#dare I say oc x canon???

[za0mbie]

Julie n Debbie outfit swap!!☁🌸

Plus some other sketches weee 🎸

[slavhew]

Be nice

late addition. existentialism

[vapolemon]

I don't have proper art to post so take these random selfshipping things (and a cursed dm from a friend) because Giacomo is ROTTING MY BRAIN!!! I hope he explodes forreal

Also say hi to Adair

Closeup of the DM and my favourite doodle on the page because I'm SILLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[onhigh]

i still need to finish her carrd (how did 4am come so quickly) but uhhh. incisura

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

can you do a bakugo x reader who’s afraid of the dark? i think he’d be cute about it and make small explosions kinda like fireworks to cheer them up

omg whats so funny about this is that this is a scenario that happens in my oc x canon verse actually omg !! this is such a cute ask, tysm anon ! fem reader (tho no gender specified) ages arent specified here but i imagined both katsuki n reader younger (11-12) !!

there's a sudden power outage during math class.

the mix of groans and immediate screams put you on edge, they make your heart beat and you wish you could tell them all to just shut up. but you're mouth isn't working, your throat is clogged up and you can't see anything.

you hate the dark. it's embarrassing to still be scared of it at your age, it's childish and you're not a little kid anymore. you're sure katsuki wasn't scared of the dark anymore. granted, he wasn't scared of anything.

you’d walked out of your classroom, trying to maybe find some type of light source outside of class, you doubted the teacher noticed you leaving with all the chaos brewing.

very bad idea, it was pitch black. probably even darker than in class somehow. you feel your heart beat quicken as your eyes slowly start stinging.

you won’t cry, that’s so lame.

you’re old enough to know that monsters don’t exist, you know nothing is going to come snatch you up to drag you off into the darkness never to be seen again. of course you know that.

but you’re still so scared, and the scenarios you’d just made up where making you even more nervous. your eyes sting and you know it’s lame, but you really feel like crying.

if you were going to cry, you at least wanted to make sure no one could see you doing it once the lights turned back on. you manage to find a broom closet in the darkness and decide to hole up in there. you shiver, tightly hugging your knees. you feel tears prick in your eyes. it’s lame, and you’re too old to be crying, but you figure no one will know anyway.

then the door slams open.

you gasp, but don’t dare look up and squeeze your eyes shut tightly. maybe a monster was here to take you, maybe it was one of your classmates and they were gonna tell everyone how uncool and lame you were for crying.

“what’re you doing in here ?! i was lookin’ all around for you !”

you look up then, and katsuki looks back at you angrily. you bite your lip, you didn’t want him of all people to see you like this, he’d for sure think it was lame. katsuki’s expression morphs from anger to surprise to confusion. he raises a brow.

“what’re you crying for ?” the tone of his voice makes you hide your face again, furiously wiping at your eyes. you can see how he looks at you from the lights coming from outside, it peeks through the opening of the door, and you think that’s worse than a monster coming to get you.

“i-i’m not !” you mumble, your voice crackles as you do. you hear katsuki huff and then the door slams. what you were afraid of came true, you think. he thought you were embarrassing and wouldn’t want to be your friend anymore—

warm, warm hands grip at your wrists and rip them away from your face so you can see—katsuki. he’s still here ?

“liar.” he says, eyebrows furrowed. “y’know i hate liars.” you do know, you don’t want katsuki to hate you, that’s why you’re in here. you blink at him in surprise. katsuki only squints at you, before plopping down next to you. it’s a very tight squeeze, but he nudges your shoulder to make space for himself and he makes it happen.

anything katsuki put his mind to was possible. if he wanted to sit next to you in this cramped broom closet he was going to, no matter what. you always found that cool about him.

“why’d you run off ? i was looking for you..” he asks.

“i thought you wouldn’t notice..” you respond meekly. katsuki looks back at you. your shoulder hurts a bit so you readjust and move back. you can see his incredulous expression even better.

“hah ? why wouldn’t i ?”

why wouldn’t he ? because you were lame ? because crying about the dark at your age was embarrassing ?

“cus..” you fiddle with your hands, you can’t finish your sentence. katsuki finishes it for you.

“what, cus you’re scared ?” the way he says it. scared. makes you want to deny it again. but you hate lying and katsuki hates liars. so you just shrug. it’s quiet again, you hear the tapping of branches against the window outside. rain tapping the window, and then a big crack of thunder. you jump a bit despite yourself.

“teach said the power won’t be back till this let’s up.” he explains. this meaning the storm, you assume. you don’t know what to say anymore, you’re glad katsuki can’t see you.

“s’fine y’know..” he utters after a bit. you look back at him in shock, blinking rapidly. your eyes have gotten used to the darkness and you can see how his eyes dart around. he settles on pulling at his shoe laces for a bit.

“but…” you start, your throat is still clogged up “you said you hated crybabies…an’ scaredy-cats..” katsuki scowls at your words, tugging and twirling at his laces.

“i do.” he confirms, then he glances at you. “but i know you’re not.”

oh. you can’t muster up anything. you know you should say something now, and you feel your cheeks warm at his words. but it’s still so dark.

katsuki sits quietly as he inspects you. then he gets in your space again. you whine in annoyance, he’ll squish your shoulder at this rate but he grumbles back, he’s made up his mind. and there was nothing you could do about it.

and you thought that was kinda cool.

he stretches his hand out in front of you both. “look,” is all he says. you do, and after a moment.

soft little "cracks !" and "pops !" fill your ears, they’re not from outside, but from his hand, small orange lights accompanying them. you can’t stop looking, in awe as he keeps going. you always thought katsuki’s quirk was cool, and how much he control he had over it. he’d be an awesome hero, you're sure. he made sure to tell the whole world he would be.

he insisted that you’d be his number one fan forever. you always jokingly tell him he’ll have to work for it. “watch me, then !” he’d smirk, he’d claim he’d be the strongest in the world and you’d have no choice but to beg for his autograph then. “in your dreams !” you’d quip, but it never discouraged him. you never told him you were already his biggest fan. that he was your best friend in the world, that you thought he was the coolest.

“cool..” you utter quietly.

you can hear him huff proudly next to you, then the sparks slowly stop. you turn to look back at katsuki. his face is slightly illuminated by the sparks he tries to stop, you think you see a bit of pink on his cheeks.

"who cares if you're scared..i'm here, so you don't gotta be anymore." katsuki shoves his shoulder against yours teasingly "so don't go runnin' off anymore, got it ?"

and you hope his eyes have adjusted too, so he can see you smile. you're still a little scared now that it's completely dark again. and you're still not fully convinced a monster won't pop out and try to eat the both of you. but you know katsuki isn't scared of anything, and if one does show up he'll blast it away.

and he'll light up the way for you, no matter how dark it gets.

[gracexthoughts]

the strong

jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!oc

warnings; slight canon divergence, cussing, canon typical incest, fighting, implied smut at the end (i cannot actually write smut to save my life sorry), s1ep8 spoilers ig summary; after vaemond's petition, aegon’s jesting, and aemond’s taunts, jacaerys is furious and seeks solace and advice from his step-sister and betrothed. inspired by tyrion telling jon to wear his bastardy “like armor so it can never be used to hurt'' him in the first ep of GOT (I’ve been rewatching to feed the brainrot) a/n; daenera is daemon’s eldest daughter from his first marriage, in my head daemon didn’t kill rhea and she died in childbirth just before rhaenyra’s wedding so daeny is about half a year older than jace but you can use your imagination as it doesn’t really matter.

“I dare you to say that again!” Jacaerys growls from the dancefloor. Daenera turns in her seat to see Jacaerys with his fists clenched, his eyes dark and glaring daggers at his uncle. The feast had been amicable considering the events of the day, but while the adults’ words of peace ring honest between them, animosity between the young princes, princess and ladies nears its boiling point. Prince Aegon has spent most of the evening cooing foul and crude jests to Jacaerys and Daenera about their soon approaching wedding. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Prince Aemond has added his own taunt to the pile: a thinly veiled comment on the Velaryon brothers' true parentage. 

“Why? Twas only a compliment,” Aemond defends, lowering his goblet to face Jacaerys, stepping towards him as he does. “Do you not think yourself Strong?” Jacaerys answers by bringing his fist up to Aemond’s jaw, the sound resonating through the hall. Lucerys leaps up from his seat, Vaemond’s slanders still heavy in his ears, but Aegon intercepts him, slamming him down on the table and sending food and silverware clattering from the impact. Daenera, ever protective of her siblings, leaps from her seat and wraps her arms around the eldest prince’s neck, putting all her weight against him to remove his hands from Lucerys. He grapples with her for a moment before she is ripped off by a Kingsguard. Knights separate Aegon from Luceryrs, Jacaerys from Aemond, and Rhaena pushes Baela back from leaping into the fray as well.

The Queen pulls her second son back, muttering angrily to him but he pulls away from her as Rhaenyra moves towards her sons and Daemon to his daughters. “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family. Though it seems my nephews aren’t so proud of theirs!” Aemond continues to taunt, leveling a snide one-eyed glare at Jace. Jacaerys wriggles out of the guard’s grip and steps menacingly towards Aemond. 

“Wait, wait,” Daemon says, holding a finger up and stopping Jacaerys in his tracks, forcing him back to stand next to Daenera. 

“Go to your quarters, all of you. Go now!” Rhaenyra commands sternly, her eyes holding a warning as she stares down her eldest son and motions for the rest of her children, by blood and by marriage, to leave. 

“Come on,” Rhaena says softly, pulling her sisters along with her and out of the hall by their hands. Daenera relents with a sigh but not before squeezing Jacaerys’ and flashing him a sympathetic smile. 

“Are you alright, Daeny?” Baela asks as they make their way to their rooms.

“Fine, worried about the boys,” she mutters in reply.

“I’m sure Jace and Luke are alright, sister,” Rhaena says softly, wrapping her hand around Daeny and Baela’s arms. Daenera nods agreeing but still can’t shake the worry in her chest.

Near an hour later, a knock sounds on the door to Daenera’s chambers, pulling her from the depths of the book in her hands. “Come in!” she calls expecting one of her maids and, not bothering to stand from her comfortable position on the settee in front of the fire, turns to see who enters. “Jace,” the lady says softly as her betrothed steps into her chambers, his eyes still dark with rage. 

The pair have been betrothed for nearly ten years, the announcement made soon after their parents married, and as they grew up together they have grown a deep love for each other: a bond of unconditional trust and adoration between the future King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Jacaerys comes to crouch in front of her, placing his hands on her knees and caressing the joint over the silk of her night gown. His tunic is gone, leaving him in just his white undershirt and trousers, Daenera’s eyes trail to the bit of collarbone she can from her vantage point. 

“Are you alright? Did Aegon hurt you?” the prince asks, searching her deep purple eyes that snap back to his face at his words. 

“I’m fine, Jace. If I can match you in a spar, I can handle myself against that drunken lecher,” she chuckles slightly, setting her book aside and reaching up to brush a stray curl away from his brow. “Are you alright?” She asks, reaching for his hand with its already darkening skin. She’d let her hair down to hang around her shoulders and even clouded by anger as his mind is, Jacaerys notices her etherealness. She has always been a sharp and unsettling kind of beauty, her eyes seeming to have the ability to gaze upon your soul, but Jacaerys relishes her softer side. The side she so rarely shows others.

“Wish I’d gotten more blows in,” he grumbles, standing and pacing in front of the hearth, his shoulders tight and face scrunched in anger. 

“Maybe you’ll have a chance before we return to Dragonstone,” she offers with a smirk. “The cunts deserve it, the pair of them.” 

“Will I never be free of this? Of these slanders that are whispered in my wake? Will they sneer at me when I sit on the throne? Ignore my rulings and snicker-” 

“Jace, breathe,” Daenera pleads, concerned with the rising panic she sees in his eyes. 

“I cannot, Daeny!” the prince exclaims, “How am I meant to be a King, a leader, when I am not respected?” 

“Darling, we are barely eight and ten, you are second in line at present. Respect will come with time. Once your mother is Queen the people will become familiar with you, with your grace, your kindness, your justness,” she says, placatingly, reaching out for his hand, forcing him to stop his pacing and look at her. “They will forget the slanders the Hightowers murmur because you will be a good and just King. Besides, it's your mother’s blood that makes you royal, not your father’s.” 

“And yet there will always be those who call me a Strong. The King cannot take every single one of their tongues,” he says with a heavy sigh, running a ringed hand through his hair in distress. Daenera considers this for a moment, knowing it is true enough, and Jacaerys sighs, turning to face the hearth, planting his hands on the stone and gazing down into the flames. 

“So make it a compliment,” the lady says after a long moment, leaning back on her arm on the settee, her deep amethyst eyes watching the prince. 

“Make the doubt of my paternity a compliment?” Jacaerys scoffs, turning to her. “How in the Seven Hells-” 

“If they shall call you ‘Strong’ no matter what, the more you rage against it the more power the slight has. The only way to take away its power is to show it cannot be used to hurt or diminish you. Take it as your moniker and wear it like armor so all know tis not a weapon they can wield against you.” 

“Jacaerys the Strong?” he asks slowly, the wheels turning behind his eyes, unable to deny the intelligence of her council. He sits down slowly next to Daenera, his eyes fixed on a point on the rug.

“King Jacaerys the Strong, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,” she purrs, leaning towards the prince, a smirk on her lips. She watches as a firelight dances in his eyes, his pupils dilating at her proximity. 

“Hm, not bad,” he smiles, and leans down, connecting his brow with Daeny’s, running a finger calloused from years of practice with a blade across her jaw. 

“What is it?” Daenera asks softly after a moment, pulling away to look into Jace’s eyes, sensing he is still feeling troubled. 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, not meeting her eyes. 

“Jacaerys,” she chides, cupping his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her. 

“Just… fucking Aegon… I fear he is right in his jests. I have no idea how to please you as you deserve,” Jacaerys confesses shyly, pulling his face from Daeny’s hands as heat creeps into his face. 

Daeny cannot help the laugh that escapes her lips, of all the troublesome worries that the day has brought, her sweet betrothed worries of her pleasure. Sex is not something the pair have discussed in length yet, even though their wedding is a little more than a moon away. The pair tend to flit around such topics, even when they steal secret kisses in dark corners of Dragonstone and come away with scarlet cheeks and racing hearts. 

“And now even you laugh at me!” He exclaims exasperatedly and stands to move away but Daenera quickly stands as well, stepping in front of him and stopping him from leaving. She pushes him back to his seat and kneels before him, her hands on his shoulders. 

“No, my love, I’m not laughing at you, I’m sorry. Tis just that you should not concern yourself with such worries,” she says gently, running her hand from his broad shoulder to the toned expanse of his chest, feeling his heart beating under his skin. 

“But I-” 

“I have no more knowledge on how to please a man than you do a woman, Jace,” she continues, her voice placating and soft. “We shall learn together and be stronger and better for it.” Jacaerys meets her amethyst eyes, finding comfort in the truth and lack of judgment he finds in them. “Besides, I cannot believe that Aegon knows any more than you do. He has never had any care for anything besides his own pleasures and you heard poor Helaena’s toast. He targets you because he knows you are more generous and loving than he could ever hope to be.”  Jacaerys chuckles at this, knowing she speaks true of his uncle and melts into her touch at last. 

“You truly do not care?” He asks, toying with the ends of her silver hair that brushes against his knee. 

“Shall I prove it to you, my prince?” she purrs, a teasing mischief in her eyes as she runs a hand up his chest to the nape of his neck, pulling him down to meet her lips in a kiss. He sighs into her embrace, his hands finding purchase on her waist as he deepens the kiss, his tongue darting between her lips. Realizing she is still kneeling on the floor in front of the settee, he grips her hips tightly and pulls her to straddle him, pulling a gasp from her lips which eggs the prince on. Jacaerys’ hands brush through Daeny’s hair, pushing it away from her face, and trail down her back to explore her figure; Daenera weaves one hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the roots and eliciting a groan she feels through her other hand which rests on his chest. 

Without warning, Jace stands and without breaking their kiss carries Daeny with him as he makes his way to the bed, resting her gently on the linen sheets and covering her smaller body with his. All his insecurities and rage momentarily forgotten as he loses himself in her, the only girl he has ever had eyes for, and proves to her, and to himself, just how strong a lover he can be.

[bl00dlight]

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

All NSFW warnings apply in future chapters.

Word Count ~ 3.5k+

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi ● vii ● viii ●ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

vii ~ 'Lord of the Tides'

129 AC

VISENYA - DRAGONSTONE

The sky above was grey, as it always was upon Dragonstone. The air thick and cloying, the inescapable stench of salt, smoke and brimstone filled the lungs of all who dared cross upon its stormy threshold. It was always warm here, clammy - even when it rained.

I oft found solace, riding high over the plains of ashen volcanic rock. The sulphuric steam stinging my skin as I let my dragon take me high upon Dragonmount. There I let myself venture upon its edges, discarding my boots and feeling the jagged stone beneath my feet. I enjoy feeling how it cuts and presses into my skin, sometimes I leave bloodied and limping. Though it feels good, feels righteous to have my blood dried upon its rocks, ritualistic. Just as I claimed Silverwing, I shall claim this island as my own one day.

I watch as Silverwing scurries into the large cavern etched into the side of the mountain. She oft goes there, for that is why Vermithor can be found lazing. It is a strange sight, seeing two beasts which strike such fear into the hearts of men, so affectionate with each other. I too have found comfort in their embrace, often falling asleep aside the two beasts as a child, usually as they coiled. My father, Daemon would be the one to find me, to scoop me in his arms and return me to Dragonstone.

Vermithor had taken a liking to me, he was an aloof beast - distant. Yet it was my bond with Silverwing which softened his gaze upon me, allowing me to sit by them both under the torch light, reading. Silverwing had always been the most gentle of the elder dragons, tentative to my thoughts and whims. I needn't say many commands, for she already knows my desires. Many found it odd I had claimed her over Vermithor, thinking his temperament was more aligned with my own. In some ways, I wish I had. There was something terribly revealing about claiming such a docile dragon. Something vulnerable, as though it revealed my own heart to others without any need for confession.

This was my home, not King's Landing - city of piss and rotting teeth. Dragonstone was a place of magic; I can feel it simmering in the air and ground. Sense it when I place my palm on the rocks. That low humming of the hearth of Valyria, of the Targaryen's. Many find it to be a grim place, akin with Harrenhal - though mystified with blood magic instead of a curse.

But it is that which drives me to it, my heart doesn't fear it's darkness nor its danger. For I know within it, for those truly of the blood of the dragon - its darkness is merely there so that our fire may burn brightly. A cocoon of warmth. It is not like the emptied and sullen corpse of Harrenhal, no, Dragonstone is full - it is alive. So, it came as no shock to my mother that I had forfeited my claim to the throne, opting to rule Dragonstone instead and allow my brother, Jacaerys to be her heir.

The realm deserves a King of a kind and just nature; that is not me. My temper burns too hot, and I have no desire to be pulled as a puppet on a string. I have no taste for politics, nor can bear the burden of pleasing the faith. In that regard, I am much like my father, and he was not meant for the throne either.

Daemon, of course was outraged by this notion and doubled down, claiming my willingness to give up the throne proved I was fair enough to sit upon it. But I know that is not true, for if it were - my mother would have refused me. At first, of course she protested but came to see that my heart lies here, not in court. And I shall continue our line, where our House belongs and I shall raise my brothers Viserys, Aegon iii and any child I might have here - amidst the ash and warmth.

My mother has been generous in her patience of me, and my father overjoyed with the notion that I have not wed yet. They are letting me decide who is worthy, and I still have made no choice. Marriage is to be political yes, but I cannot bare marrying and laying with a man I feel little for. I wish to have what my mother and father have, but there is an unlikely chance it seems.

The most promising match's hail from House Stark and Blackwood. Though neither of which please me greatly. In truth, I had wished to marry as mother did, to a Targaryen, to have an ancestral wedding too. Though it seems the God's did not write such a thing within my fate. So, in turn, I wait. I wait to see just where this path of what has felt like endless girlhood shall end. I am but eight and ten, still no marriage or children to speak - some have suggested that I shall take after my great Aunt Saera Targaryen. In truth such a life sounds rather pleasing; fucking lovers then taking off to Lys, pretending to be a maiden to exploit patrons of pleasure houses. Only difference being I would not have to pretend at first.

As I made my way across the stones, I noted the sky dimming slowly, twas time I return home. Even for a Targaryen, nights on Dragonmount can be treacherous. It was no surprise to me that upon my return, more news of dramatics at King's Landing filled my ears. Luke's legitimacy was being called into question as heir to Driftmark by Vaemond Velaryon, on account of Lord Corlys' sudden illness. Of course, we were to be dragged to the capital for his trial. Despite the matter being settled already, it seemed those sniveling Hightower’s were to reconsider claims that had already been declared by King Viserys, though it was no surprise either to hear how my grandsire had deteriorated in years passing. A part of me longed to visit from time to time, though I knew why mother had to leave. Why it was impossible to stay amongst those dens of vipers.

I sat in Lucerys room, my hand entwined with his as he sat upon his bed. The both of us watching as Jace paced back and forth, ranting and muttering.

"Tis an outrage... how can Grandsire let this stand!" Jace paused and turned to us, his face curdled.

"I... do not know." I say softly, contemplating his words.

Jace's face hardens, he scoffs and turns to where Lucerys and I both sit. His finger pointed directly at me," We should not have spent such time away from King's Landing. Mother ought to have trusted us to face them!"

"She has been rather busy brother, rearing us. Tis not her job to entertain the Hightower’s wicked lies and let us spend our lives defending ourselves against them." I can only shake my head at my younger brother's fierce words. For I know he is brave and true, at times Jace can be too stern for his own good.

Jace purses his lips and turns to look upon the view of the bay. I can tell he has no argument against me, so I smile softly and turn my attention to my other brother, who nestles himself upon my shoulder.

"They aren’t lies though... are they?  Even the Velaryon’s think it so. " The silence is broken as Luke's soft voice fills his chamber. His head rising from my shoulder as Jace turns once more.

“Ser Vaemond does not speak for the Sea Snake, brother…” I said, gently brushing his dark hair from his eye.

“But he speaks the opinion many seem to share.” Luke mutters lowly.

 I turn my head to Jace, and both our gazes interlock as we struggle to confirm what our younger brother already knows. The silence continues, and then, Jace steps forward, his tone proud and measured.

"It matters not what they say. The only relevant truth is the fact we are Targaryen's and that Grandsire, and the Sea Snake supports yours and all our claims." Jace beckons, giving Luke a small smile. We both exchange another look before I watch as Jace turns, making his way towards the window once more.

In the corner of my eye, I can see how Luke’s face curdles with discomfort, I turn my head and give him a gentle nod, “You worry too much. All will be well in time.”

“There is much to worry about. I… I do not feel I am right to rule Driftmark, mayhap they are right to challenge me. I know nothing of commanding a fleet.” His dark eyes lower themselves to the ground, Lucerys frowns softly and I can’t help but pull his chin up so that he might look into my eyes once more.

“What do any of us know of our future duties, brother? What does Jace know about protecting the realm, or I about ruling Dragonstone? That is for us to uncover in time. Fuck the treacherous webs our enemies spin, they have their own wants… desires that tempt them. We need not listen, for once we sit upon our thrones their voices shall be too quiet to even hear.” As I let go of his chin, I found the excitement in my tone again. Lucerys face shifts to chuckle quietly and I do the same, he nods giving me a soft glare before rising to his feet to speak with Jace.

I take a moment to gaze upon my two brothers, to see them now growing into men… when it felt like only a moment ago they were mere boys before me. To see how their temperaments became more distinct by the day, gave me a sense of relief for our futures. They were good and brave, it seemed such were rare traits in times such as these. Their dark hair gleamed bronze in the sunlight for a moment, and I was filled with a warmth, a love that I couldn’t quite explain. Though yes, they were my mother’s sons – at times it felt like they were just as much my baby’s as they were hers. How I had held each one upon their birth and ran my fingers across their fat cheeks when they were babes. How, now as they grew into men it was the hard bone of their jaws my fingers would feel beneath them. Such sentiments made my stomach coil with a grief for our youth, for the innocence I felt was being chipped away at by the day. Yet now, seeing them before me, they still appear as the small boys I once held so close, and I knew it would not be very long until I had to let them go.  

●

The trip to King’s Landing was but a short one on dragonback and the Princess Visenya indeed watched her earthly surroundings go from smoky wonders of Dragonstone to the dust filled haze of the capital. She practically felt her stomach reel from the mere thought of the familiar stench, and after leaving Silverwing in the Dragonpits it came as a surprise to all her family that upon their arrival to the Red Keep, none from their own House were there to greet them. Only Lord Caswell appeared before Princess Rhaenyra, approaching her with an understanding gaze. Of course, Alicent and her peculiar spawn would not show the decency of kin, for they weren’t. Not truly. Perhaps by blood, but it seemed that made matters worse given the context of the Blacks return. Still, Visenya thought, it had been six years since last they saw the rest of their family. Six years since the night on Driftmark which led to an even greater rift… six years since he had lost his-

“Sister!” Jacaerys snapped his finger before her face, snickering at the dazed Princess.

Visenya looked up from her entranced gaze, realising she had been staring at the ground below, she looked around to see the bustling of carriages and servants around her. The Princess shifted to her two half-brothers, Jace and Luke standing before her. The glimmer of Rhaenyra and Daemon’s silver hair disappearing into the darkness as they made their way into the keep.

“Mother and Daemon are to have an audience with Alicent, and it seems none of the Hightower’s have made time in their day to greet us. We are on our own.” Jace scoffed, folding his arms as he cocked his head.

Visenya raised her brow, nodding as she began to walk, “Tis a blessing really. I do not wish to ruin such a beautiful day with the look of their sullen faces.” Her head turned as Jace and Luke followed alongside her.

“They did all seem rather grey didn’t they?” Jace jested, chuckling to himself.

The three young Targaryen’s continued forth, making their way up the stairs from the middle bailey and into the halls of the Keep. Visenya spoke once more.

“I’d imagine all the years of conspiring and prayer has meant for little time in the sun. They likely appear as corpses now.” The Princess hollowed her cheeks as she gave a wink to Luke, winning a small giggle from him.

Once they had reached Maegor’s Holdfast, the siblings had branched off, returning to settle in to their childhood chambers. As Visenya reached hers a wave of bitter nostalgia washed over her, she let her fingers glide upon the stone walls observing how it had been kept so similar yet… different to how she had left it. Naturally, she had taken her belongings with her but the furniture and the deep crimson bedding. Yes, it had been left just as it was. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the freshly lit candles, the small dish of water and soap which sat in a silver tray upon her vanity, a small rag draping over the chair. Visenya smiled, knowing the servants had remembered such preferences of hers. Near her bed, sat the small trunk of the few belongings she’d brought from Dragonstone. Upon the mattress itself, lay the scarlet gown and matching slippers.

She sat upon her bed, taking in the smell of damp and mildew. The air around her was quite cold, though a fire crackled. It was likely her chambers had not been used since her departure, from the smell of it – it seemed to not have been cleaned very often either. She settled in, and soon found herself sitting at her old vanity. Admiring how she had grown, how the last time she gazed into this mirror she was but a girl.

The princess had indeed grown vigorously as the years passed. Much like her parents it seemed she had inherited both the mind and body of a dragonrider. Imposing, her body had become – not only to others but to herself. Her form Junoesque, unyielding in its femininity as her hips and breasts were among the first thing to develop suddenly. It seemed almost overnight she had no longer fit into the clothing she once freely adorned, her body changing, aching even. The first time she had gotten her moonblood felt like a life sentence for Visenya, as no more did she feel the same kind of unawareness of her body. The princess had felt like she was now very much a prisoner to her newly found womanhood, she seldom understood why such changes were needed. Why every moon her belly would swell, growing heavy and coil with pain, how she would have to crawl to her mother’s quarters and lay by her side simply to reassure such things were normal. Though, as the years had gone by, she adjusted to such feeling, relished that the pain she felt at times was proof of her fortitude. That no man could endure such sufferance so frequently.

Visenya marveled at her sun-kissed skin, the way her silver hair gleamed now that it had grown even longer than her mothers. She kept it loose, unbound; for she relished in letting her body grow as it pleased, there was no use in taming herself; her hair included. Indeed, did the Princess enjoy herself – for no matter how beautiful a man thought her to be, it was herself which she wished to appease the most. The Princess was strict regarding her standards, unwavering that she would be dressed in the finest gowns, and smell of the richest scents the realm had to offer. Whether it was silk from Dorne or perfumed oil from Lys – she simply refused to lead a life without such beauty within it. Some may think it shallow or indulgent, but Visenya knew it was merely her lust for life which drove her towards such luxuries. She wished to experience everything, wished for a life of sensuality and passion. There was no grey cloud in her sky that was without a silver lining, for she would not accept much less than satisfaction. After all, there was so much suffering in the realm, so much ugliness and brutality. She owed it to every poor soul who died so terribly, to live life as it ought to be lived. Indulging and embracing pleasure and beauty in every way, for so few had the opportunity to.

Such mentality, did however, lead her at times to indulge in the filtrations of men and despite Visenya’s bravado, she was gentle at heart - oft stringing men along rather than shatter their dreams of winning her favor. Such is exactly what her father had told her worried him before their arrival to King’s Landing. He spoke of how difficult it was stopping his inclinations to assault the few men he might find leering at her at Dragonstone. King’s Landing, however, was a different beast and Prince Daemon had no doubt he would be combatting an endless sea of men who might have more lecherous ideas. He had spoken sternly about keeping to herself, not drawing attention to herself beyond what would already be given. That if any man were to approach her, she would deny him.

The Princess of course, found her father’s worry amusing, the few times she had entertained men had only ever ended up with innocent mischief being made, and at times drunken affections… which were oft less innocent in nature.  But she was no fool as to lose her virtue before marriage, for she knew how such a thing impacted her mother and she had promised herself that her virtue was a pleasure in itself. That there is beauty in saving herself for the truest, purest of loves, as there is beauty in indulging in fleshly pleasure. Visenya was positive no man would attempt to accost her in such a manner, for if they did they would face the wrath of her mother and of course the looming threat of her rumoured father, Prince Daemon.

As she prepared herself to leave, she peeled the thick, black riding leathers from her frame, cringing at the particular scent of sweat and dragon that ruminated from them.  Visenya then doused the rag in the bowl of water, using the soap to scrub at any and all places which eluded to such a scent. Soon, she had changed her undergarments, and drew the scarlet shaded gown over her frame; it’s sleeves long and elaborate, intwining string which laced across her structured shoulders. Visenya then pulled a small vile of perfumed oil, from her trunk, dabbing it upon her skin and threading it through her hair. The contents of which filled the room with the smell of heady jasmine and musk, a recent gift from a nobleman in Lys.

As she left her chamber, she was accosted by Jace and Luke. Who swiftly grabbed her wrist pulling her along the corridors as they babbled about going back to the middle bailey to re visit where they trained as children.

 Once they reached those fateful steps, they let go and waved for her to join them in a busy yard below..

“Come. You can watch.” Jace beckoned, Luke stopping upon the steps to look up towards her.

Visenya shook her head, leaning against stone banister upon the mezzanine which overlooked the commotion below. The Princess cocked her head to the side, “I’ve just changed… I have little intention of getting myself filthy once more.”

“Of course…” Jacaerys shook his head, rolling his eyes as he let out an amused scoff, “Suit yourself then.”

With that, the two boys trotted down the steps, and Visenya looked upon the bustling yard below.  She watched with a hearty smile as her brothers made their way towards the wooden weaponry stand, Jace playfully swinging one of the swords at Lucerys. However, she noted the few people who glared at her brothers and the whispering that occurred in their presence. A slight anger rose in her belly, do these fat old Lord’s and Lady’s have little else to do but gossip?

She waited until a pair had noticed Visenya’s scowling from above, and smiled smugly when swiftly they turned their heads and went about their business. A small gathering had distracted the Princess, as it seemed there to be an on going sparring session in the far corner of the yard. The whipping of long silver hair catching her attention, and she noticed how her brothers had soon caught wind of the action, joining the crowd below.

The silver haired figure was lithe with lean thew and a tall frame all tightly contained in black leathers. He swiftly jostled the sword in his hand with a fine precision, but her eyes caught a familiar sight, that it was Ser Criston whom the figure dueled against. A cunt, though he may be, but a talented fighter indeed.

Criston swung his Morningstar, shattering the figure’s shield. He’s done for. Visenya thought. However, she raised her brow in intrigue as the figure discarded his shield with fierce aggression and then began striking. Perhaps not. She thought again, impressed by his fortitude. One after the other, a flash of steel and light locks before he ducked and turned – it was then when she felt her heart practically fall into her chest. The figures face sharp and aquiline, his skin pale… too pale. That familiar grey.

It was the black eye patch which was tightly fastened over his right eye which gave it away.

Aemond.

He continued on, fighting harshly and fiercely against Cole before finally, winning the duel. Visenya looked at her brothers below, hearing Aemond’s voice mutter something to them both as he had finally acknowledged the two young Princes’. Though something had told her, Aemond was well aware of their presence. Jace looked up at Visenya pleadingly, and it came as no surprise then when she looked back, she noticed Aemond’s gaze follow her brothers upwards.

For what could have only had been a second, they clocked each other. The Princess felt her eyes widen, shock, fear, anger, intrguie, digust; any and all emotion flooding through her in those fateful seconds. He noticed her, he took her in. He knew it was her. She tussled her hair back and looked away, pretending as though she hadn't recognized him.

Aemond narrowed his eye upon the Princess, scanning her briefly. He had only gazed upon her for a second, he tilted his head as if he was contemplating something before his attention was drawn to the incoming drawing of the heavy gates.

Visenya steadied her breath and watched as the gates opened with a heavy moan. If only to make matters worse, the arriving party was another headache in itself... Vaemond Velaryon.

○viii○

[mmogurl]

In The Shadow of Dragons Chapter 9: Coiled Up and Hissing

18+ | 5.1k | Daemon Targaryen X Female OC | possessive, protective, objectifying, simping, raunchy Daemon | Uncle / niece incest, Targcest, Courtship, alt canon universe

I don't want to spoil this chapter, so I'm not going to describe what happens given I get into it pretty quickly anyway! The one thing I will say - is that there is some drama - and you can probably tell with who from the gif above. ;) Also, I was running behind with editing on this chapter, so apologies if there are any flubs in it. Told from Daemon's POV.

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5 | CH 6 | CH 7 | CH 8 | CH 9 Also on AO3

Time seemed to stretch on far slower than it should have as Daemon waited patiently for his sweetling to join him in the Godswood.

Earlier, he had retired to his chambers for awhile, freshened up, and even busied himself reading an excerpt from a rather large tome on Valyrian history. He’d enjoyed the familiarity of reading the runes of his mother language, the daring acts of his ancestors captivating him until the night fell heavier upon the Red Keep.

By now he was certain the hour of the bat had come and gone, giving way to its successor, the eel. And as he paced back and forth in front of the great weirwood tree, a puzzled scowl darkened his face in wondering what was keeping his sweet betrothed from their planned meeting. It was not like her to keep him waiting, and yet as more time passed and she did not appear, Daemon’s mood became uneasy with worry that something might actually be wrong.

He was just about to go and seek her out, figuring he’d knock at the secret passageway to gain access to her room, when the sound of footsteps rustling through the grass rose to his attention. He faced the direction of the noise, and smiled as he saw the silhouette of one clad in a dress. Daemon’s mouth opened to call out to her, but stopped before speaking as he realized the form did not belong to his Ryna. No, this woman had a stouter frame than his slender riñitsos, a figure widened by childbirth that he knew well; it was Rhaenyra.

Daemon’s brow furrowed, his expression shifting from one of expectation to confusion, then finally to irritation. There was very little reason for his eldest niece to be out and about at night and given he was expecting Ryna, she was only making a nuisance of herself as far as he was concerned.

“Niece?” he called out with a frown. “What in the Seven Hells are you doing out here at this hour?”

“I thought I might find you here,” she said in a voice that might have sounded coy coming from any other woman. But Rhaenyra made it sound natural, proud even, as though there was nothing wrong with their meeting here.

As she stepped out of the shadows into the glowing moonlight that bathed the clearing, Daemon was able to see her more clearly. He was surprised to take in the state of her dress, looking as though it had been thrown on haphazardly, the laces barely tightened and the bust hanging lowly. She also donned a hooded robe over it, her hair a tangle of silver gold about her shoulders, reflecting brightly as though she were an ethereal being.

There was a look of heady desire in her eyes as she approached him, though he knew not if it was hunger for him or if she had other ulterior motives in mind as was typical with the heir to the throne. Rhaenyra stood beside him, almost too closely, peering up with a mixture of determination and a wanton desperation.

“I need to speak with you,” she said, her voice tinged with a sense of entitlement, as though she expected he should drop everything to listen to her.

“Shouldn’t you be abed,” Daemon replied, his voice slightly sardonic, but still betraying an air of concern. Rhaenyra was certainly a headstrong Targaryen woman, but she typically kept her more questionable antics private. That she would approach him now in this unkempt state, told him that there was something more to her visit.

Daemon stood stock still, almost shocked by her daring as she took another step closer, so near he could feel the heat radiating from her body.

“Perhaps I should,” she agreed, her voice taking on a huskier tone as she looked up at him almost challengingly. “But you see, I can’t sleep. I have too much on my mind.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression betraying doubt at her answer. She seemed a little too emboldened, too confident for his liking, and the overabundance of flesh peering through her gown suggested she had come with plans for much than just talking.

“Rhaenyra,” he said coldly, his words a warning against any further encroachment of his patience. “Return to your chambers before you behave in a way we will both regret.”

“Like I would not regret allowing my simple little sister to take you away from me?” she snapped back defiantly, her voice full of fire and rebellion.

Who the blazes does she think she is?? Impertinent little pup.

Oh, she had surely gotten his attention now. This whole charade of hers going from mildly amusing to downright insulting. His gaze darkened, his fists clenching with anger. How could Rhaenyra have the nerve to spout such things about his beloved, directly to his face as though it might help her cause and not hinder it?

He loomed hither to her, his posture threatening as he towered over her frame purposefully. “You would do well to watch your tongue, Niece,” he said, his words a low hiss. “I am not swayed as easily as you might think. No matter how you might try to entice me.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, her lips pursed in a stubborn pout, though her body was moving closer, pressing against him as though compelled by an invisible force. Her hand reached out to touch his chest, skimming over the heavy woolen surcoat he wore.

“You wouldn’t have to do anything,” she crooned in a voice tinged with need. “I will take care of everything, if you wish it.”

The feel of her warm touch on his body sent a small shiver down his spine. He carefully schooled his features to hide the reaction from her, but Daemon could not deny that Rhaenyra was a beautiful woman. Even so, the unflinching resolve in her eyes and the presumptive quality of her voice sent a spark of anger through him. As though she saw no other outcome to this scenario but for him to succumb to her wiles. How dare she think she might just sweep in and have him simply because she desired him so?

With a deliberate air of calmness, he placed his own hand over hers on his chest. “And what did you expect to offer me?” he answered her forwardness with a cold indifference.

The Realm’s Delight smiled, a smug, confident expression that said she already thought this battle of wills won between them. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, her fingers kneading soflty against the fabric of his surcoat.

“Anything you want, Uncle,” she said in a seductive whisper. “Anything you’ve dreamt of I will give you. If only you’ll forsake Ryna for me. We can get rid of my useless husband and finally be wed as it should have been in the first place. It should be you standing by my side when I sit upon the Iron Throne.” She leaned in dangerously close, her breath ghosting against the base of his neck. “Do not pretend that it is not everything you’ve ever truly wanted.”

The Iron Throne though cold and jagged was a tempting lure, one she knew would give him pause to consider. No matter how alluring, Daemon abhorred the way she spoke to him, as though his resistance was nothing more than a formality. He knew her to be impulsive, but this was something else entirely. Did she not realize that she was belittling his sweetling? He was no longer simply angry, but furious with the insult that she thought the Rogue Prince, a fearless rebel with no cause but that of his own choosing, would ever cow to her.

“You think you have some power over me?” he growled, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. “That I would simply discard my riñitsos because you offered me something you think grander?”

“Do not call her that,” she seethed, jealousy transparent as a scowl formed on her face at hearing such a familiar term of endearment. “I won’t let you do this, Daemon,” she continued in a voice that was becoming unhinged. “I cannot allow you to give yourself to her. You are mine.”

“You cannot allow?” his tone was sharp, his expression suddenly menacing as his hands moved to grip down roughly on her arms, pulling her closely to him. His eyes flashed with fury, like a violet storm beneath darkened brows. “No one, Rhaenyra, least of all you, tells me what I will or will not do,” he stated firmly and succinctly. “I will give myself to whomever I choose, and you will not stop me. You will not dictate to me, and you will not make demands. Do you understand?”

The look on her face was obstinate, a spoiled child not used to being rebuffed in this manner. She had always gotten her way, never been denied anything in her entire life, and she did not seem pleased with the concept of rejection.

“You cannot do this,” she whimpered as she shook her head with bewilderment. “You cannot just leave me for her. You have always been mine. Our hearts were always meant to burn together!”

Rhaenyra lunged forward, pressing her lips against his violently. It took him by such surprise that he froze a moment before regaining his wits and pulling back while keeping her in place with his grip. An agonized lament echoed out against the sound of his thudding heart, startling him even more than the forceful kiss had. He had thought the shriek made by the spoiled child in his grasp, but when he looked down to see her head turned to the side, a wicked grin tearing through her cheeks, his heart sank as he followed her gaze.

His world seemed to freeze with cruel clarity as his vision zeroed in on the fleeting figure of his sweetling. Turned on her heels and running from the ghastly sight of her intended kissing her sister. He rememebered the fears she’d given voice to when they first discussed the possibility of wedding, how she would not be second best even to her husband. His heart nearly stopped beating, his ears ringing and his stomach twisting as the reality of the situation fully set in.

No… No… No…

“You vicious wench,” he let out a hiss, roughly pushing Rhaenyra away from him, his amethyst eyes narrowed and filled with a murderous intent. “What have you done?”

But, it was not a question he expected an answer to, and as his violence gave way to horror it seemed everything went silent besides that deafening trill in his head.

“Fuck!” he raged, running as fast as his legs would carry him to catch up with her. “Ryna! Wait!” he called after her, not knowing if she heard him or whether she would heed the call if she had. He knew he could not let that bitch, Rhaenyra, win though, that he could not let his precious girl escape thinking the worst of him.

He could not lose Ryna, not because of this foolhardy blunder. He could not allow this one incident to destroy the bond they had spent a lifetime forging, and the past month honing. Not when they had come so damn close to finally being together.

“Sweetling!” Daemon’s voice roared up to the heavens as he sprinted out from the empty corridor and into the open air of the training yard. His long legs propelled him faster than the wind and yet he couldn’t seem to close the gap between them. “Stop! Wait! I can explain.. Just wait, Gods damn it!”

She looked back for a brief moment in response to his call and that was when she stumbled forward, tripping over a shield that had been left against a haybale. Finally, he closed in on her from behind, his wide reach enveloping her fully in his arms.

“Let go of me!” she fussed, kicking and elbowing him in a frantic attempt to get away.

“No!” he barked firmly, his hands wrapped tightly around her, keeping her arms trapped down at her sides so she could not escape. “Stop struggling. You are not getting away from me,” he held onto her vehemently, his voice a low snarl.

“How could you do this to me, Daemon? Was it always your plan to betray me for her? To make me fall so deeply in love with you that it would hurt all the more when she took you from me?” her voice was choked with tears, and it pained him to hear her say such things. Even knowing those terrible words came from a place of pain didn’t make them bite any less.

“I did nothing!” he bellowed loudly at her with frustration. Soon he could hear the clinking of platemail nearing as one of the Kingsguard came to investigate the commotion. They would not have privacy for long if they did not move. “This is exactly what that bitch wanted. Do not let her win. Come with me willingly and I will explain.”

Daemon turned her in his arms and gave her a firm squeeze, hoping that she would see reason. “Please,” he found himself asking softly, looking upon her tear-stained cheeks, the sound of heavy metal footsteps were getting closer with every passing moment. He could not remember the last time he had pleaded with someone like this. For a time it seemed as though the word please had not been a part of his vocabulary at all. Long ago he’d decided that nobody would ever make him beg for anything and yet here he was.

“Please, my sweet girl,” he implored her once more.

Her lower lip was still trembling with upset, but she nodded ever so faintly at him in acceptance. He took her hand and ran up the steps, ducking into the corridor that led past the Hand’s Tower to avoid any unwanted questioning. The last thing he needed was for the king to find out that he had been chasing his crying betrothed around the Red Keep at all hours of the night. Without any context as to what had occurred, Daemon knew Viserys would think the worst of him. It would mean the end of everything.

They needed privacy, a place he could speak freely away from the prying ears of staff and guard alike. Daemon placed a hand of the stone wall, his breath ragged from the exertion of running through the keep like a madman.

“Listen to me, riñitsos,” he ducked down, patting her hair back against the crown of her head soothingly. “Go back to your chambers and let me in the back way. We have made enough of a spectacle tonight. I promise I will be entirely honest with you, but we need to use discretion. Can you do this for me?”

Ryna wiped tears away from her face, almost as if offended by the presence of such weakness. Those beautiful, big eyes of hers were puffy and red from crying and yet still so full of injury. He hated that her ire was directed at him when he had done nothing to welcome Rhaenyra’s advances.

“Do not look upon me with such hateful eyes,” he said somberly, a hint of pain cracking into his voice. “You know your sister is capable of treachery. You know what a spiteful creature she is,” he tried to speak reason so that she might understand. “And what record of betrayal have you known of me? When have I ever hurt you so?”

She looked blankly at him, a weariness now settling into her features. Daemon could not stand to see her like this.

“Please, sweetling,” he murmured, bringing a hand up to the side of her face and wiping a few more of those salty tears away from her cheek. “Just do as I bid you.”

His head was still swarming with anger as he thought about the conniving little wretch. The way Rhaenyra had tricked him so effortlessly into believing she was in distress and the cruel laugh of malice that he’d heard as he ran off after Ryna. He felt like such a fool to be had in such a way, but he would never underestimate Rhaenyra again, would never allow her close again.

He leaned forward, his lips finding the peak of her head and giving her a gentle kiss. Her hair smelled so good, still fresh from her bath but mixed with the faint smell of sweat from their tussle. Daemon found himself just wanting to wrap himself up in this scent that was wholy hers, remembering every moment of passion they’d shared together vividly.

Gods, she is too precious to lose like this. Not like this…

“Fine, but only to explain yourself,” she finally eked out. “Nothing else.”

“Of course,” he agreed readily, his voice too eager for his own liking. “Then straight to your chambers, dear one. I will come to the back passage shortly.”

Ryna nodded and turned, dragging her feet slowly as she took the hallway that led back towards her room. Daemon hoped he could make her see the truth of what had transpired, but he feared she might not listen. That his sweetling would dwell on only her deepest fears come true, that Rhaenyra would always take everything that was hers and she would be left with nothing that was her own.

He could not accept that as an outcome, would not accept it. He rushed down the stairs, through the Great Hall until he reached the tunnels. Taking a torch from the wall, he found the path he knew well to Ryna’s room and was delighted to find the door already ajar for him. Despite everything that had already occurred, Daemon thought it a good sign that she had allowed him entry, though he would not mistake it for forgiveness.

There was still a heaviness about him as he quietly entered her chambers through the secret passage. He found her already seated on the edge of the bed, her elbows on her knees and her head hanging low in her hands as she waited for him. Daemon took a seat next to her, leaving some distance betweem them to show her that he would respect her space, at least for now.

“Ryna…” he spoke, letting out a long sigh. Daemon could hardly imagine how to put into words all the things he needed to say right now. How did one even begin to defend what appeared so obviously to be betrayal? “Where do I even start?” he said aloud, his mind going back to how the entire mess had unfolded. “I can tell you this much, that I did not desire that kiss,” he stated firmly. “It was wholly unbidden and unwelcome. The act of a desperate woman.”

“So what happened then? How did she come to be held in your arms?” Ryna asked with incredulity. “How did she even know you would be there?”

“I know not,” he replied with the same level of disbelief. “She said she thought she might find me there. I had been waiting for you obviously. I arrived there perhaps a touch earlier than I should have in my eagerness to see you alone. Your sister looked a mess, as though she’d risen from bed and carelessly thrown a dress and cloak on. In all truth, I thought something was wrong with her at first glance.”

Ryna looked at him intently, the apathy draining slowly from her eyes as she listened to his story. “Go on,” she encouraged him to continue.

“I told her she should be back in bed sleeping, but she insisted that she could not sleep. That was when she became quite bold, and I warned her to leave before she did something she would regret.”

He sighed with exasperation, hating that he must repeat such a horrible thing to this sweet girl who already felt a severe amount of insecurity at her place in life. He would protect her from any uncessary pain if at all possible, but not too much lest she think him lying to her.

“I do not know what to make of what followed after. I might actually wonder if Rhaenyra is far crueler than any of us might have imagined or that she has gone mad,” his tone was resigned, hoping that she would actually believe him.

“Why? What did she do next?” there was a hint of curiosity in Ryna’s eyes. Was it too naive of him to hope that her inquisitiveness meant she might trust him more now?

“I hate to tell you this, sweetling, for you will not be glad to hear it,” Daemon looked at her with a sadness in his expression. “I do not wish to be the one who tears you and your sister apart.”

“It is a little too late for that, is it not?” Ryna said raising her eyebrows expectantly.

Daemon’s jaw tightened with the regret that she was correct in her assertion. He knew she would never look at Rhaenyra the same again after what happened that night and his side of the events would most definitely make it worse.

“Do not hate me for telling you this, riñitsos,” he spoke with a softer tone now, trying to lessen the blow. “She came on to me, obviously. She said she would give me whatever I wished if I would forsake you, and I refused. I was furious with her for insulting you so.”

“Then why were you so close to her? Why was she kissing you when I came upon you both?” Ryna looked hurt still, but it was different now. Her features brightening as she tried to put the pieces together, attempting to clear Daemon of any wrong-doing.

He shook his head, trying to remember the flash of insanity that had happened in such a brief span of time. “She was all over me and it was all I could do but to hold her back from me. When she would not accept my answer. She demanded that I was hers. That she would not allow you and I to wed.”

Daemon could not help but to scoff at the thought of it. A part of him still couldn’t believe how deranged Rhaenyra had sounded.

“Of course then I got even more incensed and meant to intimidate her when I grabbed her by the arms, to get her to give up the foolish notion that I would somehow leave you in favor of her. And that is when she reached up and kissed me.”

“I see,” Ryna let out a long winded sigh as she looked forward once more, resting her hands on her thighs as she sat more upright.

There was a long silence before Daemon finally broke it. “Sweetling,” he reached out and touched the back of her hand, dwarfing it with his much larger palm. “I know this is not easy, but I really do need you to believe me when I say this.” He leaned in carefully grasping her chin so she would look at him. “You are the one I want, dear girl.”

Her pale eyes shimmered as emotion began to overtake her and he took the opportunity to move close to her side, to wrap his arms around her and offer some comfort. “It saddens me that you don’t see how beautiful you are. How you’re so sweet and caring, yet still you possess a fiery tempest within. It’s you I’ve wanted all these years, even when it felt like a crime to acknowledge such feelings. It felt wrong to want someone so pure, but now that I’ve come to know what an incredible woman you are, I can not bear the idea of being without you. That anyone else might have you. I have never felt this way about anyone before, riñitsos.”

He took a deep breath, letting it out as he collected himself, honing his words with a sincerity that he was not accustomed to.

“I have married in the past for convenience, even married for what I thought might be affection.. But with you, my sweet girl,” he pulled back enough to force those gorgeous, weeping eyes to look at him once more. Daemon needed her to know the depth of his emotion so that she might never doubt him again. “With you I will be marrying for love for the first time.”

Ryna buried her face in the crook of his neck, sniffling as she turned into his embrace. Daemon exhaled with a slight shudder as her wet cheeks pressed against his skin, the warmth she exuded soothing him in a way he had never known before. Her acceptance of his touch felt healing, like a balm for his soul. It was the closest anyone had ever come to pacifying the rage that lied just below the surface at any given moment.

The need to protect her was overwhelming in ways he never could have anticipated. He knew she was not a delicate flower who needed saving by any means, but he wanted to guard her from the harsh realities of life. To shelter her from the despicable relatives that saw her as a pawn in a game, or those like Rhaenyra who saw no need for her to be on the board at all. Where he had felt nothing but loyalty towards his family prior, Ryna had now become the centerpiece of his allegiance.

Daemon gently stroked her silken locks as she wept, trying to find the right way to settle her. “It is alright, sweetling,” his voice was soft and tender. “Come here,” he said pulling her small frame up onto his lap. “I’ve got you.”

He wrapped one arm around her, hugging her against his broad chest and held her tight as though she was the most precious thing to him in existence. While his free hand combed through her hair, carding through the platinum curls over and over. Daemon held her like that for what felt like ages, whispering sweet nothings in her ear and hoping it provided her some level of relief.

It was then, during those moments that a thought occurred to him. He didn’t want to wait any longer to make her his wife. Another week was simply too long a time to delay when he felt the overwhelming urge to declare his devotion to her before the old gods.

“Little dragon?” he asked suddenly, leaning back to make eye contact. “I wish to marry you.”

“What?” she asked almost confused by his words, wiping her eyes on the backs of her hands. “We will be wed soon though.”

“No,” he replied with a shake of his head, his hand coming up to caress her cheek. Daemon’s expression was serious as he held her gaze. “I mean as soon as possible. Today. Now. I can not wait a sennight to call you my wife.”

“But, how?” she looked upon him with such unsure, yet hopeful eyes. “There will be a big wedding held before the Seven, I’m sure, as is always done.”

“Yes, yes,” he said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “There can be a grand ceremony before the High Septon with all the pomp and spectacle that is customary. But I wish to give you more than that. A marriage before the old gods would solidify the bond with the most important people in attendance. Not all the lords who wish to curry favor, nor the ladies who simply wish to seen in the presence of greatness and gossip.” He paused with a smile before completing the thought. “I wish to bond with you first, rinitsos. Before anyone else.”

“Daemon,” she replied quietly, her voice almost too choked up to speak, yet she managed. “You mean a Valyrian ceremony?”

He leaned in close enough for his nose to brush her own, his eyes gazing fondly upon her. “Yes, my love. A Valyrian wedding forged with fire and blood.” The thought of it was almost too perfect, to eschew the new gods in favor of the old.

In any other case, he would have asked Viserys to do the honors, but he doubted his brother would approve before the official wedding. That didn’t leave many options, but he might be able to find one among the Dragonkeepers that could officiate. After all, he already knew the rites practically by heart from his studies and the dragon tenders were the only others well versed in Valyrian besides the some of the more studied maesters.

“Doesn’t it require frozen fire?” she asked, a look of concern in her features as though they might not be able to procure such a thing on short notice.

“Yes, sweetling, it does. And as you also might know, there are many such deposits on Dragonstone. I’ve already a dagger we might use for the ritual, so don’t concern yourself with that,” Daemon said quietly, brushing a soft kiss against her nose before withdrawing to look upon her once more.

“The only question that remains, is if you want this as well?” his words were gentle, a slight smirk teasing the edges of his lips as he peered at her.

Ryna appeared bewildered, yet touched by the idea of engaging in a private wedding reception. Her eyes were wide and thoughtful as she stared at him with a look that felt as though it were piercing through his very being. He worried for a moment that she might still harbor doubts about his loyalties, but then her face softened considerably, a warm smile forming in acceptance.

“Yes, I do want this,” she whispered, leaning in closely and pressing a tender, albeit brief kiss against his lips. “I want you to be mine and mine alone.” Her words breathed against his cheek as she nestled in tightly against him.

Daemon pulled her into his body with a deep exhale, hugging her against his chest with both arms wrapped around her slender frame. He buried his nose in her silvery locks, inhaling the sweet scent of roses from her hair. Despite everything that had happened, even through her worries, Ryna still wanted to be his.

“I am yours,” he sighed into her hair. His hand reached up to tangle in her silky ringlets as he withdrew, knowing he must make the preparations in haste lest he be forced to wait another day to be bonded to her. “I will arrange the ceremony immediately, even if I must wake some poor fools. Tomorrow night,” he said with a hungry ache to have her, “You will finally be mine.”

I wanted to make a quick note about how I chose to write Daemon in this ending scene. I'm sure some may think he is far too direct, sincere, and honest with Ryna, but after going through it in my head countless times.. I decided I feel it is in character. You have to figure, he has endured a lot by now just to have the chance to wed her and there is no way in the seven hells that he is going to let her go. I think by now, his feelings are maturing a bit too, into love and less infatuation and lust. I wouldn't say he's all the way there yet, but he can definitely realize that he doesn't want to lose her. And I'd even go as far as to say the thought would be troubling to him, almost cause a panic as it does when he's first caught. So yes, while I realize I don't have to make excuses for how I choose to write characters in my own fanfics, I still felt I wanted to make note of it. I do realize he comes off as far more emotional than normal, but I think he would be in this case.

[glamdringwlv]

Unchain my heart: Part 3. Heart of glass

Unchain my heart series. Logan Howlett x oc!fmale Summary: Mia Green has grown up in a lab, subjected to numerous experiments due to her status as a mutant. When she manages to escape, Charles Xavier takes her in at his mansion, giving her a new life and helping her regain her memories. However, the arrival of a new resident at the mansion threatens to destabilize everything she believed.

Warnings: Violence, foul language, a mix of various canons, X-Men movies, X-Men animated series, X-men comics.

The door hadn’t even fully closed when Mia was practically standing over Charles.

“What are you hiding from me?” she demanded, her voice firm, though it barely reflected the emotional storm raging inside her.

The professor looked at her seriously, his expression hard and distant, which only fueled her anger. She knew he wouldn’t approve of what had happened in the danger room, but Mia was tired of hearing the same reprimands over and over. “You let your instincts take over. You’ve lost your—”

“Don’t you dare, Charles,” she interrupted, her voice trembling with fury. “Don’t for a second think I’m going to let you twist this situation.”

He stayed silent, observing her with that same serious gaze. He had never seen her like this, so out of control, her brow furrowed continuously, her breathing heavy. Mia stared at him with an intensity she could barely contain. Her mind was spinning in a thousand different directions. Every second that passed made her feel more alone, more vulnerable, though she would never admit it. The respect she had for Charles was eroding with each truth he chose to keep from her.

Mia quickly raised the mental barriers she had trained to keep Charles out, even if only for a moment. She believed what had slipped out from her mind wasn’t his business. She was hesitant to share anything, especially since most of her secrets had already been dissected by him.

“As I was saying, you’ve lost control, something that’s very unlike you.”

She was stunned by the coldness of his response. She wanted to shout at him that it wasn’t unusual for her, that she was always on the verge of breaking, that every second was a battle to keep the chaos inside from taking over. If she didn’t, she feared she’d end up alienating everyone around her, destroying the only home she’d ever known. But she said nothing. Instead, she pressed her lips into a thin line, swallowing the bitter words.

Charles continued, seemingly unaware (or perhaps fully aware) of the pain he was causing.

“Logan will be staying here for a while. I believe Magneto is after him. Try to keep things civil.”

Civil... The word echoed in her mind with irony. How could she be civil with someone like Logan? That mutant was the very opposite of everything she struggled to keep in check. The mere mention of his name sent her mind spiraling back to their confrontation. Her anger flared again.

“He’s the one who didn’t make a civil introduction.”

“Do I need to remind you of your first days at the mansion?” Charles responded, his calmness only infuriating her further.

Memories flooded her mind, uninvited. She saw herself, younger, more fragile, lost, and terrified. The self-imposed isolation, the fear of not knowing who she was, and the pressure of being in a place where everyone expected something from her.

“I was a child who had everything taken from her, even her memories. It’s normal that I behaved that way. What’s his excuse? Does he not like the wallpaper?”

Charles sighed, but his gaze remained firm.

“Mia, don’t be hasty. You shouldn’t judge what you don’t understand. I think you’d be surprised.”

Mia’s heart pounded harder. She knew there was more to Logan’s presence. She had seen it in Charles’s thoughts, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Her head was full of unanswered questions, and the professor refused to give her the explanations she sought.

“Of course I don’t understand,” she replied, her tone sharp. “I don’t understand why you’re hiding things from me. I know he has something to do with me. I saw it in your mind the other day when I was searching for information about my past.”

She almost broke through her train of thought, tempted to delve into the professor’s mind again and demand answers, but that would only prove that, as he believed, she had completely lost control.

“There are things you need to discover on your own. We don’t know the damage it might cause for you to confront your past all at once. If you saw Logan in my thoughts, maybe it’s because, before our training, I was tracking him with Cerebro.”

Mia nodded, though she didn’t fully believe Charles’s words. She wanted to trust him, because he had never let her down before, but deep down, the beast she kept hidden roared with a different opinion. She had no reason to doubt the professor, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that this time, things might be different.

“Now, I ask that you be patient and ensure what happened this morning doesn’t happen again.”

A scoff escaped her lips, disbelief written all over her face.

“I didn’t seek it out. That idiot barged into my class and doubted my abilities without even knowing me. Not to mention he almost sliced my neck open with those forks of his.”

“Mia…”

“No, don’t ‘Mia’ me. I’ll try to keep it together, but that jerk needed a lesson, and I gave it to him.”

She was so furious that she didn’t hear the door open behind her. She only realized they weren’t alone when Charles’s gaze shifted to a point over her shoulder. She closed her eyes for a second, searching for patience, but all she found was a growing sense of betrayal.

“Fotks, huh?”

Logan’s raspy voice filled the room, interrupting her thoughts. The sound of his rough, mocking tone snapped her out of her anger.

“You betrayed me, Charles,” she said, her eyes blazing with fury as she pointed a finger at the professor. She felt that words weren’t enough to express the indignation coursing through her. Then, she crossed her arms tightly, as if trying to contain her own power from exploding right then and there.

You called him. You let me keep talking while he was right behind me.

For his part, Charles remained calm, raising an eyebrow at her unusually childish behavior.

I didn’t get a chance to warn you.

“What the hell is going on here? You know it’s rude to talk about someone when they’re in the room, right?” Logan’s gruff voice cut in.

For the first time since he entered the room, Mia turned to look at him, and the space suddenly felt too small. Her heart skipped a beat, and once again, she felt the need to restrain a part of herself.

“Logan, I called you here to resolve the ‘misunderstanding’ between you and Miss Green.”

“It wasn’t a misunderstanding. It was a full-on plane crash with a thousand casualties.”

“Mia, you’re in an educational setting. Watch your language.”

She rolled her eyes, and her anger surged when she heard Logan laugh at the situation.

“What are you laughing at, Kitty?”

Logan’s expression changed instantly. The laughter vanished from his lips, and fury filled his eyes. She’d struck a nerve. A small part of Mia relished the fact that she had managed to break through his arrogant attitude, but the majority of her knew she was playing with fire.

“Don’t call me that.”

Mia couldn’t resist the challenge forming on her lips. “Or what?”

The sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing from his knuckles filled the room, reverberating in the air like an ominous echo. Mia felt a shiver run down her spine, but it wasn’t fear that consumed her. It was a strange sense of anticipation, a charged tension that made her open her mind, preparing to subdue him again with her power. But just before she could unleash the force pulsing inside her, Charles intervened.

“Enough. This isn’t a schoolyard, and you two are not children. Act your age.”

The authority in Charles’s voice was enough to snap Mia out of her trance. Her breathing was uneven, and she realized she was trembling slightly. She barely recognized herself. She hadn’t allowed her control to slip like this in years.

Logan still stared at her with a mixture of fury and defiance, but he retracted his claws.

“Logan, while you’re here, you’ll abide by the rules and respect the other residents.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Logan rolled his eyes with disdain.

“Mia, you will welcome your new companion just as they welcomed you when you arrived.” She glanced down, feeling ashamed at the scolding. “This place is supposed to be a refuge, a safe space for mutants. We have to rely on each other.”

Neither of them spoke, as if they were both reflecting on the reprimand they had just received.

“Can I go now? I’m not fifteen, professor.”

Charles simply nodded, and both of them listened as the door slammed shut behind him.

Mia’s mind raced as she left the room behind him. She thought about Charles’s words and realized he was right. When she had first arrived, lost and without memory of who she was, Jean and Scott hadn’t taken her attitude seriously. They had welcomed her with open arms and helped her piece herself back together, softening the pain she felt as she considered herself broken.

From afar, she saw Logan walking and quickened her pace to catch up with him. She was about to tap him on the shoulder to get his attention, but Logan’s muscles tensed, and he turned around before she could do anything.

“What now, Bub? Round two?”

“No, Logan. That’s not it. I wanted to talk to you.” She felt nervous, her tongue nearly stumbling over itself, as if it were made of cloth. She motioned toward one of the empty classrooms, and Logan raised an eyebrow at her. "Don’t be an ass, okay? I’m trying to meet you halfway."

He nodded and stepped into the classroom. Mia followed, shutting the door behind her. Logan leaned against one of the small desks, arms crossed over his chest in a defensive stance, like he was already bracing for another argument. His eyes were locked on her, challenging, waiting for her to slip up. She stood in front of him, just a few steps away, unsure of how to begin. The words were in her head, but saying them out loud felt empty, forced. Despite everything that had happened between them, she had to find a way to reach him. But the longer she looked at him, the more she realized she was up against a wall of indifference and mistrust.

"Look, I think Charles is right. This should be a safe space, and we didn’t exactly get off to a great start."

Logan’s face didn’t change. He seemed like he was listening, but he might as well have been miles away. Frustration bubbled up inside her—it felt just like when she gave the safety briefing to the students before they started their field exercises.

"Really? Listen, all this 'saving humanity' crap means nothing to me. I’m only here because Rogue’s safe. I don’t give a damn about your little hippie commune or whatever it is you think you’ve got going here."

"Excuse me?"

Mia blinked, surprised by his bluntness. She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting the urge to snap back. Beneath that cold, distant exterior, she could feel something else. Logan had built walls—huge ones, far taller than hers.

"Mia, I’m no hero. I don’t even want to be one. Nobody’s ever done anything for me, and I don’t get how you guys can run around saving people who treat you like dirt. Don’t try to be something you’re not."

His words hit her hard, like a punch to the chest. He didn’t see what they did at the mansion as a noble cause, not even something worth admiring.

"Logan, no one here is pretending to be anything," she said, trying to keep her growing frustration in check. "I think it’s great you want to look after Rogue, I really do. But we’re all responsible for something bigger than ourselves. I’ve learned that. We’ve all learned that."

Logan looked at her like he wasn’t buying a word she said, and that hurt more than she was willing to admit.

"You know," she confessed, her voice lowering, more serious, "when I got here, I didn’t even know who I was. I couldn’t remember anything—not my name, not where I came from, nothing. All I knew was that something was broken inside me, something I couldn’t fix on my own."

Logan didn’t say anything, but his gaze softened, just a little. It was a subtle change, but Mia noticed it.

"Jean and Scott helped me," she went on. "They showed me this place could be a home, that I didn’t have to be alone. Charles too."

"Ah, yeah, the great Charles Xavier, the saint of all mutants."

Mia frowned, feeling a spark of anger ignite inside her, but she kept calm.

"Look, I’m not saying Charles is perfect. Sometimes he pisses me off too, okay?" she admitted, crossing her arms in a mix of defiance and honesty. "But he saw something in me when I couldn’t see anything. Doesn’t that mean something?"

Logan didn’t respond right away. He just watched her in silence with that intense gaze, the one that seemed to unravel everything she said and didn’t say. Mia felt vulnerable under his scrutiny, but she wasn’t about to back down now.

"Logan," she said softly, her tone gentler, "I know this isn’t easy for you. I’m not stupid. But if you’d let your guard down, even just a little, maybe you’d find something here worth staying for."

The silence between them stretched out. Logan didn’t say anything, but he also didn’t get up and leave, which Mia took as a small victory. For a moment, she thought she’d gotten through to him, even just a tiny bit.

But then Logan finally spoke, his voice as gruff as ever.

"I’m not like you, princess," he muttered. "I don’t need a home or a bunch of people to save me. You, on the other hand, you’ve already let this place trap you."

Each of Logan’s words struck her like a blow to the heart, stirring something deep within her, something she had buried for so long. The “beast” inside her—the raw, chaotic, untamed force—began to stir. It was a part of herself she had suppressed for years, molding herself into the image of what others expected: a hero, a teacher, someone with complete control over her emotions and power.

But Logan, with his brutal honesty, was tearing down those walls bit by bit.

"Trapped?" she repeated, her voice trembling slightly as she struggled to stay composed. "You think I’m trapped? This... this is the closest I’ve ever come to having a life. You don’t understand because you’ve never let yourself have anything like this."

"Something like this?" Logan scoffed, a short, bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Tying myself down has only ever brought me pain, and it’s doing the same to you. Look at yourself. They’ve turned you into what they need—tame, docile. But that’s not who you really are, is it? I can see it, the real you hiding behind that façade. And it didn’t take me years to figure it out. All that control... it’s hanging by a thread, isn’t it?"

His words echoed in Mia’s mind, and something inside her snapped. She could feel the beast pushing, trying to break free, tearing at the walls of her mind. The lights in the room flickered, and a faint electric charge filled the air, a sign of how close she was to losing control.

Mia’s breathing became shallow, her anger swelling inside her like an unstoppable wave. Logan’s words, his dismissive attitude, all of it was pushing her to the edge. It was like he knew, like he wanted her to break down, to prove that he was right, that she was just a fraud.

"I’m not a fraud," she whispered, more to herself than to him, though her voice quivered with indignation. Her hands clenched into fists, and her body began to tremble.

"Of course, you are, doll," Logan replied, stepping closer, as if waiting for her to explode. "You’re pretending to be something you’re not. How much longer before all that control falls apart? Because I can see it, I can feel it in the air. You’re about to snap."

"Don’t you dare talk about what you don’t understand," she managed to say, though her voice sounded weak, almost choked.

"I understand you better than you think," Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous. "That control you’re clinging to—it’s a damn lie. And you know it as well as I do. The only time you’ve ever felt like yourself was in the Danger Room, when you were fighting—free, chaotic, wild. Isn’t that right?"

It was as if those words shattered something inside Mia. The air grew heavier, charged with electricity, and her vision began to blur. The room seemed to spin, and the sound of her own breath roared in her ears. Her body shook, and a sudden dizziness hit her hard.

Logan, who had been watching her closely, stepped forward just as Mia swayed, raising a hand to her head. Everything inside her felt like it was spinning out of control, and before she could stop it, her legs gave way.

"Shit..." Logan muttered, a mix of concern and frustration in his voice as he quickly caught her around the waist before she collapsed completely.

Logan's touch was solid, secure—an unexpected anchor in the storm that raged within Mia’s mind. The wild roar that always threatened to break her control suddenly softened into a gentle purr. The beast inside her—the one she’d learned to suppress for fear of losing herself—calmed in his presence. She didn’t fully understand why, but the peace was so tempting that it almost hurt to let it go.

Logan, for his part, was experiencing something unfamiliar as well. The usual tightness in his chest, that constant tension he'd carried for years, seemed to ease slightly with her so close. He had never felt a need like this—something that made him want to hold on a second longer than necessary. Every fiber of his being told him to let Mia go, but something deeper—something that confused him—made him resist. It was strange, uncomfortable... and at the same time, hard to ignore.

She looked at him, as if trying to figure him out, but didn’t dare dig deeper. However, a small voice in the back of her mind, almost imperceptible, whispered for her to do just that—to explore his mind, to search for answers she couldn’t find on her own. The temptation was strong, a natural impulse, but dangerous. And just when her will was about to break, Scott's voice cut through her thoughts.

“What’s going on here?” Scott asked, his voice tense.

Logan raised an eyebrow, snapping out of his reverie. He’d noticed the tension in Scott, and the temptation to toy with it was too great. His face shifted into a barely perceptible smile, but it was there, hovering on the edge of his lips. Purposefully, he adjusted his grip around Mia’s waist, pulling her just a little closer with a nonchalant attitude.

“Nothing, Summers. Just making sure she doesn’t fall. You wouldn’t want our star professor ending up on the floor, would you?” His voice was deep and deliberately slow, choosing each word like a well-aimed strike.

Scott took a step forward, his eyes fixed on Logan.

“Let her go, Logan.”

“Not sure I’m ready to do that just yet, Summers,” Logan said, his tone loaded with double meaning. “Seems like she enjoys being in good hands. Not something you’d understand, huh?”

The comment was as subtle as a storm, and Scott stepped even closer, clearly on the verge of losing control. Mia, still unsteady but much more aware, could feel the tension between the two men building dangerously. The beast within her was silent, as if it relished the calm and warmth radiating from Logan's body, something that oddly kept her grounded.

“Logan…” Mia said softly, trying to intervene before things spiraled further. “I’m fine. You can let me go.”

But instead of relenting, Logan smirked with his usual arrogance, and with deliberate slowness, he slid his hand from Mia’s waist, making the moment last longer than necessary. His fingers grazed her skin for a second longer than was appropriate, and Mia felt a shiver run through her body, as if the part of her that she’d always struggled to control was responding in a completely different way. It was a feeling of danger, of temptation, but also of control—something she had never felt before.

Scott, however, was about to explode.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Logan?” Scott said, his voice rising as he took another step toward them.

Logan, still in no rush, simply stepped back, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, but with a mocking smile that made it clear he wasn’t taking Scott seriously.

“Relax, Summers. Just taking care of her, that’s all,” Logan said, though the double meaning was obvious in every word. “But, you know, if you think you can do a better job…”

Mia stepped in, feeling things slipping out of control.

“That’s enough,” she said, more firmly than she actually felt. She looked at Scott, then at Logan, taking a deep breath to find her center. “I’m fine. Logan just helped me… that’s all.”

Her words were firm, but something inside her resisted letting go of that feeling. That control she’d felt under Logan’s touch. It was new, dangerous… but intoxicating.

Logan glanced at her from the corner of his eye, as if he knew exactly what she was feeling, as if he’d uncovered something about her that even she hadn’t recognized until that moment. He flashed her one last playful, teasing smile before shrugging and heading for the door.

“Catch you later, Summers… Mia.” And with that, he left the room, leaving a tension in the air that still vibrated between the three of them.

Logan closed the door behind him, leaving the tension in the classroom to simmer. Scott still had that mix of concern and jealousy in his gaze. However, he wanted to smooth things over, not let it fester between them. He walked toward Mia cautiously, as if searching for the right moment to speak, but before he could say anything, she broke the silence.

“It’s nothing, really.” Her voice tried to sound casual, but there was something in her tone that betrayed her discomfort.

Scott approached, letting his fingers brush gently against hers—a small gesture, but one that said more than words ever could. He knew her well enough to sense that something was troubling her.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he said softly, his concern genuine. “That thing with Logan… was a bit strange.”

Mia looked away, still feeling the warmth from Logan’s touch, a sensation she hadn’t fully processed. She didn’t know how to explain it—to him or to herself. But with Scott there, trying to connect with her, she felt even more divided.

“Yeah, it was…” Mia searched for the words, but nothing seemed right. She could still feel the faint dizziness from Logan’s closeness, that strange tingling that had soothed the beast within her. “I wasn’t expecting a conversation with him to shake me up that much.”

Scott nodded, though he sensed there was more she wasn’t saying. The softness in her words, the lack of direct answers, only fed his doubts. But he wasn’t about to let those feelings take control. He leaned in a little closer, seeking her gaze.

“Mia, all I care about is that you’re okay,” he said, his voice warmer now, as if testing the waters. “Are you sure everything’s fine?”

She swallowed, feeling the weight of guilt—not for Logan, but for the growing mistrust she was beginning to feel toward everything around her. She’d gone to see Charles after her encounter with Logan, and although she hadn’t said it out loud, the conversation with the professor had left her feeling hollow. Like there was more he wasn’t telling her.

“I talked to Charles afterward,” Mia said, her gaze fixed on her hands, still intertwined with Scott’s. “He asked me to try to get along with Logan, to be more… understanding.” She tried to smile, but the gesture didn’t reach her eyes. “I guess we don’t know him well enough to judge.”

Scott frowned slightly, not taking his eyes off her. There was something in her tone, in the way she’d mentioned the professor, that made him doubt. He knew Mia had been searching for answers about her past, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it weighed on her more than she let on.

“Charles always has his reasons,” he said tactfully, trying not to sound too firm. “Maybe he’s protecting you, in a way.”

She sighed, unable to ignore the sting she felt whenever Scott talked about Charles. She knew he trusted the professor more than anyone, and part of her wanted to hold onto that security. But there was another part of her that couldn’t stop wondering if Scott was also caught up in the same web of secrets.

“Maybe,” Mia replied, not looking at him directly. “But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more. Something he’s not telling me.”

Scott looked at her intently, as if trying to unravel every layer of what she was saying. He knew she was strong, but he also knew that some things affected her more than she admitted. And while he wanted to believe that Charles always did the right thing, the unease in Mia’s eyes made him doubt for a moment.

“I know this isn’t easy for you,” he said, his voice soft as he sought her gaze. “But I trust that Charles only wants what’s best for us… for you.”

Mia swallowed again, feeling the distance between them grow, even though Scott hadn’t let go of her. The physical closeness didn’t calm that feeling in her chest like it had before, that small flame of distrust that had started to burn. She knew Scott was trying to do the right thing, but deep down, she couldn’t stop thinking that maybe he was keeping things from her too.

“I hope you’re right,” she said quietly, trying not to sound too distant. “I just… I don’t want to lose myself in all of this.”

Scott squeezed her hand a little tighter, trying to offer the support he believed she needed, though deep down, he knew there was something they couldn’t solve with words

[cinnamongorll]

a fragile line - chapter 30

read on ao3! (139k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Series tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Series synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 3.6k

Chapter 30:

Juliet's POV:

“Joel.”

His name caught in her throat like a burning hot coal. 

He stared down at her, his chest moving quickly as he struggled to catch his breath. A layer of sweat shone on his head, illuminated by the singular light hanging in the corner of the stables.

His eyes scanned her face. They were open wide, allowing Juliet to see the confusion and desperate fear burning around his pupils. 

“I have to leave,” she croaked out and forced her head to turn away from him as she bent to grab her bag. 

Juliet hadn’t moved an inch before Joel’s hand gripped her forearm, demanding her attention. Her head swung back to him. 

“Explain, now,” he commanded breathlessly, visibly holding his rage back.

Juliet swallowed and shook her head. Her eyes didn’t leave his face. 

All Juliet could hear in her mind was the memory of her father’s bitter cold words, smashing her entire life into sharp, foreign shapes. 

She didn’t know who she was anymore.  

How could she explain that to him? 

Her brain was screaming at her to push past Joel, to get on her horse, to find where she came from, to find out who she truly was.

But Joel’s grip on her was strong, stronger even than the hand holding her in place. 

Juliet wet her lips, then she lay her shattered heart at Joel’s feet:

“He wasn’t my father,” she whispered. 

Joel’s hand tightened as the line between his eyebrows deepened. 

“What?” 

“I remembered,” Juliet murmured, then cleared her throat and shifted her gaze to lock on Joel’s forehead so she didn’t have to watch his reaction. 

“I remembered what he told me that night… before you found me.”

Joel flinched and Juliet felt his fingers flex against her forearm as his jaw tightened. 

“He wasn’t my real father. Elijah -” Juliet’s breath caught as the foreign name left her lips. She had never referred to him by his first name; it tasted like ash in her mouth. 

“Elijah killed my parents, Joel, my real parents,” she whispered, not daring to say the words too loud, lest they become too real in her mind. “He told me right before he died.” 

Joel stayed silent. The tightening of his hand on her arm was the only assurance that he had heard her. 

“I have to go back -”

“No.” 

Juliet gasped as Joel’s other hand gripped her other arm, now locking her fully in his grip. 

“Joel, stop,” Juliet argued as she struggled against him. 

Joel shook his head as his eyes darkened even further in the low lighting. 

“Not a chance,” he ground out as his hands moved from Juliet’s arms to her waist and, with a deep groan, he lifted her up over his shoulder.

He started moving almost immediately, striding out of the stables as Juliet’s fists began to pound against his back.

“Let me go!” Juliet grunted. She was panicking now as her anxiety grew into a fierce flame in her chest. 

She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t pretend that she didn’t know.

Juliet wanted closure, she craved it. She couldn’t close that chapter of her life now that her memory had wedged the door open. Juliet couldn’t push out the horror that seeped through the crack and pretend that she was healing, she had to confront it, she had to face it. 

She had to go back. 

Saying that to Joel, when he had fought and killed to save her from that place… Juliet almost choked on her guilt. 

But the knowledge that she wasn’t her father’s daughter, that maybe she wasn’t destined to end up like him, and that there might have been people who actually loved her… that desperate need to find out more was stronger than her guilt. 

Juliet’s world was upside down as she swung over Joel’s back.

Through blurry eyes she watched the grass he walked on descend into stones then into the concrete lining Jackson’s mainstreet as her fists slowed and her cries quietened. 

Joel wasn’t letting go. 

But neither was Juliet. 

When his weakened stride finally stopped, Juliet recognised the dark wood of his front door and she squeezed her eyes shut as she remembered her knuckles striking off of it all those months ago. 

“I’m gonna put you down and we’re gonna go inside and talk,” Joel instructed, and Juliet could feel the rumble of his voice against her chest. 

A small gust of wind blew against her face, drying the tears which had gathered under her eyes. Juliet waited for her feet to hit the ground. 

“You hear me?” he said louder, startling Juliet. 

She should feel angry that Joel stopped her and that, once again, he had taken away her choice. But Juliet’s rage was a tall candle in a frosted window; its flame burned quietly, but it couldn’t go anywhere. 

She was tired and she was restless. Her anger was second to the wild, desperate need within her to run, to listen to the voice that called her home.

It was difficult to remember that only hours ago she was at the dance, watching her friends twirl under the Christmas lights. It was still the same night, the sky hadn’t begun to lighten and yet everything had changed. She had changed. 

If only she had gone to bed, and not walked down those basement stairs. Juliet would have still be hopeful. Hopeful that she might become a whole person again, hopeful that her and Joel might be able to mend the cracks between them. 

In her basement, Juliet came face to face with the rotten mess of her soul once again. But this time, she could see a way to cut it out, to rid herself of it forever. She couldn’t give up that chance. 

“Yes,” Juliet agreed, her voice was numb and lifeless.

Slowly, Joel’s hands brought her back down until her boots hit the wooden porch. 

She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. Juliet knew that she would either see that same numbness reflected back into Joel’s eyes or worse, an echo of the hurt she felt. 

Joel reached around her and turned the handle on the door, pushing it open into the dark house. Juliet sucked in a breath when he drew near but forced herself to turn and step through the doorway.

She stood in the hall as Joel turned on the lights, moving slowly as he switched on the lamps in the living room. 

When he was done, the air turned expectant, like the house had awaited her return. 

Juliet looked up, searching for Joel and found him standing by the coffee table. He stood tall, his typical iron stance was in full effect. Juliet would have thought it was a usual night in Jackson for him, if it weren’t for his trembling hands curling into fists against his jeans.

The sight made something inside Juliet seize up. She wanted to rush to him and close her fingers around his. To get on her knees in front of him and beg for his forgiveness, beg for his permission to leave him, to leave this sanctuary.

Juliet knew that she didn’t need his permission. 

But god did she crave his forgiveness. 

Her footsteps were quiet and careful as she moved into the living room and sunk into the leather couch. Joel followed her movements like a hunter with a rifle. 

Then he took his shot:

“I shouldn’t have hit him,” Joel said, rubbing his fingers over his jaw. 

Juliet’s eyebrows scrunched as her heart rate slowed. Joel’s hand dropped suddenly and he shifted his stance, then met her eyes again. 

“If that’s what this is about… if i’ve scared you, if you wanna stay away from me, I get it,” Joel practically stuttered, his voice low as his hand tapped in a nervous gesture against his thigh. 

“No,” Juliet breathed, shaking her head. 

Joel continued as though he hadn’t heard her denial, maybe he hadn’t. 

“But you don’t gotta leave Jackson,” he ground out, as though the words pained him. 

“It’s not you, Joel,” she said quickly, “I have to go back. I have to know -” 

Joel’s cold laugh cut her off. 

His mouth was curled in that way she remembered from their time on the road, when Joel’s armour was thick and immovable. 

“No, see, I just don’t believe it,” he said with a shrug as he raised his hand in front of him, emphasising his point. 

Juliet straightened her spine. 

“I just don’t believe that you would be stupid enough, after everything we went through to get here, everything you went through… that you’d just go back out there,” he paused, running a hand over his face, “on some fuckin’ fool’s errand.”

Juliet flinched. 

She dropped her gaze to her hands and allowed her eyes to follow the trails of scars which littered her pale flesh, while she listened to the sound of Joel’s breathing.  

With a shaky sigh, Juliet stood, rising from the couch as Joel shifted his stance, sweeping his gaze up and down her body. 

With a trembling hand, Juliet caught the edge of her top and lifted it up until she met the edge of her bra. Then she stopped until she could meet Joel’s eyes. 

His black stare was glued to the brand on her stomach. 

“Remember this?” she asked quietly.

Joel’s eyes flashed to her’s. They were burning with what she knew as the cold, dark rage that simmered within him.

Juliet didn’t drop her hand, she let her father’s initials hang between them. 

“When I found out he was dead, I had this strange thought that he could never hurt me anymore, that maybe I could actually be rid of him,” Juliet began, stopping to laugh humorlessly at her stupidity.  

“Then I saw this,” she forced out, tilting her chin down to look at the letters burned forever on her skin. Her father’s claim on her. 

“And I knew that I was a fool,” Juliet’s eyes blinked up at Joel when she noticed him straighten. “I was a fool to think that I could ever escape him.” She paused, inhaling slowly. “I realised that in the QZ when he sent me that letter, and again when he forced the poker onto my skin.” 

“But the worst way I realised was when I started to kill people the same way I killed the infected. With no remorse, nothing but fear for myself, and… fear for you,” Juliet stopped suddenly, dropping her top and running a hand through her hair. 

“I thought that my father’s sickness had got to me through the blood we shared,” she whispered. “That I could never escape him because, in truth, I was just like him.”

Joel hadn’t moved; just stared down at her. 

“Then I went down into that fucking basement tonight,” Juliet laughed, rubbing her neck, “and it came back to me. He had told me what he’d done, but for some reason I just didn’t remember till now.” 

“He’s not my father,” Juliet said in a low voice, still struggling to verbalise her knowledge. “I don’t have to be like him anymore. Maybe the brand is the only thing left of him.”

Finally, Joel moved, shaking his head so viciously Juliet couldn’t help but take a step backwards when he took a step towards her. 

“You’re nothin like him,” he practically growled. 

Juliet’s eyes pricked with tears and she looked away, towards the door, then back to Joel. 

“Maybe,” she replied, inhaling another deep breath. “But I need proof.”

That broke Joel from his frozen state. 

He moved quickly, gripping her arms like he did in the stables. Gentler, this time, like his anger had been replaced by his terror. His hands moved up her arms, unable to settle on a place to touch her but unwilling to let her go. 

“I can’t stand by and watch you go on a suicide mission,” he fumed, his pupils flaring as he said the words. “Even if you make it there, and that’s an if, that town’s gonna be decimated. There’ll be nobody left.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw as he continued to stare down at her. His gaze wasn’t gentle; it felt like fire on her skin. 

“They barely had any food when we were there, and I killed their fuckin’ leader,” he scoffed. “It’s winter now,” Joel continued, “raiders will have got to them by now, you know that as well as I do.” 

He wasn’t wrong.  

Juliet felt the weight of his words land on her shoulders. 

“Danny,” she murmured, as the plan began to solidify in her mind, “Danny will know.”

“Who the fuck is Danny?” Joel demanded, tilting her chin up with his fingers until Juliet met his eyes. 

She swallowed. “He owned the bar,” Juliet clarified, “Ethan said he helped you both get me out.” 

Joel’s jaw shifted and his hand tightened on her arm, as though he was remembering that night in vivid detail. 

“What about him?” he said slowly. 

“He always said that he’d known me since I was a baby,” Juliet said lifelessly, “if anyone knows about my parents, it would be him.” 

Joel removed his hand from her arm to wipe it down his face as he groaned. 

“How’d you even know if he’s still alive?” he demanded, his voice hard and angry. 

“I don’t,” she whispered, blinking up at him. “But I have to go, I have to try.” 

He shook his head slowly.

“I can’t let you do this,” he decided.

Juliet stepped backwards, attempting to free herself from his grip, but he only tightened his hold on her.

“It’s not your choice, Joel,” she said quickly. 

“I’m not gonna let you get yourself killed,” he ground out, his eyes widening. 

Juliet flinched. 

“Don’t treat me like a child,” she whispered, repeating the words she said to him only hours ago, before they promised each other a future neither of them had the power to determine. 

“Don’t act like one,” Joel replied, standing taller. 

Juliet knew him well enough now. She knew that when Joel grew mean, it meant that he was frightened. 

But so was she. 

Juliet pulled herself from his grip, stepping backward until her legs hit the leather couch. 

Everything inside Juliet screamed to ask him to come with her. But she couldn’t. Joel had done too much for her already. She couldn’t ask this of him. 

Juliet had set her mind on this journey. She couldn’t live in Jackson and pretend that she didn’t know, pretend that the memory of Elijah wasn’t eating her up inside. 

Looking in his eyes, Juliet knew that Joel wasn’t going to let this go. Whether it be right or wrong, Joel would hold her down if it stopped her from putting her life in danger. 

He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe, even if it hurt her. 

Juliet squeezed her eyes shut when she remembered the look on his face that day outside her house, when he threw away everything they had built. Then she remembered, only hours ago, when he told her that he had done that for her, to protect her. 

She could do that too. 

That recklessness within Juliet was burning her alive from the inside. 

“I know about your daughter, Joel,” she said, forcing herself to look him in the eye, “Maria, told me.”

“Don’t,” he cautioned. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know you’re scared to lose people, but I can do this. I can look after myself.” 

“Don’t say another word,” Joel warned with a quick shake of his head, eyes locked onto her.  

She shouldn’t have mentioned his daughter. She thought that if he were angry at her he might let her go, but her words seemed to have the opposite effect. 

“Joel -”

His hands curled into fists against his jeans.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he said forcefully, “I’m not lettin’ you go.” 

He reached up to rub his neck and for the first time all night Juliet realised how tired he looked. 

“It’s late,” Joel reminded her, “let’s go to bed. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

From his tone, Juliet knew that his words were just to appease her. There would be no conversation in the morning. His mind was made up. 

‘Let’s go to bed’ 

Juliet almost teared up at the thought. 

She nodded and watched as Joel’s shoulders practically sagged with relief. 

He led her up the stairs with a gentle hand on the small of her back, not daring to let her walk behind him, lest she disappear. 

They lay on his bed, cushioned by his navy sheets and soft duvet. Juliet hadn’t realised how tired she was until her head hit the pillow and the crushing weight of the day fell onto her. 

She lay on her side, watching as Joel stared at the ceiling. 

Juliet ached to know what went through his mind in that moment. 

Just that morning, they had practically been strangers and now…

Juliet knew what she had to do. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t know; she couldn’t tuck that memory back in her mind and settle into life with Joel as though she had any idea who she was. 

No, Juliet had made up her mind. 

She only hoped that Joel would forgive her in the morning, when he found the space next to him empty. 

…………………………..

The winter sun pushed through the gaps in Joel’s curtains, spreading its rays across the room. 

Juliet rolled away from the window and swung an arm over her eyes, groaning. Then, like water had been poured over her, she sat up, suddenly reminded of where she was and what knowledge ran through her mind. 

Juliet’s breathing was heavy as she whipped her head to the side. Joel wasn’t there. 

Her feet hit the hardwood floor and she was up, speeding to the bedroom door as the fog of sleep still clung to the edges of her mind.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Juliet had meant to wake up at first light and sneak out without Joel realising, then head to the stables before the first patrol went out. 

She should have been gone by now. 

Her hand gripped the door handle and swung it open, then she was down the hall, swinging around the bannister as she raced down the stairs.

Fuck, she cursed herself. She’d missed her chance.

How could she be so stupid? To let herself sleep next to Joel, as though she’d ever be able to leave him like that?

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Juliet stopped.

Stopped so suddenly that she had to reach for the bannister to stop herself from falling forward.

To her left, in the living room, sat Joel, on the couch, his elbows on his knees, bent almost in a prayer-like position. 

His head swung up when he noticed her. 

“Joel?” she breathed as her eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t like it,” he said quickly as he straightened his back then lifted himself off the couch. 

Juliet’s eyes dropped down his body until she noticed the boots on his feet, wet with what looked like fresh snow.

She opened her mouth to voice her confusion but closed it just as fast when Joel drew closer. 

“It’s a bad idea,” he continued, standing in front of her now. 

Juliet’s stomach had dropped to her feet. What was he going to do? Block the door? Prevent her from ever leaving? 

“Joel, I know this -” 

“Shh,” he interrupted, raising his finger. 

“You goin’ out there alone, it’s not happenin’” Joel declared, his voice had a frightening edge to it. 

Juliet swallowed, then opened her mouth to protest. But Joel’s rough finger on her lips stopped her. 

“If you’re determined to do this,” he said with a shake of his head, “I know I can’t stop you.”

Juliet nearly stopped breathing.

“We do this together,” Joel vowed, brushing his finger over her lips, “and when we get back… that’s it, no more puttin’ our lives on the line, no more fuckin’ suicide missions.”

Despite the terror swirling around her heart, Juliet’s lips stretched into a small smile and Joel followed the movement with his careful touch. 

“Agreed,” she whispered, tilting her head down in a nod. 

Joel stared at her for a moment, his eyes roaming over her features, then he dropped his hand and turned around, reaching for something on the coffee table. 

It was his jacket. She’d left it at the mess hall the night before. 

“Found this,” he said quietly, turning to look out the window as though he were suddenly shy.

Juliet put the jacket on immediately. It still smelled like him. 

“Spoke to Tommy,” Joel revealed as he ran a hand over his face, “he’s not happy about it but he’ll let us go, said he’d spare a horse.” 

“That was nice of him,” Juliet said, stunned. 

Joel coughed out a laugh. “Yeah, well, it better be worth it.” 

Juliet‘s guilt began to creep in again, but she didn’t let it fester. This was what she wanted, she was finally going to get the closure she craved. 

Joel had turned around, heading over to the shelf in the living room where he kept some supplies. 

“Thank you,” Juliet breathed, watching closely as he stopped moving and turned to face her again.

“I told ya, not lettin’ you go again,” he replied, his voice rough. 

Despite everything that lay ahead of them, despite everything that raged in her mind… 

Juliet smiled.

________________________________

@amyispxnk @casa-boiardi @http-paprika @shotgun-shelby @weeping-werewolf @mysaviorjoelmiller @chlojoceycom

[priceseyes]

this is a post for the cod fandom, specifically towards ghoap shippers because what some of y'all are doing is DISUSTING.

firstly, let's make something VERY clear: ghost x soap is NOT canon and it never will be canon. in fact, their relationship is PURELY platonic yet some of you guys always want a romantic relationship to happen whenever there's a male friendship. are you allergic to platonic relationship's or something? because they do exist.

with that that said: STOP ATTACKING CONTENT CREATORS AND THOSE WHO HAVE AN OC WITH EITHER GHOST OR SOAP (or any other 141 task force member). STOP ATTACKING BIPOC OCs ESPECIALLY AND STOP SPREADING HATE TOWARDS THOSE WITH COD OCs IN GENERAL.

what you are doing is VERY disrespectful and I dare I say, immature. you are not giving creators a chance at having a safe space nor are you letting them have fun pairing an oc with a character in the COD-verse, especially when they want to pair them with either ghost or soap.

please stop attacking these OC creators and stop using oc discourse on them.

just be kind and respectful to everyone in the fandom, let's not spread hate.

[pig-warship]

LaMour and Doflamingo 🫧🦩🦇

The OC x Canon train continues at a million miles per hour straight into the ocean- and BOY am I having a good time :D I really love them together idk why

Also this design of Doffy is my own I posted earlier today (I think) technically yesterday and dare I say it’s incredible… not to toot my own horn

Also here’s LaMour in his coat because they ‘love’ each-other

[paradox-valleyy]

Lost and Found

Pre-Canon rdr 2 x Teen!fem!oc

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Word count: 3,5 k

Notes: Next Chapter the gang will start getting more involved I promise 🙏

Jolene awoke with a jolt, someone’s boot nudging her leg repeatedly. She scrambled to sit up, her heart pounding from the sudden disturbance. Squinting up through sleep-heavy eyes, she recognized the scowling face of the Sheriff looming above her.

“This ain’t a bed, boy,” the Sheriff grumbled. “You’d best find yourself somewhere to sleep where you’re not botherin’ honest folks.”

Jolene bit back a retort, knowing better than to mouth off while the Sheriff was still in a mood from the night before. Instead, she sighed and picked herself up, brushing the dust from her clothes. Without another word, she turned and trudged out of the alley, her stomach growling softly. Morning sunlight barely stretched across the street, and Jolene guessed it was still close to five in the morning. Too early even for the shopkeepers to start setting up.

With her thoughts drifting back to yesterday, she found herself absently fingering the coins in her pocket, feeling the remnants of the previous night’s meal warming her. It had been good to go to sleep feeling full, and for once, she had enough coin to make that feeling last a bit longer. She stifled a yawn and decided to head out toward the river. A quick wash would do her good, and the early hour meant she’d have some privacy.

The walk took her out past the town’s edge and along the riverbank, her worn boots leaving faint prints in the morning dew on the path. She followed the water until she reached her favorite secluded spot, where she could clean herself up away from prying eyes. Glancing around to make sure she was alone, Jolene stripped off her shirt and pants, exposing her feminine teenage figure, and setting them on the bank beside her boots. Only her necklace stayed on—a long, thin chain with a golden ring hanging from it. She always kept it hidden under her shirt, the one thing she’d never part with.

Wading into the cool water, she shivered as she scrubbed away the dirt from her arms and neck, then dunked her head, fingers scrubbing her scalp with determination. Days on the road and nights on the ground left her feeling grimy, and though the river water wasn’t exactly soap, it would at least rinse some of the dust away. Her fingers brushed the bruise on her jaw, still tender from the chubby man’s punch last night. She sucked in a sharp breath at the pain, her face darkening at the memory. But the water was cold, numbing the ache as she washed the dirt from her skin.

After a few minutes, she stepped out, water dripping from her lanky frame. She tugged her clothes back on, wet fabric sticking to her uncomfortably. The necklace glinted briefly as she tucked it back under her shirt, and she rubbed the ring absentmindedly before pulling her collar up over it. Feeling a bit refreshed, she started her walk back into town, taking the long way through the forest.

As she strolled, Jolene picked up a smooth stone and began flipping it in her hand. Her thoughts wandered to Dutch and Hosea, the strangers from last night. She wondered what sort of life they lived, drifting from town to town. They intrigued her, those men—confident, daring, unbothered by the rules she always found herself breaking. She felt a twinge of envy and wondered what it might be like to live that way, with nothing to lose.

The crunch of hooves on the forest path pulled her out of her thoughts. Glancing up, she saw two men on horseback approaching. They were deep in conversation, one of them speaking in low, annoyed tones. Jolene slowed her steps, curious.

“This ain’t how it works, you gotta stay, help her,” the larger man was saying, his voice gruff but steady.

The other man, younger with dark hair and an irritable expression, glared back. “Just keep to your own business,” he snapped, his tone sharp.

Jolene kept her head down, not wanting to draw too much attention, but as they passed, the larger man dipped his hat and muttered, “Good morning.”

Startled, Jolene gave a quick nod. “Mornin’,” she replied quietly, watching as they continued on, their voices fading as they disappeared down the trail. She wondered briefly who the “her” was they were talking about, but her curiosity quickly waned. In this town, everyone had secrets, and some things were better left unknown.

As she made her way back, Jolene debated what to do with her day. If she lingered in the forest, she could avoid trouble with the Sheriff. Sometimes she spent hours out here, crouching by the water, watching for fish, or tried carving small animals from wood scraps she picked up along the riverbank. The solitude wasn’t so bad—sometimes she even welcomed it.

A sudden rustle in the bushes made her freeze. She crouched instinctively, watching as a fox darted out onto the path, its bushy tail flicking behind it. It paused, eyeing her with as much curiosity as she felt, before bounding off into the trees. Jolene exhaled, feeling a strange peace in that brief encounter. It reminded her of how she felt last night, sitting across from Dutch and Hosea, eating warm food and feeling… almost seen.

Eventually, as the sun rose higher, she made her way back toward the edge of town, deciding she’d risk the streets a bit longer. It was quiet enough at this hour; most folks would still be at breakfast. Jolene wandered down an empty road, fingers tracing the coins in her pocket, as she kept her eyes peeled for any signs of trouble—or opportunity.

Jolene made her way to Johnson’s shop, already savoring the chance to pester the calm, steady shopkeeper. Johnson never raised his voice, not even when he caught Jolene slipping a piece of candy into her pocket or trying to haggle for half the price. The man had an endless well of patience, which only made Jolene want to test him all the more.

As she strolled into the shop, Jolene caught sight of the two men from before, standing by a shelf in quiet conversation. The taller one, the man with the black hat, glanced at her briefly, giving Jolene a small nod of acknowledgement before turning back to whatever he was inspecting on the shelf. Jolene nodded back, moving on toward the counter, where she leaned forward, her hands braced on the smooth wood as she peered over its edge, hoping for something new or interesting to catch her eye.

After a moment, she heard the familiar footsteps approaching. Johnson appeared from the back room, an eyebrow raised at seeing Jolene yet again. “What do you want now, kid?” he sighed, though a small, reluctant smile hinted at his amusement.

“Just checkin’ in,” Jolene said, grinning. “How you doin’ today, Mr. Johnson?”

Johnson shook his head with a long-suffering sigh. “If you’re that bored, why don’t you go on and bother the folks over at the church? I’m sure the sisters’d be happy to fill your head with a sermon or two.”

Jolene groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically. “They’re no fun. All they ever talk about is God and what’s proper and how ‘the good Lord is always watching.’” She slouched against the counter, hoping she might at least drag out a few more minutes of conversation. “Not my style.”

Johnson gave her a gentle shove toward the door, still chuckling. “Well, I’m too tired to be dealin’ with you right now, and unlike some folks, I actually got customers who pay.” He gestured toward the two men by the shelf, and Jolene, feigning offense, put a hand to her chest.

“Fine, fine, I’m goin’,” she muttered, putting on a show of reluctantly dragging her feet as she shuffled to the door. She could feel the eyes of the two strangers on her back as she left, their gaze lingering as though she were worth more than a passing glance. It sent a slight shiver down her spine, though she couldn’t say why.

Out on the street again, Jolene squinted up at the rising sun, considering her options. Johnson had been half-joking about the church, but the idea of a free meal and maybe a sip of wine to warm her belly made her mind up for her. Bread and wine, she thought, chuckling to herself as she crossed the street. She didn’t like the taste of the wine, really, but it made her feel grown up, in a way, and that was enough for now.

As she walked toward the little church on the edge of town, Jolene thought about God—or rather, about how she wasn’t sure she believed in Him, or any of it. Still, there was something about the place, the quiet hum of hymns, the light filtering through the dusty windows, that felt safe. And right now, that was all she needed.

Jolene pushed open the heavy church doors, letting the quiet hush of the sanctuary settle around her. Morning sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting patches of vibrant colors onto the wooden pews and stone floor. She looked around, taking in the rare peace, and saw Sister Amelia emerging from a back room. She had a kind face, framed by a white wimple, her expression softening as she spotted Jolene.

“Joel,” she greeted warmly, stepping closer. She ruffled her hair, eyeing her with an amused but gentle concern. “You don’t come by too often, do you? How are you doing, child?”

Jolene gave a small shrug, not quite meeting her eyes. “Been better,” she muttered, rubbing a hand over her bruised jaw absentmindedly.

Her brow furrowed as she leaned in to get a closer look at the purpled skin. “Looks like you’ve had a rough time,” she said, sighing. “Come on, say a prayer or two. The Lord listens, even when you don’t think He does.”

Jolene knew what this meant—a quick prayer, and she’d get some bread for her trouble. She nodded, heading toward the altar and dropping to her knees, muttering the only prayer she could remember. Satisfied, Sister Amelia watched her, a small smile tugging at her lips.

When she finished, she slumped back onto the pew, stretching out her legs a little. Sister Amelia gave a nod, pleased, then looked at her with a glimmer of encouragement.

“How about you step into the confessional while you’re here?” she offered, gesturing toward the wooden booth.

Jolene stiffened. “I, uh…don’t think I got much to say.”

But at that moment, Reverend Thomas appeared from the hallway, giving Jolene a warm, expectant look. “It never hurts, Joel,” he said, his voice gentle. “If you’re here, might as well. Come on now.”

With a reluctant sigh, Jolene trudged over and stepped into the confessional, the wooden seat creaking as she sat down. The small, cramped space was shadowed, with only the thin screen separating her from Reverend Thomas.

Jolene cleared his throat, feeling awkward. “Uh…bless me, Father, for I reckon I’ve sinned.”

The reverend’s voice was calm, inviting. “Go on, Joel.”

Jolene took a shaky breath, then the words tumbled out. “I steal a lot. I take from people ‘cause I don’t got anything. I lie all the time, too. Just…tryin’ to survive, y’know?”

There was a moment’s silence, then the reverend spoke. “And you feel like there’s no other way?”

Jolene’s voice was barely a whisper. “Ain’t nobody out there helpin’ me, Father. Gotta do it all on my own.”

The reverend’s voice softened. “Remember, child, even in the darkest times, the Lord is watching over you. He understands your struggles, and there’s always a chance to choose a better path.”

Jolene wasn’t entirely sure she believed that, but she nodded anyway, feeling oddly lighter for having said the words. She shuffled out of the confessional, where Sister Amelia waited with a small piece of bread. She took it eagerly, not bothering to ask for the wine she usually hoped for. The bread alone was a treat enough.

She sat in the back row, chewing the bread slowly as she gazed up at the colored light filtering through the stained glass, studying the way it painted the floor in patches of blue, red, and green.

A moment later, Sister Amelia walked over and sat down beside her, watching her with a gentle smile. “Something on your mind, Joel?”

Jolene shrugged. “Just lookin’ at the light, I guess. Pretty colors.”

They sat in a companionable silence, and then she said softly, “I need to fetch something from the ranch. Would you like to walk with me?”

Jolene’s eyes lit up at the thought of getting to look at the livestock. “Yeah, sure,” she said eagerly, stuffing the last of the bread into her mouth as they stood.

They walked side by side, the morning air fresh and the town just beginning to stir behind them. Jolene started talking, telling Sister Amelia with enthusiasm how she managed to evade people when they chased her, darting into alleyways, scaling fences, and slipping away into shadows before they could catch her. She enjoyed recounting it, her voice quick and animated as she described near-misses and the thrill of outsmarting grown-ups.

Sister Amelia listened patiently, smiling but also frowning slightly. “Quite the little escape artist, aren’t you?” she said, her tone amused but tinged with concern. “But Joel, you shouldn’t have to live like this. It’s no life for a child.”

She shrugged, trying to brush it off, but the Sisters words gave her pause. She looked at Jolene with a sad smile. “I’m sorry you’ve had to face so much hardship, child. No one should have to grow up alone.”

Jolene nodded, but said nothing.

She reached out and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “God has His plans, Joel. Sometimes life feels unfair, but remember, everything has its purpose. One day, all the challenges you’ve faced will lead you somewhere. You have to trust in that.”

She didn’t fully understand or belive that, but something in her words felt reassuring. They walked in silence for a while, Sister Amelia’s presence a steady comfort as they strolled through the quiet woods.

After two long hours of walking, they finally reached the small ranch on the other side of the forest. Jolene’s legs ached, but the sight of the sprawling fields, livestock, and warm sunlight brushing the landscape made her forget the stiffness in her limbs. Sister Amelia moved toward the ranch house, her long skirts swishing with each step, while Jolene lingered behind, her gaze roving over the faintly familiar surroundings.

She thought briefly about telling the sister about Dutch and Hosea, but something held her back. It felt like a secret she should keep to herself for now, so she stayed silent, watching as sister Amelia made her way toward the rancher and his wife, exchanging quiet greetings and a few words.

Nearby, Jolene spotted a group of pigs rooting around in the dirt. Their snorts and grunts filled the air, and she couldn’t help but grin at their comical faces and muddy snouts. They smelled terrible, a thick, earthy stink that even the open air couldn’t quite carry away, but she didn’t mind. She leaned on the fence, enjoying their silly little dance as they rolled around and nosed each other, completely oblivious to her.

After a while, Jolene moved to another pen, where a large horse stood still as a man crouched near its hooves, carefully lifting one to check its shoe. The horse was a beautiful, sleek bay with a coat that shone like polished wood in the sunlight. Jolene felt a tug in her chest as she watched the animal shift and nicker softly, its big brown eyes calm and gentle. Horses had always fascinated her, but she’d never had the chance to ride one. There was something about them—their power, their quiet strength—that made them seem like creatures from a different world, untamed but loyal, wild but willing.

The man tending to the horse looked up and noticed Jolene watching. “Like horses, kid?” he asked with a hint of a smile.

Jolene nodded, almost shyly, not wanting to seem too eager. “Yeah. I…never got to ride one, though.”

The man chuckled, patting the horse’s neck affectionately. “They’re somethin’ else, that’s for sure. This here’s Daisy, strong as any horse I’ve known.” He gave Daisy a pat, and she nickered softly in response.

Jolene took a tentative step closer leaning against the fence, feeling a thrill in her chest as the horse’s massive head turned toward her. “She’s real pretty,” she murmured just loud enough.

The rancher smiled, nodding his encouragement. “Come here, give her a pat. Just be gentle.”

Jolene quickly jumped over the fence and jogged over letting her fingers brush against Daisy’s nose, and she felt the warmth of her skin, the velvety softness beneath her fingertips. She could hardly believe it. She nuzzled her hand, and she couldn’t help but grin, a quiet, rare moment of wonder lighting up her face.

“You’ve got a way with animals, don’t ya?” the rancher said, watching the gentle exchange.

Jolene shrugged, her eyes still on Daisy. “I guess.”

Just then, Sister Amelia returned, a loaf of fresh bread and a jug of milk laid in her basket. She looked over at Jolene with a soft smile, seeing her reach out to the horse, and for a moment, she didn’t interrupt, watching the quiet moment unfold.

“Joel,” she called gently after a moment. She looked over, reluctantly pulling her hand back from the horse.

“Got everything we need?” she asked, a bit sheepish as she met the sisters gaze.

“All set,” she said, and together they turned back toward the forest, the morning shadows now stretching toward afternoon. But as they walked, Jolene kept glancing back over her shoulder, her mind lingering on the horse and the feeling of its warm, gentle breath against her hand.

As they walked back through the forest, Sister Amelia glanced over at Jolene, noticing the way her eyes sparkled with a lingering excitement. “Did you like that horse?” she asked, her voice warm and inviting.

Jolene nodded, her smile wide. “Yeah, she was real pretty. I always wanted to ride a horse, but I never got the chance.”

Sister Amelia smiled knowingly. “You’re still young, Joel. There’s plenty of time ahead for you. One day, I’m sure you’ll have the chance to ride.”

Her heart lifted a little at her words, feeling a flicker of hope. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” she said, her voice gentle. “It’s important to dream, you know?”

“Dream?” she echoed, tilting her head slightly.

“Yes,” she said, looking thoughtfully ahead as they continued down the path. “What do you dream about? What do you wish for, beyond a warm bed and a full stomach?”

Jolene thought for a moment, her brow furrowing in concentration. She often wished for those basic things, for a place to call home and enough food to fill her belly. But something deeper tugged at her—a desire she couldn’t quite articulate. “I guess… I wish I had a family,” she admitted slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But that’s hard because I’m an orphan.”

Sister Amelia’s heart ached for her, but she smiled softly. “That’s understandable, Joel. Family is a precious thing. But what else? Something bigger, perhaps?”

She thought hard, her mind racing through fleeting images of her past—faces of people who had come and gone, the fleeting warmth of kindness, and the painful loneliness that sometimes enveloped her. “Maybe to fly?” she said unsure, but her voice gained a hint of excitement.

“Fly?” she asked, laughing lightly. “How do you mean?”

“Yeah,” she said, her enthusiasm building. “I just feel like birds are so free, especially the eagles. They can go so high, unbothered, just do whatever they want, go wherever they want.” She looked up at the sky, imagining the vast expanse above them, a world where worries and fears didn’t exist, where she could escape from the life she lived.

Sister Amelia chuckled at the innocence and honesty of her dream. “That’s a lovely thought, Joel. Flying does sound wonderful. The freedom of soaring through the sky, looking down at the world below. You’re right; eagles are magnificent creatures.”

“Yeah, they are!” she exclaimed, her excitement spilling over. “They can just glide and catch the wind. I wish I could do that.”

“Who knows?” Sister Amelia said thoughtfully, looking at her with encouragement. “Maybe one day you’ll find a way to make your dreams come true. You’re resourceful, and you have a good heart. That counts for a lot.”

Jolene felt a warmth spreading through her at the words. For the first time in a while, she felt seen and understood. “Thanks, Sister,” she said quietly, a small smile forming on her lips.

As they continued walking, the sun filtering through the leaves above, Jolene couldn’t shake the feeling of hope growing inside her. Perhaps one day she would indeed find a way to soar, to break free from the constraints of her life and reach for something greater. For now, she took comfort in the small moments, like sharing dreams with Sister Amelia under the dappled light of the forest.

[midnightmah07]

Fav twst oc ships of your moots? (or whats ur fav oc ship with characters)

HEHEHEHEHE OH MY GOSH SO MANY

Sorry moots👉🏻👈🏻 I'll be tagging a few of you...

I love basically every oc x canon from @4necdote BUTTTT I love specifically Grace and Floyd🥺🥺🥺 THEY'RE JUST SO SILLY AND CUTE LIKE UGHHHH I WANNA HOLD THEM IN MY ARMS AND KISS THEIR FOREHEADS

I love love love @justm3di0cr3's Poppy and Epel too like. They're so. They. They're so sweets childhood friends to lovers my beloved!!!!!!!1111

I adore @natsukishinomiyaswife's Erica and Malleus like RAHHHHHHH THEY'RE SOOOOOOOOOO CUTE HELP ME

@crystallizsch's Yuusha and Jamil make me go INSANE all of their interactions are so sweet and wonderful and cute and UGHHHHHHH can I. Can I please bite them. Please. I beg

Don't usually talk about it but I love every oc/yume with Ruggie which means I have a MAJOR soft spot for @twtysevapr's Mina and Ruggie and @nicoliharu's Agatha and Ruggie like. USGSJJWISHWKSJDNS I NEED TO HOLD THEM IN MY HANDS AND PUT THEM IN MY POCKET

@ashipiko's Ashi and Ace too like THEY'RE SO SILLYYYYYYY I love them sm I want to kiss their foreheads and kick Ace's butt of he dares hurt my baby Ashi...

I HAVE. SO MANY MORE THAT I DIDN'T SAY HERE. BUT JUST KNOW IF YOUR SHIP ISN'T HERE IT DOESN'T MEAN I DON'T LOVE THEM OK I JUST CAN'T PUT EVERYONE HERE DKDJEKJSJDNS I LOVE YOU GUYS AND YOUR OC X CANON!!!!

[barbieaemond]

Red Bird (masterlist)

Pairing(s): Aemond Targaryen x Alysanne Hightower oc, Daeron Targaryen x Alysanne Hightower (minor)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, incest (cousins), childhood trauma, darkish aemond, asoiaf typical misoginy and sexism, canon divergence, toxic dynamics, possessive behaviour, smut, religious kink, a bit of green propaganda, Aemond is a petty bitch through the whole thing.

Author's note: we're back :) the old chapters will be reposted within this week. For the newbies, sneak peak under the cut.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Alysanne opened the door to Prince Aemond’s chambers like she owned them. She didn’t knock. She stormed into them and stopped in the center, breathing fire at him. "I want my books back."

Prince Aemond sat lazily on a chair next to the hearth, with his long legs crossed and resting on a long chaise, filled with books, her books.

He looked up from the book he was reading, also one of hers, and looked at her from head to toe.

"Is that an order?" he asked with the hint of a smirk, like a cat rolling in the sun.

"You had no right—"

"On the contrary." he closed the book with a thud and sighed "You see, everything in this castle belongs to me. Your books, your dress, even the air you breathe."

"That is strange. Last time I checked, Viserys, not Aemond, was the King of Westeros."

She spoke his name for the first time, and his blood sang. He shushed it, sighing loudly, and put her book aside, resting his arms on the armchair.

"Close the door. I know you love scenes, but I’m not in the mood for an audience today."

Her lips formed a tight line, just as tight as the way she was clenching her fists.

"You want your books back? Close the door."

After an endless time in which they just stared at each other, she moved and closed the door.

Submit and play nice.

"Good." he crooned "It seems even a stubborn thing like you can be domesticated. Now, sit."

She swallowed patiently, closing her eyes for a moment, and then she looked around. But there was no surface on which she could sit, unless she was stupid enough to sit on his bed. "Where?" she asked him with genuine doubt.

He moved his hand and patted his thigh as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Alysanne gave him a puzzled look, drowning in utter disbelief.

"I won’t eat you. And I won’t take you against your will. I have no taste for such twisted depravities."

Submit and play nice. Submit and play nice.

She already had half a mind of what to write to her father as soon as she was out of that room.

She moved closer and slowly, as if he had asked her to pet a snake, and cautiously sat on his knees, on its ends, trying not to leave all her weight on him. But Aemond bent his knees in a swift move, and she slid directly into his lap.

Her mouth went dry and she was sure she was blushing, again. She refused to look at him, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw his white fingers tapping lazily on the armchair. She felt his eye running slowly over her and tasted ash down her throat.

"I see that you’re persistent in your change of colors."

"Is pink not to his Grace's liking?"

"No. Green suits you better."

"Well, I like to look into the mirror once in a while and remind myself that I’m not something that goes on a plate next to a piece of meat."

She heard him huffing the air through his nose, and she turned to look at him, almost baffled. He was laughing.

"You know what would please me? To see you in blue."

Sapphire blue? She wondered, but didn’t dare say it. She looked away and said "Unfortunately I don’t live to please you."

"Hmm. Who then? My brother?"

"One day, yes."

"Did you let him?"

"Did I let him what?"

"Taste you."

She turned her head and grimaced, hard. "Unlike you, Daeron is a decent man."

"I am decent. If I were not, I would’ve taken you in the Grand Sept, with or without your consent. But I don’t need to stoop so low." he leaned away from the backrest and came dangerously close, digging his fingertips on the armchair fabric to restrain himself. "You will come to me willingly. Actually, you will beg me for it."

Alysanne recoiled, trying to put some distance, to not choke on ashes. "What makes you so sure?"

"A few things. But most of all, the fact that you are closing your legs since the moment you sat on my lap."

Then it all happened in a blur. She stood up hastily, and in the same moment the door opened, revealing the baffled figure of Queen Alicent, stunned on the threshold.

Alysanne went pale as a sheet, as did the Queen.

"What is the meaning of this?" 

[sevendeadlywhispers]

7Seals

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Chapter 5*

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• Previous Chapter: Chapter Four Next Chapter: Chapter Six

• New chapters every Thursday •Content: Levi Ackerman x OC female. Slow Burn! Canon verse!

• Word Count: 1.6k • Warning: This content may not be suitable for all readers. If you've watched all of AOT then you will understand that the show handles heavy subjects such as abuse, racism, violence, and other heavy subjects. This fanfiction will also have the same heavy themes. Chapters with heavy themes will be marked with * at each chapter.

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The air in Alexander's quarters hung heavy, once again I felt like an uninvited guest. His desk, cluttered with maps and scouting reports, he sat there staring at it all not saying a word to me. As I stood there, the room felt smaller, suffocating under the weight of unsaid words. It was time I finally stood up for myself.

"So, are you going to ignore me or are we going to talk about it like adults?" I finally broke the tense silence, eyes fixed on Alexander, who sat at his desk, avoiding my gaze.

"What is there to talk about, Iris?" he replied, finally looking up at me. His eyes, once warm, now held a cold distance.

"Oh, I don't know," I retorted sarcastically. "Maybe all the crap you said yesterday in Erwin's office?"

"Everything I said was true. I don't know what else you want me to say," Alexander stated, his tone unyielding.

"Maybe congratulations? Can't you be proud of me?" I shot back, frustration seeping into my voice.

"Proud?" He laughed bitterly. "Why would I be proud? If anything, I'm disappointed in you. I'm the best captain you will ever have. You're going to die by his side just for some title."

"You're just envious it's not you," I accused, desperation creeping into my voice.

"Like I'd want to work under that idiot," Alexander retorted, his bitterness palpable.

"Why are you so bitter?" I cried out, my emotions getting the best of me. "You've been so uptight the moment he entered the regiment."

"I'm keeping my guard up. Why should I trust a thug?" Alexander defended, his walls firmly in place.

"He's not a bad guy, Alexander. If you just took a moment out of your day to talk to him like he's a human being, you'll see," I pleaded, hoping to break through the barriers he had built.

"Oh, and when did you find the time to have a heart-to-heart with him? Sneaking out with that little rat when I'm not around?" Alexander accused, getting uncomfortably close.

"Don't you dare lie to me. I know you guys were together the day the wall fell."

"What? You have people spying on me now?" I scoffed. "I showed him around town. I treated him like a human because none of you will. That's all."

"So, you are cheating on me with that rat," Alexander laughed bitterly. "How embarrassing."

I rolled my eyes at his extreme accusation.

"You know what, Alexander?" I retorted. "You're embarrassing. Treating someone like they're scum, like you're better than them."

"You're not denying that you cheated on me," he argued.

"I'm not doing this with you right now," I said, attempting to walk away. However, he grabbed my wrist, yanking me back towards him. The painful grip on my wrist made my irritation flare.

"Iris, we need to talk about this, remember?" he demanded, his eyes searching for any sign of guilt in mine. It was like he was mocking me.

"No, we don't," I replied, trying to pull away. His grip tightened, and I winced, the physical pain mirroring the emotional turmoil.

"Stop avoiding the truth, Iris," he insisted, frustration clouding his expression. But I couldn't handle this now; the accusations, the hurtful words—he was pushing me too far.

"I shoulda known, you do have a thing for superiors."

"Let go of me, Alexander," I asserted, my tone firm. But he held on, and the tension in the room escalated, the air thick with unresolved issues.

"I didn't say you could go anywhere," he said, forcefully pulling me closer, his grip on my wrist unyielding.

"Let go, Alexander," I insisted, attempting to retrieve my arm, but his hold only tightened.

"You tell me right now." His voice, once firm, escalated in volume. "Did you cheat on me?"

His eyes darkened, and he inched closer, the anger palpable in the air.

"Alexander," I pleaded, meeting his angered gaze. "You know I would never do that."

Feeling small under his towering presence, his eyes bore into mine with undisguised disgust. His anger radiated through my wrist, a painful reminder of his grip.

"You fucking whore," he spat at me, the words hitting like a physical blow.

Tears swelled in my eyes as he regarded me with disdain. I couldn't speak, couldn't move. This feeling was all too familiar.

"Hey! You guys in there?" A voice interrupted from the other side of Alexander's door.

"Levi's looking for Iris!" Hange's voice rang out after a few knocks.

"Yeah, she's with me. She'll just be a second," Alexander called out with a sudden calmness, a stark contrast to his recent anger. But just as quickly, he reverted to being mad at me.

His voice lowered, and his grip tightened even more than I thought was possible.

"Dry those tears," he growled. "Lover boy is waiting for you."

He dropped my wrist, and I continued to stare at him. Locking eyes, I wiped away my tears and left his room without a word.

"Finally!" Hange exclaimed as I stepped out. "Levi and I have been looking for you all over." They rambled on, but their words were distant echoes in my mind.

I couldn't focus on anything Hange was saying. My thoughts lingered on what had transpired in Alexander's room.

"Hey, you!" Hange snapped their fingers in my face. "Why weren't you guys at breakfast?"

"Well," I started, attempting to find the right words.

"Oh!" Hange's voice squeaked. "I get it. You guys needed some alone time, huh?" They nudged me playfully, winking to imply more than I cared to entertain.

"Yeah, sure," I laughed it off, not in the mood for Hange's teasing or having to explain myself. No one needs to know.

"Well, Levi has been looking for you all morning. He's out in the barn cleaning equipment. I'd hurry if I were you," Hange advised.

"Yeah, thanks," I mumbled, feeling defeated.

"Also, find a good excuse to tell Levi why you're late!" Hange yelled after me as I walked away. I threw a thumbs up without turning back, my mind still clouded with the turmoil from Alexander's room.

The walk from the mess hall to the barn felt like a journey through the corridors of my own doubts. The emptiness around me mirrored the void Alexander's emotions had created. He, my supposed confidant, had become my biggest adversary.

"Your late for training, Aldridge," Levi's flat voice cut through my thoughts, making me jump. Another man's stern eyes replaced the lingering anger in my mind.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize the time," I replied, unable to meet Levi's gaze. Another set of emotionless eyes felt like too much to bear.

"After every breakfast, I expect you to be in the barn," Levi stated coldly, his tone cutting through the air.

I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eyes as he spoke. The weight of judgment, both from him and Alexander, pressed upon me.

"Get ready to spar on the training field," Levi ordered. I nodded, taking off my coat and rolling up my sleeves.

"Tch," I heard from behind me.

"What?" I turned to Levi, confused.

"Disgusting," Levi muttered, picking up my coat and throwing it at me. "Hang it up properly."

"Oh, right," I mumbled, taking my coat and hanging it beside Levi's on the wall. As I followed him to the training field, the weight of training felt heavier than usual.

On the field, the new recruits ran through their paces under Shadis's watchful eye. Nothing had changed with that man. He remained an ever-present figure, an unwavering observer of our struggles.

I felt a firm grip on my wrist, followed by a force that shoved me face-first into the dirt. The ground met my face, covering it in a layer of dust. Levi's presence loomed over me, an unyielding force.

"You would be dead right now if I was a real attacker. Pay attention," Levi's voice cut through my disorientation, his words echoing in my ear. I winced at the pain radiating from my wrist, but I refused to let it consume me.

Levi released his grip, allowing me to pick myself up, determination flickering in my eyes. Before I could ready myself for a counterattack, another strike found its mark. My feet were swept from beneath me, and I crashed back to the ground, gazing up at Levi.

"Get up," he commanded, his voice sharp. "Fight me again. We aren't stopping until you pin me."

The challenge hung in the air, and I pushed myself off the ground, fueled by a relentless determination. I don't need another man doubting me. Levi hand picked me for some reason right? Or was it actually Erwin who picked me?

Why was I even picked? I can't fight, Alexander's right. I'm going to dead as soon as we step outside those walls. The only reason why I'm alive is because of Alex.

I felt my body lunge forward as I attacked the Levi with a ferocity that surprised even herself. Each strike was a release of the frustration and hurt. My wrist burned more but my mind just kept wandering.

Alexander is a petty man, just how long is he going to be mad? Will I have to leave the squad for him to forgive me? It was something I was scared to face. I fight titans for a living yet I'm scared of the man I love.

"You're wasting energy," Levi remarked, as he pinned me to the ground once again.

"A distracted soldier is a dead one. Clear your mind or you'll end up proving that shit bag right."

"My mind is clear, Levi." I said pushing myself off the ground.

"It's Captain." Levi's expression remained impassive.

"I wanted capable soldiers, not ones blinded by personal issues. Get your head straight, or you won't last long."

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