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cheesus-doodles · 3 years ago

Note

You truly are his simp- Winky Wink

Also, here to vomit another brain rot for romantic(?) Yandere stuff for Izana cause that’s how much you love him. This one takes place in the future where Izana took over Toman along with Kisaki. they are probably real yakuza at that point in time, so they probably gonna open a few companies or two as a cover for their shady business. The reader worked at one of those company and Izana take interest in them whether for their personality, looks, or both, so he harassed her(sexually or not, it’s up to you,boss). The reader could not take this shit anymore so they wanna quit before my man Izana pulled his smartphone and talked to his lackeys ordering them to kidnap the reader right in front of them, telling them their personal info from how they look like to their home address. After that he threatened her like every yakuza would.

i wear my Baji simp badge proudly Winky Wink anon - proudly i say - and i like this premise + i need more Izana love, so Izana get hcs here, gonna have to start a yandere Izana tag sooner or later after all

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Masterlist

tw: afab reader, yandere, violence, sexual harrassment

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Innocent Bystander with Yandere Izana HCs

you started off as probably just someone Izana bumped into while out and about

literally bumped into, you know he really doesn't care that he walked into someone, would usually just continue walking on in a straight line and let Kakucho handle the offender

but what catches his attention would be your eyes - brimming with life and emotions, the complete opposite of his blank, empty violet eyes

it was almost like reading an open book, the sincerity of your words clear as day on your face as you repeatedly apologised to him, before you quickly bundled up whatever you had dropped - something he didn't even notice beforehand - and then rush off

it wasn't something he see very often, if not at all, not with the kinda of business and dealings he handles

would probably be pretty shocking for Kakucho to see the usually unflappable Izana actually move aside to give way to you as you ran past, though it would be more so that he could follow you with his eyes rather than common courtesy

this tanned boy would probably be rather confused of the way he is feeling even if his face showed no emotions, like what is this warm feeling spreading in his chest, why did he feel sad that you were leaving

just kinda stand there wordlessly and watch you until you disappeared into the crowd, Kakucho having to step in frantically call off the men that were starting to move to take care of the person that had the gall to walk into their boss - having been Izana's right hand for as long as him, he thankfully could guess the next course of action

Izana would probably never ask or even breathe a word about the new emotions that he was feeling, but would not bother with disguising his interest in you - he wanted to see those doe eyes once more

its around this point that Kisaki would hear about Izana's sudden interest in a random girl, and no doubt he would be very confused, since the tanned boy had never displayed any interest in pursuing romantic relationships, but if Izana wanted you, then he would get you

and Kisaki would pull the strings necessary to get you to his side as soon as possible

tracking you down would be difficult with a very vague description of you to go by, but once Kisaki gets his hands on the CCTV footage from the nearest shop - an easy task if you literally run the underworld - its just a matter of hours

and the next day, they had tracked you down to, of all places, a cafe that is part of a chain they use as one of many front companies for their more unsavoury businesses

you were just another college graduate looking for a job, and this cafe position was supposed to be just a temporary job for you to get by

and scrap by you did, with the cafe pay being just enough to keep you afloat

to think that you would fall into his hands this easily would be something that pass through Izana's mind when he strolls in and orders a coffee, just like any other customer would

and you treated him just like an ordinary customer as well, greeting him with those bright, genuine eyes and that soft smile that made his heart skip a bit, taking his order and passing it on to, much to Izana's irritation, a male colleague of yours

absolutely unacceptable that you were not only talking to, but working alongside other guys?

someone's not leaving the cafe at the end of the day

actually no one's leaving that cafe alive, save for you, but he have Kisaki deal with the clean up later

for now it was to make sure that you got into his hands safe and sound - unlike much of his other businesses where he barely blinked at a cold body hitting the floor, Izana couldn't quite bare to think what would happen if the same thing happened to you

some bruises and what not to get you to behave would be probably be okay though

honestly, Izana doesn't do much except look at you for a bit, take his coffee and leave - he already has all the information he needs, and more importantly, he only just realised how much he was looking forward to seeing you again

that kindness you seemed to bathe each and every of the unworthy scum you called a customer for just the bare minimum to get by - it should be reserved only for him

a king needed a fitting queen after all

your manager looked extremely nervous the next day when you got to work, standing next to a well dressed man with a large scar that started from beyond his hairline and crossed one blind eye, and a man with shaggy white hair

your customer from yesterday, you recalled, as you cautiously approached, your manager bumbling to introduce the two men, Kakucho and Izana, as the owners of the chain of cafes

he was all but ordered to leave after that introduction, tail tucked between his legs as he scrambled into the back kitchen

of course, what you wouldn't know is that that piece of trash would be dragged off to a warehouse and disposed off within the next hour, but that wasn't information you needed to know

what you did understand was that they were scouting you to be their personal barista, Izana being highly impressed with your service - and the number that they were offering as a salary literally had your eyes watering with the number of zeros behind

no doubt you didn't want to be a barista forever, but with that kind of money in talks, you thought that you wouldn't mind taking that job for a few months, maybe a year tops, and then trying your luck again with the market

plus Kakucho seemed like a decent guy, very professional and respectful, and they even had a legitimate contract and all, even if Izana was a little creepy with those large, blank eyes

unknown to you, the money had just been a lure, and now with the trap baited and you willingly walking into his hands, it was time to catch his prey

would start off like any other job, you turning up in the most professional clothes you could dig out of your old, shambling wardrobe, neatly pressed, only to instantly feel out of place in front of the enormous skyscraper and its luxurious lobby

mumbling to the security guard that you wanted to go to the top floor didn't seem to help your case, the man in the tuxedo only shooting you a suspicious look and demanding to see verification of your claims

lucky for you, it seemed that at least he took pity on your trembling form and watery eyes enough to make one phone call to the top, to which after some exchanged words, he instantly sat up straight, apologised furiously and personally escorted you to a private elevator in the back

which somehow seemed even more extravagant, with its shiny black granite floors and what not

were the only two buttons actually covered in gold?

the ride was awkward and silent, and you couldn't stop your knees trembling as the lift came to a stop

but at least it was a familiar face that greeted you at the top, Kakucho having come to pick you up from the lobby and bring you to your workstation, where Izana was already waiting for his morning brew

the workstation was larger than your cafe and the shop next door combined, yet the machines were familiar, you taking his order with your usual smile, your body basically on autopilot as you whipped out the same order from back in the cafe

empty eyes followed you as you whirled around with ease, the layout being exactly the same as you were used to

and the more Izana bathed in your gaze, the more he was certain that only he was worthy of it - that you deserved the best that life could give you, and of course that would be being by his side

love - that was what a quick search online told him - he loved you

and that meant that you had to love him back as well

or rather that meant he had to ensure that you loved him back

everything about you started to seem more and more perfect in his eyes - your gentle tone when you ask him how his day was, the worry in your doe eyes when you handed him his fourth cup of coffee, or just your overall innocence next to his tainted self

no one else was worthy, was the only conclusion he reached, day after day, and he would make sure no one else had the luxury of interacting with you

the guard at the lobby was suddenly switched for a female guard, who only shrugged when you asked where the man who helped you was

and a few days was all it took for the harassment to start

it would begin with just seemingly innocent questions about your background, your life behind becoming a barista

and it was always Izana that did the talking, Kakucho seemingly content with just standing behind and listening, occasionally leaving to take a phone call

and you were always invited to eat with Izana, and sometimes you accepted, sometimes you declined, feeling uncomfortable with just rich everything seemed to be

he always insisted regardless

but all of a sudden, everything seemed to just be turned up a notch

Izana starting to intrude into your personal life, asking if you were seeing anyone, if you had a boyfriend, a lover previously

what were you wearing, what he thought you should wear

and then being ordered to change into a specially prepared uniform one day, one whose shirt seemed all too tight, and whose skirt was way too short

yet your requests for changes were denied again and again

and Kakucho just kept watching, silently analysing if you were staying truthful to his boss

day by day you became more and more uncomfortable, the smile on your face becoming more and more strained as Izana started to make his moves, insisting on cuddling up to you, lying on your lap when he wanted to nap

to Izana, it wasn't weird, it was what lovers did after all, and you were already his in all but name

so it came as a nasty surprise when you one day turned up for work with your eyes red and puffy

Izana grabbing your face with uncharacteristic anger, soft yet dangerous voice asking you what happened, only to have you voice your desire to leave, just two months into the job

you didn't elaborate, but Kakucho had already seen this coming miles away - knowing that the root cause was Izana being too eager, too anxious to mark you as his

and he had already briefed both Kisaki and Izana on the possibility of you trying to break your contract and leave, as well as the steps that he had taken to prevent this, though Izana was reluctant to seat through that particular meeting

but it seemed that all paid off, when Izana simply pulled back, retrieving his phone, and telling someone over the phone that it was a go

what was a go?

apparently something related to you that is, the tanned man holding up his phone to show a picture of you

a picture of you half-dressed in your room at home

a swipe to the next picture had someone taking a picture of them in your house, sitting at an extremely familiar table, holding up a picture of your family to the camera

fuck

in an almost casual tone, Izana told you as he tugged you to his favourite spot on the cushy sofa, that if you left him and broke your contract, he'll have his men kidnap you right there and then

it was tossed out almost like any other sentence, an offer for lunch, an offer for an escort home - you missed it the first time, blankly letting him pull you over and lie in your lap

and they were sure you heard it when you finally processed what was said and your face just went ghostly white

mumbling something about needing to get away, to get to the police, only for Izana to laugh that humorless laugh of his, reaching up to squeeze your cheeks together

informing you that the police couldn't help you now, not when you were involved with Toman as deeply as you were, and it was only then that you realized exactly who the two men standing in front of you were

only to look up and see the man with the golden hair that just exited the lift, one that you recognised from the newspapers, wiping some red substance off his hand disinterestedly on a hankerchief

just what did you get yourself into?

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branwendaughterofllyr · 2 years ago

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Branwen reads ASOIAF (again) - AGOT Daenerys I

Alright, fam. Confession time. The first time I ever read AGOT, I loved Dany. She was absolutely my favourite character, and I would skip ahead to her chapters to find out what happened next. As I continued through the series, I absolutely believed that Dany was hero. A complicated hero, with flaws and mistakes, but still fundamentally a good person who was going to pull through in the end. And then I read ADWD.

And, uh, Dany does not come off well in ADWD. I can’t remember if it was when the bones of the child eaten by Drogon was brought before her, and she didn’t really seem as bothered by as it as I was, or if it was when she’s wandering in the grasslands, and committing to “fire and blood,” and “dragons plant no trees�� that made me go “oh, she’s a villain now, isn’t she,” but I definitely remember having that moment. Yeah, I was more than a little upset, and on the second go around, all I could see in AGOT was how her descent begins early.

I still think AGOT Dany’s story is so damn compelling, and I will always have soft spot in my heart for baby Daenerys, but I’m going to be real about the darkness that leads to that realization moment I had in ADWD about where she’s headed. Okay? Okay.

So here we are, at the beginning once again.

Viserys is showing off Dany’s fancy new dress to her, a fine smooth cloth, gifted by Illyrio.

She could not remember ever wearing anything so soft. It frightened her. She pulled her hand away.

It makes me very sad that the first emotion we ever see Daenerys experience is fear. And it’s made clear from the start, that she's not had a very happy life so far.

“Is it really mine?” “A gift from the Magister Illyrio,” Viserys said, smiling. Her brother was in a high mood tonight. “The color will bring out the violet in your eyes. And you shall have gold as well, and jewels of all sorts. Illyrio has promised.

Illyrio is a liar, and Viserys seems to be the only one who doesn’t realize. As a side note, we are already introduced to how unusual the Targaryens look, starting with the purple eyes. I don’t know about the rest of you, but that sounds like it would be a little odd to encounter in person. Just saying.

Tonight you must look like a princess.” A princess, Dany thought. She had forgotten what that was like. Perhaps she had never really known.

I mean, she really hasn’t. She’s spent her entire life moving from place to place, reliant on the good will of others. She has no idea what it means to actually be a princess, or to be much of anything.

“Why does he give us so much?” she asked. “What does he want from us?” For nigh on half a year, they had lived in the magister’s house, eating his food, pampered by his servants. Dany was thirteen, old enough to know that such gifts seldom come without their price, here in the free city of Pentos.

Dany is only a kid, and she already knows how this world operates. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, especially in the Free Cities.

Which, ah, I hope that she remembers later. Something, something, ships two books from now.

“Illyrio is no fool,” Viserys said. He was a gaunt young man with nervous hands and a feverish look in his pale lilac eyes. “The magister knows that I will not forget my friends when I come into my throne.”

Yeah, I’ll buy into the theory that Viserys has syphilis and it’s contributed greatly to the brain rot. I can see it. Or maybe he’s just regular Targaryen crazy. Or both.

And Viserys is right. Illyrio isn’t a fool. Which is exactly why he’s not banking on the skinny weird kid with weird eyes.

Dany said nothing. Magister Illyrio was a dealer in spices, gemstones, dragonbone, and other, less savory things. He had friends in all of the Nine Free Cities, it was said, and even beyond, in Vaes Dothrak and the fabled lands beside the Jade Sea. It was also said that he’d never had a friend he wouldn’t cheerfully sell for the right price. Dany listened to the talk in the streets, and she heard these things,

So, I just have a question. Who exactly is Dany talking to that she hears these things? There’s for sure gossip about Illyrio and how shady he is, I’m just curious about who Dany would be hearing this from at this stage. I guess the servants. It’s really not that important, but I think we’ll make note of the fact that baby Dany actually pays attention to what’s going on around her, and tuck that away for later.

Also, Illyrio has his fat fingers in all the pies. Can’t wait for that payoff. Spices, gemstones, and dragonbone, and other less savory things feel like they could be references to other things and people, but I doubt it, lol, and I’m not going to figure it out.

but she knew better than to question her brother when he wove his webs of dream. His anger was a terrible thing when roused. Viserys called it “waking the dragon.”

Oh boy, oh boy. She knows better than to question Viserys when he weaves his web of dreams. Web of dreams. This feels very significant, beyond just characterizing Viserys. Let’s put a pin in that.

Is this entire chapter just going to be me saying “That seems significant” and moving on? Yes.

But also we establish very early the connection between anger and dragons. Specifically with “waking” a dragon and rousing anger. I’m sure this will in no way be relevant later.

And Viserys is an abusive little shit, and Dany needs an actual adult around.

Her brother hung the gown beside the door. “Illyrio will send the slaves to bathe you. Be sure you wash off the stink of the stables. Khal Drogo has a thousand horses, tonight he looks for a different sort of mount.”

NO, not that adult.

Viserys is literally selling Dany like a horse, my god.

He studied her critically. “You still slouch. Straighten yourself.” He pushed back her shoulders with his hands. “Let them see that you have a woman’s shape now.” His fingers brushed lightly over her budding breasts and tightened on a nipple.

EW EW EW EW.

Will people in these books stop molesting little girls??????? If I had to read that again, you do too.

“You will not fail me tonight. If you do, it will go hard for you. You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”

Leave her alone!

We’re going to keep making notes of whenever “wake the dragon” comes up. For reasons.

It’s so clearly tied into her messed up childhood, and we’re going to have to unpack that, since Dany clearly doesn’t.

Her brother smiled. “Good.” He touched her hair, almost with affection. “When they write the history of my reign, sweet sister, they will say that it began tonight.”

I mean, the history of a reign certainly begins tonight. Just not yours.

When he was gone, Dany went to her window and looked out wistfully on the waters of the bay. The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. Dany could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires and the shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo’s manse.

Alright, what I am looking at here.

Dany went to her window and looked out wistfully on the waters of the bay.

I’m also going to start taking notes of Dany’s connections to water, especially large bodies of water like this. I don’t think that this line has any particular significance in and of itself, but Dany does have a lot of large bodies of waters at certain turning points in her life, and I’ll count this as one.

The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the setting sun.

Ah, square brick towers, you say? Black silhouettes against a setting (red) sun, you say?

I wonder if this is at all relevant to anything. Brick and black and red, against a setting sun. Hmmmm.

Dany could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires

Night fires and red priests. Interesting that these make an appearance in literally her first chapter. (Also, fire and singing. Feel like I should also make another of that.)

the shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo’s manse.

So, I think there are two things going on here. One has to do with Dany herself, who is pretty much trapped by her past, both her personal past and her familial legacy, and her refusal to see how that influences her future later on. _If I look back, I am lost. This also feels like it might have something to do with Arya, _a barefoot child in rags, with no past and no name. (Also maybe Viserys, who ends up in rags as the “sorefoot” king. Eh, I’m not committed to that, unless it’s also foreshadowing for Dany as his parallel.)

This entire paragraph of Dany looking out through a window, could be read as looking out into her future, with added Arya as no one foreshadowing. Hmmm.

The history of her reign really did begin tonight.

Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills and flowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose amidst magnificent blue-grey mountains, and armored knights rode to battle beneath the banners of their lords. The Dothraki called that land Rhaesh Andahli, the land of the Andals. In the Free Cities, they talked of Westeros and the Sunset Kingdoms.

Alright, lets start keeping track of what Dany thinks of the Seven Kingdoms. Westeros as the Sunset kingdoms comes up pretty much exclusively in Dany’s chapters (at least until Tyrion makes his way over to Essos.) Sunset and setting suns come up lot with Dany, and Westeros is very much associated with it in her story. Is this significant? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But also look at how romantic her view of the Seven Kingdoms are. I see the Crownlands (green hills), the Reach (flowered plains), the Riverlands (great rushing rivers), possibly Harrenhal (towers of dark stone), and the Vale (magnificent blue-grey mountains). I think that the omissions of Westerlands, the North, and Dorne might indicate something, but probably not. I think the point is to establish how romantically she thinks of Westeros, especially with the knights under the banners of their lords.

Her brother had a simpler name. “Our land,” he called it. The words were like a prayer with him. If he said them enough, the gods were sure to hear. “Ours by blood right, taken from us by treachery, but ours still, ours forever. You do not steal from the dragon, oh, no. The dragon remembers.”

Blood right, huh? Taken by treachery, huh? “ours forever”, huh?

Crazy ramblings about right by blood, and treachery. The true sign of peak mental health.

The dragon remembers. What does the dragon remember? An excellent question. Perhaps it’ll be answered later.

And perhaps the dragon did remember, but Dany could not. She had never seen this land her brother said was theirs, this realm beyond the narrow sea. These places he talked of, Casterly Rock and the Eyrie, Highgarden and the Vale of Arryn, Dorne and the Isle of Faces, they were just words to her. Viserys had been a boy of eight when they fled King’s Landing to escape the advancing armies of the Usurper, but Daenerys had been only a quickening in their mother’s womb.

Again, Dany doesn’t know all that much about Westeros, she’s never been there and only knows what the extremely stable Viserys has told her.

Casterly Rock, the Eyrie, Highgarden, the Vale of Arryn, Dorne, the Isle of Faces.

Does this mean anything?????? I can I change my answer from the Crownlands to the Westerlands for “green hills” or is that cheating? I’m going to say it’s interesting she doesn’t mention the North at all, but we do get the Isle of Faces.

Also, our first mention of “Usurper.” We’re going to be seeing a lot of that in the future.

Yet sometimes Dany would picture the way it had been, so often had her brother told her the stories. The midnight flight to Dragonstone, moonlight shimmering on the ship’s black sails. Her brother Rhaegar battling the Usurper in the bloody waters of the Trident and dying for the woman he loved. The sack of King’s Landing by the ones Viserys called the Usurper’s dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark. Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar’s heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. The polished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne room while the Kingslayer opened Father’s throat with a golden sword.

Oh boy, oh boy. There’s a lot going on here.

Again, Dany just knows her brother’s stories about Westeros, a reliably unbiased and reasonable source. And she’s picturing it “the way it had been” in her head. Am I making a point here? yes, but it won’t be relevant for a couple chapters, shhh.

The midnight flight to Dragonstone, moonlight shimmering on the ship’s black sails.

Why do I feel like we’ll get a redo of this? Also, midnight and black sails. Hmmm. Just making a note.

Her brother Rhaegar battling the Usurper in the bloody waters of the Trident and dying for the woman he loved.

Oh, here we go, with Rhaegar and the trident. Let’s make a note of the “bloody waters”, shall we? And Dany seems to go back and forth on whether Rhaegar loved Lyanna. This is also the first mention we get of that story. Interesting, I guess?

The sack of King’s Landing by the ones Viserys called the Usurper’s dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark.

Oh yeah, the first time we see “the Usuper’s dogs,” Lannister and Stark. There is no difference between them, in this telling.

Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar’s heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes.

This will never not be sad. Poor Elia.

(I’ll just note that Aegon is not named, and he’s specifically “Rhaegar’s heir” rather than his son. And way to not mention that it’s Elia’s baby! Sorry, I just get heated when it comes to Elia. I’ll save it for later.)

The polished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne room while the Kingslayer opened Father’s throat with a golden sword.

Kingslayer, skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly, a golden sword. I know Jaime wore his golden armor, but did he have a golden sword? Also, the skulls of the last dragons watching sightlessly feels like something. Maybe they’ll see another Targaryen ruler dead? Unclear. Maybe it’s just cool writing.

She had been born on Dragonstone nine moons after their flight, while a raging summer storm threatened to rip the island fastness apart. They said that storm was terrible. The Targaryen fleet was smashed while it lay at anchor, and huge stone blocks were ripped from the parapets and sent hurtling into the wild waters of the narrow sea. Her mother had died birthing her, and for that her brother Viserys had never forgiven her.

The most obvious thing is the Tyrion parallel, being blamed by a sibling for their mother dying in childbirth. But also a summer storm specifically? Am I allowed to add this to the “Dany is Azhor Ahai” evidence pile? I feel like I am. Also, more Dany surrounded by water at a key moment. We’ll return to the Dragonstone stuff later, when we actually get to see it.

She did not remember Dragonstone either. They had run again, just before the Usurper’s brother set sail with his new-built fleet. By then only Dragonstone itself, the ancient seat of their House, had remained of the Seven Kingdoms that had once been theirs. It would not remain for long. The garrison had been prepared to sell them to the Usurper, but one night Ser Willem Darry and four loyal men had broken into the nursery and stolen them both, along with her wet nurse, and set sail under cover of darkness for the safety of the Braavosian coast.

Uh, I guess more Dragonstone significance? It’s all of what remains of their kingdom, but not for long?

Also, our first House Darry mention. I will figure out what is going on with House Dary, even if it kills me!

Stolen from her nursery by five men, alongside her wetnurse? How many men did Ned bring with him to Dorne? Five, but that makes six total. Damn. I was going to say it was a parallel, but now I feel upset with the numbers being one off.

She remembered Ser Willem dimly, a great grey bear of a man, half-blind, roaring and bellowing orders from his sickbed. The servants had lived in terror of him, but he had always been kind to Dany. He called her “Little Princess” and sometimes “My Lady,” and his hands were soft as old leather. He never left his bed, though, and the smell of sickness clung to him day and night, a hot, moist, sickly sweet odor. That was when they lived in Braavos, in the big house with the red door. Dany had her own room there, with a lemon tree outside her window. After Ser Willem had died, the servants had stolen what little money they had left, and soon after they had been put out of the big house. Dany had cried when the red door closed behind them forever.

A great grey bear of a man? I smell foreshadowing and parallels. He never left his bed, though, and the smell of sickness clung to him day and night, a hot, moist, sickly sweet odor. First mention of sweet smells in Dany’s chapters, and it is not off to a good start! (Could this be foreshadowing another “sweet” old bear? I don’t really care, frankly.)

And the house with the red door and the lemon tree.

Listen, the whole lemon tree conspiracy theory is ridiculous, there’s nothing in Dany’s chapters to indicate that it matters all that much if the house itself is in Braavos or not, and Braavos is clearly based off of Venice and other Italian city states, all of which have lemon trees. This isn’t the important part, shoo.

The red door is the important bit. So we have our first red door=home. Red, what an interesting color for a Targaryen to associate with home. Also, “the red door closed on them forever” sounds very ominous. Let’s keep an eye on that!

They had wandered since then, from Braavos to Myr, from Myr to Tyrosh, and on to Qohor and Volantis and Lys, never staying long in any one place. Her brother would not allow it. The Usurper’s hired knives were close behind them, he insisted, though Dany had never seen one.

Uh, why aren’t the lemon tree truthers jumping on the fact that Dany stayed in Qohor? That seems way more interesting to me.

Dany is skeptical of Visery’s paranoia, and we get confirmation that Jon Arryn and Robert never sent any assassins after them. We’ll see how long that lasts, lol.

And it’s not a very unreasonable fear that Viserys has since an heir in exile can cause a lot of problems. It’s just one that never has any backing for them specifically. I guess nows a good time as any to bring up Dany’s Henry Tudor parallels in the Wars of the Roses. An heir to a defeated house in exile, retuning with an army for the crown. Let's put a pin in that. I’m sure George is in no way planning to subvert or play with that trope/parallel.

At first the magisters and archons and merchant princes were pleased to welcome the last Targaryens to their homes and tables, but as the years passed and the Usurper continued to sit upon the Iron Throne, doors closed and their lives grew meaner. Years past they had been forced to sell their last few treasures, and now even the coin they had gotten from Mother’s crown had gone. In the alleys and wine sinks of Pentos, they called her brother “the beggar king.” Dany did not want to know what they called her.

Yeah, no free lunches in the Free Cities. So, it’s made clear that Dany and Viserys are pretty down on their luck before Illyrio picks them up. Makes it clear why Viserys is so desperate. Also, the selling of their mother’s crown, and Viserys being the “beggar king.” We all know when we’ll see this again.

Dany did not want to know what they called her.

I’ve always found this line kinda interesting. The surface meaning is of course, that Dany doesn’t want to know what horrible names and insults call her, a princess without a crown or home, relying on charity. But I wonder if this is the start of Dany’s need to name and title herself, so someone doesn’t do it for her. And maybe that she might bury her head in the sand at times?

“We will have it all back someday, sweet sister,” he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. “The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King’s Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back.” Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

Visery’s shaking hands? Feel like a reference to Aerys. And more fuel for the syphilis theory lol. @starkmaiden, don’t ever say I never give you anything.

“Viserys lived for that day.” Hmm. I feel like I might bring this back around when Dany starts her relentless journey forward.

Also, it seems like Dany has two choices here. The Iron Throne, or the house with the red door, “the childhood she never knew.” The two seem to be presented at odds with each other this whole chapter.

Ilyrio’s servants enter, to help Dany get ready, and we get this line.

They were slaves, a gift from one of the magister’s many Dothraki friends. There was no slavery in the free city of Pentos. Nonetheless, they were slaves.

Uh. This feels significant. Is Daenerys I just one big block of foreshadowing for what Dany’s going to do in the next books? Sure feels like it. I feel entirely justified in interpreting what she sees out the window as foreshadowing now.

The old woman, small and grey as a mouse, never said a word, but the girl made up for it. She was Illyrio’s favorite, a fair-haired, blue-eyed wench of sixteen who chattered constantly as she worked.

Do these descriptions mean anything? @istumpysk‘s reread has me hyper attuned to see grey rodents everywhere. I’m going to say no, aside from the Doreah introduction.

They filled her bath with hot water brought up from the kitchen and scented it with fragrant oils. The girl pulled the rough cotton tunic over Dany’s head and helped her into the tub. The water was scalding hot, but Daenerys did not flinch or cry out. She liked the heat. It made her feel clean. Besides, her brother had often told her that it was never too hot for a Targaryen. “Ours is the house of the dragon,” he would say. “The fire is in our blood.”

Hot, scalding water? Back to back with the icy pool in the godswood? If that’s a coincidence, I’ll eat my copy of AGOT.

(Also, is it just me, or does Dany have a quite a few Cateylyn transition chapters? Or am I just making that up. I guess we’ll see.)

But also, Dany loves the heat, it feels cleansing to her. “the fire is in our blood.” Do I even need to explain it? (mother of dragon, bride of fire plus Mel’s cleansing flame!? Anyone!?)

The girl scrubbed her back and her feet and told her how lucky she was. “Drogo is so rich that even his slaves wear golden collars. A hundred thousand men ride in his khalasar, and his palace in Vaes Dothrak has two hundred rooms and doors of solid silver.” There was more like that, so much more, what a handsome man the khal was, so tall and fierce, fearless in battle, the best rider ever to mount a horse, a demon archer.

Aside from the absurd rumored wealth of Drogo, I swear my head whipped around at doors of solid silver. DOORS! I don’t think it means anything, but just, doors, there are lot of funky ones in this series. I need answers. The description of Drogo feels like it might matter, but I don’t really care, so let’s move on!

She had always assumed that she would wed Viserys when she came of age. For centuries the Targaryens had married brother to sister, since Aegon the Conqueror had taken his sisters to bride. The line must be kept pure, Viserys had told her a thousand times; theirs was the kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Dragons did not mate with the beasts of the field, and Targaryens did not mingle their blood with that of lesser men. Yet now Viserys schemed to sell her to a stranger, a barbarian.

Someone call CPS, I am begging.

Nevermind. Knowing Pentos, CPS is actually just a brothel. Child procurement services. I think I just made myself throw up a little.

Back to the text, I feel like I need to break this down a little.

So, wedding brother to sister is a Targaryen custom, from Old Valyria. It’s meant to keep the blood pure.

theirs was the kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria, the blood of the dragon.

Can I say blood magic? I’m going to say blood magic. Considering how much emphasis there is on kingsblood in Dude!Dany’s chapters, and how suspicious I am of anything Valyrian, I’m calling blood magic being the basis of this tradition. And also weird superiority complex.

The idea that the Valyrians practiced incestous marriage to maintain whatever spells they needed to maintain control over their dragons isn’t an unreasonable idea, but I’m highly skeptical that blood of the dragon is required to ride dragons or that it protects a person (poor Quentyn).

But the line that really caught my attention was this one:

Dragons did not mate with the beasts of the field, and Targaryens did not mingle their blood with that of lesser men.

Dragons don’t mate with the beast of the fields, you say? Is there a character strongly associated with beasts? Perhaps has even been called a beastling? Is currently vacationing in the head of one such beast? I’m sure this could be construed as positive foreshadowing for a relationship between Dany and such a character!

Just pointing it out.

When she was clean, the slaves helped her from the water and toweled her dry. The girl brushed her hair until it shone like molten silver, while the old woman anointed her with the spiceflower perfume of the Dothraki plains, a dab on each wrist, behind her ears, on the tips of her breasts, and one last one, cool on her lips, down there between her legs.

Yeesh. Talk about a yeast infection. Stop writing this type of perfuming George, it’s weird and I don’t like it.

(I haven’t really mentioned it, but Dany and Sansa have a ton of parallels this chapter, but the perfume on their breasts is what finally broke me. Stop describing this, George. Please.)

Magister Illyrio had sent up, and then the gown, a deep plum silk to bring out the violet in her eyes. The girl slid the gilded sandals onto her feet, while the old woman fixed the tiara in her hair, and slid golden bracelets crusted with amethysts around her wrists. Last of all came the collar, a heavy golden torc emblazoned with ancient Valyrian glyphs.

PLUM! But what does it mean????? Also amethysts. (like another child bride? Purple and silver and Targaryens). If anyone brings up the Bloodstone Compendium, I’ll be shooting on sight. And I don’t think we get any pay off yet for the Valyrian glyph torc, really? I actually kinda hate Valyria. Just tell us about the blood magic, and go, George.

A princess, she thought, but she remembered what the girl had said, how Khal Drogo was so rich even his slaves wore golden collars. She felt a sudden chill, and gooseflesh pimpled her bare arms.

Dany and slavery, again and again. Golden collars, iron collars, it’s about more than just the collar, kiddo. I’ll accept the Dany as being sold imagery for now, and more along.

“Regal,” Magister Illyrio said, stepping through an archway. He moved with surprising delicacy for such a massive man. Beneath loose garments of flame-colored silk, rolls of fat jiggled as he walked. Gemstones glittered on every finger, and his man had oiled his forked yellow beard until it shone like real gold.

Ah, I guess we should make notes that he’s nimble, and dresses in flame, gold, and jewels? Illyrio symbolism escapes me sometimes.

“May the Lord of Light shower you with blessings on this most fortunate day, Princess Daenerys,”

Can I count this as “Dany is Azhor Ahai” foreshadowing?

“She’s too skinny,” Viserys said. His hair, the same silver-blond as hers, had been pulled back tightly behind his head and fastened with a dragonbone brooch. It was a severe look that emphasized the hard, gaunt lines of his face.

The boy is a mess. Who gave him a sword?

“Are you sure that Khal Drogo likes his women this young?” “She has had her blood. She is old enough for the khal,” Illyrio told him, not for the first time. “Look at her. That silver-gold hair, those purple eyes … she is the blood of old Valyria, no doubt, no doubt … and highborn, daughter of the old king, sister to the new, she cannot fail to entrance our Drogo.” When he released her hand, Daenerys found herself trembling.

I hate this chapter so much. HATE.

Menarche was not the normal age for marriage in the Middle Ages, George. Stop doing this!

Viserys is a piece of shit again, but this time with racism! (I’m going to have to talk about the Dothraki. I don’t want to talk about the Dothraki yet.

Anger flashed in her brother’s lilac eyes. “Do you take me for a fool?” The magister bowed slightly. “I take you for a king. Kings lack the caution of common men. My apologies if I have given offense.”

*Sniff sniff* Is that foreshadowing I smell? For Dany and literally every other ruler in these books. I think so!

(also, look at Illyrio having to be Viserys’ yes man so he doesn’t make scene.)

Dany could smell the stench of Illyrio’s pallid flesh through his heavy perfumes.

Another perfume note! Just putting it out there.

“We won’t need his whole khalasar,” Viserys said. His fingers toyed with the hilt of his borrowed blade, though Dany knew he had never used a sword in earnest. “Ten thousand, that would be enough, I could sweep the Seven Kingdoms with ten thousand Dothraki screamers.

You sure about that? Seems to me like Westeros as martial culture is probably decently suited to handle the Dothraki. Armor, and castles. Armor and castles.

The realm will rise for its rightful king. Tyrell, Redwyne, Darry, Greyjoy, they have no more love for the Usurper than I do. The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children. And the smallfolk will be with us. They cry out for their king.” He looked at Illyrio anxiously. “They do, don’t they?” “They are your people, and they love you well,” Magister Illyrio said amiably. “In holdfasts all across the realm, men lift secret toasts to your health while women sew dragon banners and hide them against the day of your return from across the water.” He gave a massive shrug. “Or so my agents tell me.”

House Darry again! I see you.

Tyrell, Redwyne, Darry, Greyjoy.

What an interesting list, along with Dorne. I’d be willing to bet that these houses will all join a Targaryen coming to Westeros. It just won’t be Viserys. Also, a big lmao at the small folk waiting for the Targaryens to come back. They literally just want to not die. And we know that most of Westeros doesn’t really care if the Targaryens come back.

But also the slippery “or so my agents tell me.”

Dany had no agents, no way of knowing what anyone was doing or thinking across the narrow sea, but she mistrusted Illyrio’s sweet words as she mistrusted everything about Illyrio.

Dany noticed it, lol. Also, mistrust and “sweet,” together again. Hmmmm. (but also, Dany has no idea whats going in Westeros, and that doesn’t change much.)

“I shall kill the Usurper myself,” he promised, who had never killed anyone, “as he killed my brother Rhaegar. And Lannister too, the Kingslayer, for what he did to my father.”

LOL. Viserys really being read to filth here. You love to see it.

“That would be most fitting,” Magister Illyrio said. Dany saw the smallest hint of a smile playing

I mean, there’s nothing Dany can do, but that's extremely suspicious We know now what Illyrio and Varys’s real plan is but its pretty obvious from the get go they never meant to back Viserys. I’ve always wondered post Young Griff, what exactly was the point of Dany being married off to Drogo? Since it seems like they don’t care all that much what happens to her afterwards.

Nodding, he pushed back a curtain and stared off into the night, and Dany knew he was fighting the Battle of the Trident once again.

This entire chapter is just providing foreshadowing for Dany’s entire story, isn’t it????? My god, the sheer amount of fodder for Dany and Viserys parallels later. And none of it is positive!

The nine-towered manse of Khal Drogo sat beside the waters of the bay, its high brick walls overgrown with pale ivy.

Nine!? What is with George and this number? It keeps coming again, mainly with the Starks.

Their palanquin was stopped at the gate, the curtains pulled roughly back by one of the house guards. He had the copper skin and dark almond eyes of a Dothraki, but his face was hairless and he wore the spiked bronze cap of the Unsullied. He looked them over coldly.

There’s even an Unsullied. Fam, the writing has been on the wall since literally the first chapter. Dany’s entire story is foreshadowed in this chapter.

Dany noticed that her brother’s hand was clenched tightly around the hilt of his borrowed sword. He looked almost as frightened as she felt. “Insolent eunuch,” Viserys muttered as the palanquin lurched up toward the manse.

Remember how this chapter is just covered in foreshadowing? Maybe take note.

The khal must protect his guests, yourself chief among them, Your Grace. No doubt the Usurper would pay well for your head.” “Oh, yes,” Viserys said darkly. “He has tried, Illyrio, I promise you that. His hired knives follow us everywhere. I am the last dragon, and he will not sleep easy while I live.”

More paranoia. I suspect calling the would be assassins the Usurper’s knives was deliberate. (I literally cannot stop seeing Arya everywhere. I think I might have a condition. We’ll have to do a round up of all the knife and Arya connections in Dany’s ACOK and ASOS chapters. I'm still on the fence for how Dany dies but @istumpysk may have converted me from the Icarus death, which is what I thought for ages. We’ll see)

The curtains were thrown back, and a slave offered a hand to help Daenerys out. His collar, she noted, was ordinary bronze.

Is this important or just a story beat for this specific chapter? I think the latter, but putting it here anyway.

Inside the manse, the air was heavy with the scent of spices, pinchfire and sweet lemon and cinnamon. They were escorted across the entry hall, where a mosaic of colored glass depicted the Doom of Valyria. Oil burned in black iron lanterns all along the walls.

I looked up what pinchfire is, and it’s something that exists only in the books. The wiki thinks its a plant. But also- a mosaic depicting the Doom of Valyria? What an interesting choice, especially with the black iron lanterns.

Beneath an arch of twining stone leaves, a eunuch sang their coming. “Viserys of the House Targaryen, the Third of his Name,” he called in a high, sweet voice, “King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. His sister, Daenerys Stormborn, Princess of Dragonstone. His honorable host, Illyrio Mopatis, Magister of the Free City of Pentos.”

We’re starting in on the title stuff early. (also, I’m sure a eunuch singing their coming has been interpreted as Varys being apart of brining Dany to Westeros. Maybe?) First mention of “Stormborn” as a title.

Award for best bit of descriptive wiring this chapter goes to:

They stepped past the eunuch into a pillared courtyard overgrown in pale ivy. Moonlight painted the leaves in shades of bone and silver as the guests drifted among them.

(Thank god, I was worried it was going to go to the description of the Dothraki mustaches.) I am hyperfixated on plants described as bone. Is this significant or just nice writing? No clue!

Many were Dothraki horselords, big men with red-brown skin, their drooping mustachios bound in metal rings, their black hair oiled and braided and hung with bells.

I don’t want to talk about the Dothraki. Let’s just note the description and try to finish this chapter.

the man behind him is Ser Jorah Mormont.” The last name caught Daenerys. “A knight?” “No less.” Illyrio smiled through his beard. “Anointed with the seven oils by the High Septon himself.” “What is he doing here?” she blurted. “The Usurper wanted his head,” Illyrio told them. “Some trifling affront. He sold some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver instead of giving them to the Night’s Watch. Absurd law. A man should be able to do as he likes with his own chattel.” “I shall wish to speak with Ser Jorah before the night is done,” her brother said. Dany found herself looking at the knight curiously. He was an older man, past forty and balding, but still strong and fit. Instead of silks and cottons, he wore wool and leather. His tunic was a dark green, embroidered with the likeness of a black bear standing on two legs.

BOOOO. Go way, Jorah. You're no Iain Glenn.

Notes on this chapter? Jorah is an anointed knight, by the High Septon himself. A false knight? Yeah.

He’s also a slaver. That’s his introduction. He’s on the run for selling people into slavery. And Viserys, and later Dany, don’t really care about that. Also bear symbolism. He’s an old hairy dude.

Khal Drogo was a head taller than the tallest man in the room, yet somehow light on his feet, as graceful as the panther in Illyrio’s menagerie. He was younger than she’d thought, no more than thirty. His skin was the color of polished copper, his thick mustachios bound with gold and bronze rings.

Yay. He’s only twice her age and then some, instead of four times. woo.

Copper, gold, and bronze. I’m sure it means something, but it might just be the general metal comparisons every seems to get. Also, light parallel to “copper” Renly, who also gets got before actually fighting in Westeros, rofl.

“When Dothraki are defeated in combat, they cut off their braids in disgrace, so the world will know their shame. Khal Drogo has never lost a fight. He is Aegon the Dragonlord come again, and you will be his queen.”

Okay, Viserys. Drogo is Aegon the Dragonlord come again? That doesn't sound quite right. And hair and bell symbolism, something something.

Dany looked at Khal Drogo. His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx. Her brother hurt her sometimes, when she woke the dragon, but he did not frighten her the way this man frightened her. “I don’t want to be his queen,” she heard herself say in a small, thin voice.

Don’t worry, the Stockholm syndrome will set in soon.

“Please, please, Viserys, I don’t want to, I want to go home.” “Home?” He kept his voice low, but she could hear the fury in his tone. “How are we to go home, sweet sister? They took our home from us!” He drew her into the shadows, out of sight, his fingers digging into her skin. “How are we to go home?” he repeated, meaning King’s Landing, and Dragonstone, and all the realm they had lost. Dany had only meant their rooms in Illyrio’s estate, no true home surely, though all they had, but her brother did not want to hear that. There was no home there for him. Even the big house with the red door had not been home for him.

No true home for Viserys. And perhaps, no true home for Dany either.

“We go home with an army, sweet sister. With Khal Drogo’s army, that is how we go home. And if you must wed him and bed him for that, you will.” He smiled at her. “I’d let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all forty thousand men, and their horses too if that was what it took to get my army. Be grateful it is only Drogo.

BLEGH.

“Smile,” Viserys whispered nervously, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. “And stand up straight. Let him see that you have breasts. Gods know, you have little enough as is.” Daenerys smiled, and stood up straight.

BLEGH

I’m never going to get this taste out of my mouth.

Okay, I guess my final thoughts on this chapter, is that the seeds for Dany’s story have been planted from the literal beginning. We’ll keep coming back to stuff from here for a while yet.

why did I spend so long on this chapter?

I’m so tired.

#*crying and sobbing* there's just too much here for me ignore #I hate that I feel the need to go through every line #BNF energy #AGOT #Daenerys I #branwen reads asoiaf again

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lady-starbind · 2 years ago

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One thing I look forward to about playing Pokemon Violet is learning more of that sexy Grusha lore! I’ve seen ppl on here talk about him, one person mentioned that they had read about the Gym Leader in the library of the game if I’m not mistaken? (ik one of my besties had said that there’s a library in the ingame school w books about the Gym Leader) I WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT GRUSHA FJDBLFVNDLKVNFDL If any of you guys have pics of what the Library book says ingame or something... or literally any canon lore, I’m all ears! (idm spoilers honestly... The brainrot is so real and I need a better understanding about my fave fictional jock) ALSO HIS BACKSTORY?! SO SAD THAT THE BEAN HAD TO GIVE UP HIS DREAMS! ;w; ...I’m no expert on snowboarding, but ik that it takes a very fit and athletic person. Is his injury so bad that he couldn’t go back to being pro? ...You sure there isn’t a way that maybe, if he was determined enough, he could overcome impossible odds and snowboard again? Anyways I love Grusha.... he has a very special place in my heart~ (Lowkey he’s actually got me obsessed and brain rotting over my icy oc girl Cryo and her lil bestie Tom jkbvksbksbdssdjk) I definitely ship Grusha and Cryo.... maybe there’s an AU where they fall in love and smooch?! I already have a cute name for the ship: “Crusha” (I love how it has the word “crush” in it lol) ...as far as a proper Pokemon sounding ship name? idk lol... Ice Shipping? IcyLover Shipping? IceLover Shipping? StoicIce Shipping? kdvbdakjbvdskvdbjkss ....Also what dynamic would an icy jock w dashed dreams and an icy bookworm who hates everyone have? I even have a self indulgent character arc idea in mind for Cryo that she’ll go through, where she “almost” ends up with romantic feelings for Grusha. (but narrowly dodges it bc girl hates le romance lol) ...may even write fanfiction for it! :D tldr: I am obsessed w Grusha and would happily accept any canon lore on him, even if it’s spoilers bc the brainrot has hit me hard. Grusha reminds me of my oc Cryo, and I ship the two romantically even tho Cryo hates romance... May make fanfiction w my oc Cryo avoiding a crush on Grusha. PS: I love how Grusha’s name has Slavic roots.... I have Slavic in my blood as well, so that makes me very happy to see a pretty boy with a pretty Slavic name ;w;

#Pokemon Grusha #Grusha #Cryo #Tom #brainrot has hit me HARD #please hand over your canon Grusha lore... I need it for science #I NEED that cute pic of him making heart hands w my oc Cryo #I ship them so HARD #Crusha is OTP #Crusha #need a proper Poke shipping name for them tho lol #Pokemon Scavio #Pokemon Scarlet #Pokemon Violet #ALSO LOOK AT HIS LIPS #SO KISSABLE LOOKING DHVBKVBDSVKDJS #WHY HE SO PURDY?! ;w;

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beels-burger-babe · 3 years ago

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Lady Harlow Headcanons

***Since I am currently incapable of stringing together a sentence apparently since I am experiencing My Time at Portia brain rot, I'm afraid this is all I have to offer you all for the time being. I am sorry for not having an actual update to give you. So here ya go, @lovevictoire Hope you like it! -B *** Don't know who Lady Harlow is? Meet her in my fic, The Facade of the Suitor, HERE

A tiny bit of a spoiler for upcoming chapters, but Lady Harlow would only originally pursue you for her own needs.

Sure, you're attractive to her, and yes, she can absolutely see what all the hullabaloo about this powerless human is about.

But as the Demoness (or Lady if you will) of Manipulation, she has always worked by her own agenda first and foremost (which I shan't spoil 😘)

She comes on strong and hard, pulling out all the stops. She wants to woo you and have you wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger.

There will be eloquently written love letters, invitations to private dinners at the fanciest restaurants in town, gift baskets delivered directly to your room with all of your favourite things, not to mention invite you to her house where she will offer drinks by the fireside.

However, let's say that as she did all this she, much like the brothers, began to catch feelings for the squishy human.

She'll be careful to maintain her big bossy lady, over-the-top energy, but will start making an effort to get to know you more.

She'll become more personal, and dare I say softer, as your words begin to light up her eyes and the sound of her laugh makes her melt into a pile of goo.

She'll become a little cheesy in her compliments, but one look in her doe-like, love-filled, violet eyes will tell you that she means every word.

Should she succeed and capture your heart, she will first and foremost want to rub it in the brothers, mainly Lucifer's, face as much as possible.

*sees Lucifer downtown* "Oh, Lucifer! I didn't know you shopped here (totally did). I was just coming to pick up my partner, MC's, favourite food. I do love to take care of them. Such a pity you boys were never quite able to do so. *begins to walk away* Well, I guess there really is nothing like a woman's touch~"

She's definitely clingy and always wants to be near you and touching you in some way or form. Whether it's as simple as holding your hand, or as risque as her hand on your ass (only if you're comfy of course).

As a partner, she is greatly attentive.

She doesn't have anyone in her life that isn't just another means to an end or who she actually sees past the labels and MANY past misdeeds that she has committed.

She doesn't want to lose you and is new to this whole "genuine affection" thing. She'll need reassurances that this is real and that she's doing okay.

She's wanted many things in her life but has never wanted a person as badly as she's wanted you.

And if she somehow gets you, she'll refuse to let go.

That being said if she catches real feelings and you don't reciprocate them, you can expect her to go full yandere.

TAGLIST @thegrimgrinningghost @henry-and-the-seven-lords @satans-beloved-riv @cosmixbun @sufzku @pebblethepetrock @lovevictoire @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie

#The Facade of the Suitor #Lady Harlow #obey me demon oc #demon oc #oc #Harlow #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me fic #obey me headcanons #obey me prompt #obey me lucifer #obey me main character #obey me mc #gender neutral main character #gn!mc #my writing

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dj-yukio · 2 years ago

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Pokémon Scarlet and Violet hurt me in ways I didn’t expect so now I have too many ideas for an au

Spoilers ahead:

Honestly had only one bug in the entire game (an unclaimable pokeball item in the lake of false dragon titan), so my gameplay was great and I loved the story, looks like Pokémon is now leaning hard on the friendship zones more than having to catch them all or become champion or what not

I really like Area Zero’s soundtrack, gives me those mystical vibes like something powerful lurks here beyond one’s comprehension. Also love that we have our friends with us, more to share the trauma!

Poor Arven with his parent, but like I think the AI managed to traumatise everyone individually, because there’s nothing worse than realising you can’t do anything even with our preparations (nemona can’t battle, which is pretty damn bad when your opponent is known to have killed and possibly will kill again, and penny can’t hack us out of the situation)

Our poor protag too, can you imagine going like “ah we’re gonna help this famous professor, wanna come” and then thirty minutes later going “I have just killed all of us, we’re gonna be like the professor, no one will know we died and our bodies are gonna rot here forever or be pokemon food” like holy shit the AI battles were nightmare fuel like professor chucking master balls with barely contained Pokémon within from a height and then our poke balls being locked too

The whole game gives me Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz vibes for some reason, like we’re Dorothy, and all of our friends are a mix of the scarecrow, tin man, and lion (penny is def lion, but I can’t quite agree on nemona and arven being which one), and the whole time we go through a journey to find a treasure and head to Area Zero (the land of Oz), only to find that the wizard isn’t real

But anyways bad AU idea time, hear me out

Look we know that there were a bunch ofscientists before Sada/Turn took over the whole thing alone (and with themself as an AI) studying terastalizing including clavell and others

And we also know that the crystal is what powers the AI and why they cannot leave etc.

So all I’m saying is that the likelihood that the other initial researchers weren’t almost as brilliant as Sada/Turo is low

Which brings me to the concept of our protagonist being sort of an AI

I already said this was a shit idea don’t hate me

Okay but like let’s just say that our protagonist (who is 12-16, look nemona and arven are def older and in that range, plus no ten year old masterminds an operation to stop bullying), so it’s still possible that we can have the protag’s dad working with the professor

And now our protag has a serious illness (say cancer in the brain touch wood) that is in its late stages, so by the time the dad is no longer working with the professor he’s trying to look for another solution to save his child

to the point of obsession

biomedicine has failed him, and so he turns to a little souvenir that he brought along with him from the paldea

and actually creates a solution

it’s not a hundred percent perfect (unlike a certain AI-powered robot), but he manages to craft a mechanical brain powered with the crystals that can analyse situations and respond accordingly

And one night he takes the kid and does the transplant (he’s working at a pharmaceutical facility or hospital, either one)

Our protag lives! Sort of

See the thing is these sorts of projects cost money, money he doesn’t have

So he embezzles funds from his company to fund this project, and on this night the police are staking him out

And when they come out to catch him, it looks worse for him than it ever is

His child is in a coma, there’s blood everywhere, and the dude is covered in blood

He gets sent to jail, the real truth of what they saw is covered up (ie only the embezzlement is covered), and the mom looks after the protag who is in a coma

So at the start of the game this is why there’s no mention of the dad at all, partially because of the crime, partially because the protag’s mom knows that whatever he did might have potentially saved the protag’s life, so it’s a very touchy subject

But before that, when our protag wakes up, they don’t know that they’re an AI, instead it’s just feeling empty and numb. This is coupled with a great overprotectiveness from their mom. But word spread about the very ill child suddenly making a recovery after the dad’s arrest, and eventually the mom takes the flight back to Paldea just to shield the protag from the rumors

Which is when the game starts, when the mom finally is willing to let the protag explore their surroundings a bit

But as the story progresses, the protag learns about being human, learning to feel again, and friendship :D

Also this is a bit random but due to the AI, the protag doesn’t have the ability to terastalize. This is partially because I hardly did during my gameplay, and also because I feel like terastalizing is a bit similar to mega evolution, so for an individual to terastalize a pokémon they need to be in sync with their pokémon, same with wild pokémon terastalizations, either they cannot control it or they’ve just become very in sync with themselves. Instead, the protagonist gets a really bad headache when they try (the crystals syncing with their skull is not fun)

As for what happens to Area Zero, I have plans

#pokémon scarvio #thoughts about the game and shitty ideas #maybe i’ll make it someday #Pokémon scarlet and violet #au ideas

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flowercrown-bucky · 5 years ago

Text

Trouble has never looked so good - But then again, it’s never been wearing a push-up bra before.

Fandom: 1970s!Loki Multi-Chapter

Pairing: Loki x ConArtist!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, drug references, later death, later smut, crime, loki and the reader are con artists..... It’s a wild one y’all, hold onto yo’ seats.

Word Count: 3084

[Something Wicked This Way Comes - Chapter One]

Loki’s life on Asgard has become vapid; uninspiring. He’s got the taste for a little danger.

During a trip to earth, he finds just the danger he’s looking for.

A partner in crime - in every imaginable sense.

TAGLIST IS OPEN - EITHER COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED.

LIFE on Asgard was unbearably normal.

It was fine. If anything, it was too fine.

There was only so much feasting and so many council meetings one could take, you know?

Loki had stalked off to his chambers, muttering to his brother that he needed time to focus his magic.

He didn't, of course. Odin's lecturing on diplomatic decorum had simply become mind numbingly dull and it seemed like the most suitable excuse.

Loki's chambers were in a prime position. It was, after all, the reason he had coerced his older brother into switching with him when they were both around three hundred years old. He was roughly a hundred yards from the palace kitchens, something that well suited his secret midnight-snacking habit, and about as far from the Allfather and Allmother's chambers as he could possibly be, something that well suited his secret midnight sneaking-out habit.

However, the thing he loved most about his chambers, was the proximity to the palace orchard. If he stepped through the doors onto the balcony, he could grip the railings and sort of kamikaze himself over, before dropping the two-or-so-feet distance between him and the floor, and it was this that had made him want to occupy this chamber so badly.

He'd loved the orchard ever since he was a little boy. It was his safe spot, somewhere he had gone to hide from the world, where nothing could harm him or make him feel anything he didn't want to. He liked to take a book with him, and read under the shade of the apple trees until someone came to retrieve him.

It was here he had considered retreating to when he remembered the girl kneeling between his legs.

She was, Loki believed, a princess of Vanaheim, visiting Asgard with her father. Sex was not something that particularly concerned him, but he had left the council hall feeling rather frustrated, and the remarkably attractive woman had practically thrown herself at him.

If a beautiful woman desired to fellate him, who was he to complain?

It was, however, doing nothing for him - so much so he had forgotten she was even there.

"You can stop now." He wasn't entirely gentle when he tugged her off him, opting to do so with the help of a handful of her hair, but ,hey, he was extremely frustrated and she had been no help in the easing of that frustration.

"I can-"

"Nope." He waved a hand dismissively at the woman, leaving her to gather her clothes and dignity from where they'd been discarded in the floor. Girls were far more his brother's thing.

The only satisfying sexual encounter he had ever had had been on Midgard, some ten years before. Her name was Elizabeth, and she wanted to be an actress. With a head of carefully constructed dark curls and unusual violet coloured eyes, she was positively electrifying. She'd liked Loki's regal manner, assumed he was important. He'd been looking for a way to unwind and had yet to find it in a bottle of whiskey. They had, you might say, used each other equally.

He wondered what she was doing now.

Midgard, however, didn't seem like too bad an idea.

The mortals, he thought, were funny. Their funny little ways, their funny little habits, their funny little emotions.

He rather liked that idea. Midgard it was to be, then.

Las Vegas, was perhaps, the worst place he had ever been. Crawling with perhaps the worst specimens humanity had to offer, and drowning in immorality, Vegas was perhaps the physical embodiment of iniquity.

Perhaps the underbelly of the world, Vegas combined all aspects of bigotry - racism, misogyny, pride. Men traded their lives away to pay to warm the sheets of women condemned to a life of misery, destined to while their days away in some clandestine pact with dingy hotel rooms.

Not Vegas, Loki thought to himself.

New York, he was not particularly fond of either. It was much too cold and full of self importance. The people were, largely, cold and unpleasant, and the food was something he could never get behind.

Europe he had not visited for a long while since. It had been stricken by an unpleasant pox last time he had visited, covering the suffering with boils as large as the palm as his hand. He’d begrudgingly lent his healing skills to the ailing people. After all, he really didn’t like the smell of rotting flesh.

He wasn’t altogether pleased with the likenesses the people later formed in the name of worship.

In all honesty, they made him look rather greasy and weaselly.

—

Montecarlo, Loki thought, might be a little more interesting than he'd initially thought. Possibly, his favourite place he'd visited on Midgard.

It was like a hive of temptation, the culmination of human greed. Nowhere on earth quite said luxury like a city dressed to the nines, and Loki loved it.

It was far better than his previous visits, wherein he had found the planet stricken by various bouts of violence and deadly plagues.

1973, with its penchant for sex, drugs and rock'n'roll was far more to his taste.

He had, in the short time he'd been in the city, become very well acquainted with the calibrate of person who liked to visit. Men with enough class to never let an expletive pass their lips within company, but perfectly happy to snort narcotics off the seats of public toilets using a ten dollar bill that was on its fourth use.

Women loyal enough to remain on the arm of one gentleman for the whole of an evening but not opposed to a quick fuck in a back alley from a tall dark stranger with a mysterious smile.

Sex was not something Loki was particularly concerned with, but he did enjoy the sense of power he got from looking directly into the eyes of a man whose wife he had made come undone not ten minutes earlier.

Humans, he noted, were no different to the savage tribes of Muspelheim. They just hid it better, under expensive clothes and university degrees and layers of makeup.

This was not something he necessarily was bothered by. He was having far too good a time for that.

Casinos, he had taken a real liking to. Money was another thing that held no meaning for him, but cheating pompous assholes out of what they believed was rightfully theirs?

That, he could get behind, and it seemed he was not alone in that.

He had been watching you all evening, as you worked your way around the room.

You were dressed to kill, and the man you'd turned your attentions to looked like he would gladly die if it would please you.

One hand stroking his *ahem* ego, and the other stealing his wallet.

You were perfect.

Mischief was on his agenda, and you looked like a wonderful accomplice.

He'd approached you quietly, a gentle hand on your shoulder, his lips by your ear.

"Well, hello." He'd murmured, as you turned to face him. "Who might you be?"

You'd practically preened at the sudden attention, clearly very pleased with the idea of a second conquest of the evening.

"Darling, I'm your worst nightmare." You bit your red painted lip, your eyes trailing the length of him. Your glance was cold, calculating - pretty much everything Loki appreciated in a woman.

For a moment, he wondered if you were to kill him, how you would carry out the act. He felt almost as if he would appreciate it.

You looked like a poisoner, he decided. Less messy, less loose ends to take care of.

“And what, exactly, does my worst nightmare take to drink?” He could feel the smug grin growing on his face. “I am well acquainted with the torment of the unconscious mind.”

You were taken aback, that much he could see from your face. For someone so experienced with hustling card games, you did not have much of a poker face.

His smile grew. Unsettling people was one of his very favourite things.

“Champagne.” You still gnawed at your lip, but the reasoning, he could tell, had changed - if he didn’t know better, he’d think you were quite literally biting back a smile.

“A lady after my own heart.” He replied. “You have good taste.”

“Only the best.” You lifted your glass towards him.

“I’ll drink to that.”

The course of the evening made abundant to Loki exactly how you operated. You were fairly certain you had him in the palm of your hand, that much he could tell - and it was certainly amusing to play along with it.

You played your role well, and that was something he admired. You allowed him to lead the conversation, showering his ego with praise and affirmation. You fiddled with your hair as you spoke, twisting it around your index finger before draping it over your clavicle, trailing towards your ample bosom.

You occasionally - intentionally - licked at your lip as you spoke, your tongue coyly tracing your plump bottom lip, tilting your head to the side as if to show how truly intrigued you were by what he was saying, exposing a good deal of neck in the process.

It truly was a shame, he thought, that mortal men were unable to see the brains, the intellect, behind the beauty - or more specifically, the bust.

Midgardian men were truly unable to see exactly what they possessed, but on Asgard, you would’ve been celebrated, treasured even, for the power of your mind.

It was a great pity, Loki thought, and rather unfortunate for their wallets.

You’d kept him on his toes since you’d first spoken. You were keeping him on his toes now.

He watched you as you spoke to the woman next to you. You were so careful, every movement deliberate, purposeful.

You played your part well. In a knee-length blue dress, you largely left the curves of your body to the imagination. The imagination, however, was aided by how the material clung to your hips and your more than ample bosom. Almost every male eye in the room was on you.

You made your way back over to where he lent on the bar. You seemed to enjoy toying with him. As to why, he could not fathom.

You waved a bottle of champagne in his face, before topping up his own glass.

“Consider the favour...” You flashed a smile at him that was utterly to die for. “Repaid.”

He ran a hand through his long hair, catching your gaze.

If he was an ordinary man, he would be truly fucked.

“So, tell me.” His voice came out as something closer to a purr than anything else. “How does a woman such as yourself turn to petty crime?” If it were possible to display every element of the spectrum of human emotion in one simultaneous instant, Loki was sure it would look very similar to how your face currently looked.

Almost as quickly as it had come over you, it was gone. The mask returned and you flashed him a coy grin.

“What gave me away?” Your left eyebrow quirked.

“I’m perceptive.” He smiled. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. But I’m better.”

“What are you, a cop?” Your voice was calm, level. It was almost completely impossible to detect the emotions behind it.

“Please.” He scoffed. “I have a proposal for you.”

Your arm dropped to your side. Your face remained unchanged, but the mischief, the slight twinkle in your eye, was gone.

“Meet me outside the toilets in five minutes.” Your voice was hoarse. You turned away from him with a swish of apple-scented hair, taking a step away from him.

He reached out, catching your wrist. You stumbled slightly, grabbing at the bar to steady yourself.

“I’m not interested in sex, if that’s what you think.” His voice dropped.

“Then what do you want?” You spun to face him.

“If you show me, I’ll show you.” He grinned at you.

“Show me, what, exactly?” You asked, intrigued.

“Everything.” He whispered. His hand came up to your face, taking your chin gently inbetween his forefinger and thumb. He turned your head gently from side to side, before tilting it back. You watched with curious eyes, but allowed him to rest his hand on your forehead.

He closed his eyes slowly, his consciousness seeping through his body, penetrating your mind.

It was an odd place, your mind. He’d never been in any other quite like it. There had always been a lot going on, in people’s minds. They were.. furnished. Most appeared as a place, at least - a childhood home, a favourite place - but yours was remarkably empty.

Enormous black units surrounded him, rows upon rows of boxes reaching as far as his eyes could see. The only other thing present within your mind was a chair, upon which you sat.

It was tall and as black as the shelves. The back faced him, your legs slung either side of it, your elbow resting on the top. Your chin rested on your fist, and you watched him as he adjusted to your surroundings, one eyebrow bemusedly quirked.

“Fancy seeing you here.” You smiled. “Sorry about the mess. I don’t get a lot of visitors, you know, inside my head.”

Loki laughed.

“Your mind is intriguing, little one.” He walked towards one of the units to get a closer look, lifting a hand to open one. It didn’t budge.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” You teased.

“Just the pretty ones.” He tugged again, a little harder. “What’s in these boxes?“

“My deepest secrets.” You replied curtly. “How do you do this, anyway? You don’t get many people who can waltz into your mind uninvited around here.”

“I told you, you show me, and I’ll show you.” He left the boxes, walking over to where you sat. He circled you a few times, looking around for anything else within your mind. “I am not of this world.”

“No shit.” You grumbled.

“Ladies first.” He grinned. “I want to know how you do it. Then you will get your answers.”

“Then get out of my head.” You replied. “The only person in here to scam is you, and it’s not quite the same when someone knows you’re going to rob them.”

“Very well.” Loki snapped his fingers.

You opened your eyes with a gasp as he lifted his hand from your forehead.

“Never do that again.” You warned.

He chuckled, lifting his hand to support his head, looking at you expectantly.

“I’m waiting.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Where shall we start?”

You leant across the table towards Loki.

“That one.” You tilted your head towards the left.

He lifted his head, looking up for the man you’d singled out. The ginger in the double breasted suit? The lanky blonde with the knock knees? The man bun?

No.

He knew the one.

“Clammy hands.” He mused. “Look at the discoloration on the front of his trousers. The pigment has been lost from repeatedly wiping his hands on them. He has sweaty hands.”

“Can I keep you?” You tilted your head to the side.

“Why him?” He asked. “How do you choose?”

“I don’t.” You replied. “They sort of... reveal themselves. They look at me. Stare at me. All I have to do is look back.”

“And from there?”

“The art of robbing someone just comes down to sleight of hand. Same as hustling a card game.” You glanced over at the man. “I used to do magic tricks with cards and make people’s car keys disappear as a kid. I picked it up from there.”

“Impressive.” He leaned back in his seat. “Why do you do it?”

“This world has not been kind to me.” You sighed. “Besides, life is so much more interesting with a little chaos.”

He chuckled, placing both of his elbows on the table, hands clasped together in front of his face.

“Do you fuck all of them?” He raised one eyebrow.

“Just the pretty ones.” Your face cracked into a wide smile.

He stared at you for a second. This beautiful, conniving woman in front of him, the poison that resided in your mind, the deadliness that lay in your hands.

In all honesty, it excited him.

You’d intrigued him since he’d very first laid eyes on you, and every moment since, that intrigue had grown. Who were you really? What were you?

For the first time that evening, it occurred to him that he didn’t even know your name.

He got the feeling that if he asked, you wouldn’t tell him the truth. You weren’t that stupid.

You were hiding from something, he was fairly sure. Being in hiding was something he was all too familiar, and if there was anything he had learned in his five thousand years of life, it was how to spot when someone was on the run.

“I believe you are exactly what I’ve been looking for, little criminal.” He murmured.

“And what, pray tell, would that be?” You pursed your red painted lips.

“A partner in crime.” He replied. “A fellow mischief maker, if you will.”

“You could be a serial killer.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“So could you.” He said curtly. “I entered your mind and you’ve just explained how you con and rob people, but yet, here we both still are.”

You blinked, shifting so you were leaning on your left side. Your expression was thoughtful - you were considering his suggestion.

“And what exactly do I get out of this deal?” You asked.

“You saw what I did earlier.” He leaned forwards on his forearms. “I will open your mind to things you cannot currently even begin to comprehend.”

“Okay. I’ll bite.” You lifted your drink to your lips, taking a sip. “I accept your offer.”

“I must tell you.” He warned. “You will be playing with fire.” You set your glass down on the table, before leaning back in your seat. You turned your head to the left briefly, tossing your hair over one shoulder. You crossed one leg over the other as you turned back to face him. Your eyes found his, a gaze that truly seemed to be looking into his soul, and you smiled.

“Luckily for you, I like to watch things burn.”

TAGLIST: @possessedjoker @amour-delicate

#loki x reader #loki smut #tom hiddleston x reader #loki x you #Loki Laufeyson #tom hiddleston #loki/reader #loki au #loz writes loki

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celticfeather · 5 years ago

Link

Chpt 1 Here

Chapter 7: Yatagarasu

-Uchiha Itachi-

Itachi dragged his thumb through the blood and smeared it to a pattern on the dirt. Smoke overtook the scent of blood, and he saw soft light gently reflect on scaled black claws. Itachi did not know if he could trust his partner to help him, but the alternative was death.

"Bring me Kisame."

The four-spiked eye of a martyr blinked animally, and the toothy choanal slit inside its beak separated the fading light as his messenger cawed its obedience. Air and dust from the downstroke puffed against his face, and Itachi was terrifyingly, relievingly, alone.

Itachi focused on breathing. In and out, like the waves on the sand of the mangrove shore. He wanted to cough, but some still-reptile part of his brain advised him that was unwise. The vibrant world of the sharingan had faded in the sad colors and weak detail of an ordinary human eye, and then to something less than that. Itachi did not know if he closed his eyes, he did not know how blind he was, some things he saw from multiple angles at once... He drew gentle swirls with his fingers in the mud. Tiny Vs like rising crows, no, they were gills, three tight chevrons next to esurient silver eyes. Why was there mud beneath him? The summer was hot and dry.

He could see a dead weasel on the ground next to him. A convocation of crows gathered in an impatient funeral. With plunging swordlike beaks they tore out the weasel's tongue. They raised its tiny black eyes, tender as berries, and the nerves slithered down their throats. A crow hopped over the corpse's ribs, it had three legs. They tore open Itachi's chest and bore into his heart and all was hot and red, and then, nothing.

He heard a hiss. Samehada, no, heal him damn you!

He felt wind on his face, and his head swung dizzily, though he didn't remember telling his legs to move. The being who smelled of ocean's salt took him somewhere; its humid scent was unfamiliar to him.

Two strange tall birds looked at him. One was orange with violet eyes and the other was violet with orange eyes.

"He needs a healer," the breath of salt sailed to the violet bird.

"I'm a sensory ninja. Not a medic. But there's a doctor in a village nearby."

The world shifted as the ocean bowed. "I'm sorry for assuming."

Shivering steel chilled Itachi's wet skin. A bee stung him on the arm. Someone gave him a glass of orange juice with a straw. It was sweet, tangy and delicious, bright as an orange blossom on a mud puddle. His attention drew to this glass of juice, and his surroundings sharpened. He became aware of a stranger in a white coat in the background.

"The IV will ease the desanguination. However, proceeding further has drawbacks..."

"Like what?" the ocean voice said.

Itachi was out of orange juice. He tried to get the doctor's attention, but he was busy. A blue hand gave him another juice. What a kind hand.

"Chakra-healing him will cause permanent scar tissue damage in his chest cavity. If we go through with this, he could have endurance problems for the rest of his life."

"And if you do nothing?"

"The internal bleeding will rot his organs, and in two days, sepsis will kill him."

"Please do all you can."

The doctor placed his cold hands on Itachi's bare chest. He felt he should have shivered, or flinched, but his body would no longer respond to its nervous impulses. A pulsing like ripples on a puddle spread across his body. It warmed his limbs like alcohol but dispelled the delirium like icewater.

Itachi coughed the blood clot that previously must have held his lungs together. The doctor grimaced.

"Excuse me," Itachi apologized through bloody teeth, looking up at an unfamiliar doctor from the red soaked towel.

The doctor's eyes traced to the medical-waste bin adjacent the chair, and Itachi deposited the towel there.

"How do you feel?" the doctor asked.

Itachi did not feel like answering. He looked instead at the two other menacing individuals in the room with him.

"You are, as usual, praised for your discretion," Konan, the violet crane, told the doctor in what was both thanks and a threat. She drew a black velvet pouch from her robe and paid him in gold coins. It seemed Konan at least was unconstrained by Kakuzu's budget. The pleased doctor accepted the gold without concern.

Itachi examined the treatment room. The equipment was modern, but it was on the ground floor of an ordinary building, with mud walls, and a glassless sunny window. Konan and Kisame stood backlit. He had thought he'd seen Pain, but their leader had not accompanied them to the doctor if he had been there at all. Itachi was not sure what he had imagined of the last hours and what was real. In as subtle a way as he could, he pressed his fingertips over his own eyelids, his tongue against his palette, to make sure they were real. That no crows had picked them out.

He looked at Kisame, his silver eyes were like cautious mirrors. In front of this doctor and Konan, Kisame's expression maintained a perfect mask of normality. Itachi was tempted to probe his thoughts, cast aside the flimsy tin shields guarding the man's mind and dive beneath. He could do it, but he didn't.

The three Akatsuki exited the building. Konan, tall for a woman at his height, walked on his right side with Kisame on his left. Her amber eyes slid to Itachi with aloof concern. "Who did this?"

"Anbu got a hit in while we slept. We took care of them," Kisame answered for him.

"It happens. Have someone professional clean your robes," she advised. She gave them each a gold coin. Little did she know they were already loaded with stolen cash. But they took the gold anyway.

She flared her angular paper wings, and Konan left the fire and water pair to their devices.

"Do we stink?" Itachi asked, turning the gold coin.

"Yes. Well, you do. I can't smell me."

The chakra healing left Itachi feeling disquietingly whole, minus a tightness in his chest. It had been since his Leaf Village days that he received effective treatment. The closest the Akatsuki pack of killers had to a field medic was Kakuzu, and well… fortunately Itachi had never needed his reattachment specialty. Or Sasori, who after a battle might aloofly recommend a certain plant. 'A purple mountain bloom with heart shaped leaves, but chew only its roots, for the pistil metabolizes a stealthy toxin when combined with hydrochloric acid…'

A stealthy toxin.

Kisame gave him a wary, perhaps expectant, side eye as the two men walked silently abreast.

"A question for you, Kisame."

"Yes?"

"You do understand, entrapping me would not be wise for your health," Itachi warned, eyes straight forward.

"You think I set you up."

"I entertain the possibility. You repeatedly asked me about the Infinite Tsukuyomi, interrogated me on the whisper of disagreement, and Zetsu reported it to Madara."

A daring smile. Kisame halted on the path. "Why don't you just look in my head and find out?"

Itachi used no genjutsu on Kisame. When he didn't, Kisame spoke.

"When you disappeared from that orchard, I imagined you and our leader had some Uchiha secrets to discuss. Or you pissed him off. That raven of yours found me, and with one look at your sorry carcass, I knew that you definitely pissed him off.

"But, if Madara wanted you dead, I would not have been able to help you."

Kisame's statement did not exactly exonerate him of double play. Obviously Madara had still had a use for Itachi in letting him live, and therefore Kisame would be instructed to treat him. But it did explain Kisame's train of thought. He believed Kisame was innocent of conducting any purposeful snare against him, for now. Perhaps in asking his questions, the wandering Kisame had just been curious on his worldview. And Itachi realized, he wanted to investigate his partner's principles as well.

"What happened after Madara took you?" Kisame asked.

"Madara used his ability to teleport me somewhere, through some other dimension. We exchanged words, then blows. When he let me live, I vowed my hatred."

"Hopefully he'll credit your rudeness to you being delirious from pain," Kisame continued. "Otherwise, you've got a problem on your hands."

Somehow Kisame's chastation relieved him.

"I know," Itachi agreed. "You need not worry about me. I'll hunt this beast of his — I would prefer not to die."

A short, sure laugh from Kisame.

Itachi's contract with Madara stood: the Leaf would be safe from him as long as he fell in the Akatsuki line. And Itachi would do whatever it took to serve the Will of Fire. Itachi was, for better or for worse, a master of small evils.

"In my hallucinations, I saw the three-legged crow, Yatagarasu. In the myth of my country, he heralds the emergence of gods," Itachi said.

"You've got some weird religion in the Leaf," Kisame dismissed.

"What is the folk religion in the Mist?" Itachi asked.

"Our elders say the world was born on the back of a giant turtle. And when that turtle dies, the world will sink back into the sea."

"So you learn how to swim," Itachi noted.

"I'm not saying I believe in giant turtle gods."

"What does Hoshigaki Kisame believe in then?"

A grunt, apparently.

Kisame was a being on the hunt, the hunt for some sort of belief system. He sought belonging in serving something greater than himself. So he attached himself to Akatsuki and the Infinite Tsukuyomi. Without it Kisame had no purpose and no self.

No, that last part was false.

"Thank you for helping me," Itachi said. "I apologize for accusing you of betraying me."

Kisame looked away from him and said, "Not a problem."

Itachi viewed the sky with his Sharingan. He searched for the ultraviolet aurora of the earth's magnetic field. Perhaps in a peaceful century, the Uchiha clan would reveal to scientists that this was the mystery of how birds migrated: they could see these magnetic, purplish, static in the sky that indicated latitude and north. But Itachi's ancestors taught him early to never reveal exactly how the Sharingan worked to outsiders. The magnetic field hazed in a weak aurora far to the northern horizon, indicating that they were further south than previously.

"Where exactly are we?" Itachi asked.

"Can you smell it? Land of Tea," Kisame answered.

An idea germinated in Itachi. It would be on the way. He thought of banished Susanoo, who wandering earth after his crimes, found his greatest weapon, his Totsuka Blade, in the belly of a giant serpent he had slain.

"I would like to speak with someone here."

"Never took you for one good at making friends."

"I'm not."

"Anything I should know about them?"

"If he licks you… bite him."

Kisame, expression amused, gestured for Itachi to lead the way.

In a few hours, the two dangerous men had arrived in an equally dangerous place.

With his Sharingan, Itachi noticed a small camouflaged snake emerge from a crack, flick its tongue, and recede. He was unsure if his target would answer his summons but it was worth trying. No, he would be answered. This man's greatest sin was curiosity. He would not be able to resist wondering why Uchiha Itachi was on his doorstep, even if it killed him.

The stonework hidden under the jungle vines began to tremble. Itachi had not seen this individual since their last clash in the Akatsuki. Itachi had paralyzed him with a glance and struck his body full of rods. He had not even needed the Tsukuyomi.

A slender white-skinned demon stepped from the revealed earthen cave. His venom-smooth androgynous voice coursed unruffled to the two ninja.

"The young crow approaches the snake at its den. Not how I expected your revenge, Itachi."

"If I wanted you dead, I would have done it already," Itachi commanded.

Orochimaru, somewhat more diplomatic than Itachi, narrowed his eyes. An uneasy wind blew between the two Leaf Rogues as Orochimaru waited for more information. Itachi was too merciless to speak twice.

"Orochimaru of the Sanin," Kisame broke the silence, stretching his lips over his teeth and maintaining eye contact in something between a greeting and a threat. "Good to meet you at last."

"And who are you?" the Sanin returned.

"Hoshigaki Kisame, formerly of the Hidden Mist. A pleasure."

"Mhm," Orochimaru hummed smug as a song, and his vertical pupils traced back to his main interest. The question was an insult: the most knowledgeable being in the five nations surely already knew who Hoshigaki Kisame was.

"I require information," Itachi said. He had reserved fatal judgement on Orochimaru at their last encounter in hopes that this Sanin's talents could be subverted. And one way or another, Itachi would collect his debts.

"Concerning?"

"Forbidden jutsu."

A sly, approving, perhaps flirtatious noise. "You know who to ask."

Orochimaru headed into his dark den, exposing his back in a gesture Itachi found coquette and arrogant. Orochimaru turned his head for Itachi to follow, and paced forward into the darkness. Kisame made eye contact with Itachi, sensing the matter was far more personal than it seemed. Perhaps Kisame's pause confirmed that he was welcome.

"Come," Itachi said. They needed to get away from where Zetsu could see them. And, he could use an ally's eyes in a house of the enemy. Itachi was not arrogant enough to think he was above being outsmarted by an Orochimaru with years to ruminate against him.

Like down the esophagus of a snake, the two rogues walked an earthen corridor after Orochimaru. Flaming sconces gleamed green on modern scientific equipment, and animal specimens lined the walls in glass jars. The jars contained mostly reptiles, but Kisame looked at a shark pup and a crow, and back at Itachi.

In the belly of his lair, Orochimaru halted before a green flaming hearth in a great stone hall. Library halls of tomes and scrolls stretched behind him. He faced Itachi with the flames at his back.

"How truly desperate you must be to come to me for wisdom, Itachi. However… my knowledge has a price."

Itachi did not come to trade.

"I've come to reap your debt. Your cooperation is wholly optional." Itachi's Sharingan spinned Mangekyou.

The fire at the hearth extinguished and it was completely, disorientingly black. Itachi and Kisame were blind. Itachi could not use his genjutsu without light. But he knew snakes could sense heat signatures as precisely as an eye could light. He felt Kisame tense next to him, and his arm reach for Samehada.

Stay calm, Itachi thought at Kisame. He would feel it in his body.

"There's no need for that," Orochimaru deescalated from the darkness. Apparently he had changed his mind on the payment.

"Good," Itachi maintained curtly. "We will continue this discussion in the light."

The green fire returned. Samehada slid back into its hilt. Itachi's eyes retracted to their normal red.

"So," Orochimaru said.

"Tell me all you know about the Second Hokage's instant transportation technique."

An amused purr. "Teleportation. My, my, who has got you on the run, Itachi?"

"We've got places to be," Kisame maintained. The Mist ninja was right.

Itachi cared little about being on time for their next mission in the Land of Rivers. But he had to conceal the exact target of his question from both Kisame and Orochimaru. Madara had no doubt used something related to the Second Hokage's technique for his dimension-hopping. And until Itachi had a way to bind Madara to this plane, Itachi knew he would lose their next fight.

"As much as I respect the Second, it was the young Fourth who was the true master of space-time techniques," Orochimaru said, stepping towards his library.

"I understand. The Flying Thunder-God technique gained the Yellow Flash a run-on-sight order from the enemy alliance, and created the illusion that he was in multiple places at once."

"You are not completely uneducated," Orochimaru pulled a scroll from the wall.

"I would also like to know how to disable it."

Orochimaru paused. "You mean, how an enemy could theoretically stop the Fourth from transporting himself."

"Yes."

"There is some research into this."

"By who?"

Orochimaru pulled a second scroll. "Minato himself. However, Minato's research went incomplete. It involved a sealing jutsu currently unreplicatable."

Orochimaru opened the scroll to Itachi. On it was written a simple character in a brownish ink.

"Human blood," Itachi noted. Aged.

"Minato's blood, specifically. Unfortunately, as you know, Namikaze Minato has been a corpse for thirteen years."

"There must be another way," Itachi said.

Orochimaru closed the scroll. "You could ask him."

"Make no jokes, or worse, threats, Orochimaru," Itachi warned.

Orochimaru dipped his sly head without submission. "I apologize."

Itachi examined Minato's blood scroll. "Are these two all you have on the transportation subject?"

"All that would be of succinct use to you."

Itachi turned the scroll in his hand. He would keep them both for study. Orochimaru was too wise to comment or object.

"We'll be taking our leave now." Itachi said.

"A moment."

Orochimaru presented Itachi with a snake's egg. It was rubbery and pill shaped, rather than hard and tear-drop shaped like a bird's.

"If you need to come here again, do be polite and use this."

Fair chance Itachi would awake to a snake hatchling poisoning him in his sleep, or find himself strapped on the demon's dissection table when activating it. But Itachi accepted the egg anyway. Same as the original Orochimaru, it could be researched, repurposed, or destroyed.

Itachi walked out of Orochimaru's lair, the two scrolls under his arm, purposefully slow and dominant. Then he and Kisame ran briefly in the daylight trees, not wanting to dwell in Orochimaru's territory, and slowed again to a walk when they thought themselves far enough from any possible backstabbing. Kisame extended the first of the two scrolls before him.

"'Mark the jutsu formula on the target...' how are we supposed to use this? We can't teleport ourselves to this country if we've never been there before."

"Indeed we cannot," Itachi said.

"Well!" Kisame closed the scroll with unusual enthusiasm. "Too bad your transportation idea didn't work. I suppose we'll have to travel to the Land of Rivers my way."

As he spoke, Kisame looked through the jungle trees at the emerging ocean.

Your way? Itachi battled a sinking premonition. "Does it involve giant sharks?"

"No."

Good.

"Just one question for you, Itachi."

"Yes?"

"Have you ever taken over a ship before?"

Author's note:

Aaand next up is chapter 8, the KisaIta zany sea adventure!

Many thanks to beta SilverLion for her help reviewing this chapter!

Thank you readers for being patient with this chapter. I had an especially difficult time navigating current world events and I had to leave my home. But it's important to weaponize your creativity when you're stuck in the unknown. Please share this story with your friends if you like it, and let me know what you think :D

Steadfast,

Kelto

#campfires #itachi #kisame #kisaita #akatsuki #fanfiction #naruto #celticfeather

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moonstomars · 5 years ago

Text

Withering heart

Kiane week, day four : Loneliness/Sacrifice

Summary: settled in a world where Meliodas has never gathered the Seven Deadly Sins. After one thousand years in prison, the Fairy King is free to return to his loved ones. He finds nothing more than ashes and ruins.

Notes: I wrote this a few months ago after discussing with some friends what would have happened if Meliodas had never formed the Sins. So, that’s my take! Consider that this is pretty heavy angst and please, check the tags before reading.

Warnings: heavy angst, major characters’ death, canon typical violence (considering that nnt can be pretty gory sometimes), mention of self-harm

“Come on, this can’t be real!” The younger man keeps staring at the paper he holds in his hand with furrowed brows, almost as the intensity of his gaze could change the words written on it. He rapidly looks at his feet, just to make sure he is not going to trip on the stairs, then returns his eyes on the document. “One thousand years of prison? This is a joke!”

At his side, carefully going down the stair with his hand on the rail, the older one shrugs, a big iron key between his fingers. “I’ve learnt since long ago not to question anything about that prisoner,” he simply says, eyes fixed on his feet. “They are here since I started working here, and as far as I know, they were here before. Every day, I’ve brought them food, and they have always eaten it. Whoever is in that cell, I don’t know, but they are surely alive - and old.”

“Yes but - one thousand years?” The young guard skips the two last steps and lifts his gaze to look at his companion, scepticism clear on his face. “The has been a mistake for sure! Maybe the scribe was distracted when they copied this. Or drunk.” His nose wrinkles as he shakes his head, “You can’t trust those guys.”

The other man doesn’t answer as he reaches the end of the stairs, immediately turning and pointing at the sturdy wooden door at the end of the hall. “You can ask them yourself since we came to free them,” he comments finally, barely glancing back - the other has followed him, still muttering under his breath.

“We are going to find a - an old, decrepit guy, you know right? Maybe we’ll be lucky enough and they’ll be able to walk, so we won’t have to drag them until the exit …”

With an annoyed sigh, the old guard lifts the key. It slides in the lock without problems, yet he needs to strain the old iron for a few moments, turning it with force and breathing out with relief when finally the latch cedes and the door starts opening, revealing a dark room, barely illuminated by the little window that opens right under the ceiling. Only then the man hesitates, peeking out from the entrance and looking for any sign of life. “Hello?” He says, taking a step inside, his companion immediately following him as his wide eyes search the cell. “Your penance has ended prisoner. We have come to free you.”

“It ended?”

Both the men jerks, turning toward the left side of the cell, where, in the shadows, a figure stands up. “I’m really free to go? The king will not declare war to the Fairies, as he promised?”

“War?” The old guard asks, furrowing his brows as the other one let out a surprised gulp, the word “Fairies?!” almost getting stuck in his throat. “I don’t know what you are talking about, there are not been wars for almost - ah, fifty years, now?”

Silence falls as the prisoners takes a moment to assimilate the words, then they nod and take a step towards the two men, lifting the chained wrists, “Take them off, please, I - I need to go, now."

But neither of the guards can do anything else but stare, eyes wide and mouths falling open as the young figure of a boy emerges from the shadow, his tired amber eyes so incredibly old and yet set on the face of a teen.

"So?” He raises a brow when nothing happens, “There are people who are waiting for me.”

“How - who are you?” The young guard squeaks while the other is still frozen, “This is insane! You can’t be - you can’t!”

The boy purses his lips before snapping his finger, and the old man yelps as the key leaves his hand and floats in the air until it reaches the lock of the chains. In a moment, the old iron falls on the ground and the prisoner sighs, massaging his wrists. “Good,” he murmurs, before glancing again at the two now terrified humans. “Tell the king that everything is settled, then.” In the blink of an eye, his feet have left the ground and then he is flying through the door, leaving the guards and the dark cell and everything he has known for the past one thousand years. Leaving to finally reuniting with them.

Elaine. His people.

Diane.

Beheaded.

Harlequin blinks, once, twice, then he squeezes his eyes for a long moment before opening them again, yet the letters are still there, scratchy but so clear on the yellowed paper. The other words seem to blend and blur in a dark mass that covers the page, the only sentence he can see is the one that now echoes in his mind, wiping out any other thought.

Sentenced to be beheaded.

His heart pounds, fast and strong, it’s like a drum in his chest and his head, but it almost feels distant, a simple background to the images flowing in his mind. He sees her, so young and innocent like the time they were together. He sees the chains tight around her hands, he sees the soldiers gathering around her figure, using their weapons and magic to make her kneel. He imagines the fear and panic in her eyes as the knowledge that it’s over sinks into her, he imagines the tears rolling down her cheeks and the broken sobs escaping her lips. Did she fight? He doubts so, or at least, he doubts she did everything in her power to stop them. She was alone, most likely without training, and besides, she wouldn’t have wanted to hurt them because she was good, and kind, and selfless - not envious, never envious, that’s not her. Whoever wrote the accusation against her was lying - and that lie, that filthy lie, was all it needed to end her life.

His grip on the old papers tighten, the sheet crinkle and swish and the words distort. He doesn’t care. He is not seeing it anymore. In his mind, she cries when her neck rest on the wooden stump, she struggles, trying to get away, when the blade is lifted and it starts to fall - but it’s not enough. And before the blood spurts and her head rolls on the ground and the light leaves forever her violet eyes, she screams his name. He blinks, eyes wide fixed on the paper that is falling into pieces in his grip. That was just a trick of his mind, it had to be - like everything else, for that matter. She didn’t remember him, she couldn’t have called his name. She died thinking that she was alone.

She died because he left.

She died.

Harlequin feels nothing and at the same time, he feels too much, too many emotions bursting into his chest and burning his heart as his mind empties. He can’t think about anything else than her, than Diane, the young Giantess he loved - he loves - and he left because it thought it would have been for the best for her. The girl he condemned to death.

She is dead.

She was taken away from him, like everything else, while he waited and waited for that cursed sentence to finish. Without him even knowing.

She died -

No.

She didn’t die. She was murdered. And he wasn’t there to stop it.

The paper is decomposing and falling into pieces in his hands, but he doesn’t need it anymore. The sentence, the date, the place are marked with fire in his brain. Liones. Around 800 years ago. Sentenced to be beheaded. Executed. And he was there, waiting in a cell. To be free. To find her again. He was there. Just a few miles from the place where her blood spilt. It would have been a joke for him to fly there and save her. If only he had known.

If he had known -

The scream echoes in the underground room, bouncing on the walls and the ceiling and returning distorted to his ears, and only when his throat starts to hurt, when he coughs and silence falls for a moment, he realizes that it came from him. He screams again, and the paper crumbles to dust in his hands, soaking his clothes when he grips the cloth right beneath his heart, his fingers sinking and scratching in the skin under it. It should hurt, but he feels nothing but an empty place in his chest where once it was hope, yet he digs his nails in the warm flesh, pressing against the bones - if only he was strong enough to break them and reach his heart and rip it out, if only he could end this here and now, before his mind has the chance to wrap around the fact that Diane is not anymore.

When the ground shakes he falls on his knees, head bent as he keeps slashing his body; he blinks, the tears that were watering his eyes finally falling on his cheeks, staring at the stone floor until it breaks before his eyes. Vines emerge from the creaks, making their way through the rocks, and when he glances around Harlequin notices that the wooden shelves are rotting and falling and the paper records he had searched for so long are pulverizing. It’s him, part of his mind realizes, he lost control, yet he can’t bring himself to care as the new plants tear apart the room, not even when the ceiling starts to fall around him. Let it fall, he thinks, lowering his head, let it hit him and bury him under the earth, where he deserves and craves to be. Harlequin sobs and waits, embracing himself as the dust and the debris envelop him, as the sound of floors and walls and ceiling crumbling down covers his cries - he calls for her, for Diane, and for his sister and his friends and everything he lost. He calls for them, desperately hoping that when he will open his eyes they will be there, welcoming him between them in the land of death.

But fate is unfair and he is not so lucky. When he raises his head, minutes or hours later, the shaking has stopped and the dust is settling, yet he breathes and sees and feels. Vines have wrapped around him, creating a wooden shield that protected him from the debris shower. At the summit, the branches thin out and he can catch glimpse of the night sky where once was the left wing of the royal palace. Out there, he can hear people screaming and calling, crying over the ruins of the building and most likely the corpse of the unfortunates who were there. His is not among them. He is still alive. He is still alive.

He covers his face with his hands as he cries, and he hates the pathetic whine that comes out of his mouth. His nails sink into his skin again and tear his skin until they are soaked in blood. It hurts, but not enough to overpower the sorrow that is suffocating his soul. His sight is blurred again, and he can barely distinguish the figures who now look out from the top of the hole he created.

“Someone’s down there! I think he is alive”

“That’s impossible! How can someone - ?”

“Hey, kid! Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

Their voices reach for his ears, yet he can’t hear them, nor he cares. Why? Why he had to be the one who lived? Why it wasn’t Diane, why it wasn’t Elaine? Why him?

The desperation that clenches his heart is overcome by the burning rage that flares up in his chest, making him cries again as the vines writhe over him. More screams rise in the night and he doesn’t care, because his Forest has burnt and his loved ones are dead and it’s all his fault. Hot blood falls on his cheeks, mixing with his own, and then on his arms and hands, with something else, something solid and red that hits the ground with an obscene squish, and that’s when he realizes what the vines are doing. He doesn’t stop them. Why bother? Those humans are guilty - not as he is, but almost. A human took away the life from his sister’s hands, and then made sure to burn the Forest to the ground until nothing but a bleakness of death was left. Humans were the ones who took Diane to trial and judged her and killed her - not minding that she was so young and kind and too good for this world and its madness. They deserve nothing.

He is not fully aware of what he is doing when he lifts into the air and get out of what should have been his grave. His eyes wander without interest on the dismembered bodies around the hole, on the ruins of the buildings and the crooked plants that rise from the ground - they weren’t there, earlier, when he slipped in the palace through a tiny window, fear and hope mixing in his heart. He doesn’t care. When he passes next to them they tremble and rotten and fall and other buds sprout from the ground, growing crooked and black. Under his feet, the grass darkens and wither, the flowers fall and the earth dry, leaving a path of desolation behind him. He doesn’t care.

When someone yells on his right, his eyes move and he lazily turns his head. The bleakness in his eyes doesn’t change when he spots the lying man, nor when he notices the red wound on his arm. The man cries and presses the cut, trying to stop the blood, but the red liquid is spurting and pouring on his clothes as the wound gets larger and larger until it covers all his forearm. Whining, the man lifts his eyes, and that’s when he sees Harlequin. “Help,” he croaks as he crawls towards him, “Help me! It doesn’t stop!”

Harlequin stands still, his eyes empty as he watches the man stopping with a panicked scream, as his skin is sliced towards the shoulder and then the chest and the belly until he is covered in his own blood, until his body freeze on the ground and lies motionless in a pool of red.

He doesn’t care.

He forgets about the man the moment he turns away, making his way towards the walls of the city. Even when the screams and the sounds of the crumbling palaces surround him again, he keeps his eyes straight ahead, slowly walking across the town. His mind is blank, his chest is empty.

He doesn’t care.

#nnt #nanatsu no taizai #the seven deadly sins #kianeweek #kianeweek2019 #seven deadly sins #king harlequin #diane #nnt fanfiction #my writing #marswriting #i'm sorry about this #my firends' fault

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