a palace in Valyria. “If Daenerys is no more than a sweet young girl, the Iron Throne will cut her into sweet young pieces.”

“Fear not, my little friend. The blood of Aegon the Dragon flows in her veins.”

Along with the blood of Aegon the Unworthy, Maegor the Cruel, and Baelor the Befuddled. “Tell me more of her.”

The fat man grew pensive. “Daenerys was half a child when she came to me, yet fairer even than my second wife, so lovely I was tempted to claim her for myself. Such a fearful, furtive thing, however, I knew I should get no joy from coupling with her. Instead I summoned a bed-warmer and fucked her vigorously until the madness passed. If truth be told, I did not think Daenerys would survive for long amongst the horselords.”

“That did not stop you selling her to Khal Drogo …”

“Dothraki neither buy nor sell. Say rather that her brother Viserys gave her to Drogo to win the khal’s friendship. A vain young man, and greedy. Viserys lusted for his father’s throne, but he lusted for Daenerys too, and was loath to give her up. The night before the princess wed he tried to steal into her bed, insisting that if he could not have her hand, he would claim her maidenhead. Had I not taken the precaution of posting guards upon her door, Viserys might have undone years of planning.”

“He sounds an utter fool.”

“Viserys was Mad Aerys’s son, just so. Daenerys … Daenerys is quite different.” He popped a roasted lark into his mouth and crunched it noisily, bones and all. “The frightened child who sheltered in my manse died on the Dothraki sea, and was reborn in blood and fire. This dragon queen who wears her name is a true Targaryen. When I sent ships to bring her home, she turned toward Slaver’s Bay. In a short span of days she conquered Astapor, made Yunkai bend the knee, and sacked Meereen. Mantarys will be next, if she marches west along the old Valyrian roads. If she comes by sea, well … her fleet must take on food and water at Volantis.”

“For that matter, why would you? Slavery may be forbidden by the laws of Pentos, yet you have a finger in that trade as well, and maybe a whole hand. And yet you conspire for the dragon queen, and not against her. Why? What do you hope to gain from Queen Daenerys?”

“Are we back to that again? You are a persistent little man.” Illyrio gave a laugh and slapped his belly. “As you will. The Beggar King swore that I should be his master of coin, and a lordly lord as well. Once he wore his golden crown, I should have my choice of castles … even Casterly Rock, if I desired.”

Tyrion snorted wine back up the scarred stump that had been his nose. “My father would have loved to hear that.”

“Your lord father had no cause for concern. Why would I want a rock? My manse is large enough for any man, and more comfortable than your drafty Westerosi castles. Master of coin, though …” The fat man peeled another egg. “I am fond of coins. Is there any sound as sweet as the clink of gold on gold?”

A sister’s screams. “Are you quite certain that Daenerys will make good her brother’s promises?”

“She will, or she will not.” Illyrio bit the egg in half. “I told you, my little friend, not all that a man does is done for gain. Believe as you wish, but even fat old fools like me have friends, and debts of affection to repay.”

Liar, thought Tyrion. There is something in this venture worth more to you than coin or castles.

“I dreamed about the queen,” he said. “I was on my knees before her, swearing my allegiance, but she mistook me for my brother, Jaime, and fed me to her dragons.”

“Let us hope this dream was not prophetic. You are a clever imp, just as Varys said, and Daenerys will have need of clever men about her. Ser Barristan is a valiant knight and true; but none, I think, has ever called him cunning.”

“Knights know only one way to solve a problem. They couch their lances and charge. A dwarf has a different way of looking at the world. What of you, though? You are a clever man yourself.”

“You flatter me.” Illyrio waggled his hand. “Alas, I am not made for travel, so I will send you to Daenerys in my stead. You did Her Grace a great service when you slew your father, and it is my hope that you will do her many more. Daenerys is not the fool her brother was. She will make good use of you.”

“Our last news of Queen Daenerys is old and stale, I fear. By now she will have left Meereen, we must assume. She has her host at last, a ragged host of sellswords, Dothraki horselords, and Unsullied infantry, and she will no doubt lead them west, to take back her father’s throne.” Magister Illyrio twisted open a pot of garlic snails, sniffed at them, and smiled. “At Volantis, you will have fresh tidings of Daenerys, we must hope,” he said, as he sucked one from its shell. “Dragons and young girls are both capricious, and it may be that you will need to adjust your plans. Griff will know what to do. Will you have a snail? The garlic is from my own gardens.”

I could ride a snail and make a better pace than this litter of yours. Tyrion waved the dish away. “You place a deal of trust in this man Griff. Another friend of your childhood?”

“No. A sellsword, you would call him, but Westerosi born. Daenerys needs men worthy of her cause.”

“Black or red, a dragon is still a dragon. When Maelys the Monstrous died upon the Stepstones, it was the end of the male line of House Blackfyre.” The cheesemonger smiled through his forked beard. “And Daenerys will give the exiles what Bittersteel and the Blackfyres never could. She will take them home.”

A Feast for Crows

AFFC Samwell V

He held back only the secrets that he was sworn to keep, about Bran Stark and his companions and the babes Jon Snow had swapped. “Daenerys is the only hope,” he concluded. “Aemon said the Citadel must send her a maester at once, to bring her home to Westeros before it is too late.”

“Maester Aemon believed that Daenerys Targaryen was the fulfillment of a prophecy ... her, not Stannis, nor Prince Rhaegar, nor the princeling whose head was dashed against the wall.”

“Born amidst salt and smoke, beneath a bleeding star. I know the prophecy.” Marwyn turned his head and spat a gob of red phlegm onto the floor. “Not that I would trust it. Gorghan of Old Ghis once wrote that a prophecy is like a treacherous woman. She takes your member in her mouth, and you moan with the pleasure of it and think, how sweet, how fine, how good this is ... and then her teeth snap shut and your moans turn to screams. That is the nature of prophecy, said Gorghan. Prophecy will bite your prick off every time.” He chewed a bit. “Still ...”

Alleras stepped up next to Sam. “Aemon would have gone to her if he had the strength. He wanted us to send a maester to her, to counsel her and protect her and fetch her safely home.”

AFFC The Princess in the Tower

“...He has gone to bring us back our heart’s desire.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What is our heart’s desire?”

“Vengeance.” His voice was soft, as if he were afraid that someone might be listening. “Justice.” Prince Doran pressed the onyx dragon into her palm with his swollen, gouty fingers, and whispered, “Fire and blood.”

AFFC Samwell IV

“No one ever looked for a girl,” he said. “It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought ... the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King’s Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it.” Just talking of her seemed to make him stronger. “I must go to her. I must. Would that I was even ten years younger.”

“I will add my voice to yours, maester. We will both tell them, the two of us together.”

“No,” the old man said. “It must be you. Tell them. The prophecy ... my brother’s dream ... Lady Melisandre has misread the signs. Stannis ... Stannis has some of the dragon blood in him, yes. His brothers did as well. Rhaelle, Egg’s little girl, she was how they came by it ... their father’s mother ... she used to call me Uncle Maester when she was a little girl. I remembered that, so I allowed myself to hope ... perhaps I wanted to ... we all deceive ourselves, when we want to believe. Melisandre most of all, I think. The sword is wrong, she has to know that . . . light without heat ... an empty glamor ... the sword is wrong, and the false light can only lead us deeper into darkness, Sam. Daenerys is our hope. Tell them that, at the Citadel. Make them listen. They must send her a maester. Daenerys must be counseled, taught, protected. For all these years I’ve lingered, waiting, watching, and now that the day has dawned I am too old. I am dying, Sam.”

AFFC Cat of the Canals

Sometimes she brought back sailor’s tales, of strange and wondrous happenings from the wide wet world beyond the isles of Braavos, wars and rains of toads and dragons hatching.

AFFC The Reaver

“It was not the god who spoke. Euron is known to keep wizards and foul sorcerers on that red ship of his. They sent some spell among us, so we could not hear the sea. The captains and the kings were drunk with all this talk of dragons.”

“Drunk, and fearful of that horn. You heard the sound it made. It makes no matter. Euron is our king.”

“It is daring to sail out of sight of land, so no word of our coming could reach these islands before us,” he growled, “but crossing half the world to hunt for dragons, that is something else.”

“A king must have a wife, to give him heirs. Brother, I have need of you. Will you go to Slaver’s Bay and bring my love to me?”

“No, to make an heir that’s worthy of him, I need a different woman. When the kraken weds the dragon, brother, let all the world beware.”

“What dragon?” said Victarion, frowning.

“The last of her line. They say she is the fairest woman in the world. Her hair is silver-gold, and her eyes are amethysts ... but you need not take my word for it, brother. Go to Slaver’s Bay, behold her beauty, and bring her back to me.”

“Why should I?” Victarion demanded.

“For love. For duty. Because your king commands it.” Euron chuckled. “And for the Seastone Chair. It is yours, once I claim the Iron Throne. You shall follow me as I followed Balon ... and your own trueborn sons shall one day follow you.”

My own sons. But to have a trueborn son a man must first have a wife. Victarion had no luck with wives. Euron’s gifts are poisoned, he reminded himself, but still ...

“The choice is yours, brother. Live a thrall or die a king. Do you dare to fly? Unless you take the leap, you’ll never know.”

Euron’s smiling eye was bright with mockery. “Or do I ask too much of you? It is a fearsome thing to sail beyond Valyria.”

“I could sail the Iron Fleet to hell if need be.” When Victarion opened his hand, his palm was red with blood. “I’ll go to Slaver’s Bay, aye. I’ll find this dragon woman, and I’ll bring her back.” But not for you. You stole my wife and despoiled her, so I’ll have yours. The fairest woman in the world, for me.

AFFC The Drowned Man

“Aegon Targaryen conquered Westeros with dragons.”

“And so shall we,” Euron Greyjoy promised. “That horn you heard I found amongst the smoking ruins that were Valyria, where no man has dared to walk but me. You heard its call, and felt its power. It is a dragon horn, bound with bands of red gold and Valyrian steel graven with enchantments. The dragonlords of old sounded such horns, before the Doom devoured them. With this horn, ironmen, I can bind dragons to my will.”

Asha laughed aloud. “A horn to bind goats to your will would be of more use, Crow’s Eye. There are no more dragons.”

“Again, girl, you are wrong. There are three, and I know where to find them. Surely that is worth a driftwood crown.”

AFFC Cersei V

“Do you have any news of more import?”

“The slave revolt in Astapor has spread to Meereen, it would seem. Sailors off a dozen ships speak of dragons ...”

“Harpies. It is harpies in Meereen.” She remembered that from somewhere. Meereen was at the far end of the world, out east beyond Valyria. “Let the slaves revolt. Why should I care? We keep no slaves in Westeros. Is that all you have for me?”

AFFC The Queenmaker

If the sailors could be believed, the east was seething with wonders and terrors: a slave revolt in Astapor, dragons in Qarth, grey plague in Yi Ti. A new corsair king had risen in the Basilisk Isles and raided Tall Trees Town, and in Qohor followers of the red priests had rioted and tried to burn down the Black Goat.

AFFC Cersei IV

I hesitate to take up the council’s time with trifles, but there has been some queer talk heard along the docks of late. Sailors from the east. They speak of dragons ...”

“... and manticores, no doubt, and bearded snarks?” Cersei chuckled. “Come back to me when you hear talk of dwarfs, my lord.”

AFFC Prologue

“The dragon has three heads,” he announced in his soft Dornish drawl.

“Is this a riddle?” Roone wanted to know. “Sphinxes always speak in riddles in the tales.”

“No riddle.” [...]

“No dragon has ever had three heads except on shields and banners,” Armen the Acolyte said firmly. “That was a heraldic charge, no more. Furthermore, the Targaryens are all dead.”

“Not all,” said Alleras. “The Beggar King had a sister.”

“I thought her head was smashed against a wall,” said Roone.

“No,” said Alleras. “It was Prince Rhaegar’s young son Aegon whose head was dashed against the wall by the Lion of Lannister’s brave men. We speak of Rhaegar’s sister, born on Dragonstone before its fall. The one they called Daenerys.”

“The Stormborn. I recall her now.” Mollander lifted his tankard high, sloshing the cider that remained. “Here’s to her!” He gulped, slammed his empty tankard down, belched, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Where’s Rosey? Our rightful queen deserves another round of cider, wouldn’t you say?”

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Tyrion III

The eunuch drew a parchment from his sleeve. “A kraken has been seen off the Fingers.” He giggled. “Not a Greyjoy, mind you, a true kraken. It attacked an Ibbenese whaler and pulled it under. There is fighting on the Stepstones, and a new war between Tyrosh and Lys seems likely. Both hope to win Myr as ally. Sailors back from the Jade Sea report that a three-headed dragon has hatched in Qarth, and is the wonder of that city—”

“Dragons and krakens do not interest me, regardless of the number of their heads,” said Lord Tywin. “Have your whisperers perchance found some trace of my brother’s son?”

“Alas, our beloved Tyrek has quite vanished, the poor brave lad.” Varys sounded close to tears.

“Tywin,” Ser Kevan said, before Lord Tywin could vent his obvious displeasure, “some of the gold cloaks who deserted during the battle have drifted back to barracks, thinking to take up duty once again. Ser Addam wishes to know what to do with them.”

“They might have endangered Joff with their cowardice,” Cersei said at once. “I want them put to death.”

Varys sighed. “They have surely earned death, Your Grace, none can deny it. And yet, perhaps we might be wiser to send them to the Night’s Watch. We have had disturbing messages from the Wall of late. Of wildlings astir ...”

“Wildlings, krakens, and dragons.” Mace Tyrell chuckled. “Why, is there anyone not stirring?”

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Bran I

“Wolves often howl at the moon. These are howling at the comet. See how bright it is, Bran? Perchance they think it is the moon.”

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 asked Septon Chayle about the comet while they were sorting through some scrolls snatched from the library fire. “It is the sword that slays the season,” he replied, and soon after the white raven came from Oldtown bringing word of autumn, so doubtless he was right.

Though Old Nan did not think so, and she’d lived longer than any of them. “Dragons,” she said, lifting her head and sniffing. She was near blind and could not see the comet, yet she claimed she could smell it. “It be dragons, boy,” she insisted.

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Eddard XIII

“The girl. Daenerys. Only a child, you were right … that’s why, the girl … the gods sent the boar … sent to punish me …” The king coughed, bringing up blood. “Wrong, it was wrong, I … only a girl … Varys, Littlefinger, even my brother … worthless … no one to tell me no but you, Ned … only you …” He lifted his hand, the gesture pained and feeble. “Paper and ink. There, on the table. Write what I tell you.”

“The girl,” the king said. “Daenerys. Let her live. If you can, if it … not too late … talk to them … Varys, Littlefinger … don’t let them kill her. And help my son, Ned. Make him be … better than me.”

Certainly Varys had once been young. Ned doubted that he had ever been innocent. “You mention children. Robert had a change of heart concerning Daenerys Targaryen. Whatever arrangements you made, I want unmade. At once.”

“Alas,” said Varys. “At once may be too late. I fear those birds have flown. But I shall do what I can, my lord. With your leave.”

AGOT Eddard X

“The Targaryen girl—”

The king groaned. “Seven hells, don’t start with her again. That’s done, I’ll hear no more of it.”

“Why would you want me as your Hand, if you refuse to listen to my counsel?”

“Why?” Robert laughed. “Why not? Someone has to rule this damnable kingdom.”

AGOT Eddard VIII

“Robert, I beg of you,” Ned pleaded, “hear what you are saying. You are talking of murdering a child.”

“The whore is pregnant!” The king’s fist slammed down on the council table loud as a thunderclap. “I warned you this would happen, Ned. Back in the barrowlands, I warned you, but you did not care to hear it. Well, you’ll hear it now. I want them dead, mother and child both, and that fool Viserys as well. Is that plain enough for you? I want them dead.”

The other councillors were all doing their best to pretend that they were somewhere else. No doubt they were wiser than he was. Eddard Stark had seldom felt quite so alone. “You will dishonor yourself forever if you do this.”

“Then let it be on my head, so long as it is done. I am not so blind that I cannot see the shadow of the axe when it is hanging over my own neck.”

“There is no axe,” Ned told his king. “Only the shadow of a shadow, twenty years removed … if it exists at all.”

“If?” Varys asked softly, wringing powdered hands together. “My lord, you wrong me. Would I bring lies to king and council?”

Ned looked at the eunuch coldly. “You would bring us the whisperings of a traitor half a world away, my lord. Perhaps Mormont is wrong. Perhaps he is lying.”

“Ser Jorah would not dare deceive me,” Varys said with a sly smile. “Rely on it, my lord. The princess is with child.”

“So you say. If you are wrong, we need not fear. If the girl miscarries, we need not fear. If she births a daughter in place of a son, we need not fear. If the babe dies in infancy, we need not fear.”

“But if it is a boy?” Robert insisted. “If he lives?”

“The narrow sea would still lie between us. I shall fear the Dothraki the day they teach their horses to run on water.”

The king took a swallow of wine and glowered at Ned across the council table. “So you would counsel me to do nothing until the dragonspawn has landed his army on my shores, is that it?”

“This ‘dragonspawn’ is in his mother’s belly,” Ned said. “Even Aegon did no conquering until after he was weaned.”

“Gods! You are stubborn as an aurochs, Stark.” The king looked around the council table. “Have the rest of you mislaid your tongues? Will no one talk sense to this frozen-faced fool?”

Varys gave the king an unctuous smile and laid a soft hand on Ned’s sleeve. “I understand your qualms, Lord Eddard, truly I do. It gave me no joy to bring this grievous news to council. It is a terrible thing we contemplate, a vile thing. Yet we who presume to rule must do vile things for the good of the realm, howevermuch it pains us.”

Lord Renly shrugged. “The matter seems simple enough to me. We ought to have had Viserys and his sister killed years ago, but His Grace my brother made the mistake of listening to Jon Arryn.”

“Mercy is never a mistake, Lord Renly,” Ned replied. “On the Trident, Ser Barristan here cut down a dozen good men, Robert’s friends and mine. When they brought him to us, grievously wounded and near death, Roose Bolton urged us to cut his throat, but your brother said, ‘I will not kill a man for loyalty, nor for fighting well,’ and sent his own maester to tend Ser Barristan’s wounds.” He gave the king a long cool look. “Would that man were here today.”

Robert had shame enough to blush. “It was not the same,” he complained. “Ser Barristan was a knight of the Kingsguard.”

“Whereas Daenerys is a fourteen-year-old girl.” Ned knew he was pushing this well past the point of wisdom, yet he could not keep silent. “Robert, I ask you, what did we rise against Aerys Targaryen for, if not to put an end to the murder of children?”

“To put an end to Targaryens!” the king growled.

“Your Grace, I never knew you to fear Rhaegar.” Ned fought to keep the scorn out of his voice, and failed. “Have the years so unmanned you that you tremble at the shadow of an unborn child?”

Robert purpled. “No more, Ned,” he warned, pointing. “Not another word. Have you forgotten who is king here?”

“No, Your Grace,” Ned replied. “Have you?”

“Enough!” the king bellowed. “I am sick of talk. I’ll be done with this, or be damned. What say you all?”

“She must be killed,” Lord Renly declared.

“We have no choice,” murmured Varys. “Sadly, sadly …”

Ser Barristan Selmy raised his pale blue eyes from the table and said, “Your Grace, there is honor in facing an enemy on the battlefield, but none in killing him in his mother’s womb. Forgive me, but I must stand with Lord Eddard.”

Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat, a process that seemed to take some minutes. “My order serves the realm, not the ruler. Once I counseled King Aerys as loyally as I counsel King Robert now, so I bear this girl child of his no ill will. Yet I ask you this—should war come again, how many soldiers will die? How many towns will burn? How many children will be ripped from their mothers to perish on the end of a spear?” He stroked his luxuriant white beard, infinitely sad, infinitely weary. “Is it not wiser, even kinder, that Daenerys Targaryen should die now so that tens of thousands might live?”

“Kinder,” Varys said. “Oh, well and truly spoken, Grand Maester. It is so true. Should the gods in their caprice grant Daenerys Targaryen a son, the realm must bleed.”

Littlefinger was the last. As Ned looked to him, Lord Petyr stifled a yawn. “When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, the best thing to do is close your eyes and get on with it,” he declared. “Waiting won’t make the maid any prettier. Kiss her and be done with it.”

“Kiss her?” Ser Barristan repeated, aghast.

“A steel kiss,” said Littlefinger.

Robert turned to face his Hand. “Well, there it is, Ned. You and Selmy stand alone on this matter. The only question that remains is, who can we find to kill her?”

“Mormont craves a royal pardon,” Lord Renly reminded them.

“Desperately,” Varys said, “yet he craves life even more. By now, the princess nears Vaes Dothrak, where it is death to draw a blade. If I told you what the Dothraki would do to the poor man who used one on a khaleesi, none of you would sleep tonight.” He stroked a powdered cheek. “Now, poison … the tears of Lys, let us say. Khal Drogo need never know it was not a natural death.”

Grand Maester Pycelle’s sleepy eyes flicked open. He squinted suspiciously at the eunuch.

“Poison is a coward’s weapon,” the king complained.

Ned had heard enough. “You send hired knives to kill a fourteen-year-old girl and still quibble about honor?” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Do it yourself, Robert. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Look her in the eyes before you kill her. See her tears, hear her last words. You owe her that much at least.”

“Gods,” the king swore, the word exploding out of him as if he could barely contain his fury. “You mean it, damn you.” He reached for the flagon of wine at his elbow, found it empty, and flung it away to shatter against the wall. “I am out of wine and out of patience. Enough of this. Just have it done.”

“I will not be part of murder, Robert. Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal to it.”

“After you stormed out, it was left to me to convince them not to hire the Faceless Men,” he continued blithely. “Instead Varys will quietly let it be known that we’ll make a lord of whoever does in the Targaryen girl.”

Ned was disgusted. “So now we grant titles to assassins.”

Littlefinger shrugged. “Titles are cheap. The Faceless Men are expensive. If truth be told, I did the Targaryen girl more good than you with all your talk of honor. Let some sellsword drunk on visions of lordship try to kill her. Likely he’ll make a botch of it, and afterward the Dothraki will be on their guard. If we’d sent a Faceless Man after her, she’d be as good as buried.”

AGOT Eddard IV

“Why should Tyrion Lannister want Bran dead? The boy has never done him harm.”

“Do you Starks have nought but snow between your ears?” Littlefinger asked. “The Imp would never have acted alone.”

Ned rose and paced the length of the room. “If the queen had a role in this or, gods forbid, the king himself … no, I will not believe that.” Yet even as he said the words, he remembered that chill morning on the barrowlands, and Robert’s talk of sending hired knives after the Targaryen princess. He remembered Rhaegar’s infant son, the red ruin of his skull, and the way the king had turned away, as he had turned away in Darry’s audience hall not so long ago. He could still hear Sansa pleading, as Lyanna had pleaded once.

AGOT Eddard II

“Do you remember Ser Jorah Mormont?”

“Would that I might forget him,” Ned said bluntly. The Mormonts of Bear Island were an old house, proud and honorable, but their lands were cold and distant and poor. Ser Jorah had tried to swell the family coffers by selling some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver. As the Mormonts were bannermen to the Starks, his crime had dishonored the north. Ned had made the long journey west to Bear Island, only to find when he arrived that Jorah had taken ship beyond the reach of Ice and the king’s justice. Five years had passed since then.

“Ser Jorah is now in Pentos, anxious to earn a royal pardon that would allow him to return from exile,” Robert explained. “Lord Varys makes good use of him.”

“So the slaver has become a spy,” Ned said with distaste. He handed the letter back. “I would rather he become a corpse.”

“Varys tells me that spies are more useful than corpses,” Robert said. “Jorah aside, what do you make of his report?”

“Daenerys Targaryen has wed some Dothraki horselord. What of it? Shall we send her a wedding gift?”

The king frowned. “A knife, perhaps. A good sharp one, and a bold man to wield it.”

Ned did not feign surprise; Robert’s hatred of the Targaryens was a madness in him. He remembered the angry words they had exchanged when Tywin Lannister had presented Robert with the corpses of Rhaegar’s wife and children as a token of fealty. Ned had named that murder; Robert called it war. When he had protested that the young prince and princess were no more than babes, his new-made king had replied, “I see no babes. Only dragonspawn.” Not even Jon Arryn had been able to calm that storm. Eddard Stark had ridden out that very day in a cold rage, to fight the last battles of the war alone in the south. It had taken another death to reconcile them; Lyanna’s death, and the grief they had shared over her passing.

This time, Ned resolved to keep his temper. “Your Grace, the girl is scarcely more than a child. You are no Tywin Lannister, to slaughter innocents.” It was said that Rhaegar’s little girl had cried as they dragged her from beneath her bed to face the swords. The boy had been no more than a babe in arms, yet Lord Tywin’s soldiers had torn him from his mother’s breast and dashed his head against a wall.

“And how long will this one remain an innocent?” Robert’s mouth grew hard. “This child will soon enough spread her legs and start breeding more dragonspawn to plague me.”

“Nonetheless,” Ned said, “the murder of children … it would be vile … unspeakable …”

“Unspeakable?” the king roared. “What Aerys did to your brother Brandon was unspeakable. The way your lord father died, that was unspeakable. And Rhaegar … how many times do you think he raped your sister? How many hundreds of times?” His voice had grown so loud that his horse whinnied nervously beneath him. The king jerked the reins hard, quieting the animal, and pointed an angry finger at Ned. “I will kill every Targaryen I can get my hands on, until they are as dead as their dragons, and then I will piss on their graves.”

Ned knew better than to defy him when the wrath was on him. If the years had not quenched Robert’s thirst for revenge, no words of his would help. “You can’t get your hands on this one, can you?” he said quietly.

The king’s mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. “No, gods be cursed. Some pox-ridden Pentoshi cheesemonger had her brother and her walled up on his estate with pointy-hatted eunuchs all around them, and now he’s handed them over to the Dothraki. I should have had them both killed years ago, when it was easy to get at them, but Jon was as bad as you. More fool I, I listened to him.”

“Jon Arryn was a wise man and a good Hand.”

Robert snorted. The anger was leaving him as suddenly as it had come. “This Khal Drogo is said to have a hundred thousand men in his horde. What would Jon say to that?”

“He would say that even a million Dothraki are no threat to the realm, so long as they remain on the other side of the narrow sea,” Ned replied calmly. “The barbarians have no ships. They hate and fear the open sea.”

The king shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. “Perhaps. There are ships to be had in the Free Cities, though. I tell you, Ned, I do not like this marriage. There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who call me Usurper. Do you forget how many houses fought for Targaryen in the war? They bide their time for now, but give them half a chance, they will murder me in my bed, and my sons with me. If the beggar king crosses with a Dothraki horde at his back, the traitors will join him.”

“He will not cross,” Ned promised. “And if by some mischance he does, we will throw him back into the sea. Once you choose a new Warden of the East—”

The king groaned. “For the last time, I will not name the Arryn boy Warden. I know the boy is your nephew, but with Targaryens climbing in bed with Dothraki, I would be mad to rest one quarter of the realm on the shoulders of a sickly child.”

AGOT Bran III

He lifted his eyes and saw clear across the narrow sea, to the Free Cities and the green Dothraki sea and beyond, to Vaes Dothrak under its mountain, to the fabled lands of the Jade Sea, to Asshai by the Shadow, where dragons stirred beneath the sunrise.

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s1i9d · 4 years ago

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AMPHIBIA: SEASON 2B SPECULATION

So! Since ‘tis the season to be jolly, we have new confirmation from the creator of Amphibia himself, Matt Braly!!! He’s given out the Episode titles for all of Season 2B as a Christmas gift, and has confirmed that the episodes aren’t done enough for a trailer. You can find the video link here.

Now I’m giving you a warning! These will contain spoilers and discussion for Season 2B. If you are trying to avoid spoilers, I suggest leaving now! If you’re cool with spoilers and speculation, stay for the ride!

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR AMPHIBIA: SEASON 2A!!!

END OF SEASON 2A - WHERE ARE WE IN THE SHOW?!

Currently, the last episode of Season 2 we’ve had was “A Day at the Aquarium,” with Anne and the Planters are heading to Wartwood for the Harvest and to collect the Calamity Box to take to the Temples. Marcy has a sketchy deal with King Andrias offered, and Sasha and Grimes haven’t been checked up on since “Toadcatcher” where they said they’re going to storm Newtopia.

We have new information on the Calamity Box with the three temples, and even more information on the colours representing the three girls. The Robot following Anne and the Planters to Newtopia (revealed as “Frobo” by Disney Amphibia promotional game) is still stuck at the edge of Newtopian Land, not entering the water as seen in the first minute of “Lost in Newtopia”. It’s still unknown what the glowing coloured eyes represent, since we’ve only seen them twice: Anne’s eyes with “Handy Anne,” and Marcy’s with “Marcy at the Gates” when she saved Sprig.

The Season 2 opening with the new animated sequence of the Sasha vs. Anne sword fight seems to take place in the location of one of the temples. In the end credits, the temple in the leftmost corner with the fallen pillars seem to be where Sasha and Anne are fighting as the sequence zooms out to Marcy holding the Music Box.

This means that Sasha and Anne are going to have a altercation at one of the temples, seemingly at the Third temple, since that location is the closest one to the Volcano temple. It could even be during the return to Newtopia, and Sasha and Grimes try to seize Newtopia like the Fire Nation did with Omashu. And we know the order of the temples from King Andrias’ book from “A Day at the Aquarium.”

It’s unclear which temple represents what jewel, but from the image above seems to infer that it goes in the order of green, blue, and finally pink. Meaning Marcy, Anne and Sasha. From a visual perspective with shape language, that correlation of people with the temples would make sense! Since the first temple seems more like a pyramid which usually has booby traps and requires wit (Marcy) to solve it. The Second Temple is represented by an arch, giving a sense of safety and welcoming. (Heart)

The Volcano...? Definitely Sasha.

No more information on Sprig’s mom or the things in the Castle’s basement (the Jelly Ghosts, the Chained Moss Men, or even the torn painting of young Andrias’ with the Toad and Frog).

That’s where we are in the hiatus. So now let’s dive into the episode titles.

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR AMPHIBIA: SEASON 2B!!!

EPISODE TITLE SPECULATION

These are all my ideas and speculation based off of the episode titles. These are not confirmed summaries, loglines or events of the episodes.

S02E11 - Night Drivers/Return to Wartwood

211A - Night Drivers: This episode seems to mainly be a returning travel episode. I don’t know what we’re getting here, maybe a nightmare creature? Or perhaps an actual nightmare? My guess is something with Anne and Hop Pop since they’re the only "Riders” who know how to drive Bessie. I do expect some talk or at least mention of Frobo since it’s outside the Newtopian area.

211B - Return to Wartwood: It’s here! The return to Wartwood! I don’t think Hop Pop will immediately unearth the Music Box and show it to the kids to give an exposition dump. I think this will talk more about people catching up with the Planters and asking how is Newtopia. Some shenanigans happen, maybe a monster, but I see this being kinda lowkey too. Perhaps the Calamity Box plot at the end as a short stinger, but nothing more really.

S02E12 - The Shut-In!: Halloween Special

212 - The Shut-In!: This episode is already out. It doesn’t fit in continuity-wise and could be placed anywhere in the season. There’s not really much to speculate upon, especially within the season. The only real speculation I see is that Hop Pop probably hasn’t told the kids yet, because I don’t think they would be as calm as they were in this episode if Hop Pop explained.

S02E13 - Ivy on the Run/After the Rain

213A - Ivy on the Run: We haven’t seen Ivy this season. The only episodes the audience is reminded of her are “Hopping Mall,” where Sprig bought that ninja pole for her that broke; and, the Halloween special. I think this episode is a follow up episode to Sprig and Ivy’s relationship, perhaps she feels as though Sprig is leaving her again for the Temples arc and is upset by that. Or some shenanigans with her mom and a new suitor for her, since that’s what originally happened for Sprivy in her Intro episodes. I see the resolution being about long distance relationships and how it can be difficult, but they trust each other and they’ll work through it.

213B - After the Rain: This. This seems like the perfect episode for Hop Pop to talk about the music box. Stormy nights are perfect impeticis for reveals and exposition dumps. I see this as an episode where Hop Pop is trying to say his “sources” can’t seem to get the box back because of the rain, or something. Anne freaks out and is constantly bothering Hop Pop. She pushes him to a point where he cracks, and explains everything about the Music Box. Or he just tells them because he thinks that if they know what they’re doing, they should know.

Or a third idea is that it is more like “The Storm” from Avatar: The Last Airbender where Hop Pop explains the horrors of the Music Box to the kids, while King Andrias’ explains to Marcy how he utilised the Music Box and how he’s lied about his age and he’s actually centuries of centuries older than he says. Then King Andrias’ reveals his deal for Marcy, which I believe is stealing the music box from Anne, so he can rescue the people trapped within the portrait from the other worlds. She may not actually steal the Music Box until the Third Temple, where all the gemstones have been recharged. How does Marcy benefit from this? I have no clue. But he’s telling Marcy this because he has to stay to help Newtopia, or because he wants an ally in a time of need.

And Anne ends up saying, “We have to tell Marcy, and warn her!.” But Hop Pop says that they can’t since she may follow the King. A new reversal of Anne having to choose to use her head instead of her heart, which we see her struggle with in “A Day at the Aquarium.” This perhaps starts an arc where she’s acting similarly to Sasha in terms of peer pressure tactics and gaslighting to avoid Marcy learning the truth.

S02E14 - The First Temple

214 - The First Temple: This episode is a freaking two-parter! An introduction to the mythology of the Temples. Discussing the location, Act One is travelling there. Marcy talks to Anne about Wartwood, and maybe a bit more into her own family life. I see Sasha, I think we’ll get hints of Marcy’s conflict from her deal with the King, their only way home. But at the same time, Anne is having her conflict about telling Marcy the Frog side of the Music Box, after learning the secrets Hop Pop reveals.

Act Two is arriving at the Temple, and entering the Temple using Marcy’s big brain skills. Act Three is recharging the Green Gemstone and learning the location of the Second Temple. Something I do find interesting about this is the glowing eyes subplot adjacent to the Music Box. Will it somehow affect Marcy? Will she lose her “Wit”? Or does this unlock a new power within her or something? We’ll see!

S02E15 - New Wartwood/Friend or Frobo?

215A - New Wartwood: I do think this has been a while coming. Wartwood has had issues with accepting change and differences. Like in “Toad Tax,” where Hop Pop makes an off-hand joke that the town’s Motto is “Slow to accept, and even slower to respect.” Even though that is not okay, there have been plants for a change to Wartwood. Redoing and improving on themselves. Or it could just be a plot where the Mayor has to redo everything in Wartwood and making it fancy hotel, and the Plantars have to stop him. Then creates a moral of change is within, not outside.

215B - Friend or Frobo?: Okay, a Frobo episode! We haven’t talked about Frobo, and don’t even know its name from the show itself. This is probably a big mythology reveal. In case anyone doesn’t know, this robot is seemingly inspired by the one from Hayao Miyazaki’s “Laputa: Castle in the Sky.” There are a lot of theories, but I think Marcy’s curiosity would want them to follow Frobo, but her head will say something against that. Anne’s “Heart” will tell her to follow the Frog Robot and lead them to a new area of knowledge unknown previous.

S02E16 - Toad to Redemption/Maddie and Marcy

216A - Toad to Redemption: A possible Sasha episode???? Whomst? Whenst?? Since Season 1, I basically expect minimal Sasha episodes. Sasha and Grimes having two episodes in one season?? What?!

But “Toad to Redemption” is an interesting title. Perhaps Grimes or one of his remaining soldiers of Wanda and Percy change their minds? Or perhaps Anne and Marcy encounter one of the Toads that split up with Grimes post-Reunion. And they’re trying to learn to combat their racist beliefs of Frogs being less than Toads. A bit more of a Hop Pop episode since it deals with moving on from traditions that hinder you, but also realising the things that are necessary. I think the latter is more likely, but a Sasha and Grimes episode would work really well, especially this deep into the season.

If this is a Sasha and Grimes episode, I do believe that Yunnan will come back and try to get payback for them defeating her. And getting Grimes would be her “Toad to Redemption.”

216B - Maddie and Marcy: Yas! Creepy goth-like girl with a sunshine klutz. I think this is going to be a more fun episode after the heavy stuff in the previous segment.

S02E17 - The Second Temple/Barrel’s Warhammer

217A - The Second Temple: Temple Number Two!! The one for Heart. I think this one deals more with the idea of “Pure Hearted”. Therefore, I think that Anne is holding in the secrets of the Music Box, not making her “Pure of Heart” and therefore will have to tell Marcy. She reveals the information here, and Marcy tells her she can trust her, but she doesn’t reveal her deal with the King.

217B - Barrel’s Warhammer: Who is “Barrel”??? Seems like a new side gag character like The Curator or The Theatre Troupe. I have no idea what Warhammer means, either a literal Hammer for War, or it’s the game with the miniature objects.

S02E18 - Bessie and MicroAngelo/The Third Temple

218A - Bessie and MicroAngelo: I haven’t even watched the episode or seen the descriptor, but I know that this is going to be the cutest episode to ever exist on television and I absolutely am here for it. Perhaps on their way to the Third Temple, MicroAngelo is feeling down on his accomplishments as a snail, and sees Bessie as a mentor. I think the episode last season “Children of the Spore” will come back, since the mushroom still lives on that bug. So Bessie and MicroAngelo will save the day!

218B - The Third Temple: I am absolutely terrified for this episode. Much like with Infinity Train: Book 1 with two very specific episodes, and just as a general rule of writing, when you begin with a segment that is happier, it highlights and accents the horror and angst. Especially because this seems to be an episode where Sasha is necessary since she’s the last colour/gemstone.

S02E19 - The Dinner/Battle of the Bands

219A - The Dinner: This episode would make sense. Immediately upon seeing the title I thought of an Adventure Time episode, S10E05 - Seventeen, where a group of characters thought to be gone return at a party. Upon further development, I believe this would be a banquet to celebrate the recharging of the Music Box and returning Anne and Marcy home. Unsure about where Sasha is at this point, but she exists and they’ll most likely find her to get her home as well.

219B - Battle of the Bands: Now this is absolutely bonkers level of random. The penultimate episode of Season 2 is a Battle of the Bands???? The only person that can play an instrument is Sprig, and the only one that has really been seen dancing is Anne.

The only real idea I have for this is that it does what “Anne of the Year” did last season, where it wrapped up the character arc, and the plot surrounding that, but the actual plot is what will get touched upon in the finale. “Anne of the Year” resolved the plot of Anne being a stranger to Wartwood, which was the whole season’s conflict. While the finale, “Reunion” dealt with Sasha and the Toads. So I think “Battle of the Bands” will resolve Anne’s arc of being the Heart, and the finale will deal with the plot.

S02E20 - True Colors: 24-Minute Finale

220 - True Colors: This is a very interesting title. Since we know that the three girls represent three colours, that probably would mean a clash of them. This is probably where the full culmination of all the plot threads come into play. (The Music Box, King Andrias, the stuff in the basement, Sasha and Grimes, Sprig’s Mom, Marcy, and even Frobo) The title could also refer to a truth being revealed, with someone speaking their true colours.

I have no thoughts on the season finale so far, but I do hope this will be as satisfying as “Reunion” or more so. My expectations are super high! I’ll probably update more on my thoughts either when the trailer releases for 2B or the week of the finale airing.

END OF SPOILERS AND SPECULATION!!

That ends the speculation for 211 to 220 of Amphibia! Who knows when the episodes are releasing! (Matt says around February or March 2021! Which is a couple of months away!!!)

Let me know what you think and if you have any thoughts, ideas, responses to the speculation! I’m more than happy to hear you out!

#amphibia #amphibia spoilers #amphibia season 2 #hop pop #hop pop plantar #anne boonchuy #anne amphibia #amphibia season 2 spoilers

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queen-of-deans-booty · 4 years ago

Text

Forbidden Love

Pairing: Anael x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Relationships between humans and angels are strictly forbidden, but you and Anael prove that there can be good--and love--between the two species.

wing fic (2020 and 2021) for @spnfluffbingo

secret identity for @spnfemslashbingo

Author’s Note: This is unbeta’d and all mistakes are mine. If you have any requests, please send them in!

The best part about dating an angel is the adventures you get to take together. No modern human can say that they’ve been on top of the pyramids, or that they’ve flown above the clouds. You’ve been on these magical and crazy adventures with the love of your life, but you can never tell anyone. Humans know that angels exist, but there is a strict rule against humans and angels dating and falling in love. The only contact angels are allowed to have with humans is when they are looking over their shoulder and protecting them from the evils within this world.

Your angel started off as that until you started to notice her everywhere you go. She stood out from the rest of the crowd, always right behind you, never too far away. Most humans ignore their angel unless something tragic happens, but you’ve established you’re not like most humans. Instead of living your life the way it’s supposed to be lived, you thought it was a good idea to confront your angel and talk to her.

Anael was shocked you wanted something to do with her, but she didn’t turn you away. The rules stated that if a human isn’t in danger or putting themselves in danger, then there is no reason to talk to them or even let them know an angel is watching over them. However, Anael took one look at you and decided you were worth talking to.

If your friends and family knew what you’ve been doing, they would disown you. If Anael’s superiors knew what she did when she left Heaven, then she would for sure get punished for centuries to follow. It’s why you two only talk, hang out, and enjoy each other’s company in the comfort of your home. The more you spent time with her, the more you fell for her.

It’s not like you wanted it to happen, but you can’t choose who you fall in love with. It’s strange how much an angel understands you more than your own family and friends. For as long as you can remember, there has always been a hole inside your heart that was always too big to fill. Clearly, there was something missing, and you spend years trying to figure out the puzzle piece.

When you met Anael, the piece finally fell into place. You couldn’t let her go, and she refused to let you go.

It sucked you couldn’t tell your friends about your angel, what you two have been doing, and the fact that you’ve been growing closer to the point where your relationship takes a turn into Romanceville. You wanted to gush to your friends about your new girlfriend, but they would never understand. Anael wanted so badly to tell her friends about the amazing woman she met and how happy you make her feel, but she could never expose you like that.

So, you’re forced to keep your relationship a secret, but you honestly didn’t mind. As long as you have Anael by your side, you were okay with anything. Maybe one day you’d get to tell the world about your relationship, but today is not that day.

You and Anael sit on your couch, limbs tangled together, her fingers through your hair, and yours brushing against her wings. You’ve never seen what they look like since humans aren’t able to see them with the naked eye. You’ve touched them, got touched by them, smelled them, and even heard them, but you yearn to see them. You really want to know if they are as beautiful as they feel.

It’s the kind of night that you spend inside. It’s raining, the fire is going in the fireplace, and a movie is playing on your flat-screen TV. Your fingers dance against the soft feathers, touching and memorizing the feel of each one you come into contact with. It’s the perfect evening that requires no speaking whatsoever. There are no words that need to be said that describe how you feel in this exact moment—it’s all in how you handle her wings with care and delicacy.

“You know, I’ve never been to one of those,” you state.

There is a masquerade ball happening in the movie, and it looks like everyone is having a good time. You’ve always wanted to go to one of those and dress up and meet someone mysterious. Well, you’ve already met someone mysterious, but it would be nice to dress up and pretend to be someone else for a night.

“There’s an angel ball coming up. My bosses like to throw one just to celebrate all the good work we do, and because it’s on Earth, it’s why we wear masks. The bouncer is an angel so he doesn’t let in any humans despite them always trying to get in,” Anael laughs.

“But I’m human. There are rules against us dating.”

“I got that covered,” she smirks.

You’re not sure what Anael meant when she said, “I got that covered”. It could mean a lot of things, but your only instruction was that you go get ready and look sexy. You’ve decided to wear a deep red strapless dress that poofs out at the bottom. It’s more like Ariel’s pink dress from the Little Mermaid than anything, just deep red. The mask you’re wearing covers the top half of your face, is red lace, and there is a black feather on the right side sticking up. It’s sexy and beautiful, and you can’t wait to finally go out with your girlfriend.

You stand in front of your body mirror and look at yourself, rubbing your lips together to even out your lipstick. Anael enters the bedroom with a knife in her hand, and you turn to her in confusion. You’re shocked by how gorgeous she looks. She’s wearing a slim gold dress that goes down to her feet and a white mask that only covers half of her face in lace. Her hair is done in soft curls, and she pinned her left side to her head so that her right side is flowering on her own. However, with the knife in your hand, you’re distracted in the worst way.

“What are you doing with that knife?” you ask.

“You look so beautiful,” she grins.

“So do you. What’s going on?”

“I’m doing the only thing I know will guarantee your safety. I’m giving you some of my grace.”

“What? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Not the amount I’m giving you. It’s only going to be in your system for a few hours. Long enough for us to have fun at the ball and make it home in time. The other angels won’t see past the grace and will believe you’re an angel.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

She takes out a small vial and cuts her throat so that a white light shines through. Her grace flows out of her and into the vial, filling it up quickly. Once there is enough, she runs a finger over the wound and it closes. The grace shines brightly in the vial, mesmerizing you. It sparkles in the light, but you don’t have time to dwell on it for too long.

“Open your mouth.”

You do as you’re told, and the grace flows out of the vial and into you. To say that it feels weird is an understatement. You feel like you can do anything with the grace that runs through your veins. Your whole body is consumed by it, and you can see things you’ve never seen before. A film covers your eyes, and Anael’s wings come into view.

They are big and beautiful, almost as tall as your ceiling. The feathers flutter and dance when they know they’re being watched, and you can’t help but smile. You want to cry but you don’t want to ruin your makeup.

“Your wings are so pretty,” you gasp.

“They're a pain in the ass,” she laughs. “Now, the grace will only last a few hours, so we have to go now.”

The ball is all the way downtown, but that’s no problem for an angel. Just to assure herself that no time will be wasted, she teleports you and her to the alley behind the place just to get there faster. You two head to the front where the angelic bouncer is. You’re nervous as hell, but you stay silent as to not ruin this. The bouncer looks at Anael and then at you, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Is there a problem?” she asks with a sweet smile.

He takes a few pauses before answering.

“No. Have a good time, ladies.”

He lets you in, and only until you’re out of his sight do you giggle in relief. The party is in full effect, and there are angels everywhere. There are tables of food scattered around, but you thought angels didn’t have to eat. Anael eats with you only so you don’t feel left out, but you know she doesn’t particularly enjoy it.

There are a group of female angels huddled by the corner and when they see Anael, they squeal and greet her with hugs and smiles. Anael seems so happy to see her friends, but the sight only makes you feel guilty. She can’t hang with her friends when you’re around, but you can hang with yours when she’s around. It’s not fair, and you don’t know how to make it better for her.

“Hey! Ladies, this is Y/N… my girlfriend,” Anael introduces you.

“Girlfriend?? Why have you been hiding her?”

The girls mutter excitedly to each other before turning to face you.

“We’re Anna, Mabel, and Sabrina. How long have you two been together?” Anna asks.

“About a year now,” you smile brightly.

Anael seems happy with her friends, so you decided to explore on your own so she can catch up with them. You’re starving, so you head over to one of the tables to grab something to eat. They have everything you can think of, and one of your favorite snacks is just sitting there begging you to take a bite. You do, and just about everyone in the room stops and stares at you.

Anael rushes over to you and grabs your hand, smiling sweetly at you.

“Angels don’t eat, sweetheart.” There is evidence left on your face from the food you were just eating, and she wipes it away with her thumb. “Come on. I’ll get you something to eat when we’re done. Right now, I want to dance with you.”

“Okay, sorry,” you chuckle and finish swallowing.

She takes you to the middle of the dance floor and pulls you close. Her hands go to your waist and yours wrap around her neck. Being here with her is magical, and you couldn’t have been more happier than in this moment.

“I love you so much,” you grin.

“I love you.”

She leans in and kisses you slowly, moving her lips in time with yours. It’s said that when angels are happy, their grace glows brightly for all to see.

Right now, you and Anael light up the entire dance floor, content with being in each other’s arms.

Wanna get tagged? Add yourself to this document! If your tag doesn’t work, find out why! Follow my library blog @queenofdeansbooty-writes where I reblog all my stories, so you can follow that if you can’t be tagged!

@sunshin3sammy

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uwua3 · 4 years ago

Note

hi bunnie! can i first just say that your name and blog are both so dang cute aaaa 🥺 can i request a best friend!izumi hc? 🥺👉👈 thank you so much 💛

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! YOU ARE THE CUTEST PERSON EVER~ i am in Love With You !!! also omg IZUMI ♡u♡ she is the Best Girl ever but #AllGirlsAreBestGirls !!! i love her so much, i’m so glad this was requested!!! i am so happy to write this ♡ PLEASE LOVE IZUMI!

summary: together, you and the currian are unstoppable! watching the cooking channel with your best friend just got even better

author’s note: i hope you love this 🥺 i am genuinely so soft over izumi she deserves the whole world

count how many times i say curry, it isn’t even Funny at this point T___T anyways, i was a bit nervous over this because i hadn’t watched the anime, so i didn’t know izumi well as a character! if all else fails, use the traits you know to the best of your ability! i love our curry queen regardless, though~

word count: 2,001

music: good as hell – lizzo ft. ariana grande

my best friend.

🍛 tachibana izumi

you, funny enough, met izumi at the grocery store in the spices aisle

you were unable to decide between which spices were necessary for the curry recipe you were about to attempt, staring at your phone screen with obvious confusion

what was the difference between each type of curry? which one was better? you scrolled down, reading off the countries,

“india, thailand, malaysia, china, south africa, japan...” you mumbled inaudibly before you heard a very distinct crash in the next aisle over. someone must’ve just hit their cart into a display or—

you saw a girl with long brown hair and pink eyes with... wait... were her pupils heart–shaped? you stumbled back as she approached like she was on a mission, standing a mere few feet from you as she smiled pleasantly at you like the situation wasn’t out of the ordinary at all

(oh no... was she one of those pyramid scheme scammers?)

“are you making curry?!” she questioned, leaning forward to glance at your screen only to squeal in excitement at the confirmation. you gulped, nodding with a tinge of doubtful fear

if you said yes, were you about to be attacked right here and now in the middle of a grocery store? you just wanted some curry...

“i’m so happy for you! do you need help? i know the perfect combination of spices for any type of curry! i can make a different curry for each day of the year!” she offered to help, putting her hands together with a pleading look like she was dying to talk about curry

you nodded again and her entire face lit up again, going off on a rant without taking a moment to breathe

she was so knowledgable on all types of curry! you took notes diligently, deciding on japanese chicken katsu curry as the meal for tonight

when you told her, she clapped her hands and giddily jumped up and down. it was honestly refreshing to see someone so enthusiatic about food!

“i’m sorry for randomly talking to you, but i just love curry! do you need help looking for the rest of the items?” she offered to help, already with an armful of the spices you needed and dumped them into your cart

you pondered, thinking as you looked at the girl. she was nice enough, and clearly wasn’t much of a threat if she was willing to approach a stranger without any discomfort

why not? you smiled, offering your hand out to shake as you introduced yourself. she took it quickly, enthusiatically shaking it up and down as she giggled

“izumi! glad to meet you!”

from that point forward, you two became best friends for life!

izumi was the life of the party and brought happiness wherever she went. not only that, but she was incredibly polite and kind! it wasn’t everyday you met a girl that was full of life and always determined to overcome any obstacle in her path!

izumi would go through anything and everything for her friends despite how busy she was 24/7. she juggled being the mankai director (which was babysitting 20 boys), helping other acting troupes, and cooking at night but still made time to see you at least every week

you weren’t surprised when you were encouraged to come over for a company dinner one night and saw so. many. variations. of curry set up at the table. like the other boys, you attempted to hide your grimace (but very poorly, you weren’t a trained actor like the rest of the entourage was)

“what’s wrong? are you okay?” izumi’s motherly instincts kicked in as she hurried to put her hand against your forehead. you had to pretend like you were coming down with a cold the rest of the week and forced the curry down your throat

(the boys secretly gave you water under the table, whispering advice on how to bear it and grin as they made up fake situations to pass your chair)

(the high schoolers just looked relieved to not be the victim that night)

(seriously... so. many. variations.)

(every time you were invited to a meet–up, you texted the groupchat named “stop the currian” to see if izumi was making curry)

(she always was. you still ate it because you loved her too much to say no)

but other than curry, izumi loved cooking! she was subscribed to sooo many culinary and baking channels on youtube. she loved sending you links with a follow–up text that said: “wanna make this tonight? i know you want to eat it! ;)”

(you complained about how it always ended in a minor food fight you had to clean up. you still let her in when she knocked on your front door with bags of groceries)

(after so many visits, izumi was beginning to be proficient at other forms of culinary like baking since you enjoyed it so much)

one time, you even convinced izumi to make her own youtube channel. you had set up a camera omi loaned on a tripod, acting as the best cameraman ever of course

(you had a clapperboard that had the production titled, “izumi is replacing bon appétit’s claire” with take 1 freshly written)

“you got this, izumi!” you encouragedly put a fist in the air, “fighting!”

izumi nodded cutely, wearing her favorite striped shirt with a pastel pink apron. she held a automatic whisk in her right and was already posing with a mixing bowl in her left, ready to demonstrate how to make your favorite dessert

(maybe you suggested the idea because you wanted food, who knows?)

counting down vocally, you watched as your fingers dropped down to a zero and the red light on the camera started blinking. it was go time, and izumi immediately got into action

“hello, everyone! my name is tachibana izumi and today we will be making—”

the camera fell off the stand as izumi’s whisk flew out of her hand and smacked the lense directly in the middle. a sickening thud echoed through the apartment as you two stood in shock, staring at the expensive camera with unease. it didn’t look... uh... functional?

you quickly put your finger on your nose since it was an unspoken rule that touching your nose automatically meant opting out. you were a second earlier than izumi as she gasped like she was offended

“i am not telling omi!” izumi freaked out, running over but the damage was already done. the camera definitely didn’t turn on anymore

(you and izumi bought the same camera that day and switched the memory cards) (omi raised his eyebrows at the sudden newness of his trusty camera, but didn’t say anything as he just took it and thanked you for bringing it back safe)

(yeah... omi definitely knew. but, he wasn’t too bothered to say anything about it)

(“izumi? what did you spend so much money on last month?” sakyo reviewed her financial statement, watching as she nervously sweat and glanced at omi. he just shrugged like he had no idea)

so you two stuck to mindlessly watching the cooking channel on the tv. it was the usual weekend: becoming insecure over the unreal and extremely talented kid bakers who made a whole 3–tier cake in two hours, making fun of america’s worst chefs when they didn’t know how to cut a chicken, and yelling at cheating cooks who were way too competitive on chopped

it was better that way, anyways. maybe going viral on the internet wasn’t meant for everyone. you still got your dessert, much to your satisfaction

(“yeah, yeah. it’s only because you’re my best friend.” izumi laughed, shoving the plate with extra servings as you stuffed your face. she just fondly rolled her eyes as you tried saying thanks with your mouth full)

(“gross!” izumi squealed, throwing the kitchen mitts at you as you fought back, nearly hitting her with one of the pastries. you already know what happens next. izumi stopped baking for you for a long time [a month] as punishment)

speaking of baking, izumi loved making the most ridiculous cakes you’ve ever seen in your entire life

on random days, she’d make the most creative cupcakes ever with individual designs with meticulous attention to detail

(izumi always had to slap masumi’s hands away from the white box she’d set aside specifically for you. he’d pout, hurt, wondering why she didn’t make any food other than curry for him)

(“masumi... you really need to look at other girls.” you remembered advising him, sympathetically patting his back as he angrily accused you of being in love with izumi, too! to this day, it’s still awkward on your end when you see masumi and he thinks you’re his lifelong competitor)

but on important celebrations like your birthday and anniversaries, her cakes were... something. they’d be the most delicious things on earth, but the design would be comically ugly. she’d put the most bare minimum art ever and write the words way too big and it wouldn’t fit. there were always misspellings. maybe it was a curse for being so well–rounded?

another fun fact was you and izumi were the ultimate power duo! whenever you two went to hang out in public, you always made sure some creep wasn’t staring at her and she did the same for you all the time

as friends, it was your job to make sure you two were as safe and sound as possible

(one time, an absolute douchebag tried to wolf whistle her and izumi had to stop you from getting into a fight in broad daylight)

izumi was way too nice. she was such a selfless person and often acted like the big sister you never had. she was always ready with the most agreeable advice and showed up with her arms open. she was so giving, it was easy to see why everyone loved her

but you liked giving back, too! (much to her surprise) you even tried your hand at making some new form of curry by throwing in random spices and calling it a day, but you realized she was the most critical judge ever for any type of curry

(you stopped making curry for her. she would narrow her eyes and push her imaginary glasses up like an anime character. it was terrifying, she always appreciated it but... you shuddered, izumi was scary)

once, you even rented that curry truck to come by for her birthday! you never saw someone look like they were this close to passing out from maximum happiness

(you even bought a director’s chair for her with izumi bedazzled across the back)

(she now sits in it to get that extra confidence boost before a big show)

but the most important gift that kept on giving was spending quality time with izumi when she needed it most

when the anniversary of her father going missing came back around, you were the first person at her room. with curry you knew she liked from that really one obscure place and all the time that day to make sure she way okay

(she was such a big sister! izumi always claimed she was fine and it was just another normal day, but you were always there to provide comfort she didn’t even know she needed)

you took time out of your day to help her with all her mudane tasks after you saw she once physically fainted from tiredness

(it almost gave you a heart attack the first time, but then you noticed tsuzuru also did that too so it must’ve been something in the mankai dorm air)

you then became a well known figure in the theatre community as “izumi’s best friend”

(you were not upset with that title at all, in fact, you hoped it never changed)

who knew you’d meet your best friend forever at a grocery store? over curry nonetheless?

(yes, you’re izumi’s best friend, but it doesn’t mean you’re exempt from the spices rant)

#tachibana izumi #izumi tachibana #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! headcanons #act! addict! actors! headcanons #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #izumi x reader #a3! izumi #a3 izumi

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hajimesh · 4 years ago

Text

loki’d

pairing: loki x reader

word count: 1.5k-ish

a/n: this is part of @marveltrumpshate 2019 auction. i feel so happy that i got to participate and i also want to give a big thank you to Katie, thank you so much for your donation! i hope you enjoy it♡

Masterlist

To say you miss the sun on your face and going out with your friends is an understatement. You are absolutely bored out of your mind and –to make matters even worse– you can feel your period approaching.

Pimples and cravings? Already here. Now it’s only a matter of time until you start feeling bloated.

The team has tried to keep themselves sane by having cooking classes (thanks, Vision and Wanda), play nights, and movie marathons. But what else can you do when you have an entire team of superheroes and enhanced beings with nothing to do?

Prank wars.

A bit cliché and childish but desperate times call for desperate measures. And here is where your good friend, Loki, comes in. He is the god of mischief after all, so it’d be good to have him on your team instead of an enemy.

He immediately agreed to your proposal when he heard who your first victim would be, he said something about a long-awaited vengeance but you tuned him out once he said he’d help. Both of you are currently brainstorming, trying to find the perfect prank for your target.

“We should trip him and make him stab himself” he declares proudly, puffing out his chest and the brightest of smiles gracing his face.

Your brows scrunch up, showing your disagreement. “That’s not a prank.”

“Well, I find it rather amusing.”

You make a sound similar to a snort which makes him turn his head towards you, a scowl on his face but then he notices the bag of food in your hands.

“What are you eating?”

“Food.”

He rolls his eyes but he chooses to humor you. “What kind of food?”

“Vegetables.”

At this, it’s his time to snort and you find yourself slightly surprised to hear him make such a mundane sound. “Candy corn is not a vegetable.”

“Says who?” you try to defend yourself as you keep chewing, which earns you a disgusted face from Loki.

“Uh, the alimentary pyramid.”

“He has a point” Tony butts in out of nowhere, startling you.

“Oh, screw you!” You yell and briefly think of throwing the food at him but then you decide it’s not really worth it.

After swallowing another mouthful you turn to Loki and stare at him. “No tripping and definitely no stabbing.”

He sighs and slouches down a bit, catching you off-guard for the second time today. It’s as if he's starting to behave like a human. Weird.

“Then what do you propose?” his tone sounds bored, maybe because you’re not agreeing with his ideas.

After a minute of deep thinking, your face lights up in realization making Loki look at you expectantly. In return, you smirk at him.

“I think I got it.”

* * * *

“Hey, Clint!”

Said man lifts his head from his pillow when he hears his name being called. He just had lunch so he’s in a bit of a slump right now. That’s why he decides to just reply instead of standing up.

“Yeah?”

He’s met with silence, no one answers back so he goes back to his pillow. But before he can close his eyes, his name is yelled again.

“What is it!?” His tone is now exasperated and again, no one replies back. “Ugh.”

He finally stands up from his bed and starts making his way to the door. But as he tries to walk under the door frame, his face collides with clear tape, making him momentarily blind and miss the rope lying on the floor.

“What the–”

His foot ends up trapped by the rope which hauls his entire body to the wall. Then, daggers come flying towards him and stab themselves on his clothes, trapping him completely.

“You just got yourself–” Clint hears your voice speak and then being interrupted by Thor’s annoying brother. “LOKI’D!”

Loki and you high five each other and, in his rush of excitement, he wraps his arms around your middle, lifting you from the ground and spinning around, giggling.

To say you’re shocked it’s an understatement.

Five seconds later he seems to realize what he just did and he lets go of you as if you burnt him. He hears a thump and then a groan, looking down he sees you lying on the floor rubbing at your backside.

Loki feels his cheeks warming up so he clears his throat and finally decides to look up, meeting the eyes of the rest of the team.

Big mistake.

Everyone has either a smirk or their mouths wide open, clearly thinking things they shouldn’t (in Loki’s opinion).

“Someone got a bit carried away, huh?” Sam’s teasing voice is loud and clear for everyone to hear, making you want to disappear.

Loki scoffs and looks away. “I do not know what you speak of.”

He hears some snickering and Sam’s reply. “Right, play dumb.”

“You idiot!” You say, angry at Loki since you’re still hurting from the way he t. You stand up and glare at him. “You could’ve just put me down, no need to throw me to the floor!”

“Ohhh, maybe he was just getting ready to pounce on y–” Tony butts in this time and you cringe at his comment.

“I was not!” Loki yells, interrupting him and everyone laughs out loud this time.

Tony shakes his head, still smirking. “By the way, you two came up with that prank, right?”

Loki stays silent and you raise an eyebrow, which makes them interpret your silence as a yes.

“Kinky.”

That’s it. You are ready to die from embarrassment. “Oh my god, oh my god–”

“Yes?” Loki asks and you scream internally.

“Shut up!”

A few team members start leaving the room while Loki’s face remains confused and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the situation.

You hear someone clear their throat and you lift your head.

“Will you let me go now?” Clint finally speaks and you facepalm.

* * * *

It has been a few days after the incident. You feel weird talking to Loki so yeah, you might have been trying to avoid him which resulted in failure, the lockdown doesn’t seem to be ending anytime soon.

The team has taken it into their hands to tease you whenever you are in the same room as him. Loki acts unbothered while you only glare at them and leave as soon as you can.

It’s around five in the morning and you find yourself wide awake, unable to sleep, so you decide to head to the common room. You gaze out of the window with a cup of warm chocolate milk in your hands. The moon still shines brightly which makes it unnecessary to turn on the lights.

Suddenly, you feel a presence that makes you tense-up.

“Hey.”

Loki greets you in a soft tone as if to avoid scaring you. Or perhaps to avoid waking up anyone? Who knows.

“Hi.”

He slowly makes his way to you, gesturing to the seat across from you as if asking for permission. You nod your head and he takes the seat.

“Are you upset?” He asks with concern and a bit of hurt hidden in his tone.

“Huh?”

He chuckles lightly, his gaze falling to his lap watching his fingers play nervously. “You don’t seem very talkative to me these days.”

You feel a slight tug in your heart and you sigh, realizing you haven’t been fair to him since that day. “Sorry, they make it quite uncomfortable.”

He hums, still looking down at his lap. “I’m sorry, I should not have done that.”

A little surprised by his apology, you stare at him and try to form the right words.

“Why did you do it, then?”

Loki finally looks up but his eyes continue to avoid your form, gazing out of the window this time just like you were doing a few minutes ago. “I–I don’t know,” he paused, his voice sounding indecisive. “I guess it was a reflex?”

Nodding your head, you accept his answer although you’re not entirely sure about what he means by that.

Ever since that day, you started looking at Loki in a new light. Sure, you knew he was attractive and his ‘I’m above everyone’ attitude kind of made you attracted to him but to be so blatantly teased in front of everyone and him doing that stupid twirling thing messed up with your head. You know there’s no way a deity like him would seek companionship from a mortal, everyone knows how high his standards are which left a bittersweet feeling in your heart.

“Will you forgive me?”

Your head snaps in his direction while your heart pounds wildly in your chest. “You’re apologizing?”

He shrugs his shoulders as if it was nothing. “You said it yourself, I make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s not your fault, it’s theirs,” you try to defend him. “Besides, I shouldn’t let it affect me.”

You play with the mug in your hands and then take a sip of your drink. The sky starts tinting itself with lilac and pink tones signaling the sunrise.

“Are we good?” He asks after a minute of silence, a hopeful look in those pretty green eyes of his.

You smile and nod your head. “Of course.”

His lips tug in a broad smile and then gives your hand a squeeze before announcing he’s retiring to his room.

You nod and watch him leave, your heart fluttering and you sigh.

It’s better this way.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

help me with a reblog or comment if u enjoyed it :)

loki taglist: @slytherinsassembletofightsith / @memmucci / @servamp-addict / @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 / @theworld-is-ahead / @crescent-night / @godhateskyleigh / @deathofmissjackson / @lokixme / @wegingerangelica / @marshyrebelcloud

marvel taglist: @for-the-love-of-the-fandom

#marvel trumps hate #loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odison x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #loki odinson x you #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki odinson x y/n #marvel imagine #marvel one shot #fluff #loki fanfic #loki fluff #loki fandom #archive.loki

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cordonian-literature · 4 years ago

Text

The Aftermath - Ch. 28

Private Moments

Summary: Maxwell and Rowan take the next step in their relationship, and Liam gets Riley to talk to him.

Word Count: ~4.0k

Warnings: none

*All characters belong to Pixelberry, except those that are unique to my story (I’ve also used some characters and fictional instances from Donna Tartt’s book “The Goldfinch”)*

Catch up here!

Tags: @captain-kingliamsqueen @gkittylove99 @lovablegranny @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @mom2000aggie @kingliam2019 @queenrileyrose @shanzay44 @cordonianroyalty @hopefulmoonobject @hopelessromanticmonie @cinnamonspongecake @kuladekiwi @twinkle-320 @iaminlovewithtrr @charlotteg234 @amandablink @texaskitten30 @tinkie1973 @louiseingram1208 @queencatherynerhys @pens-girl-87 @missevabean @ladyangel70 @sanchita012 @cordonianprincess @liamandneca @cordonia-gothqueen @pink-diamond13 @queenwalton @yourmajesty09

I’m not sure if the tags are working or not, but I hope I got everyone down! If you would like to be added/removed, please let me know :)

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

- Rowan -

After she had heard about Riley and Liam’s fight the night before, Rowan was almost sure that Riley wouldn’t participate in the Fox Hunt. But when she knocked on her friend’s door and Riley answered it with a tired expression— already dressed in proper riding attire — Rowan decided that it would probably be best if she left her friend alone for the day.

She went towards the kids’ rooms, hoping to help them get ready, but then she sees them walking down the hall with Liam behind them.

“Hi, Aunt Rowan!” Eleanor says to her. Liam gives Rowan a nod and walks away.

“Hey there, you two,” she responds to them. “Ready for the hunt?”

“Yeah,” Gabe says. “We had breakfast with Dad.”

Rowan forces herself to keep a neutral face; she was thrilled that Gabriel had finally referred to his father as ‘dad.’ But the kids’ faces tells her that something’s off.

“Everything okay between him and your mom?” she asks them.

They both shake their heads. “We asked Mama if she wanted to have breakfast with us but she said no,” Eleanor recalls.

Rowan looks away, upset that her friend was trying to distance herself from the person everyone was rooting for her to marry. But instead of thinking too much about it, Rowan tells the kids that it’s time to go get dressed.

Maxwell’s in the boutique already. He tells them that he told Riley he would take care of their outfits. After the kids get dressed, Maxwell pulls out an outfit for Rowan. She puts it on and examines herself in the mirror. Maxwell had given her an outfit that matched with his.

He then leads the group towards the stables. They pass by the front of the house, where Rowan notices Riley talking to Hana and Olivia, each of them with their own horses.

She hears the animals huffing before they even pass the doors. Eleanor and Gabriel race towards the ones that they practiced on yesterday, and Maxwell helps the kids bring their horses out.

Rowan glances around, trying to make a selection. She wanted to rush after the kids — Rowan didn’t really want to be around Maxwell right now. She had bad news, and didn’t want to tell him yet.

She feels his hand on the small of her back and has to force herself not to jump. He leads her towards a horse and tells her it’s name, but Rowan doesn’t hear him. She’s staring at Maxwell’s face, wanting to commit it to memory.

He notices her gaze is on him. “Everything okay?” he asks. The look in his eyes told Rowan that he was concerned for how she was feeling, but the joyous tone in his voice was still present.

She looks away quickly and focuses on the horse. “Yeah, just thinking about Liam and Riley.”

“Me, too. I thought they were doing so well, and then just...”

“Exactly. And in front of the kids?”

Maxwell frowns, and Rowan’s worry increases, as it usually did whenever Maxwell’s enthusiasm would falter. “I don’t think they meant to argue in front of the baby blossoms,” he tells her. “I know Liam’s worried. Especially since the Anointing of the Heir Ceremony is barely a week away.”

As was Rowan’s plane ride back home.

She decides to keep her mouth shut and started walking towards the stable doors. But she stops and reconsiders. If she didn’t tell him now, she would probably never come around to it.

Maxwell was fussing over his own horse, pulling it towards the entrance in Rowan’s direction.

“Hey, Max?” she tries to grab his attention.

He immediately turns to face her. “Yeah?” There’s that contagious smile over his face, and she’s scared to say something that would make it go away.

“I wanted to let you know... that I’ll be leaving for New York right after Gabe’s ceremony.”

His smile dropped and her heart broke.

It wasn’t that she wanted to leave; she had to. The time was coming for her to get back to her old life. To a life without Maxwell, or Riley, or the kids.

She couldn’t find a reason to stay. Sure, Maxwell was a reason, but Rowan wasn’t naive; she knew that someone of his position was expected to marry a woman of higher social status.

“But... but...” Maxwell tries to form the words. Suddenly his face lights up again. “Hold this for a second.” He hands her the reins of his horse. “Close your eyes. No peeking!”

She obeys. Rowan wanted to open her eyes and see what he was doing, but a moment later he tells her to open them.

Slowly, she does, and sees Maxwell kneeling down on one knee, a thin ring woven with strands of hay in his hands.

“Rowan” he begins, “I know we haven’t known each other long but these last few weeks with you were the happiest I’ve been in a long time. I used to have dreams of who I wanted to become or places I wanted to go... but for a long time I lost sight of all of that. I thought bringing Riley back would make everything go back to normal, but you were a big part of it, too. You’ve helped bring back the fun in my life, and I don’t want to risk losing it, or you, again. So... will you marry me?”

She looked between his face and the ring, but couldn’t get out the words. She wanted to ask him to give her more time to think about it, seeing that their relationship had barely started a month ago. But she would be lying to herself if she said that there wasn’t a part of her that felt the same way.

Maxwell’s smile falters a little, and Rowan quickly nods her head and falls into his arms to kiss him.

They part when they hear the stable doors open. Neville walks in, followed by some other Lords and Ladies. Maxwell and Rowan take the reins of their horses and walk back towards the front of the manor. Before they reach the crowd of people ready to go on the hunt, Maxwell gently grabs Rowan’s hand and puts the hay-ring on her finger.

“I promise I’ll get you a real one when we come back,” he tells her.

They giggle their way to the front of the crowd, where Liam and the children are ready to leave. Rowan looks around for Riley, but can’t see her. She notices the look of longing in Liam’s eyes, but it disappears, and he leads the court into the forest towards some mountains.

...

When they were on the mountainside, Rowan looks back at Maxwell, who had fallen behind in the group. He had told Rowan that he wanted to fill in his brother about the decision they just made. She notices a disappointed look on Bertrand’s face. While she wonders what about their engagement was making Bertrand so upset, Savannah walks up to her.

“Enjoying the ride so far?” the woman asks her.

“Yeah. It’s nice.” She looks at the green landscape below them, admiring how the leaves tilted in one direction when the wind blew.

After a long pause, Savannah starts again: “How are you and Maxwell doing?”

Rowan turns, wondering if Maxwell had told her. “Fine. Great actually.”

“That’s good to hear. It’s good seeing him like this again, so happy and enthusiastic.”

“Was he not like that before?”

“No, he was. But everyone was in a big slump after Riley left and they thought they wouldn’t find her again.” Savannah looks toward the front of the crowd, where Liam rides close to the children.

Rowan saw the kids give the man their full attention. One of the children would point to something, and Liam would point out another thing to them. She looked back at Riley again, who was engrossed in a conversation with Rashad. When she turns back to Liam, Rowan notices him glance back at Riley, that same look of longing in his eyes. Again it disappears quickly and he focuses on the children.

“Anyway,” Savannah pulls Rowan out of her observations. “How have you enjoyed Cordonia so far?”

“I never want to leave it!” Rowan comments.

“Are you going to go to New York any time soon?”

“You know, I planned to, but I don’t think I will anymore,” Rowan tells her. Without thinking she turns back again to see Maxwell, then hears Savannah give a bemused gasp.

“Are you and Maxwell...?” She leaves the question hanging in the air. Rowan didn’t want to spill the beans when there were so many people around, but she still leans towards Savannah to whisper that Maxwell had proposed barely an hour ago.

“Is that what him and Bertrand are talking about right now?” Savannah tilts her head in their direction.

“Most likely.” Rowan sighs. “I hope Bertrand won’t forbid it or anything.”

“Do you think he would do that?” Savannah asks.

“I don’t know. I hope not.” She looks down at her hands, tightly holding the reins. “I just thought that he’d rather have Maxwell marry a woman from the court. Someone higher on the social pyramid.”

Savannah raises her eyebrows. “Rowan, Bertrand married me. I was the daughter of a member of the King’s Guard.”

“Really?” Rowan asks.

“Yup. The Beaumont brothers, Liam, my brother, and I all grew up together.”

“Your brother?”

“Drake. We’re siblings.”

Rowan feels embarrassed for a moment. How had she not noticed, and why hadn’t anyone tell her?

“What I’m saying is,” Savannah grabs her attention again. “Bertrand shouldn’t have a problem with you and Maxwell. If he does, I’ll talk to him.”

Rowan smiles at her, grateful that Savannah had doused some of her worries.

After they’re lead through the mountain pass, the group reaches a small mountain village with cute little cottages spread around.

While Liam talks to the group of people assembled, Rowan takes her horse back in Maxwell’s direction. She turns to see people lined up with their horses. When Liam gives a shout, they all rush towards him. Neville reaches him first, and the crowd politely claps.

They’re led towards a table where a large variety of meats wait for them. Neville is served first, and after he gets his plate, everyone lines up to serve themselves.

Rowan finds herself behind Hana, who talks lightly to Rashad. She focuses on what they’re saying, trying to catch parts of their quiet conversation.

“Well, I...,” Rashad tries to speak. “I wished to speak with you about your husband, actually.”

“Oh?” Hana responds.

“Yes. I’ve spoken to Lady Riley, and I believe I can help you with your divorce.”

Hana is silent for a few moments. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“What do you mean? Have you two already...?” He trails off.

“No.” Hana lowers her voice further. “But... I am his wife. I’m supposed to support him unconditio—”

“Countess, you do not mean that? A man like Neville does not deserve a woman as fine and caring as you.”

After Hana doesn’t answer, he continues. “We can discuss the terms over dinner, if you wish?”

Rowan hears Hana say, “I would like that,” before Maxwell links his arm in hers and pulls her towards a table. They take a seat and eat, laughing with each other and those sitting around them. When she was about half-way done with her meal, Rowan sees Liam, his brother, and the children at the head of the table. She tries to spot out Riley, and can see her talking to someone away from the table. Again Rowan catches Liam staring at Riley, but for the rest of the evening Rowan focuses on Maxwell, hoping that Riley and Liam would at least try to find a way back to each other.

- Liam -

The night after the doctor’s appointment, Liam couldn’t sleep. Not only was he sick with worry — both about Gabriel’s health and the painting that ended up in his room — but he also felt guilty.

Hearing the fact that such a man had not only kept Riley away from him but had also sickened his son sparked rage in Liam’s soul. True, the man was gone and out of his way, but Liam was unable to douse his anger. He had only just met his son, yet Theodore’s actions could have taken the boy away from Liam again.

Riley had shown so much strength during the Social Season and Engagement Tour, but where had that all gone with Theodore was forcing her to stay away?

The guilt intensified when he remembered that he had spoken to Riley like that in front of the children. As he stared at the dark ceiling of his room in Applewood, he made up his mind that he would do everything he could to make it up to the children and to Riley.

They’d just recently come into his life. He dreaded the fact that he may have done something to make them want them to leave.

When morning came, Liam decided that he would treat the children with breakfast. They had been eating together these past few days, so Liam figured that there was no need to break this little tradition they had started.

He saw them while he was going towards their rooms. They were walking away from him, in the direction of their mother’s room. When Liam proposed they join him for breakfast, he didn’t fail to notice Eleanor’s hesitation to smile. He didn’t fail to notice his son’s forced “good morning.” Liam missed greeting Eleanor with a hug, and regret burned inside of him.

He told the two that he had chocolate waffles made for them, and Gabriel asked if their mother could join them.

“If she wishes,” he tells them, and Gabriel walks off to get his mother while Eleanor follows Liam into the small dining room.

Gabriel returns with news that their mother refused the offer to dine with them. The children’s faces fall before they return to their food, and Liam decides that it’s best he talk to them about what had occurred, least they fill their innocent minds with untrue assumptions.

“I’m sorry you both had to hear the argument between your mother and I last night,” he tells them. “I shouldn’t have spoken to her like that.”

“Were you mad?” Eleanor asks him.

“Not entirely,” Liam tells her. “I was more...”

He trails off. He wanted to say that yes, he was angry. Angry at Riley, Theodore. But he couldn’t tell two little children that he felt disgusted at the idea of Theodore, a man they had considered and believed to be their father for the entirety of their lives.

“Concerned,” he states. The children nod up at him understandingly.

...

While they were on the mountainside, he was glad that the children weren’t distant with him anymore, though he wondered how Riley was doing. Every time he looked back at her, he saw her engaged in a conversation with someone.

Even during the feast, he wanted to call her over and invite her to eat with them, but he never saw her grab a plate. She walked around the small village, conversing with whoever she passed. There were multiple times where Liam stared at her, hoping to find a moment where he could go up and talk to her, but she thoroughly involved herself with those around her, leaving no opportunity for Liam to speak to her.

It was clear to him that she was trying to avoid Liam, and the realization of that truth sent a dagger to his heart.

...

Once they were back at Applewood, Liam tried to catch her again, but she was nowhere in sight. After he had put the children to bed, he walked in the direction of her room. Liam didn’t want to intrude on her privacy, but he was desperate for a moment with her; the entire day he felt he had been deprived of her.

He knocks lightly on her door. Riley’s gentle voice rings out, “Come in.”

Liam turns the knob to find it unlocked. He opens the door to see her sitting in an armchair, her black shoes lined up beside it. She wore a pink dress that Liam assumed she had changed into after the hunt. The window was open and the summer breeze flew in freely. He stood in the doorway and stared for a moment, afraid she was just an apparition. She stares back at him.

Liam steps into the room, closing the door behind him. “Have you eaten?” he asks her, remembering that he hadn’t seen her do so during the feast.

She shakes her head.

“I’ll have someone bring you some tea,” he tells her.

“Don’t trouble,” she responds.

“Believe me, Riley, it’s no trouble.” He leaves the room again and makes his way towards the kitchen. Liam finds a servant along the way and requests a single cup of tea up to her room.

He goes back into her room, gently closing the door again. The gust of air from outside chilled him. Seeing that Riley hadn’t moved from her spot, he goes to build the fire, then sits at the footstool in front of her.

He puts his hand on her knee, but doesn’t caress her legs. Instead he trails his hand down, takes her feet in his hands, and follows their arches with his thumbs.

She lets out a cry. “Why do you persist with me?” she says. “What do you want?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Riley. Maybe just this.”

She shakes her head and rests her forehead in her hand. “I’ve been thinking about everything you said yesterday. I feel so stupid and guilty for the way I let everything play out... but honestly, I didn’t really have that much of a choice.”

After a few moments of silence, he speaks up, “I wish to apologize for the way I spoke to you last night. I was upset, but shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. My anger was never meant to be aimed at you.

He thinks again for a moment. She doesn’t speak or move.

“Riley,” he says, moving closer and taking her hands in his own. “I need you to tell me more about Theodore. You have to tell me why you choose not to return.”

She sighed and looked into the fire. Her eyes absorbed the red light.

There’s a knock on the door. Liam stands to answer it, finding the servant with a cup of tea. He takes it and thanks him, then offers it to Riley.

She takes a few sips, then rests the cup on her thigh. “There’s nothing to tell, Liam,” she says. “The life I had with Theo wasn’t one I wanted. I tried so hard to convince him to go to Cordonia, but he never agreed. He never let me come by myself either. Whenever I’d mention it, we’d have a terrible argument. Even if I didn’t mention it to him, he always had my passport hidden somewhere where I couldn’t find it so I wouldn’t leave. Sometimes I could find my passport, but then I didn’t know where Gabe’s or Ella’s was. I couldn’t leave them with him. I knew he wouldn’t do anything... but still.

“I couldn’t tell anyone either,” she continues. “I thought about getting someone involved, or contact the authorities, but I just wanted to keep everything quiet and keep my children with me. If I filed for divorce, there was a chance he’d ask for custody of Ella.”

She takes another few sips. “I tried to talk my mom into convincing Theo, but he had already turned her mind against it as well. He said the same things to her that he said to me when he made me leave New York with him. It was just negative things about you and Cordonia. I knew what he said wasn’t true. I bet he knew they weren’t true either... Theo’s one of the biggest liars I’ve met in my life.” She pauses and stares down into her cup. “I think I left with him because I was scared. Scared of not finding Tariq. Scared of what Theo might do if I didn’t listen to him. Scared of what the court would say, seeing that I was pregnant by a man that was engaged to another woman.

“And then after Regina had forced me to leave during Bertrand and Savannah’s wedding,” she continues. “I was scared that you wouldn’t forgive me. For not telling you about Gabe. For leaving without saying goodbye.”

How could he hold it against her now? Her motive had been to stay with her children. To keep them safe.

“Did you love him?” he asks her. “Even slightly?”

She thinks before responding. “Not really. We became close, but we didn’t give ourselves to each other. I didn’t because of what I felt for you, and I think he didn’t either because of the same reason.”

“You spent ten years with him,” he mentions. “That’s nearly a fourth of your life.” You have a child with him.

“That’s in the past, Liam. It wasn’t something I wanted, and it wasn’t something I would have chosen. If I could rewrite history and do it differently from the beginning, I would. I only stayed because there was no other way for me to bring Gabriel or Eleanor.”

He waits for her to drink more of her tea, thinking over everything she had just told him. He sees the tiredness in her eyes, and speculates at the pain that she felt those ten years.

Liam wonders, that if she had been able to return to Cordonia, and had returned with a son, would he have been upset at her for keeping him away? If it was any situation besides the one they were pushed into, would he have forgiven her?

“Thank you for telling me,” he says, feeling a bit more at ease. At least now she had told him everything. He didn’t doubt her feelings about Theodore, and hoped that she wasn’t upset with him about what had occured yesterday.

“I’m sorry for putting you through this,” she tells him. “I never meant to hurt you, or make our lives so complicated. You deserve someone whose life is simple. You don’t need any of this.”

How could she say that? “Riley,” he says. “You’re mistaken. I wouldn’t trade your complication for anyone else’s simplicity. Do you understand?”

She meets his eyes. She’s silent for a few seconds. “It’s difficult to believe.”

“Try,” he said, and took her hands to draw her up. Liam pulled her close to him so that he could feel her warm body against his, her hip bones pressed against his own. He lifted her chin with one finger and kissed her. She wrapped her arms tighter around him. Liam draws away for a moment, gazing deep into her eyes, which were a warm brown abyss.

He kisses her again, full of the certainty that nothing could make him move from that place, but she pulls away gently. He understands she’s tired, and bids her goodnight.

When he leaves her room to walk to his own, Liam feels overjoyed. He had managed to mend his relationship with Riley, though the guilt still burned his insides. Liam knew there was a lot he still had to do to make it up to them.

As he falls asleep, Liam tries to plan out what he could do with Riley and the children tomorrow at the jamboree. He looked forward to it, mostly because he was glad that he would have his little family with him.

#trr fanfic #maxwell x oc #choices trr fanfic #liam x mc #trh fanfic #trh fandom #the royal romance #choices the royal romance #choices king liam #trr fanfiction #trr fan fic #trr #choices liam x mc #playchoices #fanfic #choices fanfic #the royal romance fan fic #liam rys

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sailorbellewrites · 5 years ago

Text

No Limit

characters— seokjin x reader (ft. members of bts)

summary— you and jungkook don’t even look alike. how was seokjin supposed to know you were off limits?

information— one shot. bakery!au. features less puns than you would think. i am still very new to writing smut, so be kind in that regard. if this gets a lot of love, might be continued in the future.

warnings—adult language; smut; mild violence; awkward situations; super hopeless seokjin.

no limit—

So it starts like this:

Jungkook has been talking about his older sister moving to Seoul for a couple of weeks now and Seokjin doesn’t really believe him because in the 2 years that he’s known the college senior, he’s never mentioned having a sister, just an older brother. The young man only has pictures of his mom hung up in his apartment and all requests to see what the girl looks like have been met with a stern shake of his head. Taehyung has never seen the girl either, says Jungkook doesn’t like to talk about her and he doesn’t know why. He’s heard the girl over the phone though and says she sounds, “cute.” And while Namjoon is certainly right in saying it would be weird for Jungkook to make up having a sister, Seokjin thinks Jungkook is just a weird enough person to do it.

“She’s coming today, hyung,” Jungkook says one Wednesday afternoon, too much energy radiating off of him. He’s dressed much nicer that normal, no holes in his jeans and a long sleeved shirt covering most of his tattoos. He even got a haircut, something he hadn’t had in a while. Jungkook can’t stand still, constantly wiping down the counters and rearranging the cupcakes in the display case. Seokjin gets so sick of his constant movement that he sends him to the kitchen to knead dough. “Okay, but hyung, if she comes in you have to let me know.”

“I don’t know what she looks like.”

He sighs deep, the sound almost morphing into a whine. “She’s probably gonna be wearing something bright or she’ll just ask for me! Seokjin please!”

“Fine, fine. Now get to the back, you’re making everyone uncomfortable. You’re gonna make me go outta business.”

When you walk in wearing a bright red coat, Seokjin doesn’t make the connection. You look around the shop for a bit and Seokjin is stunned because goddamn you’re beautiful. It’s like a movie, the white lights of the shop forming a halo around you and everything slows to a crawl. You make it to the register, eyes widening at the chocolate donut pyramid displayed behind Seokjin and he knows he’s fucked. “Hi,” you say and, yup, Seokjin is super fucked.

“I... Hi-I mean… Welcome to Baking News! How can I bake your day?” And the recovery isn’t as smooth as he would have liked it to be, but you still laugh way too hard at the puns and his heart swells.

“You’re funny,” you state earnestly. “I’m actually not here to buy anything, though. I’m looking for my brother.”

“Your brother?” Seokjin asks dumbfounded, because he would definitely know if anybody worked for him that looked like you.

“Yeah! He’s tall and skinny. Oh and he has really big teeth. He kind of looks like a rabbit when he smiles.” All of the air leaves Seokjin’s lungs because there is no fucking way you are Jeon Jungkook’s sister. You guys look nothing alike—hell, it’s questionable if you're even from Korea, that’s how different you look. But then Jungkook comes scrambling out of the kitchen and over the counter screaming “Noona!” like he’s a character in a goddamn cartoon. And you wrap yourself around him like a python, hugging him so tight that his face turns red. “There’s my bunny boy,” you squeal and Jungkook plants a big sloppy kiss on your cheek and—

“Holy shit, he does have a sister.”

Okay, so you’re not Jungkook’s real sister. He’s just weirdly obsessed with you and keeps calling you his sister, but you’re not his sister. At least that’s the conclusion Seokjin comes up with because you don’t have the same surname and you don’t look alike and you tell him that you haven’t lived in Korea in over five years. You share that tidbit of information over coffee two weeks after your arrival, pink scarf wrapped gently around your neck in a way that Seokjin deems more flattering than it should be. You share a lot of information with him in the time that you’ve been back, always coming into the bakery to get the first sugary treat you can get your hands on.

“Bunny boy tells me you make the best lattes this side of Seoul,” you tell him one rainy Thursday morning, leaned up against the counter. The bakery is empty except for you two, the usual morning rush having filtered out quickly due to the inclemete weather. Seokjin snorts because you always call Jungkook ‘bunny boy,’ even on days like today when he’s not here and it’s so cute the way the words come out of your mouth. They tumble out so effortlessly, whereas Seokjin can’t go two minutes without stuttering over himself while talking to you. So he just snorts because it’s easier to make sounds than it is to form words when you’re staring up at him like he’s the most interesting man in the world. “Is it true, Jinnie?”

“Jinnie?” He asks incredulously, because you’ve never called him anything other than Seokjin.

“Cute name for a cute boy,” you say with a shrug, as if it’s obvious. It’s not

His mouth is moving before he can stop it. “Cute? You think I’m cute? Just cute?”

“Yeah, why?” You chirp out with a sly smirk. Seokjin’s heart stops—but his mouth does not.

“I’ll have you know, I’m not just cute. I’m handsome. In fact, I’m one of the most handsome men in the world. Have you ever seen a face more handsome than mine? More beautiful than mine? I know you lived abroad for a while and have seen a lot of attractive men walking around, but I promise you that this face right here is better. This face should be on billboards all over the world.” This isn’t the first time that Seokjin’s gone off on this tangent, of course. Everyone has heard it before, taking the comedy bravado for what it is and laughing him off. But when he says it to you, it feels like he’s marketing himself. He doesn’t want you to laugh him off. He wants you to believe him.

Your head lolls to the side as he speaks, as though you are fully taking his words into consideration, and when he finishes, you grin. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, Mr. Worldwide Handsome, do you really make the best lattes?” And Seokjin’s heart starts to constrict because even though your tone is teasing, your eyes are so sincere. He nods. You laugh. He’s fucked.

But he’s even more fucked because he can’t act on his attraction. Jungkook is scarily protective of you. He always seems to know where you are and who you’re with. He glares at any guy who looks at you for more than 10 seconds and shoves his hoodies over you if you’re showing too much skin. You mention downloading Tinder one Wednesday evening and the younger man nearly passes out. However, everyone’s accusations of him having a crush on you were met with immediate disgust because you’re his “sister.” In fact, he claimed on multiple occasions that you were the most despicable human being he’s ever met. “I pray that whoever I end up with is the exact opposite of my sister,” he mumbled one Sunday afternoon, frosting cupcakes in the kitchen. “She’s so fucking annoying. She doesn’t listen to anyone, no matter what they say. I don’t see how anyone could be attracted to her.”

“Ah, I don’t know man, I think she’s pretty cute.” Taehyung responded in jest, setting the completed cupcakes on a display pan.

“Stay the hell away from my sister you creep.” Jungkook all but growled out.

“Wow, the baby sounds serious,” Seokjin stated incredulously. “I didn’t know you could care about anyone other than yourself.”

“Shut up,” Jungkook replied, slightly embarrassed at being called out yet again for his so called selfish behavior. “She may be the worst woman I know, but she’s still my sister. I gotta make sure she’s well taken care of.”

“And you think I won’t do that?” Taehyung asked with faux shock. “I’m hurt.”

“Not a single one of you are good enough for my sister. She needs a doctor or a lawyer or someone super rich who can take care of her so she never has to work again. You guys all suck.” He stands up straight to admire his work before stating, with a frightening amount of cool, “If any of you guys tried it with her, I would kill you with my bare hands.”

So Seokjin tries his best to stay away from you. He attempts to keep his banter light, lessen his affection. He hopes to himself that you lose interest in the bakery, in the coffee, in him, but it’s difficult. You’re so easy to talk to. You think he’s funny, cracking up at all of his puns to the point of tears. When he winks at you, you smile so wide that he thinks your face might break. He falls harder for you every day.

It’s you that makes the first move though. It’s a balmy Friday night when you stalk in. Thirty minutes before closing, the bakery is empty except for two struggling rappers who loaded up on the discounted pastries that would otherwise get thrown away. You’re dressed up more than he’s ever seen you before, so much so that you look out of place standing next to the pastel pink sign touting the new peanut butter tira-miss-yous in your purple dress. “Well if it isn’t my favorite customer. What are you doing here so late at night?” Seokjin asks as you continue towards the counter.

“Bad date.” You mutter, before surprising Seokjin by pulling yourself up on top of the counter.

“Hey, who said you could sit up here? Didn’t anyone raise you with respect? That’s filthy! My sweets go up here.”

“I’m sweeter,” You quip and Seokjin chokes. You shift your body to face him a bit more. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Y-you—you can’t—Jungkook was right, you are disgusting.” He manages to stutter out, mind reeling at the thought of how sweet you actually were. “I have to clean that now. Get down.”

You ignore his request. “A pretty girl throws herself on a table in front of you talking about how sweet she is and you’re worried about cleanliness? Taehyung was right, you really are hopeless.”

He blanches. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sigh, unmoving. “So bunny boy sets me up on this date right? He says it’s with one of his good friends who really inspires him. Someone that has helped him out a lot. I get excited because I think that it’s you. I mean, you literally gave him a job. How much more help can he get from one person? So I get all dressed up and ready to go only to have someone else show up at my door. And don’t get me wrong, the guy was attractive but he wasn’t you. He didn’t even make a single pun the entire time when there were plenty of opportunities to do so. He was so boring, Jinnie. Like, what do business lawyers really do anyways? The guy told me he hoped I had a good time, but I didn’t. So I decided to come here looking for an actual good time.”

“I… what?” Seokjin asks, unable to accept what you were implying.

“Oh my god, hyung, she likes you!” One of the rappers screams out from his table near the window. “Stop being dense.”

“I’m not—” Seokjin begins to yell back, but you cut him off.

“Jin, would you like to see a movie with me tomorrow night?”

When he looks at you, he sees a hopeful expression. He imagines closing up the bakery early and walking with you to the movie theater. He imagines what kind of snacks you’ll like and wonders if you’ll share them with him. He imagines wrapping his arm around you and how well you’d fit next to him. He imagines pressing his lips against yours in the dark, tongues wrestling against each other as his hands traveled down your body. He gulps. “Uh… yeah. I’d really like that.”

Seokjin’s not good at being in a relationship. He’s had a lot of toxic relationships in the past, with a lot of cheating and mental stress. He’s spent the last three years filling the void with a lot of meaningless sex. On more than one occasion, former friends with benefits came storming into the bakery to scold him for his lack of commitment. He focused on himself a lot; on getting through culinary school, on perfecting his skills in the oven, on opening his own shop. He tells you as much on the fourth date, hand wrapped tightly around your own as you walk through a flower garden. You listen intently, nodding your head and adding “ohs” and “ahs” when appropriate. Then you sit him on a bench and kiss him hard, tongue dragging against the roof of his mouth before whispering against his lips, “I don’t care. I like you anyway.”

Seokjin is happy with you. He smiles for no reason during the day, sings louder in the kitchen when frosting cakes, cusses less when the chocolate doesn’t temper or the cookies burn. He feels lighter, knowing that come closing time he can be wrapped up in you. His friends notice too. Namjoon teases him about how much more cheerful he is, while Taehyung and Jungkook pry for more information. He offers them none, much to their chagrin. He wants to keep you to himself, afraid that if the others find out, they’ll ruin it for him. Especially Jungkook—though he thinks about the other man’s disapproval less and less as he spends more and more time with you.

The relationship progresses slowly. You go on a lot of dates, whispering in the back of movie theaters and stealing small kisses on street corners. Seokjin likes to hold your hand. He marvels at the way it fits in his own, how easily you are able to slide your finger through his as you talk about work or travel or a memory from your childhood. Seokjin likes to hear you laugh. You think he’s the funniest person you’ve ever met. He’s gone through a rolodex of puns to try and hear the bubbling sound that spills out of you. You laughed the hardest on the 7th date, plastic gun slipping from your grip at an arcade, when Seokjin tells you he wrote a dessertation on Sweetzerland in culinary school. You hug him tight, face pressed against his chest as you continue to giggle at his words. He thinks you fit well there.

You don’t sleep together until three months in—an eternity for Seokjin. He’s never had to wait that long, but he finds it hard to argue when you whisper, “not tonight,” in his ear. He always agrees, calming himself enough to make it through the rest of the date. He ends up jacking off to thoughts of how you taste in the shower. You’re the biggest tease when it comes to that—your taste. The casualness with which you insist that you are sweeter than any dessert he’s ever made always leaves him drooling. Eating girls out was never his favorite sexual act, but he thinks you’ll change that.

“You can’t—you can’t just say those sort of things!” He yelled at you once, during your tenth date at a sushi restaurant. The waiter threw him a dirty look, as did a much younger couple seated next to you. He’s always louder than he needs to be, but you’re the only person he’s dated who never complained. Instead, you rolled your eyes at him and swallow your food.

“Why not?”

“We’re in public.”

“I didn’t say anything bad.”

“Don’t lie. Don’t pretend that you’re innocent! I can hear you. I have perfect hearing. Doctor’s everywhere are impressed by it. You can’t get those filthy words past me.” He berated, making you giggle.

You slid your hand over the table to grab his, kissing the back of it gently. He can’t help but blush. “Don’t be silly, Jin. I never said what part of me tastes better than strawberries, just that some part of me does.”

“Which part then?”

“Why? You want to try it for yourself?” He threw his head back with an annoyed groan at your words, making you laugh even louder. The couple shushed you both, yet again, shaking their heads as though you two are the immature ones in that situation.

When it finally does happen, much like the first date, it’s on your terms. You’re sitting in his apartment, legs thrown over his lap as you listen to him complain about a mom who ordered a cake of a whale for her son’s 8th birthday only to show up expecting a Beluga whale and not a Killer whale like Taehyung had decorated. Suddenly you sit up, arms coming out to grab Seokjin’s face as you set a soft kiss on his lips. Then a second. Then a third. With the fourth, you up the intensity by slipping your tongue into his mouth. He shuffles his body slowly between your legs, refusing to let your lips part as he hovers on top of you. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him down as you grind your center directly where his dick sits in his jeans.

These types of makeout sessions have happened before; often right before you need to catch the train or bus back home. You always pull away after 15 minutes or so; that’s why Seokjin freezes when you whisper against his lips, “Do you wanna taste me?” He can’t formulate words. He’s thought about this moment for weeks now; planned a response for everything you could possibly say, but he’s coming up short. He’s sure he looks crazy, eyes bulging from his head. “Jinnie, say something.”

“A-are you… are you serious?” He manages to stutter out.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t—”

“Oh my god, take off your pants right now,” he yells in excitement, sitting up on his knees. Your laughter rips through the air as he fumbles with the button of your jeans, shaky hands pulling them down your thighs until they get caught at your knees. He huffs in annoyance, lifting your legs himself to get the now offensive fabric away from you. As soon as the jeans hit the floor, Seokjin drops down to his stomach between your thighs. You open your legs with a content sigh, making him wonder if you’ve been waiting for this moment as long as he has. He drags his lips lightly over your thighs before placing a kiss on the crotch of your panties. You shudder. He chuckles. “Promise you’re as sweet as candy?” He asks, voice unintentionally deepening as he comes closer to his target.

“Pinky swear,” you whisper. Taking this as his cue to move forward, Seokjin’s fingers gently ghost over the black fabric of your underwear before pulling the crotch to the side and exposing your core to the cool air. He takes in the fluid shapes and subtle wetness already gathering on your folds in awe, shocking himself with all the ways he could still find you beautiful. Closing the last bit of distance between you, he takes a tentative lick from the bottom of your slit to the top, the firm tip of his tongue pressing against your clit in the process. The action causes you to rock up, hands settling at the top of his head. “Fuck,” you whisper gently, the breathy sound going straight to his cock. He repeats the act once more, though this time his lips around your tender bud and he gives it a light suck. Your fingers thread through his hair tightly, guttural moan exiting your throat. Pride swells in Seokjin’s chest—he’s the reason you’re making those sounds.

“Jesus babe,” he murmurs, leaving open mouthed kisses on your thigh, “you’re even sweeter than candy.” You let an amused breath at his words, any laughter that would have bubbled up dying as those kisses reached your lower lips. “Can I take these off?” Seokjin asks, pulling further at your panties.

“Please.” With a bit more confidence than before, he moves to take your panties off completely. As he settles back down between your thighs, he sneaks a peek at you. You’ve relaxed back down on the couch, head leaned back on the armrest although your eyes never leave him. “Jin, please,” you whimper. Your words spur him on and he dives face first in your pussy, tongue working itself deep in and around your core. Soft whimpers turn to loud moans as he continues, only motivating him further. The need to make you cum becomes his only goal. “Fuck Jin, so goo—oh!” You moan out, jumping in shock when you feel his thick finger press against your entrance.

“Can I?” He asks, lifting his head up for confirmation that he can continue. With your rapid nods, he presses his index finger into you, sighing as he feels warm walls flutter and constrict around him. Then, as if another force has taken over his body, Seokjin surges his whole body forward to kiss you while he thrusts his finger at a steady pace. You readily welcome his lips against your own, not minding the taste of yourself against his tongue, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. “Do you—fuck you are tight—baby… think you can cum like this?” He asks between kisses, your hips starting to buck into his hand. You mumble out an affirmative, pressing yourself closer to him.

He loses track of himself in the moment, one finger becoming two, thumb circling your clit, lips sucking bruises into your neck as you start to make desperate pleas in his ear for more, more, more. You give no warning when your orgasm hits you, just tensing up against him as your walls clamp down hard against his fingers. He litters your face with small pecks as he works you through it, fingers slowing only when he feels you begin to come down from your high.

“Jesus Jin, you’re really good at that,” you remark in a small voice as he removes his fingers from inside you, aftershocks continuing to rock your body.

He can’t help the cheshire grin that settles onto his face as he lifts himself off of you to get a good look at your fucked out form; your eyes are so dilated that they are nearly black, sweat sits at the edge of your scalp and brows, and your shirt is bunched up around your chest. He wants to kiss you again, wants to feel your legs wrapped around his waist, wants to feel everything you have to give and then some. “Baby,” he starts, suddenly feeling constricted by all the clothes he is wearing and how hot the room has gotten, “I could eat your pussy for hours on end, but I am so fucking hard right now. Please don’t leave me hanging.”

“Fuck that’s hot… do you have a condom?”

“Bedroom, bedroom, bedroom right now, come on!” Seokjin shouts, jumping up and pulling you off the couch with him, leading you through the short hallway to where he sleeps nightly. It’s a flurry of movement between the both of you, hands making bold passes over newly uncovered body parts as all remaining forms of clothing are removed. He lets an uncharacteristically animalistic growl when you finally wrap a hand around dick, moving it up and down at a near glacial pace. “Faster,” he finds himself begging, breathing harder when you comply with his request. He lets it go on for a while further before he gently pushes you on your back underneath him, hand digging in the drawer of his bedside table as he searches for the pack of condoms he knows is there. However, his movements stop and his mind goes blank when he feels you reach a hand for his cock again and grind his sensitive tip between your still soaked lips. He’s reeling, knowing he could slip right in if he wanted to, if you let him, despite how irresponsible it would be.

“Seokjin, condom! Hurry up!” You whine out, as if seeing his internal dilemma. Your other hand claws at his chest to further get his attention, snapping him out of his reverie and back into action.

When he finally locates a condom, he’s nearly rabid. He tears at the package and slips it on with such roughness that a small part of him worries he might break it. The bigger part of him, however, is focused on how delicious you look underneath him and how delicious your pussy will feel around him. He lets out a small huff when he finally gets the condom on, lining himself up with your entrance. He wants to take his time, wants to tease you a bit, but it takes one drag of the head of his cock against your slit for him to forget about all of that. He pushes inside of you slowly, warm walls clenching around him when he’s fully seated inside of you.

It goes by faster than expected. Your body accepts him so easily, like it was made for him. You suck him back in each time he pulls out. You tilt your hips up when he begins to thrust harder, eyes rolling to the back of your head each time his hips meet your thighs. His hands roam the expanse of your body, gently squeezing areas that are softer than he expected and running blunt nails against your sternum before one of them snakes behind your neck and pulls you up to meet him for a sloppy kiss. It’s messy, more tongue than lips and it makes you clench even tighter than before. Seokjin’s not sure if you’re close, but he knows he damn sure is.

“Honey I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer.” He bites out, slowing down slightly as he lays you back down.

“Then cum,” you whimper back, though it sounds much more like an order. Hitching your legs up on his waist, Seokjin uses the last bit of energy he has to drill into you, chasing his orgasm until it crashes over him like a tidal wave. It’s the most pleasure he’s felt in months. All of his senses are overloaded as he cums, pressing deep inside of you. His hips stutter slightly as he milks himself to completion, feeling even more content when you run your fingers up and down his arms slowly.

It’s that sweet gesture that brings him back down to earth. He takes his time removing himself from you, unsure if he wants to leave now that he knows exactly what you feel like. Placing your legs off of his hips and shuffling off of the bed to throw away the condom, he quickly returns and flops on his back next to you.

“We gotta—we have got to do that again.” Seokjin finally breathes out, heart still racing. You curl up beside him, skin sticking to his own in a way that disgusts him slightly; yet, he still pulls you closer. “I didn’t make you cum.”

“You made me cum once.”

“But not on my dick.”

“I still enjoyed myself.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s an honor thing. You have to cum on more than my fingers.”

“Like right now? Or—”

“Don’t joke like that. My dick can’t handle it.” You giggle at his words and he feels something rising up in his chest that he can’t identify. Despite hearing all of your moans, whimpers, and whines for the past hour, he still thinks your laughter is the best sound in the world.

And later, when you start to drift off on his lap during a 90s movie marathon, Seokjin whispers promises into your skin that he’s never made before. You don’t say if you hear them, but relax further in his embrace.

“Oh this kid looks just like Jungkook.” Seokjin says one evening, sitting on the bed in your apartment. It’s the first time you’ve invited him in, having asked if he would spend the night because the bakery opens later on Saturdays and you want to sleep in with him. It’s such a cute request he can’t deny it. He thinks you’re so cute that it’s getting hard for him to deny you at all. He worries it will become a problem later, but he doesn’t dwell on it when your whole face lights up with happiness. Your apartment is quaint, with big white walls covered in pictures and knick knacks from your various adventures overseas. You float around the bedroom grabbing things for Seokjin—towels, extra pillows, a spare toothbrush—and laugh at him. “What’s so funny, huh?”

“That is Kook.”

“Really?” He takes the framed picture from your nightstand and looks at it more closely. It’s for sure you in the picture, just much younger. You sport messy hair and large t-shirt combo that would be embarrassing to most, but you’re holding on to a much smaller and skinnier kid with such excitement that it just reads as adorable. “Wow, you guys have really known each other for a long time.”

You let out an airy laugh of disbelief, placing the things on a chair placed in the corner of the room. “Since he was born.”

“Oh, so that’s why he calls you his sister,” Seokjin starts with a nod of understanding. “I thought he just had a crush on you or something. I didn’t realize that you’ve known him for so long. Your families must be really close right?”

You laugh again, but the tone is off. Seokjin catches it, but you’re crawling on the bed next to him and wrapping an arm around his back before he can question it. “Baby,” you start, voice light but edging on serious, “you know I’m actually bunny boy’s sister right? Like we’re really related. His family is my family.”

It’s a gut punch, hearing those words come out of your mouth. He isn’t sure how to process and he’s sure he looks like a fish as his mouth opens and closes as he tries to find something to say. He settles on, “What?”

“Jungkook is my little brother.”

“But you guys don’t even look alike.” He responds, feeling his brain short circuit. “You literally couldn’t be more different. And you guys don’t even have the same names. You can’t—it doesn’t…”

You sigh, unwrapping your arms from around him while shaking your head. “It’s complicated.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well for starters, we’re not blood related at all.”

“So you’re not siblings then?” Seokjin asks incredulously, because nothing makes sense anymore.

“Biologically no,” you stress, grabbing the picture out of his hands. There are red indentations on his palms from where he was squeezing it so tight. “But, legally speaking, we are siblings. All the paperwork I have will tell you I’m part of his family. But more than that, all of us were raised together as brother, brother, and sister.”

It really is a complicated story, Seokjin thinks as you explain your family history to him. Friends of friends, broken trust, being in the right place at the right time, and international trips brought you into the Jeon family. You never looked at Jungkook as anything other than family; Jungkook never knew you as anything other than his sister, biology be damned. “He never talked about you though,” Seokjin admits, head pounding from information overload. “Like ever. He only ever mentioned his—well your—brother.”

You roll your eyes at this information, but don’t seem surprised. “He was mad at me for a long time. He thought it was stupid that I left to try and reconnect with my bio family. Do you know he can hold a grudge for a really long time? He wouldn’t answer my phone calls for a year after I first left.” You let out a small sigh, flopping back on your bed. “We only really just got back to a good place. I think that’s why he’s been so clingy lately.”

Seokjin squeezes his eyes shut in frustration. “Ugh, Kook is really gonna kill me,” He mumbles, laying down beside you.

“Why would he do that?” You whisper, moving your body to curl into him. “He’s the reason I started dating you in the first place.”

“What are you even talking about?” Seokjin groans out. “Don’t say false things just to comfort me. It won’t work.”

“I’m serious. He’s like your biggest fan. He talks about you all the time. Hearing and seeing how much you cared for him meant a lot to me. It made me like you for more than just your looks. I wouldn’t have embarrassed myself in front of you so many times if I thought you were a bad guy.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Seokjin hums mindlessly, thoughts still a jumbled mess in his head from all the information he has received. One thing sticks out in his mind though. He turns his head to lay a soft peck on your forehead. “You know you never embarrassed yourself in front of me, right?”

“What are you talking about? I practically begged you to take me on a date.”

“You saved me from myself. I embarrassed myself way more. I could barely talk to you without becoming a mess and tripping over all my words.”

“I wouldn’t want you any other way. You’re my mess.”

“Oh my god, Jungkook was wrong. You’re the best woman in the whole wide world and you're all mine, mine, mine!”

“Kim Seokjin, you motherfucker—” Here’s the thing, Jungkook is Seokjin’s youngest friend. He plays the role of the baby well, to the point where Seokjin feels as though he’s raised him. It’s so easy to forget that Jungkook is not as young as he acts; he’s always so kind and affectionate. He’s also the hardest worker at the bakery, always coming in early and staying late to make sure everything is finished. However, the boy was so much stronger than he looked. He worked out 6 days a week for fun and described getting tattoos as a pleasurable experience. Of course he would be able to pick Seokjin up and pin him against the wall by his throat.

“Woah, woah, woah, calm down!” Namjoon shouts, running up to try and pull the younger man away. Jungkook does not relent, fighting against his friend to continue to try and choke Seokjin. “Kook, listen man! This is not the way to handle this!”

“He fucked my sister!” He screams and the accusation sounds so much worse coming out of Jungkook’s mouth, especially because it’s true. Except there is so much more than fucking that’s going on, but he can’t get the words out of his mouth to say that through Jungkook’s yells. “Thought I wouldn’t find out? Thought she would keep it a secret?” He spits out, still struggling against Namjoon.

“It’s not like that—” Seokjin begins, voice smaller than he anticipated, but Jungkook cuts him off.

“Bullshit!” Jungkook screams, voice cracking with rage. “I know you. I know how you are. You think you can just use my sister to get off?”

Now it’s Seokjin’s turn to be angry, with the thought of anyone only being with you for your body making him see red. “Do you really think I’m like that? You really think that I would hurt her like that?”

“Never stopped you before,” Jungkook responds sarcastically. “What did the last girl say again? Jin just wants a human fucktoy.” Seokjin winces at the words he once found humorous. The girl, a pretty florist he met at a bar, came in with the intent to tear him to shreds. She was met with indifference and laughter. He never realized how quickly her words would come back to haunt him. “You think my sister is a human fucktoy? Is that what it is?”

“Shut up,” Seokjin barks out, unable to think of you in that way.

But Jungkook is no longer fighting against Namjoon, content with his words bringing the pain. “You’re not good enough for her. You’ll never be good enough for her. I’ll kill you before I ever let you treat my sister like one of your whores.”

“That’s enough,” Namjoon orders, frustration painting his features. “This isn’t going to solve anything. Jungkook, you should leave.”

Jungkook scoffs, pushing Namjoon away from him. “You’re on his side,” he accuses, pain in his voice, “You think it’s okay that he’s fucking my sister.”

“I don’t think anything,” Namjoon stresses. “But fighting in our place of business is not smart. People can hear us out there and whether you like it or not, your outburst is gonna affect more than just Jin. This can be dealt with later.”

Jungkook is quiet, though he trembles with anger. Seokjin wonders, briefly, if the man will swing on Namjoon. However, Jungkook just shakes his head and states, “Fuck your business. I quit.”

“Are you going to fire him?” You ask over the phone that night, worry evident in your voice. You canceled your date upon finding out what your brother did. You told him good faith when he tried to set you up another date with a doctor he knew, hoping he would be happy for you. He was not. You said you had to talk to him, make sure you understood where he was coming from before you passed judgement. He was your brother after all.

Seokjin wants to laugh. He can’t. He’s miserable. He wants all of this to end, but he doesn’t want his relationship with you to end. He’s tired. “I can’t fire someone who quit.”

“He didn’t mean it. He’s going to apologize to you.”

“Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

But two days later, he finds you standing at his apartment door, Jungkook behind you looking at the ceiling in avoidance. Seokjin fights against his urge to hug you, to bury his face in the crook of your neck and plant a wet kiss against the skin that leaves you squirming and pushing him away from being, “gross!” He stares at you silently, but you smile at him like nothing is wrong. “Can we come in?” You ask sweetly, stepping in at Seokjin’s nod. Jungkook doesn’t move an inch, making you scowl. You turn to face the man Seokjin now knows as your brother and snap, “Get in here right now.”

The man obeys you, stepping inside of the apartment and shutting the door behind him. No one makes a move. Seokjin wants to choke on the tension. Finally, Jungkook lets out a deep breath and states, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” You say with a leading tone.

Jungkook clenches his fist, jaw tightening. “I’m sorry for choking you in the bakery. It was unprofessional of me to do so.”

“And?” You continue. Jungkook closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Jungkook!” You shout, causing the man to flinch, yet his silence continues. Seokjin watches in amazement as you reach your hand up to grab the younger boy’s ear and tug hard. Jungkook howls in pain, trying to pry your fingers away. You don’t let up. “I don’t care about your pride or your protection. You are going to apologize to Jin properly right now!” Jungkook whines loudly. You twist your fingers and the boy’s knees buckle. The scary beast who pinned Seokjin against the wall was gone. In his place was a child, weak and subdued. He wants to laugh, but doesn’t. He’s sure that if he does, it will come back to haunt him later.

“Alright, alright, I’ll do it.” Jungkook screams out. With a final pull, you let go. Jungkook rubs his ear lightly and huffs, glaring at you. You return his stare. With another sigh, he turns back to Seokjin and states, “I crossed the line. I shouldn’t have hit you or said those things. It was wrong… but—”

“No buts!” You shout out, hand reaching up again. Jungkook catches it and grasps it tightly in his own hand. He shushes you with a look that says more than Seokjin could ever guess. He drops your hand and you let it rest at your side with a sigh.

“Can you leave?” Jungkook asks you. “I just want to talk to him alone. I won’t—I will not put my hands on him. I promise.” There is a sincerity in his tone that Seokjin has not heard in a while. It gives him hope.

Your head rolls back and forth, as if weighing out your options before stating, “Ten minutes, Kook. You hear me? Ten. And if he tells me you so much as even threaten him, you’ll have a whole lot more to be worried about than your ear!” At his aggressive nod of understanding, you turn to Seokjin. “I’ll be right back, okay?” You state, before leaning up to give him a kiss on the cheek. Seokjin notices the way Jungkook’s jaw tenses at the open display of affection. With one more stern look to your brother, you exit the apartment.

There is a beat of silence before Seokjin suggests they sit down in the living room. It’s awkward. Jungkook has been in this room before, even passed out there a time or two; but he’s as stiff as a board when he sits on the couch. He refuses to look at Seokjin, eyes trained on the coffee table in front of him. His breaths are measured and he opens and closes his mouth a few times as he decides what to say.

Finally, he speaks. “You don’t seem to understand that she’s my sister. My only sister, Jin.”

“I understand th—”

“You don’t. You don’t understand. I know I’m younger and you think I act like a kid, but I’m not. Not with her. I’ve spent my whole life protecting her. People always try to take advantage of her because… I don’t know. So many reasons.” Jungkook stops, struggling for words. He takes another deep breath and finally looks at Seokjin. “When we were younger, boys would bully her for being adopted. She would act like it didn’t bother her, but I could see that it did. I must have got into twenty fights making sure they kept their mouth shut when it came to her. After everyone, whether I won or lost, she would always be happier. And that was all that mattered. When she moved away I was so angry because who was going to protect her out there? Her bio family is shit. They never wanted anything to do with her. Then she started dating this guy who cheated on her and I couldn’t even get to him and I—” He stops again, having worked himself up. “I want her to be happy, okay? I don’t want her to be sad anymore.”

Seokjin is shocked. He’s never heard Jungkook speak so seriously and with so much passion. His eyes are glassy, tears clearly threatening to spill over. He looks ragged. There are dark circles under his eyes. He’s not even holding himself up properly anymore, body limp in the seat. It’s clear this has been weighing on the boy and Seokjin feels a wave of guilt wash over him. This isn’t what he wanted to happen at all.

“I’m sorry,” Seokjin states, breaking the silence, “For not telling you. For letting it get this far. As your boss—no, as your friend, I should have let you know.” Jungkook nods, swiping at his eyes roughly. “I do… I do care about her a lot. I don’t look at her like… if I only wanted her for sex, I would have stayed away.”

“Do you… do you love her?”

“I…” Seokjin hesitates. He’s never thought about it really, loving you. He’s never even thought about love in general. For years, he didn’t think he was capable of loving someone romantically. But when he’s with you, everything feels like it’s in its proper place. “I think—I do. ”

Jungkook hums in response, throwing his head back on the couch and really relaxing for the first time since he stepped through the door. “She loves you too,” Jungkook says as though it's a hard fact. Seokjin feels his throat tighten at his words. It’s been a long time since he’s been loved. “Like a lot. That’s the only reason I’m here… ”

“I won’t hurt her.” Seokjin says adamantly, hoping he sounds as sincere as he is.

“You better not.” He mutters. There is another beat of silence before Jungkook meekly asks, “Can I get my job back?”

“Ask Namjoon.”

“Fuck!”

So it ends like this:

After many apologies, Jungkook gets his job back. He’s put on samples duty for a month, standing outside of the bakery with a new pun-filled sign wrapped around his neck everyday. He hates it, especially when you show up to snap a picture and post it on your Instagram. Namjoon reposts one of them on the Baking News SEOUL account and it becomes the most liked picture on the whole page. You and Seokjin howl with laughter when you see the numbers, much to Jungkook’s annoyance. He still doesn’t approve of the relationship—at least, not completely. He rolls his eyes every time he sees a kiss or a hug; he insists you don’t stay in the bakery long, shoving you out of the door after five minutes because he’s sick of seeing you flirting with his boss; he scoffs when you come in more dressed up than usual for date nights. Yet, he makes sure Seokjin knows what types of flowers you like getting on your birthday and what your ring size is, “because that’s information you’ll need sooner or later.”

On Sundays, Seokjin closes the bakery early and brings you to the kitchen. He stands behind you, hand on your hip as he instructs you on how to ice the practice cakes he baked for you earlier. He knows you won’t do it perfectly, knows you’ll eventually dip a finger in the frosting to try it for yourself, knows you’ll try to get him to do the same and put some on his face when he refuses. It might start a food fight that will take too long to clean up; might make him bend you over the counter and fuck you until your moans reverberate off of the walls. Regardless, it always ends with you kissing him all over his face, exchanging soft “I love yous” until you’re ready to go home. Seokjin thinks he’s okay with both scenarios; thinks he’ll be okay with both for a long time.

#seokjin senarios #bts scenarios #jin scenarios #kim seokjin #namjoon #taehyung #jungkook #this took forever #goodness gracious #sailor belle writes #seokjin smut #jin smut #bts smut #au: baking news

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