#Temporary Protected Services

[justinspoliticalcorner]

This evening, racist cat-eating hoax-pusher Donald Trump told NewsNation reporter Ali Bradley in an exclusive interview for the network that he would revoke the Temporary Protected Status (TPS) of Haitian migrants in Springfield, Ohio if he is elected “President” again. The cat-eating hoax was started by Trump’s ticketmate and Ohio Senator JD Vance. Dear Mr. Trump, the folks that are on TPS status are here legally, despite your feverish insinuations otherwise. 

Read the full story at Daily Kos.

[renovationgroup]

Professional Roof Tarping Service After Storm Damage

When a storm hits and leaves roof damage in its wake, taking immediate steps to protect your home becomes essential. Roof tarping is one of the most effective temporary solutions for covering damaged areas, keeping rain, wind, and debris out, and preventing further harm to your property. While some homeowners may consider DIY tarping, calling a professional roof tarping service is often the smartest choice, ensuring both safety and reliable protection. Here’s why hiring a professional roof tarping service after storm damage is one of the best decisions you can make for your home.

1. Immediate Action and Protection

After a storm, time is of the essence. Even small roof damage can rapidly turn into a much larger issue if exposed to further rain or wind. Water infiltration, in particular, can seep through small cracks and gaps, damaging insulation, walls, ceilings, and even electrical systems. Roof tarping acts as a shield, blocking out the elements until permanent repairs can be made.

Professional roof tarping services can respond quickly, often within hours of a call. They know that immediate action is crucial to protecting your home from escalating damage. By hiring professionals, you ensure that your roof is covered with a heavy-duty tarp, securely fastened to withstand additional weather. This protection buys valuable time to plan for repairs and minimizes the risk of costly, long-term damage to the structure and interior of your home.

2. Ensuring Safety on a Damaged Roof

Working on a roof is inherently dangerous, especially after a storm when surfaces may be wet, damaged, or unstable. Climbing onto a roof without proper experience or equipment can result in serious accidents or injuries. Professional roof tarping services are well-trained in safety protocols, and they come equipped with harnesses, ladders, and other necessary gear to work on roofs safely. They are skilled at assessing and navigating the roof’s surface to secure the tarp without risking injury.

Professional roofers are also adept at identifying hazards that may not be obvious to a homeowner. After a storm, roofs often have hidden weak spots, loose shingles, or structural issues that could be dangerous to step on. Professionals understand these risks and know how to safely install a tarp in compromised areas, ensuring the roof and tarp remain stable until permanent repairs are made. By hiring a professional, you avoid putting yourself in harm’s way and leave the job to experts who can handle it safely and efficiently.

3. High-Quality Materials for Reliable Protection

Not all tarps are created equal. Professional roof tarping services use high-grade, weather-resistant materials designed to provide strong, long-lasting coverage. Heavy-duty polyethylene or vinyl tarps are commonly used by professionals for their durability, UV resistance, and waterproofing. These tarps are much stronger than typical store-bought versions, meaning they’ll last longer and provide better protection against the elements.

Additionally, professionals use proper fastening techniques to secure the tarp in place. They know how to prevent the tarp from shifting or lifting in high winds, using materials like sandbags, wooden planks, or specialized fasteners. This secure installation ensures the tarp stays in place even in harsh weather, keeping your roof and home protected until a full repair is scheduled. When you invest in professional tarping, you gain peace of mind knowing that the materials used will offer reliable protection.

4. Compliance with Insurance Requirements

After storm damage, many insurance policies require homeowners to take “reasonable steps” to mitigate additional damage. By hiring a professional tarping service, you’re showing your insurance provider that you took immediate action to protect your home, which can be important in claim processing. Delaying action can sometimes result in reduced claim coverage or even claim denial, as insurance companies may argue that further damage could have been prevented.

Professional roof tarping services can provide documentation, such as photographs and a report, that details the damage and the steps taken to secure the property. This documentation can be crucial when submitting an insurance claim, as it demonstrates that the homeowner acted responsibly. By choosing a professional tarping service, you not only ensure protection but also help support a smoother, more efficient claims process, potentially speeding up reimbursements for repairs.

5. Prevention of Long-Term Damage and Cost Savings

While hiring a professional roof tarping service comes with an upfront cost, it often saves money in the long run. A tarp prevents rainwater from seeping into your home, which can lead to significant damage to insulation, drywall, floors, and personal belongings. Water exposure can also result in mold growth, a costly and complex problem to resolve. By stopping leaks before they start, tarping minimizes the risk of mold and structural deterioration, which can add thousands of dollars to your repair bill.

Additionally, a professionally installed tarp prevents roof damage from worsening, which means that when permanent repairs are conducted, the scope of work—and cost—is likely to be less extensive. A well-secured tarp effectively preserves the integrity of the roof, saving you from having to deal with widespread damage and higher costs. In this way, professional tarping acts as an investment that protects not only your property but also your finances.

6. Expertise and Peace of Mind

After experiencing roof damage, dealing with repairs and insurance claims can be overwhelming. Calling a professional roof tarping service relieves some of this burden by allowing experts to handle the initial response. Professional roofers are skilled at evaluating damage, installing a tarp efficiently, and providing the necessary documentation. Their expertise and quick response allow homeowners to focus on other pressing tasks, such as coordinating with insurance adjusters or finding a contractor for permanent repairs.

Hiring a professional also provides peace of mind that your home is truly protected. DIY tarping may result in leaks or gaps if not done properly, leading to further anxiety about whether your home is secure. With a professional tarping service, you know that experienced technicians have inspected and protected your roof effectively, allowing you to concentrate on other aspects of recovery without constant worry about the state of your roof.

The Smart Choice for Protecting Your Home After Storm Damage

Professional roof tarping services offer essential, immediate protection for homes following storm damage. By covering exposed areas and securing the roof with high-quality tarps, these services provide a barrier against further weather exposure, protecting your home and your investment. Hiring a professional service ensures safety, compliance with insurance requirements, and access to durable materials that provide reliable coverage. While some may consider attempting DIY tarping, the expertise, materials, and documentation provided by professionals make this service a wise choice.

When storms strike, leaving your home exposed to additional risks can be costly and dangerous. Choosing a professional tarping service ensures that your home remains safe, your insurance claim is supported, and you can focus on arranging for permanent repairs without added stress. For homeowners facing the uncertainty of storm damage, a professional roof tarping service is an invaluable asset that protects your property and brings peace of mind.

Learn More: roof tarping

[inkskinned]

i got rickrolled today but it didn't work because i have adblocker installed, so youtube just told me i violated the terms of service. yesterday i was trying to edit a picture as a joke for my girlfriend, and google made me check a box to prove i'm human because i wasn't "searching normally".

it isn't just that capitalism is killing fun and whimsy, it is that any element of entertainment or joy is being fed upon by this mosquito body, one that will suck you dry at any vulnerability.

do you want to meet new friends in your city? download this app, visit our website, sign up for our email list. pay for this class on making a terrarium, on candlemaking, on cooking. it will be 90 dollars a session. you can go to group fitness, but only under our specific gym membership. solve the puzzle, sign up for our puzzle-of-the-month-club. what is a club if not just a paid opportunity - you are all paying for the same thing, which makes you a community.

but you're like me, i know it - you're careful, you try the library meetings and the stuff at the local school and all of that. the problem is that you kind of want really specific opportunities that used to exist. you are so grateful for libraries and the publicly-funded things: they are, however, an exception - and everything they have, they've fought tooth-and-nail to protect. you read a headline about how in many other states, libraries have virtually nothing left.

do you want to meet up with your friends afterwards? gift your friends the discord app. you can choose to go to a cafe (buy a coffee, at least), a bar (money, alcohol) or you can all stay in and catch a movie (streaming) or you can all stay in bed (rent. don't get me started) and scream (noise complaint. ticket at least).

you want to read a new book, but the book has to have 124 buzzwords from tiktok readers that are, like, weirdly horny. you can purchase this audiobook on audible! your podcast isn't on spotify, it's on its own server, pay for a different site. fuck, at least you're supporting artists you like. the art museum just raised their ticket price. once, they had a temporary exhibit that acknowledged that ~85% of their permanent art galleries were from cis white men, and that they had thousands of works by women (even famous women, like frida! georgia o'keefe!) just rotting in their basement. that exhibit lasted for 3 months and then they put everything away again.

walmart proudly supports this strip of land by the street! here are some flowers with wilting leaves. its employees have to pay out-of-pocket for their uniforms. my friend once got fined by the city because she organized a community pick-up of the riverfront, which was technically private property.

no, you cannot afford to take that dance class, neither can i. by the way - i'm a teacher. i'm absolutely not saying "educators shouldn't be paid fairly." i'm saying that when i taught classes, renting a studio went from 20 bucks an hour to 180 in the span of 6 months. no significant changes to the studio were made, except they now list the place as updated and friendly. the heat still doesn't work in the building. i have literally never seen the landlord who ignores my emails. recently they've been renting it out at night as an "unusual nightclub; a once-in-a-lifetime close-knit party." they spent some of those 180 dollars on LEDs and called it renovating. the high heels they invite in have been ruining the marley.

do you want to experience the old internet? do you want to play flash games or get back the temporary joy of club penguin? you can, you just need to pay for it. i have a weird, neurodivergent obsession with occasionally checking in to watch the downfall and NFT-ification of neopets. if i'm honest with you all - i never got into webkins, my family didn't have the money to buy me a pointless elephant. people forget that "being poor" can mean literally "if i buy you that toy, i can't afford rent."

you and i don't have time to make good food, and we don't have the budget for it. we are not gonna be able to host dinner parties, we're not made of money, kid. do you want some kind of 3rd space? a space that isn't home or work or school? you could try being online, but - what places actually exist for you? tiktok counts as social media because you see other people on it, not because they actually talk to you.

there was a local winter tradition of sledding down the hill at my school. kids would use pizza boxes and jackets and whatever worked, howling and laughing. back in september, they made a big announcement that this time, rules were changing, and everyone must pay 10 dollars to participate. when im not scared shitless, i kind of appreciate the environmental irony - it hasn't gone below 40. so much for snow & joyriding.

i saw a bulletin for a local dogwalking group and, nervous about making a good first impression, showed up early. the first guy there grimaced at me. "sorry," he said. "there's a 30-dollar buy-in fee." i thought he was joking. wait. for what? the group doesn't offer anything except friendship and people with whom to walk around the city.

he didn't know the answer. just shrugged at me. "you know," he said. "these days, everything costs money."

[jaberfamily]

Have you had your cup of coffee today? How much does it cost?

15$ 20$ 25$ 30$

While you can live freely and enjoy your coffee, there are many children in Gaza who suffer due to war, siege, and the harsh winter.

The Children of Gaza: A Struggle Against War, Siege, and Winter’s Cold

As you sip your warm cup of coffee in the comfort of your home, it’s hard to imagine that, just a world away, countless children are fighting a daily battle for survival. In Gaza, the ongoing war, years of siege, and the bitter cold of winter combine to create a devastating reality for innocent children and their families.

For these children, the luxuries of warmth and safety are dreams rather than realities. Many have been forced to live in makeshift tents after their homes were destroyed by bombings. These tents, often made from thin tarps or old fabrics, offer little protection against the freezing winds and heavy rains of winter.

The lack of heating, warm clothing, and proper shelter leads to illnesses like hypothermia and pneumonia, with limited medical supplies to treat them. Children go to sleep shivering, waking up to puddles of rainwater and mud inside their temporary shelters.

The blockade on Gaza further exacerbates this suffering. Basic necessities such as fuel, food, and medicines are in short supply. Parents face heartbreaking choices between buying food or trying to find ways to keep their children warm. Schools and hospitals are overwhelmed, struggling to provide even the most basic services.

Yet, despite these hardships, the resilience of Gaza’s children is remarkable. They cling to hope, dreaming of a life beyond war and deprivation. But they cannot endure this alone—they need our help.

A cup of coffee might cost $15 or more, but the same amount can bring warmth to a child in Gaza. It can provide blankets, clothing, or even a few days of heating for a family struggling to survive.

As you enjoy your freedom and comfort, consider extending a helping hand to these children. Your small act of kindness can make a world of difference in their lives, offering them not just warmth but a glimmer of hope in the midst of despair.

Let’s turn our privilege into action and show these children they are not forgotten.

My family, like the rest of the people of Gaza, suffers greatly from the war, the cold and the difficult conditions. Help by donating or spreading the campaign so that we can resist and survive.

✅ My Campaign ✅ 🔍Vetted by @90-ghost here 🔍Vetted by association in this post

Paypal Link

@ot3 @mangocheesecakes @good-old-gossip @dragon-master-kai @vakarians-babe @prinnay @neptunerings @paper-mario-wiki @newsfrom-theworld @a-scary-lack-of-common-sense @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness-blog @buttercuparry @westaysilly @sunflowersmoths@nieyaoevents @finalgirlabigailhobbs @normal-thoughts-official @flower-tea-fairies @mephal @mothfishing @theaethernetconnection @90-ghost @gaza-evacuation-funds @northgazaupdates2@treeen@keikuri@archivist-goldfish @loook-back-at-it @lookineedsleep@a-scary-lack-of-common-sense@ot3 @reminded @neechees @ankle-beez @paper-mario-wiki @khanger@treesbian @pigswithwings @mobiused @poss-um @possiblythebesteyesintheworld @noble-kale @a-shade-of-blue @chokulit @neptunerings @heydreamchild @dlxxv-vetted-donations @segamascott @autisticmudkip @shadowedskies178 @rowansugar @t-800terminator-blog @greggorylee @wellwaterhysteria @theleechyskrunkly @notlikingbestgirl @inkxplashes @ragtoons @blackcherri-stuff

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

I missed drawing for my old WIR AU, so I came back to it for a bit!! Exploring the lore and the characters is just as fun as I remember it being.

Mini summary of the character lores and random tidbits under cut to remind myself, because I forgot everything :) I might revamp some of the lore as well.

The Turbo twins just barely managed to escape being unplugged along with their game after Turbo game jumped years ago. They survived, but homelessness for a game sprite is dangerous, since it implies a lack of protective anti-virus barrier their consoles would typically have offered them. The twins' raw codes were now completely exposed to external errant bugs, viruses, and other malware, which could prove to be fatal. So, they were stuck going around stations picking up odd jobs and services in exchange for temporary shelter in other games' consoles. But because of Turbo's actions and his disappearance, the twins' reputations were forced to take the full brunt of the arcade's backlash and scrutiny. This ruined their chances at a permanent home, not to mention the fact that letting an outsider stay too long in your game was considered very taboo at the time (especially with the whole game jumping scandal). Thus, they were stuck hopping from one game to another, never staying for longer than a few days at most.

- Felix and the Turbo trio knew each other before the Turbo incident :) He and the twins are still in contact after the incident, and he sometimes lets them stay in his game.

- Felix' in-game story is pretty much the same as Ralph's. There's still the stump, except that in the beginning of the game it's actually a full tree that Felix and his father used to care for before the latter died. The animation shows the bulldozer knocking it town to a stump to make space for Niceland, which basically is the whole opening of the game where Felix gets mad and wrecks the building, blah blah blah, you know the rest :)

- Felix used to be mistaken as the hero of his game a lot since he looked so small and unassuming. It annoyed him to no ends, because he despises having to talk to strangers.

[smallgodseries]

They weave his earthly incarnations out of sticks and straw, erecting them as monuments to the harvest, as bulwarks against the closing cold.  They build him because they can, because they are compelled to do so, because they remember, on some deep and binding level, that it’s the sticks and straw and tinder or it’s beans in the bread and blood on the snow.

Sometimes it is both.  We still require our temporary kings if we want the sun to remember how to rise.  Some rituals are old even before they begin; some patterns must repeat, over and over, until time itself unwinds into dust and shadow.

So they weave him, year on year, and they stand him in the city square, and they set guards against the inevitable.  Look at him, they argue, look at his greatness, look at his glory.  Look at the way he stands, golden against the winter sky.  Surely we owe him our protection.  Surely he should be preserved.  Surely that will keep us from the cold.

They forget to consult with the divine.  They forget to ask the god they tend with such devotion what he wants.

The god wants to burn.

Spring is not only the turning of the year; it is the restoration of hope, the dawning of a new chance to be better than we have been, and hope is bought with sacrifice.  With blood on the snow, or fire in the straw.  He wants better for us, he wants us to burn brightly, and so he yearns for the flame.  When released from his temporary embodiments, he carries the darkness and debris of the dying year out of the world with him, and leaves us renewed, restored, ready to be more than we have been.

Weave him well, thank him for his service, and allow him to burn.

That is how we worship.  That is how we serve.

That is how we bring back the sun.

[sleepyjuice]

𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲𝐣𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

jj maybank

smut is marked * MDNI.

fics/one shots

patience is a virtue *

r u mine? *

this is where i want to be *

weed, sex, beach *

blurbs/filled requests

jj accidentally hurts you during sex *

jj + his big mouthed gf

little kisses

teaching you to surf

protective jj

cute little twirls

aftercare

matching pj's

dog dad jj

do you regret it?

can you stay? *

you're so warm

jj's hands pt1

jj's hands pt2

jj picks you up from girl's night

jj taking care of you on your period

jj being pussy whipped

sex with jj while he's crying *

jj taking care of pregnant gf

jj helping you through a migraine

fourth of july fireworks *

jj braiding your hair

anniversary beach date

can i come over?

acts of service from jj headcanon

dancing in the rain

praise kink *

jj is a human furnace

jj eats your ass *

groping *

69 *

cuddling

eating jj's ass *

jj texts/social media

jj coded texts pt1

jj coded texts pt2

your instagram stories

jj's instagram stories

fratboy!jj au

moodboard

texting fratboy!jj

jj writes your name on his dick *

your instagram stories

plug!jj au

moodboard

can i pay another way? *

plug!jj is a munch *

texts from plug!jj

enemy!jj au

moodboard

making out *

rafe cameron

fics/one shots

temporary fix *

blurbs/filled requests

overstimulation *

rafe texts/social media

rafe coded texts pt1

rafe coded texts pt2

rafe's instagram stories

your instagram stories

toxic!rafe au

moodboard

texts with toxic!rafe

toxic!rafe's instagram stories

rafe drags you out of the club *

when he knows he almost lost you *

trying to leave him

he blows up your phone

[ana-bananya]

Support survivors of El Gezira massacres

From project.taghyir on ig

In response to the RSF's massacres in Gezria, RUSUL, a U.S.-registered nonprofit, is raising $150,000 to provide essential aid to 300,000 people in Gezira State. Your donation will help fund:

Emergency Evacuation and Shelter: Assistance for displaced families to move to safe areas, temporary housing, cash aid, and logistical support.

Healthcare: Essential emergency health services.

Protection & Psychosocial Support: Child protection, GBV prevention, and psychosocial care for traumatized families.

This campaign has been highlighted by Sara (@/bsonblast). In the same video, she also shared other organizations working to help Sudanese refugees. Additional resources can be found in her linktree, including funds for individual families.

[confessedlyfannish]

DPxDC Prompt

Danny has always been able to manage his obsession with the help of his human half & also because a variety of urges were running through him when he died - curiosity (the desire to explore), service (the desire to be of use, to fix), and his overall innate nature, protectiveness (to protect this new, loving family he's found, to protect his little brother, no matter the cost)

-and underneath it all, buried deep down and an admittance he will never speak is his desire for power, because with power comes the ability to accomplish all of the above.

Still, he has seen what power does to people, to his Grandfather, and then what power had done to him, in a future where no human half had tempered his urges and his desire for power was doubled when he combined with the ghost of his godfather, obsession meeting obsession.

So he keeps himself on a tight leash except for the day he embraces Power and Ends Pariah, which is fine because the power from the suit is temporary and he still has no idea the dark future that awaits him, believes that he can temper himself. But he is something wild and dark and feral when he goes after Pariah, calling upon lessons from a past life and not hesitating to go for the kill in a way that makes Vlad, the only true witness, hesitant around him forevermore, a sliver of fear in his eyes that he cannot mask.

If he had known defeating Pariah would mean inheriting the crown, he never would've done it. Because with the power of the Crown and the Ring comes again his inability to fight his urges - not for more power, he has plenty, but to protect.

For Clockwork, for the Ancients, a King that will Protect his Realm is the ideal. But the ramifications for Danny are clear to his family the moment he wrenches Ellie from the Earth and into a room in The Keep for a week until her cheeks are flush with ectoplasm but also tears and Jazz and Maddie have successfully talked him through how safety must also mean happiness. To this day they do not know if it was their words that eventually penetrated his mind or his power settling. But he still struggles to allow them their freedom, and it is apparent to all who love him.

And so they figure out ways to manage. Systems. None of his Beloved, his Fraid will ever willingly step into danger. They will give him consistent updates, they will provide tech that manages their vitals. They will visit and allow him trespass in turn. They will sleep in his bed (less necessary, but said with a wink and an errant hand that shows they are willing to make the sacrifice).

And deep within the Zone, on one of his routine checks with nary a soul in a sight, Danny allows himself to curl into a ball and cry. Wail. Because he knows he can never go in search of his brother, nor his father, the Batman. The one reunion he craved, because with power came the ability to protect, even from one as horrible as Ra's Al Ghul, is the same reason he must deny himself. Because Damian Wayne and Bruce Wayne will always put themselves in danger. And if he comes to them, he will never let them go.

[lilianade-comics]

My Cheese Melt AU is an alternate series of events beginning in Kindred Spirits (in which Vlad never sends Dani to capture Danny, because he convinced himself that it would be a waste to get rid of a perfectly serviceable clone so quickly, leading directly into him getting so unreasonably attached to her that he forgets all about the original "perfect son" plan) which then turns into a Dani inclusive, family dynamic focused rewrite of season 3. (the fic series starts with spirits less than willing)

Dani is present for certain important canon episodes (currently Eye For An Eye, Urban Jungle, and Living Large are the ones I've fleshed out) but she also gets episodes about her. Such as her first day at school, her obligatory identity crisis episode in which she recruits Sam and Tucker to help find her some hobbies and interests that are sufficiently different from anything Danny or Vlad likes, and Aloha From the Other Side, the vacation episode where her dad breaks Hawaii by simply being Vlad. Overall, she's a sweet kid who hilariously has a better moral compass than Danny and Vlad combined, but she also has INCREDIBLE capacity to be worse than both of them, if the situation calls for it. Her arcs focus on self discovery/identity, the looming threat of destabilization, and her relationships with Vlad and Danny.

Danny's relationship with Dani is more complex in this AU, because he doesn't trust "Vlad's daughter" at all at first. It doesn't help that the first time he meets her is in Eye For An Eye, right after sending the GIW to destroy Vlad's (and Dani's!) house. And now, Vlad is obnoxiously hellbent on replacing him with "Ellie Phantom" as the protector of Amity Park! But after Dani proves she has a mind of her own and hasn't been completely brainwashed by Vlad, and doesn't necessarily approve of his villainy, Danny shifts from animosity more toward concern for her. He knows Vlad well enough to realize that he's inevitably going to break her heart, and Danny is going to be there to protect her when it happens. (But what Danny doesn't know is that Vlad already broke Dani's heart when she discovered the truth about his initial plans for her before they moved to Amity Park. He saved her life in a fit of petulant guilt immediately after to make up for it, which is why she's still with him.)

And then there's Vlad himself. It would be helpful to think of his arc here as less of a redemption arc, and more of a domestication arc. Vlad is still a supervillain and Danny's arch enemy, but because of his parental attachment to Danielle his antagonist status is just as likely to be seen in him hauling Danny back to FentonWorks by the ankles because it's past his bedtime as it is in his latest cringefail brilliant scheme. In general, he finds himself in increasingly mundane situations by virtue of being involved in Dani's life, which generally results in comedy because Vlad is anything but equipped to handle parenthood (or mundane situations) normally. He's also allowed to have a rare reflective moment now and again and generally be a little more layered than just a villain. There's also increased opportunity for temporary allyships, because Vlad and Danny agree on Only One Thing: Dani is to be protected at all costs.

[raainberry]

I’m so glad you got lost

Jihyo x gn!reader

Fluff

synopsis - helping a damsel in distress like in the old times still works like a charm (you’re a security guard at a music festival and Jihyo appreciates both your help and looks)

worcount - 2.9K

T/W - none i think, but like cute summer vibes, first meeting, sweet moments, you’re whipped for her, the usual stuff

A/N - lowkey struggled, tried to get a bit out of my comfort zone by adding a little more desc but not mad at how it turned out

The outdoor festival Jihyo and her friends chose to spend their weekend at was a success. The atmosphere was vibrant, fun and exciting, the music was good, the food was even better, but perfection is just never possible.

Something had to go wrong or else it wouldn’t fun.

Losing a few people in a friend group as large as hers is understandable and not uncommon. It’s expected, maybe even fate, but only losing one? Now it just felt like luck was involved and there wasn’t any on her side as Jihyo found herself to be that one lost friend.

She tried to scan the elated faces surrounding her for signs of more familiar ones in vain. She could feel a sense of mild unease creeping over her as the crowd seemed to grow denser, making it all the more difficult to locate anything familiar by the minute.

She was slowly feeling herself losing grip over the situation when a gentle hand found its way to her shoulder.

The sudden contact startled her though, and she turned to see who it belonged to. Last thing she expected to face was a warm, comforting smile.

"Hi! You look like you’re on a mission,” you chuckled. “Need a little help?" you offered over the loud music.

Jihyo’s eyes quickly noticed your attire, and if the black and bulky clothes you wore didn’t make it evident enough, the “security” arm band did enough on its own. She’s never been more thankful for assistance in her life, and a flicker of relief crossed her features as she nodded.

"I'm looking for my friends, there’s no service and it's getting a bit overwhelming.” she explained, her voice barely audible.

You nodded understandingly, and gestured for her to follow you. With practiced ease, you navigated through the crowd while Jihyo trailed close.

Your familiarity with the festival grounds seemed to guide you effortlessly, and maybe it was the distress she was in, mixed with the fact that you jumped in to save her when no one seemed to care—maybe the uniform had its hand in as well, but… You looked pretty cute.

The soft and warm smile, the gentle and protective gaze as you looked back at her every once in a while, making sure she followed suit—and the hand… The way your hand brushed against her exposed skin as you guided her; never daring to rest it on her arm, her back…

The subtle spark your touch ignited didn’t go unnoticed on your end either.

In fact it was very much felt. Though you were focused on getting your job done, part of your attention was monopolised by her appearance.

Jihyo, a name you had yet to learn, was certainly one of the prettiest sights this weekend outdoors offered. The make up she wore was flattering, highlighting features you found to be among your favorite in people. They looked even better on her.

You crossed eyes with her brown ones a few times on your way over to the security post. The hints of worry as she looked around tugged at your heart, feeling a sudden need to protect her beyond the way your duty called for.

“Let's see if we can spot them from here." You said, holding on to the bit of professionalism left in you before helping her up the ladder to reach the small elevated shed.

It was a sort of temporary lifguard tower imitation. Your colleagues referred to it as a base to make it sound fancier—which you mocked them for multiple times—but part of you hesitated to use the word in case it would impress the damsel you’d brought over.

You judged against it though, something your future self would be thankful for, and instead guided the woman up to the railing surrounding it.

The vantage point offered a broad view over the better half of the festival, and her eyes wasted no time in scanning the animated sea of festival-goers.

You joined the search only a second later, snapping yourself out of the micro-trance her sculpted arm sent you in when she brought her hand up to shield her eyes.

You don’t know how long it took, if the silence as your gaze flitted from one cluster of people to another was awkward or not; but she ended reuniting with her friends.

Their shouts for her as they noticed her up the tower from the ground taught you her name, and you had a hard time tellibg whether your smile was because of how funny their desperate waving looked from up there, or because of the way her name fit every idea of her your mind had managed to come up with.

A wave of relief washed over Jihyo, and you were sure to never forget that grateful smile she sent you before rushing to friends.

Who knows how they got separated. The thought was very much far out of line, but you were glad she got lost.

—

As the day melted into the night, the festival began to wind down, and the crowd started to thin out.

Jihyo and her friends made their way towards the exit, with the day's excitement still clinging to their spirits. A bunch of memories were made that day, all ranking in their own degree of wholesomeness.

The smile on Jihyo’s lips was subtle, her mind lost in the remnants of her emotions as she walked surrounded by the people she cared so much about.

Their intensity was exhausting, and little did she know this festival had just one more thing to make her feel, and her friends were very much happy to help with that.

As the group approached the exit, they spotted you there, your attentive gaze scanning the departing crowd. A quiet presence amidst the festival's crescendo.

Jeongyeon, her most daring friend couldn't resist her own playful nature as she hurried to tease Jihyo, "Look, your savior’s still on duty.” Her elbow nudged into her best friend’s back a couple times as her messing around soon received back up.

“Why don't we go and say thank you for helping you?" Sana giggled, not bothering to wait for an answer from anyone, much less Jihyo as she made her way over to you.

The sight of a bubbly woman darting towards you was enough to get you on alert. Sana was oblivious to the walls you’d put up, and the ease with which she knocked them down was alarming.

You guessed her charm had a lot to do with it, but recognizing her as one of Jihyo’s friends from earlier did most of the job. As soon as you did, your gaze was quick to find the rest of the group approaching you.

Among them stood Jihyo, who stayed silent as they expressed their appreciation for your assistance earlier in the day.

Half their words didn’t make it to your brain, which was crazy considering there wasn’t many. In the moment, you found Jihyo’s silence to be much more interesting and important than anything else.

Teasing words and drunk people needing guidance could wait, you had an opportunity to take.

Your eyes met, and the sparks you caught in them were undoubtedly fueled by each other’s lingering effects ghosting over your skin. It seemed you could communicate without uttering a word, but you still needed her friends to make anything of this miracle.

The two of you exchanged numbers amidst the playful teasing of her friends, their laughter and banter serving as a backdrop to this tentative yet promising connection.

As she struggled to type in the right numbers in the correct order in your phone, Jihyo could only thank the moon for hiding the blush burning into her cheeks at the thought of everything this could lead to…

—

Well, back to square one apparently. Although the year it took to get there brought some wonderful changes.

“I can’t believe I’m back here again…” You sighed in disbelief over the situation.

You knew history repeats itself or whatever, and sure the romance you’ve built with Jihyo was one for the books, but damn… Losing your friends twice at the same festival is just too much.

While the situation kind of annoyed you, Jihyo seemed amused by it, laughing as she turned to you after a quick scan of the area. “Y/n, stop whining, it’s like a full circle moment, isn’t that fun?”

“Okay, but how do you lose eight people at once, I don’t understand.” You whined even more, frustrated, but the feeling was weak compared to the smile that cracked through your façade when you met your girlfriend’s pretty eyes.

They had a mischievous twinkle in them as she suggested, “Okay, let’s use your useless height. Let me climb on your shoulders,” she tapped on them and you lowered yourself down. “I’ll see if they’re anywhere near.”

“If that’s what you wanted all along you could have just said so.” You mumbled. “Didn’t have to lose everyone…”

A playful grin tugged at the corner of her lips as you caught her shameless one. You couldn’t resist her infectious joy. It only took you a few seconds to secure Jihyo onto your shoulders, and you went on to navigate through the scattered sea of people, laughter blending with the distant music.

"See them yet?" You asked after a while of weaving through the crowd. Jihyo shook her head, her hair swaying with the motion. "No," she frowned, gaze sweeping over the people’s head in search of the same familiar faces.

Apparently you took that as a sign to let her down, and she found out when you suddenly stopped in your tracks, crouching down to make her step down safely. Key word was sudden; Jihyo was not ready for the drop and ended up reaching for your hair out of survival instinct, accidentally tugging on it.

That hurt, naturally, so you let out a half genuine whine and brought a soothing hand to the top of your head as she tried to do some damage control. She’d made it down unharmed, but at what cost.

“Oh, baby I’m sorry—” She laughed through her apology, and although you didn’t doubt her concern, her laughter did make the mocking come out on top.

Her hands tried to convince you otherwise, gently brushing your hair away from your face. You felt a rush of warmth as Jihyo's fingers brushed against your skin, her touch sending that same old shiver down your spine.

Despite her obvious amusement, there was an undeniable tenderness in her actions as she cupped your chin, her gaze scanning your features for any signs of discomfort. You couldn’t help but lean into her touch, appreciating how close she was.

“You should have warned me, did it actually hurt?” She asked and you pouted your lips in hopes to get a healing kiss from her own.

“Kind of.” You said, but she only gave you a few mocking giggles, making you sulk even more.

“I’m really sorry.” Jihyo's laughter was infectious, filling the air with joy as she peppered kisses all over you. You could feel the pain fading with each one of them. Each touch of her lips against your head, your forehead, spilling over your temples…

Placebo effect or the healing power of love, whichever it was, it worked.

It was in moments like these, where you stood together, lost in your own little world, that you realized how grateful you were for her and the love and warmth she’d brought into your life.

“Well, there you are!” A familiar voice you recognized as Nayeon’s pulled your eyes off each other, finding the rest of the group trailing behind her. “We’ve been looking everywhere, stop wandering off!”

“Yeah, or just get a room. No one wants to see this.” Jeongyeon gestured to the two of you, waving her hand around in a way that pulled a laugh out of everyone.

You only shared an amused look with Jihyo, a silent understanding prompting the two of you to playfully stick your tongues out in response, brushing off the harmless teasing.

—

Jihyo is competitive.

You knew that by now and learned the hard way. The only reason you don’t cry when she renders you bankrupt in Monopoly is because you’re cut from the same cloth.

She’d found her match in more ways than one, and her friends were oh so delighted, taking any opportunity to turn games into a true and free show by putting the two of you on opposite teams.

“You don’t stand a chance.” You told Jihyo, grabbing the cornbags from the friendly festival-goers who’d put up the game and turned it into a side attraction.

Trashtalk isn’t the most loving kind of talk, but the two of you kept it playful and harmless, taking it as a form of bonding.

“I love you.” Jihyo answered, ignoring your words, and her knowing look startling you into a horrifying realisation.

How could you forget about the pre-game vows…

“Right, I love you too.” You smiled, quickly going over to her side in order to lay a shy kiss on her cheek. The gesture pulled a few aw’s and laughs from the small crowd around, but you could very well distinguish your friend’s teasing as you went back to your side.

The game started shortly after with Jihyo opening it. She never went easy on you, and neither did you, to everyone’s pleasure.

The way you bickered, trying to destabilize and distract each other in each round was a highlight of a lot of people’s night.

While you tried to stay civil, only sticking to playful taunts and harmless cheating claims, your girlfriend went as far as stealing one of your bags.

Honestly you weren’t mad she did it, you were only mad you didn’t do it first because the point she made with it was counted by the appointed referee, along with the crowd’s approval.

It was everything but fairplay, but it was a good time. A memory you’d cherish for a long time.

“Congratulations, Hyo.” You shook her hand and she chuckled at you formal greeting. “I hope you know I let you win.”

Her laugh resonated amidst people’s cheers and playful protests from the ones who’d been cheering for you.

The smile on your face stuck around even when she landed a playful swat on your shoulder. If it weren’t her you’d be sulking like never before. She was the only one you’d be glad to lose against.

—

The chaotic search earlier didn’t teach you anything. That same evening you wandered off again, although this time you did at least agree on a place to meet back at.

As the night slowly settled in the sky, moon and stars rising to offer a gentle lighting support to the ones the festival offered, the two of you embarked on a stroll around the grounds you were still familiar with somehow.

Hands clinging to the other, fingers intertwined and shared giggles marked the way you’d remember the moment.

After a while, you walked into a quieter, more secluded area where nature seemed to hush the lively music still blasting from the stages afar.

The playful twinkle in your eye was hard to miss and stay indifferent to for Jihyo as you sat down, arms wide open and inviting.

You recognized the grin she sent you before ignoring the arms she was actually dying to feel around her. She went to sit next to you instead, prompting your shoulders to sink down with your arms.

“Why are you so mean to me today…” You sighed, wonder dramatically evident on tour face.

Jihyo chuckled, a soothing sound that brought more comfort to the bubble you were immersing yourselves in. “I’m not mean, you just made it really easy for me to tease you,” she shrugged, eyes wiping her nonchalant words with the affection they held for you.

Your smile returned when she carried herself into your lap shortly after, shifting herself to comfortably rest her back against your chest.

A quiet conversation eased itself between the two of you, soft and shy words reminiscent of the path you’d shared together so far as you mindlessly cuddled her; your gentle swaying a soothing rhythm.

“Do you remember when we met here?” Your voice sounded a little more nostalgic than you meant as you spoke.

Jihyo’s gaze softened on the flowers standing in the grass she was picking at. “Of course I do. It was only a year ago.”

“Feels longer, though, no?” You asked, wondering if she felt the same for a few seconds. The bond you’d developed was so strong, sometimes you forgot it was only your 8th month together coming up.

Everything was still so fresh, yet intense in the most perfect way. You could only hope she was on the same page.

“It does.” She admitted quietly. “It’s a little scary to think about sometimes.”

You recognized the nerves in the small laugh she let out, and you focused on softening the patterns your fingers caressed over her upper arm as she continued. “I mean… I was hopeful when I gave you my number, but I really didn’t think it’d amount to anything close to what we have.”

A small smile tugged at your lips upon hearing her words. It was enough reassurance for your heart. “You know, I never told you this, but… I thought this then and I think it now; I’m so glad you got lost that day.”

Her giggles sounded amazing breaking the peace and quiet you were getting used to, and she suddenly sat up to look at you in an amused kind of disbelief.

“Seriously?”

“I’m sorry, but you looked so pretty, and your smile almost made me faint; what else was I supposed to think?”

“Really?” She said slyly, poking at your chest. “What else happened?”

“Well, there’s not much. We barely spoke and acknowledged each other for like ten minutes tops.” You reminded, and the truth only made her roll her eyes before bringing you in for a kiss.

Her sudden impulse led you to share a quick, tender kiss, something you almost considered a moment of weakness when you pulled away on instinct, expecting the girls’ banter and teasing.

You could only laugh at each other when you realized you were alone. Happiness bubbled between the two of you, pushing Jihyo to draw you back into a sweet, deeper kiss.

It didn’t last long though, as your embrace soon got interrupted by the sudden burst of fireworks further away.

Right, that’s what you’d wandered off for this time.

[renovationgroup]

When your roof sustains unexpected damage from a storm, fallen tree, or accident, the first priority should be to protect your home from further harm. Roof tarping services offer immediate, temporary protection by covering damaged sections with a heavy-duty tarp, preventing rain, debris, and wind from entering your home. However, when faced with roof damage, you might wonder whether to tarp the roof yourself or hire a professional service. Investing in a professional roof tarping service is often the safest, most effective, and most cost-efficient choice. Below, we explore why calling a professional roof tarping service is a smart decision that protects your home, ensures your safety, and can even save you money.

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After roof damage, many insurance companies require homeowners to take immediate steps to prevent further damage. This means that, following an incident, you may be obligated to secure a damaged roof to avoid additional water intrusion or structural weakening. Failing to do so can lead to complications with your insurance claim, as the insurer may argue that you neglected to protect the property from further harm. Hiring a professional roof tarping service ensures that you’ve taken the necessary action to meet your insurance provider’s requirements.

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While hiring a roof tarping service does involve an upfront cost, it can actually save you money in the long run by preventing larger, more expensive issues down the road. Roof tarping acts as a barrier, stopping water from entering your home and damaging insulation, drywall, wood structures, and even personal belongings. Water damage can escalate quickly, leading to mold infestations, warped walls, and weakened support beams. The cost of addressing these issues can far outweigh the expense of hiring a professional tarping service.

Investing in roof tarping is a cost-effective preventive measure that protects the integrity of your home. By stopping leaks and keeping out the elements, tarping minimizes the potential for costly repairs and helps preserve your property’s value. In many cases, acting quickly to secure a damaged roof can reduce the scope of necessary repairs, saving you money and reducing the time needed for a full restoration. For homeowners concerned with maintaining their property’s condition, professional tarping is an investment that provides peace of mind and financial protection.

6. Peace of Mind During a Stressful Time

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Professional roof tarping services take on the responsibility of assessing the damage, installing the tarp, and providing support throughout the process. This comprehensive approach gives homeowners relief from the immediate pressures of roof damage, allowing them to concentrate on other essential tasks like contacting their insurance company, coordinating with contractors, or managing daily responsibilities. In times of crisis, having a professional handle your roof tarping can ease the burden and offer confidence that your home is safe and secure.

[room-surprise]

Shuro's Ninja Girl Squad: Why do they have code names? Does Toshiro have a code name????

(WARNING FOR GENERAL SPOILERS!) The culture of Wa Island appears to be inspired exclusively by historic Japan, since all of the characters that come from Wa have Japanese names, clothing, weapons, and magic, they eat Japanese food, imagine traditional Japanese-style artwork, and obey Japanese social norms.

THE NINJA GIRL SQUAD

Maizuru, Hein, Benichidori, Inutade and Izutsumi are servants that work for the Nakamoto family, and they have been assigned to travel with Toshiro, serve and protect him. In some translations they have been called retainers. I’m not sure what the original Japanese calls them, but most likely some form of servant or vassal, such as 家臣 or 家来.

A retainer is a part of a retinue, which is a group of people who are "retained" (employed) in the service of nobility, royalty or a dignitary.

Retainers can have many varied functions, such as domestic servants, personal attendants, bodyguards, porters, musicians, tutors, translators, guides, etc. Retainers often wear some kind of uniform, possibly bearing the colors or insignia of their lord. They serve their master, but they also expect to be protected and cared for by their master as a part of his household.

HISTORIC JAPANESE NAMING CONVENTIONS

Japanese personal names were fluid in the pre-modern era. Men changed their names for a variety of reasons: to signify that they had attained a higher social status, to demonstrate their allegiance to a house or clan, to show that they had succeeded to the headship of a family or company, to shed bad luck that was attached to an inauspicious name, or simply to avoid being mistaken for a neighbor with a similar name.

Changes in women's personal names were recorded less often, so they may not have changed their names as frequently as men did, but women who took jobs (such as maids or entertainers) frequently changed their names for the duration of their service. During their employment, their temporary names were treated as their legal names.

THE NAKAMOTO CLAN’S NAMING PRACTICES

All of Toshiro’s servants, Maizuru, Hien, Benichidori, Inutade and Izutsumi, have real names and work-issued code-names, similar to the Japanese practice I just described. Only Izutsumi seems to mind this, the rest of the characters use their aliases all the time.

All of the ninja code-names are plant-based, and Maizuru, Hein and Benichidori’s names also have a bird theme, something they do not share with Izutsumi and Inutade. All of the birds they are named after have been popular in Japan since ancient times and are considered lucky symbols. The plants Maizuru, Hein and Benichidori are named after are also all beautiful flowers, while Izutsumi’s is a toxic shrub and Inutade’s is a weed.

This may be meant to show how Izutsumi and Inutade’s status is separate and lower from the other three.

Interestingly, although Toshiro is their master, he also has a nickname, given to him by Laios, that sounds like a plant, which matches his subordinates!

Perhaps the way Toshiro endures this nickname and doesn't protest it, is a hint that Toshiro does not want to enforce his position as a superior to his subordinates, but wants to treat them with compassion and empathy, because he does not consider himself better than them. He demonstrates this when he gets down on his knees and begs Maizuru and the others to help him save Falin, since this is going outside of their standard duties.

This unusual humility and kindness is probably why the World Guide says Maizuru thinks Toshiro will be a better leader than his father.

If you want more details, and to read a full analysis of all of their names and code-names, be sure to check out Chapter 6 of my essay!

BONUS: TOSHIRO’S SECRET NICKNAME???

Laios, mishearing Toshiro’s name during their first meeting, started calling him シュロー (Shurow), and told everyone they met that his name was Shuro. Toshiro, too embarrassed to correct him, has allowed this to continue for the three years that they’ve known each other.

Shuro (棕櫚 or シュロ) is Trachycarpus fortunei, the Chinese windmill palm or Chusan palm. It is a species of evergreen palm tree in the family Arecaceae, native to parts of China, Japan, Myanmar and India.

Windmill palm is one of the hardiest palms. They tolerate cool, moist summers as well as cold winters. Trachycarpus fortunei has been cultivated in China and Japan for thousands of years, for its coarse but very strong leaf sheath fiber, used for making rope, sacks, and other coarse cloth where great strength is important.

This is very funny, since we know that Toshiro is one of the strongest characters in the story, due to his skill with the blade... But we also know he's insanely patient (tolerates everything, just like the palm!), because he puts up with Laios bothering him for years before finally snapping and asserting his boundaries.

Plus, a palm tree used to make humble but strong items such as rope, sacks and coarse cloth, really shows Toshiro's true nature (a strong but humble man) versus his aristocratic status.

THREE TYPES OF BROOM

A Shuro Houki (棕櫚箒) is a traditional Japanese hemp-palm broom made from the Trachycarpus fortunei palm.

There are three distinct subtypes of this broom, the first two of which are considered very durable and the last one which is considered expendable. The Hon-onike Houki will last for 1/3rd of a person’s life, a Onike Houki you’ll need to replace every 15 years, and a Kawa Houki can be thrown away after 2 years of use.

Toshiro is the oldest of three brothers, and they are competing for their father’s favor to see who will become the heir of the household… Their father is testing them to see which of them is disposable, and which of them is strong enough to lead the family. Which type of broom are they?

SHURO THE HUMAN NAME

It should also be noted that Shuro is a Japanese name, it just isn't a nickname for Toshiro. The correct nicknames for Toshiro would be Toshi, or Shiro. Shuro sounds similar to Shiro, but it would be like calling someone named Robert the nickname Bart instead of Bert, or calling Matthew Pat.

Depending on the kanji used Shuro can mean several things. I think the most appropriate kanji is 修郎.

修 means to make right, to be in shape, to become correct, to put things together, to learn, to acquire learning or skills, to decorate, to harmonize, to fix, to mend, to put together in a book, good, excellent, beautiful, splendid.

郎 means male, men, young men, boy.

While Toshiro’s actual name describes him very well, his nickname, given to him by Laios, is also extremely accurate. Laios’ name means “left” and “wrong”, so Toshiro’s name potentially meaning things like “right”, “correct” and “to fix” is extremely funny and appropriate!

They can fix their friendship!

[holyspiritgirl]

Study a Bible verse with me 💕

In this analysis, I will explore the meaning and implications of Matthew 6:21 from the New Living Translation (NLT).

Mat 6:21 : “Wherever your treasure is, there the desires of your heart will also be.”

This verse is part of Jesus' Sermon on the Mount, where He teaches about the importance of prioritizing spiritual over material wealth. Here’s the reasoning behind this verse:

• In this context, "treasure" refers to what one values most highly ; whether it is material wealth, possessions, or spiritual values. The "heart" in biblical language often represents the center of a person’s emotions, desires, and will.

• Jesus emphasizes that what you value most (your treasure) will dictate where your focus, energy, and passions lie (your heart).

• Earlier in the passage (Matthew 6:19-20), Jesus contrasts storing up treasures on earth, which are temporary and vulnerable to decay and theft, with storing up treasures in heaven, which are eternal and secure.

Mat 6:19-20 : “Don’t store up treasures here on earth, where moths eat them and rust destroys them, and where thieves break in and steal. Store your treasures in heaven, where moths and rust cannot destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal.”

Jesus encourages His followers to invest in things of eternal value, such as spiritual growth, acts of kindness, and a relationship with God, rather than in temporary, material possessions.

• Where a person allocates their time, energy, and resources is a clear indicator of what they truly value. If one’s treasure is in material wealth, their heart will be centered on acquiring and protecting that wealth. If one’s treasure is in heavenly things, their heart will be aligned with God’s purposes, focusing on love, service, and spiritual growth.

• This verse invites us to examine our own lives to see where our true priorities lie. Are we more concerned with accumulating wealth and possessions, or are we truly investing in things that have eternal significance? By shifting our focus to heavenly treasures, we can surely cultivate desires and habits that reflect the values of our Heavenly Father.

• In summary, Matthew 6:21 teaches us that what we value most (our treasure) reflects our true priorities (our heart). Jesus urges us to store our treasure in heaven by focusing on spiritual values and eternal things, rather than on temporary, material possessions. This aligns our hearts with God's purposes and the values of His Kingdom.

Have a Blessed day 🙏🤍

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Thirty-Five

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hello everyone! There's nothing like an update six months later... I appreciate everyone's kind words and patience regarding the writer's block I was dealing with. I tried many things to help me get out of that funk, but nothing worked. Until one day, I was like, "You know what? I'm just going to write," and here we are! I hope you enjoy this chapter. We're slowly inching closer to the grand finale!

A sense of weightiness hung within the Tower of the Hand. Queen Alicent, her loyal protector, and the Lord Hand were seated in the softly illuminated chamber as the afternoon sun filtered through the leaded glass windows. The Queen absentmindedly picked at her fingers, her restless body betraying her unease, while her eyes flitted anxiously around the room. An unexpected sound finally shattered the oppressive silence, prompting all present to turn their gaze towards the speaker.

"This is but a temporary visit. We must encourage Prince Daemon to take the Princess back to Dragonstone as soon as possible," Otto Hightower said, two sets of brown eyes focused on him as he stroked his course beard. "You have done well, Alicent, but you must know this solution is not long-term. Fear and respect go far until there is someone who inspires more."

His daughter responded with a silent nod, her full lips forming a slight frown as her attention shifted back to her fingers.

"He must not discover her relations with Aegon nor the fruit of it. Not only would it be an insult to our House but to the realm, duty, and the Gods," Otto declared, the metal lapel of the Hand shining in the daylight.

"I understand," the Queen answered as Ser Criston followed suit, offering his services to guard your chambers and lend another helpful eye.

Daemon would find himself in a predicament where he had no choice but to yield to their demands, as refusing would paint him as a traitor. The group was committed to ensuring Daemon was nowhere near them should the Stranger decide to claim a soul. If it meant casting the Rogue Prince in the light of an overly protective, perhaps irrational, father, they believed it to be justified by the divine will of the Seven.

After your father's tears had long dried and you were in the deepest depths of sleep, he stood on numb limbs. He no longer desired to be alone with his thoughts, feeling weak for having broken down in the presence of another man. He did not know when you would awake as your snores carried off into mid-day, so sound asleep that not even the mournful songs of your dragon woke you.

Daemon's eyes never left the cut on your temple nor the bruise beside it that bloomed. It stirred an uneasy feeling in his gut, mind reeling into conclusions and connections to things as Ser Criston Cole posted at the exit, his presence an ever-watchful eye for his Queen. The knight irked Daemon from when he was forced to yield against the Dornish man all those decades ago at a tourney for the deceased Prince Baelon. He had let things go seeing as Criston was Rhaenyra's protector and that he knew his niece's genuine desire was her uncle, but as the years went by, the man grew more insufferable, practically sucking on the Queen's teats wherever he went.

It was no coincidence that the White Cloak was here now instead of Ser Arryk, the man you chose to be your sworn shield. As Daemon studied the contents of your room, the dust on your bookshelves, the mended garments thrown on your chairs, and the overflowing ash lying in the fireplace, he could guarantee that none of your servants, whether it be knight or maid, had been allowed to do their duty for quite some time. The only people Daemon had seen in your chambers since he arrived were Maester Orwyle and Cole.

"May I ask, Ser Criston?" Daemon announced, breaking the silence as his violet eyes left your listless form and strolled away from the bed, "where is my daughter's knight?"

Criston straightened his posture, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as his dark eyes bore into light ones. "He's been punished for failure of duty. Ser Arryk allowed the Princess to be maimed under his watch and must suffer the consequences of such an offense."

"I see," your father hummed, leaning his hip to the side as he examined the unforgiving nature of this man. "And that of her maids? Jeyne and Fiora, if I remember correctly."

Ser Criston's face was impassive, leaving nothing but a stone slate as he swallowed. "The Hand deemed those of highest suspicion to be kept away from her Highness," he answered.

"Is that so?" Daemon sneered, brows raised in disbelief. "Bedmaids and knights are the only suspects?" Criston gave no reply, silver armor glinting in the daylight peeking from your curtains. "Otto Hightower is as useless as he's always been. Where are her maids now, then? In the cells being interrogated, I presume."

"No, my Prince," Criston answered without emotion. It seemed as if the knight did not care whether a member of the royal family died so long as it was not one of Alicent's. This infuriated Daemon beyond measure. The impulse to commit violence that haunted him itched to be free, and his fingers curled into fists to keep it at bay.

If he so wished, he could bash Criston's face as he did to the squire friend of Laenor Velaryon the night of his wedding feast. No consequences were divided out then, so what was stopping your father from doing the same now? He heard your quiet moan then, a soft sound of one in a dreamy sleep they could not wake from, and reminded himself of the cost.

Daemon was more pragmatic than people allowed themselves to believe. He did not always desire bloodshed, though the lust for it existed. He recalled your letter then, remembering how he clung to every scrawl of ink as if it were to be the last you would write. The previous correspondence you had echoed in his head. The prose was much more upbeat, as if you were speaking to Daemon in person instead of through parchment. It mentioned the bright outlook for the future and how you could feel that Rhaenyra's succession would not be as troublesome as your father worried it would be. If Daemon had put your trust in him and your faith, all would be well.

Several lines echoed in his mind, seeing the High Valyrian as if it were in front of him again atop his writing desk illuminated by the glow of melting candles.

"Aegon has no desire to rule, nor does he think he is fit. He loves his mother and is sympathetic to the path ahead of her, but one can never be sure. However, I believe that Aegon is, at the very least, more sympathetic to me."

Daemon felt a smirk stretching his thin pink lips. Perhaps he should visit the drunken Prince.

"Let us round the maids up then, question them, and if they do not cooperate, leave them to the Lord Confessor," the Prince demanded, leaving no room for counterarguments.

Criston visibly balked at the idea, his stony visage turning white as snow, but he swiftly recovered. He bowed his head and whispered, "As you wish." Then he stalked off to inform the Queen and the Hand of the new progression.

Daemon would not be played a fool in his own home. He knew your maids would never try such a thing. They were chosen by the Rogue Prince himself before you arrived at the Red Keep. He could not allow just any person into a place where valuable information would be provided, so he tasked his previous mistress, Lady Misery, as she was now called, to find the most trustworthy servants for your service, to care and protect where he could not.

But even then, that was not enough. Daemon pulled strings, whispered honeyed words into people's ears, and made handsome payments, but still, it did nothing. He had never felt so powerless, inadequate, or inept as a new wave of shame washed over him.

He decided he would speak to Aegon, though he felt conversing with such a wastrel was below his worth. Daemon would stop at nothing. He would walk through the trenches in the Stepstones, bribe and steal, even marry his Bronze Bitch again, so long as it meant that you were safe and well back in his arms.

The castle's corridors were dimly lit in the early dawn, shadows stretching long and thin as Prince Daemon Targaryen paced outside his daughter's chamber. The scent of bitter herbs and smoke wafted from within, where the maester worked to keep the girl from slipping further into a restless sleep. A near-silent rage simmered within Daemon. His daughter's pallid face and the shallow rise and fall of her chest were enough to make him thirst for blood. But vengeance required clarity, and he needed answers first.

He turned sharply toward the two maids whom his guard had summoned. They stood quietly, trying to mask their worry under the Prince's intense scrutiny. These two had attended her, he thought, his gaze narrowing. He suspected them both, or at least wanted to, for they were the last to have touched his daughter's food, and every fiber in him sought to lash out.

Jeyne, with her silver-streaked hair, moldered her chin high as she looked back at Daemon with an unwavering gaze. Years of service to House Targaryen hardened her demeanor, giving her the poise of a knight facing a charging army. Fiora was pale and trembling, her fingers fumbling with the edge of her yellowed apron as she sniffled. Daemon's stare pierced her, and she seemed ready to bolt had Jeyne not placed a steadying hand on her arm.

"Who did this?" Daemon demanded, his voice a blade of cold steel slicing through the silence. He did not flout around words or purposes in favor of courtly manners.

Jeyne's expression remained resolute. "Not us, my Prince. We have served the young Princess faithfully. We would have warned someone if we thought her drink was tainted."

Daemon took a step closer, his tone dark. "And yet she is lying there, fighting for her life. She did not miraculously become ill. She was poisoned." Fiora flinched at Daemon's cold stare, hands clasped at his waist. Jeyne tightened her hand on Fiora's crimson sleeve.

"My prince," Jeyne said carefully. "We would never harm her. Young Fiora brought her fresh water and some fruits before she dismissed us that evening, nothing more."

He studied them both, searching for a flicker of guilt, the shift of eyes, but there was only worry and steadfast resolve. He could tell the older woman was offended by his accusation, but she held her tongue, deferring to him without wavering from her conviction.

"Why should I believe you?" Daemon asked, softer this time but no less menacing. "These Green cunts have placed staff sympathetic to their ambitions."

Jeyne's voice flowed calmly through the air, a soothing melody amidst the charged silence surrounding them. She leaned slightly closer to her fellow maid, her expression softening with empathy. "Because we love her too, my prince," she said, her words imbued with a deep sincerity. "She holds a place in my heart as dear as family."

Her gaze shifted toward Fiora, whose face streaked with tears that glistened like crystal in the dim light, revealing a raw vulnerability beneath her frightened exterior. Each gentle quiver of Fiora's lips betrayed her fear, and Jeyne couldn't help but feel a pang of protective instinct rise within her.

"And I know this girl," Jeyne added, her voice still steady but now laced with urgency, "is far too terrified to lie to you." She took a breath, feeling the weight of the moment. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she witnessed Fiora's anguish. The air felt thick with emotion, and Jeyne hoped her conviction would reach him, bridging the divide between fear and trust.

"Her Highness has a kind soul that is rare to find. I would gladly have my life taken instead of hers," Fiora expressed with a tremble, yet an unwavering conviction laced her tone.

Daemon narrowed his purple eyes, his anger dimming as his tactical mind began to turn. They spoke plainly, unafraid to meet his gaze when the time came. The poison was efficient, the kind that took mere moments to weaken a body and soul. No maid would have easy access to something deadly, nor the knowledge. His suspicion was confirmed without a doubt that the assailant was those with means, resources, and motives.

Jeyne inclined her head, inhaling an offensive breath as she prepared for Daemon's wrath at her following words. "My prince, we would never harm her. I swear it on my honor. But... there is something you should know." She glanced at Fiora, silently urging her to speak.

Fiora flinched under Daemon's scrutiny but nodded, her voice trembling as she began. "It-it was the Queen, my prince. Queen Alicent herself. She ordered the Maester to keep the Princess on the Milk of the Poppy."

Daemon's grip tightened on his sword, the veins in his hand standing out starkly against his pale skin. "Why?" he demanded, his tone like the low growl of an approaching storm.

Jeyne's expression was resolute, but a flicker of regret crossed her face as she answered. "To keep her quiet, my prince. The Princess was... accusing her majesty. Speaking of things that might have implicated the Queen. That this is what her grace wanted because she had ordered her to leave King's Landing."

Fiora sniffled, tears spilling down her freckled cheeks. "I didn't understand at first, my prince, but now I do. The Queen didn't want her to speak. That's why they gave her the milk."

Daemon's gaze darkened, his fury palpable as he stepped closer, looming over the maids like a dragon preparing to strike. "And yet you said nothing. You let them silence her under my House's roof."

Jeyne held her ground though the faintest hint of guilt shadowed her features. "We did not know the full extent until now, my prince. We are but servants. To speak against the Queen without proof..." She shook her head. "It would have been our heads."

Fiora sobbed softly, her voice breaking. "I only wanted to help her, my prince. I swear. I... I didn't know."

Daemon exhaled slowly, a heavy cloud of tension escaping his lips. The fury within him ignited like embers in a dying fire yet restrained from erupting. He scrutinized the two before him, his piercing gaze probing for any hint of betrayal, only to find a stark absence of dishonesty in their expressions. The fear etched on their faces was palpable, mingling with a deep, sincere remorse that hung like a thick fog.

"Jeyne," he said, his voice low and menacing, "if you value your life, you will do as I command. From this moment forward, you will watch the Queen. Every word she speaks, every order she gives. I want to know what she plans before she does."

Jeyne nodded solemnly, her expression unwavering as she searched Fiora's eyes for reassurance. The weight of her decision pressed heavily on her shoulders, but determination ignited within her. "You have my unwavering loyalty, my prince," she declared, her voice steady and resolute. "We will carry out whatever must be done."

"And you," Daemon said, glaring at Fiora, "stop sniveling. You will do the same if you wish to atone for your cowardice. Serve her, but serve me first."

Fiora pressed the rough fabric of her apron against her eyes, desperately trying to stem the tears that blurred her vision. Her heart raced as she nodded vigorously, her voice trembling with emotion. "Y-yes, my prince. I would do anything for the Princess," she declared, determination shining through her sorrow.

Daemon's lips curled into a grim smile, stiff shoulders slightly relaxing. "Good. If either of you falters, I will ensure you pay the price."

The maids nodded in unison, their faces pale but determined. As Daemon turned back to his daughter, his expression softened, though his fury simmered beneath the surface. He brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, his heart aching at your vulnerability.

"Rest, little dragon," he murmured. "They will not harm you again."

Behind him, Jeyne and Fiora exchanged glances, understanding the weight of the task ahead. As Daemon exited the room, his steps purposeful and deadly, they knew the storm was far from over. The Queen's court would soon feel the wrath of a father scorned. In the coming days, Jeyne and Fiora would do their duties with quiet diligence, and their loyalty was divided between the Queen and Prince. Jeyne's sharp eyes would note every whispered conversation and carefully hidden glance. The more the maids observed that day, the more they noticed Queen Alicent's face, so often painted with politeness, seemed to crack at the edges whenever he looked at their Princess lying in her sickbed, nails bit down to the quick.

The servants' vigilance would become Daemon's advantage. They would watch the shadows where betrayers might lurk while he stood ready to bring the fight to those who dared threaten his blood.

Aegon stood within the hallowed confines of the Sept of Baelor, the weight of uncertainty pressing heavily upon him. His back leaned against the cold, wax-covered altar, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. The air was thick with the aromatic blend of frankincense and myrrh, a bittersweet scent that wrapped around him like a shroud, stirring cherished and painful memories. In this sacred space, he often sought refuge in times of turmoil, a jug of rich Arbor Red clutched tightly in his hand, its crimson hue reflecting his troubled thoughts.

The familiar embrace of the Sept's walls surrounded him as he felt an emptiness beyond physical solitude. He wasn't searching for solace from the deities said to dwell in these ancient stones. Instead, he pondered the lingering influence of his mother, whose shadow seemed to loom more prominent with each passing moment.

The Prince's sworn protector had left him to his own devices as he often did, yet keeping a close eye on things should the need for Erryk's presence arise. There was no point in shepherding Aegon, that much the knight knew after years of service.

Aegon was alone with his thoughts as the hours ticked and the sun lowered over the horizon.

Was his life not built on foundations that would surely crumble? Living a life of poorly planned architecture built by arrogance next to a rising tide that would sweep it away should the sea decide to do so. Often, Aegon wished that the waves would swallow him whole, take him out into the vast ocean, and let him sink deeper and deeper into the depths until he felt the brine on his tongue and salt burning his lungs. And just when he felt the urge to swim, to not succumb to the cold and murky waters below, the same people who sculpted his being called the waves to rise.

Numbing the relentless ache that gnawed at him was his sole refuge, the only path to liberating himself from the suffocating weight of his despair. Whether it provided a fleeting respite or the promise of eternal silence, it was a desperate grasp at freedom from the torment that consumed him.

Aegon remained blissfully ignorant of the muted echoes of finely tailored boots trudging through the wet sand, his senses dulled by the relentless tide that filled his water-logged ears. Towering above him was Daemon, his posture exuding a quiet authority, an arched brow hinting at both curiosity and disdain as he surveyed the disheveled state of the drunken Prince sprawled carelessly on the shore.

"Get up," the Rogue Prince commanded, kicking his leather shoe into Aegon's thigh.

The Prince groaned in response but refused to move, slightly adjusting his reclined position.

Daemon heaved a sigh, the weight of nostalgia pressing down on him. He reminisced about countless nights lost in a haze of drunkenness, where the world around him faded away like the flickering candlelight in a dimly lit tavern. Memories of his days spent lurking in the shadowy presence of Otto Hightower and the haunting specters of deceased children lingered sharp in his mind, a constant reminder of his perceived failings. The sting of being overlooked by his niece gnawed at him, a wound that never truly healed. In his search for solace, he turned to the embrace of women and the warm allure of fine wine, crutches passed down through the generations, a familiar way of coping with the burdens that weighed so heavily on his soul.

The Rogue Prince had little patience for the feeble-minded and cowardly. In a moment of reckless inspiration, he seized one of the flickering candles from the altar, its flame dancing wildly in the dim light. With a deliberate tilt, he allowed the molten wax to spill forth, a glistening stream of warmth cascading down onto Aegon's forehead.

The Prince's body reacted instinctively and jolted, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as the searing liquid made contact. Swiftly, he raised a hand, frantically wiping away the viscous substance before it could burn him further, leaving behind a shimmering wax glistening in the muted glow of the altar.

"Wha-" he stammered, violet eyes bleary.

"Get up."

Aegon continued to stutter, his head filled with cotton as he swatted at his imaginary foe. Daemon thought it amusing yet pathetic to see his brother's eldest son, whom everyone whispered about becoming king, reduced to a blubbering mess.

"Get up, you wastrel," the Rogue Prince commanded, his voice a mix of irritation and authority.

He did not give his nephew a chance to respond or make an attempt to rise. Instead, with a swift motion, he seized the collar of the young man's tunic, yanking him upward with a firm grip that betrayed both frustration and resolve.

Groaning in discomfort and annoyance, Aegon stood on unsteady legs, using his uncle's weight to stay upright. "What? Have you got more wine for me?"

Daemon rolled his iridescent purple eyes, a gesture filled with disdain as he forcefully shoved Aegon against the cold, stone altar. The impact sent a few flickering candles toppling over, their flames sputtering and extinguishing in a puff of smoke.

"You're utterly pathetic," Daemon declared, his voice dripping with contempt as he released his grip, leaving Aegon gasping for breath. "I cannot fathom why my daughter would ever find fondness in someone like you."

Aegon's swirling mind focused on his uncle's words, tilting his head to clear his blurry vision at the notion of you. He blinked, the words slow to make sense in his clouded mind. He was still drunk, still floating in a haze of self-loathing and wine, but there was something about Daemon's tone that cut through the fog. The mention of you... It lingered in the air like a physical presence, a sharp, biting reminder of the past days.

Aegon's hand went instinctively to his forehead, wiping away the remnants of hot wax that had burned him just moments before. He could feel the sting, but it was nothing compared to the sensation in his chest—the twisting, gnawing ache that had settled there since he had last seen you, injured and silent.

"Your daughter?" Aegon repeated, his voice slurred but with a strange acerbity beneath it. He forced himself to stand straighter despite his swaying body. "Why do you care? You left her in the viper's den to get bit, and now she has."

Daemon's lips curled into a sneer, eyes narrowing with that sharp, calculating look that had made him both feared and revered. "You know who did this?" he shot back, his voice low and venomous. The Prince was silent, a brief war of loyalty and honor raging inside his mind. "Do not fool yourself into thinking you can hide behind your wine and self-pity, Aegon. If you truly cared about her, you wouldn't be here, drunk and useless. You'd be at her side, ensuring she's safe and her assailants are brought the sword."

Aegon's heart skipped a beat, the words slicing through him like a dagger, sharper than the pain of the wax on his skin. He tried to swallow the bitter lump in his throat, but it stuck there, choking him.

"I didn't know," Aegon muttered, almost pleading as if he needed to convince himself as much as Daemon. "I didn't know what happened... I didn't know she was in danger." He winced at the admission, though his voice was thick with guilt. "How could I have known? How could I-"

"You should have known." Daemon's voice was as cold as the stone beneath their feet, his words brutally cutting off Aegon's excuses. "You're the one who's supposed to protect her, aren't you? You love her, after all. Yet you failed her when she needed you most."

Aegon's chest tightened at the notion that you had told Daemon of your secret vows, his throat constricting with the weight of his uncle's words. The guilt that had always gnawed at the back of his mind, the feeling of being a deficient imitation of the strong eldest son, a poor excuse for a man, overwhelmed him, threatening to drown him in its suffocating grip.

Daemon observed him, his gaze unwavering. "You think I do not know what it's like to be trapped in a world of expectations and failure?" he continued, his voice softer now but still edged with a quiet fury. "I have walked that path. I've suffered for it but never let it weaken me. And neither should you."

Aegon's hands tightened into fists, the tips of his nails pressing painfully into his palms, each pulse of agony sending a jolt through his senses. He stood there, frozen, grappling with the weight of his thoughts, unable to articulate the turmoil inside him. Every misstep, every moment of indecision chained him to this place, facing Daemon, the man who was meant to be family, yet felt like an unsettling specter from a distant past. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, a stark reminder of the chasm that grew between family.

"Tell me what I'm supposed to do," Aegon finally whispered, the words hanging between them like a fragile plea. "Tell me how to fix this... before it's too late."

For a long moment, Daemon said nothing. He studied Aegon with that piercing gaze of his, the kind that made even the bravest men falter. Then, with a soft snort of derision, he stepped back, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"There's no simple answer, Aegon," Daemon said, his voice laced with a bitter edge. "You can't undo the past and erase your mistakes with a few words. But you can do something. You can be something more than a drunken waste of space hiding behind the throne your mother wants you on."

Aegon felt a lump rise in his throat, the enormity of Daemon's words bearing down on him as if he were trapped beneath a heavy weight.

"But I'm not like you," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, tinged with a flicker of resentment that colored his tone. A shadow crossed his face as he struggled to articulate the profound loss, tears glistening on his porcelain cheeks. "I don't possess your force." He paused, his gaze drifting to the ground as the memory surged. "She was carrying our child," Aegon added, pain lacing his words, "but it... it didn't survive," Aegon's voice faltered, and he grasped for the courage that seemed to elude him.

Daemon's heart plummeted like a stone at the weight of the revelation, each word cutting through him with a searing clarity that left him breathless. Anger bubbled within him at the thought of you and Aegon, reckless in your union, seemingly unaware of the consequences that loomed over such a decision. Yet, alongside that rage, a deeper, more profound sorrow enveloped him, tugging at his very soul as he thought of his child. The anguish of your loss struck him hard; the pain of a mother who had endured the shadows of childbirth only to mourn a child stolen away too soon—a tragedy that claimed the lives of many women who faced such grief.

This took him back through the corridors of his mind to the haunting memories of his late wife and mother, lives extinguished too early. An unsettling question gnawed at his heart, one that had plagued his mind for decades. Was it his fate, cursed and unyielding, for the women he loved to endure suffering and despair in the birthing bed? The thought twisted like a dagger in his chest, leaving him to grapple with the weight of his legacy and the maternal heartache that seemed inextricably woven into it.

"No one is born with strength, Aegon," Daemon declared, his voice sharp. "Strength is something you earn by facing the things you're afraid of, by doing the things no one else will do. I did not get where I was by sitting around waiting to follow orders. And neither will you."

Aegon looked at his uncle, the silence stretching between them, filled with an uncomfortable tension. His uncle's eyes were colder now, harder, like the steel of his sword.

"I don't have the luxury of time, and neither does she," Daemon continued, his voice quieter but no less intense. "So listen well, Aegon. You may not be ready to defy your family, but you will if you love her like she claims."

Aegon swallowed, the weight of Daemon's words sinking in, pressing down on his chest until it felt like he could hardly breathe. But there was something else there, too, something more profound than anger or resentment. There was a strange, unspoken understanding, an acknowledgment that neither was truly free from their past and mistakes.

And in that silence, Daemon's voice softened, though still edged with a hard truth. "You want to fix this?" he asked. "Then start by bringing those to justice."

Aegon felt the weight of those words, of the expectation in his uncle's gaze. He didn't have the answers and didn't know what would come next, but one thing was clear: if he were to ensure your future together, he would have to start now.

For the first time in the Prince's life, Aegon felt the faint stirrings of a purpose. Something outside of himself. Something worth fighting for.

"I will," he said, his voice firm despite lingering uncertainty. "This was my mother's doing, but I cannot prove it with her hounds and my grandfather so diligently by her side."

Daemon nodded once, satisfied for the moment. While he could not prove the Hightowers were the cause, he understood that having their kin loyal to him and his daughter would serve greater justice when Viserys met the Stranger. "Good. Then, prove it when the time comes, and she will be by your side again."

With that, the Rogue Prince turned, his footsteps echoing in the quiet of the Sept as Aegon remained behind, staring at the flickering candles, his mind already moving forward. He wasn't sure how he would fix everything, undo the damage, and make things right, but Daemon had given him something more than just words.

He had given him a chance. Now, it was up to Aegon to take it.

The heavy, oppressive silence of the dungeons seemed to wrap around Ser Arryk Cargyll like a shroud. His once-pristine white cloak, the proud symbol of his service as a Kingsguard, was now dirtied and torn, a reflection of the disgrace he now carried. Shackled to the cold stone wall of his cell, he sat hunched in the corner, his mind a labyrinth of guilt, regret, and anger. His failure still burned through him like a wound that wouldn't heal—the inability to protect the Princess due to his hubris.

He could hear the whispers of the guards in the corridors, the occasional clink of keys or boots on stone, but none stopped. No one came to offer him solace. He had betrayed his vows, and now he was paying the price.

There was no doubt in Arryk's mind about what awaited him. The Rogue Prince would not be merciful. He would die here, alone in this dark cell. Or worse, he would be forced to suffer before his inevitable death—a public disgrace, a mark on his and Erryk's name that would never be erased.

The sound of footsteps approaching snapped Arryk out of his thoughts. His heart sank, but not out of fear. He knew who it was before the man appeared in the dim light of the dungeon corridor.

Daemon Targaryen. The Rogue Prince, the shadow that hung over the Targaryen family.

Arryk didn't rise from his sitting position. There was no need for any formalities. His failure had already stripped him of his dignity.

Daemon didn't say a word at first. He stopped before the cell, his violet eyes glinting in the dim torchlight as he studied the disgraced knight. He gave Arryk a long, pointed look of disgust and amusement.

"Ser Arryk," Daemon's voice was low, dripping with disdain. "You've fallen far, haven't you?" He stepped forward, his boots echoing in the cold, cavernous hallway.

Arryk didn't respond. What was there to say? The facts were clear. He failed in his sacred duty. No words could change that.

Daemon studied him for a moment longer before he smirked, the cruel twist of his lips never reaching his eyes. "You were meant to protect the blood of the King, Ser, and yet, the very Princess you were sworn to guard was nearly killed right under your nose. Tell me, how does that feel?"

Arryk's chest tightened, his hands clenching in the chains that bound him. He didn't have the strength to defend himself anymore. He didn't deserve to. "I failed," he whispered, voice rough from days of silent anguish. "I failed my oaths."

Daemon's smirk widened as if pleased by the admission. "Yes, you did. And now, the question is, what happens next?"

Arryk's head jerked up, his eyes locking with Daemon's. He saw no pity in those eyes. No mercy. Just the cold, calculating gaze of a man who had long since discarded any pretense of kindness. "What happens to me?" Arryk's voice was hoarse.

Daemon's lips parted in a faint, humorless chuckle. He pulled a dagger from his belt—simple, sharp, and deadly, the hilt made of dark iron. He dangled it in front of the bars, allowing the torchlight to catch the gleam of the blade. "You'll pay for your failure, of course. I will ensure that much." Daemon's tone was almost light, as though speaking about a matter of no importance. "But my punishment won't be death at the hands of another."

Arryk's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't speak. The weight of his fate seemed to settle in his chest.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, watching the knight's reaction. "You see, I am not as quick to kill as the people of your ilk might expect. No, I'll have you suffer. Perhaps I shall keep you locked away for the rest of your miserable life, a reminder to every knight in the Keep that failure is not tolerated." Daemon paused, allowing the words to sink in.

The pain of the thought was almost unbearable. Arryk had never thought of a fate worse than death, but now he could see it—an eternity of being nothing but a stain on the honor of his House.

A shadow.

Forgotten.

Daemon's voice lowered again, and there was now a weight to his words, a deliberate finality. "But that is not what I have come to offer you, Ser."

The dagger was placed on the cold stone floor beyond Arryk's reach. Daemon gave him one final look—measuring, unblinking. "The honorable thing, Ser Arryk, would be to take this dagger and end it yourself." He let the words linger in the air, heavy as iron. "That way, at least, you'll die with some dignity. You'll not be remembered as a coward too weak to take responsibility for his failure."

Arryk's eyes flicked to the blade, and his breath hitched in his throat. The thought of it, the sharpness of the steel, and the cold weight of the hilt in his hand comforted him in the depths of his despair. Death was swift, easy. And in some ways, it would be a release.

Daemon studied him for a long while before he spoke again. "If you choose to live, it will be a life spent in humiliation. I will never allow you to forget what you've done. You will be a shell of what you once were, and your name will be erased from the annals of honor. You will have nothing left."

Arryk's heart hammered in his chest as his eyes remained on the dagger. His failure had broken him. His soul felt heavy, burdened with the shame that would haunt him for the rest of his days. But could he end it? Could he choose death over a life of misery?

Daemon didn't move as he let the silence stretch on. "It's the honorable thing to do, Ser," he said quietly, almost as a command. "You know it as well as I do."

Arryk swallowed hard, his mind a whirlwind. He had failed so completely that nothing left for him was shame or death. He reached out a shaking hand, and his fingers brushed the cold steel of the dagger, the reality of the decision settling in his bones.

Daemon stood, watching, his arms crossed over his chest. There was no sympathy in his eyes, only the cold certainty that Arryk had already made his choice, whether or not he realized it yet.

"Make it quick, Ser Arryk. I won't grant you such a mercy again," Daemon added, his voice low and final.

And with that, the Rogue Prince turned and left the dungeons, leaving the dagger behind as the only reminder of the honor that had once been and the shame that would now define him.

The air in your bed chamber was thick with the pungent scent of incense. The faint orange glow from the setting sun filtered weakly through the heavy velvet curtains, casting a dim, feverish light over the room. The dim glow of the hearth cast wavering shadows across the opulent green decor, the only light rivaling the room's heavy tension. Daemon Targaryen stood at the foot of his daughter's bed, his jaw set like granite, his lilac eyes aflame as they bore into the two figures before him. Queen Alicent Hightower, clad in a gown of deep emerald, held her composure, her hands clasped before her as though she were at prayer. Beside her, Lord Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, straightened his posture, his sharp features betraying only a hint of disdain.

On the bed, the pale and fragile form of Daemon's youngest daughter lay motionless, her breath shallow and her lips tinged with an unnatural stillness. A half-empty vial of milk of the poppy rested on the bedside table, its glass catching the flicker of the firelight.

He could see your face now, pale and drawn, your lips dry and cracked, and your breathing shallow. Your hair clung to your forehead, damp with sweat. You had barely roused since he returned to the Red Keep. The wound on your temple, the poison that still coursed through your veins, all of it seemed to pull you deeper into the shadows.

Daemon broke the silence first, his voice low and venomous. "How long?" he demanded, his hand clenching the hilt of Dark Sister. "How long has my daughter been your prisoner in her skin?"

Alicent raised her chin, her voice measured but with an edge of exasperation. "Daemon, your accusations are baseless. She is not a prisoner. The maester prescribed milk from the poppy for her comfort."

"Do not dare!" Daemon snarled, taking a step forward. "Do not dare speak to me of comfort while my daughter lies here, drugged into silence. Fragile, you say? What lies beneath your 'comfort,' Alicent? What truth were you so afraid she would speak?"

Otto stepped in, his tone dripping with authority. "Prince Daemon, you insult Her Grace and the King's council with this madness. Your grief clouds your reason. Do you hear yourself? These are the ravings of a man desperate to find enemies where none exist."

Daemon's laughter was cold and mirthless. "Oh, there are enemies aplenty, Lord Hightower, and none closer to my family than you." He pointed a finger toward Alicent. "Do not think I am blind to your schemes. Drugging my child, is that not desperation enough? Or would you rather have me believe that poison is beyond your reach?"

Alicent flinched, but only slightly, her calm demeanor hardening. "You think us capable of such atrocity? We seek only peace in the realm. Your daughter's well-being has always been our priority."

"Peace?" Daemon hissed, circling them like a dragon sizing up its prey. "Peace through silencing the truth, you mean. And what truth terrifies you so, Alicent? That your precious Greens are losing their grip on the throne? That your Targaryen children will not be your puppets?"

Otto's voice cut through the air, sharper now. "Enough! You speak treason, Prince Daemon. Were you not her father and brother to the King, I would have you dragged from this room in chains for such slander."

Daemon's grip on Dark Sister tightened, his knuckles whitening. He leaned in closer, his voice a deadly whisper. "And were she, not my daughter, I would have your head for daring to lay a finger upon her fate. Tell me, Otto, if the Greens are desperate enough to keep her tongue tied, are they desperate enough to steal her life?"

Alicent stepped forward, her expression resolute. "Daemon, this is your grief speaking. You imagine plots where none exist. Please, for her sake, do not let your paranoia destroy what remains of your family."

"My family?" Daemon barked, his eyes narrowing. "You have no claim to speak of my family, Alicent. The blood of the dragon burns brighter than the shadows you and your father cast. But be warned, if I uncover a single thread of truth behind this betrayal, I will burn every last one of your schemes to ash."

The room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire and the faint, shallow breathing of the girl on the bed. Alicent and Otto exchanged glances, their faces masks of composure but their eyes betraying unease.

Daemon stood firm, a tempest barely restrained, his gaze never leaving them. He spoke once more, quieter now but no less dangerous.

"Leave this room. Leave her side. And pray, for your sakes, that the truth never comes to light."

Alicent hesitated, but Otto placed a firm hand on her arm, guiding her toward the door. They exited without another word, the heavy oaken door closing behind them with an ominous thud.

Daemon walked silently toward your bedside. His strong hands, so accustomed to wielding swords and bending the wills of others, now trembled as they reached for your delicate, limp fingers. The quiet vulnerability of this moment struck him more than any battlefield ever had. His daughter, the one he had sworn to protect, was broken, and he was powerless to do anything but watch. He gently curled his fingers around yours as if holding on to whatever little remained of the angry girl he had raised.

The Rogue Prince turned back to his daughter, kneeling beside her bed, his hand brushing a strand of silver hair from her face. "They'll pay for this, little one," he murmured. "I swear it on my blood."

You shifted slightly, just enough to draw his gaze as your lips parted gently. Your eyes fluttered open briefly, sparkling with a soft, dreamy awareness that hinted at the depths of your thoughts.

"Father?" Your voice emerged as a fragile whisper, barely lifting above the air around you. The sound seemed to fracture something deep within Daemon, a tiny shard of his once-impenetrable heart splintering into pieces in his chest.

"Shh, don't try to speak," he murmured, brushing your damp hair back from your forehead with a tenderness he didn't often show. His eyes were wet with the tears he hadn't allowed himself to shed until now.

In return, you weakly squeezed his hand, your gaze struggling to focus through the Milk of the Poppy. "I... failed, didn't I?" you whispered, voice cracking. "I couldn't stop it... Couldn't stop the Greens."

Daemon's heart clenched. He could feel the depth of your regret, the weight of your self-doubt in those simple words. His mind flashed back to the fateful days that brought you to this point.

Sending you to King's Landing was the plan you had agreed upon, knowing it was dangerous. You would infiltrate the very heart of the enemy and make a place for yourself at court. You would seduce Aegon, the eldest son of Queen Alicent, a man with no taste for power and no ambition beyond the pleasures of the flesh. You would make him fall for you, win his favor, manipulate him, and stop the usurpation. You would ensure Rhaenyra's crown was secured and that Aegon would never take what was rightfully hers.

But everything had gone wrong. Daemon underestimated the treacherous nature of the court, the depths to which the Hightowers would go to secure the throne for their own and your young, bleeding heart. He had failed as a father, as a man. And now, his daughter, his precious girl, was paying the price.

Daemon swallowed the lump in his throat. He took a slow breath, trying to steady the fury that threatened to consume him. "You did what you could," he whispered, his voice breaking on the words. "You were brave. You were everything I asked of you and more."

You stirred again, your brows furrowing as if in pain, and lips parted to speak, but the words faltered.

"Father, if I fail... if Aegon becomes king..." you whispered hoarsely, struggling to stay conscious. "Leave me to die in the forests of the North. A pack of hungry wolves would be kinder than what he will do to me."

Daemon's hand clenched around yours, and his heart shattered at the words. He knew what you meant. Aegon, a man who would become consumed by the luxuries that power had brought, could never be a better man. He would use his newfound strength to break his enemies and your family, bend them to his will, and crush them beneath the weight of his crown.

Aegon would not cease until you were by his side, even if it meant the destruction of House Targaryen and the kingdom. If he were to ascend to the throne, it would be the end of you.

You closed your eyes again, your body sagging slightly as the feverish haze claimed you again.

Daemon sat beside you on the mattress as it dipped with his weight, holding your hand in both. The stench of a floral musk that reminded Daemon of Viserys wafted through his nose as a sudden realization came to mind. His breath came fast, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts, but it was all drowned in his overwhelming rage and helplessness at the world's cruelty.

His daughter, his favorite daughter, was so close to death, and there was nothing he could do to save her. His mind began to work, to churn with decisions that could shape their future.

He will not let you die here.

"No," Daemon whispered to your sleeping form, his voice thick with emotion. "I will not let them do this to you. Not while I live." His hand trembled as he stroked your hair, his heart shattering again as he looked at your pale, suffering face.

He stood slowly, but his movements were sharp and purposeful now. The anger and sorrow had merged into a singular driving force as he turned to the window, glancing out at the fading light of the day. There was only one place he could take you, one where you might have a chance to heal and one where you would be safe, but at the potential cost of the throne.

"Prepare a ship," Daemon ordered to the guards outside the door, his voice hardening as he straightened, the weight of his promise pressing down on him. "Get it ready. We leave for Dragonstone tonight."

Turning back to the bed, he gently lifted you into his arms, carefully cradling you as though you were the most precious thing in the world. You were frail, but still his daughter—the fire from his blood, the only legacy worth fighting for. He kissed your forehead, the promise in his heart now fully formed.

"Do not fear," he whispered, more to himself than you. "You will be free. You have not failed. I will ensure you are never hurt again once we return to Dragonstone."

The ship would be ready by the hour of the owl, and Daemon would take you and leave the city behind. The politics, selfish intrigue, and Hightowers were all irrelevant now. The only thing that mattered was his daughter's life. The rest of the realm could burn for all he cared so long as you lived.

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We all want heads to roll, but we must let them have their moments. Otto, Alicent, and Larys will eventually get what's coming. I have about ten or eleven more chapters to go!

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[somedaylazysomeday]

Good Intentions Part Twenty-Five

Ongoing Silco x fem!reader fic (no reader description, no use of 'Y/N')

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4,800

Warnings: Fear, insecurity, break-in, threats to personal safety, mob mentality, time skips, guns, bludgeoning weapons, veiled threats, references to sex as a form of payment, drug references, mentions of previous bribery

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---

You were woken by the sound of bells ringing. 

There was no bell system at the Haven for patients to alert that they needed attention - though in the part of your mind that wasn’t focused on getting dressed, it wasn’t a bad idea - so that wasn’t what had launched you out of bed before you had fully woken up. 

No, the bells were the temporary, low-cost security system you had put into place when Silco had pulled his guards away from the Haven. 

Since Silco had decided to use the knowledge of your connection to destroy your life, you had never been sure what the security guards were there to do. Were they a parting gift, meant to console you as you adjusted to a less-protected life in the Undercity? Were they meant to keep an eye on you and report back to Silco? Were they just waiting until the most devastating possible moment to leave? 

It was your best guess that the last possibility was closest to the truth. HexTech had taken over financial support of the Haven after most of the other donors had withdrawn their contributions, but they were a young company. They didn’t have the money to support themselves and pay for external expenses like security guards. You had just been thrilled to be funded, so you had agreed to those terms. 

A little over a week later, Silco had pulled his security guards from the Haven. 

One of the two in-house doctors had resigned the next day. His safety could not be guaranteed without guards. The other doctor had stayed, but he was running himself ragged trying to help all the patients through withdrawal alone.

The original Haven staff would have been able to help - most of them had seen enough to function as makeshift medics when absolutely necessary - but they had long since left. The scandal of you accepting donations from Silco had been too much for most of them, and the others hadn’t been able to handle the increased stress of the new workload. 

In short, the Haven was still afloat, but you were left trying to cover large gaps in staffing, services, and security. Hence the bells. 

You had installed bells over every external door to the Haven, plus a few trip wires and pressure plates that would ring a bell in your room if they were set off. Residents and the new staff knew where the wires and plates were so they could avoid activating them. It wasn’t a particularly elegant system, but it was enough for you to know when someone was in the Haven who didn’t belong there. 

As was currently the case. 

A baseball bat was your only protection as you moved down the stairs as quietly as possible. There was a dim light coming from under the door in the front room, the door slightly ajar. That was what had set off the bells in your room, then. 

With the baseball bat up and over your shoulder, you gently toed the door open and stepped inside. 

You halted almost immediately, startled by the way you had been greeted by name. “Yi? Fletcher?” 

Fletcher had rushed toward you, handsome face happy, but he paused before he got within touching distance of you. “Are you okay? What’s with the bat?” 

“We don’t have security anymore,” you explained shortly. “Never knew when someone is going to break in.” 

“That’s why we’re here,” Yi explained. “The lack of security, not to break in.” 

Your tired brain was struggling to make sense of that. “What-? What does that mean?” 

“Can we sit down?” a vaguely familiar young man requested. You hadn’t spotted him behind Yi and Fletcher, but he seemed to be the last member of the group.

Wordlessly, you motioned them through the door into the kitchen, then followed them inside as they sat at the small table at one side of the room. 

“We heard the Haven doesn’t have security anymore,” Yi explained. “We all wanted to come back and help out.” 

“Why?” you asked, helpless to disguise the suspicion in your voice. 

The familiar man glanced at Yi and Fletcher, then spoke. “I don’t know if you remember me, ma’am. I was part of the security detail that Silco assigned to the Haven.” 

You secrets had been laid bare, exposed before the entirety of Piltover, but you still cringed at the casual way he announced your connection to Silco. “Yes, I remember you. You were fairly new. I don’t know if I ever met you officially.” 

“Okkan,” he volunteered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Nice to officially meet you, then.” 

“Likewise, as long as Silco didn’t send you so he could have someone inside of the Haven,” you countered, voice a little too sharp to be considered polite.

Okkan’s face grew grave. “It’s too late for that. He’s had people here all along. If you haven’t seen him here yet, it’s because he hasn’t wanted you to.” 

Fletcher touched gentle fingertips to Okkan’s arm. “That’s probably not as helpful as you meant it to be.” 

With a sheepish grimace, Okkan nodded. “I’m sorry, that was supposed to prove that you can trust me. My point is, Silco has no reason to send me here as a plant since he already has people doing that. I don’t work for him anymore.”

“Then why are you here?” 

Okkan shrugged. “This is the right thing to do.” 

You hummed suspiciously, glancing at Fletcher and Yi. “And you two?” 

“I need to make sure my boyfriend doesn’t die fighting off anyone who might attack the Haven,” Fletcher told you. Yi and Okkan both snorted - Fletcher’s skills with combat were as limited as everyone else’s, but augmented with a rich vein of jumpiness and a hatred of blood and dirt. 

Yi answered your question with ease, offering it as soon as your eyes rested on her. “I like an underdog.” 

You sighed, trying to bury the surge of relief coursing through you. It wasn’t fair to take advantage of them. At least, unless they specifically knew what they were agreeing to. 

“If you’re looking for a fight, there are good odds you’ll find it here,” you warned. “Silco has made it clear that he considers the Haven a detriment to his plans for the Undercity. I haven’t seen any signs of an attack yet, but the fact that he pulled the security guards away from here is hardly a good sign. I need to know that you’re aware of the dangers of being here. More importantly, that you know the dangers of being on my side. 

“We all know,” Yi assured you. “Okkan was very blunt about the things he saw as part of Silco’s crew.” 

“More importantly, we know you,” Fletcher insisted. “You were always good to everyone, even those who didn’t deserve it. That’s worth something, even if everyone in the city seems to have forgotten it.” 

You nodded. It seemed like the safest choice. You didn’t trust your voice not to crack if you tried to speak. 

By the time you had stood from your chair and crossed to the door, you had recovered enough to say, “You’re welcome to stay, then. Pick any rooms in the employee quarters. Most of it is empty, so you have options. Goodnight. Thank you.” 

—

Unfortunately, the new arrivals didn’t have to wait long for the fight you had promised. 

The break-in happened at night. You had always suspected that it would - after all, that was the time of day when the Undercity residents were the most active. 

The chiming of the bells was desperate and chaotic, nearly masked by the scuffing feet you could hear throughout the first floor of the building. You had been awake late, sacrificing hours of sleep in favor of writing grant requests and reports for the few grants you had left. The Haven’s progress had slowed significantly since your association with Silco had been made public, and you were struggling to frame the work you had done in the most positive light possible. 

You had drilled every resident of the Haven with what the sound of the bells meant. All the doors on the lower floors were locked when you ran down the stairs, clenching the grip of your bat in your fist. If even one of the residents managed to remember what you had taught them to do, they were trying to contact the Enforcers.

There were more intruders than you could hope to take on alone. Getting an accurate count was impossible in the gloom, but you counted at least eight. They saw you immediately, watching as you came to a stop a few stairs above the ground floor. 

You cleared your throat, letting the bat dangle at your side. “What do you want?” 

“Shimmer.” 

The answer - called from somewhere in the crowd - made you snort rudely. “You seem to have missed the fact that this is an anti-Shimmer establishment.” 

“Addictions are treated with microdoses of the drug,” one of them pointed out. “We’re here for any Shimmer you have.” 

“Well-informed,” you noted. “Except that Shimmer addictions can’t be treated with the drug. It takes over the central nervous system, even in small amounts. There is no Shimmer here, microdoses or otherwise.” 

“Then maybe we’ll tear this place down,” another threatened. “That’ll send a message to Silco.” 

Your heart was in your throat, but you did your best to keep it from being too obvious. “And why would you do that? In case you hadn’t heard, Silco doesn’t have anything to do with this place. Not anymore.” 

“No, but he did.” One woman stepped forward, eyeing you suspiciously. “The Shimmer left this place all at once. It was right around when Silco gave you that money. I think that’s important. It means something.” 

You stared at her. “You are too smart to waste your mind on Shimmer. But no, it doesn’t mean anything. Silco bribed me with money. He didn’t need to get rid of Shimmer to bribe me a second time.” 

“Silco is part of this place,” a large man told you. “Either he hates you and wants it destroyed or he still cares and losing it would make him weak.” 

“You should probably figure out whether you’re trying to give the drug lord a gift or a threat before you do it,” you warned, tightening your grip on the bat. “He’s erratic at the best of times, and you might not like the reaction you get.” 

From the dissatisfied murmur of the crowd, that was a valid point, but one they didn’t want to acknowledge. You weren’t sure how to proceed. Letting them tear down the Haven wasn’t an option, but telling them to leave might be the thing that pushed them into violence. 

The decision was taken away from you when someone grabbed the baseball bat, using it to tow you forward. You stumbled down the stairs, catching yourself only to be pulled into the depths of the crowd. The baseball bat was ripped away from you almost immediately, thrown to clatter across the room. 

Immediately, there were shouts of encouragement to kill you. Your pulse was roaring in your ears and you struggled to hear past it. The crowd seemed to agree that Silco may or may not care about the Haven, but he certainly didn’t seem to like you. 

You tried to free yourself - it would be stupid not to, when they were audibly planning your death. But there were so many hands. Hands on your hips, hands on your waist, hands on your arms. All of them gripped you tightly, leaving bruises in your skin. You could only hope you would live long enough for them to heal. 

“Kill her,” the large man ordered. He was the loudest, which you assumed made him some kind of authority in a crowd like this. “Everyone else, strip this place for anything you can find. Burn the rest.” 

“Should she die fast?” the woman who had spoken earlier asked. The way her eyes studied you sent a chill up your spine. “Or slow?” 

“Slow.” 

The hands squeezed tighter, trying to lead you deeper into the Haven. You fought them, squirming and kicking as you shouted for them to leave you alone. 

“Let her go!” 

Yi’s voice was the sweetest thing you had ever heard. A close second was when she swung your confiscated bat into the knee of the group’s leader.

He screamed in pain, dropping to the floor. One of the people holding you glared up at Yi. “You can’t fight all of us. Not and win.” 

“We aren’t looking for a fight,” Okkan countered. You searched around the room for a moment before you found him standing in front of the door that led to the residents’ rooms. “Between the three of us, we can stop any hope of whatever you all planned to do.” 

For a wild moment, you thought he was counting you as one of the three people who would stop the fight, but you were still held firmly in place. Okkan nodded toward the stairs and you saw Fletcher there, holding another gun. 

Yi brandished her bat, holding it over her shoulder as if ready to take her next swing. Fletcher was aiming his small handgun at the crowd, hands steady. Okkan was holding a gun that looked almost as big as he was. It looked dangerous, and not purely because of its size. 

Okkan cocked the gun loudly, aiming at the crowd. “Time for you to leave.” 

“Fine, we’ll go,” the leader said, standing. It was clear that putting weight on his leg was painful, but he was still an imposing figure. “But we’re taking her with us.” 

To your surprise, a gunshot came from the top of the stairs, putting a neat hole in the doorframe beside one of your would-be kidnappers. 

Yi twirled the bat in her hand. “No.” 

“That was your only warning,” Okkan explained, a menacing smile shining bright in the gloomy room. 

The attackers were gone in a moment, leaving you sprawled on the floor. Ridiculously, the first thing that came to mind was, “Fletcher, I didn’t know you could shoot that well.” 

Fletcher grinned. “I’m not very threatening and I can’t fight. How else did you think I survived in the Undercity so long?” 

You were spared the need to respond when Okkan helped you to your feet. “We need to prepare for another attack.” 

You frowned, running your thumb over the fresh bullet hole in your doorframe. “Are you sure? It seems like you all scared them pretty badly.” 

Okkan shook his head. “Those people broke in. They’re not part of Silco’s group. If random people on the street feel safe breaking into the Haven, that means that word about Silco’s lack of protection has spread. The attacks are just going to happen more often from here. And they’re more likely to get more violent, as well.”

“I don’t have the money for security,” you reminded him. Much as you tried to keep the state of the Haven’s finances from Okkan, Fletcher, and Yi, they had picked it up over the previous weeks. 

“But there are other things we can do,” Yi argued. “Move more people into the upper floors, gather together the ones who can’t climb stairs. We’ll put a sturdier door between their rooms and the main areas. One person on guard would be able to lock the door when there’s a break-in.” 

“And a few more guns wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Fletcher told you, locking the safety on his own handgun. 

You nodded. “Let’s get it done.” 

—

The changes you were making to the Haven weren’t exactly secret, especially since Yi, Okkan, and Fletcher told anyone and everyone that there were even more security advancements to come. 

You knew what it was - posturing. By talking openly about the defenses in place and positioning themselves as guardians of the Haven, they were discouraging people from attacking without doing so in a way that would seem too close to a dare. 

It was clever, though you all knew that moving patients, adding a door, and buying additional weapons were the extent of your security planning. Still, it seemed to be working. Two weeks had passed since the break-in and you hadn’t had a scare in that time. Maybe any would-be attackers were waiting for you to get comfortable and lax, but you were hopeful that the Haven simply seemed like more trouble than it was worth. 

All of your optimism disappeared in an instant as you stepped into your office late one night. You couldn’t keep up the pace you had been, but you were fairly certain you could manage one more night of grant-writing before you collapsed into an exhausted heap. 

The figure sitting at your desk made you jump, though the lit lamp on your desk should have been the first clue that you had a visitor. 

“Close the door, pet,” Silco commanded. “We need to talk.”

You dropped your hand from where it had reflexively pressed over your heart. It was difficult to glare at someone when they could see how badly they had just frightened you. “I’ve already said everything I needed to say, Silco. And you’ve already said everything I was willing to listen to.” 

He smirked. “I have missed your backbone, darling.” 

“That’s nice.” You pointedly held the door open, waiting for him to leave. 

Instead, Silco sat forward, leaning his elbows on the surface of your deks so he could study you more intently. “You can imagine how relieved I was to hear that you survived the first attack on the Haven.” 

You didn’t remember closing the door, but the sound of it slamming beside you was unmistakable. “First.” 

Silco nodded at the word you had repeated. “I am certain you are clever enough to know that more attacks will come.” 

“And I’m sure your memory is good enough to remember that this is the second time the Haven has been attacked,” you countered. “However, we handled this one far more effectively than the last.” 

Silco inclined his head in a silent concession of your point. “You defended yourselves admirably. But will you manage the same next time? And the time after?” 

“I’m sure there’s a purpose to this conversation.” You glanced outside of the window, using the brightness of the neon signs against the darkening sky to gauge the time. “The Last Drop must be open by now. You have a business to run and I need to get back to mine. Make your point.”

“I am here to offer my assistance, of course,” Silco said smoothly. “It would be simple enough to reassign a security detail to the Haven.”

Your laugh was unintentional, but you didn’t mind it. It was a sharp, ugly sound, leaving no doubt about the sincerity of your amusement. “Considering all of this started because of you, I can’t say I’m inclined to accept your help.” 

Silco tilted his head, a dangerous flash of irritation crossing his face. “I am not the one who tried to defect to Piltover.”

“Defect?” you repeated. “Much as you want to believe in it, Zaun isn’t a real, recognized city. Right now, this place is just the lower half of Piltover - looked down on by the Upper City, if they think of it at all. And you ensured that they have no representation in the government.” 

“We do not need the scraps that Piltover deigns to give us,” Silco decreed. “We will demand the respect and status we are owed, as full equals.”

“And when will that happen?” You shook your head. “I think, if it were possible, you would have done it by now. Piltover is unaffected by the horrors of life in the Undercity, as strong as it ever was. More so, actually, if HexTech’s plans work out. Meanwhile, the people of the Undercity are eroded by pollution, mine accidents, and Shimmer. If there was ever a time when the Undercity could demand anything, it passed a long time ago.” 

Silco snarled. “The people of Zaun were cowed by their failures when they should have used them to spur renewed efforts. The next generation-” 

“The one who survives on the scraps that Piltover deigns to give the Undercity?” The sigh that escaped you was less irritated than you hoped, sounding almost mournful. “They are fighting too hard to survive to worry about a revolution.” 

“Zaun-” Silco paused, visibly collecting himself. He smoothed his hair back as he stepped around the corner of your desk. “I have diverted from my original point. Regardless of the myriad reasons we find ourselves here, I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement.” 

You snorted. “Have you forgotten how our last ‘mutually beneficial agreement’ went?” 

The back of Silco’s fingers brushed lightly down the length of your arm. You tracked their progress before looking up at Silco, who was watching you with heavy-lidded eyes. “Darling, I have thought of little else these past weeks.” 

Suddenly, there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room. The instant your lips parted around a shaky breath, Silco closed the gap between you.

The touch of his lips against yours was achingly familiar and your body relaxed into the kiss without asking permission from your mind. And considering that he avoided kissing you as long as he had, Silco was shockingly good at it. He knew when to push, when to let you lead, and when to encourage you to deepen the kiss. 

And, to your dismay, you did exactly that. 

Somewhere along the line, the kiss had turned into something deep and desperate. Your hands roamed across his body as his did the same to yours. He felt wonderfully solid beneath your searching fingers, and you finally admitted to yourself that you had missed him. 

Perhaps it was because you had trained your body to expect to be fully satiated at least once a month for longer than you had ever expected. Perhaps it was because such a long time had passed since you had been touched by anyone else. Perhaps - unlikely and abhorrent as it was - you had started to grow fond of Silco. 

In any case, you gasped when his trailing fingers skated over the curve of one breast, rubbing unerringly against your nipple before he continued on a steady path downward. You pulled away from him when you heard the desperation of your moan, the fresh air of the room hitting you like a dash of cold water. 

“No,” you murmured, repeating it louder  when Silco started to tow you back to him. When had you entangled your fingers with his? “No, this isn’t- We have to stop.” 

“Why would we ever do something so foolish?” Silco asked, reluctantly letting your fingers slip out from between his. “I have missed you, pet. Have you not missed me?” 

“You-” You cleared your throat. “You came here for a reason, Silco. You were going to make me an offer of some kind. What was it?” 

“I have already made my offer,” he reminded you, dual gaze piercing. “I will reassign security to the Haven.”

You nodded slowly. “And what are you asking in return?” 

Silco spread his hands out to either side of himself. “Renewed access to your delectable body, of course.” 

Of course. As if it were clear without explanation, undeniable and irresistible. And it nearly was, damn him. You could keep the Haven safe, protect your people. In return, you only had to give him something you wanted him to have, anyway. 

You swayed. 

It was an ugly trait for a philanthropist, someone determined to minimize the amount of evil that existed in the world. Your ideals were so high, but you were only human. You wanted nothing more than to let Silco slake the terrible thirst that had overtaken your body. You wanted to fall back into the routine you had become so accustomed to. It would be so easy, so safe, so familiar. You ached for it. 

But at the same time, the thought of it made you recoil. For all that your relationship with Silco had gone better than expected - mostly because you had expected to die at the end - you’d had plenty of time to analyze it since your life had started to spiral. Your time together had gone as smoothly as it had because there was a profound power imbalance between you. When issues came up, they were resolved because you were paying him to keep Shimmer out of the Haven’s neighborhood. 

Yes, you could go back to the way things had been, but you would never find a better reason to leave. And this time, things could very well end with your death. Was this how you wanted to spend the rest of your life? Fearful and subservient because you missed sleeping with a chem baron?

Your shoulders eased as you realized that your subconscious had already made the decision for you. Silco misinterpreted it entirely, reaching to snag your hand again. 

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, drawing you closer. 

“No, Silco. I can’t.” Pulling away seemed like the most difficult thing in the world just then, but you managed it. “I can’t go back to the way things were. Not after the way everything has changed.” 

“Nothing has changed,” Silco pressed. “Nothing needs to. We can pick up precisely where we left off. The Undercity has already started to forget the news about the Haven’s donations and, under my protection once more, you can continue to impact this place the way you always wanted. Everything you want - everything we want - is waiting. The only thing you need do is agree.” 

If he had said something like that when the indecisive thoughts were swirling through your mind, you would probably be kissing again and well on your way to more. But your swaying had left you stumbling back from the edge, suddenly capable of seeing the chasm yawning just in front of your feet. 

“Thank you for the offer,” you said, taking another step back and pulling your hand away from his. “But I must decline. If you don’t mind, I have other responsibilities to which I must attend.” 

You had turned to open the door when you felt Silco’s presence behind you. The skin at the back of your neck prickled at both the knowledge that he was behind you and the sudden tension in the air of your office. 

“Dismissing me is a mistake, pet,” Silco told you. The words and tone were genial enough, but there was a sharpness in it that made your nerves thrum. “My offer is the only way to avoid the misfortunes that will fall on the Haven. There are those who will tear this place down if they are not stopped. And I’m certain you remember the last time you chose to ignore my advice about an impending attack.” 

“Security is a smart idea,” you admitted, turning as Silco’s eyes searched your face. “But I can’t pay you for it. I have no money for extraneous expenses and my body is no longer available as a form of payment. I’m not saying you’re wrong about what could happen to the Haven, but the only thing I can do is stand strong against whatever may come.” 

“This is the only time I will give you the opportunity to continue our deal,” Silco warned, Shimmer-infused eye piercing as he stared at you. “The moment I leave the Haven, we are finished. Do not be foolish.” 

You bowed your head, hoping a show of subservience would be enough to push him out of the Haven. Silco was always a little more rational when he thought that he had succeeded in making his point. “I understand that the offer is only good for right now, but unfortunately, I cannot accept. Thank you for giving me the chance to make a choice.” 

“You will regret this,” he warned, anger flashing across his scarred face as he stalked through your door and toward the front door of the Haven. 

You closed the door a moment before you collapsed against it, a fine trembling in every limb and digit. Silco always took it personally when a deal fell through. And an offended Silco liked to soothe his indignation with a little murder. You were getting better about defending yourself against attacks, but you wouldn’t bet on yourself against Silco. It was all for the best that he had left in some semblance of peace. 

As you settled to work on the piles of paperwork lying across your desk, you had to push away another twinge of regretful lust. You had done the right thing, but that didn’t make it any easier.

---

Author's Note - This was not my most elegant chapter, but I needed to show how things are progressing in the Haven and the Undercity as a whole. If it helps, every remaining chapter is one I'm very proud of. This is just my awkward little baby who had to leave home before I felt it was ready.

Anyway, thanks for reading! I'll see you next month!