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bucknastysbabe · 1 month ago

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The Merger - C.Cole

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5k

Tags: 80’s corporate au, set in King’s Landing, Nyra’s daughter reader, pwp, enemies to lovers, subby Criston, service top Criston, misogyny, oral (f!receiving), pnv!sex, dom/sub dynamics, background rhaenicent, background alicole, desk boinking, man tears, Cristons Big Brown Eyes

A/N: This was an ask I accidentally posted too early so now repost! Thank you to the anon, loved this and hope you like. Inspired by RedRack’s work on Ao3. Idk anything about business

Taglist: @aemonds-holy-milk @arcielee @aemondfairy @elaratyrell @fairysluna @jamespotterismydaddy @lovelykhaleesiii @sammmy7499 @starogeorgina @towriteloveontheirarms @zaldritzosrose

You were Rhaenyra’s eldest child and only daughter, the ‘haughty’ one. You’d grown up lavishly, a byproduct of the rich and powerful where one could pay away most problems. Like your parentage. Like your homosexual father and biological dad who happened to be the bodyguard.

Except someone from the other side paid right back and your dad was ashes. Laenor left not too long afterward. You were your mother’s child anyway— as bitter as it felt.

There was a schism and merger at the same time, two huge media conglomerates coming as one now. Your family had long owned a paper before foraging into radio then television, the Legacy Media Agency. Jaehaerys Targaryen and Alysanne brought one of the first channels on television.

Through tragedy and piss-poor mistakes, your grandfather remarried to one Alicent Hightower. Now he was dead and the position of CEO was swiftly voted in for Rhaenyra. Alicent bristled, coming from a media conglomerate family of her own.

The Hightowers were in the movie and TV Industry, Green Flame Studios. They ran the golden age of film in Westeros, easily adapting and changing however into the current state. Television channels and multiple production companies. They’d even nabbed up a music label out of Lannisport.

Much money and meetings later, there was a heated merger due to a clause drafted up while your grandfather was on his deathbed. CEO and COO would be up for grabs again. Tension was filling the building in King’s Landing. Otto was back along with his sleek-looking son. Rhaenyra was growing stressed. Now Daemon was off securing funds and heads, the woman growing edgier by the day.

On a recent evening she sat down with you, the ever dutiful daughter. Jace was more of the smooth heir, able to gloss over and smile his way into the hearts of others. You took a step back, working on a law degree and willing to do a dirty deed if requested.

You and Mother sipped drinks in her office, gazing out over the sparkling city of King’s Landing. It was a shit hole brought up to some sort of glory in your opinion. Rhaenyra huffed, “The rest of her boys are coming. Aemond’s cutthroat but irrational, Aegon can be puppeted but has a raging coke and alcohol problem. Helaena is out of the picture. That leaves the little one, the freak, and the doggy.”

“So a little boy, Larys, and Criston I take it?”

You took off your blazer, rolling your eyes, “Dear uncles want to strangle us. Aegon and Aemond might tear each other to shreds before that could occur. Otto and Alicent, cracking as she may be, hold them together.”

Rhaenyra grimaced, “She ran the company while father was sick. It’s a good look. I was popping questionable children out, working, but not seen like her. She’s got that yuppie housewife bitch look about her, but she’s no Targaryen. Gods.”

You were pretty sure they fucked or something. Mother always went a little distant and quiet regarding Alicent, even if her words were vitriol.

Throwing expensive heels upon the fine desk of many CEO’s past you asked, “What have you need of me? Dirt, intel? I’m not coming near that whisperer, he’s too smart. Wasn’t Cole promoted to some busy work position? Probably Alicent’s fuck toy. I never liked him, he’s got issues.”

Your mother grinned, laughing, the most you’ve seen in a while. She leaned up to squeeze your ankle. Rhaenyra hummed, “You’re a fine woman. Fine, fine woman. Knows what it takes to win. Keep an eye on Cole. He likes the rich girls anyways, yet all of this has him so stressed he’ll be a bigger prick than usual.”

The blonde waved a hand.

“Do what you need, he’s weak at the end of the day. Probably keeps Ali’s underwear in his drawer. Brute. He was sweet once, I fear his issues and my selfish desires fucked that up worse than it needed to be. He’ll never have it, sad as it may be,” she lamented.

You felt pity for the Marcher. Handsome as could be, powerful energy, good with acquisitions of small companies. It stopped there— most considered him an idiot. You’d have to reluctantly get to know more, considering all of the vile history. But you’d do it for Mother.

Standing up in the dim office you nodded, “I’ll do what I can, we should take everyone out for the beach one day. Good publicity. It’s widely known we are more stable.”

She smiled. Your mother was so beautiful, you were glad to see her in better spirits before they were inevitably dashed.

Soon the Green’s employees began to show. Wylde, Lannister, Strong, Cole. Aemond and Aegon also appeared. The first meeting was miserable. You’d sat back and taken notes, sitting pretty next to Jace and Baela. You noted Alicent was the resident female leading the pack, the pack being dogs that would turn on her.

Aemond was the key one. Likely Aegon would get shoved forward if they kept him in line. Otto barked and waved his hands with Rhaenys, he liked the sidelines. Your eyes flickered to Cole— perfectly coiffed and manicured, his suits tailored sharp and tight to show off his body. He certainly looked like a fuck toy.

His dark eyes raised to meet yours, thick brows furrowing. You scoffed and turned your attention elsewhere, the egotistical fucker aggravated now. You could hear his ringed finger tapping against the wood. Prick.

By the end of the week, Rhaenyra held a tenuous hold on CEO, Alicent had taken COO, and Otto had weaseled in as CFO. This was shite. Mother was outnumbered. Tyland Lannister should have had it, he put aside loyalties for success, and he’d served two sides well.

Life in the offices post vote was interesting, to say the least. You’d often be around, observing and speaking with employees. Today you had worn a little black blouse with a bow and a fitted tweed skirt, tights emphasizing your long legs and patent heels. You had a plan. First you made sure your hair was still presentable and reapplied your lipstick. With a smirk, you sauntered over to his oversized cubicle.

Criston Cole. Up jumped prick. It was obvious he was some sort of release for Alicent, leaving her office adjusting his tie, smoothing back his hair, lips still wet. You had gathered he was wildly misunderstood— a whore and a sexist bully. Yet others spoke of him revering women and kind to most. Some said he was dumb as a box of rocks, others said he was quietly crafty in the right environment.

Confusing. But you could do with a whore.

You leaned against the wall, watching his shoulders and biceps bunch as he looked over the potential acquisitions, likely in tech. He had his walkmans on and fidgeted as he read. You eyed his cubicle, immaculately clean, two photos on the wall. One of him in the military shaking a commander’s hand. The other was of a man holding a young Criston, a beautiful Dornish looking woman laughing next to them.

Mommy issues? Maybe. Seems normal enough.

The maybe-bully turned around and pulled off his headphones, raising a brow as he chuffed. “What are you doing staring at the back of my head like that?” His lips turned into a scowl at the sight of your smirk.

“Merely getting to know my mother’s new workers. My coworkers, somewhat. I’m just here for help.”

He eyed your body, dark orbs traveling upwards. Criston watched you with a tight smile, spreading his muscled thighs as his chair rolled around. You remained stoic, waiting on the inevitable snark or nasty comment.

“So what is mommy’s little princess doing besides flouncing your bows and snooping around?”

Oh. You wanted to kill him. Smack that smarmy look off his face.

“What? That’s what you do. Skip around and flirt with that big chip on your shoulder. It’s almost cute, knowing what you are.”

You ignored him to continue, “I’m overseeing the new employees to our building. I’m in law school. Besides, I don’t need some fucktoy bully with muscles for a brain to snap at me. Watch your godsdamn mouth with me and how you speak on my family.”

You glared him down, watching Criston get flushed and submit easily. There it was, not a hard button to find. A little meanness, a little firm hand, and Criston Cole was putty. You grinned, patting his desk, “Good boy. Perhaps you should keep your mouth shut more, or go get it glued back to the green queen’s cunt.”

He inhaled sharply as you walked away victorious.

You dialed your mother up from the car phone, cackling about the experience. The pair of you schemed, you needed to get under Criston or over him. Whatever it took to figure out more…perhaps you had your own desires. He hadn’t been going to Alicent’s office as much since you slipped up. Albeit was quite known.

The further away from her he was, the better. That’s how you could snag the man. The upcoming gala would be time to strike.

You wore a strapped, glass-beaded black gown to the gala, some bullshit reason to meet around and prove that all was swell, give out idiotic awards and swaths of money. Your curls were piled into an updo, brows thick, and eyes shadowy. Your lips were blood red. Black gloves went to your elbows.

You knew you had to bang Cole tonight. He’d softened some around you since the moment in his cubicle but he was tighter than the damn Iron Bank when it came to anything of information you wanted. He looked handsome in his designer suit, pressed and prim. Hovering behind Alicent, looking like a puppy. You frowned between sips of your champagne. You needed him away from her!

“You’re hot you know,” came a slurred voice.

“Ah. Dearest uncle of mine. Coming to hit on his family. How many flutes I wonder?” You turned to face a grinning Aegon, purple eyes hazy, smelling like Joop! You rolled your eyes and let him jabber on, grinning at Aeg.

“You really must want a piece? You know fucking baseborn isn’t a good look, but your face is so cute,” you teased.

Aegon’s coked-up expression widened into a grin, his hands on your waist as you laughed it off. Jacaerys would pull him off, or Luke. Aegon’s lips grew closer to your neck before being yanked back roughly, one irritated Criston Cole glaring down at Aegon and sending him packing. You waved goodbye.

Criston’s big frame engulfed yours, his more masculine scent aided with some Calvin Klein tickling your nose. Damn this man for being so damnably handsome. He was looking down at you, jaw clenching. You hummed, “Thanks for the save, Cole. Didn’t know you had the knight in shining armor sensibilities.”

He gripped your arm, grunting, “I don’t.”

The taller man led you away, farther and farther towards the bathrooms. You laughed, Criston shooting a glare.

“Where are you taking me?”

He huffed, “Away from here. I have some questions for you.”

“This isn’t going to end up with you strangling me right?”

“Shut up, damn, you talk so godsdamned much!”

You rolled your eyes once again, trying to keep up with his long strides, the man unlocking a door and shoving you inside. You stumbled and cursed, Criston quick to pick you up. He led you over to the desk, picked you up, and put you atop the flat surface.

He stared, jaw clenched, eyes wide as they took you in— calloused hands ran up your pantyhose.

You cocked your head, humming, “I thought you were asking questions.”

Criston closed into space, hands gripping your thighs tighter as he snarled, “I don’t get you. You don’t work for the company, you’re a damn college brat with a chip on your shoulder.” His hands tightened again, fingertips digging into your skin.

“Anyways are we fucking or not?”

Criston looked at a loss for words, nostrils flaring in aggravation. You cooed, hand sliding across his broad shoulders and up to the nape of his neck. Gently playing and pulling at his curls, you leaned closer to his pretty mouth, noses touching.

The man exhaled sharply, voice less sharp as he murmured, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

How funny, you couldn’t either.

Your lips curled up in pleasure, eyes slipping shut as you kissed him softly, a mere press of the lips. Criston tried for more— only for you to pull back and chide, “Slow, we don’t have anywhere to be.” You could tell he was thinking, but Cole acquiesced and matched your pace.

As you lazily smacked lips with him, his hands eased up, rubbing up and down. You slid your tongue between his lips, moaning softly as he eagerly met you, hot and slick. He made a noise deep in his chest when you grabbed a handful of slicked-down dark hair. You pressed up against his firm chest, tongues and lips doing an age-old dance.

Criston sucked on your bottom lip, returning to sup at your mouth, hands roving up higher, your dress rising with the movement. You spread your thighs with a sigh, panting against his insistent mouth. You could feel the kiss grow messy, Criston pulled ever you closer. He flicked his tongue against yours, moaning in desperation.

You distantly wondered if Alicent let him kiss her much. If she let him do anything besides satiate a need. The way he was pressed tight to your frame and groaning like a man deprived from some kisses seemed to affirm that. He pulled back with a wild look, nuzzling and pressing his wet lips to your neck, dark stubble rubbing the thin skin.

You threw your head back for more access, panting and sighing. You pulled at his hair again and spread your legs wider. He gasped when you asked if he was going to eat you out like he did the COO. Criston grumbled, frowning, his hands pulling down your hose.

“Is that all you think I’m good for?”

You studied his downtrodden puppy dog face and felt bad, poor thing had a knack for attaching himself to unavailable women. Your mind railed distantly on what he said about your mother and your siblings.

“Maybe. Looks like you spend more time on your knees than in your cubicle from my time at the office, Criston.”

You pushed at his shoulder, Criston dropping down with a petulant look across his face. He continued to pull your pantyhose down, fingers hooking into your thin underwear along the way. He made a weak nose when you leaned back some, purring, “There we go, take it all off. Gods, you’re pretty down there.”

He moaned again, nosing at your knee, dark eyes peeling from your exposed skin to look up. Criston rasped desperately, “Please, I’m sorry.” Those dark eyes were growing wet. You ripped your gaze away from his face, trailing down his heaving chest to where his flushed cock pushed against his fly.

“Sorry for what?”

Criston whimpered, the sound escaping before he could swallow it down. You smirked, hands running through his dark hair as your legs began to spread. He was staring again, wordless pleading for a taste.

He croaked, “I- ah- apologize for my manner of speech and behavior toward you. I don’t want this to be merely a scheme.”

You murmured, softer than expected at his observation, “You’re a sap, aren’t you? Just want a pretty girl to be all yours hm? You can be mine, I think I’ll let you have me.” You twisted at his hair harder, eliciting another pathetic noise.

“Yeah, that seems nice, you’re going to be mine now. Don’t worry, I’ll let you stick around and hold me afterward Cole. What a waste if I didn’t.”

He choked out, “Please, yes, yes— I’ll be good I swear, I’ll be so good to you.”

You grinned, scooting toward the edge of the desk, soaked cunt right in front of Criston’s teary eyes. You cooed, “I’ll let you have it, Cris, just know who you’re serving now. Me. No one else. No more dallying around with Hightower, you’ll be visiting my office when I pass the bar. Doesn’t that sound sweet, tell me how good I’m letting you have it.”

He got another twist of his hair.

Criston desperately moaned, voice cracking as he gripped your thighs, lips hovering over your pussy. He croaked, “I’m yours, yours, no one but you. No Hightower, no Targaryen— Velaryon.” He sucked a wet breath in, need wracking the man as he began to beg.

“Please- please baby- let me treat you good?”

You nodded, pushing his face toward your cunt. Criston kissed up your thigh, coarse hands moving your legs over his shoulders. His lips were hot and wet, leaving a trail and shiver up your spine. You couldn’t help the throaty moan from your chest when the brunette inhaled with a curse— his molten touch and breath casting across your most sensitive flesh.

“C’mon, c’mon,” you breathed.

Criston wasted no time, delving into your slick folds, mouth immediately kissing and lapping at your soaked entrance. You cried out, thighs jumping and tightening. He groaned in delight, lurid sounds from his overeager eating— that gorgeous nose of his pressed tightly to your bundle of nerves.

“Ngh- Criston, fuck!” You inelegantly carried on, sounding like one of those sultry-eyed whores in the porn movies. The man between your thighs laughed, hands soothing up and down the outside of your propped legs.

There was reverence in Criston’s rumble, his dark eyes as he murmured between messy presses of his lips, “Taste s’fucking good baby.” You arched into his mouth, hand tangled in his hair, pulling him closer to your aching clit.

“Smart boy,” came your hum of pleasure. One of your knees fell to the side, Criston checking again with expressive eyes as he slid the center two of his digits across your pussy. You nodded, throwing your head back in ecstasy as the man mouthed and tongued at your pearl in sloppy movements. He was utterly lost in it, groaning as he sucked and licked, dexterous fingers deep inside.

The quiet room was filled with the most erotic of noises— squelching, whines, shuddery breaths, and his deliciously messy eating. No wonder Alicent kept him around— you deliriously thought. On that note, you cried his name, laying back on the desk to roll into him easier, his pretty face and fingers dragging across your tender spots. The lovely sting of his stubble added a level.

Pleasure laced up and down your spine, building hot in your lower belly. He moved faster as you began to whimper, moans getting pitchy and needy. He held your hip down with his free hand, moaning. You babbled, “F-fuck, gods, gonna come, can’t stop dripping all over you. Such a good toy!”

He gasped, tonguing around where his fingers stretched your hole, lapping up every bit of your essence like a last meal. You began to writhe, breath choppy between moans. Criston fucked you faster with his fingers, you could feel his obsidian eyes watching with feverish heat.

Your belly tightened and spasmed, that wondrous feeling of intense pleasure blooming when the marcher sealed his perfect lips over your clit again to suck. He had to hold you down with one hand splayed across your lower belly, strength evident as you bucked and whined and keened his name.

You shivered, tears of overstimulation pricking as he lapped you clean, sucking his fingers with a slutty little moan. Criston mumbled, “Was that good, princess?” His calloused palm rubbed your trembling stomach, soothing and maddening as you came down from the orgasm.

Eventually gathering your wits, you held out a hand, the ‘businessman’ helping you sit upright. You felt a mess, running a hand over your errant curls, cunt on display, pantyhose ‘round your ankles. Criston looked at you like a goddess, his ever-helpful hands easing your pantyhose up before you stopped him.

His thick brows furrowed in confusion.

You laughed softly, “You’ve done a good job, I don’t see why you don’t get a reward.”

Criston’s hands reflexively tightened, his big chest swelling as he inhaled. You continued in your saccharine tone, “I mean you ate me out like a champ, I’m sure you’re tired of walking off with cum in your underwear or a hard-on from hell. Poor puppy, you look so swollen too.”

Criston outright whimpered, “Hurts.”

You cradled his face, cooing at the furrow in his brow, how those almond eyes were nearly full of tears. Gods, he was perfect, all man but willing to be jerked around by ‘the lesser sex’. So they say. Your eyes shifted to his cock once more, painfully pressing against his fly. Criston made another pitiful noise.

“You wanna come? I’ll let you bend me over this desk. You better fuck me hard, gods know you’re used to getting ridden. You’re just a sweet little fuck toy, hm?”

Criston gasped, eyes closing as a tear slipped. He was shaking with need, mouth hanging open as he babbled, “Yes- m’your fuck toy, but I’ll do it good for you, I’ll make you come, baby, I’ll hold it I swear!”

You smiled, turning to get on your belly, legs planted on the ground now. You could hear him shucking off his blazer, fervent fingers ripping at buttons. While he divested his clothing you teased mercilessly.

“So excited aren’t you? Big man gets to fuck now. You’re welcome. Tell me who you serve now. Tell me who you belong to and I’ll let you fill me up.”

He croaked, voice cracking, “I serve you now, yours, m’gonna make you feel so good, I won’t come, I’ll hold it.”

You turned to eye his heaving chest, the dark hair trailing down to his thick cock. A moan slipped from your lips at his beauty. His pretty prick was so flushed, you’d give him some slack if he did come. Poor thing was already worked and messy tears would be no good.

“C’mon then, I’m ready, take it easy stud,” you said, pulling him by the wrist. That hand gripped your hip, fingers digging in. He was panting while guiding the weepy tip of his cock into your sensitive cunt. The tip pressed up into your folds, stretching you out agonizingly slow.

Criston heaved, easing in further, little grunts and huffs from behind. He gritted out, “Pussy’s fucking perfect, gods.” You closed your eyes, savoring the stretch as Cole eased the tip in, pausing with a tremble. You let him acclimate, the marcher moaning throatily.

“Shh-shit, shit,” he said, both hands on your waist now.

You moaned softly as he went deeper, his prick molten hot and filling you up. It ground against your ridged walls, your cunt gripping the intrusion, more pleasure crawling up your spine. He was whining through his nose, muttering about how good you felt, how tight and wet it was.

You soothed, “I know, take it easy, you wanna fuck me good and hard, you need it, Cris.”

Criston groaned, “Oh- thank y-you, I needed this, s-so godsdamn hard for you baby.”

You gripped the edge of the desk as Criston was deep, his trim hips against your ass as he carried on. He leaned forward a bit, breathing through the intense stimulation. You didn’t mind, his bitten-off whimpers were cute. He was a sweetie under all his bluff.

You told him so, earning another agonized moan.

Soon Cris’ cock wasn’t throbbing and his breath had evened out. You turned to get a look, pulling him in for a quick kiss, his dark lips swollen. Criston murmured, “I think I’m ready. I can take you good and hard like you want princess, if you’ll let me, I’ll be good, s’good.”

You whispered against his lips, “Have at it stud. About time someone put that strength to good use. But you better have me soaking your cock before you think about busting.” He nodded, eyes adoring when you playfully nipped his lip, reaching back to smack a lean flank.

You couldn’t help the noise pushed out of you when he pulled out to the tip, adjusting your hips so he could slam back in at the right angle. The pair of you practically howled in unison, the primal affair on. Criston fucked like a man deprived, quick, and strong thrust.

You cried out as his hips cracked against your ass, his heavy sac hitting your clit. Criston groaned and cursed, pausing occasionally on a good deep thrust just to get ahold of himself once more. Your nails dug into the hard surface of the desk, mouth hanging wide open.

“Yeah- yeah, baby, good boy- ohgods!” You cried out when he pulled you upright against his body, fingers thumbing and pinching your nipples. He slurred nonsense, wet kisses as he lost himself, only focused on fucking you into oblivion.

Sweat began to bead across your body, turning to gooseflesh from the stimulation. His fingertips swirling and softly tugging at your nipples sent a bolt of white-hot arousal down to your clit. You knew you were getting wetter for him. Hells, you’d started crying out in ecstasy, bucking back into him like a wild animal.

Criston growled, “I’m yours, let me be yours, I’ll do this every night if you see fit.”

How he was suddenly composed pissed you off. But you were too out of sorts to do anything but moan and roll back onto his fat cock that was wrecking you. Giving a little whine of acquiescence, you nodded. He was yours now, he was going to be your big scary guard dog that adores his lady.

You heaved at the thought, belly tightening up, nipples budding so hard it hurt. Criston began to slowly push you back onto the desk, his heated body following, enveloping you in his warmth and scent. Criston grinned against your neck, pressing kisses as he slipped a hand down to form a vee with his fingers, rubbing at your flushed clit.

You wouldn’t admit this later but you squealed. You squealed and thrashed and came so hard your vision blacked out. Ecstasy consumed every part of your body. You gushed on Criston, pussy pulling and pulsing around him. When you could see again— he was the perfect wreck.

The brunette was waiting for permission. He was desperately begging, voice pitched enough to make it crack. You could hear the warble of a sob building up. Yet the man still sloppily rutted into your cunt, discordant and choppy. He cried softly, “Pleasepleaseplease let me come, please, oh it hurts, I did good yeah? Hurts- nghhh- mhh- gonna pop baby please.”

“Fill me up,” you slurred.

Criston came with a silent scream, shaking all over as he shoved deep and emptied— hot seed overflowing your cunt. He whined and whined as his swollen balls emptied, enough to make your spent body shiver.

The moment of bliss became subdued, his shaky hand reached for a tissue, pulling out, both of you hissing as he caught the excess, getting another few tissues to clean both of you up. Criston quietly pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck, pulling your underwear and hose up.

You turned to help the debauched man get himself clothed and back together. He was quiet, lips quirked a little, smile not quite reaching his eyes. As you buttoned his shirt up and started in on his tie, you looked up.

“I do mean it, I don’t mind this, I think you’re not so bad under your yuppie dick persona you like to put on,” you teased gently, straightening the tie. Criston frowned a bit, exhaling, “I seem to get grief in return every time. But…but I like your sweetness that shines when you’re not preening for your mother.”

He gave a grin this time, a real one that made his eyes crinkle, a glimmer of warmth.

You kissed him again, humming, “Well- since you’re my sweet boy now, maybe Mother and Ali can finally hook up.”

That was the first real laugh you’d heard from the man. He pulled you in close, chuckling, “Perhaps we’re doing everyone a favor if so. We’ll figure out the hoops as they come. Probably will be upsetting our bosses.”

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #hotd imagine #hotd writing #criston cole imagine #criston cole x reader #ser criston cole x reader #criston x reader

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missisjoker · 2 months ago

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A prompt?

A prompt.

Jacaereys travels to Kinglands to celebrate his grandsire's name day with a royal hunt. It's a dreadfully boring affair until Jace hears rumors that there's a direwolf roaming in the forests and goes to investigate.

He ends up face-to-face with the dire wolf because, apparently, the humongous mountain of a wolf can sneak up on people like a cat. The wolf doesn't hurt him; just looks at him with eyes color of molten valyrian steel, huffs, and tracks back into the forest.

A few moments later Jace hears a trap shut and wolf howling in pain; and runs toward him. Keeps saying I'm trying to help, please don't eat me. The wolf growls- a deep, rumbling sound that Jace feels in his bones, but doesn't snap at Jace. The trap breaks the same moment someone calls out for Jace- and the wolf is gone in an instant.

The next day, Jacaerys trails off from the hunting party, lost in thought, perhaps hoping to glimpse the wolf again - when he is attacked by 3 cutthroats. He manages to bring down one of them, but the other two push him to the ground and slash his arm from palm to elbow. He feels the cold blade tickle his throat when men's laughter turns into screams and then gargles. The direwolf nudges him to sit down and licks his bleeding arm, stopping the blood flow. Jace tries to find his way back, but his horse bolts, and the sky is dark with a gathering storm. He shakily tracks to a hunter's cabin nearby, the wolf tailing him. The cabin is just big enough for them two, and eventually, Jace stretches on the floor and falls into a restless sleep, with the wolf curling next to him.

When Jace wakes up, he is warm and cozy, but there's a human form next to him- a big, naked man nuzzling into the back of his neck.

He jerks awake and so does the man. Jace tries to hit him with something - anything- and get away- but the man is too fast and too strong, and pins Jace down. Jace tries to bite him, but the man kisses him. Which startles both Jace and the offender- and the man starts apologizing.

Jace gives him an opportunity to explain while pointing at him with a sword (he’s sure sword won’t do him any good, but at least it distracts him from ogling the man’s beautiful and very naked body).

The man - Cregan Stark - says he is a skin changer, something that runs in his family. Was betrayed and usurped by his uncle who somehow locked him in the wolf form. He’s been desperately trying to return for months, but couldn’t - until Jaces blood broke the curse.

Jace refuses to believe him until Cregan’s eyes flash the same molten Valyrian steel color.

Once Cregan puts on some clothes, Jace asks him of his plans. Offers to go with him on a dragon to remove his uncle from the seat in Winterfell- but Cregan refuses. Says, if he is to control the north, he will have to do it himself.

Jace asks if Cregan is sure he won’t get locked into a dire wolf form again- and Cregan says no, he only got blindsided because he trusted his family, but he will not make the same mistake again.

They part ways with Jace’s wish of good luck and a promise to visit Cregan once he retakes Winterfell.

Jace is sure he will see him again- after all, Cregan owes him a debt; he stole a kiss from him, and Jace will be sure to collect.

#cregan stark #jacaerys velaryon #jacegan #brokeback winterfell

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vacantgodling · 4 months ago

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please tell me more about kiskkaddon because I am permanently in love with this word

as always thank u for indulging me <3 kiskkaddon is actually one of the parts of the world that i know less about BUT i will try to tell u everything i currently know... just know i may come back to this and tweak and update this probably in the next few months LMAO.

so, kiskkaddon, like diisai is across the eastern sea... which is actually to the west of the main terranean continent. i actually don't know what the main land mass is called but i'll get to naming that eventually. but for reference its located up north here, in the yellow.

the reason it's yellow? welp, kiskkaddon is known as a desert. the name itself translates to something like "the all swallowing desert" in old aegean--a language i promise you i'll never develop but just know that it exists LMAO. despite its 2 land bridges that connect it to both diisai and to the main continent, the northern land bridge is actually cut off and barely accessible by the looming mountain range of the north, and the southern bridge, while accessible, is not easy to get to due to yknow. the all swallowing desert.

the reason that it is called this is because the desert itself is consistently expanding and growing more and more intense as time goes on; which does relate to the fact that it receieves much of phyddione's (or the sun's) direct light and due to some other shit, there is an unchecked deity of the desert who will become a book 2 or another side story problem. the kisks in general worship many of the same gods as mainland terrae, however just like diisai, they do have some of their own traditions after a few thousand years of isolation from their cousins.

how did kiskkaddon become isolated? well, i'll try to bullet point tl;dr this as much as possible.

after the day of fissures in the spring of 478ir, the nomads were forced out of the fortress city of eros.

they began to make their way up north on the guidance of their oracle and reached a mid-continental mountain range in winter 479 and were then instructed to ascend the mountains to escape the monsters at their heels

as they ascended, they ran across a narrow mountain pass but as they crossed, it collapsed resulting in the deaths of a few hundred people (most notably princess pinella dia)

this also separated the back half of the group from the front half.

instead of waiting or trying to cross this treacherous territory, the lieutenant leader of that company decided to lead them back down the mountain pass and into the wilds. they have no idea how to reutrn to eros, and they can't follow their king into the mountains. so with no oracle, they begin to traverse the wilds on their own. losing many numbers, but eventually making their way up north to the northern mountains, skirting them, and coming into the desertland of kiskkaddon.

once they entered the deset they were unable to leave it, and thus had to adapt.

some other general cultural notes:

character wise, currently there's only 4 characters that i've developed in some capacity from here: jace kaganoff, miki kaganoff, vivo kagaar, and raaga chaar.

because the southern company of nomads were built up of the hardiest warries to protect from attacks at the flank and to protect the elderly and children who could not keep up with the front of the procession, thousands of years later, kisk still has a staunch hardy warrior culture. their warriors are cutthroat and tend to be larger than the average terranean both in height and width.

they have a love-hate relationship with the desert, especially in present times. as the labyrinth grows more restless, it further affects the deserts of kisk (though no one has made this connection yet). more and more kisks are leaving their homeland to try and seek more stable lives on the mainland, but it is a trecherous journey.

like eros, they have a unique situation regarding sex, love, bonds. they too practice extreme monogamy but this is for survival reasons: MIRANKA to them is known as his alter deity, RANKIMA, the god of survival among other things (as for many years they had no knowledge of the mainland's affairs and how the god of relationships came to be). it is known to them that having magic grants them a better chance of survival, so high monogamy and getting Big B bonded before RANKIMA will grant them magical prowess that will better assist themselves, their children, and their community to brave the arid desert. so the loose attitude mainland terraneans and diisaians have is like. not the thing for them bc its a matter of life and death.

(aka this is why jace and miki's relationship is such a mess)

culture wise i definitely draw a lot on the subsaharan or desert vibes that many cultures have. there's also definitely a code of honor. they are semi-nomadic people and tend to settle in one place during the "winter" months (which for them means the dunes do not move as much) but tend to move more during the summer

also like diisai, the monsters of these areas were not herded into the labyrinth, and therefore still have monsters roam among them. their culture is also a high monster killing machine (because again, survival is the most important thing to them) and scientists and researchers of silverkeep have noticed that kisk warriors tend to have a higher natural immunity to beast posion, similar to the hunters of eros, which they are currently exploring.

i'm sure there's more stuff, but tbh i don't know HELLA a lot about kisk like i said. even this RANKIMA stuff is a new development for me because i keep expanding the lore. but rambling at people tends to help fire the synapses lmao so thank u for asking/listening :3

#s: tcol #worldbuilding

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cambion-companion · 2 years ago

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WE are NOT the ones “uwu-ing” Aemond. The showrunners took book Aemond and wrote him into a way more complex character. Yes, they did that by amping up his trauma. That’s how a lot of people like to write their “tragic downfall” characters.

They made it a point to show him looking sad as a kid, they made it a point to show him being bullied and lamenting to his mother, they said multiple times in interviews that he was “bullied mercilessly, treated cruelly, made to feel powerless,” and THEN, they added more trauma on top of that.

They had him lose an eye unfairly instead of how it was in the book (Luke actually did save Jace from being cruelly beaten in the book. It was self-defense). But in the show it’s Aemond that gets jumped by four kids and fights them off. He gets his eye cut out after being disarmed by sand in his face.

Then the writers decided to give him daddy issues by having Viserys ignore his injury in favor of Rhaenyra. They had Viserys neglect all of his children with Alicent, leaving those kids with clear issues because of it. Aemond’s cold look up at Viserys when the old man demands answers as his king was no throwaway shot. That kid hated his father.

But the writers weren’t done yet. They then decided, “Hey! Aemond has childhood bullying, physical, and parental trauma? Let’s give him sexual trauma too! Hahahaha!”

It was his 13th birthday when Aegon took him to that brothel. Kids can’t consent. Once again, Aemond is a mirror of his mother in that he was pressured into inappropriate sexual relations in his early teens. He was 13. Alicent was 14-15. And people think his discomfort around that older woman at the brothel isn’t real. The writers just threw that in and they ultimately didn’t have to, but now it messed up Aemond further.

And the cherry on top? Because these writers apparently hadn’t had enough with their “uwu” fav? They made Luke’s death an unintentional consequence of Aemond’s angry outburst. It was a mistake, and now Aemond has to go through even more as he is branded a kinslayer, likely ruptures his relationship with his mother, loses his toddler nephew and his sister to madness. He’s going to snap under the weight of his guilt and agony. THAT is when you’ll all get your book Aemond, the maniacal cutthroat that burns the Riverlands to ash.

But even then, I doubt he’ll be completely unsympathetic. His relationship with Alys Rivers will likely be another way to add depth. Even crazy book Aemond was smitten with Alys, so something’s gotta give.

Again, this is the writers. Not us. We’re just talking about it and speculating. Show Aemond was shown to be kind and loving with his mother and sister. He was shown as being reserved and quiet as a kid, not cruel. They made his dragon claiming scene feel heroic.

He even seemed willing to be friendly with Jace at Laena’s funeral, and his famous “lost an eye, gained a dragon” line was softened by his, “Do not mourn me, Mother.” That changed the line from being a boast to being a consoling statement for his mom, who had sworn to him that he would have a dragon one day. The version of show Aemond is a beautiful and tormented character, destined to have a tragic downfall. People should be celebrating this, not getting mad at it.

😍 hi Anon, I'm kissing you on the mouth rn.

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magic-the-girlbossing · 2 years ago

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Magic: The Girlbossing: The Final Showdown

Over the course of the past two months, the girlbosses of the multiverse have battled it down for ultimate girlpower supremacy. We've seen some fierce competition throughout this battle, with some surprise upsets along the way! That being said, the time has come for us to end this battle and decide: who is the most girlboss?

Link to Semifinals Masterpost

Let's get a brief summary of our contestants' feats going into the finals: On the left side of the bracket, we have Khan Alesha of the Mardu! A fearsome warrior from the distant past of Tarkir, and Magic's only canonical transgender woman! In her life, she lead the Mardu Horde, a warrior clan built on three edicts: "to conquer is to eat," "to rule is to bleed," "victory or death." Ancient tales of her exploits tell of her facing battle, leading her horde, and felling dragons all with a smile on her face. While she ultimately threw her banners aside to cooperate with Kolaghan's brood, her legacy is still unforgotten, with a clan of transgender warriors still battling in her honor today.

In her ascension to the top of her side of the bracket, she has slain many a challenging foe, such as: Marit Lage, the eldritch horror trapped beneath the ice of Dominaria, cutthroat queen of Fiora and schemer beyond equal, and Liliana, the demon-pact necromancer who once defined what it meant to be a Magic Girlboss.

On the right side, we have the gorgon-planeswalker assassin turned Golgari queen, Vraska! In her work as an assassin, she held one creed: "A person should die the death they deserve." Through her dramatic, ironic assassinations which called back to the way the victims lived their lives, she amassed a following by which she dispensed her own version of justice across the Ravnican Undercity. When she was forced out of the shadows by Jace, she responded by inciting revolution within the Golgari, rallying her followers to allow her ascension to the throne. On Ixalan, she became a pirate captain, sailing to find a highly sought-after treasure and ultimately succeeding in her mission. At this point she also fell in love with Jace, beginning Magic's most iconic Girlboss/Failguy relationship. As of the end of War of the Spark, Vraska stood as undisputed queen of the Golgari Swarm, with most who would stand as obstacles to her power eliminated.

Vraska, too, has faced many a foe. These include Beckett Brass, the admiral of a vast coalition of pirate crews, Asmoranomardicadaistinaculdacar, whose demonic dishes were to die for, Emrakul, whose interplanar influence and destruction knows only the bounds of Innistrad's ancient moon, and Teysa Karlov, a fellow guild-leader who somehow combines banking and priesthood while making it look sexy.

Beginning on Monday, May 15th at 12:00 PM EST, witness the conclusion of a story arc that honestly is better than anything MTG has actually had in the past half-decade. Will the Mardu Khan reign supreme, or will the Golgari queen cut her way to the top? That is for all of you to decide.

#magic the girlbossing #magic the gathering #poll #poll bracket #girlboss #mtg #alesha #vraska #golgari #mardu #i say “as of war of the spark” in the vraska summary because the most recent story arc is currently inconclusive about her status #thus we cannot truly ascertain what her status is re:girlbossitude #i think that's fair enough

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carnivorousyandeere · 1 year ago

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Student Council Intros

Short descriptions of their positions, personalities, interests, and relations to one another. I will elaborate more on their specific yandere tendencies in another post soon~! requests about them are also okay <3

President: Hailey (she/her)

Eldest of the triplets

Undergraduate

Double Major in Math and Business

Queen bee, popular, pretty, ambitious, ruthless. Dedicated follower of the clean-girl aesthetic; bloodless, antiseptic, minimal, devoid of any evidence of actually living. Competitive, cutthroat.

Totally having the time of her life in college and her sorority!! (Maybe…?)

Probably destined to climb a corporate ladder somewhere.

Short; light green eyes; shoulder-length blonde hair (dyed)

Likes: being heard, being in charge. Being the center of attention, admiration, and jealousy. Tennis, running, smoothies, scrunchies, being just mean enough to watch people squirm but not mean enough to get called out on it

Dislikes: being challenged (well… depends on context), being away from her sisters (literal sisters not the sorority sisters), anything super messy or woodsy/outdoorsy

Vice President: Kaylee (she/they)

Youngest of the triplets

Undergraduate

Law Major

Minor in Latin

Devil’s advocate, casual, incisive, irreverent, witty. Competitive, though not as much as Hailey. Argumentative, blunt, analytical, but also committed to the bit.

Kinda hates college but wasn’t sure what else to do after high school.

Short; light green eyes; dark brown hair in a pixie cut (not dyed)

Likes: debating, arguing, true crime, reading the wackiest court transcripts she can get her hands on, chess, drama and theatre

Dislikes: math, science, being compared to her sisters, the law enforcement system and most of the judicial system too tbh (corrupt from the start and ineffective)

Advisor: Emerson (they/them)

Kendra’s older sibling

Graduate student and T.A.

Studying architecture

Typically calm, easy-going, and thoughtful, although busy places can overwhelm them. Generally asocial, but kind, and cares deeply about the people close to them. Punctual, organized, artistic.

Heavily burnt-out from school, but their deep love of architecture as a subject keeps them going.

Tall; dark brown/black eyes; hair in thick, long, jet-black dreads.

Likes: sketching, watercolor, prismacolor markers, learning about architecture, reorganizing their collection of markers

Dislikes: being a T.A., loud environments, most strong smells, bright lights, inconsiderate and closed-minded people

Treasurer: Rayleigh (she/her)

Middle triplet

Kendra and Jace’s friend

Undergraduate

Double-Major in Biology and Geology

The rare shy extrovert (?). Talks your ear off when you get to know her. Passionate and excitable, tends to be literal-minded. Comes across as very anxious and high-tension if you don’t know her well.

Wasn’t too sure about college at first, but she’s really starting to open up some and enjoy herself more.

Short; light green eyes; long light brown hair with highlights and stuff (dyed), but also her dark brown roots showing

Likes: her friends! :D, archaeology, fossils and “living fossils,” SHARKS, anything outdoorsy, anime, documentaries

Dislikes: being the center of attention, alternately having to compete with her sisters for scraps of attention, debating, writing papers for humanities classes 😣

Secretary: Kendra (she/her)

Emerson’s younger sister

Rayleigh and Jace’s friend

Fashion Design Major

Another shy extrovert? Emotional, excitable, creative, always up to try something new, once you get to know her. Otherwise comes across as very quiet, deep-in-thought, serious, or maybe a little spacey?

Loves college overall even though the professors in her major can be real assholes.

Short; dark brown/black eyes; keeps her jet-black natural hair in an afro sometimes, and pulls it back and up into a puff a lot too. Has a collection of pretty, colorful hair bands for this reason.

Likes: anime, cosplay, writing, daydreaming, blue jean material as a medium for her art, heels (not comfortable but she wants to feel taller 😭)

Dislikes: anything super outdoorsy, math classes (“I already know all the math I need for my patterns! 😫”), a lot of the required classes tbh (“Booooring.”)

Honorary Member: Jace (he/they)

Rayleigh and Kendra’s friend

Undergraduate Researcher

Biology Major

Shy, reticent, cautious. Just wants to keep his head down, but their friends keep dragging them into stuff like the student council… for better or worse. Analytical, meticulous, curious.

Hates college, but is determined to graduate anyway.

Short; dark brown/black eyes; short, black, shoulder-length hair.

Likes: camping, hiking, rowing, campfire food, stargazing, ALGAE (their research topic)

Dislikes: most people, his voice (started T somewhat recently and is embarrassed by the voice cracks 🥺💕)

#student council ocs #oc Hailey #oc Kaylee #oc Emerson #oc Rayleigh #oc Kendra #oc Jace #my thoughts #yandere #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere cw #decided to just go with rhyming names for the triplets after all lmao 😭

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dreaming-marchling · 8 months ago

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I hope you feel better soon!

Love this bit of cultural worldbuilding in Exile if you have any additional director's commentary!

“I don’t know if Magnus or Jace made it clear or not but parabatai bonds are sacred to us. They’re a serious, serious commitment and there are all sorts of accommodations given to bonded pairs. That someone purposefully broke the bond between you and Jace is literally its own crime. There will be people, especially in the older generations, who will be more angry about what happened to your bond than what happened to you yourself. Mostly those people are anti-Downworlder bigots who don’t like your progressive stance but still, the point stands.”

The show SAID the bond was sacred and then they just never actually showed it. Like super frustrating, it infuriated me all the time. Like bad enough they let Jace be tricked by Jonathan with that text that Max died - HE SHOULD HAVE FELT THAT ALEC WASN'T DEVASTATED AND KNOWN IT WAS FAKE!!! - but like where was the DEFERENCE??

I really wanted there to be scenes where say Maryse tried to pull something on Alec and Jace cut her off like "he's my parabatai and my word goes" instead we got shit like her telling Alec to just like forget Jace because he made them look bad. Or for there to be some sort of "omg those are parabatai warriors, look at them fight, they're blessed by the Angels" awed reaction from new to the Institute Shadowhunters. We got a whole lot of nothing other than an occasional mention that the bond is sacred or losing a parabatai is the worst pain without really showing it.

So I really wanted to show it in Exile. Jace wasn't just in pain, he was shattered and wanted to join Alec in death as their souls were torn apart and wanted - needed - to be back together. I wanted other people to be horrified that Imogen had done that to parabatai. I wanted the breaking of the bond to be its own crime to stack on her mountain. Even Alec who had no idea who he was was dealing with a "rip" inside of him that hurt and destabilized him without understanding why.

I imagine the Clave to be really cutthroat like old royal courts were, lots of scheming and "playing the game" and assassination attempts. I can absolutely imagine some people being like "damn girl" to Imogen for so ruthlessly and effectively taking out Alec to further her grandson's interests and the Herondale name. Not like approval approval but "what a master manipulator, well played" kind of vibe... until she broken an Angel blessed bond to do it.

I have feelings.

Thank you for asking!!

#My Writing

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jaceeverett · 1 month ago

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"Some people like where they came from," he stated plainly, shrugging one shoulder. Jason fell into that category. He didn't like the circumstances that he came from, he wasn't always proud to say that he was a Browning, given who his parents were and what they were like (although the casual observer wouldn't know that), but he loved the town itself. He loved the people, the businesses, the landscape and geography, the community feeling that he had never been able to replicate anywhere else, no matter where he went, or what he was looking for. "I think there's a reason so many locals leave, and still end up coming back," because wherever they went, it wasn't quite home, and nothing else would ever be. Life was funny that way. "Don't get me wrong, I get what you're saying," he laughed, glad that they had thus far avoided being overrun by dollar stores that cropped up on every corner, happy to see old fashioned toy stores and souvenir shops, instead, "but I just don't think we have the population to sustain either one of those ideas." But six tattoo parlors, when there were only so many people looking to get tattoos… maybe if the artists decided to get really cutthroat and dual it out to see who deserved to get the most customers. But Jace wasn't sure that he wanted to see his friends go through that. It was better if they had the one and artists who were happy to work together and support one another. Hopefully, for a long time to come. "That's my goal," he nodded. Even if they weren't blatant references, the tree was for Maine, the mountainscape for Montana and Wyoming, the compass for his time overseas. Little things that reminded him of where he had been and why, he supposed. "I'm good with leaving it at that," he laughed, nodding his head, "I'll leave the other adventures and fun for someone else who can pull it off a little better."

“It’s a lot of different things,” she nodded. Zarah knew precisely what he was talking about. She knew that there was something special about the smaller places. Maybe they didn’t have an abundance of big chains but they had charm, character and the people within could make or break the small businesses or even the big chains. All it took was one extraordinary chef who decides to stay home or scientist who decides work out of his basement to put a place on the map. “I feel like a lot of people would say that people with big gifts who choose to stay home versus going elsewhere are lesser than but maybe it’s as simple as they like being where they are and want to make a different at home. Merrock has plenty of special people. I can’t argue that.” There was something special about this place in general. That was why it had been so easy to fall in love with it when visiting her brother after he’d moved there and to decide to move there as well. She didn’t know if everyone appreciated it as much as they should but she knew there were plenty who did. “In reality, maybe not because it pond could be cramped but in metaphors absolutely,” she said with a nod. Her mind temporarily got distracted with the image of a literal fish swimming in a pond and struggling. “I mean, some small towns have six family dollars, I think we’d survive two tattoo parlors but it’s not something that we’re struggling without,” she admitted. She felt like if people wanted to do things, they should. There was room for more artists. “At the end of the day, it’s just another group of artists and I’ll never argue against there being room for all of them.” There was nothing wrong with liking options. She could appreciate the fact most people in this town weren’t judgey when it came to tattoos. She knew there were probably some people with close-minded and old-fashioned ideas about a lot of things out there but they weren’t the sort of people she spent a lot of time around. Maybe she had just been fortunate enough to not bump into them. She didn’t particularly care what anyone had to say about what she did or didn’t do to her own body. “A lot of it comes down to artistry and the canvas but I would agree,” she admitted. “I prefer think it’s nice to have a piece of the places you love with you.” She nodded, laughing at his line in the sand. “I think your fine without the piercings anyways,” she said giving him a free pass. “We wouldn’t want to mess up your face and clearly you’d said no to the others. I suppose tattoos and outdoor misadventures are it for you.”

#writing with zarah #zarah 001

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readnburied · 1 year ago

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January Reading Wrap Up

Target: 10

January was not exactly a successful month for me in terms of reading. I planned on reading ten books and ended up reading only eight. So I do feel disappointed, but it’s still okay that I at least managed to read eight books.

So without further ado here is the list of the books I read:

Figment by Cameron Jace

This is book 2 in the Insanity series by Cameron Jace which follows a girl named Alice Wonder who is locked in an asylum. The story continues with Alice’s adventure as she tries to navigate between reality and imagination, trying to find and stop the Wonderland Monsters from killing innocent children. Add a handsome, sweet boy who just might not be what she expected and you have a roller coaster of a book.

I thoroughly enjoyed this book and look forward to reading the rest of the books in the series. The twists and turns and the fantastic way the author plays with psychological concepts really kept me at the edge of my seat.

Llwellyn’s Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kynes

If you’re into witchcraft or esotericism, then it’ll be good for you to give this a book a try. Someone like me who is new to this world would benefit greatly as correspondences are difficult to find at times. However, this book contains all the correspondences organized alphabetically so it is a helpful book to have around, whether you’re a beginner or at a higher level. It was a highly informative book for me.

Childhood Disrupted by Donna Jackson Nakazawa

Childhood plays an important role when it comes to shaping our personalities, and this book tells us exactly how childhood impacts our lives as adults. The trauma we experience as kids, whether physical or psychological, it leaves a mark, the signs of which appear in our adulthood.

Containing real life accounts of people who suffered in their childhood in one way or another, this book is an eye opener for those who believe that the trauma suffered in childhood has absolutely no effect on our lives and personalities as adults.

This book was enlightening and an engaging read, so do give it a try if you’re looking to read something interesting in the non-fiction genre.

Cloak and Dagger by Nenia Campbell

This is book 1 of The IMA series by Nenia Campbell, who—in case you guys didn’t know—is one of my favorite authors ever. This follows Michael who happens to be an assassin working for the IMA. When a hacker manages to breach into the organization’s database, the IMA sends Michael to find out who’s behind it and kill the one responsible. Christina, on the other hand is an ordinary school student until she’s kidnapped by a group of people who are dead set on killing her. This follows a chain of events that lead to Christina fighting for her life all the while trying to navigate the sinister world of ruthless mercenaries.

I love Nenia Campbell, and this is the second series that I’ve started reading by her and so far I love the first book and I’ll be reading the rest of the series as soon as I read all the other books I plan to read. The plot is intriguing as I love reading about criminal organizations and assassins just happens to be my favorite. So this book was a quick read for me, though the antagonist in the book made me want to kill him.

Unbearable Lightness: A Story of Loss and Gain by Portia de Rossi

This memoir follows the life of actress Portia de Rossi and her journey with Anorexia and her love for food as she tries to fit in with the cutthroat world of media and stardom.

The purity and rawness of this book was what really kept me flipping page after page. Portia de Rossi really poured her heart out in describing her battle with Anorexia and how the world forces you to change yourself just to feel accepted. And I think everyone should read this book, because no one should be pressured into changing their appearance in order to feel accepted and beautiful.

Audacity by Melanie Crowder

This is a novel written in verse and the first of its kind that I’ve ever read and for some reason this novel did not speak to me in the way I expected it to. I’m not sure if it’s the novel itself or the format as I’ve never read a novel written in verse before.

However, I did understand the overall context of the novel which follows a Jewish girl as she fights for equal rights at the work place. A girl who refuses to back down due to tradition and the cruel condition of the workplace. This novel is meant to inspire and it did to me to some extent, but I believe that someone else might get more out of it than I did.

True Nature by Willow Madison

Before I give my opinion on this book, I would like to mention the trigger warnings associated with this book. This book contains abuse consensual and otherwise, so please read at your own discretion.

So this is a dark romance book which dives into abuse and intertwining it with love. This is book 1 in the series involving Max and Lucy. Max is a man of primitive thinking and clearly knows how to treat a woman—in his opinion of course, which many of you might disagree with—while Lucy takes whatever Max dishes out.

Though I’m all up for dark romance, I kind of found Lucy a bit too docile for my liking. She never questions how Max treats her and happily goes along with whatever he says and does. I know I’m no one to judge but it would’ve been nice if Lucy had a bit of a backbone.

Eliza and Her Monsters by Francesca Zappia

This is a contemporary novel following two high school students, one who is a popular comic artist but no one knows her identity, while our other main character writes fan fiction related to the same comic. His fan fiction is loved by everyone who is a fan of the comic.

Eliza loves to draw but with being an introvert comes a strong desire for privacy and that’s exactly what she exhibits when she hides behind a pseudonym and dazzles the world with her comic. Whereas, Wallace passionately writes fan fiction based on Eliza’s character, and even though he’s open about his craft, he has his own closet full of secrets. And when Eliza’s secrets come out, it becomes a tricky maze of emotions and feelings as they both try to figure out what it is they truly want.

I enjoyed this book a lot. It was cute, inspirational and downright fun. It even made me wish that I could one day have my own comic or webtoon which I can present to the world, however, I can’t even draw a straight line. Wallace and Eliza really are perfect and I intend to read more books by Francesca Zappia.

Well there you have it. These are the eight books that I read in January. Do let me know if any of these piqued your interest and do let me know what you read in the month of January. Let’s see if I’d be able to complete the next month’s target.

#ReadnBuried #read now #reading #currently reading #books #books and reading #booklr #booklover #wrap up

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asumofwords · 1 year ago

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No words can describe that last chapter. She didn’t miss her mark 😭.

I was really hoping they would have some sort of hack-job happy ending. But now that things have played out this way, the only person I want to see on the Iron Throne is Z. No Rhaenyra, no Daemon, no Jace. HER. And I don’t want the Blacks to see happiness either. I want their kid to know about the loving Aemond. The Aemond that was passionate and possessive over Z. The one that killed for her. Not the massively flawed Aemond, that dropped the ball constantly. I just….I. She really is the Merciless. Would hope it was all a nightmare, but this story has been cutthroat since the beginning.

On another note…the sobs I have SOBBED at my 5am!! This is incredible. I cannot think of a time I would wake in the early hours just to torture myself with readers comments, then read the story. 😂

Our little merciless queen had to make a really difficult decision, and she chose her family

Always was going to be her family 🥺

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bucknastysbabe · 2 months ago

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Since this season of HOTD ended your blogs been single handed it keeping my need for ✨Cole✨ content satisfied. But I always need more😂…humbly suggesting a very nasty fic with the premise of Rhaenyra sending her daughter (who looks exceptionally similar to her mother) to Kings landing with news/requests for peace, but also heavily suggested that there might be a knight there who could use some manipulation from his favorite Guilty pleasure, a targ women. Dom/serve me/oh you want to cum too?

Yesss this my shit we want to make him bitch boy WOOOOOOOOOFFFFF WOOOF. Since I just did a fic w a similar premise, I wanted to switch it up and make it 80’s yuppie corporate AU! I hope you like the little twist hehehehe, inspired by RedRack’s corporate idiot bully Criston on Ao3. SORRY FOR DELAY SHE IS HERE!

Rating: Explicit

Tags: 80’s corporate au, Nyra’s daughter reader, set in King’s Landing, merger problems, we plotting, blackmail, background rhaenicent, Criston is a service slut who acts like a misogynistic bully to cover the fact he likes powerful women using him whoops, Tyland for CFO damn, sexual tension, corporate bullshit I get from TV shows and stories, switch reader, slutty deprived Criston, oral (f receiving), pnv sex, man tears, kinda enemies to lovers, office sex.

Taglist: @aemondfairy @aemonds-holy-milk @arcielee @elaratyrell @fairysluna @jamespotterismydaddy @lovelykhaleesiii @peachysunrize @starogeorgina @sammmy7499 @towriteloveontheirarms @zaldritzosrose

The Merger - C.Cole

Except someone from the other side paid right back and your dad was long gone ashes. Laenor left not too long afterward. You were your mother’s child anyway— as bitter as it felt.

You and Mother sipped drinks in her office, eyes gazing out over the sparkling city of King’s Landing. It was a shit hole brought up to some sort of glory in your opinion. Rhaenyra huffed, “The rest of her boys are coming. Aemond’s cutthroat but irrational, Aegon can be puppeted but has a raging coke and alcohol problem. Helaena is out of the picture. That leaves the little one, the freak, and the doggy.”

“So a little boy, Larys, and Criston I take it?”

You were pretty sure they fucked or had something sapphic going on. Mother always went a little distant and quiet regarding Alicent, even if her words were vitriol.

The blonde waved a hand.

Standing up in the dim office you nodded, “I’ll do what I can, we should take everyone out for the beach one day. Good publicity. It’s widely known we are more stable.”

She smiled. Your mother was so beautiful, you were glad to see her in better spirits before they were inevitably dashed.

Life in the offices post-vote was interesting, to say the least. You’d often be around, observing and speaking with employees. Today you had worn a little black blouse with a bow and a fitted tweed skirt, tights emphasizing your long legs and patent heels. You had a plan. First you made sure your hair was still presentable and reapplied your lipstick. With a smirk, you sauntered over to his oversized cubicle.

Confusing. But you could do with a whore.

Mommy issues? Maybe. Seems normal enough.

“Merely getting to know my mother’s new workers. My coworkers, somewhat. I’m just here for help.”

“So what is mommy’s little princess doing besides flouncing your bows and snooping around?”

Oh. You wanted to kill him. Smack that smarmy look off his face.

“What? That’s what you do. Skip around and flirt with that big chip on your shoulder. It’s almost cute, knowing what you are.”

You ignored him to continue, “I’m overseeing the new members to our building. I’m in law school. Besides, I don’t need some fucktoy bully with muscles for a brain to snap at me. Watch your godsdamn mouth with me and how you speak on my family.”

He inhaled sharply as you walked away victorious.

The further away from her he was, the better. That’s how you could snag the man. The upcoming gala would be time to strike.

You knew you had to bang Cole tonight. He’d softened some around you since the moment in his cubicle but he was tighter than the damn Iron Bank when it came to anything of information you wanted. Trying to get him to talk about his home life was like pulling teeth. He looked handsome in his designer suit, pressed and prim. Of course Criston was hovering behind Alicent, looking like a puppy. You frowned between sips of your champagne. You needed him away from her!

“You’re hot you know,” came a slurred voice.

“You really must want a piece? You know fucking baseborn isn’t a good look, but your face is so cute,” you teased.

He gripped your arm, grunting, “I don’t.”

The taller man led you away, farther and farther towards the bathrooms. You laughed, Criston shooting a glare.

“Where are you taking me?”

He huffed, “Away from here. I have some questions for you.”

“This isn’t going to end up with you strangling me right?”

“Shut up, damn, you talk so godsdamned much!”

He stared, jaw clenched, eyes wide as they took you in— calloused hands ran up your pantyhose.

You cocked your head, humming, “I thought you were asking questions.”

“Anyways are we fucking or not?”

The man exhaled sharply, voice less sharp as he murmured, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

How funny, you couldn’t either.

Your lips curled up in pleasure, eyes slipping shut as you kissed him soft, a mere press of the lips. Criston tried for more— only for you to pull back and chide, “Slow, we don’t have anywhere to be.” You could tell he was thinking, but Cole acquiesced and matched your pace.

“Is that all you think I’m good for?”

“Maybe. Looks like you spend more time on your knees than in your cubicle from my time at the office, Criston.”

“Sorry for what?”

He croaked, “I- ah- apologize for my manner of speech and behavior toward you. I don’t want this to be merely a scheme.”

“Yeah, that seems nice, you’re going to be mine now. Don’t worry, I’ll let you stick around and hold me afterward Cole. What a waste if I didn’t.”

He choked out, “Please, yes, yes— I’ll be good I swear, I’ll be so good to you.”

He got another twist of his hair.

“Please- please baby- let me treat you good?”

“C’mon, c’mon,” you breathed.

The quiet room was filled with the most erotic of noises— squelching, whines, shuddery breaths, and his deliciously messy eating. No wonder Alicent kept him around you deliriously thought. On that note, you cried his name, laying back on the desk to roll into him easier, his pretty face and fingers dragging across your tender spots. The lovely sting of his stubble added a level.

His thick brows furrowed in confusion.

You laughed softly, “You’ve done a good job, I don’t see why you don’t get a reward.”

Criston outright whimpered, “Hurts.”

“You wanna come? I’ll let you bend me over this desk. You better fuck me hard, gods know you’re used to getting ridden. You’re just a sweet little fuck toy, hm?”

Criston gasped, eyes closing as a tear slipped. He was shaking with need, mouth hanging open as he babbled, “Yes- your fuck toy, but I’ll do it good for you, I’ll make you come, baby, I’ll hold it I swear!”

“So excited aren’t you? Big man gets to fuck now. You’re welcome. Tell me who you serve now. Tell me who you belong to and I’ll let you fill me up.”

He croaked, voice cracking, “I serve you now, yours, m’gonna make you feel so good, I won’t come, I’ll hold it.”

“Shh-shit, shit,” he said, both hands on your waist now.

You soothed, “I know, take it easy, you wanna fuck me good and hard, you need it, Cris.”

Criston groaned, “Oh- thank y-you, I needed this, s-so godsdamn hard for you baby.”

You told him so, earning another agonized moan.

Criston growled, “I’m yours, let me be yours, I’ll do this every night if you see fit.”

“Fill me up,” you slurred.

He gave a grin this time, a real one that made his eyes crinkle, a glimmer of warmth.

You kissed him again, humming, “Well- since you’re my sweet boy now, maybe Mother and Ali can finally hook up.”

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #ser criston cole x reader #criston cole x reader #criston cole imagine #HOTD imagine #strong!reader

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aemondsbabygirl · 4 months ago

Text

This was such a heavy chapter

Baby visenya’s birth was so tragic. I can’t imagine going through what Rhaenyra has just gone through. You write grief so well, I feel shattered.

I love how you write Daemon. All his actions are so in character to him. I loved his discussions with Jace and the stark difference between their views about warfare.

Jace saying this : “If they resort to sending cutthroats to murder children in their sleep, they’ve abandoned all pretense of honor,” Jace retorted, his voice laced with contempt. The thought of his younger siblings, vulnerable and defenseless in their beds, seemed to spark a fierce protectiveness in him. “There’s a clear distinction between facing an opponent in combat and the cowardice of killing children in their slumber.”

The foreshadowing is insane!!!!

JELISSA MY GIRL!!! I’m so glad she’s alive. I also can’t believe the things she revealed to Daemon and Jace 😱 I mean i know she had no other choice, but this paints Daenera really badly and reinforces Daemons doubts. I loved Jace’s reaction to finding out about Dae and Aemond. But the way things are appearing, make Daenera really seem like she betrayed them and it kills me!!! The fact that Aemond stupidly taunted Jace by calling her his little wife, and then barely a few days later, they announce their betrothal after they’ve usurped the throne… it really makes it look like that was their plan all along, and Dae must have known, which is why she stayed behind !!!

And then:

“If she remains true to us, she’ll prevent any offspring from this union.” A child would complicate matters significantly, binding her irrevocably to Aemond and the Greens. Such an event would blur the lines of her loyalty, anchoring her to their cause.”

ITS ALREADY DONE AND IT WAS NOT INTENTIONAL BUT ITS GONNA LOOK TERRIBLE TO DAEMON. Daemon is going to be even more convinced of her betrayal and this is going to send him spiraling. I feel like every odd is against her 😭💔

A Vow of Blood - 74

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 74: Salt and Smoke

AO3 - Masterlist

Daemon lingered in the hall outside of the room he shared with his wife, his posture rigid as he leaned against the wall, the chill of the stone offering no comfort. He was held in place, not by chains or locks, but by the haunting echoes of Rhaenyra’s cries of distress that filled the corridors of Dragonstone. The sound of her agony, as piercing and relentless as a barrage of arrows, struck him with a visceral pain, each wail an arrow embedding itself within his flesh, tearing at him with the promise of leaving deeper wounds upon extraction. Inside him, a tempest of anxiety and helplessness swirled, a tumultuous storm that found no outlet, only manifesting in a physical itch, an urge to move, to do something, yet he remained rooted to the spot.

Daemon yearned to be at her side, to envelop her in the comfort and support she so desperately sought as she called out to him, yet an unseen force held him back, rendering him unable to step into the shared sanctuary of their anguish.

Her voice, frail yet imbued with a desperate hope, cut through the oppressive atmosphere of the chamber. It rose and fell like wisps of mist at dawn, a tender, soulful plea to the child she carried. “Please, please, please… Please, come out…”

Her words, though faint with exhaustion and pain of labor, carried the weight of her longing for seeing the child into this world and the love she held for it, reverberating poignantly in the silence that engulfed Daemon. The air around him seemed to carry the echo of her voice letting it linger over him like a shadow.

Consumed by frustration and powerlessness, Daemon gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, his head recoiling against the hard, cold stone wall with a muted thud. This act of self-punishment, his head banging repeatedly against the unyielding surface, served as a silent confession of his failure to comfort his wife in her hour of need. Each thud was a painful reminder of his powerlessness.

Daemon wished he could take on Rhaenyra’s suffering himself, fully conscious, however, of his own limitations. Words of comfort felt hollow, stuck in his throat and unable to grow into something more, and the soothing touch he yearned to offer felt out of his capability, far out of his reach.

A haunting fear gripped him – the dread of history’s cruel repetition, the possibility of losing another wife to the merciless fate of childbirth. The agonized cries of pain that reached him were a haunting echo of Laena’s.

Daemon preferred the clarity of warfare, a realm where victory’s cost was clear, measured in the resolve of his men and the strength of his sword, to the uncertainties of childbirth. He found solace in the order of battle, the straightforward nature of leading his forces against a tangible enemy. The thought of being confronted with having to choose between the life of his beloved wife and that of their unborn child was a torment far greater than any battlefield could offer.

In warfare, decisions, no matter how severe, followed certain logic; they were clear, direct, tangible. But in the dim, uncertain shadows of childbirth, the specter of loss loomed large, an adversary for which Daemon felt profoundly unprepared.

In the dimly lit corridor, Daemon stood enveloped in the shadows, his stance mirroring the inner chaos that raged within him. It was there that Ser Brandon Piper, the Captain of the guard, made his approach, his demeanor carrying the weight of formality yet laced with an underlying current of tension that seemed to pervade the halls of Dragonstone.

“My Prince,” he began, his eyes momentarily drifting towards the door of the bedchamber, the source of Daemon’s anguish, before locking back onto Daemon. “The men have been gathered and await your presence.”

Acknowledging the message with a mute nod, Daemon detached himself from the support of the wall, the lingering echo of Rhaenyra’s distressing calls shadowing his movements. Each step he took away from her side felt laden with the heavy specter of what more he stood to lose.

Daemon’s voice carried a blend of urgency and fatigue as he inquired, “Any tidings from King’s Landing?”

“No ravens from King’s Landing, my prince. The only raven that has arrived bore a message from Driftmark. Lord Bartimos has it,” Ser Brandon reported. “I’ve stationed a reliable man at the rookery, ready for any news that may arrive.”

Acknowledging this with a grave nod, Daemon issued a directive, his mind racing with thoughts of King’s Landing and its current state. “Dispatch someone to the capital. Endure it’s someone whose loyalty is beyond question. I wish to know any and all things that transpire within the city.”

He had hoped to have received some news of Daenera’s condition and circumstances–awaited the information with a wary anticipation.

Daemon made his way into the expansive hall, where the grand map of Westeros dominated the space, crafted from rich, aged wood. Descending the steps to the lower level, he approached the gathered assembly. The group encircled the map, their attention fixed on him, awaiting his directives, a blend of staunch loyalty and barely concealed unease carved into their expressions. Positioned at the center of the advisors, Daemon was cast in the flickering light of the torches, their flames casting long, dancing shadows over the ancient stone underfoot, and the scant rays of sunlight that managed to breach the chamber’s tall, slender windows lent a subdued, almost melancholic light to the scene of impending strategic discussions.

The air was thick with the tension of looming conflict, the room filled with the distinctive aroma of burning wood from the nearby heart, which crackled intermittently, punctuating the otherwise heavy silence.

Daemon stood as the focal point of this assembly, projecting a sense of resolute command, even as the weight of the moment rested heavily upon his shoulders.

“I want patrols along the island’s perimeter, looking for any small ships that might set ashore.” Daemon issued the orders with a sense of urgency, acutely aware of the vulnerability of their position. “If the Greens attack now it will be by stealth…”

The very stones of Dragonstone appeared to carry the torment of Rhaenyra’s cries, her voice weaving through the corridors and lingering in the shadows. As her pained groans finally subsided into the surrounding silence, an unsettling calm took hold. This quiet, heavy with implication, seemed almost solid, imbuing the air with a foreboding weight. The absence of sound was not a relief but a harbinger of unease, casting a tangible shroud of apprehension over all within its walls.

“...not directly,” Daemon continued, momentarily steadying the wavering focus of his men. “We don’t have enough men to surround the island, but we can make ourselves appear stronger than they are.”

Just as the heavy stillness seemed to settle, another of Rhaenyra’s anguished groans tore through the solemn quiet. The sound seemed to take on a life of its own, threading through the ranks of the assembled council and embedding a tangible sense of dread in the air. The discomfort was evident in the eyes of the men surrounding Daemon–heavy with implicit critique of his decision to focus on military preparations at such a critical moment.

The men shared uneasy looks among themselves, their discomfort and unease evident as they shuffled on their feet. Daemon chose to ignore his wife’s shrinks, just as he chose to disregard the men’s apparent disquiet at his composed, unwavering demeanor. His presence was marked by a confident and focused calm, a stark contrast to the tension around him, concentrating solely on the matter at hand–the only thing he could do.

Turning his attention to Ser Lorent Marbrand with a resolve that cut through the thick atmosphere, Daemon issued a firm directive. “Conscript the Dragon Keepers. They’re capable fighters. Waste no time.”

“It will be done, my prince,” Ser Lorent replied, his acknowledgement grave yet resolute.

“Until reinforcements arrive, we’ll have a dragon patrol the skies,” Daemon asserted, the underlying tension palpable in his tone.

The silent scrutiny from those surrounding him bore heavily upon his shoulders, each of Rhaenyra’s distant cries of pain echoing within him, sharp and cold as a blade drawn across his soul. Her torment resonated deep within, its icy grip enchasing his heart, yet he steadfastly quelled these swirling emotions, burying them deep within the recesses of his mind.

Lord Bartimos Celtigar broke into his thoughts, “A raven flew in this morning. The Sea Snake’s fever has broken, he has left Evenfall.”

“Where is he sailing?”

“That much is unclear, my prince.”

“We’ve dispatched ravens to our closes allies,” Daemon relayed to the council, his tone carrying the urgency of their situation. “Lords Staunton and Emmon are expected to arrive soon, and by nightfall, Lord Massey and Darklyn should join us. With their forces combined, we might manage to keep watch over the skies without relying on dragon patrols.”

In an instant, the haunting clarity of Rhaenyra’s voice broke through the tense atmosphere, her call for Daemon slicing through him with the intensity of a blade twisting in his gut. Yet, undeterred by the interruption, Daemon’s determination only solidified. “Our true power resides in our dragons and in Rhaenyra’s rightful claim. It is imperative that we get to the great houses before the Greens…”

Once more, Rhaenyra’s voice echoed, this time laced with unmistakable pain and urgency, “Daemon!”

As Daemon issued his commands, the sound of his voice reverberated off the stone, mingling with the distant moans of pain from his wife, creating a dissonant chord that seemed to echo with the solemnity of the moment. The men gathered around the map, their faces a mixture of resolve and worry, shifted uneasily, their movements barely audible against agony that haunted the halls of Dragonstone.

“Do you want to speak with the maester, my prince?” Ser Lorent inquired, his question hanging precariously between them.

Daemon responded not with words but with a look that carried the weight of a thousand responses. It was a gaze sharp and penetrating, meant to dissuade any further questions. Faced with the intensity of Daemon’s glare, Ser Lorent averted his eyes in deference.

Undeterred, Daemon declared his next move, “I’ll fly to the Riverlands myself and affirm Lord Tully’s support.”

“You will do no such thing,” Jace proclaimed, his voice resonant and clear, seeming to reflect a command from his mother. His entrance immediately captured the attention of all present with his assertive presence. Standing tall, with his shoulders back and his head held high, he exuded an air of authority that demanded respect.

Daemon’s eyes slowly shifted to focus on the young prince, whose bold interruption sparked a mix of irritation and frustration within him.

With an audible sigh, Daemon turned his gaze from Jace, his response tinged with vexation. “It is good that you are here, young prince. You’re needed to replace Baela in the sky on Vermax.”

“Did you not hear me?” Jace shot back, his retort brimming with the boldness and tenacity reminiscent of his mother’s when she was his age.

At that moment, Rhaenyra’s cry once again pierced the tense silence of the room, the sound resonating ominously, adding a palpable layer of urgency and stress to the tension.

Daemon’s frustration swelled within him, igniting with the intensity of a dragon disturbed by a pestering dog. How could Rhaenyra wish for them to remain passive, allowing the Greens the advantage yet again? His actions were calculated and strategic, each command made in effort to protect their rightful claim to the throne, as well as that of her sons. Neglecting to rally their closest allies would leave their position open, susceptible to the cunning plots of the Hightowers. Without securing the support of the realm’s great houses, their disadvantage would persist.

With the strategic alliance of the great houses–Tully, Baratheon, and mayhaps even Tyrell–arrayed around King’s Landing, they had a chance to swiftly recapture Rhaenyra’s crown, preempting any similar strategies by the Greens.

To Daemon, conceding more time to the enemy was unthinkable; they had already lost enough time as it was.

Securing the allegiance of these houses could enable them to surround King’s Landing, compelling a surrender. Should resistance arise, they were prepared to besiege the city.

Rhaenyra’s plea for inaction was a dangerous echo of his brother’s own reluctance to act, a path fraught with missed opportunities and regrets. Daemon stood firm, unwavering as he refused to allow the errors of his brother to be repeated under his watch. Inaction was a risk too great to entertain.

Driven by a resolve to avenge his brother, to reclaim his wife’s stolen throne, and to rectify the injustice the Hightowers had put into this world through years of scheming and plotting, Daemon was prepared to move forward.

This time, his actions would be swift, decisive, leaving no room for hesitation.

“The ravens, Lord Bartimos,” Daemon instructed, his tone imbued with an unchallengeable command.

Lord Bartimos Celtigar, momentarily locking eyes with Jace, displayed a hint of hesitation, a silent struggle against defying his Queen’s explicit orders. Yet, under the weight of Daemon’s imposing presence and hardened gaze, he acquiesced with a resigned nod, “I shall see it done.”

Turning his focus, Daemon addressed Ser Lorent with equal decisiveness. “Summon Ser Steffon. You are needed on the Dragonmont.”

Having issued his orders, Daemon proceeded to leave the room, his steps marked by an assured, deliberate pace indicative of his resolve. Approaching Jace, his gaze intensified, sharpening with a silent censure for the prince’s earlier challenge. Yet, without pausing, Daemon extended an implicit challenge to Jace with a compelling proposition, “Come with me. I’ll show you the true meaning of loyalty.”

Exiting the castle, the distant sounds of Rhaenyra’s distress fading behind them, Jace hastened to match Daemon’s pace, positioning himself a step behind. “She’s calling for you.”

Daemon remained silent, his jaw clenching tight against the subtle challenge in the boy’s tone. He gritted his teeth against his rebuke, keeping his silence. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, feeling the familiar groves dig into his palm. They moved down the stone steps leading to the courtyard. With each stride, his boot crunched against the gravel, a stern rhythm in the early morning quiet.

Jace pressed on, undeterred by Daemon’s silence. “You should be with her. She needs you–”

“What she needs from me is this,” Daemon interrupted abruptly, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. His sharp glance towards Jace was enough to halt any further protests. “There’s nothing more I can offer her now but to ensure the loyalty of the great houses–to secure her rightful place.”

Leaving the confines of the castle behind, Daemon and Jace traversed the stark, rugged terrain that characterized the island’s unique landscape. Their destination was one of the numerous ascents forming the imposing silhouette of the Dragonmont. The day was caressed by a soft breeze, which mingled with the briny tang of the sea with the pungent, sulfur-laden exhalation from the vents leading to the smoldering depths of the earth.

The ground underfoot was unforgiving, strewn with rocks and boulders, amongst which lumps of switchgrass emerged with resilient tenacity. It seemed nature had a way to survive even the harshest environments.

Daemon led them to one of the natural plateaus that offered a clear view over the island, the sea and Dragonstone castle, positioning himself atop it, while Jace, clearly disgruntled, positioned himself a short distance away, his arms crossed behind him, wearing an unmistakable scowl.

The relative silence of the plateau was soon disrupted by the rhythmic sound of armor clinking, signaling the arrival of Ser Lorent Marbrand and Ser Steffon Darklyn. Their approach was marked by the graceful billow of their cloaks in the wind. They paused a respectful distance from Daemon, their position lower on the slope, helmets cradled under their arms as they looked up at him expectantly.

The knights’ demeanor reflected the pervasive sense of unease that seemed to cloak Dragonstone itself. Their subtle, restless movements betrayed a sense of discomfort, perhaps in anticipation of the weighty discussion to come. The air around them felt heavy, and not just with the natural blend of sea salt and smoke that permeated the air around the island.

With an authoritative air, Daemon addressed the gathered knights, his voice carrying the weight of command and the gravity of the situation. He invoked the depth of their loyalty and the solemnity of their vows, reminding them of the sacred duties they agreed to when they first put on the white cloak. “You swore an oath as knights of the Kingsguard.”

“As all do who wear the white cloak, my prince,” Ser Lorent responded, his tone respectful yet firm.

“To whom?” Daemon pressed, his question sharp, seeking clarity.

Ser Steffon Darklyn adjusted his posture, his discomfort obvious as he shifted on his feet, the frown growing ever deeper on his face. “I swore first to King Jaehaerys, my prince. And then to His Grace, King Viserys, when he succeeded him.”

“Do you acknowledge the true line of succession?” Daemon asked, his stance relaxed yet imbued with inherent power, his hands casually resting on the pommel of his sword, embodying the natural ease with which he wielded authority. Daemon knew his reputation preceded him, the Rogue Prince, a moniker that inspired both reverence and apprehension, and he wielded this reputation with the same precision and decisiveness as he did Dark Sister. His mere presence commanded respect, a palpable force that demanded attention and obedience. Just as Dark Sister was an extension of his skill and resolve in battle, his moniker as the Rogue Prince served as a warning for his unpredictability.

“Yes,” Ser Lorent answered promptly, his response unwavering.

“Yes, my Prince,” Ser Steffon echoed, his agreement firm yet accompanied by another subtle shift in his stance, betraying his unease over this line of pointed questions.

Daemon’s gaze shifted towards Jace, intent on impressing upon the young prince the significance of the moment. He sought to teach Jace about the fragile nature of oaths sworn to those now dead, and how even the most honorable could falter in their loyalty when presented with freedom of choice. This was a lesson in loyalty, a demonstration of the weight and consequences tied to breaking the oaths they once swore.

“Do you recall,” Daemon began, his voice carrying a softness filled with gravitas, pausing momentarily to ensure his words would carry the intended impact. “Who King Viserys named as his heir before his death?”

“Princess Rhaenyra,” came Ser Lorent’s immediate response, with Ser Steffon nodding his concurrence.

Allowing a brief, reflective silence, Daemon weighed the significance of their acknowledgement. “I am grateful for your long service to the crown…So I am presenting you with a choice.”

The Kingsguard’s vow was one of unyielding dedication–they were loyal hounds bound to a single master. Yet, with the king’s death and the contested legitimacy of succession, their loyalty found itself upon a precipice of uncertainty–they now had the ability to choose which master to serve, and Daemon was determined to secure their unwavering loyalty to the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms–his wife, Rhaenyra.

The stillness of the moment was shattered by a sharp whistle, a precursor to the looming demonstration of power. Caraxes, embodying a menacing beauty, climbed over the rock formation behind Daemon, his whistling reverberating in the air. Each movement of the dragon was a testament to his formidable presence, claws scraping against the rock in a manner that could unsettle even the bravest soul. With a deliberate heaviness, Caraxes positioned himself behind Daemon, the impact of his landing sending a tangible vibration through the earth, a clear assertion of dominance and strength.

Daemon’s gaze never wavered from the knights, capturing their reactions as Caraxes made his imposing presence felt. The sight of the dragon commanded their undivided attention, their eyes widening with fear and uncertainty–reminiscent of prey caught in the clutches of a predator. A nervous shuffle passed through the knights, faces pailing as the dragon’s whistle evolved into a formidable roar–a high pitched sound that seemed almost like the chirping of a bird if that bird had long sharp teeth and could breathe fire. This chilling sound, slicing through the air with ferocity, compelled a collective, instinctive step back from the knights.

“Swear anew your oath to Rhaenyra as your Queen,” Daemon’s command pierced the tension, his voice steadfast against the backdrop of Caraxes’ menacing growls. “...to Prince Jacaerys as the heir to the Iron Throne.”

His words lingered, heavy with implication, as the knight’s eyes darted between the formidable figure of Daemon and the dragon beside him. “Or if you support the usurper, speak it now and you will have a clean and honorable death.”

This decisive demand, set against the primal might of Caraxes, left no room for ambiguity. It was a moment of reckoning, of declaring loyalties and acknowledging the true order of the world. And Daemon stood ready, Dark Sister at his hip. Should they declare for the Usurper, he would grant them a swift end–more than any traitors deserved.

“But if you choose treachery,” Daemon’s voice deepened, echoing with ominous intent, “if you swear your fealty now only to later turn your cloaks…”

As Caraxes unleashed a chilling, chirping hiss, cutting through the tense silence, Daemon felt the sound reverberate deep within his chest as though he was the one emitting this rumble. He sensed the dragon’s immense shadow enveloping him, its latent power merging with his own, imbuing him with a fearsome energy akin to the devastating flames Caraxes was known to unleash.

“...know that you will die,” Daemon continued, his tone laced with a grim promise, “screaming.”

At this declaration, Ser Lorent Marbrand and Ser Steffon Darklyn knelt, their movements graceful, the soft billowing of their cloaks contrasting sharply with the seriousness of the moment. The tip of their swords grazed the ground as they submitted, bending their heads in reverence–in fear.

“We swear to ward the Queen,” the knights pledged in unison, their voices resonating with unwavering commitment. “With all my strength and give my blood for hers. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, and father no children.”

Daemon’s gaze found Jace, taking in the prince’s steadfast posture, an embodiment of the regal stature that was his birthright–the inherent power of the Targaryen lineage. This was what being blood of the dragon meant – to wield power with an innate authority, secure loyalty, and demand the respect that was owed to them.

“I shall guard her secrets, obey her commands, ride at her side, and defend her name and her honor,” they continued, their vows solemn and profound, echoing the depth of their commitment to their Queen and the realm they served.

Addressing the knights with a voice rich in command, Daemon spoke, “The vows you’ve pledged today bind you in service and loyalty to the one true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, Rhaenyra Targaryen. I will hold you to this oath, and your dedication will be remembered.”

A resonant roar emanated from Caraxes, its powerful cadence echoing with dominance. The dragon then shared a moment of silent communication with Daemon, an understanding without words, before spreading its grand wings. The breeze embraced them, filling the air like the sails of a great ship ready to embark. With a force that stirred the very earth beneath, Caraxes beat his wings, lifting dust and smoke into a swirling dance. The grass rippled as if caught in a tempest’s grip. With an awkward grace, the dragon took to the sky, heading towards the coastline, its departure as commanding as its arrival.

After a brief nod of dismissal to the knights, signaling the end of the ceremony and affirming their sworn duties, Daemon watched them adjust their attire and swords, their movements brisk as they returned to the castle’s embrace. He remained, eyes following Caraxes’ flight until the dragon was but a silhouette against the horizon.

Stepping down from his vantage point, Daemon’s boots met the earth with a sense of finality.

Jace positioned himself beside Daemon, his youthful inquisitiveness shining through the skepticism in his eyes. Together, they stood gazing out towards the bay, where fishing boats bobbed and weaved through the swells. Breaking the silence, Jace ventured, “How exactly was that demonstration meant to teach me about loyalty? It appeared more an exercise in fear than a lesson in earning respect.”

“Fear and respect are but two sides of the same blade,” Daemon elucidated, drawing Dark Sister with an elegance that belied the deadliness of the act. He allowed the blade to catch the sunlight, its rippled steel gleaming as he expertly manipulated it, displaying its dual nature. “Both are potent tools in forging loyalty.”

Jace watched the blade, his interest evident, though his skepticism remained. “But loyalty born from fear seems to me as though it would be inherently weak. Respect, by contrast, seems to build a stronger, more durable allegiance.”

“Fear has the ability to dissolve the bonds formed by respect, just as respect can dismantle the barriers constructed by fear.” Daemon executed a series of deft maneuvers with Dark Sister, allowing the sword to rotate gracefully from one side to the other. Each movement was precise, the sunlight catching and dancing along the intricate ripples of the Valyrian steel. This ballet of steel and light showcased not only the blade’s deadly beauty but also the skill and ease with which Daemon wielded it–like an extension of himself.

And with just as deft a movement, Daemon sheathed Dark sister, its message delivered. “Men are motivated by one or the other. As Targaryens, we wield the authority to invoke both.”

The silhouette of Dragonstone loomed in the distance. Surrounded by the harsh landscape, the castle stood as a beacon of power, its sturdy walls ready to withstand the onslaught of time and turmoil. The castle appeared as if it were an extension of the very stone that formed the island’s mountains–cut from the very stones the same way House Targaryen cut out a seat for themselves within this ruthless world.

Daemon set off towards the stronghold with Jace in tow.

With one hand nonchalantly resting on the pommel of Dark Sister and the other hooked at his belt, Daemon clarified, “Each knight of the Kingsguard has a choice to make, and it was my duty to present them with the consequences of that choice.”

“The Greens would have given the Kingsguard in King’s Landing the same choice,” Jace countered, his tone carrying a slight edge of criticism.

“The Kingsguard pledged their loyalty to a now deceased king and a crown that has been stolen. If they truly believed the usurper to be the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, then, as his Kingsguard, they would have been prepared to embrace death for that conviction.”

“You would have executed them on the spot,” Jace observed.

Daemon met Jace’s inquisitive look with a steadfast gaze, his declaration unambiguous. “They would have been traitors, subject to the justice merited by their betrayal.”

Jace’s expression settled into one of deep contemplation, reminiscent of the focused demeanor he often exhibited during lessons with the maester. “They would have died in service to the one perceived as the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. It would have been an honorable death.”

“As honorable as a traitor's death can be,” Daemon remarked dryly.

“Had you not held their convictions in some esteem, you wouldn’t have offered a swift end by your blade,” Jace countered with a thoughtful observation, drawing a rare, slight smile from Daemon, amused by the prince’s astute conclusion.

Indeed, Daemon found a sliver of truth in Jace’s insight. The swift justice of his blade was far a more dignified fate than what he envisioned for the usurpers entrenched within King’s Landing. While he might let them taste the bitterness of his steel, he would give them anything but a dignified death.

“The Hightowers are the true traitors,” Jace declared, his voice intensifying with passion. “They, along with the other houses of the realm, pledged their allegiance to my mother as Viserys’ rightful heir. Yet, they have usurped her, resorting to the same treachery they used to challenge Luke’s claim to Driftmark.”

“And what should we do about it?” Daemon challenged.

“Mother has instructed us to refrain from taking any action without her consent,” Jace answered, frowning deeply as his head shook.

“Every second we delay, the Greens consolidate their power,” Daemon asserted, his eyes scanning the horizon as the silhouette of the castle loomed closer. “My brother refused to respond to the threat when the Triarchy tested our borders and destroyed our ships. He allowed them to ravage our merchants and seize control of the Stepstones. He let the blight grow until it threatened the security of the realm.”

“Until you defeated them.”

“They learned why our words are; Fire and Blood,” Daemon stated, his grip on the pommel of his sword tightening just perceptively, feeling every grove of the iron against his skin. “Viserys’ reluctance to act made him weak. Had he decisively cut off the head of the snake, he would have shown that dragons far outmatch any serpent’s cunning. Instead, he allowed the serpent’s venom to poison his mind.”

Stopping in his tracks, Daemon captured Jace’s attention fully before continuing. “While your mother is preoccupied by the labor of childbirth, and we withhold action, the Hightowers are undoubtedly plotting their next move. Do you really think they would simply wait idly by for our response?”

“No,” Jace conceded, the weight of Daemon’s words seemingly pressing upon his shoulders.

“Your mother’s claim isn’t the only one the Greens are usurping,” Daemon pressed on. “They mean to steal your rightful inheritance as your mother’s son and heir, and that of your brother’s claim on Driftmark. They mean to rob you of all that you are. They will take your name and your claim, and they will take your blood.”

A surge of anger flashed across Jace’s features, his youthful face setting into a mask of determination. “I’m well aware of their tactics. I know what they’ll say. They will start by calling us bastards. And then they’ll use that to undermine the whole legitimacy of mother’s claim.”

Continuing their path towards the castle, their progress was heralded by a sharp shout that pierced the air. The call originated from a vigilant guard stationed within the guard tower, directed towards his counterparts on the ground. This timely alert ensured the guards at the gates were promptly made aware of Daemon and Jace’s approach. The heavy doors creaked open, protesting the movement.

“There’s no need for them to question your legitimacy if you’re found dead in your bed, your throat slit,” Daemon states, his voice carrying a cold edge.

Jace’s gaze darted towards Daemon, the severity of the statement seeming to hit him like the stinging rebuttal of a palm. His hands instinctively balled into fists, a visible tremor of apprehension flickering across his features. “Would they truly resort to such measures? To kill a man in his bed seems exceedingly callous, even for them.”

“Otto Hightower is nothing if not efficient,” Daemon responded with a stern tone as they made their way into the courtyard, the crunch of gravel underfoot marking their passage. “A swift assassination is both effective and eliminates all threats to Aegon’s claim to the throne in one swift move.”

Around them, the courtyard was dominated by an imposing dragon statue, carved from the same dark stone that made up the fortress. The beast’s features were sharply defined, a growl eternally etched into its visage, while moss and time had begun to claim parts of its form.

“If they resort to sending cutthroats to murder children in their sleep, they’ve abandoned all pretense of honor,” Jace retorted, his voice laced with contempt. The thought of his younger siblings, vulnerable and defenseless in their beds, seemed to spark a fierce protectiveness in him. “There’s a clear distinction between facing an opponent in combat and the cowardice of killing children in their slumber.”

Daemon couldn’t help but find a sliver of amusement in the young prince’s ideals–naive perceptions of a boy untouched by the harsh realities of war and the bloody burden of leadership. Jace appeared to view the world through the lens of nobility, expecting adversaries to possess the same sense of honor to his own. Yet, Daemon knew too well how elusive and costly honor could be, having witnessed many valiant men fall victim to its demands.

He understood that the world harbored a much darker side, a realm where retribution was meted out in kind and where insults were avenged with ruthless efficiency. History had shown time and again that adherence to rules seldom secured victory in war. Daemon recognized the necessity of confronting this reality, prepared to navigate the murky waters for the sake of his family.

“What are–”

“My Prince!” Ser Brandon Piper, the Captain of the Guard, interjected with urgency, his voice cutting through the air and halting Jace’s words. He descended the stairs from the battlements rapidly, his expression grave, signaling the importance of his message. “A ship approaches from the east, now making its way into the bay.”

Jace ventured a guess, “Staunton? Massey?”

The gravity in Ser Brandon’s voice held a note of surprise as he shared the news, casting a significant look between Daemon and Jace. “The ships sail carry the colors and sigil of House Velaryon.”

“Corlys?” Jace mused aloud, the possibility lingering between them.

The air of speculation was abruptly dispelled by the formidable roar of a dragon, followed by the stirring dust as Moondancer executed a flawless landing in the courtyard. The arrival was a display of Baela’s skill as a dragonrider and Moondancer’s precision, sparing the castle’s structure from any damage. Baela, seated majestically on her dragon, appeared every inch the embodiment of a dragonrider, with her hair tousled by the wind and her cheeks flushed from the flight, her eyes alight with intensity.

She called out to them from above, “The ship!”

Ser Brandon responded, having already relayed the news, “We’ve seen the ship.”

“It’s Meraxes!”

Jace exchanged a meaningful look with Daemon, realization dawning as Jace echoed, “Daenera’s ship.”

In the midst of the rapidly evolving events, Daemon issued his directive with decisive clarity to Ser Brandon, his tone imbued with the unmistakable authority of command. “Take a contingent of guards with you to meet them on the beach, and have them brought to us.”

Understanding the urgency, Ser Brandon acknowledged the order with a quick nod and gesture to the guards wearing the distinctive red cloaks of Princess Rhaenyra’s personal guard. With their swords at their hips, they advanced with deliberate strides towards the gate, which groaned on its hinges as it swung wide to facilitate their swift departure.

Daemon offered Baela a nod of recognition for her timely message, observing as she adeptly commanded Moondancer to take flight once more. At her signal, the dragon lifted off, the beat of its wings garnering a powerful gust of wind as it ascended gracefully into the sky. Jace instinctively raised a hand to shield his eyes, caught in the whir of dust and debris, before turning away to protect himself from the bluster stirred by Moondancer’s departure.

Ascending the battlements, Daemon positioned himself to observe the unfolding scene on the beach. The bay was alive with activity, with local fishing boats bobbing on the choppy waters and the imposing figure of Meraxes making its deliberate approach, its sails proudly bearing the emblem of House Velaryon–a silver sea horse on sea green. By his side, Jace joined, both fixed on the sight of the ship's longboat being lowered into the water before making its way to shore where an escort of guards awaited.

With quiet anticipation, Jace ventured, “Do you think Daenera managed to escape after all?”

His voice carried an undercurrent of hope, a vivid contrast to Daemon’s stoicism. Daemon remained silent, choosing not to voice his thoughts, his attention firmly on the procession of figures now advancing towards the castle. The answer would reveal itself soon enough, rendering speculation unnecessary.

And so, the fleeting hope that Jace held seemed to ebb away as the entourage made its entrance into the courtyard, revealing not Daenera but another figure

“Jelissa,” he exhaled, a note of surprise mingling with recognition.

The girl stood amid the group of seasoned sailors, evidently worn by her ordeal, her gaze reflecting exhaustion. Under the shifting light, her eyes seemed to flicker between shades of blue and gray, while her once vibrant dark blond hair appeared dimmed by the castle’s gloom.

The young prince’s stance momentarily faltered, a visible sign of his disappointment. Yet, almost instantly, he gathered his composure, straightening his back as he masked his initial disheartenment that his sister did not stand among them.

Ser Brandon, with practiced efficiency, guided Jelissa from the group, leading her towards the high vantage point where Daemon and Jace awaited. After acknowledging Daemon with a nod, the Captain of the Guard stepped aside, leaving them to converse.

“Lady Jelissa,” Jace began, his voice brimming with concern as he launched into a flurry of questions–seemingly oblivious to the way her cheeks flushed at being called ‘lady.’ “What happened? How did you manage to escape? Is anyone else with you?”

“Jace,” Daemon interjected with a sharpness that instantly commanded attention, his stern gaze effectively halting the young prince’s torrent of questions. Jace’s expression twisted into a scowl, his frustration and reluctance to pause his inquiries plainly written across his face. Yet, heeding Daemon’s directive, he begrudgingly stepped back, allowing the conversation to unfold without his immediate input.

Jelissa grew noticeably tense under the weight of Daemon’s gaze, her fingers entwining nervously as though she sought to squeeze the anxiety from her very skin. She lowered her gaze. The tension became palpable until Jelissa, unable to retain her turmoil any longer, showed signs of imminent tears, her eyes glistening and nose reddening as she fought to maintain her composure.

Struggling to voice her thoughts, Jelissa finally broke the silence, “My Prince… I…”

Daemon remained unmoved by the tears, his response chillingly indifferent to Jelissa’s visible distress, his voice as cold as the sea breeze that swept the battlements, offering no comfort in her evident anguish. His opening words cut through the tension with the precision of a finely honed blade.

“You abandoned the Princess you were meant to serve,” he stated, each word laden with accusation. “You failed in your duty to protect her. Tell me, why shouldn’t I throw you from this wall?”

The relentless waves below underscored his threat, crashing against the cliffs with a relentless ferocity as the wind howled around them. The girl cast a wary, fearful glance towards the precipice of the wall, visibly paling.

Out of the corner of his eye, Daemon noted Jace’s shift, a subtle readiness to leap to Jelissa’s defense. However, with a sharp glance that brooked no argument, he quelled any attempt by Jace to intervene, then redirected his attention to the woman standing anxiously before him.

Jelissa struggled to form words, her voice faltering into a choked sob, “I–I–”

“Stop,” Daemon commanded, his voice slicing through her emotional turmoil. “Explain yourself. Now.”

With a deep, shaky breath, Jelissa composed herself enough to speak, her voice fragile yet determined, “J–Joyce received word from one of the kitchen servants… about the King’s demise. She–she insisted we flee King’s Landing at once, and she tasked me with alerting the crew of Meraxes. Joyce and Fenrick went to get the Princess and… We waited by the dock.”

Her account laid bare the desperate measures taken in the wake of his brother’s death. Despite the chaos of her recounting, Daemon remained focused, parsing her words for truth, his expression unreadable as he considered her explanation. His hand clenched tighter around the pommel of Dark Sister, his intense gaze fixed unwaveringly on Jelissa.

“You abandoned her,” he accused, his voice sharp.

With tears threatening to spill from her eyes, Jelissa managed a shaky response, “Joyce instructed me that if they couldn’t make the ship in time, my foremost duty was to inform you of what had transpired.”

“She made the right decision,” Jace declared, his eyes burning with conviction as he aligned himself with Jelissa’s reasoning, giving the girl a small nod of reassurance. He challenged Daemon’s stern judgment, jaw set as he met his gaze.

“We lingered at the dock for as long as we could,” Jelissa added, her voice laden with remorse. Her face was etched with the toll of recent events, and bore the signs of fear and fatigue. “Tylan Moot gave his life for us to leave the harbor, holding back the guards on his own as we set off.”

Daemon regarded Jelissa intently, the silence charged with tension before he posed a cutting inquiry, “Is it possible that the Princess chose to remain in King’s Landing of her own volition?”

Taken aback by the suggestion, Jelissa stumbled over her words, a mix of confusion and distress evident on her face as she dabbed at a tear on her flushed cheek. “I–what, my Prince?”

“Why would she do such a thing?” Jace interjected, his disbelief and exasperation apparent.

Despite Jace’s interjection, Daemon’s attention remained unwavering on Jelissa, his determination clear as he dismissed the prince’s contribution with a focused intensity. “Tell me, how long have you served the princess?”

“Since she set out for King’s Landing,” Jelissa answered, her voice wavering slightly as she twisted her fingers together, betraying her anxiety. “It’s been over a year now, almost two.”

Daemon’s response was precise, his tone unyielding as his fingers rhythmically tapped against the pommel of his sword, a manifestation of his growing impatience. “Given your role as the Princess’s handmaiden, it stands to reason you’d be entrusted with her confidence.”

“I…” she began, her voice no more than a whisper.

“Given your proximity to the Princess, you would have been privy to her most confidential matters,” Daemon pressed, his patience clearly wearing thin. “You surely must have been aware of her involvement with the Prince, Aemond. Could it be that she remained in King’s Landing by choice, to be with him?”

Jace’s reaction was instantaneous, his voice cutting sharply across the brewing storm, “What?! No, Daenera–”

But Daemon was unmovable, his stern glance enough to once again quell Jace’s protest. “It appears your sister took advantage of certain… liberties during her time away from Dragonstone.”

“Daenera wouldn’t,” Jace insisted, his voice laden with a mix of disbelief and stubborn resistance, his stance betraying his internal conflict with the revelation. He was quick to dismiss the notion, adamant in his belief–and seemingly clinging to it like a boy clung to his mother’s skirts. “She would never willingly be with someone so vile, someone capable of–”

“Usurping your mother’s crown and calling you bastards?” Daemon concluded for him. He watched as Jace’s face turned a deeper shade of red, anger and disbelief burning in his eyes – a young prince, vehement yet naive in his refusal to face an uncomfortable truth. Regardless of Jace’s readiness to accept it, the truth remained unaltered, and it was time he confronted the implications of his sister's fallacy.

“She wouldn’t,” Jace repeated, seemingly more to convince himself than to challenge Daemon’s assertion.

Shifting his focus back to Jelissa, Daemon’s stare bore into her with such intensity that she seemed to shrink back, her vulnerability evident. Her gaze fell to the ground, her eyes glistening with the effort to restrain her emotions, while her hands twisted together guiltily.

“Speak,” Daemon demanded, his voice carrying a commanding weight that reverberated against the venerable stone battlements surrounding them.

The girl, visibly flustered, struggled to articulate her thoughts, her voice a fragile murmur that risked being carried off by the gusting wind. “I… I’m not privy to the same insights as Joyce.”

“Even so,” Daemon responded, his voice threaded with disbelief, “As her handmaiden, it is reasonable to assume that you might have observed or overheard discussions leading you to draw certain… conclusions.”

As silence filled the air, Daemon’s patience visibly frayed, his next words edged with a clear note of frustration. “While I value your loyalty to the princess, silence on this matter serves no one. Speak.”

“I had no knowledge of any… liaison she might have had, much less with whom should she have one…” A moment of hesitation flashed across her face as she dared a brief glance at Daemon, only to avert her eyes once more, her confession dissolving into a murmur of doubt. “However… I did notice oddities. Marks that appeared overnight, belongings out of place, her smallclothes needing to be cleaned or changed more often than usual, or simply going missing only to later turn up…” Her eyes flickered anxiously in Jace’s direction as he reacted with a noise of dismay and exasperation, before she refocused on her clasped hands. “When I brought up the things that I had noticed to Joyce, she reminded me of our place–to serve, not to infer or question…” Jelissa shifted nervously on her feet. “All I know is that the Princess seemed content, happy even.”

“Happy?” Daemon repeated, his tone dripping with skepticism.

“Fenrick voiced his worry over her well-being, and Joyce too,” Jelissa muttered. “I overheard bits of their conversation… I heard them discuss the princess’s affection–whether she… was in love… I–I didn’t know who they were talking about, but Fenrick was infuriated at the thought of it. Joyce tempered him, reminding him of his place too.”

Daemon’s frustration simmered just below the surface, his contempt for Fenrick’s lack of a spine obvious. He internally berated the man for his failure to communicate the crucial information of Daenera’s misgiven affection for the one-eyed cunt, even if it was just mere speculation–speculations that Daemon was convinced Fenrick harbored, and not merely as baseless doubts. No, he was sure Fenrick knew and failed to report it. And while he understood Fenrick’s hesitation to convey these matters, given how Daenera responded the last time she perceived something to be an act of betrayal. Nevertheless, the sworn knight should have informed him so that he could put an end to the matter.

“Yet, you must have formed some opinions of your own,” Daemon pushed, demanding clarity with a tone that allowed for no diversion. “When did these ‘oddities’ first come to your attention?”

“I do not wish to damage the Princess’s good name or question her honor,” Jelissa confessed, almost as if speaking only to herself. Yet, Daemon’s persistent questioning afforded her no opportunity for silence. “It began shortly before the wedding. Then, for a time, it stopped and I dismissed it as trivial. I don’t believe she would–she would engage in something that could compromise her honor… And after her husband’s death…” Jelissa shook her head, as if dismissing what happened after that. “It is not my place to question her actions.”

Jace couldn’t hold back, his response sharp with incredulousness, “Are you absolutely sure about this?”

“Jace–” Daemon started to respond, only to be cut off by a defiant glare from the prince.

“Such allegations are severe,” Jace snapped fervently, his words fueled by a desperate grasp at the semblance of his sister’s honor, driven perhaps more by his love for her than by conviction in the claim’s falsity.

“It’s no mere insinuation, young prince. It’s the truth,” Daemon stated, his tone stripped of any warmth. “Your sister was involved with Prince Aemond, blatantly so, both prior to her marriage and after. They’ve carried on this affair for months. She admitted as much to us.”

“She admitted to it?” His voice was an echo of bewilderment.

“She did,” Daemon asserted, “Which is what prompted your mother to call her back to Dragonstone. Your sister was supposed to settle her affairs in King’s Landing and meet us here.”

The impact of Daemon’s revelations visibly shook Jace, his body jerking back as if struck. And for a long moment, he appeared utterly deflated, his chest rising and falling in quick succession, the frown on his face growing. Yet, almost as quickly, he rallied, his jaw clenching in determination, signaling a fierce resurgence of will in the face of disillusionment.

Daemon delved deeper into the crux of the issue, his words laden with a gravity that seemed to draw in the air around them. “Daenera was seen standing with the Greens, aligning herself with them in a show of open support of Aegon’s claim to the throne.”

The statement hung heavily in the air, seeming to cast a shadow of doubt over the small gathering as the words settled around them.

“Given her involvement with Aemond, do you think it’s possible that the Princess could have been swayed to abandon her mother’s rightful claim in favor of supporting her lover’s usurper cunt of a brother’s ascension?”

“I don’t think…” Jelissa began, her voice barely above a murmur of resistance, only to be silenced by Daemon’s scornful interjection.

“You don’t think?” He retorted, his presence looming over her, his shadow casting a chilling expanse that nearly enveloped her. “You were by her side in King’s Landing, in her most private moments. Did she ever hint at a willingness to betray her mother’s claim?”

“I don’t know,” Jelissa started, head shaking vehemently. “The Princess has always been steadfast in her belief that her mother is the heir, and I find it difficult to accept that she would change that belief.”

Daemon inhaled deeply, the salt-laden breeze providing a brief respite from the weight of the conversation and the burning of anger that seared within his chest. Exhaling slowly, he addressed Jelissa with a solemnity that emphasized the sensitivity of their discussion. “Your honesty is appreciated, and understand this: what has been disclosed here must remain confined to us, never to be uttered elsewhere.”

“My Prince,” Jelissa intoned, offering a respectful nod, acknowledging Daemon’s directive. With a quick curtsy, she pivoted, retreating from the intensity of the conversation, her departure as swift as it was silent.

Daemon dismissed the girl by shifting his focus to the restless ocean before them, its waves savagely colliding with the coastline. Each assault against the rocks below unleashed a shower of spray, the airborne droplets catching the light and sparkling amidst the tumult. The wind, ever capricious, seemed to echo the turmoil within, scaling the ancient stone walls of Dragonstone with a fierceness that spoke of an impending gale–dark clouds growing on the horizon, distant and foreboding. The wind whirred against the stone, brushing past the battlements to wrap around the flags, the fabric snapping in the wind with sharp reprimand.

“Your knew,” Jace asserted, his words sharp and brimming with recrimination, hinting at a sense of betrayal. “You were fully aware and yet you allowed her to remain in that viper’s nest! You did nothing as Aemond preyed on her.”

Daemon faced the onslaught of Jace’s reproach with a measured calm. “Your sister isn’t some unwitting prey caught in the claws of a predator. You do her a disservice painting her as a hapless victim. She has more agency than that.”

The young prince bristled.

“It was her choice to entertain his advances,” Daemon continued, a reproachful note remaining in his tone as he spoke. “Had there been any manipulation on Aemond’s part, any intent to dishonor her, he wouldn’t have hesitated to use it against her, aiming to discredit your mother’s claim by shaming Daenera openly. Her actions, her decision to engage in an illicit affair with him, were her choice.”

“I knew something was wrong,” Jace admitted, his voice growing heavy with realization and the lingering slivers of denial. “Aemond flaunted their… closeness, goading me with it. Daenera refused his claims, she denied everything and I… I chose to believe her against my better judgment. I wrote it off as merely a way to get under my skin, to provoke me into action.”

Jace found solace on the cold stone of the battlements, leaning against them as he peered into the tumultuous sea below. His arm rested atop the barrier, his hand clenched so tightly it seemed he was trying to draw strength from the stone itself. “The way he spoke of her–what he insinuated… He referred to her as ‘byka ābrazȳrys,’ his little wife.”

Daemon’s reaction was swift and fierce, his gaze locking onto Jace with predatory precision. The taste of anger was almost palpable, and his response was edged with it. “At the coronation, the Hightowers announced her betrothal to Aemond.”

This revelation hung between them like a drawn sword, its implications as sharp and menacing as any blade. Questions swirled in the aftermath of Daemon’s statement, each one striking against the loyalty and trust they had placed in Daenera. Had she decided her path even while they were still in King’s Landing, mere days before? Was this betrothal her doing? How deeply was she entwined in these plots? How deep was her love for that one-eyed cunt?

The shock on Jace’s face was palpable as he tried to process Daemon’s words. It was clear that he was struggling to reconcile his sister’s actions with the loyalty he had always assumed. “You think she has turned against us…”

Daemon’s reply was carefully controlled, his tone marked by a cold, dispassionate clarity. “Considering the intimate nature of her involvement with Aemond and their concerted efforts to keep the affair hidden, it stands to reason she may well have aligned herself more closely with their interests than ours.”

“No.” Jace’s denial came swift, fueled by a mix of conviction and fervor. “I refuse to believe that Daenera would support Aegon over our mother–she despises him and everything he is. She has always been adamant in her belief that our mother is the rightful heir, and her actions have always been in line with that. She’s always done her duty–”

“‘Her duty,’” Daemon reiterated, a note of skepticism and scorn in his tone as he shifted his gaze back to the sea. “She was tasked with fortifying your mother’s claim, forging alliances, and securing support through a strategic marriage. Yet, her actions have fallen short of these obligations. And now, she stands with the Greens.”

The weight of deciding their next steps hung heavily in the air.

Jace, his frustration evident against the backdrop of the chill wind that reddened his cheeks, argued for intervention. “We can’t just abandon her.”

“And if her staying was her own choice?”

“And what if it wasn’t?” Jace responded with a blend of urgency and defiance. “We can’t conclusively say she willingly sided with the Greens. It’s entirely possible she was left no option but to adhere to their will, and as a hostage she has little choice but to comply with their demands.”

It was entirely possible, Daemon agreed. But it was also entirely possible that she had stood with the Green’s of her own volition. He hoped that she was nothing but a mere hostage, that she had no choice but to comply, but the thought that she might have chosen them over her own kin gnawed at him, undermining the trust he had once placed in her. This betrayal stung deeply; he had seen her as capable and loyal, someone who understood her duty and the weight and importance of her position. Her deceit and the risks she took with not only her own reputation but also that of her mother, for the sake of that one-eyed cunt, had shattered that trust.

Loyalty and trust, once broken, were difficult to mend–and Daemon valued both above all else.

The sting of betrayal was more piercing than even the usurpation itself–a twist of fate Daemon had anticipated. This sense of treachery was like a thorn lodged deep within his flesh, its constant irritation serving as a relentless reminder that a girl he once trusted might have turned against her own blood–not only would she be a traitor to the crown, but a traitor to her own flesh and blood, and that was unforgivable to Daemon.

He harbored a deep-seated hope that Daenera had not become the traitor her actions seemed to declare. In pursuit of clarity, he had dispatched ravens to his friends and allies within King’s Landing, alongside a rider who was tasked to penetrate the heart of the capital within a fortnight, all to unearth the veritable truth of Daenera’s circumstances–not only to soothe his wife’s restless worry for her daughter, but to ease his own.

He was acutely aware of Rhaenyra and Jace’s hesitation to label Daenera as a usurper or betrayer, understanding their reluctance stemmed from a place of love and denial. Yet, Daemon saw their unyielding belief as a potential vulnerability. He positioned himself as the counterbalance to their blind faith, armed with skepticism and suspicion. His resolve was clear: to ascertain Daenera’s loyalty, or lack thereof. Until then, he would anchor his family with caution and readiness to confront whatever truth lay waiting.

“Regardless of where her loyalties lie, Daenera will become a pawn, a means for the Greens to bend Rhaenyra to their will,” Daemon declared, his voice imbued with a somber intensity. “A war is upon us, one that has already begun, even if your mother denies it, one that goes beyond the mere exchange of letters. It will be a war fought with steel and fire and blood. A war that will decide the true ruler of the Iron Throne.”

Jace held firm, unwavering in his conviction, “Still, we cannot act against the Queen’s explicit orders. There’s no action to be taken while she labors bringing your child into the world.”

Daemon’s patience wore thin, and with a sigh that bore the weight of his frustration, he looked skyward in a clear sign of his exasperation. “Have you not heard a thing that I’ve said?”

“I’ve listened–” Jace began, but Daemon’s sharp gaze and stern demeanor cut him off, making it clear that such explanation fell short. His posture, authoritative and resolute, both hands resting on the pommel of his sword, signaled the depths of his annoyance that his message had seemingly gone unheard.

“We are on the cusp of war, Jace. Every moment we delay, every opportunity we squander, tips the balance further in favor of the Greens,” Daemon sneered, hoping to pierce the veil of idealism that seemed to shroud the young prince.

The air between them crackled with a palpable tension, embodying the struggle between adhering to orders and the necessity for immediate action, between youthful hope and the harsh realities of leadership. Daemon was fully aware of the idealistic lens through which Jace viewed their situation, nonetheless he felt the pressing need for firm, decisive measures.

“With Rhaenyra indisposed, the responsibility to act falls to us,” Daemon stated, his expression hardening. “My loyalty to your mother is unwavering, as it was for my brother. Yet, there are times when they might not grasp the necessity of certain actions or what must be done. It is then our duty to guide them to take the right course of action.”

Closing the gap between them, Daemon stood so close that Jace had to look up to maintain eye contact. He noted the rigid set of Jace’s jaw, indicative of the prince’s internal conflict. “Defending our birthright and legitimate claim requires tough decisions, decisions we’re obligated to make, even in the absence of direct orders. Failure to take action now will leave us at the mercy of the Greens.”

Jace’s response was a tight-lipped silence, a testament to the weight of Daemon’s argument and the complexity of the situation at hand.

“If we do not quickly secure the support from the great houses, we will soon find ourselves surrounded by men who have long forgotten their oaths,” Daemon continued. “Be assured, the Green snakes will undoubtedly court the favor of the great houses, sowing their venom far and wide. They will vilify your mother as the Great Whore of Dragonstone, and you, along with your siblings, will be denounced as bastards. Any claims you might have will be effectively nullified. The Greens will take every measure to eliminate any challenge to Aegon’s rule.”

The young prince’s gaze drifted to the sea, gritting his teeth as though holding back his response as he absorbed Daemon’s grim forecast. Yet, Daemon pressed further, needing him to understand the severity of the situation they were in, and what it meant to be a leader.

“What will it be? Are you still a boy, or have you become a man?” he prodded, aiming to reach the very depths of Jace’s resolve with a look sharp enough to cut through doubt. “If you remain a boy, then shrink away, clinging to your childlike fantasies as you might cling to your mother’s skirts.”

Stepping back, Daemon surveyed Jace more critically, “But if you are truly a man, then rise to the occasion, shoulder the burden of leadership, and make the bold decisions required.”

“Do not speak to me like you would a child,” Jace retorted furiously. “I am a man grown.”

“Then listen well, for leadership demands the strength of a man,” Daemon asserted, firmly. “For the common soldier, war may be straightforward, but for the leader, it is a labyrinth of difficult choices. You will be forced into corners where the decisions you make will determine the fates of those under your command–decisions that will weigh the lives of your men against the scales of victory. There will come a time when you must decide who among them to offer up in a sacrifice for the greater good. And know this: it could very well be someone you hold dear to your heart.”

His words carried the heavy truth of command, a burden that tested the resolve and moral fortitude of those who sought to lead–and as the heir, he would have to lead one day. Daemon’s gaze was unflinching, driving home the solemnity of the responsibility that came with command–emphasizing that war was not just in winning battles, but navigating the harrowing choices that could alter the course of history

Jace’s countenance dipped slightly, his gaze lifting to meet Daemon’s through the veil of his eyelashes, a silent acknowledgement of the profound burden those words imposed upon him.

“I don’t want to lose my sister,” he confessed, the vulnerability in his voice reflecting the fear of a brother who loves his sister.

“I, too, do not want to lose your sister,” Daemon admitted, his voice suddenly wrought with the weariness he had attempted to keep at bay. The burden of regret and fatigue pressed heavily upon him, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes, surrendering to the weight of what might have been–a silent acknowledgement of his oversight not to bring Daenera to Dragonstone with them, or leaving King’s Landing entirely.

How different would it have been then?

When he reopened his eyes, his gaze settled on Jace, whose young face was marred by concern. The set of the boy’s brows and the firm line of his lips betrayed his attempt at maintaining stoicism, a look so reminiscent of Daenera under stress. Yet, where Daenera’s worry would manifest in the relentless dance of her fingers, Jace’s was in the tightness of his expression–a silent echo of familiar concern.

“Your sister possesses a sharp mind,” Daemon attempted to provide solace to Jace, albeit knowing the truth of Daenera’s perilous situation in King’s Landing, amidst the vipers. “She is also spiteful–she will be of great annoyance to the Hightowers.”

A subtle smile touched Jace’s lips, a reflection of Daemon’s own, as he said, “I have every faith in her resilience and her ability to persevere.”

Daemon recalled Daenera’s spitefulness, evident from the very first encounter at Laena’s funeral. Her defiant scowl towards Vaemond, amidst his thinly veiled slanders, while her comforting grip on her supposed father’s hand. He had seen her strength and courageous stance against the Queen on the night Aemond lost his eye to the skirmish with her brother. And he had seen the sharpness of her mind that evening when she had come to him demanding answers upon the marriage to her mother–none of the other children dared to question it, but she had.

Throughout the six years they lived together as a family on Dragonstone, Daenera had consistently demonstrated her fierce loyalty and a profound understanding of her duties–and he had come to see her as a daughter. It was for this reason Daemon had trusted her to go to King’s Landing. He had believed her capable of withstanding whatever poison the snakes of house Hightower threw her way. However, he hadn’t anticipated that one of those serpents would not not only infiltrate her chambers but also her bed, seducing her with honeyed lies and false promises.

Had it been anyone else, Daemon might have been more forgiving.

Daemon released a weary breath, feeling the last day's turmoil claw at him, settling as a pounding behind his eyes. “Losing your sister is not something I want either, but if she has sided against us–should she prove to be a traitor, we must accept that she has already been lost.”

Daemon’s gaze drifted towards the bay, observing the distant approach of the ship emblazoned with the sigil of House Massey–a vivid display of a triple spirals in the hues of red, green, and blue, set against the backdrop of the white sails, making their way from the south.

Doubt had taken root in him when Daenera had shattered his trust, and that suspicion had only deepened with time, questioning her loyalty. He hoped that she remained true, yet the harsh circumstance of the situation forced him to brace for the possibility of her betrayal. He wished against it, but duty and caution nudged him to consider that she might indeed have turned against them.

“If we do not act, your losses will extend far beyond a sister,” Daemon intoned, his voice carrying the weight of what they faced. “You will lose your inheritance, and your life will be forfeit, you can be sure of that. Should the Greens achieve what they wanted, all our lives will be lost. Your mother, your brothers–Luke, Joffrey, Aegon, Viserys. All of us, none will be spared. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Jace responded, his voice heavy with it. The urgency in Daemon’s warning seemed to resonate deeply, finally setting in. “But, what if she hasn’t betrayed us?”

“Then she remains a hostage, set to marry Aemond,” Daemon conceded, acknowledging one of the deep-seated concerns that nurtured his doubts–the arranged marriage to Aemond. This was the man for whom she had killed her first husband, burying the alliance she was meant to keep. While Daemon reserved judgment for the murder of her husband, it was her love for Aemond that constituted her gravest transgression, severing the trust between them.

“Assuming your sister is a hostage, her union with Aemond wouldn’t change her loyalty to us. And if she remains loyal to us, she would understand and ensure that nothing comes of this union.”

“You mean a child…” There was a blend of anger and revulsion in the utterance.

“Indeed, a child,” Daemon acknowledged with a grave nod. “A child would complicate things–and I’m sure your sister knows this.” He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle. “If she remains true to us, she’ll prevent any offspring from this union.”

A child would complicate matters significantly, binding her irrevocably to Aemond and the Greens. Such an event would blur the lines of her loyalty, anchoring her to their cause. The conception of a child would, in essence, be an act of betrayal, entwining her fate with theirs in a manner too intricate to unravel.

Jace, however, was quick to contest, “You’re assuming she would have a choice in the matter. What if Aemond were to force himself upon her?”

Daemon acknowledged the grim reality, “She’s aware of ways to avoid having a child–”

“But he would still be raping her!”

Daemon’s expression hardened, a storm brewing behind his calm exterior. “If Aemond truly cares for her, he wouldn’t resort to such an act. But if he does…” His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. “Then we shall ensure that his end is both slow and excruciating.”

“My prince…” A subdued voice broke through the tension, emerging weakly from behind them. As Daemon turned to identify the source, he saw Lady Elinda Massey standing on the battlements, her figure outlined against the wind that tousled her red gown. Her expression, laden with worry and sadness, bore signs of recent tears, evidenced by the slight reddening around her eyes and the tip of her nose.

A feeling of dread descended upon Daemon, prompting him to inquire in a hushed tone, “Rhaenyra, has she… has she passed?”

“No,” Elinda responded, her posture tensed as if bracing against the chill, “She’s still with us. She’s…”

Before she could continue, Jace, his breath coming in rapid succession as if he’d sprinted across the castle grounds, eagerly asked, “And the child? What of the babe?”

Closing the gap between them, Lady Elinda’s expression–a woven tapestry and empathy, fear and grief–ignited an unforeseen flicker of annoyance within Daemon. With a moment’s pause, her voice barely above a whisper, she delivered the heartrending news, “The birthing was fraught with difficulty, my Prince. It grieves me to say, the child… did not make it.”

At her words, Daemon closed his eyes, grappling with the news, “What happened?”

“The child was not… formed correctly. It seems unlikely it would have survived, even under different circumstances, and the maester believes that the child was lost before the princess even commenced her labor,” Elinda explained, her voice wavering, her hands clasping tightly together. “The princess is deeply affected by the loss. She refuses any form of care from us, and I am concerned that if she continues to remain in her current state, she’s at risk of falling ill with fever.”

Daemon’s gaze hardened into an icy stare, concealing his emotions beneath an even expression. The notion that his child was no longer of this world seemed unfathomable. He vividly recalled the gentle thumps against his palms, the unmistakable signs of life from within his wife’s womb. Those moments of quiet connection, his head bowing against her, feeling the stirrings of their unborn child, were too real, too filled with life to end this way.

Attempting to shift the focus, Elinda started, “Maybe if you–”

“Jace,” Daemon interrupted sharply, diverting his focus to the young prince, “have Baela land before the gale hits us, and inform Ser Brandon about Lord Massey’s imminent arrival. Ensure a contingent of guards is sent out for their reception.”

Jace’s response was a silent stare, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, a frown etching deeper into his expression as disbelief and shock took hold upon hearing Daemon’s commands. Daemon sensed the scorn radiating from Jace, its intensity almost tangible, pressing down on him with the force of silent condemnation. Jace’s eyes sharpened with censure, echoing unvoiced reproaches that seemed to reverberate through the charged atmosphere between them–accusations of absence and neglect that hung unspoken yet palpable: You should have been by her side. You ought to be with her now. Why weren’t you?

Without another word, Daemon pivoted, his steps firm and unyielding as she moved along the battlements. Jace’s voice trailed after him, “Daemon! Where are you going? She needs you! Come back!”

Yet, Daemon continued forward, undeterred.

Daemon walked along the battlements, each step echoing against the ancient stones, before entering one of the towering structures that pierced the skyline. Inside, he descended the spiral staircase, its steps worn by centuries of use, coiling downwards like the innards of some great beast. Crossing the open expanse of the courtyard, his silhouette cut a solitary figure against the backdrop of the castle’s imposing walls. Without hesitation, he veered towards an internal staircase, embarking on a descent into the deeper, shadow-laden recesses of the keep, where light of day scarcely touched. The further he ventured, the more pronounced the scent of the ocean became, mingling with the chill that seemed to cling to the cavernous walls.

He found himself drawn towards the sea, facing the brunt of the wind as it lashed against him, and listening to the ceaseless rhythm of the waves that shattered the stifling silence enveloping Dragonstone.

The horizon was as dark and foreboding as the stone walls of the castle, heavy with the promise of an impending gale as it rolled in from the sea. The last rays of sunlight fought their way through the thickening cloud cover in streaks of gold. The sun, in its slow descent, painted a faint glow across the landscape, its light waning but still casting a soft illumination against the encroaching darkness that threatened to envelop Dragonstone and everything within.

With each step on the sandy beach, his progress slowed, the grains clinging to his boots, seeming to anchor him with their weight, and in a fluid motion, Daemon drew his sword and planted it firmly into the sand, the blade flashing briefly. The leather belt and sheath were quickly shed, left to reside beside the sword embedded in the sand.

As though compelled by an unseen force, he waded into the churning waters, advancing until the waves lashed against his knees. A primal scream tore from his throat, raw and guttural–full of loss and rage, the sound carried away by the sea’s own roar. Overwhelmed, he succumbed to his knees, the sodden weight of his garments dragging him downwards as the ocean encircled him, indifferent to his mourning as it embraced him.

The waves battered against Daemon’s sunken form the same way it relentlessly crashed against the shore. The chill of the water penetrated him, sank into his bones and settled there, as his gaze fixed on the turbulent dance around him–dark, gray waters interspersed with relentless white froth. He had not even had the time or ability to mourn his brother before this–he felt the loss of him as only a brother could, but his death had not surprised him. His brother’s decline had been long, transforming him over the years into a distant, cherished memory rather than a constant presence, effectively estranged by Viserys’s actions long before his passing.

Daemon would have gone to him, had he been called, but the Greens had robbed him of his brother long before death claimed him.

And now, they had robbed him of his child as well.

Daemon harbored a conviction that the turmoil surrounding her father’s death and the usurpation of her rightful claim had cast a shadow over the unborn child, corrupting it within the womb.

Wave after wave battered him, the water’s force against his chest, his attire plastered to his form. Daemon mustered the strength to stand, to fight against the drag of his soaked clothes and the beach’s resistance, his boots heavy with sand and water. He managed only a few steps towards the shore’s boundary before the sand ensnared him once more, forcing him to his knees.

The grief of losing a child was a familiar torment, yet the anguish over this particular loss carved through him with a raw, unprecedented intensity. It ignited a fierce, consuming blaze within his chest, a pain profound and uniquely agonizing.

Amidst the relentless surge of waves, the solitude was pierced by Caraxes’ eerie call, a sound that resonated with the depth of Daemon’s despair. Perched high upon the cliffs, the dragon remained a silent witness to its rider’s grief, its gaze fixed upon him.

In his torment, Daemon buried his fingers into the damp embrace of the sand, desperately seeking something tangible amidst his grief. The coarse grains, unyielding beneath his battle-hardened hands, clung to him as he clutched the fleeting solidity of the earth, even as the relentless waves washed over him. Each surge of water not only drenched him further but also rinsed the sand from his grasp, leaving his hands empty and washed clean.

A surge of rage overwhelmed him, and with a guttural cry, he released his sorrow into the vastness, his voice tearing through the quiet, a raw challenge to the ocean’s incessant din.

Spent, he allowed himself to fall back against the saturated sand, the world tilting precariously as he stared up into the sky. The sun, which had been a beacon of light, now retreated behind the advancing army of clouds, reflecting the shadow that loomed over his soul.

Daemon lingered on the sand, his eyes cast upward to the ever-darkening sky, surrendering to the relentless caress of the waves that leached the warmth from his body, leaving him hollow. He forced himself to sit upright, his eyes drawn to the line where the tumultuous sea kissed the stormy horizon. In his heart, he named the Hightowers makers of his misery–they who had poisoned his brother against him, who had conspired with the council to usurp them, and who had stolen the life of his child, corrupting it within the womb. Their treachery knew no bounds it would seem.

The anger within him surged and receded with the waves’ rhythm, engulfing him until he felt nothing but a chilling emptiness. That emptiness rang hollow, seemed to reverberate with a dark echo–a vow of retribution, a vow of vengeance.

Inhaling deeply, Daemon collected his resolve. He stood and walked towards the cavern from which he came. With determined strides, he pulled the blade out of the sand and sheathed it, its weight a comforting presence in his hand. He walked back through the cave and up the steps towards the keep.

The silence that pervaded the halls of Dragonstone was suffocating. This was not the serene quiet of peace but a dense, burdensome quietude steeped in grief, pervading every crevice and shadow with its sorrowful grasp. The echo of his footsteps in the empty halls rang out in the solitude. Each step towards their chambers, the quietude seemed to grow louder with its emptiness, his boots leaving a trail of his somber journey. The doors to their bedchambers, once a gateway to solace, now stood as a daunting threshold to a realm of sorrow and loss.

Pausing at the threshold of the chamber he shared with his wife, Daemon found himself unable to move any further as his eyes settled on his wife. Positioned on the ground, she swayed gently, enveloping their lifeless child in her arms, her voice tenderly humming a lullaby. His heart seemed to cease beating for a moment as he watched her continue rocking their child, humming to it as though it could hear her.

The surrounding midwives bore expressions mingled with pity and sorrow, yet Daemon’s attention remained on Rhaenyra–there was a devastation in her tenderness, and a despair in the way she mused to the child.

Compelled by a strength he scarcely felt, Daemon took measured steps towards her and with deliberate care, he descended to his weary knees at her side. Extending a hand, he tenderly brushed her skin, which, though pale, felt warm against the cold that had entrenched itself within him. Her acknowledgement of his presence was fleeting; her gaze lifted to his before it was drawn back to the silent figure she cradled.

As Daemon looked over her shoulder, his gaze fell upon the tragic form nestled within his wife’s arms: a tiny being, grievously misshapen and sightless, with scales and strangely reptilian features.

The sight clenched Daemon’s heart with a cold grip. The child, marked by such profound deformities, bore the unmistakable sign of a life that would have been mercilessly brief, had it even begun. The child was an abomination. With this harsh acknowledgement, Daemon found a sliver of mercy in the fact that it had not endured the cruelty of life.

Rhaenyra continued her gentle, rhythmic sway with the child, lost in a world of grief and silent contemplation–a wordless lament that filled the air with an unbearable weight of unspoken sorrow.

“We must burn it,” she finally uttered, her voice a broken whisper.

In response, Daemon closed the distance between them, offering a kiss to her temple and resting his head against hers.

“It was a girl,” she whispered into the silence.

A girl. Another daughter. Their daughter–their only daughter.

“Visenya,” Rhaenyra breathed out, her fingers lightly caressing the lifeless form swaddled in a thick blanket. “I’ve always dreamed of a Visenya–Daenera nearly bore that name, but I named her after you…”

Daemon closed his eyes, a knot forming in his throat. “Visenya, second of her name. She would have been as fierce as her namesake.”

Rhaenyra lamented in a low murmur, “So much has been taken from us. My right to rule, Daenera, and now, our daughter–our Visenya.”

In response, Daemon’s embrace tightened, his lips brushing her temple in a whisper of a kiss. “We will rescue your daughter and we will reclaim what is rightfully ours. They will rue the day they set their eyes upon the throne.”

Rhaenyra’s voice was laden with exhaustion as she spoke, barely a whisper, “I don’t wish to talk of war and succession.”

The vibrant spark that once lit in her eyes now seemed extinguished, replaced by a profound weariness and the sheen of sorrow. She glared up at him in silent reproach, before returning her eyes to the babe.

“Princess,” came Elinda Massey’s gentle interjection, her expression one of deep sympathy. “The Silent Sisters should tend to her preparations.”

“No, I shall see to it myself,” Rhaenyra answered, determination weaving into her expression. Her voice lowered to a soft murmur. “She is mine to care for.”

“You should rest, Princess,” Elinda said, attempting to coax the princess to hand over the child, but a firm look from Rhaenyra stifled her efforts.

Rhaenyra’s imploring eyes met Daemons, seeking his support. Daemon drew in a measured breath, then acknowledged her wish with a nod. He helped her to stand, his hand supporting her as they prepared to make their way through the halls.

Their progress was measured and painstakingly slow, with Rhaenyra’s every movement betraying her fragility, each step accompanied by a faint exhalation of discomfort. Perspiration coated her pallid skin, which had lost the warmth it once held, now replaced by a cold that matched the air around them. Daemon’s arms encircled her, providing her a steadying presence, ensuring she remained upright as they moved forward, while she cradled their child close to her chest.

Nestled deep within the castle, the Silent Sister’s chambers exuded a bone-deep chill that seemed impervious to the flickering warmth of the heart that burned brightly. The room’s dimly lit corners appeared to cradle the cold, as if the ghostly presences lurked just beyond sight, their icy fingers trailing whispers of unease.

Upon their entrance, the Sisters, with their faces partially obscured by veils, turned their attention to Daemon and Rhaenyra as they entered. Each of them carried a banner of the Seven-pointed star. The Silent Sisters carried themselves with an air of solemnity, sworn to a life of silence and keeping vigil over those who had passed. This aspect, their pervasive silence coupled with an air of implicit judgment, unsettled Daemon profoundly. They seemed spectral, akin to phantoms themselves–shifting shadows that dwelled in the liminal space between life and death, their presence an ever-present whisper of mortality.

Daemon released Rhaenyra’s hand, stepping back to meld with the chamber’s shadows, observing as she moved towards the table. Each step seemed to carry the weight of her loss, her form outlined against the slender beams of light that managed to pierce through the room’s tall, narrow windows–the last slivers before disappearing entirely. Rain began to plet the windows and a low rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance.

The chamber was permeated with heavy, lingering dampness, the air tainted with the unmistakable, pervasive scent of mortality. Attempts to mask this grim reality with dried herbs and burning incense only succeeded in creating a thick, almost suffocating atmosphere that seemed to stick in the throat.

Daemon’s damp clothes clung to him, a discomfort magnified by the bone-deep cold that seemed to seize the very air around him. He watched in silence, a solemn observer, as his wife gently unwrapped their child from its swaddling. Each of her breaths was a battle against the surge of grief that threatened to overcome her. The sorrow that marred her countenance seemed to cast a heavy, dark veil over her, aging her with its profound shadow.

Rhaenyra dipped the sponge into a bowl filled with water, subsequently caressing the infant’s skin with it. Her movements were gentle and deliberate, imbued with a tenderness that spoke of the love she held for the child. In her actions, there seemed to be a silent hope, a desperate wish that this act of cleansing might undo the finality of their loss, erase the marks of their child’s brief existence. The spine, dragging up the remnants of birth, gradually tainted the water in the bowl, muddying the clarity with a silent testament to what was and what might have been.

Daemon swallowed thickly, a knot forming in his throat as his heart contorted with pain as he silently observed his wife’s solemn rites for their child. The pressure of his fingernails against his palm served as a grim reminder, anchoring him to the moment as he stared at her with a sharp form of detachment.

After Rhaenyra had meticulously cleansed their child, delicately erasing any traces of birth, she tenderly wrapped the infant in cloth. With a gentleness that belied the tragedy of the moment, she cradled the still form, wrapping it securely before placing it back on the table, now enveloped in the soft embrace of cloth, hidden from the cruel gaze of the world.

It was at this moment that Rhaenyra seemed to allow her grief to surge forth unbridled. Tears cascaded down her cheeks, her visage crumbling under the weight of her sorrow, a visual echo of her heart fracturing anew.

Leaning heavily against the table, a sob wracked her body, the sound raw and heartrending. She then sank to her knees in a posture of utter desolation before their swaddled child. Her hands, shaking with the force of her sorrow, lingered in the air before tenderly enveloping the tiny form. In a final act of maternal love, she brushed a kiss across the covered feet of their daughter, a gesture of farewell steeped in anguish and love.

The sight of his wife crumbling cut through Daemon–a profound despair sharp as a blade sinking between his ribs, leaving an indelible mark of sorrow on his heart.

Rhaenyra rested her forehead against the table’s edge, her hand pressed firmly over her mouth in a futile attempt to silence her sobs. Daemon crossed the room then, in quiet determination and knelt beside his wife. He wrapped his arms around her, offering the support she needed. Her fingers grasped desperately at the damp material of his doublet, clinging to him as if he were the last thread that kept her from falling into the depths of her despair. He held her close, his lips finding the crown of her head in a soft, reassuring gesture as he swallowed the pain of his own grief.

“We must get you to bed,” he whispered softly. “I refuse to lose you as well.”

Daemon carefully positioned her arm around his neck while sliding his own arm under her knees, preparing to lift her. As he raised her from the cold, hard floor, the weight of her form pressed heavily against his fatigued muscles, each movement stiff with the chill that had seeped into his bones. Yet, he held her securely, transporting her with unwavering resolve along the shadowed corridors of Dragonstone.

Upon reaching their room, he gently lowered her onto the bed with a care that belied his own physical discomfort.

“The midwives will look after you now,” Daemon told Rhaenyra, his voice a mixture of reassurance and command as he gestured subtly to the waiting attendants, signaling them to proceed with their duties.

Rhaenyra did not respond, she merely stared out into emptiness, a weary expression on her face.

“I’ll return soon, my love,” Daemon softly promised, sealing his vow with a gentle kiss upon her forehead before stepping back to allow the attendants to care for her.

Once he had shed the cling of his wet garments for dry attire, Daemon made his way back to their shared quarters, meeting maester Gerardys at the doors.

“My condolences for your loss, my prince.”

“Has lord Massey arrived yet?” Daemon asked pointedly, disregarding the condolences.

“Yes, Lord Massey has arrived, as has Lord Staunton,” the maester informed him. “They’ve been accommodated in the west wing of the keep and have been notified of the recent events… “

Daemon’s response was a gaze of steely resolve. “Inform everyone that the funeral for our daughter will be held on the morrow.”

“Understood, my prince,” Maester Gerardys acquiesced.

“And what of King’s Landing? Any word?” Daemon inquired, his voice carrying a hint of underlying tension.

“No news, my prince,” came the reply.

With a sharp nod, Daemon dismissed the maester, his expression unreadable as he turned towards the bedchambers. There, he found Rhaenyra enveloped in the bedding, her hair spilling across the pillow in waves of silver, her gaze lost to the gale raging beyond their window. The relentless downpour and the mournful wail of the wind created a symphony of sorrow that mirrored the turmoil within.

Silently, Daemon joined her on the bed, enveloping her in his embrace. He kissed her temple, sharing the heat of his own body in a silent offering of comfort. Rhaenyra remained still, her reaction to his closeness imperceptible, but he did not press for acknowledgement. Instead, he chose simply to be there, a steadfast presence in the midst of their shared desolation.

Tears began to fall from the corner of her eye, like the rain pouring down outside, as if the gods themselves grieved with them.

And heres for Next chapter: It's not done yet, and so far its around fucking 19K words as we follow the funeral, the green envoy, the black council pt2+pt3, a Rhaenys/Corlys scene and the deleted Jace/Rhaenyra scene. So... It will likely be cut into 2 parts, and I will update one on Fridays and hopefully again Monday, and then Friday again--depending on how far I've gotten with editing the chapter after 75 (which is then 75-76, and then 78 as a new chapter)

#fic comment #a vow of blood #fanfic #fic rec #fanfiction #aemond fanfic

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zoydraft · 1 year ago

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Mono-Blue Maniac drafted by SH, June 3, 2023 (0-4)

SH came so, so close to unlocking the achievement: Activated Jace's ultimate with Lab Man on the field, but opponent had lethal.

I'm happy seeing Brineborn Cutthroat back as part of the tempo-y side of blue. Warkite Marauder was the MVP, and Curious Obsession did work, which always makes me nostalgic for Autumn Burchett defacing Guru lands.

#230603 #mono blue #mtgcube #deck pic #pink sleeves #SH

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romancereadingdiva · 2 years ago

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Top Reads of 2022!

In 2022, I didn’t read as many books as I have in the previous years, so there are books that released in 2022 that I didn’t get to read yet. Hopefully, I will! Here is the list of my top reads of 2022!

👑 3 Sam Mariano books:

~Descent: Descent was a dynamite, intoxicating read, so much so that I lost track of time!

Descent blurb:

Calvin will do anything for me... except leave me alone.

We were strangers, as far as I knew.

He saw me once, but didn’t introduce himself like he could have.

Calvin Cutler. Nice to meet you.

But there’s nothing nice about Calvin Cutler.

He’s ruthless and single-minded, and he zeroed in on me—a hapless target for his dark and twisted appetites.

In the depths of Hell, I first looked into his sinful brown eyes, felt the greedy touch of his demanding hands for the first time.

Not the last time, though.

He wanted more. So much more.

He wanted me, whether I wanted him or not.

Warning: Descent is a standalone dark romance with an unrepentant bad guy hero. This book is for readers who enjoy stories where the villain gets the girl. It is intended for adults only and contains subject matter some might find triggering.

Buy Links:

Amazon US: https://amzn.to/3sMoFNJ

Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/3mLKNE2

Amazon CA: https://amzn.to/3EMuRax

Amazon AU: https://amzn.to/3pFlJQJ

~Undertow: Undertow pulled me under in the best way, because it consumed until the end!

Undertow blurb:

Hayden

Cheerful, doe-eyed, mildly neurotic—Gemma Cane is not at all my type, but when the brown-eyed beauty stormed into my office, all fired up and wearing the garb of a belly dancer, I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

She was seeking justice, but I had something else in mind.

She couldn’t afford me, but I had other ideas about that, too…

Gemma

Arrogant, cocky, an outright bully—Hayden Atwater is the sort of man I usually go out of my way to avoid, but when my horrible neighbor stepped way over the line, I wanted to crush him, and to do that, I knew I’d have to fight fire with even hotter fire.

The notoriously cutthroat lawyer was the first weapon I could think of, but the last man I should trust. I realized that as my anger subsided and I registered the predatory gleam in his stormy ocean eyes.

I left his office empty-handed, but now, he won’t leave me alone.

I know there can never be anything between us and we are completely impossible, but that word isn’t in Hayden’s vocabulary. If there’s no room for him in my life, he’ll make room.

But then, disaster strikes.

Surely now, even Hayden can see that some things really are impossible, and maybe we’re one of them.

Universal buy link: https://books2read.com/undertow

~Sophie’s Surrender: It was spectacular and spellbinding! I was spellbound by Silvan and Sophie’s story, because I couldn’t stop reading until the end!

Sophie’s Surrender blurb:

Men have always committed atrocities chasing after their desires.

The men in my family have it down to an art form.

Personally, I’ve never experienced a desire that ran so deep it poisoned my soul.

Until the night I laid eyes on her.

It’s really too bad she didn’t feel the same way. It could have been a fairytale.

I guess our story was meant to be something a little more twisted.

No matter.

I desire Sophie Bradwell, and I don’t care how many terrible things I have to do to get her… and keep her.

Buy links:

US: https://amzn.to/3FvOasA UK: https://amzn.to/3FvQkIH CA: https://amzn.to/3iIrlsI AU: https://amzn.to/3VQRtjT

👑 Bad Boys of Redwood Academy by Emilia Rose

~Stepbrother: This book was a rollercoaster; the pacing of this book surprised me in the best way, then it took surprising turns too. It was much deeper and darker than I thought it would be, and that’s what made it sensational!

Stepbrother blurb:

I never meant to fall for my billionaire stepbrother.

Allie

Keeping up a perfect image is hard, especially when my stepbrother is the notorious Jace Harbor. With my head buried in books and the haunting memories of my father’s death, I want nothing more than to end my senior year on a high note, so I can get out of this town. But my stepbrother has other plans for me.

Jace

Swimming in money, girls, and high school football stardom, I can’t wait for graduation. I’m tired of the liars, cheaters, and football groupies at Redwood Academy. But when my father forces me to spend two weeks alone with Allie, I remember that Redwood isn’t all that bad. I remember the girl I fell in love with before our parents married.

Can Jace Harbor redeem himself after what he did to Allie? Can Allie forgive the guy who broke her heart sophomore year? Will Allie and Jace find love, or is their little fling just that—a meaningless hookup to help them forget about Redwood?

*Stepbrother is a new-adult step-sibling romance and the first book in the Bad Boys of Redwood Academy series of stand-alones. This series does not have to be read in order.

Universal buy link: https://books2read.com/Stepbrother-Redwood-Academy

~The Bad Boy: This Bad Boy Blaise was the best, because he may have been a bad boy but he was sweet too; Blaise and Vera together were blazing fire!

The Bad Boy blurb:

The rich bad boy found out that I write smvt!

When the popular skateboarding punk at my high school discovers that I write dirty romance books, he promises to tell the entire school and ruin my life if I don’t do everything he wants of me. Desperate to make it through the rest of senior year unseen, I reluctantly go along with it.

I skip class to meet him in the back hallways and show up at the skatepark to satisfy his every last need. I tell myself that I’m only doing this because of the blackmail he’s holding over me, but I can’t help the jealousy that boils inside me when he begins hanging out with the school slvt.

Blaise Harleen might think that I’m his good girl, but he’s mine. All mine.

*The Bad Boy is a steamy new adult romance and the third book in the Bad Boys of Redwood Academy series of standalones. This series does not have to be read in order.

Universal buy link: https://books2read.com/the-bad-boy-redwood-academy

~Honorable Mention: Poison-I cried, smiled and gasped in shock during this book plus the steamy scenes were just that, so pick this Poison!

Poison blurb:

I thought talking to a sexy stranger online would be harmless—until I find out he goes to my high school. Now, he and his crew won’t stop blackmailing me.

Between studying for exams, obeying strict curfews, and dealing with overprotective parents who expect me to reign at the top of Redwood Academy’s senior class, I just want to have some fun. But getting messed up with the Poison boys isn’t what I expect to happen when I log in to an online chat room.

Corrupt. Cruel. Callous.

Poison is everything wrong with Redwood Academy. They have no problem with burning Redwood Academy to ashes, exposing the wealthy for the snakes they truly are, and blackmailing an innocent girl they met online.

If anyone finds out what I have done, my good-girl reputation will be tarnished.

Will I be able to keep these bad boys at bay? Or will they suck me into their bloodstained, havoc-filled world?

*Poison is a new-adult reverse harem romance and the second book in the Bad Boys of Redwood Academy series of stand-alones. This series does not have to be read in order.

Universal buy link: https://books2read.com/Poison-Redwood-Academy

👑 Legacy of Gods series by Rina Kent

~God of Malice: After not immediately being pulled into Glyn and Killian’s story, I ended up loving this book and became mesmerized by it!

God of Malice blurb:

I caught the attention of a monster. I didn't ask for it. Didn't even see it coming. But the moment I do, it's too late. Killian Carson is a predator wrapped in sophisticated charm. He's cold-blooded, manipulative, and lacks limits. The worst part is that no one sees his devil side. I do. And that will cost me everything. I run, but the thing about monsters? They always chase.

Buy links:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3KxBSiG

Amazon Worldwide: mybook.to/GodOfMalice

~God of Pain: I was excited for Creighton and Annika’s story, and it was phenomenal and wrecked me in the best way!

God of Pain blurb:

I made a terrible mistake. Being a mafia princess, I knew my fate was already decided. But I went ahead and longed for the wrong one. Creighton King is bad news with a gorgeous exterior. He's silent, brooding, and obviously emotionally unavailable. So I thought it's over. Until he awakens a beast inside me. My name is Annika Volkov and I'm Creighton's worst enemy. He won't stop until he breaks me. Or I break him.

Buy links:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3AC5Ct6

Amazon Worldwide: https://mybook.to/GodOfPain

~God of Wrath: Jeremy and Cecily’s love story was slow yet magical, and I wholeheartedly loved this emotional, rollercoaster ride!

God of Wrath blurb:

I'm trapped by the devil. What started as an innocent mistake turned into actual hell. In my defense, I didn't mean to get involved with a mafia prince. But he barged through my defenses anyway. He stalked me from the shadows and stole me from the life I know. Jeremy Volkov might appear charming, but a true predator lurks inside. He's out to possess, own, and keep me. But I have no plans to stick around in his blood-soaked world. Or so I think.

Buy links:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3d7fkKY

Amazon Worldwide: https://mybook.to/GodofWrath

Honorable Mention: Empire of Sin and Empire of Lust

~Empire of Sin: The beginning of this book was sinfully delicious and hot between Anastasia and Knox, and it did not slow down until the end!

Empire of Sin blurb:

I’m not the type who has one night stands. It wasn’t supposed to happen, okay? A couple of drinks and a sinful British accent later and I’m in bed with a stranger.

Of course, I left first thing in the morning because I’m a responsible adult.

An adult who has a new job that I need in order to keep my double life a secret. Little did I know I’m not, in fact, responsible. Because the stranger I left in bed? Yeah, he’s not a stranger after all. He’s my new boss.

Knox Van Doren might have a charming smile, but a true villain lurks beneath it all. And like any villain, he’ll use my sin against me...

Buy links:

AMAZON US: https://amzn.to/3Bnpltp

AMAZON UK: https://amzn.to/3pJhX9H

INTERNATIONAL: https://smarturl.it/EOSBuy

~Empire of Lust: Empire of Lust was extraordinary, and a perfect enemies to lovers romance between Kingsley and Aspen!

Empire of Lust blurb:

When I slept with a faceless jock as a teen, I didn't think I would become pregnant. I also didn't think I would lose that child. Several years later, I find out that my daughter is alive and I'm given a second chance. One problem, though. The faceless jock isn't so faceless anymore. He has a name everyone fears; Kingsley Shaw. A ruthless bastard. A heartless devil. And most importantly, my daughter's father. Oh, and he hates me as much as I hate him. We're out to destroy one another with all methods available. Including a dangerous game of lust that might lead to our downfall.

Buy links:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3wxbJgk

Amazon Worldwide: mybook.to/EoL

👑 Westbrook Elite series by Cambria Hebert

~Wet: Dive into Wet, because Rory and Ryan’s love story plus the pace, flow and emotions of the story kept me engaged until the very end!

Wet blurb:

Making decisions I regret is basically a hobby.

So I guess it really wasn’t that surprising when I went out on a date with an Elite.

And then he tried to assault me.

I might be small, but I’m not meek. I fought him off… then went straight to the dean.

He didn’t believe me. No one does.

And now my date from hell is in revenge mode, and I somehow end up in the campus pool.

Did I mention I can’t swim?

Lucky for me, a knight in shining armor saves me from drowning.

Except he’s not wearing shining armor. He’s naked.

And he’s also Elite.

Seriously, what is up with these Elite swimmers?

Of course, I have no intention of ever seeing his very good-looking, naked highness again.

Elite obviously can’t be trusted.

Until he wraps me in his hoodie and promises to believe me.

Now I’m drowning again—but this time in his enigmatic cobalt eyes and addictive touch.

My only oxygen is him. I think I maybe could fall in love.

But will he keep his promise when I tell him the truth about his teammate?

Or will trusting Ryan with my heart and my life be just another decision to regret?

Amazon buy links:

US: https://amzn.to/3ukZkuc

UK: https://amzn.to/3bAJ8ye

CA: https://amzn.to/3P0Fc8t

AU: https://amzn.to/3ukSKDV

~Wingspan: I was emotional from the beginning of this book; I was shocked with plot twists that I did not see coming; and I laughed at certain times which relieved the tension. I wholeheartedly loved this Wingspan!

Wingspan blurb:

Ever feel like you’re being watched?

It’s an awareness so familiar I adapted to it long ago.

Then I enrolled at Westbrook University to chase my dream

and make up for someone else’s lost one.

The prying eyes I’d known almost since birth…

They closed.

Even still, I never got too close.

I made friends with everyone but confided in no one.

My dates were carefully chosen,

meaning I went out with guys I didn’t really like.

And then I was attacked.

I slept in Jamie’s bed while he stayed near me on the floor.

He gave me his number, told me to call.

Oh, I wanted to call. But I didn’t.

Now those invisible, observant eyes that always seemed familiar have returned.

But this time? They chill me to the bone.

Someone is watching. Lurking.

And it’s only a matter of time until whoever is out there does more than stare.

The only place I feel truly safe is wrapped in the massive wingspan of an Elite swimmer.

The very man I know I need to avoid.

But as shit goes down, it becomes clear I’m going to have to surrender something…

My heart or my life.

Amazon buy links:

US: https://amzn.to/3wBuKgO

UK: https://amzn.to/3wwZeRm

CA: https://amzn.to/3PUPTta

AU: https://amzn.to/3AMnUqn

👑 The Ritual by Shantel Tessier

This Ritual was riveting from the first page until the last, and my dark heart loved every minute of it! It was dark and dirty yet hot between Ryat & Blakely, and their love story actually made me swoon by the end.

The Ritual blurb:

The Chosen One

I vow. You vow. We vow.

Barrington University is home of the Lords, a secret society that requires their blood in payment. They are above all—the most powerful men in the world. They devote their lives to violence in exchange for power. And during their senior year, they are offered a chosen one.

People think growing up with money is freeing, but I promise you, it’s not. My entire life has been planned out for me. I never got the chance to do what I wanted until Ryat Alexander Archer came along and gave me an option for a better life. He offered me what no one else ever had—freedom.

I chose to be his. He made me believe that anyway, but it was just another lie. A way that the Lords manipulate you into doing what they want.

After being sucked into the dark, twisted world of the Lords, I embraced my new role and allowed Ryat to parade me around like the trophy I was to him. But like all things, what started out as a game soon became a fight for survival. And the only way out was death.

Amazon buy links:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3ugbm6I

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/The-Ritual

👑 Requiem by Callie Hart

Requiem was resplendent and had intricate plot. Once the truth started to unravel it was simultaneously beautiful and heartbreaking. Sorrell and Theo’s remarkable, epic love story was full of heart-wrenching emotions that I will never forget.

Requiem blurb:

SORRELL

He’s going to pay for what he’s done…

Theo Merchant was born into a kind of privilege I’ve never known.

He has everything I don’t: Money. A private school education. Popularity. A bright and shiny future, full of success to look forward to. He took the only thing I had going for me—my best friend, Rachel. Now that she’s gone, I have nothing left to lose

I will infiltrate his world.

I will cradle his worthless heart in my hands.

I will burn down his entire life and destroy everything he holds dear.

I haven’t enrolled at Toussaint Academy to learn.

I’ve come to destroy a monster…

…and I won’t leave until he’s dead.

THEO

She has no idea what she’s getting herself into…

Sorrell Voss is intelligent, caustic as hell, and quite possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. She’s also going to get herself f#cking killed.

She’s a fool if she thinks I’ll go easy on her just because she’s broken.

You don’t venture into the lion’s den and walk away unscathed.

She has her secrets. That’s fine.

*My* secrets will unravel her until she comes apart at the seams.

She will bow to me, and she will break.

Then, and only then, will I make her mine.

Amazon buy link: https://amzn.to/3S6VX4n

👑 Say You Swear by Meagan Brandy

I swear this book consumed and nearly killed me, but in the best way! I felt this book in my heart; this author ripped it out and only put it back in at the end after I had cried a lot of tears. This book wrapped around me like a blanket, because it was all I could think about all day while the characters felt like real people.

Say You Swear blurb:

For years, I’ve dreamt of what college life could bring and while some things changed, there was always one constant.

It didn’t matter how wild I allowed my imagination to run, it always led me to the same place in the end.

It led me to him.

My future was clear, and he was it.

Until suddenly ... he wasn’t.

Now I’m a shell of who I was, on a path too blurry to follow, and I see no way out.

No way up.

They say first loves last forever.

That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

Amazon buy links:

Amazon US https://amzn.to/33tg6gj

Amazon CA https://amzn.to/3JxYlfe

Amazon UK https://amzn.to/33xyYeg

Amazon AU https://amzn.to/3LEYEa3

0 notes

askthiscpblog · 4 years ago

Text

The Joining

'Keep him contained and keep an eye over him. We have questions, and we will get answers.' Slender commands to the rest, looking down at the unconscious male on the cot. So, this single person was keeping Jeff for all this time, with Char helping, and almost killed him. It was shocking to the aberration being the fact he almost succeeded in it. That was until they came in and saved Jeff's poor ass. With a turn, the slender figure leaves the room to let the others watch over the new person and Jeff. When dusk rolled in the male that goes by the name of Jason wakes up in a drowsy state.

“Aaagggu....” Confused about what is going on, he sits up in the bed he was laying in and with a measured motion looks around the room. It was rather cozy looking. The walls were a soft dark color wood with two windows letting the twilight in and a red oak door. The floor with dark marble flooring, so polished it reflected to him. The room had 5 other beds in neat rows from the opposite of one another, all with a nightstand, except for his. He noticed someone else in the room with him. They were underneath the covers of the bed on the opposite corner to his.

Without thinking he tries to get out of bed until he realized his left hand didn't move from the side of a bed. Looking down at it, leather straps cuffed his hand to the side of it.

“What...that?” Even more confused he scratched the top of his head for a moment until something clicked on his mind. He pulls down his arm in front of him looking at it and gripped his hand into a fist. His face went from tired confusion to a wide eye, puckered lip shook.

“...WHAT THE FUCK!?” He screeched out like a banshee.

The door burst open only seconds later, a small woman appeared in the doorway yelling, “Who the fuck is yelling in here!?” She looked over to where the shouting came from. Standing before was a man with black hair that she had not seen around here before. He seemed to be pretty tall, much taller than her. Then again, most people are taller than her. He also was tense and confused.

“Uhhhh, hi?”

Jason was far too distracted at his arm to realize the new presence in the room.

“No cast, no stitches, not even a scar...” he mutters. He then takes off his shirt to examine the wounds Jeff inflicted on him, they are now gone too. Even some that were there before all this from past fights were gone.

“W-What the...?” He's lost for words. Katie watched the man as he examined himself with intense confusion.

“...I’m gonna take a guess, and say you’re new here, huh?” she said as she sat down on one of the beds. “Don’t worry, the first week or so is a bit disorienting but you’ll get used to it.....So, what’s your name bud?”

He catches her at the corner of his eye and, turning to face her, looks at her.

“Um Jason. Also,” he points at the handcuff, “I’m more of a prisoner.”

“Eh same difference.” Katie stared at the handcuffs for a minute before her eyes returned to him. “The name’s Katie by the way.” She said as she stood up and walked a bit closer. She then continued, “So, who’d you piss off here to get cuffed like that?”

“Well, first I would like to know where I’m at. The last thing I remember I was in a fight and....” he responds in one long sigh; it sounds drawn out to be sarcastic. He looks at his arm for a moment, then starts to put his shirt back on. “I take it you’re not a guard?”

"She is. While I'm the doctor.” Says a man who comes into the room. He wore a black hoodie, black clothes, and a blue mask. On the outside of the mask appeared to be some black goo running down from the eyes.

“Well would you look at that, guess I am huh,” Katie said with a small chuckle.

“Hey, Jack.” She greeted the man without looking back. She recognized his voice by now, it was one of the first she heard when she got here.

"Evening Miss Katie. I am here to inspect Jason's arm to make sure it is healing. And to make sure Jeff is still surviving." He puts a bag down and turned to look at them both. "Please continue, I will look at Jeff first." Jason recognized Jack from the Halloween party and if he is here and so is Jeff then that would mean one thing. He does not like it.

“FUCK!” He tries to break free from the cuff in a panic. All it was doing was bruising his wrist and making it bleed, “Not good, not good not good!” Katie watched as he struggled, slight confusion at his sudden panic clear on her face.

“Woah bud calm down, you’re gonna hurt yourself more.” Katie grabbed his left arm to stop him from messing it up further.

He looks up at her then to Jack. “Look! I want nothing to do with you guys. I’m not with them! All I was after was Jeff! I swear!”

"So, you're willing to spill what you know about them?" EJ responds, looking up from checking up on Jeff. So, this was who took that Jeff guy. Katie knew they were looking for him for months and that someone took him but didn’t know much else. She stared at the two confused.

“I don’t know much about them. Was only offered a chance to get Jeff.” He replied to Jack, knowing full well they only kept him alive to be interrogated. “They try to recruit me after the party, but I refused.”

"Well, now you have a choice. Join us or let your family die before you do." Jack didn't look at him as he spoke, looking at the unconscious body of Jeff and checking his vitals.

Jace slaps Katie’s hand off him. His voice rose from the depths of his personal feelings he had about this, “YOU KEEP MY FAMILY OUT IF THIS INKEYE! THEY HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS!”

Katie looked at her hand and back at Jason with a deadly glare. Her hand still red from where he smacked it away. Katie had patience, but it always wore thin fast, and she was getting tired of this man’s yelling.

Jack turned and looked at him, a small grin appearing under the mask. Moving forward, he pushed Jace back into the cot. "Kaite, will you help me strap him down please?"

“Yeah, no problem...” she said as grabbed his right arm that wasn’t cuffed to the bed. Jason looked at Katie then back to Jack, not liking the look he is giving him. He struggled and screamed like a mad man giving the woman a hard time keeping hold of his arm. Then his chest fell back into the bed thanks to the doctor pushing him there.

“Stop! Stop! Let go! Let go of me!” The anger in his voice melting to a childlike panic, becoming high and shrill as tears lined his eyes. Jack reached over and cuffed his arm to the bed, then moved down to pin his legs to the bed too.

"Now, the more you struggle the worse it will get. But please, keep doing so. The smell of your blood and seeing your blood fill with panic only makes you taste better." With that EJ leans over Jace, moving the mask aside at the bottom to reveal grey skin. Three long black tongues fall out and slither over themselves above his face. After a bit of a struggle, she finally got his arm down on the bed. Despite still annoyed from the hand slap earlier, she didn’t blame him for panicking. It was a reasonable reaction to the situation at hand. Hell, she would most likely do the same. But still, she kept quiet as she held him down.

Tears start to roll down Jason’s cheeks as the spittle of the monster hands on him. Whimpering on what’s about to happen as he shakes his head from side to side until his eyes landed on Jack. He froze with eyes widening with pure terror because the face changed. Jack’s skin was turning paler and paler to a bleach white. His hair grew long and greasy, oil covering it from root to tip; his smile ripped open from ear to ear. The worst thing that could happen was eyeballs grew in his sockets to an unblinking stare. Before his very eyes, Jack now takes the form of his true monster, Jeff.

As it did the night of his fight with Jeff, Jason’s mind snaps. He screeched as he lunged his head forward and bit down on one of Jack’s tongues. Black blood oozed in his mouth. He then starts to devolve into convulsing as the leather strap on his arm tears, and the wood that held the other end of his cuffed arm cracked.

Feeling the bite, Jack yanked back, screeching a near-deafening, inhuman screech. His mask flew off as he moved forward, mouth closed but oozing black blood as he put a hand around Jace's throat. His brown, black hair messy as he tried to keep his face half-covered. He pushed down tight, looking over to Katie to help keep the guy under control.

"Looks like we have a case of PTSD here. Katie, would you mind getting me something to knock him out?" He asked, keeping a calm voice through it all. Either that will knock him out, or Jack choking him out and cutting off blood flow will. One will do it, all a matter of which will happen first.

“Uh yea no problem...” Katie said as she looked around, “Do you got chloroform and a rag in here?” It was either that or her knocking him out herself, and this guy had been through enough already. But she’d do it if she had too regardless.

"Third door from the right, second shelf on the left," Jack responded, taking his other hand and pinning Jace's torso down. The more force applied down on him, the more violent he becomes. The leather strap finally broke and Jason’s arm slammed the side of Jack’s head with unusual strength. Swinging at everything within his power to get the make-believe Jeff off him to the point of clawing as if he was a raved animal.

Katie grabbed Jason’s arms, holding them both down with all her body weight. At this point, she needed him to calm down from the episode if she wanted this ordeal to end.

“You need to calm down.” She said in a calm and stern of a voice she could. Not getting angry at him and raising her voice.

Seeing what she did, Jack let go of his chokehold and moved to the shelves. Well, there was a drug that could do the trick. With deft hands, he pulls it out with a needle and pulls it up.

"Keep his arms from moving as much as you can." He tells Katie, taking a few long strides over with it. "This should knock him right out."

His eyes were still locked on Jack as he returns, his arms flailing. His left wrist cut deep from the cuffs that it is hitting muscle now and the wood that is holding the other end is starting to splinter. His right arm was shaking Katie up and down like a mechanical bull trying to sting her off. He could hear nothing but a cackling from his memories. He fought to break free and is so close but watch with horror at the knife in the imposter Jeff’s hand. When Jack got to the foot of his bed a word finally shot out of him, “Ja- JAAAANE!!"

"She won't help you here." Well, never said he wasn't an asshole to make it worse. In goes the needle into his vein, even with the struggling, he aimed it right. Shooting it in, he made sure all it got through before it came out.

"It should only take a few seconds for it to work. It's the stuff they use for wisdom teeth extraction." His struggling lost intensity, almost sluggish until he closed his tear-filled eyes. The tension in his body finally released and fell back into the bed, breathing heavy from the exhaustion on his body and mind. Katie held his arms a few moments longer to make sure that he wasn’t going to resist anymore. She let go of his arms with a slight sigh of relief, looking at Jason as took deep breaths.

“I’m no genius, but I’m going to take a guess and say he doesn’t like that Jeff guy...”

"From the looks of it a victim who survived by Jane." Jack put the needle onto the side table and felt his jaw. Man, his fucking tongue hurt where he bit it.

"You know what..." He mumbles, lifting Jace's shirt, he takes a knife and cuts open a place where his kidney is.

Katie grabbed Jack by the wrist, not looking at him as she scolded him, “No. Poor bastards had enough....at least for today.” Her voice was stern again. She had gotten over this whole ordeal, and this guy did not need another reason to flip his shit again once he came too.

"I was just doing to prank him, not take his kidney." Blood was already pouring out of the cut. "Going to stitch it up and make him think I did when he wakes up. Teach him fucking twice for biting my tongue." Jack pulled his wrist away from her and turned, holed eyes looking down. Man, was she always so short to him? Taking a needle and thread, he begins to stitch the skin back together. The skin lined up to one another, making it heal without a scar. "If you care so much, you can stay and keep an eye on him while I go tell Slender and send in some backup." With that, the blue masked demon left the room.

Anon runs and pants, fear clear on their face even though they were wearing a mask.

“Holy crap... what happened here?! I heard a battle going on! Do you guys still need help or is everything alright?”

‘Should’ve kept my mouth closed.’ was all Katie thought as the new person busted through the door.

“Yeah uh...everything’s fine, guy had a PTSD episode or whatever Jack said.” She said while sitting down on one of the other beds with a sigh. She kept a mental note not to be here for the next freak out when he wakes up again.

"Jesus... alright... I'm new... um...hi? What's your name?" Anon looks a bit awkward and uncomfortable. It took Katie a minute to process the question through her slight exhaustion.

“Katie, yours?” How many people were in this place? It seemed like there was a new person here every other day. Or maybe she never noticed them? She didn’t know and was a bit too tired to think about it more.

"Anonymous but most call me Anon..." They whine, walking in, their hands in their pockets still uncomfortable about the sudden burst in.

“Well Anon, it’s good that you’re here....” Katie said as she stretched. “I’m gonna need some help watching over this guy. Or at least for when he wakes up again.” Katie did not want to deal with the guy by herself the next time he flipped his shit, too much of a headache.

“Understandable, I don’t mind helping.” They decide to sit down and seem more confident and comfortable now, knowing that they're needed here.

Hours later Jason wakes up in a groggy state. Not wanting to wake up, but the pain on is his wrist and side aches. He reaches over to his side and can feel fresh stitching in it.

“What that hell?” He groaned as he sits up, struggling to try and not rip the stitches.

“Hello...I see you have woken up?” Anon asks, tilting their head. Looking to the Slender hybrid, he groans,

“Hi.” He shifted in the bed then yelped from pain. He turns his head down to his cuffed wrist. It’s the color of eggplant from bruising and the scabs broke and started to bleed turning the sheets even darker in red. He points at the handcuff.

“Can you...get me out of this. I need to treat this and some whisky with a side of water.” He said as he looked back at her. He was not in a good mood after his blackout. “I have a bad taste in my mouth. Like I took a bite of rotten liver.”

"I don't know if I'm allowed to, but I can at least get some stuff to heal that. It looks pretty sore..." They walk up and sniff at the blood, drooling. "I know what rotten liver is like. It’s not the best."

“I don’t want to know how you know that and I prefer to patch up my wounds. Just unlock me and I promise you I won’t run. I know when I’m outmatched.” Jason explained, exasperated and exhausted. He didn’t try to give a single damn about this situation.

“I don’t have keys but ok.” They reach forward, grab the handcuffs, and break them.

It was at this moment that Slender and EJ enter, looking at the situation before them. It was interesting to see, and kinda amusing to the two. EJ moved over to Jace, grabbing his hands to look down over the wounds. "I will take care of them, not you. You won't do it well enough." With that he let them go and went to check the cabinet.

'Anon, I suppose that he hasn't been giving you trouble. And same with you, Miss Katie?' The eldritch figure looked down at Jace and the rest of them, no eyes giving any sign of emotion. 'You two are welcome to stay if you wish.'

“I came into the room myself a bit ago dad, I’m as confused as her. Also, her name is Katie knows more than I do. I ran in as I heard panic.” Anon reports, turning away afterward as they whisper to themselves on how they’d love a bite. They twitch as they look towards Jace, tempted by the smell of blood and flesh.

'I am not your father, take care to remember that child.'

Jason withdrew his hand from EJ, trying to keep it to himself. “After the stunt you pulled, I don’t think so, also I don’t remember this before I blacked out.” He pointed at the stitching on his body, not paying any mind to the Slenderman.

“What stunt?” Anon tilt their head again, a quizzical look on their face.

"He decided to bite my tongue," EJ responds, looking over his shoulder to Jace before getting the last few things. "You can try to fight me on this and end up worse, or let me do my job."

"Oh... yeah... sorry. It's uncle, right?" Anon is looking embarrassed again, the heat rising to their face. Man, they were thankful for the mask right now.

'Yes.' Slender looked over to Jason, a tendril coming out to force him to look at the eldritch horror. 'Now Jason, we are going to talk.' Anon watches with curiosity on how agile he was with his.

Jason moved the tendril away, looking at Slender dragging each work, “As I told ink eyes I don’t know shit. I was only after the psychopathic slack-jawed over there,” he pointed over to Jeff’s bed, “I don’t want anything to do with you or the super blowjob monster.”

'Well, that isn't going to stop me.' Slender pulled up a chair and sat down on it, crossing one leg over the other. With no warning, he bore through Jason's mind to gather the information needed. 'I can tell you do not know anything. So, I offer you this, you work with us to keep them at bay. In return, it gives you an up-close and personal time to study him,' he tells him, projecting it all to them, pointing towards Jeff, 'and you will work under Jane. If you kill him while working so be it but that doesn't mean, we won't try and save him. He is...useful after all.'

Anon looks somewhat surprised by the comment, ‘-super blowjob monster-‘ as they believe that they meant their father. Still Slender felt more of a father than he did. Deciding to mimic Slender they grab a chair and sits beside him while keeping quiet.

Jason pondered for a moment. “So, Jane is here as well...now what if I still refuse?”

'You put your family in danger. From both us and the opposition. Your cooperation will spare them from us at least.' He knew threatening the family is a risky move with him, but he is dedicated to them at least.

“Ooh... risky... uncle, I wouldn’t mind helping if possible. That’s if you don’t mind?” Anon look up at him, their black eyes with white glowing irises, eager to prove themselves. They then hold their stomach. “Mmf... did I forget to eat today?” They huffed.

Jason, not missing a beat, grabbed his pillow and throws it at Anon’s face. “You touch my family I will make you regret it and that’s a promise.” His pitch dropped, then softened as he continues to speak, “But knowing that Jane is here maybe we can cut a deal, but first my throat hurts. If I can have some scotch on the rocks to soothe it. Then we can talk.”

Slender looked over to Kaite, head tilting down to her to address her. 'Miss Katie can you go get that, and Jane too please.' A stern voice emanated through their heads, but the others it was faint. At that moment EJ came back and put the gauze down that has squeezed out iodine to begin taking care of Jason’s wrist.

"Now this will sting, but you can take it." He nabs one of Jace's bloody wrists and begins to wrap it up, keeping it still so he couldn't pull away. No matter how hard he tried.

Anon grabs it before it hits their face. “I don’t want to...hurt you or your family.” They huff and seem to struggle a bit as their hands grow into claws and the one holding the pillow rips the pillow by accident.

“I’m a good person. I just…have problems.” They mumble to themselves looking around for anything they could eat. The smell of his wounds was strong and still rather inviting to Anon’s other side. But their human side knows it’s wrong to eat friends.

“I shouldn’t be here right now.” They struggle to move as they stare at Jace while drooling a bit which drips behind the mask.

Katie’s head snapped towards Slender. “Uh…yeah sure.” She had zoned out a while ago and hadn’t realized other people arrived, or that Jason was even awake. She walked down to the kitchen, still a bit exhausted from the earlier fiasco.

“Jane, big man needs ya!” She yelled out as she made the drink.

'Then leave and go find some food. Don't come back until you're sated.' Slender demands. 'If you cannot control yourself then leave. Either gain some discipline or act like the animal you are right now.'

Jane meanwhile heard Katie call, and so down she came. "If he needs me, he can c-ack!" She started to say, only to have it interrupted by Slender demanding she come down. His presence overwhelmed her for a second, causing the pain and for her to stagger down the stairs. Passing the kitchen, she looked in at Katie before going to EJ's medic room.

Katie rolled her eyes and followed Jane with the drink, handing it to Jason once she got there. She felt like a damn maid for a second.

'Thank you, Katie.' Slender tells her. 'I might have a mission for you if you're interested. We can talk about it later.'

“Whatever stops me from being stuck here doing nothin' all the time, I’ll take.” She responded with a huff.

Jason grabbed the drink and raised it to Katie, “Thanks.” He then looked over to Jane. A look of guilt washed over his face for a moment then he sighed, sipped the drink, and let the burn of the whisky soothe his throat. Resisted the urge to go hug her, but there are more pressing matters now. After the long pause, he looks back at Slender. Taking the next words in a professional tone, “Alright....I’ll work with you guys until your little war over with. I don’t think I can get out any sooner, but I do have some demands if I’m going to work with you guys.”

With Slender saying that to them, it infuriated them as they bit Slender in the arm. They screeched, "I’m not a monster...YOU ARE!" Their sharp teeth sunk into his arm as they lock on him instead, their mask falling off revealing their human face.

Jason was not expecting this. Not saying a word, he takes a long sip of his drink. ready to see the shit show unfold before him.

If Slender had a proper face, it would show disgust and annoyance with the situation at hand. Lifting his arm, he flings Anon from it and through the wall with the tentacles flying after them. Impaling them through the head and heart, killing them, he didn't once look away from Jason as this happened.

'EJ, fix up Anon and make sure they stay out for a few days.' He orders. EJ all the while was working on Jace's wrists, having them bound uptight and healing from the struggle earlier. Groaning and rolling his nonexistent eyes, he bounds over to pick Anon to revive them on the other side of the room.

'As you can see, death is not the worst thing that can happen here. You are in no position to demand anything, but I will hear of them none the less.'

Jason was silent, realizing this guy was heartless, but damn. With a shaking hand, he finishes his drink and places it down with a little bit of a clatter. Getting off the bed walking to the monster, hearing the ringing of his blood, only feeling his heartbeat race as he gets closer. He stops right at Slender face and looked him where he believes his eyes would be. His mind is racing on what to do and focusing not to run. He takes a shaky breath and then steals himself.

“And I say I have every right to make demands on this ordeal. If you want me to cooperate, I want them fulfilled and in return, I’ll do my best to do what you or Jane wants me to do around here.” His tone was drier than desert sand, trying to hold his ground, but not wanting to be too aggressive. But he failed to realize the trembling of his legs, giving away his false confidence.

Jane looked over to Jace and started, "Jace don't-"

‘Silence.' One word was all it took. Slender looks at this man in front of him, this child, as he tried to make a stand against someone like him. With this he stood up from the chair, inch by inch towering over the killer in front of him. How silly it had to look to everyone else from this, a human trying to stand up to a near god.

'You do not. I am only hearing this out of the graciousness of my hospitality. You have yet to make your demands child. Be quick about it, else I lose my patience with you.'

“Fine.” He holds up his hand and raised his index finger on his first demand. “My family and any extended family are granted immunity from all members and or allied and implied that are on your side. Also, protection from the opposite faction along with 3rd party that is or may be sent by them.” The rest of his fingers raised one after another corresponding to his next demands. “I stick to my ways of killing. I refuse to murder or kidnap anyone that’s under the age of 18 or anyone that would be defenseless that’s not on the opposing faction. Next, I would like privacy. No invading my memories, inner thoughts without or my room permission. That includes anyone that you order, ask, or suggest to. The only time you can do it without my permission is whether you suspect me going rogue or an emergency.” He thinks to himself for a moment then makes his last three demands. “I want all my laptop that I was in the warehouse of the night I faced off Jeff. Exactly how it was before you guys came busting in. I also refused to be used as a puppet so no mind-controlling or puppet mastering either. Finally," he finished, gritting his teeth, “my last demand is don’t let those guys win......” He remembered how his last argument with Skully raged him on how much he didn’t care about the many that lost their lives in the raid of the mansion.

“We have a deal?” He offers his trembling hand to Slender.

The eldritch figure bore his gaze into the killer below him, seeing him hold up his hands making demands. The tremble in his voice, the shaking hand as he attempted to keep up his tough-guy act. How quaint was it that humans needed to put on a show in front of each other? This one is specific in front of those he calls his family, Jane, who was behind him.

'You act tough for someone so weak-willed. Your family will get protection from us, but they will not be guarded by us. They are on their own when it comes to the war. If the other faction decides to involve them, then so be it. We are not guardians. We are killers.' Slender looked down at Jason's extended hand before using a tendril to pick him up by the shirt, forcing him to look him eye to eye. Rather, white face to eye.

'Your ways of killing are fine, do as you please and see fit. If I order you to kill someone or something, you do it. Regardless of it is a babe in a cradle, you will do it. This is for a greater purpose than some heightened sense of honor you have. You are a killer you have no sense of honor and don't deserve it anyway. Privacy from me is not a thing here, you do not get a choice. You get your room however you please, but there is no hiding anything from me. It is my gracious hospitality that I allow you to stay, thus I demand what I please out of you. Besides, it isn't like that will stop any of the others in the house from snooping around as they see fit. ' The last three demands were amusing to the creature, curious on why he wanted those so bad. It was not letting them win that made the abomination chuckle in amusement. 'That is why you are here you are helping us not let them win this fight. The other things are of no issue, but I will do what I must to succeed. Do I make myself clear Jason?'

His eyebrow raised from the comment on the honor comment. “I...I see. Well, we may have a problem with the order. Have me kill whoever you want me to kill, that isn’t going to work out so well, but we will worry about that if it happens. Try to keep your peeping Tom self where I don’t notice it. And my family I’ll figure something out on that, but thanks.” He gives the aberration a quick kiss on his faceless face.

“Now our contract is sealed.” His nerves start to calm down from the shock of Anon’s sudden death.

It was at that moment Slender dropped Jace from his full height, letting him fall the full distance on his own. He did nothing to help or slow him down. 'What the hell is this shit? Where the hell did your fear go?' He demanded, before hearing Katie and looked over to her. Ah yes, he did have a plan for her.

Katie sat quietly as the new guy joined the team. Another face and named that she would have to remember. “Does that mean I don’t have to babysit this guy anymore? I’m getting kind of bored here.” she blurted the question out. She had been sitting around here much more than she would like to and was ready to do anything other than play nanny for a few more hours.

'That is correct. Please, report to my office in 15 minutes. I will give you a mission to go out on.' Slender explains to her. EJ looked up from this, having to revive Anon his top priority. They were stable and breathing again, but out cold for the next day or so.

“Shit! Ow!” He said and he falls on his back and sits up, frantically rubbed the back of his head from the pain. He looks up at the tower know as Slender and responded to his question. Finding it a bit funny that even a....whatever he is was thrown off sometimes.

“Well. You caught me off guard with the sudden fatality done on your relative. So sudden that it discombobulated me. Now that I think about it. I was never good with jump scares.” He gets back on his feet and crossed his arms at the figure. “Besides you ain’t got nothing on my Nana when she is angry. Now that is true terror.” He said with a grin but stops suddenly by a wince with pain.

"Mmf..." This is the only sound Anon made in a while, proving they are alive thanks to EJ’s efforts, even from true fatal blows.

“I’ll be there when you get there,” Katie huffed as she left to go to the office, having nothing else to do beforehand.

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