#tells herself she only cares about vengeance.

[bull-at-the-gate]

Sehkmet the Just. Devoted Paladin of The Lord of the North Wind; The Wyrmking; King of Good Dragons; The Platinum Dragon Bahamut

More silly Tavs. haha can we tell that I started out drawing animals and have for way longer than I’ve drawn people?

Sehkmet’s an Oath of Vengeance Paladin and always keeps her word, or will die in the attempt.

I imagine she’s been resurrected once before after falling in battle against the cult of Tiamat.

She devoted her life to serving as an instrument for Bahamut’s vengeance after losing her clan to followers of Tiamat as a wee cub.

So she’s very devout, but also gets to be a whole himbo, as a treat. She and Hollow (my durge) would ask together with full earnestness ‘what animal is the pink panther’ and Sehkmet would probably forget after a week.

Some Headcanon-y Things

Heals by giving lil’ forehead kisses and will absolutely not tolerate anyone hiding injuries, she’s lost too many a good ally to let that slide.

Helps with cooking by prepping the food so Gale has a little less work to do; Can freeze food for later too

White Dragonborn are more adapt for the cold, so Sehkmet’s got a thick downy fur, ideal for cuddling; everyone has slept with at least once for the best platonic cuddles (maybe minus Lae���zel until much later)

Has no idea what a shirt is, not really, but she prefers to go without when resting. Only somewhat understands modesty, everything for Dragonborn is extremely internal so she understands in concept, but not necessarily for herself

Does laundry for everyone, finds the repetitiveness to be meditative and is particular about strong smells, so doing it is a win-win. Patches up any holes she finds too.

Fascinated by hair, loves to style it and learned how to when a few war clerics taught her to. Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Gale all thought she was giving them *the look* but she just wanted to play with and style their hair.

I need to practice muscular bodies a bit, but she’s built like a seven-foot tall truck and hits like a train.

Can only see out of one eye, lost total use of her right one while training to join her order but the vision had been failing most of her life.

She was a secret fan of *The Blade of Frontiers* before meeting Wyll because she’d heard he also only had one functioning eye and was still able to be a champion of the people.

did not, however, realize she was older than him. She’s still a fan.

Spends at least one evenings each tenday polishing and caring for the party’s armor, after proving to Lae’zel she did an acceptable enough job to be entrusted hers as well.

Scarily fast, especially out of her armor. She was too slow, once, to save a cleric who’d trusted her to be their shield. She’d vowed to never be too slow again, and she always keeps her word.

Offers mercy and a second chance unless it’s been proven to her that a beaten enemy won’t do better; She follows Bahamut’s own words on the matter, no justice without mercy and no penance without forgiveness

Would probably be a theater kid

Spars with Lae’zel and Karlach on the regular in camp. I like the idea that Dragonborn can replace teeth but it’s not common knowledge yet, so it’s funny to picture:

Karlach knocking out a couple teeth and being extremely apologetic and starts looking for the teeth

Sehkmet’s just confused because she’s assumed her whole life everyone’s teeth regrow and is confused why Karlach’s dragging Shadowheart over with her old teeth asking if she can put them back.

Lae’zel is amused (Gith definitely would also be able to regrow teeth, selectively bred warrior race and all) and uses the moment for one of her lovely little Githyanki supremacy tangents.

Sehkmet is just standing there, staring at the horizon in concern, like ‘You all don’t regrow teeth?!’ and thinking about how many belated apologies she needs to make

Karlach is still holding bloody teeth

Lae’zel and Shadowheart are fighting (flirting) again

Astarion is over by the cookout bugging Gale and watching the show

Gale and Wyll are still thinking at least they’re normal

the Emperor is still imploring you to eat a tadpole.

[ace-and-ranty]

IT’S ABOUT THE PARALLELS. IT’S THE ORION/EL - EL/LIESEL PARALLELS.

It’s the bonefide, card-carrying hero crashing in your life when you’re busy being as selfish as possible to keep yourself alive, keeping your head down so school doesn’t kill you. It’s being utterly alone until someone comes around and gives you an excuse to start saving people. It’s having to be the sensible one in this relationship because your dumbass hero keeps trying to get themselves killed. It’s telling yourself you’re only being sensible when you’re really being very fucking selfless actually!!

[punkshort]

Swept Away | Chapter 9: Sink or Swim

Pairing: sugardaddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You confront Joel and he struggles to tell you the truth and open up, leaving you with a broken heart.

Chapter Warnings: language, sugar baby/daddy dynamics, mountains of angst, jealousy, reader has long-ish hair, reader falls down into a shame spiral where she compares herself to a prostitute

WC: 5.9K

Series Masterlist

You had never felt more stupid or naive in your life.

How could you let this happen? How could you allow yourself to be put in this position, knowing deep down you would ultimately get hurt? And the worst part was, you had no one to blame but yourself. Joel was upfront from the very beginning. He was paying you to pretend to be his significant other and he repeatedly drew the line in the sand, refusing over and over again to take things further with you. But you just kept pushing and pushing and he eventually caved, your persistence finally wearing him down. And after everything, after he told you he had never been in love, after explaining he was only with Tammy for vengeance and then convenience, you still foolishly thought maybe you were different. That maybe you could change him. What the hell had gotten into you? Why couldn't you just do the job you were hired to do, collect your payment and go home?

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the tears back as you stood over your bed, packing the rest of your belongings before the plane took off in a couple hours. Most of your things were packed, the clothes and accessories Joel and purchased for you before the trip, but you still had to gather all your own personal items. When you pulled your bag from the closet, forgotten and untouched for weeks, you immediately spotted an old, baggy shirt and your favorite pair of jeans. Without even thinking twice, you stripped off the pajamas and underwear that were purchased for you and replaced everything with your own clothes. When you pulled your shirt over your head and looked in the mirror, you took a deep breath and gave yourself a little smile.

This was the girl you knew. This was who you really were. Not some girl who pranced around in lingerie that cost more than a month's rent or a swimsuit that could cover a car payment.

You should have known this life wasn't for you. Joel had called you a hopeless romantic that day on the beach. The same day he got you the pretty pink seashells you now cradled carefully in the palms of your hands.

Maybe he was right.

"Almost ready?"

You jumped at his deep voice in your doorway and nearly dropped the seashells. With extra care, you wrapped them in an old hoodie and buried them in your bag.

"Yeah, almost," you said over your shoulder, pausing a moment when you saw the two white, unopened envelopes filled with tip money you had completely forgotten about.

Joel's arms circled your waist from behind and you quickly closed the bag.

"Feelin' sad it's over?" he asked, lips pressed gently into the crook of your neck. And you knew he meant the trip, but your heart still wrenched in your chest, anyway.

"Uh, yeah," you said, swallowing down the dejection that threatened to crawl up your throat. You carefully pried his hands off you and slipped away to pack your toiletries, leaving him standing there with a confused look on his face.

He watched you as you busied yourself with packing, taking great care to wrap your shampoo and face wash so it wouldn't leak, and he frowned.

"Somethin's up."

You shook your head and pressed your lips together, focus still fixed on your task. "No. Just... like you said. Sad it's over."

Joel ticked his jaw to the side, still not convinced. Then it dawned on him and he slowly sat down on the edge of your bed.

"We never talked last night like I said we would," he said. "'M sorry, I was thinkin' 'bout the land and all the shit I gotta do to finalize the sale... we'll talk on the plane, alright? Promise, baby."

For some reason, hearing him call you baby made your stomach turn and you instantly bristled.

"Uh, no, it's fine," you insisted, tucking your hair behind your ear when you bent over to shove your toiletries into your bag. "Nothing to talk about, it was stupid."

And now, it really did seem stupid. Admitting you would have come there without being paid just for him to lie and break your heart hours later?

But, shit... it was still true. Even after he lied, you still didn't want any of his money. He could keep it all if it meant he would open up and let you in.

"Wasn't stupid," Joel finally said softly. He was beginning to worry now. Something wasn't right and it was making his pulse race. When you breezed past him to gather the things from your nightstand, he grabbed your wrist and spun you around. Reluctantly, you met his eye and he imploringly gazed up at you.

"Talk to me."

You inhaled a shaky breath and dropped your chin to your chest. "Joel... I still have to pack-"

"I don't care," he said sternly, "I got people to do that for us. Why ain't you lookin' at me?"

Nerves shot through your limbs, fingers beginning to shake so you curled them into fists. You had to bring it up one way or another, right?

The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

"Why won't you tell me what happened with your daughter?"

Once the words left your lips, the room instantly felt colder, his grip felt tighter, and your muscles stiffened in anticipation.

"What?" he asked, his voice so low and his tone so icy that it sent a shiver down your spine. You shifted nervously from foot to foot, eyes still pinned to the floor.

"Why won't-"

"I fuckin' heard you," he snapped, dropping your wrists and standing up. "Who told you?"

You swallowed tightly and took a few steps backwards.

"Tammy."

Joel practically growled with rage as he began to pace around your room, the area that once felt so spacious and luxurious now felt so small and cold. He grumbled under his breath and dragged his hand through his hair, curls sticking up in odd directions when he turned on you with a look that could melt steel.

"The hell you talkin' to her for?"

Of all the things for him to say, you didn't expect that.

"What do you - she came at me last night! She threatened to tell Glenn about your daughter and brother and I had to pretend like I already knew!"

Tears welled up in your eyes and your hands pressed protectively against your chest.

"I was helping you, Joel. I stopped her from ruining this deal for you." And you hated the way your voice wobbled when you said, "I was doing my job."

His eyes flashed with anger when he stopped a few feet away from you with his hands propped on his hips.

"You shoulda came to get me. This didn't have anythin' to do with you," he told you. You winced and looked back down at the floor, unable to stop yourself from taking it personally.

"Why does Tammy know more about your family than I do?" you asked, your voice so small and weak it was borderline embarrassing.

"'Cause-" he cut himself off, swiping his palm over his mouth while he stared at you, wrestling with his anger and his feelings all at once.

"'Cause it ain't part of the deal?" you offered bitterly, just as surprised as him at the quick change in your tone. And because he was foolish and always quick to anger, he took the bait.

"Yeah, 'cause it ain't part of the deal," he huffed, narrowing his eyes at you.

"But it was part of her deal," you pointed out. At that, Joel rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air.

"The hell you want from me?" he asked, voice rising now. "I told you 'bout her, told you what happened-"

"And you told me she was the only reason you felt you weren't a 'good man'!" you shouted with air quotes, your heartbreak bleeding into anger. "You fucking lied to me, Joel!"

"My family ain't none of your goddamn business!" he shouted back, the look in his eye and the sting of his words making you falter for a moment. "If I wanted to tell you, I woulda told you!"

"That's the problem, isn't it? You don't want to tell me anything! It's like pulling teeth with you, Joel, I swear to god..."

You pushed past him to shove the remaining items from your end table recklessly into your bag while he stalked after you.

"You wanna know 'bout my daughter? 'Bout my brother? Will that make you happy?" he yelled, his face growing hot and his eyes flickering with anger as he towered over you. You spun around with your arms crossed, refusing to let him intimidate you. But before you could shoot back an answer, he kept going.

"You wanna know how I abandoned my kid? You want me to tell you how I turned my back on my brother, let him lose his goddamn business? Huh?"

You blinked and shook your head, stunned.

"W-what?"

"Yeah, that's right," he sneered, turning away momentarily before twisting back around to face you. "This is why I don't do shit like this. 'Cause of the look you're givin' me right now."

You were speechless. You couldn't think of a single thing to say to make the situation better, so you kept your mouth shut and held back your tears while he cursed under his breath and tried not to yank his hair out at the root. When it became apparent you had no fight left in you, he twisted his wrist to look at the time with a scowl, then haphazardly picked up your bag from the bed and tossed it on the ground next to the others.

"We're leavin' in half an hour, be ready," he muttered, then slammed your door behind him after he disappeared into the hallway.

You let the tears fall, then. Only when he was gone and couldn't see. You buried your face in your hands and fell to your knees next to your things and sobbed as silently as possible, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you so hurt.

When you found a break in the sadness after taking a deep breath and drying your cheeks, you righted your bag only to hear shards of something delicate rattling inside. You frantically dug around and found the pink seashells all but destroyed and another wave of tears washed over you, only that time you didn't try to hide it. You sobbed openly while clutching the pieces to your chest, rocking back and forth, hoping to ease the pain somehow, but nothing helped.

Nothing could put the seashells or your heart back together.

Panic seized his throat approximately four minutes after he slammed his door, storming into his bedroom and muttering angrily under his breath until the clouds cleared and he realized his mistake.

His huge, fat, monstrous fucking mistake.

The hurt he carried with him about Sarah and Tommy wasn't meant to be unloaded onto you. It was something he was responsible for and something he had to deal with. It wasn't fair to snap at you the way he did just because he felt shame. He was taken off-guard, shocked that you knew anything about them in the first place, and he lashed out. Everything between you was so new, he was too scared to tell you the truth.

But it ultimately didn't matter.

He pushed you away, like he always did. He wasn't honest, you called him out on it, and he fought back like a petulant child.

And now he was going to lose you.

He whipped out his phone and typed out a quick text to his assistant, Liam.

What should I do for a girl when I've fucked things up beyond recognition?

He waited for a response and stared listlessly out the window, fingers tapping anxiously against his leg until he heard something. He rushed to his door and pressed his ear against the wood, brows furrowing as he tried to pinpoint the sound. Then his chest ached when he heard your muffled crying from across the hall.

Are we talking Chanel bag fucked up Cartier watch fucked up?

Joel frowned at his screen before replying, remembering the relaxed outfit you were wearing when he walked into your room earlier. They were definitely not clothes he bought. He already knew, but you weren't the type of person who cared about stuff like that.

I have no idea which one of those is better or worse. I fucked up big time but I don't think designer shit's the answer.

Then something sentimental. Something that means something to her. Or the both of you, if that's possible.

Joel rolled his eyes before tapping out a thanks and sliding the phone back into his pocket. Right before he was about to step out into the hall, his phone buzzed again.

And say you're sorry. Feels like that's a given but who knows with you.

Liam had been Joel's assistant for almost a decade. He knew Joel would never fire him because he was just too damn good at his job, and he loved to wield his power whenever moments arose to do so.

A simple apology wouldn't be enough. He needed to do more. But he was so fucking terrible at this, so rusty, he could hardly even remember what it was like to be in a legitimate relationship.

Was that was this was? He never had the chance to ask. And now he could feel it slipping through his fingers, just like the sand on the beach that day he kissed you in the ocean, or the powdered paint used to decorate your faces.

Joel swung his door open, ready to barge back into your room, take you into his arms and apologize until you either accepted it or screamed at him to stop. But when he stepped across the hall, your room was empty. Your bags were gone.

He hurried into the living room to find you tugging at your luggage, hair all wild and covering most of your tear soaked face as you struggled to get your bags closer to the door.

"Darlin', you don't gotta do that, the crew'll get all this shit," he reminded you, purposely softening his voice. He rubbed at his chest as he approached, ready to apologize, but the minute he got a good look at your face, he knew it was no use. Your eyes were all puffy and filled with rage when your head snapped up to look at him.

"I don't need you or your people to help me," you hissed, angrily swiping at your hair. He held out his hands in surrender, hoping you could see how sorry he was, but you just swiveled away to grab your bag and toss it over your shoulder.

"Wait, can we talk-"

"I'll be in the lobby," you said bitterly, and before he could say anything else, you disappeared out into the hall and the door had swung shut.

Admittedly, you had envisioned using the bed on Joel's private jet for something far more fun than lying there staring at the ceiling with eyes so dry and raw, they felt like sandpaper. Yet that was exactly how you found yourself three hours into the flight, unable to find peace or rest, your argument playing on a loop in your head.

Then, of course, came the intrusive thoughts.

Were you no better than a whore? Technically, you slept with a man who was paying you for your companionship. Wasn't that the very definition of a prostitute?

Joel only carried on a relationship with Tammy when it was convenient and the moment she started to develop feelings, he cut her off. You were certainly convenient, sleeping right across the hall, practically throwing yourself at him. And although he could probably sense you wanted more from him, that you were feeling something more but too afraid to admit, at least you never got to the point where you put yourself out there. At least you still had some dignity intact.

Somewhat.

You rolled over with a frustrated groan, savoring the feeling of the expensive, buttery soft sheets against your skin, knowing in a few short hours you would be back to the worn out cotton set you had bought back in college.

The luxury items were nice, but you could live without them. There was only one thing on that plane you really wanted, but your mind won the battle over your heart: you wouldn't let him hurt you again. He told you exactly who he was, and you didn't believe him.

You wouldn't make that mistake again.

But that didn't stop your heart from splintering in your chest every time you thought about the way his lips felt against your neck, or the sweet things he whispered in your ear - my girl, all fuckin' mine, you got me, or the way he took such gentle care of you after the incident with Brooks.

He was a good man, deep down.

No, he was a fucking asshole and a liar.

With a heavy sigh, you sat up in bed and fixed your hair, bending over to look in the mirror by the closet at your appearance and swiping the pad of your finger underneath both eyes, as if it made any difference, before straightening up and opening the door.

Joel sat with his head in his hands in front of his glowing laptop. He didn't hear the door open at first, so you paused, taking a rare moment to study him when his guard was down. His shoulders looked heavy, fingers curling into his hair as if he were in pain, and his leg bounced wildly underneath the table. If you didn't know any better, he looked conflicted. Like he was wrapped in guilt and self-pity.

You tossed your hair over your shoulder and lifted your chin high. It's not about you. He's working. It's probably about some bullshit with work. Don't do this to yourself again. Don't think you're something to him when you're not.

You stared at him a minute longer, anger bubbling up inside you again, but this time your anger was directed inward. Why, after he lied to you, after he said his family ain't none of your business and if I wanted to tell you, I woulda told you and it ain't part of the deal, did you stand there wishing you could climb into his lap and bury your face against his neck? Breathe him in and let him fill you? Whisper your names into each other's mouths and scrape your nails over his scalp just to hear him groan?

You must have made a noise, or maybe he was developing a sixth sense because suddenly his hands dropped, his leg froze, and his eyes snapped up to meet yours. Your gaze darted nervously around the plane, squinting out the window through the clouds as if you could tell where you were as you flew over the entire goddamn ocean, before finding his eyes again.

"Get any sleep?" he asked. His voice was raspy from disuse and you rolled your shoulders, trying to physically rid your body of the effect those three simple words had on you.

"No," you replied before slumping down into a chair on the other side of the cabin, furthest away from him. You tucked your fist under your chin and gazed tiredly out the window. Joel's eyes could have burned holes into your head from the way he was staring at you, scanning you, trying to come up with the right combination of words that would take back everything he said, until finally he cracked.

"Please talk to me."

Your eyelids fluttered closed at the soft desperation in his tone, throat feeling like someone's fingers were squeezing around it.

"There's nothing to talk about."

Joel huffed and stood, joints cracking from sitting in the same position for too long. In three long strides, he dropped himself into the seat across from you.

"You had questions. Lemme answer 'em."

You opened your eyes and forced yourself to look at him. Up close, he looked disheveled. A little rattled, maybe. But mostly determined.

"You said it yourself. If you wanted to tell me, you would've. If she never said anything to me, would you have told me you had a daughter?"

His mouth opened and closed for a moment, considering his answer.

"No," he finally replied. You rolled your eyes and turned your head away, neck straining at an impossible angle so you could stare out the window and avoid seeing him in your peripheral vision. "But not for the reasons you think."

"Yeah? You have no idea what I'm thinking," you muttered.

"What happened was... it's a long story, but-"

"But you told Tammy," you snapped, eyes still glued to the clouds.

"I've known both of 'em for years-"

"You said you didn't care for her that way, yet she knows so much about you," you rambled, too lost in your own anger and jealousy now.

"Can you let me-"

"God, I'm so fucking stupid. This was a huge mistake-"

"Will you let me fuckin' finish?" Joel asked, voice rising and purposely cutting you off before you could finish the sentence that might shatter his heart for good.

You whipped your head around, nostrils flaring and brows sewn together into a glare. Joel just stared right back, his chest rising a little faster under his button down shirt, dark eyes looking stormier than usual. When too much time had passed, you raised your eyebrows and wiggled your head from side to side expectantly. Go on, speak. He took a deep breath and pressed his back firmly into the plush leather chair before continuing.

"I've known her and Scott for a long time. They knew 'bout Sarah years ago. And, yeah, when I was younger and fuckin' stupid, I told both of 'em too much 'bout me. But I couldn't tell you, 'cause-"

He cut himself off, swallowing the lump in his throat as you stared one another down.

"'Cause I care what you think. 'Bout me. I care what you think 'bout me. Don't care what she thinks. Just you."

Sarah. Joel. Sarah and Joel, Joel and Sarah.

Just you.

Your eyes pinched shut and your shoulders sagged, the emotional whiplash finally taking its toll.

"I can tell you, if you want," Joel offered. His hands were fidgeting in his lap as he searched for any possible sign that he was breaking through.

"If I want. But you don't want to, right?"

Your voice sounded so small, you barely recognized it.

When he didn't answer, you lifted your chin and opened your eyes. You watched his throat bob and his lips purse before giving you a defeated look and slowly shook his head. At least he didn't lie again.

You bit your lower lip and nodded. You'd had enough.

"Then don't. Doesn't make a difference now, anyway," you told him. Reaching for your bag, you pulled out some earbuds and a hoodie, muttering angrily to yourself when you found it inside out.

Joel just watched, dejected and lost, too out of his element to undo the damage he caused as you yanked the hoodie over your head and popped your earbuds in. Once you reclined your chair and closed your eyes, he got the message.

He would just have to accept it was over.

When you finally fell into a restless slumber, you dreamt. You dreamt about a pair of soulful brown eyes, strong hands and a smile that made you weak in the knees.

The worst I'll ask is for you to hold my hand and the occasional kiss.

Only it wasn't just that, was it? It was secret touches that blossomed into flirty kisses when no one was around until the tension broke and he turned your world upside down with his deep laugh, sweet touch and torn knuckles.

Then you dreamt of broken seashells, salty tears, and you were hired to look pretty and act like you're in love with me. Everythin' else is none of your goddamn business.

He tried to warn you, you gave him that. He tried to push you away, but you persisted. You were foolish and had no idea what you were getting yourself into, and now you were left with a broken heart, heading back to Los Angeles to an empty apartment.

Joel was unavailable, plain and simple. He had a fortress built around himself that was impossible to tear down, and even though he offered to let you in, give you the grand tour, it wasn't genuine. He didn't offer because he wanted you in, he offered because it was what you wanted. And maybe to assuage his own guilt.

The flight crew woke you up when dinner was ready. You groggily sat up and tried to force feed yourself some chicken, something you assumed Joel had ordered for you, but you hardly made it halfway through before giving up.

He glanced at you occasionally but he kept to himself. He focused intently on his laptop or phone while you tried to find something to distract yourself with on TV.

When the flight crew announced you'd be landing in half an hour, Joel straightened up and began to look a little panicked, like maybe he had been expecting you to cave, trapped on his private jet with him, and you never did. And now you'd be landing soon, his chances dwindling.

"I ain't good at this," he said out of the blue. You just shrugged and kept your gaze fixed on the television.

"I noticed."

His fingers rapped impatiently on the table.

"What if we started over?"

Curiosity got the best of you and you rolled your head to the side to look at him with a raised eyebrow, which he took that as an invitation to keep talking.

"We didn't meet on the right terms. This wasn't -"

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair.

"I don't do relationships," he began again, and at that you scoffed.

"I'm very aware of that, too."

He narrowed his eyes at your dry tone. "But you do."

You frowned and turned back to gaze blankly at the TV. "Yes, Joel. Like most normal people, I have relationships."

"Alright. What if I'd be willin' to try somethin' like that? For you? Start over and do it right?" he asked hopefully.

"Then I would say twenty four hours ago, that was exactly what I wanted to hear," you said coldly. You saw him stand out of the corner of your eye and find a swivel chair closer to where you sat on the couch.

"And now?"

The deep timber of his voice had you taking a moment to breathe deep and collect yourself. You could smell his cologne, the one you never got the name of but would spend two hours one day in the near future trying to find it in a department store just so you could smell him again.

"And now..." you echoed, your brain tossing around various replies until you settled on, "I don't know."

He inched forward on the chair and glanced over his shoulder to make sure you were alone before saying, "Listen, baby. I'm sorry. I'm so unbelievably fuckin' sorry that it makes me want to pluck by goddamn eyes out. I wanna make this right. Just tell me what to do."

The pilot announced your decent and you sat up to buckle yourself in.

"I'm not going to force you into opening up for me, Joel," you said, clicking your seatbelt loudly before meeting his eye. "You can tell me everything about you. Every ugly, horrible, nasty little thing. But unless you really want to tell me, unless you trust me and care for me enough to not judge you for it, I don't want to hear it."

His eyes dropped sadly to the floor and he nodded. He lied to you already, and he wasn't going to sit there and lie again. But maybe one day he would grow into a better person, someone who would want to share the terrible things they've done with someone they care for and trust they wouldn't think any less of him.

But today was not the day.

He sat back in his chair and you kept your focus on the television as the plane landed and began to screech to a halt. When it slowed, you leaned forward to put your earbuds and book away, then frowned when you saw the pieces of pink seashells still scattered around the bottom of your bag.

You began to scoop them up and Joel watched you curiously, ignoring the flight crew flitting around and doing all their checks.

When your hands emerged from the bag holding the broken pink pieces, he found himself lurching forward.

"They broke?" he asked, feeling far more sentimental about it than he ever expected.

You nodded and dumped them into a small trash can within reach. "When you threw my bag on the floor earlier."

Joel froze and scanned his memory. When did he throw your bag? Then he remembered angrily storming out of your room and haphazardly tossing your bag off your bed to join the rest by the door, not thinking anything of it at the time.

"Fuck," he muttered, dragging his palms roughly over his face. Yet another mistake. "Darlin', I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," you told him, cutting him off when you unbuckled your seatbelt to stand. You caught the look he gave you and you shrugged. "Really, it's fine. I'm over it."

You slung your bag over your shoulder and headed for the exit. Joel stood to follow you, glancing forlornly at the garbage one more time before swiping his wallet and phone from the table next to his laptop.

He nodded to his driver, who stood obediently next to the open car door where you had disappeared inside.

"Richie," Joel greeted him with a firm handshake. Richie smiled before holding out his arm and stepping to the side.

"Congratulations, sir. You must be thrilled."

Joel gave him a curt nod and ducked inside the backseat of the car. Thrilled? No, he was hardly thrilled. A day ago he was thrilled. A day ago he had it all. But now? He had the land, sure. He was bound to make a mountain of money off the new hotel, his business would thrive and his hotel would become a household name.

But it didn't make him happy. Not the way it used to.

"Here," you said after ten minutes of driving in silence. He turned and felt his heart skip a beat when you held out your ring. Slowly, he unfurled his fist to open his palm so you could drop it in his hand. Joel gazed down at it, the gold still warm, and wondered how long it would take for the tightness in his chest to ease.

"I'll have someone drop the clothes and stuff off sometime next week," he murmured, sliding the ring into his inside jacket pocket. It felt like a goddamn weight pressing into chest.

"Keep them," you replied, still facing away from him so you could stare out the window at the quiet, dark streets.

"Part of the contract. They're yours," he reminded you.

"I don't care. I don't have the room for them. Besides, where the hell am I going to wear a designer dress? To the grocery store?"

Joel dropped his gaze to the seat, staring at the space between you. It was only a handful of inches but it felt like miles.

"The money'll be wired tomorrow," he said, clenching his teeth when Richie turned onto your street.

"Keep that, too."

His head whipped around, eyes narrowing into a glare. "No."

"I don't want it, Joel," you insisted as you unbuckled your seatbelt. The car came to a stop and Joel shot his arm out to stop you.

"Richie, give us a second."

The driver immediately stepped out of the car and leaned against the hood to light a cigarette. You fixated on the bright orange glow so you didn't have to look at Joel.

"You're takin' the money," he told you firmly. "You ain't got a job and we signed a goddamn contract. Quit bein' so stubborn."

You sniffled and gathered your bag.

"If you send it, I'm asking my bank to reject it," you replied. Joel groaned and twisted to the side to face you.

"Why? Why are you fightin' me on this?"

"Because!" you exclaimed, emotions getting the best of you. Finally, your watery eyes found his. "Because I can't take it! Not after everything -"

Your voice caught in your throat and your lower lip trembled. Joel's eyebrows pulled together, stomach feeling like it was filled with cement as he fought the urge to cup your face and pull you into his chest.

You took a deep, steadying breath and then temporarily collected yourself.

"I signed that contract before I knew you," you said quietly. "But now... I ... I just can't." I don't want your money, I just want you.

You reached for the door handle, hellbent on leaving before he could see you cry, but his voice stopped you.

"The money's goin' in tomorrow. If you feel that strongly 'bout it, give it to charity or somethin'. But you're gettin' that money."

Before you could respond, you heard him shuffle in his seat and open his door, telling you to stay put, that he would walk you up. And in the brief few seconds it took him to round the car and shoo Richie away from your door, you tossed the two unopened envelopes onto his seat.

The door opened and you hurried out, clutching your bag tightly against your side and jogging up the few stairs to your building.

With shaky hands, you unlocked the door and took a step inside. You weren't sure what made you do it, but before you let go of the door, you turned to look at him one last time.

He stood at the bottom of your steps, staring up at you with his hands shoved into the pockets of his tailored pants. It took him no time at all to lose the casual attire and slip back into suits that probably cost thousands. Even after everything, part of you still wanted him. The pieces of you he did allow you to see were good and fun and sweet.

But just pieces wouldn't do.

"Goodbye, Joel," you said, pretending that your voice didn't crack or that a tear didn't sneak down your cheek. He didn't reply. He just continued to watch you from the sidewalk until you turned and disappeared inside, into an elevator and back into your tiny apartment to cry yourself to sleep.

He didn't say goodbye because he wasn't done. He had already decided hours ago.

He was going to do whatever he had to do to win you back.

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[dark-konohagakure2]

hii, can i request noncon madara capturing tobiramas virgin daughter during a battle and then using her as his personal slave? sorry if this isnt a request you're comfy writing !

tw: noncon, age difference, size difference, kidnapping, enslavement, abuse, breeding, rough sex, degradation, sadism

All characters depicted are 18+

There are very few people that Madara can claim to loathe with his entire being, but if he had to pick one person, it would be Tobirama Senju. Not only had the man constantly discriminate against his clan, but he was also responsible for Izuna's death. Now Madara wants vengeance, and he already has the perfect plan to make Tobirama feel the same pain as him.

During the Uchiha's next battle against the Senju, his main target is not Tobirama, but his daughter, and capturing such a weak girl is almost laughably easy. Madara thinks it's only fair, Tobirama stole someone he loved, and now Madara will steal somebody he loves.

Despite his stoney face, internally Madara feels as giddy as a child on Christmas morning, he now has his hands on not only Tobirama's daughter but Hashirama's niece as well, and he has complete and total power over her, and he plans on using that to his full advantage.

Once he has her in his grasp, Madara will do everything in his power to strip her of all her human dignity, stripping her of her clothes, slapping her around, and treating her like less than dirt, tearing her apart with his harsh words and razor sharp tongue as he makes use of her.

"Shut your mouth you Senju whore. This is what you deserve for having such tainted blood running through your veins, so be quite before I rip your tongue out."

Madara is very rough with his newly acquired slave, holding her down roughly with his bigger body, using his full weight to force her thighs against her chest as he ruthlessly claims her virginity, almost animalistic with the intensity he employs as he breeds her.

He is a much bigger and stronger man than most, so Madara can easily hold her down or lift her up as he takes advantage of her. He'll twist and bend her body in uncomfortable positions to increase her pain and his own pleasure. Madara doesn't care about her comfort, he believes that she deserves every bit of suffering she gets for daring to be a Senju.

Madara doesn't just use her for sex, but for labor as well, making her do demeaning tasks such as cleaning the blood off his weapons and armor whenever he returns from another one of his "dances", he'll even gloat to her during this, telling her with relish about how the very blood she's cleaning off of him is the blood of her fellow clansmen.

Whenever Madara is done with her, he leaves her broken and bruised everytime, his seed leaking out of her holes and her body trembling in equal parts fear and pain. Madara enjoys her pain, knowing that he's not only hurting the girl herself, but her father as well by proxy.

"Does it hurt? Good. That's just a fraction of the suffering your damned father caused me when he killed my brother. Get used to it, bitch. This is your life now..."

Madara sees this as a twisted form of justice in a way. Tobirama took a family member from him, so Madara will simply make himself a new one, and he'll use that Senju bastard's own flesh and blood to do so, the thought of having a half Senju child both disgusting and exciting Madara.

[knickety]

doing some digging and reading of lore for my yaoqing trio manifesto (which is leaning slightly feiqiu heavy at the moment BUT I AM determined to do Moze justice as well. part of the reason I am yelling about this here, because it is so fascinating)

When Feixiao first meets Moze, he tries to attack her, angry with her+her troops for routing the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus who had been experimenting on him. Despite the experiments, he had considered them family, not knowing the broader details of their operation but only that they had 'saved' him (for their own purposes) after he was orphaned and abandoned by his previous home. We don't know any details about his life prior to the Disciples, for now.

Back to Feixiao! It seems that she had initially planned to have nothing further to do with Moze after freeing him- after his initial first lunge at her, she deflects, telling him that "Someone will come to plan a home and life for you. Just follow them and you will be fine."

Moze does not listen, and continues trying to attack her. She dodges, holds him back, tells her soldiers not to react or punish him- and admits that he reminds her of herself, freshly escaped from the borisin war camp where she grew up. And this similarity prompts a change of mind:

First of all, hilarious that part of the deal was Feixiao being like "you can try to kill me... but you need to learn and grow and take care of yourself first." okay mom

Second of all:

We see this odd transaction they've got going- Feixiao, who says her only enemy has ever been herself, places a guard who has a vested interest in killing her close to her side- to keep her on his toes, to (presumably- this is my own speculation) train him to be the best equipped to take her out, should she ever actually become a threat.

She trades his attempts on her life for missions carried out on her behalf- and it is through those missions, which Moze at first only carries out to earn more 'forgiveness'/attempts at trying to revenge himself upon her, that he begins to question his loyalty to the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus, and realize the extent of the harm that they did- but doesn't think about it, because to question that would be to throw this whole tenuous balance into question. If he no longer feels loyalty to the Disciples, and no longer wants revenge on Feixiao, what does that leave him with?

And in his E6, which I've seen people refer to as the character represented in their purest form, we see this:

Moze, clutching one of Feixiao's strales so tightly that it cuts him. Clinging to the fascimile of vengeance, of her transactional forgiveness- even if he has stopped truly wanting to kill her, and even if there is nothing to forgive.

[matchingbatbites]

i thee wed

Teen | 2.9k | Female Steve Harrington

A very late submission for @steddie-week Day 5: Reunion/Getting back together, as well as @stevieweek Day 4: Special Outfit.

This fic is too short to be as late as it is, but alas. It was originally supposed to be just runaway bride Stevie showing up to Eddie's home in a huge wedding gown, but somehow Carol wheedled her way into the story, so.

Read on Ao3

Stevie’s mom is doing up the last of the buttons on her dress, each one tiny and pearlescent and perfect against the white lace fabric, when Robin walks up, clearly worried about something.

“Carol's here, and she's asking to talk to you,” she says quietly before Stevie can even ask what's wrong, and oh. She's been expecting this for a while - ever since Tommy proposed, really - but she didn't think Carol would wait until the day of the wedding to actually seek her out. “What do you want me to tell her?”

Stevie hums and thinks for a moment as they smooth out the skirt, as she steps into her heels which are as white and pristine as the rest of her outfit. “I'll talk to her. She deserves that much.”

Robin continues to frown but nods. “She’s in the back hall. I'll keep an eye on everyone here, but scream if you need anything.”

“I will. Thanks, Birdie.”

It's not hard to find Carol, leaning against one of the back walls in an outfit that's too casual to be appropriate for a wedding guest. Stevie still smiles as she approaches, and receives a small one in return. 

“Hi, Carol.”

“Hi, Steph. You look beautiful.”

Stevie huffs and fluffs the a-line skirt again. “Thanks. I'm kind of dying a little, if I'm being honest. I didn't realize how hot this thing would be.”

That earns her a chuckle, and Stevie feels a bit lighter- feels like this might be okay as she asks “So what can I do for you?”

Carol's expression drops, her entire being taking on an air of sadness that almost leaves Stevie breathless. She and Carol haven't really spoken in years, but it's still upsetting to see her so down.

“I'm here because- We were friends once, and I miss that. I miss you.”

Stevie can't stop herself from muttering an “I miss you too,” and Carol pushes herself off the wall. She takes Stevie’s hand in her own and starts to lead them down the hall, slow and meandering.

“You know, after everything went down, I thought I hated you. It felt like I'd been betrayed by two people I thought cared about me, two people I thought I could trust."

That hurts, even though Stevie knows it's true. Tommy and Carol had been together for years before- before. When they broke up it had been a big deal in their social circle. Stevie had honestly never planned on dating Tommy, but then the letter came, and Tommy asked her out, and- and she'd been so lonely.

"It took me a long time to realize that I had nothing against you at all; it was that Tommy dropped me the second he saw a chance to be with you. Just left me like our relationship meant absolutely nothing to him. After that it was pretty easy to come to terms with the fact that I was just a placeholder for Tommy while he waited for you."

She pauses and Stevie glances up to find Carol's sharp gaze locked on her, calculating but not quite cold. "Just like you're using him as a placeholder right now.”

“Tommy's not a placeholder-”

“Eddie's out of jail.”

Stevie freezes on the spot. Carol might as well have stabbed her with the pain that shoots through her chest, the ache that had dimmed in the last four years coming back with a fucking vengeance.

“What?”

“I ran into him last week. He got out a couple months ago. Tried to get in contact with you a few times.”

Steve swallows around nothing and reaches up to grab her necklace, something that only intensifies her pain as her brain screams that it's the wrong shape, that it's not right. 

“I don't know why. He already said everything he had to say to me, right in black and white.”

Carol tugs on her hand, guiding her down the hall once more. “See, I asked him about the letter, and he had no idea what I was talking about. He told me that he sent you dozens of letters, but none of them talked about him being done with you.”

Dozens? Stevie only ever got one letter from Eddie, a single page that ripped her heart to shreds, that crushed every dream she’d had about their life together. “What else did he say?” she can't help but ask, and Carol looks uncharacteristically disturbed.

“He said that Tommy and your parents have been working to keep him away from you. Steph, he said that your dad threatened him. Said that if Eddie did anything to ‘get in the way of your happiness’ that he'd make sure Eddie went back to prison and never came out again.”

Stevie stares at Carol, searching for any hint, any possibility that the woman is lying to her. Even after years apart, she can tell that Carol is telling the truth.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Carol's smile is a small, sad thing. “Like I said: we were friends, once. I want you to be happy, but more than that, you deserve to know the truth. Tommy being fucked over is just a bonus.”

She gestures to the side and Stevie looks over, out the glass door she hadn't noticed before, and sees a taxi waiting on the curb.

“That's the cab that brought me here. It's ready to take you anywhere you want to go.”

Stevie's heart lurches. She's supposed to be getting married in twenty minutes. Supposed to wear this dress she can't stand and walk down the aisle of a church she didn't choose and go to a reception that's going to be full of her parents' friends so they can show off their daughter's accomplishment.

If she was marrying the man she truly wanted, she might have been able to shove down her frustrations and just deal with it, but Tommy just isn't that man. She knows it in her heart, and when she looks at Carol, Stevie can tell that she knows it too.

And suddenly, none of it matters.

“They're gonna come looking for me.”

Carol smiles. “I'll tell them you stepped out for some air.”

Stevie is overcome by a sudden rush of affection, and she can't resist pulling her old friend into a hug. “I owe you one,” she says, and feels Carol shake her head.

“Consider it my apology for being such a bitch to you after Tommy dumped me.”

“Apology more than accepted.”

They pull apart and Stevie gives her one last smile before heading for the door.

She doesn't really remember the ride to the trailer park; it's all a blur up until the taxi slows to a stop in front of a place that Stevie used to think of as home. She thanks the driver who told her that Carol prepaid for her ride, and then climbs out.

Wayne's truck is out front, so at the very least she'll be able to apologize for not visiting anymore. She knows the man was hurting just as bad as she was when Eddie was put away, but after the letter, she hadn't even been able to look him in the face.

She knocks on the door and shifts in her heels as she waits. What if she’s too late to make things right? What if Carol really was lying and it was all just a means to get her away from the wedding, to ruin her life?

There's barely any time for her thoughts to spiral before the door swings open and she's suddenly face to face with Wayne, the man that she considered to be a better father to her than her own. He certainly seems surprised to see her, but before she can even begin to explain, he turns and calls out “Ed! You got a visitor!” 

Stevie reaches for the older man and tries an “I'm so sorry-” but he shakes his head and takes her hand in his own work-worn ones. 

“There'll be time for that later. I'll give you two some space for now.” He gives her hand a gentle pat before releasing it, grabs his truck keys, and heads out the door and down the steps.

Stevie hears a door open further in the trailer and steps inside just in time to see Eddie stepping into the hall, his sweatpants and tank top an extreme contrast to her lacy, fluffy wedding gown.

She's surprised to see that he's filled out a little, the lankiness he used to have now replaced with a sturdier, stronger frame, and his hair is the shortest she's ever seen it - a bit longer than buzzed now that he's been home for a little while. His eyes are the only thing that haven't changed, still the same deep pools of chocolate she remembers, although they're currently wide in surprise as he registers just who is before him.

“Stevie?”

Stevie gives a single broken “Eddie,” and then they're both moving. They meet in the middle of the tiny kitchen and cling to each other, hands and arms clutching tight like they're both worried the other will disappear if they let go. Stevie can hardly breathe through her sobs, can barely even take a breath with how her face is pressed into the skin of Eddie's neck. 

The man isn't much better- she can feel the way his fingers dig into the fabric of her dress, trying to haul her closer, like the millimeters of clothing between them is still too much distance. Stevie thinks her legs must give out because they sink to the floor, her skirt pooling around them as Eddie just holds her and mutters reassurances- “I've got you baby, I'm here. Never gonna let you go again, princess.”

She doesn't know how long it takes her to stop crying. It’s only when she can actually breathe again that she pulls back enough to cup Eddie's face, to run a hand over his short curls. “Your hair,” she says, smiling through the few tears that still escape her. The man gives her a watery smile and brushes a stray lock of hair away from her face.

“I can’t believe you’re talking about me while you’re over here looking like a Bridal Barbie or something.”

That makes her laugh, and she confesses “You don’t know how much I hate this dress. It’s so awful, Teddy.”

“Let me guess, your mom vetoed the slinky, sexy dress?”

“I thought she was going to have a heart attack right there at the bridal store when I walked out wearing it.”

Eddie shakes his head and rubs his thumb over her cheek. "That's too bad. I bet you looked like a fuckin' dream, sweetheart. Honestly, you still look like a dream, even in this cake topper gown."

Stevie laughs again, and it hits her all at once how much she still loves this man, how undeniably happy he makes her. In the last four years, no one has made her feel the way Eddie did, has even looked at her the way the way he is right now. Tommy only ever looked at her with desire, like a prize to be claimed and flaunted, and her parents never really looked at her at all unless she was doing something to make them look good.

Eddie though. He's always looked at her with wonder, like he can't even believe that he's allowed to be around her, much less have her for his own. She grabs his hands, holds them tight between them.

"I left Tommy at the altar," she says and Eddie's eyes go wide in shock.

"Oh, shit. What, uh. What made you change your mind?"

"Carol came to see me. Told me what you said about him and my parents, about the letter." She pauses and takes a deep breath as tears well up in her eyes again. "Eddie, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have trusted it blindly, I should have believed in you. I promise I was gonna wait for you, and if I'm too late-"

Eddie frowns and rubs a thumb over her knuckles "I told you a long time ago, sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere unless you tell me to. Honestly, when I found out you were engaged to Tommy, I thought that I was too late. Thought I'd fucked up too bad and you finally realized you could do better."

Stevie can't help but scoff at that. "Tommy is not better than you. He just- he was there, and he wanted me, and I- I didn't want to be alone anymore. I wanted someone to love me."

A soft, broken noise escapes Eddie and he tugs her into another hug. She goes willingly, clings to him as he shifts and pulls her into his lap.

"You won't be, baby. Now that I've got you, you won't ever be lonely again, not if I can help it."

"So you still love me?" Stevie asks, her voice wavering on the question that's been plaguing her for years, the question that she needs to know the answer to.

"Oh, sweetheart, of course I still love you. You're the girl of my fuckin' dreams, you know? I think I'm always gonna love you."

He loves her.

Eddie still loves her, and it's like something at the center of her being settles into place.

She pulls back just enough to kiss him, deep and desperate and everything she's wanted in the years that he's been gone. She pours every ounce of her feelings into it, her desire, her regret, and she feels like crying all over again as he returns it tenfold.

It feels like coming home, like she can finally relax because she knows Eddie has her, will always have her. He won't brush her off the way Tommy does, won't disregard her opinions or criticize her clothes or-

God, Tommy really was a piece of shit, wasn't he?

Stevie breaks the kiss but doesn't move, lets her lips brush against Eddie's as she says “Do me a favor, baby?”

“Anything, sweetheart.”

“Take me to the courthouse. Make me your wife, please."

Eddie frowns and moves back enough so he can look her in the eye. "Stevie, maybe we should take some time to think about this. I mean- I'm not the same guy you knew when I went away-"

"And I'm not the same girl. Hell, neither of us are those dumbass high schoolers that fell in love over a fucking history project. We've both grown, both changed. But Eddie, our years together were the happiest of my life, and I've gone through all of this wedding planning bullshit wishing I was marrying you instead."

Stevie moves a hand to the back of Eddie's neck and tugs until their foreheads are pressed together, and she can stare into endless pools of Eddie's eyes. "I wanna be your wife, Eddie. We can figure out everything else after.”

Eddie lets out a shuddering breath and nods, mutters a soft "Yeah, okay. I mean, can't say I haven't literally dreamed about it."

"Well, I think we should make some dreams come true, yeah?" She presses a quick kiss to his mouth, not letting it linger before she says "You gotta change though. As hot as you look right now, we can't get married while you're in sweatpants."

They're stopped outside the church by a red light on the way to the courthouse.

Stevie can't help but grin at the sight of people scattering from the building as Tommy stands on the front steps, his face tomato red as he throws what seems to be the mother of all tantrums. Stevie's father is yelling back at him, and her mother is off to the side looking absolutely distressed as Tommy's parents try to calm the two men down.

The van is in the far right lane, giving Stevie a perfect view of the chaos, and a thought crosses her mind. She rolls down the window and shifts until her torso is nearly hanging out of it, and she brings a hand up to her mouth. The whistle is loud enough to cut through the noise, and Tommy and her parents all turn to see her.

He barely gets out a "Steph?" before she chucks the ring he proposed with in his direction. It hits the sidewalk and bounces a couple of times, and she can see when the realization of what it is hits Tommy.

"What the fuck-" he starts, but doesn't finish. Stevie yells a "Fuck you, Hagan!" and flips him off as the light changes and Eddie starts to pull away. She lurches a bit as the van moves and she feels a steadying hand settle on her waist as Eddie cackles behind her.

Stevie settles back in her seat and rolls the window up, and looks over to see Eddie beaming like he just won the lottery. "I fuckin' love you, Stephanie Harrington," he says, and she smiles as their hands lace together.

"I love you too," she replies, wanting nothing more than to cross over the center console and plant herself in Eddie's lap. "And that'll be Stephanie Munson soon, if you can hurry the fuck up."

Eddie laughs again at that and brings their hands up so he can press a kiss to the heirloom ring he'd given her earlier. "Hang on, baby."

Stevie grins as she clings to him, and as the van speeds toward the center of town, she knows she'll hang on to him as long as she possibly can.

Divider Credit

[witchofhimring]

Rhaenyra losing her daughter in childbirth

Warnings: death, childbirth, trauma

So I promised that my next writing of Rhaenyra would be happy. But I suddenly had this plot bunny so we have angst again.

-She still had nightmares of her own mothers death. She had not been there but that did not stop images of a knife cutting up her mother from haunting Rhaenyra. They were less frequent these days, she was done having children and the fear was abated. Her fate would not be in the birthing bed. When Rhaenyra's only daughter excitedly told her mother that she was with child it came roaring back with a vengeance. Now it was no longer herself under that knife but her daughter.

-At first Rhaenyra tried to console herself with the fact that Y/n had the best maesters on hand. Y/n was constantly examined and Rhaenyra was informed of any changes. As Y/n's belly grew those fears became more prominent. She could hardly walk without her mother hovering about. Rhaenyra will have pillows situated on every seat throughout the Red Keep.

-Rhaenyra finds it hard to fully get excited about the baby. Not that she did not want grandchildren. Especially since Y/n had always wanted to be a mother. She tries to be happy for her sake. Rhaenyra will listen to her daughter's excited rambling and feign happiness. But deep inside she is petrified with fear.

-During the nights Rhaenyra's nightmares will continue. Sometimes she wakes up in a sweat and frantically wake. She throws on a robe and walks to her daughters room. Y/n will be there sleeping peacefully, chest rising and falling. For a while Rhaenyra will watch as if expecting something bad to happen. Eventually Rhaenyra will quietly walk back to her room.

-By the seventh month Y/n's mobility is greatly decreased. She has to lean on her mother for support. Rhaenyra tries to remain calm and support her girl. When Y/n falls into anxiety Rhaenyra tries to cheer her daughter up. Because walking is difficult Rhaenyra props up pillows under the Weirwood tree. As Y/n lays there Rhaenyra reads her favourite stories. In the meantime Rhaenyra will summon merchants to bring items from all over Westeros and Essos with various goods. These items are not just for the baby but Y/n as well. Rhaenyra imports goods that helped her through the pregnancies she carried. Balms that sooth her aching muscles are applied to Y/n's skin on a daily basis. Teas that sooth her aching belly are administered by Rhaenyra. While Rhaenyra was never truly taken to sweing she began to make comfortable dresses that her daughter could wear.

-When Y/n goes into confinement Rhaenyra does with her. Of course as Queen Rhaenyra has other responsibilities to attend to so there are times she leaves. And there are some who complain that the Queen spends too much time away from her desk. But right then she did not care, Y/n was her priority. Although confinement is a custom, when Y/n asks for the windows to be opened Rhaenyra does so. She does not care what the ladies say. She dreads her daughter feeling miserable leading up to the labor. They try to keep their mind off what will take place in a few weeks time. Y/n speaks of wanting to see Dragonstone again when she recovers and Rhaenyra promises her so.

-Y/n's labor start of the day the maesters said it would. Rhaenyra is woken by her daughter shaking her. Y/n is quaking and hunched over. Blood and other bodily fluids are staining her nightgown. In a moment the room is busy with maesters, midwives and ladies. Word goes around that the princess in in labor and that night people go to the sept to pray. Rhaenyra holds her daughters hands as every pained breath escapes Y/n quivering mouth. They give her herbs for the pain but it does not stop the blood. A days passes, then two, and the horrid realization that her fears might come true horrifies Rhaenyra.

-She tells the maesters that if they cut Y/n open she will feed them to Syrax. Eventually, as Y/n fades in and out of consciousness, Rhaenyra gives them her consent to try something. Since the baby will not come out on its own they will have to turn it. The idea makes Rhaenyra physically ill and she has to puke pile into a bowl. She goes to her daughter and whispered "I love you" before her legs are forced apart and the maesters hands go in. She begs her daughter to just hold on a little longer. Y/n's hand seizes hers with abnormal strength and Rhaenyra prays. Let her daughter live.

-The baby arrives into the world wailing. Y/n falls onto the bedding and Rhaenyra lets out a cry of relief. The baby, much stronger than her brother Baelon had been, kicks its strong legs and flails its fists. She turns to her daughter and the smile dies. Y/n's skin has a sickly hue to it. Her eyes seem to fade and the grip slackens. "Y/n!" She screams out.

-They lead the screaming Queen out. Daemon is summoned to pick his wife up and he carries her to their shared room. She is screaming and crying, unaware that she is not even beside her daughter anymore. They force something warm and bitter down her throat and Rhaenyra unwillingly floats into unconsciousness.

-She wakes two days later. Beside her are the children, her son Jaecerys holding her hand. Lucerys is holding her newest grandchild with Jeoffrey peering down at her. The youngest two are in their fathers arms. Rhaena and Baela stand by the fireplace shielding themselves from the rest of the family in their distress. Daemon says nothing and simply takes his wive's hand. "I'm sorry." Is all he can say.

- She prepares your body alone. Rhaenyra can not bear the thought of unfamiliar Silent Sisters touching you, even dead. She quietly sings old songs her own mother once sang. Rhaenyra prays that you were up with Aemma. Oh if only the two of you could have met. She does not wrap you up, she always knew you hated enclosed spaces. You are dressed in red and black with a diadem placed on the h/c locks. Once she had made it for you to pass down. Now the thought of anyone having it but you was more than she could bear. Rhaenyra is riding behind your carriage, pale and weeping. This is her mothers death all over again. When they reach Rhaenys's Hill Rhaenyra can not bring herself to light the pyre. It is her eldest son who does the honor, Vermax's flames engulfing Y/n's body. Rhaenyra does not remember the rest of the day.

-One night, weeks later, Y/n visits her mother in dreams. She was with her grandmother in and endless sea of flowers. They were both laughing as the sun danced off their skin. Rhaenyra had never thought much about the afterlife. But as she looked upon her daughter and mother she prayed they were happy. A bright sun hailed the day. Rhaenyra lay in bed for a few moments as some deep emotion stirred within her. The feeling was like a new emotion awakening within her. It was not pain yet it stabbed within her like a knife. With an aching chest Rhaenyra threw a robe over her body. It was early enough that only the servants were awake. The babies room was silent except for small rustling noises. Peaking into the crib her grandchild stared up at her with wide eyes. Rhaenyra's heart nearly stopped as she realized this baby had Y/n's eyes. With steady hands Rhaenyra picked up the baby. It stirred and made cooing noises before Rhaenyra held the baby to her chest. Warmth spread throughout her body as this last piece of her daughter reached out for Rhaenyra. She walked over to a chair and picked up a book. It was Y/n's favourite, the one Rhaenyra read to her. Rhaenyra cradled her grandchild close and read.

[melrosing]

Do you have any thoughts on Cersei and her relationship to her now forcibly cut hair? Do you think she will keep it short as a sort reclaimation and power move as was done in the show? Or do you think she will let it grow or at least want to let it grow long(er) again?

firstly i am excited for the possibilities. buzzcut cers. bob cers. i need to draw them.

secondly, I think if she has the time, she will try and grow it out to what it was before. Cersei tells herself when she's shaved, 'hair grows back' - it's how she keeps herself calm, and it's a promise of vengeance. she fully intends to reclaim her identity as Cersei of House Lannister.

i think hair is generally associated w identity in asoiaf. have joked about the number of times characters go bald but ofc it's quite a natural symbol of rebirth, reforging one's identity. it comes up with Dany (who is essentially born again as the mother of dragons), Arya (shaving her head is part of becoming 'no-one', cutting away her past - though ofc hair grows back), and Jaime.

Jaime's hair journey (lol) I think is meant to compare and contrast with Cersei's. their hair was once what made them so alike, and what made them Lannisters. and Jaime says himself that Cersei 'will hate' his changed appearance, that they don't look so alike anymore. presenting as pseudo identical was part of what tied them together in her mind - it was how she recognised herself in him.

so i think whilst Jaime shaves his head for purely practical reasons, it becomes a symbol of his emotional divorce from Cersei. she reacts to it with alarm in ASOS, and is disdainful of the greys creeping in amongst the gold, and the beard as well. but Jaime seems happy with the beard, and never seemed to cling to his long locks. Cersei is disturbed by his changing appearance, whereas Jaime just seems to be growing into himself as an individual apart from her.

it's really different for Cersei though. she doesn't shave her own head - it's shaved against her will, and obviously causes her significant distress. she needs to calm herself with thoughts of vengeance, and covers her baldness in the epilogue. Jaime doesn't seem to care much what he looks like, but Cersei is a woman and a queen, so losing her hair is significantly more loaded in its consequence.

Cers derived so much of her power from her beauty, and her hair was part of that. taking it away takes a part of her power, and her identity as a golden Lannister. Jaime doesn't have to rely on his name in quite the way Cersei does. people don't fuck with House Lannister, but a bald Cersei doesn't look particularly like a lioness.

and I think that some element of reforging oneself is present for Cersei in that she's going to reforge herself... worse. that's what i've always seen this as:

"If it please Your Grace, Ser Robert has taken a holy vow of silence," Qyburn said. "He has sworn that he will not speak until all of His Grace's enemies are dead and evil has been driven from the realm." Yes, thought Cersei Lannister. Oh, yes. [CERSEI II, ADWD]

Cersei realises upon completing her walk that she has already acquired the tools for revenge, and it's going to be bloodier than ever. so where Jaime's shaved head begins an arc where he reforges himself through self reflection and redemption, Cersei's begins one in which she doubles down on everything, indeed to her own doom. Jaime learns that he wants to do differently, Cersei learns the opposite. it's like, once that's all cut away, who are they really? turns out: very different people with very different views of the world, and the physical similarities they used to share, and took for their identical souls, was only a façade.

[trappedinafantasy37]

"Weeeh! I wanna recruit Minthara on a good playthrough! Weeeh! I don't like the ultimatum and want to keep both Minthara and Halsin! Weeeh! I wanna make Minthara good! Weeeh! I don't want Minthara to break up with me!" Minthara deserves more content but none of these things are at all what she needs or deserves. No, these are all things that you want for yourself, but do absolutely nothing for her. This is one of the biggest L's in the game and it will forever enrage me because I just know it will never happen.

Minthara deserves to confront Orin like all the other companions do with their abusers. She deserves to scream and yell at Orin. She deserves to cut at her the same way Orin did, make her bleed and scream in pain. Minthara deserves to torture Orin, just as she did her in the mind flayer colony. Minthara deserves the right to roll up to the Temple of Bhaal and beat the shit out of Orin with her bare hands. Leave Orin begging for mercy in which Minthara will not even give her a drop. To slam Orin down on that altar and slice her throat, offer her up as a sacrifice to the father she is so blindly devoted to.

And yes, Minthara would be afraid. She would be TERRIFIED. Despite how strong and powerful Minthara is, she is also the only one afraid of Orin. Unlike Ketheric, or Gortash, or Sarevok, she is the only one who fully acknowledges just how dangerous Orin actually is and does not underestimate her. She will walk down into that temple, intending to duel Orin with a massive disadvantage because she is terrified.

Minthara choked when seeing Orin again in the mind flayer colony. She choked when seeing Orin as an imposter, throwing her deep into the ocean of paranoia and fear. And she is so entrenched in paranoia that it actually becomes palpable to everyone around her, even you. She describes herself as paranoid, but this is the first that you actually see how paranoid she is. And she choked again when Orin kidnapped someone in camp, making her feel inadequate, making a mockery of her for being unable to protect one of her own. And every day that passes, the more and more likely that the victim is going to die and she has doubts on their survival.

At every possible avenue in which Minthara could have done something or said something about Orin, she froze in place with fear. But she's had enough. She cannot be afraid of Orin forever and she doesn't want to be. One way or another, Orin has to die and she wants to get over that fear. She needs to know that Orin is dead, for herself.

This would also make the alurlssrin confession all the more impactful. She wants to tell you that she loves you in the best way that she can because of the very high likelihood that she will never have another chance to do so. She would beg you to come with her as you give her the courage. She has the courage to face her fears and confront her tormentor, because she knows she has you in her corner. If you have the courage to stand up to the very gods themselves, then she can stand up to Orin. Romanced or not, your presence alone is enough to give her the strength to do something she would otherwise be too terrified to do.

Minthara deserves the honor to solo duel Orin in a fight to the death. Minthara deserves the right to achieve vengeance for herself. No, I do not care that this confrontation would conflict with a Durge playthrough. In fact, it would provide a phenomenal source of some interesting, and toxic, drama between Durge and Minthara. Especially if they're in a relationship. This also does not mean that Minthara killing Orin instead of Durge would not have its consequences (because it most certainly will). Even if Minthara does not fight Orin, it would be so much better if Minthara was just given the fucking chance to yell at Orin like all the other companions in their personal quests.

[queenvhagar]

I love your takes!! I would have loved to see Alicent raise her kids to be her strongest allies after realizing she had none at court.

Like THAT'S the greens! They are here for each other because nobody else is here for them.

Younger Aegon teases Aemond about his dragon in front of others, and his mother reminds him of the dangers of the future and the importance of defending this family. At Driftmark, Aegon complains about his match with Helaena (Viserys' idea in the books btw not Alicent - perhaps an unwillingness to marry Alicent's children into other houses and find potential allies in them, or perhaps due to Targaryen custom, as his own parents were siblings) and Aemond speaks of duty to their family in response, risking his lift to claim the largest dragon in the world. In retaliation for this he is ambushed and his eye is cut out, and it's this moment when all the Green children realize that they truly are the only people on their side. Their own father would willingly mutilate should they spoke the truth of Rhaenyra and her sons, their sister would have them tortured and disabled to help herself and her sons, and their mother is the only one who seems to care that this is an injustice. They learn that the threat to their person is real and excusable to the king and his heir should it be necessary.

From here, the siblings are united against this threat. Aegon and Helena marry and make heirs (Aemond and Daeron are still not betrothed, likely due to the reasons listed above). Rhaenyra comes to court to defend her son's claim to Driftmark as Laenor's trueborn son, and when one man says aloud the obvious truth that this is a lie, the king is determined to have his tongue cut out of his mouth, and he permits that he cut down from behind by his brother, Rhaenyra's husband, without consequence. At dinner, Rhaenyra's eldest asks Helaena to dance to insult Aegon, and the one who cut out Aemond's eye feels such little remorse that he laughs in his face about past harms. So Aemond baits them to fight by alluding to the truth, and when the first punch has been thrown against Aemond, Aegon joins the fight against Rhaenyra's two sons. Once Viserys dies, Aemond brings Aegon to the coronation, later going to Storm's End to betroth himself and gain House Baratheon as an ally to his family. Aegon celebrates Aemond's actions and invites him to his small council.

Blood and Cheese rocks the very core of this family when Aegon and Helaena's six year old son is brutally slain before Helaena and her mother's eyes. Helaena is forever changed and unable to leave her room. Aemond feels responsibility as it is all in response to his own actions. Aegon rages. Then the two work together with the lord commander to plan an ambush for their opponents and get vengeance for this terrible act inflicted upon their family.

If the writers needed Aegon and Aemond in conflict this season it should have been due to Aemond's actions being linked to the loss of this young child, but no matter the issue between these two it would never result in Aegon publicly humiliating Aemond and then Aemond suddenly deciding to kill him and his dragon.

This characterization of Aemond really is the last unraveling of this family in the show this season. He is suddenly antagonistic toward his own family, trying to kill them, physically grabbing them, removing them from power (though justified with Alicent's characterization). Alicent is afraid of him apparently enough to run to Rhaenyra and give up her children. Helaena refuses to ride her dragon in the war as she's unaffected by the death of her child and decides to tell Aemond his death to his face. Aegon knows he tried to kill him and runs away to Essos.

Realistically, Alicent would have raised her children to be their staunchest supporters and prepared them for the roles they must play. They fight for power as a family to protect themselves from threat, and Aemond would under no circumstances have actually tried to have Aegon and his dragon killed with the purpose of seizing the throne for himself. The Greens have legitimacy through Aegon, the king's firstborn son, and his heirs, and each of the fewer dragons they have on their side gives them a better chance against the threat of Rhaenyra's. Aemond would never willingly cause the Greens to lose Aegon and his dragon. The Greens have always known that it's them against the world and this would not change once war is declared.

[moonlitstoriess]

The Hidden Legacy- A Ruhn Danaan x Rhysands sister series

Chapter 5: Fate’s Silent Whisper

Summary: Rhysand’s sister, Seraphis, long thought dead, was taken by the Asteri/Valgs, her memories erased and turned into a ruthless killer loyal to their cause. After Bryce kills the Asteri, Seraphis seeks vengeance on her and everyone else involved. As she hunts them down, Rhysand and the Inner Circle discover the shocking truth: she’s alive, and now their enemy.

See masterlist

Catalyst: a person or thing that precipates an event or change

"You know where to find me"

"You know where to find me"

"You know where to find me"

The stranger's words from Seraphis' first day in Lunathion were ringing inside her head. She had dismissed them before, but now, she saw the opportunity in their offer. If they could provide her with the means to accelerate her plans, then perhaps it was time to make use of them.

Seraphis clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. The vision wasn’t a warning; it was a promise. Her promise to the Asteri, to herself. Lunathion would fall, Bryce Quinlan would pay, and everyone who had dared defy the Asteri would be swept away like dust in a storm.

But she needed to be smart about this. Calculated. Charging in blindly would only lead to failure, and failure wasn’t an option. She needed information, leverage, anything that would give her an edge.

With a cold, resolute breath, she grabbed her cloak and left the motel, the cool night air biting against her skin. The streets were nearly empty, save for a few lingering souls who paid her no mind. Her steps were quick, purposeful, as she retraced her path back to the alley where she had encountered the stranger.

This time, there was no hesitation as she stepped into the shadows. “Show yourself,” she called softly, her voice cutting through the silence.

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, like before, the figure emerged from the darkness, their movements smooth and unhurried. “Seraphis,” they greeted, their tone calm and composed. “I had a feeling you’d be back.”

“I don’t have time for pleasantries,” Seraphis snapped, her gaze cold. “You said you could help me. Prove it.”

The figure tilted their head, as if amused by her bluntness. “Still so determined, I see. Very well.” They took a step closer, their voice lowering conspiratorially. “I know what you want, Seraphis. You want to see Lunathion burn. You want Bryce Quinlan and all her allies destroyed. But it won’t be easy. They have defenses, secrets—things that even you don’t know.”

Seraphis’s jaw tightened. “Then tell me. Give me something I can use.”

The figure’s eyes gleamed beneath their hood. “The wolf, Danika Fendyr. She died hiding something. A secret that could tear Lunathion apart from the inside out.”

Seraphis’s interest piqued despite herself. She knew of Danika’s death, of course, but she hadn’t cared to delve into the details. The wolf was nothing to her—just another casualty. But if there was more to it, if it could serve her purposes…

“What secret?” she demanded, her voice a low growl.

The figure stepped closer still, their gaze piercing. “Danika was investigating something. Something big. Something that could have changed everything. But she died before she could reveal it. And Bryce… Bryce knows what it is.”

Seraphis’s heart beat faster, not with fear but with the thrill of opportunity. “And you know what it is?”

The figure’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I know enough to get you started. I can show you where to look, what to dig into. With the right pressure, the right leverage, you could unravel everything Bryce is trying to protect. You could turn her own city against her.”

Seraphis’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in their depths. “And why would you help me?”

The figure’s smile widened, a dangerous glint in their eye. “Let’s just say I have my own reasons for wanting to see Lunathion fall. We may have different motives, but our goals align. I have information, and you have power. Together, we can bring this city to its knees.”

Seraphis studied them, her mind racing. She didn’t trust this stranger, but they knew things. Things she needed. If she could use them, manipulate them, then perhaps she could turn this to her advantage.

“All right,” she said finally, her voice firm. “Show me.”

The figure nodded, satisfaction gleaming in their eyes. “Follow me, then. There’s much to discuss, and not much time. If you want to destroy Lunathion, Seraphis, you’ll need to be ready for what comes next.”

She followed them, her heart steady, her resolve unshaken. She didn’t care about the consequences, about the cost. She had one goal, and nothing would stand in her way. Lunathion would fall, and she would be the one to bring it down.

Seraphis followed the cloaked figure through the labyrinth of darkened alleys, her steps silent as death itself. The air crackled with tension, each step taking them deeper into the shadowy depths of Lunathion. She was done playing games. Whoever this person was, they were about to find out just how lethal she could be.

The figure finally stopped at the entrance of a decrepit building, a place forgotten by the city above. They turned, slowly, and pushed back their hood, revealing a striking woman with raven-black hair and piercing green eyes that seemed to see right through her. There was a knowing, almost mocking smile on her lips.

Seraphis’s grip tightened on her blade, her instincts screaming at her to strike first. But she held back, if only barely. “Enough of this nonsense. Who are you?”

The woman’s smile widened, her voice low and smooth. “Names are such trivial things, don’t you think? But if you must call me something, let it be Miraya”

Seraphis narrowed her eyes. Miraya. It meant nothing to her, but the way this woman moved, the confidence in her stance—it set Seraphis on edge. She didn’t like not knowing who or what she was dealing with.

“You’re wasting my time,” Seraphis growled, her patience fraying. “I’m not here for games.”

“Neither am I.” Miraya’s voice was soft, but there was steel beneath it. She reached into the folds of her cloak and pulled out a small, shimmering crystal. It caught the faint light, casting eerie patterns across the walls. “I’m here because I can give you what you want.”

Seraphis took a step closer, her gaze locked on the crystal. There was something… off about it. A sense of immense power coiled within, dark and potent. “And what, exactly, is that?”

“An edge,” Miraya said, her eyes gleaming. “Something that will make your mission not just possible, but inevitable.”

Seraphis’s heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her expression neutral. “And what’s in it for you?”

Miraya tilted her head, studying her with an intensity that made Seraphis’s skin prickle. “Let’s just say I have my own reasons for wanting to see Lunathion in flames. Bryce Quinlan and her little band of heroes… they’ve upset the balance. It’s time for things to be set right.”

Seraphis clenched her jaw. It was tempting, so very tempting, but she didn’t trust easily. And she certainly didn’t trust strangers who appeared out of nowhere with promises of power. “Why should I believe anything you say?”

Miraya’s smile was pure ice. “You don’t have to believe me. But I know you, Seraphis. I know what you’ve been through, what you’ve lost. You think you can do this on your own, but you can’t. They’re too strong, too entrenched in this world. You need something more.”

She took another step forward, holding the crystal out. “This is a key. There’s a place beneath Lunathion, a vault hidden so deep even the Fae don’t know it exists. It holds something the Asteri left behind—a weapon capable of breaking even the strongest defenses. Find it, and you’ll have the power to bring this city to its knees.”

Seraphis stared at the crystal, her mind racing. A weapon left by the Asteri? It sounded too good to be true, and yet… There was a glimmer of truth in Miraya’s words. If such a thing existed, it could tip the scales in her favor.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against the crystal. A surge of energy jolted through her, dark and potent, whispering of untapped potential.

“Why would you give this to me?” Seraphis asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Miraya’s smile turned cold, almost predatory. “Because I want to see you succeed. I want to see them fall. And because I know you’re the only one who can do it.”

Seraphis hesitated, but only for a moment. Then she closed her hand around the crystal, its cold surface sending another shiver through her.

“You’ll find the entrance in the ruins beneath the old temple district,” Miraya said, stepping back. “Once you’re inside, you’ll know what to do.”

Seraphis didn’t respond. She turned on her heel, the crystal clutched tightly in her hand. She had a mission, and this—this could be the weapon she needed to see it through.

As she walked away, Miraya’s voice echoed softly behind her. “Remember, Seraphis… trust no one. Not even yourself.”

Seraphis didn’t look back. She had no intention of trusting anyone. All that mattered was the mission, the revenge that burned like fire in her veins.

And she would see it through to the bitter end.

Seraphis moved silently through the darkened alley, the sounds of the city muted around her. Every step was calculated, every glance over her shoulder deliberate. After her encounter with the cloaked woman, she’d doubled her precautions, her senses on high alert for any sign of pursuit.

But she had felt it—eyes on her. More than once.

She tightened her grip on the object she’d been given, its weight a solid reminder of the task she was here to complete. Failure wasn’t an option, not when the Asteri were depending on her. Not when revenge burned so fiercely in her veins.

She needed to get to the underground passage. It would take her to the place the woman had spoken of, to whatever weapon lay hidden beneath the city. She was almost there, just a few more turns through the labyrinth of alleys, and she—

Danika Fendyr.

The thought came unbidden, unwelcome. The woman had said Danika had been searching for the same information, that Bryce knew about it. But why? Why would Danika—a supposed hero, a loyal friend—have been looking for something like this? A weapon capable of untold destruction? Seraphis’s brow furrowed as she rounded another corner, her thoughts tangled.

Was Danika not as good as she’d appeared to be? Or had she been deceiving everyone, playing the role of the perfect friend while secretly hunting for power? The notion almost made her laugh. What did that little wolf think she could have done with a weapon like this?

And why hadn’t the Asteri told her about Danika’s involvement? She was their weapon, their prized creation. She was meant to know everything, to be one step ahead of everyone else. But this… this was a secret that had been kept from her, a piece of the puzzle she hadn’t even known was missing.

She gritted her teeth, her pace quickening. It burned, this not knowing. Danika’s shadow loomed over this mission, and it gnawed at her that a long-dead wolf—someone so inconsequential—had been privy to something that even she had been denied.

Had Rigelus kept this from her on purpose? But why? She had proven herself time and time again. Hadn’t she? Or had the Asteri doubted her all along?

She shook her head, trying to dispel the unsettling thoughts. It didn’t matter now. Danika was dead. Whatever she had known was irrelevant. Seraphis was here now, and she would succeed where that wolf had failed.

Another turn, deeper into the labyrinth of alleys. She could feel the undercurrent of magic beneath the city, the pulse of something powerful, something waiting. She was close now.

A flicker of movement caught her eye. She froze, every muscle coiled. But it was just a cat, slinking through the shadows. She exhaled slowly, forcing her heart to steady. This paranoia, this unease—it was unlike her. She was trained to be better than this, to remain calm no matter the situation.

A low murmur in her earpiece. Seraphis tensed, her hand flying to the device embedded in her cloak. She hadn’t activated it. How—

“Ithan, she’s moving towards the old market,” a voice crackled through, a woman’s voice. Bryce.

Seraphis’s eyes narrowed. They were tracking her. But how? She’d taken every precaution. Then she caught it—a faint shimmer on the hem of her cloak, almost imperceptible. Some kind of tracking spell. Clever.

Without hesitation, she ripped off the cloak and flung it aside, her lips curling into a sneer. Let them track that. She slipped into the deeper shadows, moving faster now. If they were here, it meant they knew who she was, or at least suspected. The cloak could buy her a few seconds, but she needed to—

A sharp sting in her side. She stumbled, her hand going to the small, feathered dart lodged in her ribs. Pain flared, followed by a wave of dizziness. Damn it. Her vision blurred as she yanked the dart free, but it was too late. Whatever they’d used was already coursing through her veins, muddying her thoughts, slowing her movements.

She had seconds, maybe less. A growl rumbled behind her, low and menacing. She turned just as a massive wolf lunged out of the darkness, knocking her to the ground. Her head slammed against the concrete, stars exploding in her vision.

“Got you,” a rough voice snarled above her. The wolf shifted, fur giving way to skin, claws retracting into hands as Ithan loomed over her, his eyes glowing golden in the dim light.

Seraphis thrashed, trying to summon her power, to freeze time and reverse the last few moments. But the sedative—whatever it was—scrambled her abilities. She could feel time slipping, slipping through her fingers like sand.

“Stay down,” Ithan growled, his hands pinning her wrists to the ground. His strength was immense, crushing. “You’re not going anywhere.”

She hissed, struggling beneath him, her vision fading in and out. “Get off me,” she spat, fury sparking even through the haze. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

“Maybe not,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “but we’re about to find out.”

Footsteps echoed in the alley, and then Bryce was there, her face hard as she looked down at Seraphis. “Nice catch, Ithan,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “So, you’re the one causing all this trouble.”

Seraphis tried to speak, but her tongue felt thick, her body heavy. She could barely keep her eyes open as the sedative pulled her deeper under.

“We’ll take her to the facility,” Bryce said, her voice distant now, like she was speaking from underwater. “Get her somewhere secure before she wakes up.”

Ithan nodded, his grip unrelenting as he hauled Seraphis to her feet. She swayed, her legs buckling, but he held her steady, half-carrying, half-dragging her towards the end of the alley.

“Big mistake,” she mumbled, barely coherent. “All of you.”

Ithan glanced down at her, his jaw tight. “We’ll see.”

As darkness claimed her, Seraphis’s last thought was of the Asteri. Of the promise she’d made. She wouldn’t fail them. Not now. Not ever.

And Lunathion would burn before she was through.

Seraphis blinked awake, the light overhead harsh and unrelenting. Her head pounded with every throb of her heart, and her wrists and ankles felt like they were on fire from the tight restraints. The room was stark and uninviting, concrete walls and a single blinding light the only features. As her vision cleared, she saw Bryce, Hunt, and Ithan standing before her, their expressions a mix of expectation and authority.

“Well, isn’t this a charming little setup,” Seraphis muttered, her voice hoarse but laced with sarcasm. “Did you redecorate just for me?”

Bryce’s gaze was steely as she stepped forward. “We’re glad you’re awake. We need to have a little chat about your plans and your connections.”

Seraphis’s lips curled into a smirk. “Oh, do you? How flattering. But I’m not really in the mood for a friendly conversation.”

Hunt, standing slightly behind Bryce, watched her with a detached interest. His presence was imposing, but he remained silent, his expression unreadable.

Ithan, closer to Seraphis, frowned slightly. “We’ve been patient. It would be in your best interest to cooperate.”

Seraphis looked Ithan up and down, her expression one of condescension. “Patient? How sweet. You know, for someone with your… formidable stature, you don’t really exude a lot of menace.”

Bryce stepped in, clearly trying to maintain control. “We don’t have time for games. You’re here because we want to understand your intentions. The sooner you talk, the sooner this can all be over.”

Seraphis chuckled softly, the sound cold and devoid of warmth. “You’re adorable, really. Do you think a bit of intimidation is going to make me spill my secrets?”

Hunt finally spoke, his voice calm but carrying an edge. “This isn’t a game. You’re going to find out just how serious we are if you don’t start talking.”

Seraphis’s eyes glittered with defiance. “And what exactly are you planning to do? You think you can break me with a bit of pressure? I’ve faced far worse than this.”

Bryce’s jaw tightened, her patience wearing thin. “You’re making this difficult for yourself. We’re asking you to help us understand what you’re after. It’s a simple request.”

Seraphis raised an eyebrow. “Simple? If it were simple, you wouldn’t need to resort to this. I’m sure you have better things to do than question me.”

Ithan’s frustration was evident. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Either way, you’re going to give us something.”

Seraphis leaned back, her posture relaxed despite the restraints. “You know, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone who’s easily intimidated. I’m not your average prisoner.”

Hunt’s gaze remained steady. “Then prove it. Give us something to work with.”

Bryce’s voice was sharp, her tone leaving no room for misinterpretation. “We’re running out of time. Either you start cooperating, or things are going to get a lot more uncomfortable for you.”

Seraphis met Bryce’s gaze with an icy stare. “And if I don’t?”

Bryce didn’t flinch. “We’ll make sure you regret it.”

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken tension. Seraphis remained impassive, her defiance unwavering despite the mounting pressure. The team exchanged looks of frustration but didn’t relent, waiting for her to crack.

As the minutes ticked by, Seraphis remained resolute, her mind already working on ways to use the situation to her advantage. Despite her predicament, she was far from beaten, and she was determined to make sure they knew it.

The silence was deafening. No one had left the room after Bryce’s declaration, the tension thick in the air. Seraphis sat in the center, her eyes cold and unyielding as she took in her surroundings. The room was fortified with magical wards, visible only as faint glows against the walls, meant to suppress any attempts at escape. The silence stretched, broken only by the occasional creak of the old wooden floor beneath them.

Bryce’s gaze was steady, her expression inscrutable. Ithan stood nearby, his arms crossed, a silent sentinel. Hunt, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watched the scene unfold with a mix of impatience and curiosity. Seraphis’s mind, though clouded by the effects of the drug, was still sharp. She assessed her situation with the analytical precision of a seasoned operative.

The quiet stretched on until Bryce finally broke it, her voice laced with frustration and a touch of impatience. “You know, this isn’t a game. We have ways of getting the information we need. I suggest you cooperate before we resort to more… persuasive methods.”

Seraphis’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “And here I thought you were just going to ask nicely. I’m afraid I don’t respond well to threats. You’ll have to do better than that.”

Hunt pushed off from the wall, stepping forward with a menacing aura. “Bryce is right. You might think you’re untouchable, but we have ways to make you talk. This isn’t a place where you can hide from us.”

Bryce’s eyes narrowed, but she remained calm. “You might be confident now, but this place is heavily protected. You can’t just walk out. You’ll find that our methods are quite effective.”

Ithan shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable with the prolonged standoff. He stepped forward, his voice carrying an edge of authority. “We don’t have all day. Tell us what we need to know, or things are going to get very uncomfortable for you.”

Seraphis’s gaze flickered between Bryce, Hunt, and Ithan, her resolve unwavering. “And if I refuse?”

Bryce leaned in slightly, her tone low but menacing. “Then we’ll make sure you regret it. We have the means to make you talk, whether you like it or not. You’re here, and we control the conditions. You might be able to resist for a while, but eventually, you’ll crack.”

Hunt stepped closer, his expression hardening. “We don’t want to hurt you, but we will if we have to. We’re here to get answers, and we’re not leaving until we do.”

The room fell silent again as Seraphis considered her options. The drug’s effects were dulling her senses, making it harder to think clearly, but her spirit remained unbroken.

As the minutes dragged on, Seraphis’s mind raced despite the drug-induced haze. She knew the facility’s magical barriers were formidable, but she had faced worse challenges before. The real threat was not the wards themselves but how they might use her vulnerabilities against her.

Bryce, Hunt, and Ethan exchanged a look, clearly contemplating their next move. The room’s oppressive silence seemed to grow heavier, but Seraphis refused to show any sign of weakness. She met their gazes with a steely determination, her resolve as sharp as ever.

Bryce finally spoke, her voice cutting through the silence. “We’ll leave you to think it over. When you’re ready to talk, we’ll be here. Until then, enjoy your stay.”

With that, Bryce, Hunt, and Ithan turned and walked out, the door closing behind them with a finality that echoed through the room. Seraphis was left alone, the silence now tinged with the faint hum of the magical wards.

As she sat in the dimly lit room, her mind continued to work despite the effects of the drug. She would find a way out, she vowed to herself. No matter how intricate the wards or how intense the interrogation, she would not let them break her spirit. She was determined to escape and continue her quest for revenge, no matter what it took.

******

Ruhn leaned against the wall of the darkened room, his gaze fixed on the blinking lights of the city outside. Flynn and Declan sat at the table, their expressions tense and thoughtful. The weight of recent events hung heavily between them, unspoken questions swirling in the air.

“She’s dangerous,” Flynn muttered, breaking the silence. “More than we realized.”

Ruhn’s jaw tightened. He knew it. They all did. But it was more than just danger that bothered him. He couldn’t shake the strange, inexplicable pull he felt when he thought about Seraphis. Something about her nagged at him, as if he should know who she was—what she was.

“I can’t get her out of my head,” Declan said quietly, his gaze distant. “It’s like she’s… I don’t know, like there’s something more we’re not seeing.”

“There is,” Ruhn replied, his voice tense. “And I don’t think she’s going to give it up easily.”

Flynn nodded slowly. “Bryce and Hunt are taking a big risk keeping her here.”

“I know,” Ruhn said, his voice clipped. He turned away, trying to shake the uneasy feeling settling in his gut. Something about this whole situation felt wrong, off-balance, like they were missing a crucial piece of the puzzle.

His phone buzzed, and he snatched it up, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Bryce’s name flash across the screen. He answered immediately.

“Bryce? What’s going on?”

“Ruhn, you need to get here now,” Bryce’s voice was strained, tight with urgency. “Something’s happening.”

His stomach dropped. “What do you mean? Is she—”

“Just get here, Ruhn.I don’t think we have much time.”

The line went dead, and Ruhn stared at the phone for a heartbeat, his mind racing. Then he turned to Flynn and Declan, his expression grim.

“Something’s up. Bryce needs us. Now.”

They didn’t waste time asking questions. Flynn and Declan were on their feet in an instant, following Ruhn as he strode out of the room, his thoughts a chaotic tangle of fear and determination.

What the hell are we dealing with?

They reached the building in record time, the air around them charged with tension. Bryce met them at the entrance, her expression a mix of relief and anxiety.

“She’s…changed,” Bryce said, her voice low. “I don’t know how to explain it, but something’s different.”

Ruhn frowned. “Different how?”

“I don’t know,” Bryce said, frustration evident in her tone. “But we need to be careful. She’s not just some prisoner. She’s…something else.”

They moved quickly, following Bryce down the hallway. The walls seemed to close in around them as if the building itself sensed the storm brewing within. Ruhn’s heart was pounding, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin. The sense of impending danger was almost suffocating.

When they reached the door of the interrogation room, Ruhn hesitated for a split second, his hand on the doorknob. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, then pushed it open.

And there she was.

The harsh lights above cast a stark glow over her, illuminating the delicate, angular lines of her face. Even under the circumstances, with chains binding her and an air of danger coiling around her like a living thing, this female was…breathtaking.

Ruhn’s heart stuttered, his gaze drinking her in despite himself. She was more striking than he remembered—no, not just striking. She was beautiful in a way that felt almost unreal, like a creature crafted from shadows and starlight. The soft illumination seemed to highlight every sharp, perfect angle of her face, the cold gleam in her eyes, the curve of her lips that spoke of secrets and danger.

She turned her head slightly, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that sent a jolt through him. For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, caught in the pull of that gaze. There was something there—something more than just the hostility, more than the cold indifference she’d shown before. It was as if she saw right through him, as if she could peel back the layers of his mind and lay them bare.

His breath hitched, and he had to force himself to look away, to break the spell she seemed to weave so effortlessly. But the image of her stayed with him, burned into his mind. He had faced beautiful women before, had faced beings of power and danger, but there was something about her that felt different, something that stirred a primal, almost visceral reaction deep within him.

It wasn’t attraction—alright, maybe it was but he would never admit it. But it was also something darker, more complicated. A fascination he couldn’t shake, a curiosity that bordered on obsession. Who was she, really? What had shaped her into this cold, lethal creature who now sat before them, her beauty a mask that barely concealed the deadly edge beneath?

His heart pounded in his ears as he took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. She watched him with that same unflinching stare, her lips curving into a slow, mocking smile that made something twist painfully in his chest.

“Back for more?” she drawled, her voice dripping with disdain. “Or are you finally ready to admit you’re out of your depth?”

The spell was broken, the cold, biting sarcasm snapping him out of whatever strange hold she had over him. He forced himself to meet her gaze head-on, to remember why they were here, what was at stake.

“We’re not playing games. Tell us what you’re after.”

Her smile widened, a flash of teeth that was more feral than amused. “You really think you can make me talk?”

Bryce stepped forward, her expression hard. “You’re not getting out of here. This place is sealed with wards and magic. It’s in the middle of nowhere. There’s no escape.”

Her eyes gleamed, something dangerously close to amusement dancing in their depths. “You think a few wards and some isolation are going to hold me?”

The silence that followed was thick, charged with tension. Ruhn’s heart was still racing, his mind a tangled mess of emotions and questions he couldn’t begin to unravel. He knew he should hate her, should see her as the threat she was—but instead, all he could think about was the way her eyes had looked, the way her voice had sounded, the way she seemed to twist everything inside him into knots.

He forced himself to speak, to keep his voice steady despite the turmoil churning within. “We’ll see about that.”

Seraphis’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew sharper, more knowing. “Oh, I’m sure we will.”

The words hung between them, a challenge and a promise all at once. And Ruhn knew, in that moment, that whatever happened next, nothing would ever be the same.

The silence in the room thickened, stretching like a taut wire between the captors and their prisoner. Bryce exhaled sharply, her frustration palpable. “This is getting us nowhere,” she muttered, glancing at Hunt. He nodded, his wings twitching slightly in agitation.

Ruhn’s gaze lingered on the woman, still seated and chained, her expression cool and inscrutable. There was something about her—something that dug beneath his skin and refused to let go. He forced himself to turn away, following Bryce and Hunt as they moved toward the door.

“We’ll be back,” Bryce said over her shoulder to the others, her voice tight. “Make sure she doesn’t get too comfortable.”

Bryce’s grip tightened on Ruhn’s arm, a silent signal for him and Hunt to follow as she led them further down the corridor. Her footsteps echoed off the cold stone walls, each step measured, purposeful. She didn’t speak until they were out of earshot of the guards, out of sight of any prying eyes.

Finally, she stopped in front of a heavy door marked with sigils that glowed faintly in the dim light. Bryce glanced over her shoulder, her gaze flicking between Ruhn and Hunt. “Inside. Both of you.”

Ruhn and Hunt exchanged a look but followed her into the room without argument. It was smaller than the interrogation room, furnished only with a table and a few chairs. An array of magical devices cluttered the tabletop, shimmering faintly in the glow of the overhead lights. The door clicked shut behind them, and Bryce exhaled, running a hand through her hair.

“What’s this about, Bryce?” Hunt asked, his voice steady but wary.

Bryce took a deep breath, her expression serious as she turned to face them. “I need to try and reach Nesta. Now.”

Ruhn’s brows furrowed. “Here? But we’re supposed to—”

“I know what we’re supposed to do, Ruhn,” Bryce interrupted, her voice tight. “But if there’s even a chance that Nesta knows something—anything—that can help us understand what’s going on with our prisoner, then we can’t wait. We need answers, and we need them fast.”

Hunt crossed his arms, his wings rustling as he shifted. “And how exactly are you planning to reach her?”

Bryce moved to the table, picking up a small, intricately carved crystal and holding it up to the light. “This,” she said, her tone laced with determination. “I asked Hypaxia two days ago to create something that will be able to get me to open a portal. Apparently this is the best she could create in such a short notice. Astonishing really, how a medwitch can create something like this. But she was my only hope and this is the only way we have so I really don’t wanna fail this.”

Ruhn eyed the crystal warily. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“No,” Bryce admitted, a faint smile curving her lips. “But when has that ever stopped us?”

Hunt’s jaw tightened. “We should have someone stand guard outside. In case anything goes wrong.”

Bryce nodded. “Good idea. I don’t know how long this will take, but if I can connect with her—if she’s seen anything related to those symbols or this female, then we’ll have a better chance of figuring out what we’re dealing with.”

Ruhn stepped closer, his expression softening. “Bryce, are you sure you’re ready for this? We don’t know what kind of effects this could have—on you, or on Nesta.”

“I have to try, Ruhn,” she said quietly, meeting his gaze. “We can’t just sit here and wait. Not when there’s so much at stake.”

Hunt nodded, his face set in a determined mask. “I’ll keep watch outside. If anyone tries to come in, I’ll handle it.”

Bryce’s eyes flickered with gratitude. “Thanks, Hunt.”

He gave her a quick, reassuring smile and a kiss before slipping out the door, leaving Ruhn and Bryce alone in the small room. Silence stretched between them, heavy and tense. Bryce set the crystal down on the table and began arranging a few other objects around it—candles, symbols drawn on parchment, small vials filled with what looked like sand or dust.

Ruhn watched her, his heart pounding in his chest. “Are you sure about this?”

Bryce paused, her hands hovering over the setup. “No,” she said softly. “But we need to know, Ruhn.”

Ruhn exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. What do you need me to do?”

Bryce glanced up at him, a small, determined smile on her lips. “Just be here. In case things get… weird.”

He nodded, stepping closer to the table, his gaze fixed on the crystal. “I can do that.”

Taking a deep breath, Bryce lit the candles one by one, the flames flickering to life in the dim room. She closed her eyes, her hands hovering over the crystal as she began to murmur softly, her voice a low, melodic chant. The air around them seemed to thicken, a strange, tingling energy filling the space.

Ruhn held his breath, his heart pounding as he watched his sister work, the crystal beginning to glow faintly in response to her words. The light grew brighter, pulsing in time with her voice, until it filled the room with a warm, steady glow.

And then, with a sudden, almost imperceptible shift, the light changed—softening, dimming, until it seemed to fold in on itself, forming a small, shimmering portal in the air above the table.

Bryce’s eyes snapped open, her breath catching as she stared at the portal. “Nesta,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

For a moment, nothing happened. The portal shimmered and flickered, its edges wavering as if it might vanish at any second. And then, slowly, a figure began to take shape within it—a woman, her hair light and braided, her eyes fierce and unyielding.

Ruhn’s breath caught in his throat as Nesta Archeron’s face came into view, her expression tense and guarded. “Bryce?” she said, her voice echoing faintly through the portal.

Bryce’s grip on the table tightened, her knuckles white. “Nesta. I need your help.”

Nesta’s form solidified through the portal, her gaze cool and piercing as she took in the sight of Bryce and Ruhn. She crossed her arms, the faintest hint of irritation in her expression.

“This better be good,” she said sharply, her eyes flicking between the two of them. “Why did you call me?”

Bryce exhaled, gripping the pendant in her hand. “It’s about these symbols,” she said, holding up the engraved piece of jewelry for Nesta to see. “They’re the same ones we saw in those caves in your world, remember?”

Nesta’s gaze narrowed, her posture shifting slightly as she took a step closer. “I remember,” she said, her voice low. “The carvings on the walls. What does this have to do with you?”

“There’s a female we found,” Bryce explained. “She was wearing this. And she’s… dangerous, Nesta. I don’t know who or what she is, but I have a bad feeling about her. We need to figure out what these symbols mean and if there’s something in your world that could help us understand what’s going on.”

Nesta frowned, studying the pendant intently. “You think she’s connected to those carvings?”

Bryce nodded. “I don’t know how, but it’s too much of a coincidence. We can’t ignore it.”

Nesta’s expression remained guarded, but there was a flicker of something—concern, curiosity, maybe even a hint of fear. “And you think she’s a threat? To you, to Midgard?”

“Yes,” Bryce said softly. “I can feel it, Nesta. There’s something about her, something… wrong. Or maybe I am delusional but whatever the case is, she is not to be trusted and will cause unnecessary problems. Something we don’t need.”

Nesta’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And you think I can help?”

Bryce glanced at Ruhn, then back at Nesta. “You’ve dealt with a lot, Nesta. You’ve seen things most people can’t even imagine. If anyone can help us understand what’s going on, it’s you.”

Nesta’s eyes hardened, and for a moment, she seemed to be weighing something, some invisible scale tipping back and forth in her mind. Then she nodded slowly. “I’ll look into it,” she said, her voice steady. “But don’t get your hopes up. If these symbols are what I think they are… we might not like what we find.”

Bryce’s stomach tightened, but she nodded. “I just need to know what we’re up against. Anything you can find, anything at all, would be a start. Maybe even ask that uptight king of yours.”

“High lord. And I’ll do what I can,” Nesta said, a grim look in her eyes. She hesitated, glancing at Ruhn. “And you? Are you ready for whatever this might bring?”

Ruhn’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. “We’ll be ready.”

Nesta’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer before she turned back to Bryce. “Just… be careful. If this female is as dangerous as you say, you’ll need to be prepared.”

Bryce nodded, a tight smile on her lips. “We will be.”

Nesta gave a curt nod, then turned back to the portal. She paused, looking over her shoulder one last time. “And Bryce… whatever you do, don’t go poking around too much. Some things are better left buried.”

With that, she stepped through the portal, disappearing into the swirling light.

Ruhn watched the portal close, the shimmering light fading until it was just him and Bryce left in the dim room. The female who’d stepped through was a stranger to him, her face fierce and determined, but it was clear from Bryce’s reaction that she wasn’t just anyone.

He turned to his sister, still trying to process what had just happened. “So… that was Nesta?”

Bryce nodded, her expression tight. “Yeah. One of the only ones I trust to help us figure this out. I mean, these carvings were in their caves, right? Her high lord has to know something.”

“She seems… intense,” he said, trying to piece together his impression of her. It was hard to gauge someone just from a brief encounter, but there had been something in her eyes—like she wasn’t easily rattled, no matter what she was facing.

“She is,” Bryce replied, her voice quiet. “But she’s also the best person to help us. If anyone can make sense of that pendant or those carvings, it’s her.”

Ruhn nodded slowly, still a little uncertain. He didn’t know Nesta, didn’t understand her, but if Bryce believed she could help, he’d go along with it. For now, at least. There were too many unknowns, too many dangers lurking in the shadows. And whoever that female was, the one they had locked up in the other room, she was at the center of it all.

“Do you think she’ll be able to get the answers we need?” he asked, glancing at Bryce.

“I hope so,” Bryce murmured, her gaze fixed on the door. “Because if not, I don’t know who else can.”

Ruhn swallowed, a chill settling over him. He didn’t like the uncertainty, the feeling of being out of his depth. But he’d follow Bryce’s lead, trust her judgment. Because right now, that was all they had.

******

1,2,3…….1,2,3….4,5,6,7,…8,9….

Seraphis sighed and leaned her head back against the cold wall. It has been two hours since the minions left. Captors, Seraphis chuckled. “Captors my ass.”

If they think that they are making any process with her, they are up for a big fucking surprise.

Her eyes roamed the small, barren room. She’d memorized every detail of it, every inch of the walls, the faint hum of magic lacing the air, the way the wards vibrated with power—everything they thought would keep her trapped. To anyone else, it might have seemed hopeless, but to her, it was just another puzzle to solve.

1, 2, 3… She counted again, the rhythm of it calming her thoughts as she traced the weak points in the wards. They weren’t glaring gaps, but subtle imperfections, places where the magic didn’t weave together perfectly. 4, 5, 6, 7… Almost there. She felt a grin tug at her lips.

A wisp of her magic slipped through the cracks, a tendril so fine it was almost undetectable. She fed it into the wards, feeling for their structure, testing the strength of their confinement. It wasn’t enough to break free—not yet—but it was enough to understand how they were constructed. It would only be a matter of time before she found the weak link.

8, 9… Seraphis’s eyes glinted as she completed the circuit. Her magic recoiled back to her, and she let out a slow breath. She could dismantle it—maybe not tonight, but soon.

She shifted, glancing at the door, imagining those self-satisfied faces of her so-called captors. Bryce Quinlan, with her fiery determination and endless questions. The way she’d tried to appear confident, in control. It was almost amusing.

“Sweetheart,” Seraphis murmured to the empty room, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “you have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

And Ruhn—his presence had surprised her. He was different from the others. He’d looked at her like he was trying to piece together some impossible puzzle. She almost felt sorry for him, almost. But whatever flicker of something she’d sensed between them, whatever unknown feelings she felt for him when she saw his dead body in the future, it didn’t matter. He was just another obstacle in her path.

The Asteri had taught her well. There was no room for sentimentality, no space for hesitation. Everything and everyone was a tool to be used, and once they’d served their purpose… well, she’d leave them behind like she always did.

She closed her eyes, her mind drifting back to her purpose, her mission. The Asteri, their commands, their goals. She was their weapon, honed and sharpened for centuries, and now, even in this pathetic excuse of a prison, she would not falter. The Asteri had made her strong. Made her untouchable.

This realm—Midgard, the Fae, the little humans playing at war and power—it was all so insignificant. She was here for a reason, and she would not be distracted by these petty games. They thought they were holding her, thought they were keeping her from what she needed to do. Fools.

“Tick tock,” she whispered, a vicious smile playing on her lips. “Time’s running out, darlings.”

She imagined the chaos she would unleash once she broke free, the terror that would spread through their ranks. She could almost taste their fear, the delicious scent of it filling her senses.

“Let’s see how long your precious wards hold.”

The door creaked open again. Seraphis didn’t bother to lift her head from where she leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, arms crossed over her chest. The scent of shadows and starlight clung to the air like smoke, a dead giveaway of who had entered.

Ruhn Danaan.

He shut the door behind him with a soft click, then stood there, the silence stretching as he observed her, probably trying to decide how to begin. She smirked inwardly. Amateurs.

“Back for more, Prince?” she drawled, still not opening her eyes. “Or did you forget something?”

“No,” Ruhn said evenly, his voice steady. “But I thought I’d give it another shot. See if you’re willing to talk.”

She cracked an eye open, lazily meeting his gaze. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Maybe.” He took a few steps closer, cautiously, like he was approaching a cornered animal. “But I’ve got time to waste.”

She huffed a laugh, low and derisive. “Charming. Let me guess, you’re here to ‘break me down’? To ‘win me over’ with that hero complex you all seem to have?”

Ruhn shrugged, his expression calm, almost thoughtful. “I’m here because I want to know who you are.”

“Good luck with that.” She straightened, fixing him with a cold stare. “I’m not interested in playing your little games.”

“I’m not playing games,” he countered. “I just want to know the truth.”

“Which is?” she taunted, arching an eyebrow. “That I’m some big, bad villain you all have to take down? That I’m the monster hiding under your beds?”

“I don’t know what you are,” Ruhn admitted, his gaze intense, unwavering. “But I know you’re not just some nameless, faceless enemy. There’s more to you than that.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “How profound. Did you come up with that all by yourself?”

“Actually, yeah,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Figured it out while staring at these walls for hours.”

“Impressive.” She made a show of slow-clapping, her smile mocking. “But you’re still barking up the wrong tree.”

“Maybe.” He leaned against the table, still keeping a careful distance between them. “Or maybe you just don’t want anyone to see what’s really there.”

“What’s really there?” she echoed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “A broken girl? A tragic backstory? Save it, Prince. I’m not some damsel in distress for you to fix.”

“I’m not trying to fix you,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “I’m just trying to understand.”

She scoffed, but there was something in his eyes, something that made her chest tighten, just a little. “Understand what, exactly?”

“Who you are,” Ruhn said, his gaze piercing. “What you’re doing here.”

“Maybe I’m just here to enjoy the scenery.” She gestured around the dull, bare room. “Isn’t it lovely?”

His lips twitched, a flicker of amusement that he quickly smothered. “So, what do I call you then? Or should I just keep referring to you as ‘the girl with the pendant’?”

“Call me whatever you like,” she said coolly. “It won’t change a thing.”

“Names have power,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “I guess you’d know that better than anyone.”

Seraphis stiffened, her eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that someone like you…” He trailed off, his gaze steady on hers. “I bet you know the weight a name can carry.”

“Nice try,” she said, her voice hard, unyielding. “But you’re not getting anything out of me.”

Ruhn tilted his head slightly, watching her with a careful, assessing look. “Not even your name?”

“No,” she snapped, the word cutting through the air like a knife. “Not even that.”

He didn’t back down, didn’t look away. “Why not?”

“Because it’s none of your damn business.” She could feel her pulse quickening, that tightness in her chest coiling tighter.

“You know, I get it,” Ruhn said, his voice almost gentle. “You don’t want to give anyone anything. Not a piece of yourself, not a name, nothing.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Her voice was icy, her walls firmly back in place.

“But here’s the thing,” Ruhn continued, his eyes locked on hers. “You’re not just anyone. And you’re not just here for nothing. I don’t need to know your whole story, but I think we can start with something small. Something that doesn’t mean anything.”

Seraphis clenched her jaw, every instinct screaming at her to shut him down, to throw him off. But there was something about the way he was looking at her, something that made her blood boil and her heart race. “You want a name?” she sneered, the words a razor-edged taunt. “Fine. You can call me Seraphis.”

Ruhn’s eyes widened, just a fraction, and then his expression smoothed into something more careful, more guarded. “Seraphis,” he repeated softly, like he was tasting the word, testing it. “It suits you.”

She rolled her eyes, feigning nonchalance even as her heart pounded in her chest. “Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur. “But thanks.”

The silence stretched between them, taut and crackling with something unspoken, something dangerous. Then Ruhn straightened, pushing off the table.

“Guess I’ll leave you to your… solitude.” He turned, heading for the door. “For now.”

“Don’t do me any favors, Prince,” she called after him, her voice sharp, cutting. “You’ll just be wasting your time.”

He paused at the door, glancing back at her with a small, almost knowing smile. “I don’t think I am.”

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

Seraphis let out a long, slow breath, her hands still clenched into fists. Stupid. So stupid. Letting that slip. Letting him get to her, even for a moment.

But it didn’t matter. It was just a name. A meaningless, stupid name.

She pushed off the wall, pacing the small room, her thoughts racing. This wasn’t going to work. She needed to get out of here, and fast. Before they found out anything more.

Before this place—and these people—started getting under her skin.

Seraphis leaned back against the cold wall, the silence settling around her like a heavy fog. Alone again, she let out a slow breath, her frustration simmering just below the surface.

“Idiots,” she muttered, glancing at the pendant resting on the small table. Its etchings glinted under the dim light, a reminder of the power it held—and the threat it posed.

She reached out, fingers brushing over its cool surface. As soon as she made contact, the pendant warmed in her grip, its glow intensifying. Seraphis frowned, lifting it closer to her eyes. “What now?” she whispered, sensing an unusual energy radiating from it.

The light pulsed rhythmically, almost alive, and she could feel it beckoning her. Panic flickered in her chest. The Asteri had warned her: if it glowed, someone was trying to track or summon her.

“Damn it,” she hissed, gripping the pendant tighter. She had a mission, a purpose, but this was an unwelcome complication.

“Focus,” she commanded herself, willing the pendant to stabilize. If this was an attempt to manipulate her, she wouldn’t allow it. She was in control. But who was it?

With a surge of determination, she concentrated on the pendant, trying to push back against the pull. The glow flickered, responding to her will, but the intensity remained.

“No,” she said, frustration bubbling over. “You’re not summoning me.”

With a final push, she commanded the pendant’s light to dim. The glow faded, leaving her in silence once more. She took a deep breath, the weight of the pendant now a grounding presence against her chest.

As calm settled in, she steeled herself. This pendant was connected to something important, but she wouldn’t let it dictate her actions. She had her own plans.

Seraphis’s resolve hardened. She would uncover the truth behind this glow and use it to her advantage. No one was going to pull her into their games.

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Taglist:@annamariereads16 @tooexhaustedsstuff @a-frog-with-a-laptop @cassie-at-college-blog @itsinherited @anuttellaa @ydubbu

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

This moving arc is going crazy ngl. This season is really peak, JJK could never

I know you didn't even mean for this to be an ask but:

(Genshin Impact/GFL) How helpful Lisa, Eula, Noelle, Navia, Furina, Lumine, AK-12, AN-94, AK-15, and RPK-16 would be during your move

After fighting boxes and moving trucks for the last 6 straight days, this has been on my mind.

(Lisa) "Oof, these boxes are going to kill my back tomorrow...!"

Lisa has experience carrying heavy books from her days studying in Sumeru and being a Librarian in Mondstadt.

But do you really think this beautiful woman is going to help you carry the seventeen boxes of glass kitchenware that you have no recollection of even owning?

Absolutely not.

That is too heavy, even for her.

But at the very least when the moving and unpacking is over, she will give and demand the very best cuddles to recover from the process.

Expect her to say that she was sore with helping you last night in an intentionally weird way to get a rise out of you and anyone in the vicinity.

Help Rating: 2/5, Call Lisa in for the love, not for physical labor.

(Eula) "Good grief, how much dust is in here?!" ACHOO! "Ugh...! If this was some elaborate scheme just to hear me sneeze the entire time, I will enact terrible vengeance upon you!"

Quips of revenge aside, she is actually very helpful!

Eula can carry the boxes no problem, and makes sure to have the proper posture when doing so.

If she can swing her claymore around like they're nothing, then surely your belongings will be jut as trivial?

She is also extremely gentle putting down boxes that she knows is full of your stuff.

The only real negative thing you have to deal with is just her constant muttering if a box is giving her too much trouble.

Help Rating: 3/5, You now swear vengeance upon the boxes thanks to Eula saying it over and over

(Noelle) "Please, allow me! I can have these put away in no time!"

The boxes will be hearing boss music upon Noelle's arrival.

For when there is a mess, Noelle is inevitable.

She somehow packs everything into the boxes into such an impossibly efficient manner, that you didn't know you could fit that much stuff into a small cardboard box.

Noelle also does it under a few hours without breaking a sweat.

The scary part is that she can go faster while keeping the same immaculate level of care if you give her a kiss on the cheek or praise her.

And it'll mean even more to her by the fact you're still helping her. It's the thought that counts!

Help Rating: You don't even need to be there/5

(Navia) "Here, just tell me where these boxes are going in your new home. Packing? Hm, no need!"

You know what she does instead of packing herself?

She hires someone else to do it.

When it comes to more personal items, she'll gladly help you wrap it carefully and with love.

But all your furniture?

Yeah, no. That's what the hired help is for.

You and Navia will be directing people left and right where to place the furniture and boxes of your belongings without really needing to lift a finger yourself.

Help Rating: 5/5, the best help is the kind where someone else does the entire job for you.

(Furina) "Oh, it is about time you come to me for aid, dearest! Allow me to help!"

In the wise words of Sergeant Johnson:

"Hmph, MY ASS!"

This woman didn't even unload her boxes when she moved into her apartment, what makes you think that she'd help you unload your stuff properly?

She may be an Archon but her arm strength and experience with moving is next to nothing.

Furina will act all cool and try to lift a box only for it to nearly collapse on her, or throw her out her back.

Her little familiars can't help with your boxes since you know, they're made of water.

But at least the pouting face she'll make will be cute. Kinda like Aqua, huh?

Help Rating: Just get Clorinde or Neuvillette, don't ask the blue gremlin/5

(Lumine) "We really need to get you a teapot! Anyways, let's get to work!"

Lumine doesn't mind to help, and her arm strength despite her appearance is insane.

She'll be carrying 3-4 boxes like it's nothing, though she struggles to actually see anything in front of her.

Paimon helps as much as she can, so you get a 2 for 1 deal asking Lumine!

She's a little unused to moving furniture herself since Tubby and the Teapot took care of that for her own home, but she makes moving very fun!

Help Rating: 5+1/5, but Lumine will question your taste in decor.

(AK-12) "Ah, moving dorms? Well, at least it's within the base and not too far.~"

Even though 12 is a combat android, she can only lift so much.

She might complain about the servos in her arms going haywire and that you'll need to fix them, but in reality she's just teasing just to get a rise out of you.

And despite her eyes being closed, she has better sense of her surroundings than you do, not once bumping into anything or hitting the doorframes.

Once its finished, 12 will just say that you 'owe her one' for helping with the move.

Help Rating: 3/5, it'd be higher but she's too damn smug about lifting more than you.

(AN-94) "Moving assignment understood. Providing assistance."

94 is a little stiff about the moving process at first.

But as it progresses, she uncharacteristically gets distracted by the items you choose to keep and throw away.

She'll ask with a curious expression about why you're throwing away old but usable items, and 94 ends up learning a lot about you.

While the move itself is very normal, it ends up being a nice bonding experience for the two of you!

Help Rating: 4/5, very sweet

(AK-15) "This weight is trivial. Please, stand aside for a moment."

15 is an absolute monster when it comes to the physical labor.

She will stack the heaviest boxes into one pile and carry it without even moving her hair.

15 helpfully moves any of the things you'd struggle with, all the while her expression doesn't really change.

She'd question why you'd thank her for simply doing her job, but it's something she'll appreciate with the slightest blush.

Help Rating: 5/5, she can probably lift you, me, and the boxes in one hand.

(RPK-16) "Hm...I wonder if humanity were to go extinct right now, what would the new race think of finding your belongings?...Hah, your face! Don't mind me, just thinking aloud.~"

16 is not really that strong, but since she's an android, boxes aren't too bad of a gig for her.

After all, she lugs around an LMG.

Regardless, she helps you pack but be prepared to answer a LOT of questions on why you own the items you do.

Both out of genuine curiosity, and to annoy the shit out of you.

But hey, you'll at least get through the moving somewhat quickly thanks to her.

Help Rating: 3/5, Thanks to her, there's now a lot of weird cryptic questions floating through your mind. Such as if the bug that finds its way into the box knows that it had walked into its tomb?

[ljz002-world]

Revenge, Part 6

Thomas scoffed, hands placed on his hips as he shook his head, “I don’t know. I could kill you, I could let my men have their go at you. I won’t do that, I’m not that cruel. Not to a grieving daughter”, he said as he saw how Y/N’s eyes filled with horror.

“So you’ll kill me?”

“No. You’re grieving, it’s understandable you want someone to put your hate and anger on”, Thomas sat down besides Y/N who was still only covering herself with his blanket. “What then?” “Good question. I don’t have an answer for that yet. I won’t let you get away scratch-free, you tried to kill me. You thought about killing me. You made plans to kill me, that alone warrants your death.” Y/N took a shaky breath, “Marry me.”

“What?”

“You heard me”, Y/N said, “You don’t want to kill me just yet, but still punish me. Marry me. I still see you as a murderer, as the murderer of my father, what worse punishment than for me to marry you? Possibly raise your child. And you could do at least one honorable thing and take care of the daughter whose father you killed.” Thomas let the idea shoot through his head as he considered it, “You really think that’s the worst I could do to you?” “I wouldn’t be able to scheme your death if you were with me every waking hour. And you’d be seen as honorable.”

Thomas nodded as he took a deep breath, running his hands over his face, “You’re mad.” “I know.” “Why did you even get such an idea?” Y/N looked down, avoiding eye contact with the man, “I have nothing left. I came here to kill you, kill myself in the process most probable. What else is there for me to do?” “Build yourself a life here-“ “Here? In Small Heath? You don’t understand me Thomas”, Y/N muttered as she looked at the tattooed man, “I have lost it all. I have no energy to build something for myself anymore!” The gangster turned to look away from the girl as he listened to her, “Do you have any idea how fucking nice my life was before the war? What a happy child I was? How happy my family was?!” Y/N stood up after having thrown her underdress over herself as she walked around in the room, “My father used to sing to me, used to tell me stories about my family, my mother was happy, my parents had a happy marriage! I had brothers! And the stupid war took it all from me! And for what? For what did you kill my father?! For what did soldiers kill my brothers?! For men we didn’t even know!”

“Your father and brother served their country, their Kaiser. They had honorable deaths-“ “They died in the mud! Fell down and got trampled over, soldiers only taking their weapons if they needed them! My father lays in the mud with them, to this day I haven’t seen him! And all of them died for the Kaiser! For a man they did not know, a man who did not know any of their names! All my mother and I got was a meek widows-pension that got used up within a year. I have nothing-“ “You still have your mother-“ “She killed herself not even a year after the war. She had just given birth to my little sister. A baby she conceived because British soldiers raped her. She killed herself and the baby died a week after her. I have no one left. All I had left was a need for revenge and vengeance. That’s all I had.”

Thomas took a drag from the cigarette he had lit himself as he listened to the girl, “You went through hell Thomas, you went through the war actively, served for your king and country. But you tore apart families by doing so, tore apart families by digging your tunnels. You killed bad men, I’m sure of it, but you also took good men.” “Your father had bad men killed with his strategies, but he also killed good men. Do you know how many friends I lost to the Germans? How many times I almost lost my life? Sometimes I wish I had been killed. I really do.” “But you made it out alive, a man who didn’t want to make it out alive while a man who wanted to make it out alive didn’t.”

“How old were your brothers?” “My oldest brother was twenty-one, the second-oldest, my twin, was sixteen. I lost them both, and all I got back were their dog-tags. That’s all I was given, that’ll all my mother had to bury for her sons.” Thomas didn’t meet Y/N’s gaze as she leant against the wall, “You managed to turn the page Thomas. You managed to leave the fucking war behind yourself. Help me do the same, either by giving me security until I die, or you die and I kill myself afterwards and finish what I came here to do. The only options I have to turn my page.” The man shook his head, “You’re too young-“ “Didn’t seem to bother you when you fucked me”, Y/N spoke nonchalantly as she walked back towards Thomas, sitting besides him as she was on her knees on the bed, arms reached over the man’s shoulders and interlocking above his heart as she put her mouth to his ear. “And don’t act like you wouldn’t like it Thomas. A young, pretty wife all to yourself. Wouldn’t you like that? To make every man around jealous and green with envy.”

The man let out the smoke. She did have a point there.

“What else do you want?”, Thomas asked, “There’s more behind your words. I know it.” Y/N let out a small sigh, “There is nothing more Thomas.” “You must have something else behind your intentions.” “I don’t. It’s quite a punishment for me to spend every day with you, and you only have up-sides. Agree to it, or kill me.”

Thomas looked straight ahead before turning his head to face the girl, her hair slightly tickling his nape and cheek as it brushed against him. “I want kids.” “Tell me a man who doesn’t”, Y/N spoke, “Every man wants children.” “I want many kids.” “How many?” “At least three.” Y/N looked at those icy blue eyes, “I hate you Thomas Shelby, but I’d do it. It’s what’d be expected of me.” “I also want a large house”, Thomas spoke, “Can you handle being the lady of a large house?” “My mother came from aristocracy. I grew up in a large house.” “I also want horses. I hope you like horses.” “My father gifted me a horse when I was still small. I like horses.” Thomas nodded, “I’m a gangster.” “As long as you wouldn’t involve the children, I can live with it.” “I’d need you to turn the other cheek.” “I’d ignore all your illegal businesses with a gleeful smile as long as you do your duties as my husband.” “What’d you tell people? If asked about our marriage?” “The truth. That my father served under the Kaiser, you killed him, but had the honor to take care of his only living family. His daughter. People will fawn over you, how honorable you are.”

“I should let Polly know in that case. And Jeremiah. And I’ll have to tell the boys to get out their good suits. And for Esme to get her family dressed up.”

Tagges people: @hollyluvseveryone4ever13, @meadows5,

[babyblue711]

Loyalty

Aemond Targaryen (HOTD) x Alys Rivers - Part 2 Including the conclusion of its sister story, Little Dragonseed Summary: Aemond, in his quest for vengeance, torches the Riverlands while Alys is but an unwilling passenger with a burning secret of her own. Meanwhile, back at Harrenhal, the little maid waits for her rescuer, but war-torn Westeros may have other plans in store for her. Words: 3.6K

Chapter Warnings: NSFW, Sexual Content 18+, Canon Divergence, War things A/N: As noted, there is canon divergence in this story; there is no Sabitha Frey, and, for the purpose of this tale, the timeline may be a little wonky. Perhaps it's just me, but I broke my own heart writing this. I hope you all enjoy. Comments, reblogs, thoughts, opinions are welcome and appreciated 😘 💙 And, thank you, to my amazing beta reader and incredible gif maker, @myfandomprompts who made the Aemond banner for me.

<<< Part 1

They flew.

And the realm burned.

And on they soared upon ancient wings… 

And burned. Burned. Burned.

Any settlement in the Riverlands sworn to Queen Rhaenyra met their downfall, becoming kindling for Aemond’s wrath. Nothing could stand against Vhagar’s flames as she left ashes and despair in their wake. 

Riding on dragonback was a breathtaking experience; there was an exhilarating power in soaring through the sky, close to the heavens, far removed from the hellish war-torn realm below. But she could not enjoy it, her awe was constantly overshadowed by Aemond’s unyielding anger.

He had brought her along purposefully, but for all the notice he took of her, she might as well have been invisible and her attempts at calming his relentless rage were futile. He seemed interested in one thing and one thing only: her visions of the future and the path he should take forward. When she couldn’t summon an immediate answer, his response was simply to enact revenge on the supporters of the Black Queen. Unable to sway him, she remained silent, an unwilling passenger caught in the storm of his vengeance.

They did not return to Harrenhal and, instead, survived off the land. Luckily, she possessed a deep knowledge of edible plants and fungi and they had no trouble catching game. They bathed in a freshwater river and, in the evenings, Vhagar’s fiery breath cooked their suppers and provided warmth against the chill of the night. 

Aemond barely spoke to her, his mind consumed by grief and rage, his ego shattered by Daemon and the black faction at the insurmountable loss of King’s Landing. The once prideful, arrogant young man was becoming a shadow of the fierce prince she had known, his calculating eye now vacant and haunted as he worried obsessively about what had become of his family he left behind.

During one of their many silent nights, as they sat around the fire, the urge to speak to him gnawed at her. She knew she should tell him the truth, but the timing felt impossibly wrong. 

She needed to tell him that they had succeeded. She had suspected for a little while now, but wanted to wait to make absolutely sure. Now that time had passed, it was hard to keep this knowledge to herself.

But how could she share this revelation when his heart was still so torn? She watched him from across the fire, his face illuminated by the dancing flames, feeling the weight of her secret press down on her. 

She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable. “My prince,” she began softly, her voice almost swallowed by the crackling fire. He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “There’s something you need to know…”

“A vision?” he asked, immediately perking up, his interest piqued. She pressed her lips together as she moved around the fire to sit on his good side; Would that be all he would ever care about? Is that all she meant to him? 

She chose not to voice these thoughts, instead gently taking his warm hand into her own. Her touch seemed to surprise him, a flicker of emotion crossing his face; they had not been intimate since they left Harrenhal. He turned to look at her fully for the first time in what felt like ages and she felt breathless under the intensity of his gaze, as if he were truly seeing her again.  

“No… not quite,” she replied, trying not to feel discouraged as she saw his face fall. She decided to get it over with quickly, the words tumbling from her mouth. “I…I am with child. Your child, my prince.” She placed her free hand over her lower belly for emphasis, giving him a small smile at this precious news, waiting with bated breath for his reaction.

Aemond's gaze hardened, his eye narrowing as he processed her words. His nostrils flared, and a tense silence hung between them, the crackling of the fire the only sound. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she waited for him to speak.

“Ar– are you not pleased? Your bloodline will endure…” she started to say, her voice faltering.

“A bastard. That is what we have made together,” he interrupted, disappointment etched into every line of his exquisite face as his frown deepened, twisting his sensuous lips into a grimace as his words cut through her like a knife.

“Aemond,” she began again, her voice more determined, “this child is part of your legacy. The blood of the dragon flows through his veins. Does that not mean something to you?”

He pulled his hand away from hers, standing up abruptly and pacing by the fire, his mind clearly torn.

“Legacy…” he mutters, almost to himself. “What legacy do I leave in this world of ashes and betrayal? My family doesn’t even know about you…what would my mother say– ?”

She rose to her feet, moving towards him, needing him to understand.

“Their opinions matter little now, what’s done is done. A child is a blessing, Aemond, no matter who its parents are,” Alys said softly but firmly, running her hand over his arm and feeling relief when he doesn’t pull away. “I implore you to listen to me. I carry the child of Aemond Targaryen, Prince Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, and Dragonrider of the mighty Vhagar. If it bothers you that we are unmarried then do what’s best for the sake of your son, Aemond. Marry me,” she pleads, her eyes shining with sincerity. “I long to be your loving wife, to stand by your side. I will help you achieve greatness, and ensure our child not only endures but thrives, following in your footsteps to rule the Seven Kingdoms. Together, we can end this war.”

Aemond looked lost, his gaze still fixed on the dancing flames of the fire, the light flickering across his face, highlighting the lines of worry and doubt etched into his features.

“How do you know I will rule?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, tinged with uncertainty.

“I have seen it, my prince,” Alys replied, her tone filled with conviction. She leaned closer, her hand still resting on his arm, drawing strength from the contact.

“Daemon is your one last, true foe. You will defeat him, how could you not? He is old and well past his prime. Caraxes is no match for the might of Vhagar. I have seen your victory in the clouds when we fly high on Vhagar’s back. There will be a battle above a great lake; I have seen him fall into the water and be swallowed by their depths.” Her voice gained a fervent edge as she continued, painting a vivid picture of the future she envisioned. “You will rule and be a mighty king, my prince, and I already carry your son and heir.”

Aemond's expression remained conflicted, but there was a spark of something in his eye—hope, perhaps, or a glimmer of belief. Alys could see the battle within him, the struggle between his self-doubt and the destiny she foretold. She pressed on, her hand moving to gently cup his scarred cheek, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“You are destined for greatness, Aemond. Together, we can shape the future of the Seven Kingdoms. After Daemon is finished, we will go to King’s Landing and rescue your mother and sister within; they are still alive, I know it. Trust in me, trust in us.”

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Then, slowly, Aemond lifted his hand to cover hers, a sign of his acceptance as his eye finally softened. His grip was firm as he bent to kiss her sweetly on the lips, which she immediately deepened, starving for his touch and affection. 

“Alright then…for our child,” Aemond said with conviction as he pulled away, his singular violet eye alight with fire once more, alive with passion, fueled with purpose.  

With only Vhagar as their witness, they stood beneath the open sky and recited the ancient marriage ritual of House Targaryen, their voices steady and resolute, echoing the vows of his ancestors. 

For a moment, war and destruction, heartache and pain seemed to fall away as they found solace in each other’s arms. Aemond's touch was gentle, his fingers trailing softly over her skin as if memorizing every inch of her. He made love to her with reverence, with such a tenderness it was as if she was suddenly made of glass. The world outside ceased to exist as they lost themselves in each other, their bodies entwined in a rhythm of love and passion.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, Aemond allowed himself a moment of happiness. His usual mask of sternness and determination melted away, replaced by a genuine smile as he thought of his son. He looked at Alys with true affection, his hand moving to rest on her still flat belly. She could see the wonder in his eye, the silent imagining of her swollen with his child, a symbol of their union and the future they hoped to build together.

Basking in his tender affection, her heart swelled with love and gratitude. She returned his caresses, her hands moving over his strong back, tracing the contours of his muscles. As Aemond placed a gentle kiss on her abdomen, she sighed with deep contentment, enjoying his bare skin on hers, the feeling of his seed leaking from between her thighs, the burning of the fire in her lower belly as the blood of the dragon nestled within. It is the most loved and cherished she had ever felt in her entire life.

Back at Harrenhal, the little maid waited anxiously. A few days before, the Prince Regent and the witch had fled together after news of King’s Landing's fall reached them. Ser Criston Cole had taken the green army south to join the Hightowers, leaving Harrenhal unguarded and eerily quiet. Now was the most opportune time for Daemon to rescue her, but she had no way to send word to him; she wasn’t even sure of his whereabouts.

So she waited and prayed fervently that her father would come for her. But her prayers were laced with a growing worry.

She worried because her moon's blood was late and she was never late. Despite drinking the tea the witch had given her, she had only had that one cup and now questioned its effectiveness. Was it enough? There was no one left to ask or to make more for her.

She worried because she felt cramping in her lower abdomen without any sign of bleeding. She worried because ordinary smells now made her nauseous, her breasts were constantly sore, and still, her blood did not come. 

One evening, unable to hold back her fears any longer, she broke down and confided in the matron, her surrogate mother that she loved dearly and who she had failed miserably by letting Aemond take advantage of her. The matron listened intently, a deep frown etched between her eyebrows, but she wasn’t angry or disappointed in the maid’s confession. She was only terribly upset for what her young adopted daughter had endured at the hands of the Prince Regent.

Discreetly, the matron arranged for the maester to examine her, and he confirmed her worst fears. She was indeed pregnant; the witch’s potion had failed. His confirmation did not surprise the little maid in the slightest. She had known, deep in her heart, that she was carrying the child of the One-Eyed Prince. A child conceived not out of love, but out of revenge and hatred, shattering her innocence, leaving her to pick up the pieces alone.

The realization weighed heavily on her. What would her father say if he ever found out? Daemon Targaryen was fierce and proud, he would surely be enraged, would surely put her babe to the sword as soon as he was born and the thought horrified her beyond measure. And so she vowed never to tell him the truth. If he came for her, she would have to hide her condition, pretend to have been foolish with someone else…anyone else. 

Not long after her discovery, the haunting shriek of Caraxes pierces the silent night, announcing the return of the Rogue Prince, as he had promised. She rushes to meet him, excitement bubbling in her chest, but also a twinge of fear, knowing she now has to play her part.

Daemon looks tired and worn, the toll of the war evident in every line on his face. But when he sees her, his expression brightens.

“Little one,” he greets warmly, reaching out to embrace her in a father’s hug she has never known before. She inhales the scent of dragon and smoke clinging to his clothes, feeling a fleeting sense of safety.

“Are we leaving? I can pack my things…” she begins eagerly, her voice trailing off as she notices the sadness in his eyes.

“I’m afraid, my little dragonseed, that we cannot go,” Daemon says softly, his voice filled with regret. “I must stay here and cannot be distracted…the Queen and the realm depend on it.” Tears spring to her eyes, and he gently lifts her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“Little dragon, you must get away from here. Leave Harrenhal, this place is cursed, probably from that despicable witch,” he growls as a flicker of anger crosses his face as he remembers Alys. 

“She’s gone now…with Prince Aemond,” the little maid tries to explain, her voice trembling. “Alys is not here to make you suffer as she did before.”

Daemon frowns slightly at this unusual piece of information, that Aemond would flee with the witch of all people, but quickly returns to his original point.

“No matter. Run, flee. Do not go to the Riverlands right now; it is not safe,” he says urgently, taking her face into both of his hands and bowing his forehead against hers. His desperation is palpable and she can see the pain in his eyes, the sorrow of knowing he cannot keep his promise to take her with him.

“But how will you find me again?” she whispers, her voice breaking with emotion.

“Do not worry, my child. If I survive, I will come for you,” he promises for the second time, his voice filling with determination. Yet she can’t bring herself to believe him entirely. She knows he is here to await Prince Aemond, and the prospect of either of them surviving a battle against one another seems slim. Daemon is choosing to sacrifice himself for the good of the realm and she cannot even begin to understand how incredibly brave he is.

Her tears start to flow at this realization and she hates the thought of leaving him behind to await his fate alone, but knows she has little choice. “Where should I go?” she asks, her voice small and fearful.

“Try to avoid any large settlements on your journey. They are currently being targeted by the one-eyed welp. Head south, towards Dragonstone….those loyal to Queen Rhaenyra will help you,” he instructs.

“I don’t want to leave you,” she sobs, her hands clutching at his tunic. “I’m scared.”

Daemon’s heart breaks at her words and he strokes her hair gently, trying to soothe her. “You are strong, my little dragon. You have the blood of Old Valyria in your veins. You will survive this. You must.”

The next day dawns cold and gray, a fitting backdrop for their departure. She and the matron join a gaggle of other inhabitants all intent on fleeing the cursed castle. The little maid is glad to be free of these dark and haunted halls at last.  

Before she leaves, she embraces her father one last time. His arms around her feel strong and protective, but there is a sense of finality that she cannot ignore. She clings to him as he whispers, “Be safe,” his voice rough with emotion. 

“I will,” she promises, though her heart aches with the knowledge that this is a promise she may not be able to keep; the road is dangerous and fraught with peril. She pulls away, wiping her tears on the back of her hand, turning away from him and forcing herself not to look back.

As they leave Harrenhal behind, the group moves in silence, each lost in their own thoughts and fears. The matron walks beside her and the little maid finds herself reaching for her hand, needing reassurance just as if she was a child again. 

She wonders about their journey ahead, hoping they will settle someplace safe; she has already decided that she and the matron will raise her son together. They will find a quiet place, far from the war and destruction, and he will grow up being loved, fiercely and unconditionally. Her son will know the stories of his heritage, even if he never knows his family, and she will be certain to tell him about his brave grandfather and the legacy that flows through his royal veins. 

Alys managed to convince Aemond to delay for a day, to celebrate their union before his incessant need to return to burn the Riverlands once more. They settled in a faraway meadow, a place untouched by the war, where the air was fresh and the sounds of conflict were but a distant memory. It was a brief respite from the carnage, a stolen moment of peace. 

She devoted herself to Aemond, worshiping him with her mouth, savoring, sucking, treating him as a king should be treated. They made love countless times in the soft grass and, as before, Aemond was exceedingly gentle, his touch soft and caring as he suckled her engorged breasts. He didn’t rut into her viciously as he had been known to do in the past, instead pleasuring her with long, slow strokes, bringing her to peak with his tongue.

In those moments, he was without his eyepatch, bare and vulnerable, and she saw the man he might have been had violence not scarred his soul. If the war had never started, she thought, this was who Aemond would be. She wished with all her heart that she could bring peace to the prince’s troubled spirit. 

As they journeyed back to the Riverlands, she estimated they had been gone from Harrenhal for nearly a fortnight. Reality hit her hard as she gazed upon the war-torn realm once more and for the first time in a long while, she was hit by a multitude of visions, many which did not make any sense. She could feel the Rogue Prince’s presence, hear the shriek of his dragon in her dreams. She confessed to Aemond that they must return to Harrenhal, that they were being sought by Daemon.

While they flew, her thoughts drifted to the little maid they had left behind. She fervently hoped the potion she had given the girl had worked; the maid did not need to suffer any more than she already had. Alys could not bear the thought of another child contending for Aemond’s heart….or his legacy. She resolved to check on the girl as soon as they returned to the castle.

As they neared Harrenhal, she felt the unmistakable energy of Caraxes well before she even saw the castle, confirming her fears and driving away any other thought. She knew that this encounter was fated, that the impending clash between Aemond and Daemon was inevitable.

She kissed Aemond for good luck, her prince, her king, the father of her child. His singular eye looked at her with a fleeting softness before hardening into the mask of determination she knew so well. He mounted Vhagar with practiced ease and took to the skies in pursuit of his uncle, so sure of his victory.

High above the God’s Eye she watched their fearsome battle, fear striking deep into her heart as the dragons danced.

And then he fell…she watched in horror…no, it couldn’t be… this was not as she foretold… her beloved prince and his mighty dragon… 

Irreparably broken…

And her world shattered. 

Epilogue

A few years later, along the tranquil banks of Riverrun, a young woman walked with a woven basket in hand, occasionally bending to gather an assortment of mushrooms or plants. She hummed a light, cheerful tune, her bright blonde hair hanging loose and flowing in the warm summer breeze. Here, she no longer had to hide her true self, her bloodline, or her past.

She and the matron had made it back to Riverrun just in time for her to give birth; their journey had been long and arduous as the war raged on, but she had been relieved to finally return home. 

“Mama!” came a small voice from the riverbank. “Fish! Mama!” He pointed excitedly as she drew near and she smiled at his enthusiasm. 

“Yes, Daemon, fish,” she confirmed in a gentle, motherly voice, as she approached him and smoothed his bright blond hair.

The boy turned to her with a radiant smile, his cherubic face and round cheeks a picture of joy and health. His violet eyes always pierced her soul whenever she looked at him, the shadow of his father already prominent in his young face. He was a living, breathing reminder of Aemond, the last trace of his lineage to walk the earth. 

She watched her son affectionately as he splashed in the shallows, his laughter loud amongst the soft sounds of nature. He giggled in delight as the small fish swam around his ankles, seeming just as interested in the little boy as he was in them. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the river, she held his small hand as they walked back toward home, the basket filled with the day’s harvest, her heart content. 

She hoped her father would be proud of her.

[utilitycaster]

You know what's interesting to me? For all people keep claiming at every juncture that perhaps Bells Hells will come around on the gods and see the harm they do (which, as discussed extensively, is, half the time, simply not intervening) not only have they never done so, but also they never quite cross the line into saying the party should join the Ruby Vanguard or aid them - and indeed, they defend against it - so what does this achieve? It feels like they're asking for a story in which the party stands idly by, which isn't much of a story nor, if I may connect this briefly to the real world, a political stance anyone should be proud of.

That's honestly the frustration with the gods and the "what if the Vanguard has a point" conversations in-game. What do we do then? Do we allow the organization that will murder anyone for pretty much any reason that loosely ties into their goals run rampant? The group that (perhaps unwittingly, but then again, Otohan's blades had that poison) disrupted magic world-wide, and caused people who had the misfortune to live at nexus points to be teleported (most, as commoners, without means of return). While also fomenting worldwide unrest?

Those were the arguments before the trip to Ruidus; with the reveal of the Vanguard's goals to invade Exandria, the situation becomes even more dire. Do you let the Imperium take over the planet?

And do the arguments against the gods even hold up? If Ludinus is so angry at them for the Calamity, what does it say that he destroyed Western Wildemount's first post-Calamity society for entirely selfish means? (What does it say about the validity of vengeance as a motivator?) What does it say that Laudna told Imogen she could always just live in a cottage quietly without issue before the solstice even happened? (Would this still be true if the Imperium controls the world?) What does it say that when faced with a furious, grieving party and the daughter she keeps telling herself was her reason for all of this, Liliana can't provide an answer to the question of what the gods have done other than that their followers will retaliate...for, you know, the Vanguard's endless list of murders. (That is how the Vanguard and Imperium tend to think, huh? "How dare your face get in the way of my boot; how dare you hit me back when I strike you.") She can't even provide a positive answer - why is Predathos better - other than "I feel it", even though Imogen and Fearne know firsthand that Predathos can provide artificial feelings of elation. Given all the harm Ludinus has done in pursuit, why isn't the conclusion "the gods should have crashed Aeor in such a way that the tech was unrecoverable?"

Even as early as the first real discussion on what the party should do, the fandom always stopped short of saying "no, Imogen's right, they should join up with the people who killed half the party," it was always "no, she didn't really mean it, she just was trying to connect with her mother." Well, she's connected with her mother, and at this point the party doesn't even care about the gods particularly (their only divinely-connected party member having died to prevent the Vanguard from killing all of them). So they will stop the Vanguard; as Ashton says, the means are unforgiveable. As Laudna says, it's not safe to bet on Predathos's apathy. As Imogen says, she's done running; the voice that she used to think of as a lifeline belongs to someone she doesn't trust. So I guess my question is: if they're stopping the people who are trying to kill the gods (and defense of the gods isn't remotely their personal motivation)...do you think the next phase of the campaign is Bells Hells personally killing the gods? Reconstructing the Aeor tech and hoping none of their allies notice? How does this end? Does your ideology ever get enacted? Or is this entirely moot and pointless and the story ends with Bells Hells saying "well, I'm really glad we stopped the people who [insert list of Vanguard atrocities from above]; none of us follow the gods or plan to, but honestly, the status quo we return to is preferable to whatever nightmare Ludinus had concocted in his violent quest for power and revenge"?

[livingdeadblondequeen]

Heated Push

This is the first of a two-part with Daryl/Reader in an ABO universe. Set between S3 & 4; Smut

Chapped lips pressing firmly against yours

Hard muscle smashed against your soft breasts

Warm callused hands running up your inner thighs, spreading them apart

Y/N bolted awake, panting and taking in her surroundings. She was alone in her cell at the prison. It was a dream, yet so much more than a dream. Her body felt hot, her skin sensitive against the bedding, and she was throbbing between her legs. It had been a while since it had happened, but Y/N knew what this meant. “Fuck.”

Throwing off the sheets that were twisted around her body, Y/N swung her legs to the edge of her bunk and got up, throwing on some loose clothes as she did before poking her head around the sheet she used as a door. Typically, she would have just bolted through the opening into the public area but with the pheromones she knew she was putting out, it wasn’t the best idea if she didn’t want a bunch of alphas pouncing on her. No, there was only one alpha that she wanted in particular at the moment or at any time.

Spotting Maggie not far away with Beth and her father, Y/N frantically waved the brunette over. Confusion masked her face until she was within a couple of feet of Y/N and picked up her scent. “Whoa.”

“Tell me about it.” Y/N huffed as she pulled the other woman into her cell for privacy. “I woke up like this.”

“No warning?”

“None,” She replied. Y/N hadn’t had a heat since a month before the world went to hell and the dead rose thanks to the suppressants they had found then the malnutrition from the rough winter they had after the farm fell. Now it seemed her first one after a couple of months of safety and eating well, her cycle had returned with a vengeance. Thankfully, she hadn’t woken up in a full-blown heat, but she wasn’t too far off either. “I need your help.”

Maggie’s eyes widened. “My help?”

“Not like that!” Y/N exclaimed. “You’re beautiful and sexy but…”

“I’m with Glen and I’m not the alpha we both know you want,” Maggie said with a devious smile. “Speaking of Daryl, do you want me to get him?”

“He’s on a run. But I need you to get Carol and help me to one of the heat cells.” Y/N answered as she chewed on her lip, trying not to let the small moan that suddenly bubbled up in her throat as her core clenched at the mention of the Alpha that the omega inside her desperately wanted. 

Her relationship with the bowman was complicated. They had met in the beginning when the Dixon brothers had joined the group in the quarry. Both alphas, especially Merle with all of his crude talk, had been a bit rough and scary at first. Yet they settled into the camp and started helping the group by hunting for food. 

Y/N had felt herself drawn to Daryl, her eyes following him when he wasn’t looking and a few times when she wasn’t watching him, she’d look up and catch him looking at her. Yet he hardly ever approached her, if she wanted to talk to him, Y/N was the one who would have to engage. The first time she did, she picked up his scent; a mixture of the woods, grease, with a hint of smoke. She had a feeling that the last part was due to his cigarette habit, but she didn’t care, the omega in her wanted to roll around in the scent of him. Thankfully Y/N was still on suppressants at the time or she might have done just that though it didn’t keep her from seeking him out.

After Merle disappeared and the camp fell which led them to head to the CDC, Y/N was trying to figure out who she was going to ride with when Daryl came up behind her. He let her know that there was an empty spot in his truck if she wanted to take it. He chewed on his thumbnail as he waited for her answer, and for a moment it was hard for her to remember she once thought he was an intimidating alpha. She nodded quickly before yelling over her shoulder to the others that she would be riding with Daryl. 

It was during that trip that Y/N realized how touch-starved Daryl was. Right after they had said their goodbyes to Jim, she had told Daryl that she was sorry about his brother, reaching out to squeeze the hand not on the steering wheel and saw him jump at the contact. As long as it wasn’t wanted, Alphas and omegas appreciated casual touches, but Daryl’s reaction told her that he wasn’t used to them. As they continued to drive, Y/N ran over the time she’d been around Daryl in her mind. She couldn’t remember one time where someone touched Daryl or he touched them in a kind way. She had seen Merle punch him in his arm or shove him on occasion, and then later there was the fight between Daryl, Shane, and Rick. Those instances coupled with the scars she had seen peeking out of Daryl’s shirt told her a lot, no wonder he had so much anger. 

After that, Y/N made sure that she did what she could to help Daryl. She would sit as close as she could when they would eat meals first at the CDC, then at the farm, brushing her leg or arm against his as they ate. She also offered small touches, not too much to help soothe him as they would sit and talk at the end of the day, him telling her about the search for Sophia and later at his bedside after he had been hurt. When they found out the little girl had been in the barn the whole time, Y/N had given him a hug, only to have him shove her off of him and stomping away.  

Y/N had gotten separated from the group when the herd came through the farm, but thankfully she was able to stumble her way to the highway and found herself engulfed in Daryl’s arms when the group spotted her. He mumbled an apology into her hair as he held her, saying he thought they had lost her. 

After that, when they were on the road, the two of them were always together unless Daryl was hunting, though things remained platonic between them, even with them sleeping next to each other at night. It wasn’t until he had returned after leaving with Merle that he finally admitted that he wanted her as more; he wanted her to be his. They had been ‘together’ ever since but had not had sex nor were they bonded yet. First the Governor, then building the community within the prison had taken precedence. Y/N wished he were there now though because with her heat she knew that both of those things would be happening. 

Maggie nodded in understanding before she disappeared back out of the cell. Knowing she had gone to look for Carol, Y/N grabbed a few things she would need for her heat. Her pillows, her few blankets, her water bottle, and a shirt she had hidden away, not much for an ideal nest but better than a bare floor or bunk.

“Y/N?” Carol called to her from outside her cell door.

Y/N shoved the privacy curtain to the side, coming face to face with the older Omega and she saw sympathy in her eyes. Carol wrapped her arm around Y/N’s shoulders, directing her out of the cell block. “Oh sweetheart, let’s get you out of here and away from everyone.”

Y/N nodded as she let Carol and Maggie lead her out of Cell Block C and to the Administration building. One of the things the group had done when making the Prison their home was to turn the old intake cells in the Administration building into makeshift nests for the few omegas when needed. It allowed for the omegas and their Alphas or, like Y/N, a single omega, to have some privacy during their heats, safely away from the others.

After getting her settled, Carol hugged Y/N one last time. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Daryl,” Y/N replied. Carol’s brows shot up in surprise, but Y/N quickly continued. “He is on that run for a few days, can you tell him what is going on when he gets back? I don’t want him to worry.”

“He’ll do that no matter what when he doesn’t see you, but I will make sure to head him off as soon as he returns.”

“Thanks,” Y/N said before Carol moved to shut and lock the door, leaving the younger omega to her heat.

*Next Day*

Pulling his bike up alongside the car Glen and Rick took on their run, Daryl killed the engine. Those who were nearby and had seen them return all came over to see how it went. They had been lucky, not only did they find a large haul, but they had found it quickly which allowed them to return to the prison earlier than planned. 

Daryl noticed Zack, the kid who had been on gate duty, approached him. “Hey man, Carol left a message for you. Said to come to find her when you got back.”

“She say why?” Daryl asked, wondering if something was wrong. 

“Nope, just find her as soon as you come back,” Zack stated with a shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t think it was anything bad.”

“But sounds important if Carol left word,” Rick commented. “We’ve got this. Go find Carol.”

Daryl nodded in thanks to the man before grabbing his bag and heading to find his friend, hoping it would be quick. While checking in with Carol was something he did usually when he came back from a run, there was someone else he wanted to see first, Y/N. Returning early meant he would be able to see her sooner, something Daryl was happy about. Three days away from his little omega had been plenty. Technically, she wasn’t his, she didn’t bear his mark, hell they hadn’t even had sex, but he had been courting her with the desire to make her his. He had known he wanted her from the first moment he saw her at the quarry. He just wasn’t sure it was mutual. 

Not only was he craving her sweet scent and touch, but Daryl had also found a little surprise for her on the run and couldn’t wait to give it to her. After not seeing Carol anywhere around the outdoor kitchen, Daryl decided to check cell block C. It was most likely that both Carol and Y/N were there anyway. 

Daryl was still a couple of doors away from Y/N’s cell when her scent, wild berries, and cream, hit his nose. His first thought was that he picked it up despite the distance due to their time apart but as he threw back the blanket that covered the entrance he knew that wasn’t it. The scent of ripe berries overwhelmed him and his alpha senses kicked into high gear. His mate was in heat. She was in heat and probably suffering from its effects alone, without him. Her rich scent had gone straight to his cock, and the only thing Daryl could think of was finding her. 

While fainter than within her cell, Daryl was able to follow the scent trail she had left behind, growling slightly when he picked up Maggie’s alpha scent mingling with Y/N’s though it faded quickly and was replaced with Carol’s. He followed the two scents out of the cell house to the administration building. He knew that was where the secured heat rooms were and Daryl was relieved to know that Y/N was safe from the others while she was so vulnerable. 

Between her scent and the sounds of her whimpers, it didn’t take long for Daryl to figure out which cell she was in. The holding cell was the furthest from the entrance, allowing for the most privacy possible. Daryl felt his heart clench when he caught sight of her; Y/N was naked in her makeshift nest, the cot mattress along with a few blankets and what looked like one of his shirts that he knew had gone missing a few weeks before. The alpha within him preened knowing that she had wanted to be surrounded by his scent, even if it was from his shirt. Her hand was between her legs, rubbing frantically in an attempt to get some relief from her heat but Daryl could tell the moment she caught his scent by the way her eyes snapped open and looked for him. When they landed on him, she whimpered. “Alpha, it hurts.”

Hearing her whine snapped Daryl into action. Using his set of keys, he quickly unlocked the door and let himself in. The door hadn’t even closed before he started to strip off his clothes; his poncho, vest, and shirt hit the floor while he kicked off his boots. The room was saturated with her scent and if his cock hadn’t already been hard, it certainly would have been then. As he removed his pants, he gave himself a few strokes to relieve the pressure before he lowered himself to kneel between Y/N’s thighs. “It’s okay ‘mega, I’m here. I’m going to take care of you.”

Though her thighs were coated in slick, her pussy swollen with arousal and need, Daryl laid his body on top of hers, giving her the much needed skin to skin contact. Y/N’s knees rose to cradle his hips as he pressed his mouth against her neck, kissing, nipping, the feel of his scruff brushing against her neck sending shivers through her. He used his left hand to hold himself up while his right cupped her breast, his thumb brushing against her hardened nipple, causing her to moan. 

Daryl teased her breast for a minute before moving his hand away, trailing his fingers down her stomach. His touch felt amazing, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Y/N jumped when she felt him press his calloused thumb against her clit. She moaned softly, she pushed against his hand as he started to rub firmly. Y/N could feel her eyes wanting to roll back in her head from the pleasure of his thumb sweeping back and forth across her bundle of nerves but it wasn’t enough. “More, Alpha. I need more. I need your knot.”

“You’ll have it sweet ‘mega, but I need to get you ready first before I fill you with my cock.” Daryl mumbled against her skin as he licked and bit at her neck. Not hard enough to break skin, not yet. He needed her less glassy-eyed and foggy with need. 

Moving her hands from their position on his wide shoulders, Y/N threaded her fingers through Daryl’s hair and used them to pull his face away from her neck, up to her mouth. Her lips crashed against his hungrily, as she tried to convey to him the desire she felt for him. He seemed to read her thoughts as his lips pressed against hers greedily before she nipped at his bottom lip with her teeth. His lips parted automatically, and their tongues intertwined. 

Daryl moved his fingers to her opening, sliding one in just a little before drawing it back out and circling her sensitive folds. All of the teasing movements sent Y/N into such a state that when his fingers pushed inside of her in a deep thrust, she arched her back in pleasure. She broke away from his lips and cried out. "Daryl!"

"Come for me Y/N, let me see you…" He whispered as he picked up the pace of his hand. The teasing touch he had started with was gone now, as he fucked her with his fingers. 

Every thrust of them brought her closer to the edge until she honestly believed she might be going insane from it. She felt him push into her one more time before she finally did shatter, shuddering, the waves of pleasure radiating up through her body. Daryl watched her orgasm take her over as he continued to pump his fingers inside of her, working her down from her high. He kissed her tenderly as he removed his hand from inside her. His fingertips ran back up her body, stopping briefly to caress her heaving breasts before he grabbed the arm that had been resting at her side. He laced his fingers through hers, before bringing them to his lips.

Though her body was buzzing and shuddering in the last tremors of her orgasm, Y/N felt her pussy throb again quickly when she felt Daryl roll her over onto her stomach before moving her onto her hands and knees in front of him. Her belly quivered, she craved the feel of him inside of her, she needed to feel his knot inside of her or she was going to combust. She rolled her hips back against him, rubbing herself against his throbbing erection. Daryl growled against her neck at her teasing. Not being able to wait another second, he took his thick length in his hand and guided it between her legs towards her entrance.

"Alpha…" Y/N gasped, as she felt the swollen, slick head of his cock probing her flesh. She bit her lip when he found her opening. Daryl held her hips, and she swallowed a moan when he pushed into her. He was stretching her in the best way possible.  

As soon as he was completely sheathed inside of her, he stopped, and she knew he was letting her get used to the feeling of him. She felt impossibly full, but didn’t need him to be gentle; she needed more. She flexed her thighs, sliding back and forth on him to signal that she wanted him to move. He bit back a moan, as he felt her beginning to move on him. She felt tight around him, her inner walls contracting every time she moved, trying to lock him inside her. His hands gripped her hips to stop her, taking control as he pulled out of her until only his tip was still inside her. She whimpered at the loss of him, but the whimper turned into a loud moan when he thrust back in.

Again, Daryl moved out of her, until just the tip was inside, and then back in fully. He repeated the action a few more times, making Y/N moan. Her thighs trembled, while her body jerked as he rammed into her, the swollen head of his cock pushing and hitting her deep inside. His hips started moving, pumping into her at a demanding, hungry pace. One of his hands left her hip cupping her breast to knead the full mound to try and distract him from her neck. It took all of his willpower not to sink his teeth into the flesh of her throat.

She closed her eyes and let sensations engulf her. Daryl could see her mouth open slightly as a moan escaped her when the friction inside of her was too much, or the head of his cock pushed on a sensitive spot. He gripped her hip harder, moving faster into her, the feel of her around him pushing him further, wanting to go deeper into her for his knot to lock them together. Her face twisted more and more in pleasure as he felt her starting to flutter around him. She felt him grip her hips tighter as his thrusts became faster and more erratic.

Her walls clamped down around his cock, as her orgasm rolled over her. He held her tight when he kept moving against her for his own impending release. He relished the feel of her muscles flexing tightly around his cock. His orgasm coursed through his body as he continued to pump into her, his knot expanding until it was notched inside her. As soon as they were locked, he came hard, filling her completely. His orgasm seemed to go on for hours though he knew it was only minutes. When his body finally came down from his high, he felt like he was going to collapse. Not wanting to crush Y/N, he rolled the two of them onto their sides, wrapped his arm around her, and tucked her head under his chin. “You feel better ‘mega?”

Y/N nodded before yawning, feeling half asleep already. She had been in agony since her heat had come on full force, she tried her best to relieve the ache within her by herself but it wasn’t even close to the satisfaction she was feeling now thanks to the knot now locked inside her. It wouldn’t be too long before her pussy would be throbbing again with need for Daryl. 

“Get some rest Y/N,” Daryl ordered. “I’ve got ya.”

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Thanks to @littlegodzilla, & @minervadashwood for their help!