#and there’s no one watching. this is not a performance. he is just. he’s grieving.

[drpvnk]

people who hate the direction of kit's character because he's upset with ty while also knowing ty is autistic... are the same people who fail to realize that while kit is more knowledgable in that area than most nephilim, he was STILL only 15 years old, and while he did go along with ty until last minute even ty questioned his authenticity at some point...

(also did we all collectively forget kits entire storyline? this kid was in NO position to make any life-altering decisions... tbh the only person who might have an inkling of what he's going through is clary, cause yea not even jace and his reassurance can fully encompass kits issues...

i mean here is a kid who was abused by neglection and harsh treatment, a kid who has only ever know to crave love and never felt it. and then one day his abuser/protector is ripped in half right in front of him, and he's promptly told that he is apart of a society who he was taught to hate his entire life. so there goes his first identity crisis. but oh wait, this entirely new society has been taught to expect tragedy to happen at anytime of the day so suck it up cause your one of us now and also we're placing you in a super tight-knit family that is going through their own traumatic shit, so they won't have time to even TRY and make you feel welcomed or acknowledged... like AT ALL. (cause wow, how many times was kit left on the sidelines while the entire LA institute had a giant group hug... LOL) but then you get accepted by these twins and become apart of their little group, and now you don't want to let go, you CAN'T, because this is the closest you've ever been to being apart of a family, so you have to bury your grief and be likeable and cool and strong. but then one of the twins die and suddenly everyone is looking at you to comfort the other twin, but you haven't even been able to figure out how to grieve yourself before having to experience this additional loss of a budding relationship. but you love this boy so OK you do what you can, even if it means going along with something that makes you sick to your stomach. but your still new here, you don't know which lines to cross, you don't know whats ok and what's not, who to tell and who not to tell, you dont want this boy to hate you, you can't lose this "home" even as it's being held by the thinnest string ready to break. even as you look at yourself and can only see the same look of disappointment and hate and secrets upon secrets, an exact copy of his fathers expression when he looked at kit, a man your not sure you even love. there goes your second identity crisis. (funny how much kit hates secrets and yet thats been the only revelation of his entire existence)

you suck it up until you can't anymore, until your feelings spill over in the purest words that you can express, words that mean a lifetime to you because these are words no one has have uttered to you, because these are words you know you probably need to hear too.

except now your left soppin wet and punched by your inconsolable crush and watching as he performs a failed resurrection. and then after being kept in confinement for some days its revealed that your part faerie, another race hellbent on being hated by the world. except your not just any faerie but the one true heir to TWO thrones... and there's your third identity crisis.))) also,,, dont get me started on the short stories where we expect to read about kit healing and then we actually just see him sink deeper and deeper into this pit of self-loathing as he's continuously put in positions that have him viewed as a threat and danger to his family... i.e. his heritage, tessa and jems reaction to him holding james' gun, mina's kidnapping, etc.

yea, by all means kit be angry!

and to address kit being older and still holding this grudge years later with the assumption that he knows more and maybe understands ty's thought process better,,, he's already admitted to being mad at ty for putting kit in a position that had him looking in the mirror and seeing johnny rook... NOT at the fact that he was "rejected" or even the resurrection itself...

is kit in the right for his misplaced anger? ofc not,,, but he also went through a lifetime of trauma that you can't simply let go of just because another person might not have fully understood the headspace that he was in at the moment

kits characterization within the fandom really makes me realize how privileged many people are to never having to go through the messy process of grieving your abuser while now figuring out who you are after them, all while their shadow is still casted over your entire being... like, no kit didn't runaway from being rejected by a boy, he ran away from being rejected despite his desperate efforts to be loved, even if it meant sacrificing his own sanity by becoming someone who resembled the catalyst of ALOT of his trauma,,,ofc this is all in his pov since we the readers are aware of tys feelings)

thats all to say that kit really is good at suppressing his feelings if even the readers glossed over the multiple times his mind began to stray towards the death of his father throughout the tda series. like, we're aware of johnny's treatment towards kit and we're also aware of the envirommemt he was raised in,,, so why is it that people focus on him "knowing" about the spectrum b/c he lives in modern society than they are about the life he's personally lived that influenced his decision and thought process throughout the story?

and if it wasn't obvious this post was entirely for kit's pov, ty has a completely different view of things and where kit might not fully understand how ty processes things, neither does ty towards kit. they're both on completely different pages!!

but thats the point of their story!! theyre gonna heal together! we will explore ty's pov and see what he REALLY saw during that time period and maybe kit can finally love himself the way he wants others to love him,,,,

[quietwingsinthesky]

prev post I don’t want to bother op with this but. that is why s5 lucifer is so good too.

[sturnskiss]

imgonnagetyouback ! ᥫ᭡

pairing: matt sturniolo x popstar! reader

word count: 2.1k (holy shit)

summary: you are a world renowned popstar, and after a very public breakup with youtuber matt sturniolo, he can’t bare to watch you look hot on stage and know you’re no longer his. he’s determined to get you back.

warnings: smut obvi, p in v, fingering, swearing, use of ‘y/n’, nicknames (baby), overstimulation, unprotected sex (don’t be fucking stupid), matt calling reader ‘slutty’, probably more i can’t think of

authors note: I HAVE RETURNED!! i have come back from like a two month long hiatus (HIATUS??? DONT USE BIG WORDS MATTTT) to bring you guys the much requested imgonnagetyouback inspired fic featuring popstar! reader! in my mind i see popstar! reader as sabrina carpenter/madison beer type, not necessarily looks wise just their presence. anyways i love ya and thank u for all the kind words on pretty voice :(((

you walked around stage with more confidence then ever. you questioned if fake confidence still counts as confidence, but nobody seemed to know that you’re faking it. it had been 2 weeks since your breakup with matt, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t wreck you. but you don’t want to ruin the fans experience while you’re on tour, so you maintained your confident-happy-seductive-popstar act.

you were considered the new it girl of pop music. even though you were at your worst, you were getting a lot of attention. most questions fans asked you were about the breakup, but you were trending on twitter for a week straight. fans were making sad breakup edits and update accounts were notifying everyone about the latest stuff regarding the breakup.

because of those update accounts, you knew that matt and his brothers were at your show tonight. you didn’t know why, and even though it made you sick, you got up on the stage and shook your ass and sang your little heart out.

you wore a short lilac skirt, the one that fits you like skin. it drive matt crazy; the way it matched your skin tone so perfectly and accentuated your curves. you were a humble girl, but there were times you knew just how hot you were.

you felt bittersweet about this being the last stop of your tour. you were excited you could rest and grieve and mourn your ended relationship. but you were sad because of the happiness you did feel at one point performing to your fans and the family you created with your band.

with it being the last stop of tour, your team is throwing a little party at some club nearby the venue in seattle. it was planned for weeks now, and at the time you planned it, you added matt and his brothers name to the guest list. and you didn’t have the guts to remove it after the breakup, you didn’t even think you needed to because why would he show up? you regret it as you look at him from your spot on stage. he’s standing on the balcony with his brothers, and he looks guilty and mad at the same time. you quickly look away before you became sick, like how you normally feel seeing his face anywhere.

you say your goodbyes to the crowd and walk off stage as confetti shoots from the ceiling. you make your way backstage where your team awaits you, showering you with compliments and praises. the usual ‘you did so great tonight’ shit. matt used to be the first one to compliment you after a show, whispering sweet things in your ear; odd compliments that nobody else would tell you but that’s why they meant so much. you shake the thought of him from your mind as you pray that he won’t attend the party later tonight.

standing at the bar like somethings funny, bubbly.

God didn’t answer your prayers, unfortunately. you stood talking to one of your best friends, madison beer, but instead of keeping eye contact with her as she talks to you, your eyes are on matt. he’s on the other corner of the room by the bar, with his brothers. chris is sipping on a pepsi, nick with a dr. pepper, and matt has nothing in his hands. he glances over to you and goes back to his conversation with chris. he laughs and you wonder what he’s laughing at, you brush it off and engage in your conversation with madison.

fuck. fuck fuck fuck. an endless stream of curse words run through your mind because knowing he’s in the same room as you, at your party, is driving you insane. you wander through the crowds, making small talk but never staying with the same people for long. you sneak a quick look at matt who seems oddly bubbly while he’s talking to some blonde girl. as if he can feel your stare, he looks at you and makes a face. not a disgusted face, but one that reads ‘i see you too.’

an hour or two passes and i see some blonde girl approach him, and i know he wouldn’t *dare*. while we technically can see other people, we were never *not* each others. the blonde girl, who had to have been someone’s plus one cause i know damn well i didn’t invite her, is so obviously flirting with him. how bold of her! he seems uninterested but he’s still talking to her, which makes me feel sick. i hate he still has that effect on me.

say you got somebody, i’ll say i got someone too.

i know it’s petty, but i just want him to know that i can have someone too. i walk up to the first boy that i see, making small talk and his eyes almost pop out of his head when he realizes who i am. i can feel matt’s stare from across the room. i have zero interest in this guy i’m talking to, i just want to piss matt off. i don’t know what the fuck i’m doing. i tell all of my friends that i hate him, but i go fucking crazy when i see him or hear anything about him.

part of me wants to yell at him and curse him out, and the other half wants to take him back to my hotel. your phone is tucked into the neckline of your dress, feeling it vibrate. you smile at the stranger and pull your phone out, matt’s name on your lockscreen. you look over and see him staring at you. it definitely worked, this man is furious.

ten minutes later, you wait in the gender neutral bathroom. you apply more lipgloss in the mirror when matt walks in, quickly locking the door behind him.

“you hate parties,” you mutter as you layer on more mauve lipgloss, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

he shrugs, “yeah, but i don’t hate you.”

you roll your eyes, “well, i hate you.”

he laughs dryly, “yeah? how come you’re here then? in this bathroom with me, with the door locked?” he says, walking up behind you. you can feel his bulge against your ass.

you sigh and turn around, less than an inch of distance between you. “i hate you.”

he nods, “for sure.” he brings his thumb to your glossed lips, smirking. “so pretty.”

before you could even think twice, you’re sitting on the sink, wrapping your legs around matt’s waist, making out. maybe if you were sober you wouldn’t be in this situation, but if you were sober you probably would have wanted it more.

“hate you so much,” you mumble in between sloppy kisses.

“i know,” he mutters. he taps your thighs, signaling for you to spread them more. and of course, you do. he reaches his hand under your dress, pulling your panties to the side. he does all of this without breaking your kiss, too. and to no one’s surprise, you’re soaked.

he looks up at you, “you hate me so much but you’re soaking wet? doesn’t make sense.” he says.

“stop talking,” you whine.

he plunges two fingers into your cunt, and your hand immediately flies to your mouth. while it isn’t out of the ordinary to have sex in a bathroom at a club, you don’t want people to know it’s you.

he uses his other hand and pulls your hand away from your mouth. “let ‘em hear you.”

he continues fingering you until he feels your walls clench down on his fingers, and he pulls them out.

“matt!” you whine.

he nods, “i know, baby.” matt loves to edge you, and it pisses you off.

you roll your eyes and push him away, hopping off the sink. “no, i really do hate you.”

matt rolls his eyes, “oh, here we go again with that bullshit.”

you’re about to unlock the door and walk out of it before matt stops you. he swats your hand away from the door knob and walks closer to you until you’re up against the door.

“off,” he says, tugging at the fabric of your dress. and even though you said you hated him 5 seconds ago, you obey him.

he helps you wiggle out of your dress, you step out of it and slide it across the bathroom.

matt takes his belt off and unbuttons his jeans, you slide his boxers down to his ankles along with his jeans.

you’re still against the door when matt says, “jump.” you quickly obey, wrapping your legs around his hips. he uses the door to help not drop you, and you’re sure your back will hurt and have some bruises after this.

his dick is firmly pressing against your clit, and matt uses one arm to support you and the other to slide his dick inside your entrance. you hadn’t had his cock in a couple months, and it’s like it’s the first time again.

“oh fuck,” he groans. “still so tight. none of the other guys can stretch you like i do, huh?” he whispers into your ear.

“shut up and fuck me already, matt.” you reply bitterly.

“if you say so,” he whispers before bucking his hips into you so hard you think you might have a bruise.

“oh!” you gasp.

matt maintains eye contact with you, “you miss this dick?”

you nod as he continues to fuck into you, the door rattling against you.

“i don’t believe that, use your words, y/n.” he teases.

“i missed— oh fuck, missed your dick,” you whimper.

he pushed you harder against the door behind you so he could use his other hand to rub circles on your clit.

“well, i missed this pussy too. know it missed me back.”

your hole fluttered at his words which made him let out a soft groan. you felt his dick everywhere, in your soul.

he moved his hand away from your clit, leaving you trembling.

“m’back hurts,” you whined as he slid his dick in and out of you.

matt looked at you with sympathy, “i know baby… but we’re in a bathroom cause you’re jus’ so needy, so there’s not much room for me to fuck you like i want.”

this was true.

he rammed into you harder and faster, causing you to let out an almost pornographic shriek.

matt dryly laughed, “sound so pretty. such a pretty voice.”

you knew how much matt loved your career. the most famous pop girl at the moment wrapped around his finger. he loved watching your shows and seeing how all your female fans would bring their boyfriends to a concert and he’d watch their intense stares as you pranced around on stage in nothing but a tiny dress and heels. everyone wanted to fuck you or be you, and he loved that you were his in every way. but after the breakup, he’s gotten angry so of course he has to make up for lost time with a very intense fuck.

he slammed into you and pulled out just as quick, repeating this until he can feel your walls tightening against his lengthy cock.

“c’mon, baby. know your close, give it to me.” he whispered in your ear.

“oh god,” you moaned.

matt stopped fucking you, “s’not my name, baby.”

you whined, “fuck me, matt.” you said, putting emphasis on his name.

he smiled and started pounding into you again. “good job, baby. love when you use that pretty lil voice of yours.”

your nails scratched artwork onto his back, maybe breaking skin but matt didn’t mind at all.

“you gonna cum?” he taunted.

you nodded, “matt!”

“cum for me baby,” he demanded.

“oh god! oh, oh matt!” you said it correctly this time as your orgasm ripped through you. the first genuinely good one in two weeks.

matt didn’t slow down, he stayed fucking you through your orgasm.

“can’t!” you yelled.

matt shook his head, “you can. jus’ gimme one more. one more.”

you shut your eyes tightly gripping onto his back as tight as you can. you start squirming as your next orgasm approaches.

“m’cumming! oh! matt, i’m cumming!”

he nods, “i know baby.”

after you come down from your orgasm high, matt helps you adjust yourself so you look presentable to go back out into your party.

you reapply your lip gloss and run your fingers through your hair, combing them out. you fix your dress while matt hands you your panties.

“well, it was nice seeing you.” you say sweetly, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

“very nice.” he says with a smirk on his face. he adjusts his hair too before unlocking the door and holding it open for you. you’re greeted by a long line of upset faces waiting to use the bathroom.

you and matt make side eye each other as you walk away from the crowd, giggling.

you and matt both know you were never not each others.

[reidology13]

I tell someone I love them (just as a distraction)

Spencer Reid x fem famous!reader

Summary: In the depths of his addiction, Spencer finds someone who needs an escape as much as he does. cw: talk of addiction, allusions to sex (no actual smut), angst no happy ending

Part 2 here!

Meaningless whispers of ‘I love you’ mumbled between laboured breaths and cold kisses in an apartment that doesn’t feel like mine. The sheen of sweat that coats his body is nearly constant these days, it has nothing to do with physical exertion. The glaze over his hollow eyes is the furthest possible thing from pleasure, although by now he might have his wires crossed. His face is beautiful, and I can see myself marrying it in another life, one where my chest isn’t as hollow as his cheeks. A life where I don’t have to ignore the fresh scars in the crook of his elbow as I pull his shirt off.

I am not in that world, and neither is he, a reality that I cannot grieve because this is what I asked for, what I have been working for since before I can remember. The parties that leave me empty and sick, the performances that start the moment I leave the stage, the new friends who tag along for my name. I love him because he doesn’t care about any of it, if only because he’s too high to care about much at all.

I don’t feel anything when I finish, I’m not sure he does, either. I watch as he disappears from my side, already scrambling to his bag, searching through it until he finds what he needs. He slips into the bathroom, finally taking his chance to feel something after the numbness of the night. He has his escape, he used to be mine. I wonder if one day the chemicals he defiles his veins with will stop calming his ever racing mind, or if I just need a higher dose.

When he comes back, I pull him close to me, dragging him back down into the bedsheets and sweat. It works this time, my skin alight with every electrifying touch as his fingers dance gracefully across my body. His hands shake as they move, a feeling that makes my nerves sing as a lump forms in my throat and my heart sinks to my stomach. He looks up at me with those brown eyes that would be so gorgeous if they held any emotion, anything but that violent hunger for a craving he should have satisfied moments earlier. He can’t up his dose as easily as I can, can’t pull his vice back to bed without the risk of never waking up. He doesn’t bother saying that he loves me this time, we both know it’s not true. Or maybe it is, but there are things he loves much more, and telling me he loves me debases one of the only pure things left in the world. I’m glad he doesn’t try this time.

He holds me afterwards, his trembling body not yet ready to stand up, or maybe he knows that the moment he does he’ll be back inside the bathroom. I turn my head away, and as he buries his face in my shoulder, I pretend I don’t feel the apology he mouths against my glass skin. He runs a hand down my upper arm, his touch tentative and light, scared that I’ll shatter into a million pieces. My heart does. If he knows about the tear that runs down my face, he ignores it, and I’m not surprised. Ignorance is what we’re good at, after all.

When I wake up, he’s gone, slipped into the early morning, or called into the job that he shouldn’t be doing in his condition. I crawl out of my cold, damp sheets, the disgusting aftermath of our night. The sick feeling that perpetually sits in my gut, loosening under him, twisting tighter under the sun of the next day. 

Slowly, I peel back the layers of sticky fabric, watching how they cling to my skin and each other as I force them into the washing machine. I turn it on.

Fresh sheets are laid out on my bed, sheets that haven’t yet witnessed the tornado of us, still clean and untainted by tears and sweat and words that never mean anything. I lay the sheet over the mattress, fighting to wrap it around all four corners as it perpetually escapes one, always sitting just slightly wrong. I place the pillows down carefully, fighting the urge to punch them like I’ve been wanting to punch his face every time he shows up at my door.

I can see myself marrying him in this world, too, getting him the help he needs and staying with him through it all. He would be able to be there for me when I need it, not an escape from, but support through the other parts of my life, a person to love and talk to about the hard things. But I know that is still impossible. One day, he will sober up and disappear, or I will be an uninvited guest at his funeral. There’s no option that ends well for both of us, the best we can do is take it as it happens and ignore everything.

I watch as the last blanket floats down over the bed, carelessly adjusting its corners. It looks exactly the same.

[fangedhorizon]

I absolutely love the idea that Claudia’s actress change between s1 and s2 is also because of Louis as an unreliable narrator. While yes, it can be said that it was due to Bailey Bass going to work for avatar, I think it also does wonders for the story.

Through the interview, Louis is beginning to piece his memories into a more full, coherent picture. He is losing some of the bias from emotion and inconsistency from memory as he relives his past. Therefore, the change of Claudia between seasons could still be relevant for the plot.

In the first season, Bass’ Claudia looks more like their child. Of course, interracial couples can have kids of all different shades (I am mixed myself), but it’s interesting to consider this Claudia as an unreliable construction within his memory. This Claudia, the one he reminisces during his ‘golden years’ before everything went downhill, looks like she could be their love child if biology allowed it.

As the fruit of the disaster that is them, the peeling band aid holding together a dying marriage, it wouldn’t surprise me that Louis remembers Claudia as looking like both him and Lestat. She is both the best and worst parts of them, sharing a mental connection with Louis (literally) and an emotional one from his coddling. Yet, she inherently acts like Lestat as well. Much to Claudia’s dissatisfaction, she cannot escape his likeliness, cannot help but think like him. She uses this to her advantage at the end of season one, but knows he will return because of Louis’ fragility.

After being turned while grieving Paul, all Louis knows how to do is love, and protect. But he cannot protect Claudia from her fate, which Lestat tries to tell him. By possibly envisioning her as a more traditional mix of the two of them, perhaps Louis is trying to offload some of the blame and guilt to Lestat, while simultaneously knowing subconsciously that he still played a major role in her doomed existence. Claudia is the byproduct of two broken hearts desperately trying to heal, which the dark gift does not allow.

It was never about her.

In the second season, she resembles him more as he comes to terms with his involvement in her death. Or, she has taken on a less biased appearance as Louis becomes less unreliable. Or, the memories are so vivid that no amount of self-preservation could alter her, leaving Louis’ guilt to construct her image. Perhaps he sees himself in her, or sees his family in her, sees Paul in her. He couldn’t save her, just like he couldn’t save Paul.

His nurturing nature within his retelling is thrown into question as he experiences neither her birth nor death, yet Lestat witnesses both. Louis is blinded by his pain, the ache left in his heart from his inability to protect, whilst Lestat must watch as the child he loved and detested (not in equal parts, I will die on the hill that Lestat loved Claudia in his own fucked up way, one that he learnt from Magnus’ torture) be birthed without her consent and die without her consent.

He must watch on as his fledgling achieves what he never could - true love. He must watch her sing, still serving a performative function in her last moments. She is nail glue for their dying relationship, then she’s a crowbar from a shitty marriage, she is a weapon to protect Louis from the world and himself, only to be a doll, positioned on stage as the crowd puppeteers her demise.

Claudia was never her true self in Louis’ retelling, nor will she be in Lestat’s. Even in death, Claudia only serves a function for storytelling, unable to give us her side of the story. But how could she?

It was never. about. her.

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (14)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: 13

- Next part: 15

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The sea air is heavy with salt and sorrow as the royal family steps off the ship onto the black stone of Driftmark. Waves crash against the shore, a mournful symphony that echoes the grief in every heart gathered here. The Velaryon banners flap in the wind, their vibrant colors a sharp contrast to the somber mood that hangs over the assembled nobles.

You stand with Rhaenyra and your sons, Jace and Luke stiff by your side. Joffrey is in Rhaenyra's arms, his small face confused by the sarrow he doesn’t yet understand. Viserys and Alicent’s children stand apart, an invisible line drawn between your family and theirs. It’s an unspoken separation that feels almost tangible, like a chasm you cannot cross.

Viserys, frail and bent with age, is supported by Alicent. She’s wrapped in mourning black, her face a mask of solemnity, but there’s a tightness around her mouth, a stiffness in the way she holds herself that you recognize all too well. Aegon, Aemond and Helaena stand close by, watching your family with guarded expressions. Even now, on this day of loss, the divide is painfully clear.

The funeral rites are performed with all the gravity and tradition expected of House Velaryon. Laena’s casket, intricately carved and draped in blue and silver, is lowered into the sea. You watch Daemon, his face a mask of stoic grief, his eyes dark as he stares at the waves. There’s a loneliness in his stance, a pain that no words could touch. You know what it is to lose, to feel helpless against the tides of fate, and your heart aches for your uncle.

As the ceremony concludes and the crowd begins to disperse, you make your way toward him. Daemon stands apart from the others, his gaze still fixed on the spot where Laena’s casket vanished beneath the water’s surface. He does not turn as you approach, but you know he’s aware of your presence.

“Uncle,” you say quietly, your voice carrying just enough to reach him over the sound of the surf. “I am sorry for your loss. Laena was a remarkable woman.”

He glances at you then, his violet eyes shadowed. “Thank you,” he replies, his voice low and rough, as if the words cost him more than he can bear to give. “She deserved better than this.”

You nod, standing beside him, the two of you looking out over the endless expanse of the sea. “If there is anything you need, anything I can do…”

Daemon huffs a mirthless laugh, shaking his head. “What can anyone do, except let the dead rest and the living grieve?” He falls silent for a moment, his gaze drifting to the Velaryon children, huddled together in their own pain. “They will need strength now, and guidance. We cannot let them be consumed by bitterness.”

“I will help where I can,” you promise. “But I know they will look to you.”

Daemon’s lips twitch in something like a smile, though there is no warmth in it. “The wandering rogue of House Targaryen, a role model. Gods save us all.” He sighs, the sound heavy with more than just grief. “And you, how is life in the Red Keep these days? I hear the Hightowers have made themselves quite comfortable.”

You stiffen at the question, glancing over to where Viserys stands, isolated despite the presence of his children and wife. Alicent’s gaze keeps straying to you and Rhaenyra, a watchful, calculating look that makes your skin prickle. “Comfortable would be one way to put it,” you reply, keeping your voice low. “They hold much sway over the King now. More than they should.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow, a sharpness returning to his gaze. “I warned him, years ago. Warned him what would happen if he let that snake Otto slither too close. And now his daughter’s there, her children in line before yours.”

You glance back at your own sons, standing awkwardly with Rhaenyra, their young faces solemn and unsure. Jace and Luke keep glancing over at their half-uncles, the silent anomasity between the two sets of siblings visible even from a distance. “Viserys still loves us, still claims me as his heir,” you say softly. “But every decision, every move is shadowed by Alicent’s influence. They’ve all but taken over the Small Council.”

“And yet you remain,” Daemon murmurs, his tone unreadable. “I’d expected you to take your family and fly far from that viper’s nest.”

You shrug, watching as Rhaenyra kneels to speak softly to Jace, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “For now, it’s best we stay. The closer we are, the more we can watch and counter them. And besides,” you add, your gaze flicking to your father, looking frailer than ever, “Viserys is not long for this world. When he’s gone, the realm will look to us. We need to be ready.”

Daemon’s jaw tightens, his eyes dark. “He’s grown weak, blinded by his need for peace and love. He doesn’t see the knives being sharpened behind his back.”

“No, he doesn’t,” you agree quietly. “But we do. And we’ll be prepared.”

You fall silent then, your eyes once more drawn to your sons. Jace and Luke stand straight and tall, though you can see the stiffness in their shoulders, the uncertainty in their eyes. You watch as they exchange a few words with each other, the bond between them strong despite everything. You take comfort in that, at least.

Daemon follows your gaze, his expression softening slightly. “They’re good boys,” he says, a note of pride in his voice. “Stubborn and fierce, like their mother. And their father.”

“They’ll need to be,” you reply, a grim smile touching your lips. “The road ahead will not be easy.”

“No,” Daemon agrees, his gaze shifting back to the sea. “But they have you and Rhaenyra to guide them. And they have the blood of the dragon. That counts for something.”

You nod, feeling the weight of the future pressing down on you. But for now, there is nothing to do but stand here, beside your uncle, and honor the memory of a woman who was lost too soon. 

The sea continues its mournful song, a lullaby for the dead and a reminder to the living. And you, like the tide, will endure.

Rhaenyra stands quietly among the mourners, her eyes fixed on the sea where Laena’s casket has just disappeared beneath the waves. The ceremony is over, but the heavy weight of grief still hangs in the air, a palpable presence that settles in the hearts of all gathered. She glances at her three sons—Jace, Luke, and Joffrey—standing close by, their small forms huddled together, their faces solemn and uncertain.

She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. This is not just a time for mourning but a moment to show unity and strength, especially in the face of the silent but glaring division between her family and the Hightowers. Her gaze flits to you, standing a little distance away with Daemon, your head bowed as you speak quietly with him. The sight of you brings her a fleeting sense of calm amidst the turmoil.

Turning her attention back to her children, she kneels down to their level, her voice soft but steady. “Jace, Luke, Joffrey, I need you to go and speak with your cousins, Baela and Rhaena. They need to know that they’re not alone in their grief.”

Jace shifts uncomfortably, glancing over at the twins, who are standing with their grandmother, Rhaenys. The Queen Who Never Was has her arms wrapped around her granddaughters, her regal bearing barely concealing the depth of her sorrow. “But, Mother,” Jace murmurs, “what if they don’t want to talk to us?”

Rhaenyra reaches out, brushing a lock of hair from Jace’s forehead. “It’s not about what you say, my love. It’s about showing them that you care. Just being there for them is enough.”

Luke looks up at her, his young face twisted with uncertainty. “Are you sure we won’t make it worse?”

Rhaenyra’s smile is gentle, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You won’t. They need to see that their family is with them, that we’re all here to support each other.”

Joffrey, the youngest but no longer a baby, steps forward, his little face serious. “What if they cry?” he asks, his voice small and hesitant.

Rhaenyra’s heart aches at the question, but she forces herself to remain strong. “Then you comfort them, Joffrey. Sometimes, it’s okay to cry. It shows that you care.”

Joffrey nods slowly, still unsure but willing to follow his mother’s lead. With one last glance at you, Rhaenyra gently ushers the boys forward, watching as they make their way over to where the twins stand. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, your presence a solid anchor in the swirling chaos of grief and uncertainty. She draws strength from knowing you are here, that you are with her.

Baela and Rhaena are huddled close to Rhaenys, their faces pale and streaked with tears. They look so small and lost, so unlike the vibrant, lively girls they usually are. Jace hesitates, glancing back at Rhaenyra for reassurance. She gives him a nod, her eyes encouraging.

Taking a deep breath, Jace steps forward. “Baela, Rhaena,” he begins softly, his voice trembling slightly. “We’re really sorry about your mother. If you need anything, we’re here for you.”

Rhaena looks up first, her big, sorrowful eyes meeting Jace’s. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “But nothing will bring her back.”

Luke moves closer, his heart aching for his cousins. “We know. But we want to help, even if it’s just being here with you.”

Baela’s gaze is fixed on the ground, her jaw clenched. She doesn’t look up, doesn’t acknowledge their words, but her hand tightens around her grandmother’s. Joffrey, standing beside Luke, reaches out and gently touches Baela’s arm.

“It’s okay to be sad,” he says quietly, his young voice earnest. “We’re all sad.”

For a long moment, there’s silence. Then Baela finally looks up, her eyes fierce despite the tears brimming in them. “I don’t want to be sad. I want her back.”

Jace takes a step closer, his face serious. “I know. We all do. But she’d want us to be strong, to be together.”

Rhaenys watches the exchange, her gaze softening slightly as she looks at Rhaenyra’s sons. “You’re good boys,” she says, her voice steady despite the pain etched in every word. “Your parents have raised you well.”

Rhaenyra, watching from a distance, feels a swell of pride and relief. She glances at you again, your eyes meeting hers across the space. There’s a wordless exchange between you, a shared understanding of the challenges your children are facing and the pride in how they are handling it.

You give her a small nod, and she takes a deep breath, drawing strength from your support. She knows this is only the beginning of the trials they will face as a family, the divisions and rivalries that will continue to test them. But for now, here on this rocky shore, they are doing what they can—standing together, offering what comfort they can in the face of loss.

The boys remain with their cousins, their presence a small but solid comfort. Rhaenyra stays where she is, watching them, her heart heavy but filled with a fierce determination. Whatever lies ahead, whatever storms may come, they will face it as family. As Targaryens.

The night on Driftmark is dark and still, the only sounds the distant roar of the waves crashing against the cliffs and the occasional mournful cry of a seabird. The funeral had left an oppressive silence in its wake, grief heavy in the air like a storm about to break. Inside the guest chambers, Jace and Luke lie sleeping, their small forms huddled under the thick blankets. Joffrey sleeps soundly beside them, his tiny hand clutching the fabric of his pillow.

A soft whisper breaks the silence.

“Luke… Jace…”

Luke stirs, blinking groggily as he turns over to see Baela and Rhaena standing by the door, their faces pale in the faint moonlight streaming through the window. “Baela?” he mumbles, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What is it?”

“Someone took Vhagar,” Baela whispers urgently, her voice trembling with anger and fear. “Come on, you have to see.”

Jace sits up immediately, his heart racing as he throws off the covers. “What do you mean, someone took Vhagar?” he asks, his voice low but insistent.

“We don’t know,” Rhaena whispers, glancing anxiously at the door. “We just know she’s gone.”

Luke glances over at Joffrey, who’s still fast asleep. He carefully slips out of bed, trying not to make a sound. “We can’t wake him,” he murmurs. “He’s too young.”

Jace nods, his expression set with determination. “Let’s go.”

The boys follow their cousins out of the room, moving quietly through the darkened corridors of High Tide. The stone walls are cold and damp, the silence around them oppressive. As they reach the outer courtyard, the reality of what Baela and Rhaena have said begins to sink in. Vhagar, the largest and oldest dragon in the world, gone? How could anyone have taken her?

They slip outside, the chill night air biting at their skin. Ahead, in the dim light of the moon, they see movement—two figures approaching. As they draw closer, the faces of Aemond and Aegon become clear, the older boys walking with a swagger that sends a surge of anger through Jace and Luke.

Jace and Luke exchange a glance, a silent understanding passing between them. This was the confrontation they’d promised themselves before leaving King’s Landing, after Aemond had insulted their father. They wouldn’t back down now.

“What’s going on?” Jace demands, stepping forward. “Where’s Vhagar?”

Aemond’s smirk is sharp, his eyes gleaming with a strange triumph. “I’ve claimed her,” he says, his voice filled with a smug satisfaction. “She’s mine now.”

Baela’s face contorts with rage, her fists clenched at her sides. “She was my mother’s dragon!” she shouts, her voice breaking with a mixture of grief and fury. “You had no right!”

Aemond’s smile doesn’t falter. “She was your mother’s dragon,” he agrees, his tone condescending. “But now she’s mine. And she’s the most powerful dragon in the world. She could eat all of yours in one bite.”

Luke steps forward, his young face twisted with anger. “Vhagar was ours to claim, not yours. You can’t just steal her!”

Aemond’s expression darkens, his smirk fading. “She chose me. And now you’ll have to live with it.” He turns his gaze on Jace, his eyes cold. “Or would you rather challenge me, Jacaerys? Let Vhagar settle it. Your little dragons wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Jace’s jaw tightens, and he takes a step closer, his fists clenched. “Maybe they wouldn’t,” he says, his voice low and steady, “but my father’s dragon, Silverwing, would burn your old beast to ashes. You think you can insult my father and get away with it?”

Aemond’s face twists in disdain. “Your father is nothing but a reckless fool, who only cares for himself. He’s not half the dragonlord he thinks he is.”

Before Jace can respond, Baela steps forward, her eyes blazing with fury. “Vhagar was my mother’s!” she yells, her voice shaking. “You had no right! None!”

Aemond’s smirk returns, but before he can speak, Jace lunges at him, the fury he’s been holding back all evening exploding to the surface. The two boys collide, falling to the ground in a tangle of limbs, fists flying.

Aegon moves to step in, but Luke is already there, shoving him back. “Stay out of this!” he shouts, his voice high and furious. “This is between us!”

The courtyard erupts into chaos as the children clash. Rhaena tries to pull Baela back, but Baela breaks free, launching herself at Aemond with a scream of rage. Jace and Aemond roll across the ground, each trying to land blows on the other. Aegon grabs Jace, pulling him off Aemond, only to be shoved aside by Luke.

It’s a wild, desperate fight, all the anger and grief of the past few days spilling out in a furious storm of fists and shouts. Aemond manages to break free, staggering to his feet, his eyes wild with fury.

“You’re all just a bunch of inbreds!” he snarls, wiping blood from his split lip. “I have the true blood of the dragon, and now I have Vhagar! I’m more Targaryen than any of you!”

Jace roars and charges at him again, but Aemond is ready. He swings, landing a punch that sends Jace sprawling. Before Aemond can follow up, Luke steps between them, his small form trembling with rage.

“You don’t deserve Vhagar,” he spits, his voice shaking. “You don’t deserve any of it.”

Aemond sneers, stepping closer. “And what are you going to do about it, little one?”

Luke’s hand moves instinctively to his belt, where the small Valyrian steel dagger you gifted him for his nameday is sheathed. He pulls it out, his hand steady, the blade catching the moonlight as he holds it up.

Aemond’s eyes widen in shock and then fury. “You think you can scare me with that?”

He lunges at Luke, his hand reaching out to grab the dagger, but Luke moves faster, his arm swinging in a desperate, instinctive arc. The blade catches Aemond across the face, a line of red blooming across his cheek and eye.

Aemond screams, a raw, terrible sound, as he stumbles back, clutching his face. Blood pours between his fingers, the wound hideous in the moonlight. The other children freeze, the shock of what’s just happened crashing over them like a wave.

And then, there are footsteps—heavy, urgent. Ser Harrold Westerling appears at the edge of the courtyard, his face going pale as he takes in the scene before him.

“What in the name of the gods—?” he begins, rushing forward. But it’s already too late. Aemond’s eye is gone, his screams echoing into the night, the others standing around him, horrified and frozen in place.

Ser Harrold shouts for help, his voice urgent, commanding, and within moments, the courtyard is filled with guards and attendants, their faces mirroring the shock and horror of what’s just occurred.

Luke drops the dagger, his hand shaking, his face ashen. Jace steps forward, his heart pounding in his ears, his eyes locked on Aemond’s bloodied face.

“It was an accident,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “It was an accident…”

But even as he says the words, he knows it won’t matter. The damage is done. The divide that had been brewing for so long has now erupted, and there will be no going back.

As the adults converge, shouting orders and lifting Aemond’s screaming form from the ground, Jace and Luke are pulled away, their hearts pounding with fear and guilt.

And in the cold, unforgiving night of Driftmark, the bonds of family are stretched to their breaking point.

The flickering candlelight casts a soft, intimate glow over the chamber as you and Rhaenyra move together, bodies entwined in the heat of your shared passion. The soft sounds of your lovemaking fill the room, mingling with the gentle rustle of sheets and the quiet murmur of the sea beyond the windows. This moment, stolen in the midst of sorrow and tension, is a brief escape from the heavy burdens that weigh on both of you.

Rhaenyra’s hands grip your shoulders, her breath hitching as you press deeper, your lips finding the curve of her neck. You’re both lost in the sensation, in each other, when a sharp, insistent knock at the door shatters the quiet.

You freeze, your heart pounding, and Rhaenyra’s eyes snap open, her expression shifting from pleasure to sudden worry. The knock comes again, louder this time, accompanied by a voice.

“Prince, Princess, forgive me, but you’re needed immediately!”

You close your eyes briefly, frustration and concern warring within you. “What is it?” you call out, your voice rough, still thick with the remnants of your passion.

“It’s one of the guards, my lord,” the voice replies, strained. “The King has called for an emergency meeting in the great hall. There’s been an incident with the children.”

Rhaenyra sits up abruptly, the color draining from her face. “The children?” she whispers, her eyes wide with fear. You can see the thoughts racing through her mind, each more terrible than the last.

You pull away, your body already cooling as the urgency of the situation seeps in. “We’re coming,” you call back, your voice steadier now. You turn to Rhaenyra, your hand brushing against her cheek. “We need to go.”

She nods, though her eyes are still distant, her hands trembling as she reaches for her robe. You both dress quickly, the easy intimacy of moments ago replaced by a cold, gnawing dread. Every movement feels heavy, your mind spinning with possibilities, each more unsettling than the last.

You can hear Rhaenyra’s breathing, quick and shallow, as she ties the sash of her robe, her fingers fumbling in her haste. “What do you think happened?” she asks, her voice strained. “Do you think—”

“I don’t know,” you interrupt gently, reaching for her hand. “But we’ll find out soon.”

With a final glance at each other, you move to the door and pull it open. The guard outside looks tense, his face pale in the dim light of the corridor. “Your Graces, the King is waiting in the great hall. He seemed… very distressed.”

“Thank you,” you say curtly, your hand still clasping Rhaenyra’s. “Lead the way.”

As you walk through the dimly lit halls of Driftmark, the air feels charged, every shadowed corner holding a sense of foreboding. Rhaenyra’s grip on your hand tightens, her eyes darting around as if expecting answers to spring from the very walls.

The night is unnaturally quiet, the only sound the echo of your hurried footsteps on the stone floor. The guard moves ahead of you, his back stiff, and you can’t help but feel the tension radiating from him as well.

“Do you know what happened?” you ask the guard, keeping your voice low.

He hesitates, glancing back at you. “Only that there was a… confrontation between the children, my lord. I’m not privy to the details, but from what I heard, it was… serious.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen, and she stops short, her breath catching. “The children—are they hurt?”

“I—I don’t know, my lady,” the guard stammers. “I’m sorry. I was just told to fetch you.”

You exchange a glance with Rhaenyra, your heart hammering. You can feel the fear in her eyes, mirroring your own. The thought of your sons, hurt or worse, makes your stomach twist with a sickening dread.

“Let’s keep moving,” you say, trying to keep your voice calm, though your mind is racing. “We’ll know more soon.”

As you continue down the winding corridors, you can see servants and guards moving about, their faces tight with unease. Whispers follow in your wake, but you pay them no mind. Your focus is on reaching the great hall, on finding out what has happened, on making sure your children are safe.

You and Rhaenyra burst into the great hall, the heavy doors slamming against the stone walls as you rush inside. The scene before you is pure chaos—voices raised in anger and fear, bodies milling about in frantic confusion. Your heart plummets at the sight.

On one side of the room, Jace and Luke stand with Baela and Rhaena, Daemon already at their side, his face a mask of simmering rage. The children look disheveled and frightened, Luke’s hands stained with blood, his face pale and tight with anxiety. Jace’s jaw is set, his eyes blazing with fury, while Baela stands rigid, her small frame vibrating with barely contained anger.

Across the hall, King Viserys sits hunched on the dais, his face pale and drawn, Alicent hovering anxiously beside him. Aegon stands nearby, his usual swagger gone, replaced by a tense, watchful look. Aemond is seated in a chair, Grand Maester Mellos just finishing the last stitch on a savage wound that runs across his cheek and where his eye used to be, a patch hastily tied around it. Blood stains his skin, his tunic, and the floor beneath him.

You take a step forward, your voice cutting through the tumult. “What happened?”

The question hangs in the air for a heartbeat before the room erupts into a cacophony of shouting voices, each one clamoring to be heard over the others. Rhaenyra moves to Jace and Luke, her hands on their shoulders, as if her very touch could shield them from the storm of words and accusations flying through the air.

The doors swing open again, and Corlys and Rhaenys stride in, their expressions thunderous as they take in the scene. Corlys’s eyes flash as they fall on Aemond, the fresh wound stark and terrible. “What madness is this?” he demands, his voice booming across the hall, instantly silencing the clamor.

“Madness indeed,” Alicent snaps, her voice quivering with fury as she glares at you and Rhaenyra. “It is your children’s violence that has caused this! They are the ones who should be telling the tale!”

“Violence?” Daemon’s voice is a silken drawl, dripping with contempt. “From what I’ve heard, it was your precious son who instigated this.”

Viserys, his face flushed with a mixture of confusion and frustration, raises a shaking hand. “Enough! All of you, silence!” His voice cracks through the room, forcing everyone to fall quiet, if only for a moment. He turns his weary gaze to the children, his eyes lingering on Jace, Luke, and then on Aemond, the wound on his son’s face making him flinch visibly. “I want to know what happened. Now.”

Jace, his voice trembling but clear, steps forward. “Aemond insulted us. He insulted my father,” he says, his voice growing louder, firmer. “He called us—he called us inbreds.”

A ripple of shock sweeps through the hall, followed by a tense, stunned silence. Viserys’s face drains of color, and he takes a faltering step toward Aemond, his hand trembling as he reaches out. “Aemond, why would you say such a thing?”

Before the boy can answer, you step forward, your voice cutting through the tense quiet like a blade. “Because it’s something his Hightower Faith-loving mother would say.” Your words are cold and precise, each one landing like a blow. The room seems to freeze, all eyes turning to you.

Alicent’s face goes ashen, her breath catching audibly. She stares at you, a mixture of shock and wounded disbelief twisting her features. It’s as if the air has been sucked from the room, the silence now heavy with accusation and unspoken truths. She takes a step back, her hand clutching the fabric of her gown, the strength of your words shattering something fragile and deeply buried within her.

Viserys’s head snaps toward Alicent, confusion and betrayal warring in his eyes. “Alicent…?” he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath.

She opens her mouth, but no words come out. Her face is a mask of conflicting emotions—anger, pain, and something like heartbreak, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She looks at you as though seeing a stranger, the weight of your accusation pressing down on her like a crushing weight.

Daemon, standing at your side, lets out a low, amused chuckle, his lips curling into a smirk. “Bold words, nephew,” he murmurs, his eyes glittering with dark satisfaction. “Very bold indeed.”

You hold Alicent’s gaze, your own eyes hard and unyielding. “If you won’t own your words, Lady Alicent, at least have the decency to control your child,” you say, your voice icy with disdain.

The silence in the hall is thick, suffocating, as everyone waits for what will happen next, the air charged with unspoken tensions and shattered façades.

And then, with a deep, ragged breath, Viserys straightens, his frail form trembling but his voice firm. “Enough,” he says, his eyes sweeping over the room, taking in the shocked, tense faces of his family. “This has gone too far. I will have order.”

But even as he speaks, the sense of impending disaster lingers in the air, the threads of control slipping through his grasp, the rift between the families widening, the fractures deepening with every breath.

“This infighting must cease!” he declares, his voice strained with desperation. “We are one family, and we will not tear ourselves apart!”

Alicent’s face twists with rage and disbelief. “That is not enough!” she cries out, her voice sharp and filled with venom. “Aemond has been permanently disfigured. And Prince Lucerys brought a dagger into a fight with clear intent. This cannot be dismissed, Viserys!”

Viserys lifts a trembling hand, his patience wearing thin. “Alicent—”

But she cuts him off, her words like a whip cracking through the hall. “You must stop shielding them! You cannot let your grandchildren escape punishment for this. There must be consequences.”

His frail body stiffens, anger and exhaustion warring in his eyes. “What would you have me do, Alicent?” he demands, his voice rising in rare fury. “They are children!”

Alicent’s gaze, cold and unyielding, locks on Lucerys, who stands pale and wide-eyed beside his brothers. “I want justice, Viserys,” she says, her voice dropping to a deadly calm. “I want one of his sons to lose an eye, as my son has lost his.”

A gasp ripples through the room, shock and horror painting every face. Rhaenyra pulls your boys close, her eyes blazing with fury and fear as she shields them with her body. You step forward, placing yourself between your family and the Queen, your own anger simmering beneath a cold veneer of control.

“This is madness,” you say, your voice low and dangerous. “You’re speaking of mutilating my child.”

Alicent’s eyes, burning with a desperate, almost manic intensity, shift to Ser Criston Cole. “Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Targaryen.”

Cole hesitates, his face tightening with conflicted emotion. “Your Grace, I swore to protect you,” he says, his voice strained, “but not for this.”

“Cese this insanity!” Viserys roars, his voice cracking through the room. He points a trembling finger at Alicent, his eyes filled with a mixture of grief and disbelief. “This ends now! I will not have this—”

But before he can finish, Alicent lunges forward, grabbing the King’s dagger from its sheath at his side. The Valyrian steel blade gleams menacingly in the torchlight as she whirls toward your children, her expression wild, her intent unmistakable.

“Rhaenyra!” you shout, stepping toward Alicent, but you’re not fast enough.

Rhaenyra moves like lightning, pushing past you and intercepting Alicent before she can reach the boys. The two women collide, Rhaenyra’s hands gripping Alicent’s arm, struggling to hold back the dagger.

“Stop this, Alicent!” Rhaenyra snarls, her voice shaking with rage and desperation. The room is frozen, every person watching in horrified fascination, too stunned or too fearful to intervene.

“Let go!” Alicent hisses, her face twisted with fury and despair. “You did this! All of it! You poisoned him against me! You took him from me! You’re responsible for everything!”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flash with anger. “You’re mad, Alicent!” she shouts back, her voice filled with contempt. “You can’t stand that he chose me, that he saw through your manipulations!”

They struggle, Alicent’s face contorted with rage as she tries to wrestle free. Rhaenyra holds firm, but the blade shifts dangerously between them. And then, with a sickening inevitability, the dagger slips from Alicent’s grip, the sharp edge slicing across Rhaenyra’s forearm.

A collective gasp echoes through the hall as blood wells up, a dark crimson line marring Rhaenyra’s pale skin. Alicent freezes, her eyes widening in shock as the dagger clatters to the floor, the sound like a death knell in the tense silence.

For a moment, everything is still.

You move before you even realize it, rushing to Rhaenyra’s side. “Rhaenyra!” you breathe, tearing a strip of fabric from your robe and pressing it against the wound. “Hold still. I need to stop the bleeding.”

Rhaenyra looks down at the blood seeping through your fingers, her expression stunned, as if she can’t quite believe what’s happened. Alicent, her face drained of color, stands rooted to the spot, her hand shaking as she stares at the blood on it.

From across the room, Otto Hightower’s voice rings out, harsh and commanding. “Alicent, stop this madness! Stand back!”

Alicent blinks, her father’s voice breaking through the haze of rage and pain clouding her mind. She stumbles backward, her eyes locked on Rhaenyra, confusion and anguish warring in her gaze.

Rhaenyra, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts, looks up at you. “I’m fine,” she says, her voice firm despite the pain. “It’s not deep.”

You nod, though your hands shake as you press the cloth harder against the cut, willing the bleeding to slow. “I’ve got you,” you murmur, your voice fierce and steady. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The room remains tense, everyone watching the two of you, the weight of what has just occurred hanging heavy in the air. You can feel the eyes of the entire court upon you, but your focus remains solely on Rhaenyra, on the woman you love, the mother of your children, and the blood that stains your hands.

A week has passed since the night of blood and betrayal, but the echoes of that fateful confrontation still linger over Driftmark like a storm that refuses to fully dissipate. You and Rhaenyra stand on the cliffs overlooking the bay, watching as the ships of King’s Landing sail away, their white sails billowing against the backdrop of a leaden sky. In the distance, the dragons of Alicent’s children take to the air, their wings beating a steady rhythm as they follow the ships below.

Rhaenyra’s eyes are fixed on the departing figures, her face tight with a mix of emotions. “I can’t do this anymore,” she murmurs, her voice raw with a vulnerability she rarely shows. “I don’t want to go back to King’s Landing. I don’t want to put our children through any more of… whatever this was.”

You nod, understanding the unspoken weight behind her words. “Viserys hoped this would heal the rifts between us,” you say, your voice steady but tinged with bitterness. “But all it did was deepen them.”

She turns to you, her gaze fierce despite the sadness that lingers in her eyes. “I won’t let them be in that viper’s nest again. Not after this. They’re children—they deserve to grow up somewhere safe, somewhere we can protect them.”

“Then we’ll go back to Dragonstone,” you agree, your hand slipping into hers, squeezing gently. “Away from the court, away from the Hightowers’ poison.”

Rhaenyra’s shoulders relax slightly at your words, some of the tension easing from her frame. “But we can’t just run and hide, can we?” she asks, her tone thoughtful. “We’ll need allies, support… and a plan for what comes after we don't appear in the capital.”

You nod again, turning your gaze back to the bay, where the distant figures of the dragons are now just dark specks against the sky. “I’ve already spoken with Corlys,” you tell her. “He’s agreed to our proposal—Jace to Rhaena and Luke to Baela. The Sea Snake seemed more than pleased. His blood will sit the Iron Throne one day, through our sons.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen slightly, and a smile, though small and hesitant, tugs at her lips. “That’s… that’s good news. They seem to get along well enough with the girls.”

“They do,” you say, a faint smile of your own touching your lips. “It’s not just about alliances, Rhaenyra. They need each other. They’re stronger together, and they’ll need that strength for what’s to come.”

She nods, her gaze drifting back to the horizon. “They’ve been through so much already. I want them to know love and loyalty, not just duty and fear.”

“They’ll have that,” you promise, your voice firm. “We’ll make sure of it.”

She leans into you, her head resting against your shoulder, and for a moment, the weight of the world seems to lift, just a little. You watch the ships disappearing into the distance, the dragons following, and feel a surge of resolve settle in your chest.

“We’ll build our future on Dragonstone,” you say quietly. “Where we can watch over them, guide them. And prepare for whatever challenges come our way.”

Together, you watch as the last of the ships vanish beyond the horizon, and then you turn away, walking back toward High Tide. Your initial plans to stay close to Viserys disappearing like waves that clash against the cliffs of Driftmark.

[lurkingshan]

Things That Have My Attention in 4 Minutes Episode 2

Great is truly an unusually unlikeable protagonist. The fact that Title is his closest friend speaks volumes, as does his mild reaction when Title bragged that he had locked up his girlfriend. Great really didn't care until the situation suddenly escalated to Title asking him to help murder someone, and even then he tried to just leave Dome to his death before the powers yanked him back.

Speaking of, it seems the 4 minutes reset is activated whenever Great makes a cowardly and shitty choice. The powers that be want him to be a better person.

I am also curious about why Dome has been watching Title. He already had that phone set up to record him and View, and he also made sure her friend knew to go looking for her. Does he like her?

I was very interested in the reveal that Korn has another arrangement going on with Fah, the daughter of the man he seems to go to for shady assistance when he fucks up, in this case by trying to expand the gambling operation too quickly and leaving them vulnerable to a hack. And in this relationship, Korn is the subordinate one. Gives new shading to the way he treats Tonkla, with him is where he gets his power back.

And speaking of Tonkla, that appears to be him in the hoodie at the start of the episode bashing someone's head with a rock--which implies he killed his own brother?! But then was also mourning him, and not just performatively because we saw him alone.

Between the spooky cat last week and the quick and disturbing cuts while he was grieving, I am getting the sense that Tonkla is mentally unwell. Perhaps he doesn't even remember he is the one who killed his brother??

They didn't show us that picture he was hugging for a reason. Who is Tonkla's brother!

Tyme's primping and flirting this episode was very funny. I also got a kick out of the cockblock nurse constantly catching him, and his stumbling to explain how he just happened to be there when Great got attacked (he doesn't have any friends, let alone one who could afford to live in Great's neighborhood).

And to tie him into the other plot, that was him at the end receiving the data from the lady hacker, right? Is it Great's family that he is in debt to?

Noting also that the suicidal woman's son is already dead, so won't be revealed to be anyone in the story.

I continue to be so impressed with the filming and editing of this story, it's gorgeous and there is so much going on in every frame that it's hard to keep track of it all. In this episode it's the image of the red umbrella going flying that is sticking with me.

We continue to see 11:00 constantly. I think others have theorized that this is the time of the cardiac arrest event Great is likely experiencing, and when the clock moved to 11:01, it was ominous as fuck. Is that an indicator that his time in this experience is running out? Does he only have until 11:04?

This show is taking over my brain, come tell me your theories.

[sunflowersteves]

you’re an addiction || m.o.

pairing || miguel o'hara x fem!afab!reader

summary || Everyone always thought Miguel was quiet and calculating, but you know him so much more differently.

author's notes || im so slutty for this man it's insane and I needed him to be soft

warnings || fluff, kinda emotionally constipated miguel, SMUT, praise kink, soft!dom, cockwarming, vaginal sex, unprotected sex [18+ only]

masterlist

“Baby,” Miguel’s eyes flickered from the screen of the computer to the wooded desk. He was trying real hard to concentrate—eyebrows furrowed and large frame standing tall.

“You need to sit still.” He said it so soft. He meant it to sound a bit more demanding, but how could he? You were sitting so good for him. 

Miguel wasn’t known for being a talker. Not really.

At the HQ, he barely uttered a word unless it was necessary. He had grown to like the quiet, empty space of silence. It seemed calming to him. It harnessed a full collection of him and his thoughts as they unraveled.

Until you. 

You were the one exception to the rule of silent Miguel. You were the light that speckled onto his stubborn, grieving heart. You were the cause and reason for every single curl of his lips as he watched you perform a mundane task.

He just couldn’t help himself around you. You dug up underneath his heart and made him want to spill every detail of his thoughts to you. He could never say no to you, either. It felt impossible to him when you bash your eyelashes prettily, and his heart palpitates against his chest. He is absolutely done for the minute you whisper his name softly in his ear.

Like, now. Miguel was supposed to be working on important briefing materials for a new mission. He was gathering evidence and needed to present it to the team in a couple of days.

You padded across the living room floors and sauntered your way into Miguel’s study. It was late. Impossibly late. You had woken up to an empty bed. Your hand had patted the mattress to find your husband, but he was nowhere to be found. You could never sleep without him, and if he was being honest, neither could he. 

“Miggy?” You called out. Your eyes flitted over Miguel, his broad frame hunching over the hologram computer. A pout had sprouted onto your lips because you figured he was nowhere near done.

“Hmm?” He says. His head didn’t even move from the work in front of him.

He could hear you make your way over to him, though. His lips couldn’t help but curl into a smile. 

Sometimes, he cherished nights like these. You would wake up in the middle of the night to find Miguel sitting in his study. You would wrap your arms around him, koala-like, and fall asleep on his lap. He would always smile as your mind dreamed of him—he knew from the small whispers of his name as sleep took over in full. 

“Can’t sleep without you.” You murmur.

He finally tears his eyes away to look at you. His heart thumped hard against his chest for what felt like the millionth time. Your pajamas hung loose onto your form as you rubbed one of your exhausted eyes.

He scooted the office chair back and tapped his thigh. “C’mere. I’ll be done soon, baby.”

You walked into his presence but didn’t sit just yet. “Promise?”

He breaks into a smile. “Promise.”

You climbed on top of his large thighs. You were straddling his waist and immediately enveloping him in a hug. Your cheeks were pressed up against his chest. If only you could see his smile now—practically beaming.

He scoots the chair back. He breathes in deeply to appreciate the feeling of your warmth radiating off onto him. You close your eyes, and he continues to do his work. His fingers pressed up against the holographic keyboard. He moved other components of the mission to the other—his eyes darting in concentration. 

You yawned against his chest and subconsciously pressed your cheek further into him. You thought about him.

You thought about the way his smile lights up when you walk into the room. You thought about the day he made pozole when you were sick. You thought about the way his body completely wrapped around yours with his broad frame. You thought about the way he held you in bed during the pretty, bright sunrise. You thought about how his hands groped the soft flesh of your thighs. You thought about the times he has left you dizzy from the kisses and bites to your neck. You thought about the way his cock left a burn from—

Now you got squirmy. So much so that, that was how he gave the initial scolding to keep you still. Even though it was soft, you knew when you needed to quit. Although, you couldn’t help it. Not when your mind eventually wandered off to the way his cock pounded into you this morning.

“I’m sorry, Miggy,” you lightly pouted. Your eyes were closed, and you were concentrating on Miguel’s heartbeat. You needed a distraction from thinking about how his cock always filled you up so fucking well.

His eyebrow lifted as he saw the split-second of mischief in your eyes before you closed them, but he still gave you the benefit of the doubt. “Oh, my sweet, sweet girl. Don’t be sorry.” Your fingers tightened around his shoulder. “I just need you to stay still, okay?”

You nodded, but you could feel the wetness leak onto your panties. With how thin your shorts were, your slick would eventually leak onto his thigh. You squeezed your eyes even tighter, but your attempt in keeping calm had already failed. 

You bit your lip as you watched the way his arms flexed from having to move around the hologram. Your pussy was fucking throbbing at this point, thinking about MiguelMiguelMiguel—

Then, he abruptly stopped. Your head lifted up from his chest in confusion, but he never said a word. He just raised you with one hand, and the other pulled down his sweatpants.

His cock sprang free, and he could’ve sworn he saw your eyes become slightly larger. The way his cock practically pulsated in his grip, always left you speechless. There was pre-cum that spilled against his tip, and you could see the vein that ran across the side of his shaft. It made your mouth water to no fucking end.

He gently sat you back down onto his lap. Your hands immediately went to caress the girth of his cock, but he snatches your hands in his.

He clicks his tongue. “You wanna be a good girl?”

Your mouth falls open, but you nod. “I do.” He looks unconvinced. So, you whine. “Please.”

There it is. He can’t help but smirk. “Since you can’t sit still, I’ll give you my cock.” His eyes locked with yours, and you looked almost excited. “But no moving, okay? Gotta be good for me.”

You’d take him in any which way and in any form. You wanted to smile in delight, but you knew the raise of his eyebrow would be an indication not to challenge him. Instead, you enthusiastically nod.

Satisfied, Miguel maneuvers your pajama shorts and underwear to the side with one of his talons—the fabric ripping slightly from the pure sharpness. 

His mouth drops open at the way your pussy glistens for him. “Oh, poor baby.” His finger teases your opening, causing you to gasp. “You just needed my cock, didn’t you?”

You wanted to cry out. You nodded, the desperation to feel him inside of you was becoming unbearable. “I need you, Miguel.” Your heart beat so loud across your chest that it was even hard to hear yourself. Everything felt hot and heavy—the air feeling thick.

Ever so slowly, he starts to let you sink down into his cock. You both moan from the euphoric sensations of being one with one another. “Fuckin’ tight.” He whispers, closing his eyes. "Eres mia."

He can feel the way you restrict around him, and he has to stop himself from thrusting up into you. All he needs is five more minutes, and then he would be completely done with work. He could be all yours for the rest of the night.

You whimper, “f-fill me up so good, miggy.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah? Am fuckin’ made for you, querida.”

He lets out a groan as your walls clenched around him from the statement alone. You could feel your juices start to leak down onto his balls. Soon, it would be his thighs.

He stares at the hologram once more, attempting to continue his work. Your head leans back against his chest once again. This time, though, you were filled to the brim. His cock stretched you just enough to let you see stars.

He was big. The fat tip of his cock was hitting your cervix as you barely bottomed out. The thought was starting to make you accidentally roll your hips.

Miguel bites his tongue as a moan threatens to escape. He tries to keep his composure because he knows that if he gives you one look, he's done for. He’ll give you exactly what you want because Miguel O’Hara can’t say no to you. You have him wrapped around your pretty finger.

“Bein’ so good, baby. Just a little longer.” If you weren’t already cock drunk and fantasying about how his cock makes you feel, you would have noticed the slur in his words.

His voice was deep and relaxed—the gruffness scratched against his throat. His words seemed fluid and almost combined into one. All he could think about was how wet you were—some of the slick was starting to drop onto your conjoined thighs. He could feel just how desperate you were, and your soft whimpers weren't helping. It was starting to make his head feel fuzzy. 

You nodded against him, but you weren’t listening. “Yes, Miguel.” It was just a habit for you. You wanted to be his good girl, and you are. You really, really are.

Your body jolts as his hand smacks the desk in front of him. It turns off the hologram, and you’re left with your mouth opening in shock.

“Fuck this.” He yells impatiently. “I can fucking feel how wet you are, querida. It’s driving me—driving me fucking insane.” His eyes lowered to see the expression on your face. It almost made him whimper.

Your gaze was fucked. You looked completely fucked out from the haze in your eyes and the way your lip wobbled. You looked like an absolute mess, and it was tearing Miguel up.

He could feel the wanton need to bury his cock even further inside of you—which wasn’t even possible at this point. An aching need to take care of you took over his thoughts and pushed against his chest. He needed you.

“Miguel.” You whimpered. It was as if that was the only thing your brain could come up with—him. You needed him just as much as he needed you.

He coos, “I’ve got you, baby. Fuck work. Those pieces of shit can wait.” His hands move to your waist and squeeze. “You’ve been such a good girl, baby. S-so fucking good for me.”

You yell out his name when he thrusts up into you. You could feel the way his cock pierced through every single part of you. “Miguel—f-fuck—”

His hands tightened around your waist before helping you grind against him. You could barely move, not with your mind reeling from the pleasures that send tingles down your spine.

"So fuckin' good for me, baby. You did so well." Miguel grits his teeth at the way his cock twitched inside of you, in and out of your wet pussy. "Jus' can't get enough of this pussy." 

You whined and whimpered—just as he continued to have you grind and thrust against him. “Please, Miguel. Please—” You were already so close. The tortuous waiting game that he played as his cock stretched you thin was starting to take its toll.

He could feel the way your walls spasmed against him—the way you tightened even more. He moaned against you. “Y-you can let go, pretty girl. You’ve been so fuckin good—”

One of his hands leaves your waist. His thumb pressed up against your swollen clit and swirled around your sticky wetness—the substance had pooled around the two of you so much that it made such a mess.

“F-fuck. Let go, baby. Give it to me. Fuckin’ give it to me.”

You scream out his name as his cock pounds into you again and again. Your cunt impossibly tightens around him, and your orgasm comes quickly as gush all over his aching cock.

The sweet sounds you made had sent him over the edge. He lets everything go right behind you and spills his thick, hot cum deep inside. “F-fuck, querida—fuck.” He wants to say your name over and over until it’s the only thing that can form on his tongue.

You collapsed against him with deep, tired breaths. Your eyelids wanted to slip closed and let the soft pillows of sleep take you whole.

Miguel smiles down at you and presses a kiss to your hair line then another to your cheek.

“Looks like it’s time for bed, hmm?” His finger swipes gently against your cheek. “Let’s get you all cleaned up first.”

You sighed against him, completely and utterly content. A wide smile was on your face. “Okay, Miggy.”

[gilverrwrites]

The Best You Ever Had

Jason Todd/Reader, 1.7K

A/N: Welp, as promised here’s that self-serving, mildly fucked up Jason Todd/Reader scenario I mentioned earlier. I’m working on I don’t fall, I fly chapter two I swear, but I had to get this unhinged Jason idea out of my head if I’m gonna concentrate. I don’t remember the exact details of the plotline I’m branching off of here 100% so if it’s inaccurate sue me. Warnings: Darker portrayal of Jason. Unhealthy relationship to slightly less unhealthy relationship, non-graphic mentions of death, grief, dub-con, manipulation, abuse of authority kinda, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, swearing, size difference, hair pulling.

Right so, remember when Jason went balls to the wall on absoloutely fucking ruining Penguins’ life after finding out he was responsible for the death of his birth father?

Okay, now imagine you’re working at The Iceberg at the time, as a waitress, a card dealer, dancer, whatever you fancy, it’s mainly just a cover for the fact that you’re actually Ozwald’s sugar baby.

You’re practically attached to his hip. Sure, he can be a bit much at times, a bit mean, but he’s real sweet on you. There isn’t a thing in this world he wouldn’t do for you, no clothes or gadgets too expensive, no jewels too well-guarded, 'cause you’re his favourite gal. At least you were until you watched Red Hood shoot him in the head on live TV.

Ozzie had paid your rent, your bills, everything, he’d showered you with gifts, but he’d never dealt you actual cash. Without his bank account to fund your checks, you have nothing, not unless you sell off your material possessions. So, not only are you grieving, but you’re forced to pick up as many extra shifts as you can in order to afford to keep up your lifestyle.

Being at The Lounge only reminds you of him, which makes your sorrows worse. You were never bad at the cover job, in fact, it’s how you got your foot in the door. But your emotions are affecting your performance, and when your new boss, Jason Todd, calls you into his office for a performance review, you’re pretty much resigned to the fact that you’re about to be fired.

However, Mr Todd is surprisingly chill. Understanding even. He doesn’t grill you; he just points out that your performance as of late does not match up with Cobblepots files and asks why? What can we do to fix it?

You feel comfortable explaining that you and his predecessor were close, and so his sudden death has hit you hard. You need time to mourn but can’t afford the time off.

When a tear rolls down your cheek you start to feel self conscious until he rounds the desk, crouching in front of you and presenting you with a tissue. He offers you the weekend off, paid, and promises to look into amending the shoddy bereavement policy Oz had enforced. But for now, commiserating may help, and he’s happy to listen, to be a shoulder to cry on.

So, you take the tissue, dabbing up all the tears that fall as you tell him about your arrangement. How Oz had done so much for you, got you out of a pit, how no matter what your friends and family thought, Ozzie really did have your best interests at heart, you swear. Mr Todd nods along, offering a polite laugh when you tell him a funny story, or pulling faces when you recall some of Oz’s less-than-savoury moments. His disapproval makes you feel validated in your distaste for some of the seedier things you’d let Oz get away with because he loved you.

After a while, you move from the desk to the conversation pit which sits beside a floor to ceiling fish tank. You can’t help commending him for keeping on top of looking after the fish and their habitat, it’s a lot of work. He tells you it’s one of his favourite things in the whole building and you agree, recalling how you used to spend hours watching the fish go about their existence when Ozzie would call for you only to spend the evening ignoring you whilst he dealt with 'business'. Jason says that you’re more than welcome to come see the fishes any time you like.

He's so much kinder than you’d expected. Which is why you don’t move when you feel his hand on your back, drawing you closer with strong arms until the warmth of his breath brushes your neck. It’s been weeks since you’d gotten this close with anyone. You hadn’t realised how much you’d craved the intimacy until it was handed to you.

And shit, he smells good too. Looking into his undeniably handsome face you’re struck with guilt for having enjoyed the company, the touch of another man and can’t help the second? third? who knows, wave of tears.

The tissue he’s given you is too sodden to do anything, so he reaches up with his long, surprisingly coarse fingers to wipe up your tears, and you let him.

Your weeping soon starts to ebb after that, but the few droplets that fall regardless are dried by his lips as he boldly presses kisses to your cheeks, and again, you let him.

“You shouldn’t waste your tears on that asshole.” The way he stares into your eyes as he speaks, it almost feels like he’s daring you to challenge him. “You’ll be better off without him.”

Out of respect for Oz, or maybe to defend yourself you bite back at him. “He’s not- he wasn’t an asshole! Not to me.” But you both know it’s a lie.

Before either of you say something you’ll regret, you decide to do something you’ll regret instead. In sync, you both crash your lips together, and Jason all but forces you onto your back with his body weight, his tongue pushing between your lips as his hands work at your uniform.

He’s nothing like Oz. His hands are strong and deft, free of perspiration as they pop your buttons with precision and knead at your newly exposed skin. His mouth, while steeped with a hint of beer, tastes clean. He looks at you with a reverence you’d never experienced before as he draws back to look you in the eye.

“Let me treat you the way you deserve, the way a real man should.” He begs, and when you nod, he practically starts tearing at his clothes. You work on his belt while he pulls his shirt and waistcoat over his head, too impatient to bother with his own buttons.

Your eyes bulge, heart plummeting to your stomach when he pulls down his boxers, exposing a dauntingly large erection.

“Bet you’ve not seen something this big in a long time.” He suggests with a smirk.

“No, I’ve never seen anything that big.” You offer, shuddering when he teases the tips between your slit, grazing your clit. “I don’t think I can take something like that.”

“You will.” His confidence goes straight to your already hungry centre. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it easy on you.”

You gasp when you feel friction at your entrance, and Jason chuckles into the crook of your neck, gently fussing in your ear as he slips a single finger inside you. True to his word, Jason makes the whole thing (mostly) painless and effortless, working his fingers into you one at a time, scissoring his digits and massaging your sensitive clit until you're stretched out and cumming all over his palm, staining the sofa beneath you. Purring to you all the while about how tight and plush your pussy is, how fucking good his cock is gonna make you feel, how he can’t wait to make you forget all about Cobblepot by making you gush all over his dick again and again.

When you’re partly lucid again, coming down from your first orgasm Jason lifts you with ease. He sits back against the couch, settling between your legs so that you’re straddling him. Guiding you onto his cock, thrusting from below, drawing a sinful cry from you as he fills you in one quick movement. It wasn’t unbearable, in fact, you’re a little flustered by the ease with which your pussy sucked him up, but your walls still throb from the final stretch of him buried in the depth at which his impossibly long fingers hadn’t been able to reach.   

His hands grip and caress and pinch every part of you, soaking in every inch as you ride him out, grinding your hips against his, using his body to chase your second release. His lips latch along your torso, sucking and biting his mark into your skin. This time, once you've successfully fucked yourself to climax on his dick, he doesn’t wait for you to come back down. Flipping you over and pushing you forward, he puts you on your hands and knees, presented for him on the coffee table so he can pound into you from behind.

Once he’s coaxed another orgasm out of you there, he carries you to his desk. He fucks you over and over. Revelling in every heated orgasm he rips from you, eating up your sob. He takes you on every surface. The floor, the walls, the window. He even presses you face first against the fishtank, making you watch your reflection in its mirrored back, and you are a pornographic sight to behold; lips dark and swollen from his kisses, hair tangled in his fist, tits pressed against the glass as he pistons in and out of your twitchingly overstimulated, cunt. Every thrust is slick, punctuated by the wet slap of your hips coming together. By this point, Jason’s unending strength is the only thing keeping you upright.

“That bird creep ever fuck you this good, baby?” He grunts into your ear, dark eyes glaring at you through the glass. From this angle you can see how his body practically engulfs yours; the reflection showcasing how his massive palms seem herculean when pinning you. All night he’d been throwing you around, bending and posing you to his will like a doll in his sturdy arms. Something Oz could never do.  

“No, god no Jason!” You whine. Drool spills from your lips as you try to speak. It catches on the glass, smearing back on your face but you’re too utterly fucked, too cock drunk to be embarrassed. “Nobody… never been… fucked like…”

When you don’t finish your sentence Jason laughs, it almost sounds cruel and sends a shockwave to the clit you long thought had been abused to numbness. “Am I the best fuck you ever had?”

“Yes! Yesyesyesyes.” You chant. Completely oblivious to the fact that your sugar daddy, Oswald Cobblepot is not dead. He’s very much alive, and very much not well as he watches Jason Todd fuck the brains out of his best gal from his prison on the other side of the one-way mirror. 

[fizzyorange-v2]

just talking to my friend in dms about how at first when q!charlie started calming down from his rampage i was kinda upset cause i WANTED a full villain arc i wanted blood and rage and a massacre but then I kept watching and realised how much of a fucking idiot I was to underestimate charlie slimecicle’s rp skills like that. because charlie isn’t just playing a character hell bent on righteous revenge for his daughter, he’s playing a character actually grieving that daughter.

it’s obvious now that i think about it that the initial revenge plot to kill all the eggs and his repeated self affirmations that juanaflippa isn’t gone and that it can all just be reset are clearly just him entering the denial and anger stages. and that later scenes after the rest of the server finally backed him into a corner and calmed him down and he had that heart wrenching scene looking at juanaflippa’s photo, asking for a literal trial for her life and soul back and then that whooooole bar scene, that he has then entered the bargaining and depression stages.

Because the truth is, q!charlie doesn’t actually want to kill anyone (except Mariana lolll), he especially doesn’t want to kill any of the eggs! All he wanted was to be a good dad. And I think that that’s part of the reason he as a character failed so hard to actually tangibly hurt anyone during this stream. He was a mess, crying screaming yelling clawing trying to do something, anything to save his daughter. Anything to fix it all. That scene of him failing to break into Phil’s house haunts me.

But I think there’s something especially tragic that before Juanaflippa, q!charlie probably was the kind of character to hurt others without caring, he seemed to have no idea about empathy or healthy relationships before her thats for sure. He’s literally already killed TWO eggs before this, so causally and with such ease. But his love for his daughter improved him, and it changed him, and it made him just enough of a better person that when that daughter was taken from him, suddenly even to save her he can’t fucking do it anymore.

I also really appreciate how everyone else on the server reacted to him too. They didn’t at all treat him like some big bad scary villain like I originally would I’ve expected. Sure they were understandably wary and protective, but every single one of them weren’t so much angry at him as… WORRIED for him. And it really helped put it in perspective that this isn’t some guy going on a hashtag villain arc, but immersed me in oh fuck. This is a guy that just lost his daughter. And all his friends and fellow parents know. And they aren’t scared of him, they’re concerned for him. They aren’t full of fear… but pity. Because they know. They know what he’s just lost. And they understand. And they’re trying to be there for him.

And Charlie despite all the grand speeches and diabolical plots and not so carefully placed land mines… doesn’t really care how he gets Juanaflippa back, as long as she’s with him again.

Just man,,,, the way Charlie performed this character’s grief is so fucking stellar and SO fucking excruciating. The part that genuinely broke me was in that photo scene when he said: “i'm sorry flippa... i thought i could change something- i thought i could undo it, thought i could make it right... now i see that there's no way this can be made right...” which already fucking ow ow OW and clearly him finally exiting denial/anger straight into depression but then he whispers THIS FUCKING BIT: “it wasnt even on purpose… i know that... it doesnt make it better… what do i do juanaflippa?” LIKE FUCK!!!! FUCK!!!! OKAY!!!!!

Anyway massive props to everyone for the rp today but ESPECIALLY charlie for this agonisingly accurate and visceral depiction of grief that I somehow was NOT expecting. I thought we were going to get villain arc egg massacre angst and instead we got father mourning his daughter trying futilely to do anything to bring her back angst. I’m never fucking recovering from this one.

[daydream-wordflow]

Dear Liam,

never in a million years did I think this was how it was going to end, but here I am saying goodbye.

I must admit that when I saw Zayn's name on the shared statement, it affected me in ways that I wasn't expecting. This whole situation has affected me in ways that I wasn't expecting.

One Direction entered my life when I was 12 years old. You were five ordinary boys, with a great voice, but not so good dancing skills, that sang their way into my heart. It was so admirable, even when you were performing for 65,000 people, to watch you sing around the world while being your goofy, gentle, true selves. It felt like you were having the time of your lives.

Looking back on it, I can't stop wondering if it was too much. I can't stop thinking that maybe I would rather never have known about the existence of One Direction than be going through this now.

I was sad when Zayn left and I was wretched when the band went on hiatus, but deep down, there was still hope. Now I am devastated and heartbroken, and I only knew a small part of you.

One Direction will never be the same without you, I hope you were aware.

I never had the chance to watch you perform live, although all the youtube videos and documentaries made me feel like I had. When the time comes, instead of singing with you, we will sing for you.

I listened to 1D songs, and also all your solo albums, during various periods of my life. Somehow, they always said what I needed to hear. It wasn't just a phase. It cheered me up during some of the hardest moments of my life and it made me company during some of the best. Every time I was anxious or afraid, I would sing a song from my favourite artists to calm myself down. I listened to your songs on my way to school, during a long car drive, on my way to college, while I did house chores, it was the soundtrack while I wrote my master thesis and it accompanied me on my first day to work.

Right now, they are helping me grieve. And it won't stop here. I will have the time of my life dancing to some of them on my wedding day, I will sing them to my children and have dance parties with my grandchildren. It's forever.

I am truly sorry that this is how things ended. I am sorry we couldn't save you. It is so unfair. I know that if you were given the chance, you would have done things differently. You deserved all the good things in the world. You deserved so much more.

I can't even imagine what your loved ones, your family, your friends and the boys are going through right now. I hope that, one day, your son will smile when he thinks about his father, knowing that he touched so many hearts and saved so many lives. That he was talented, enough and loved just by the way he was.

This is not how it was supposed to go, but thank you for bringing the guys together one last time. Thank you for bringing us together. It has been healing to see that so many people loved you and cared about you.

Thank you for the songs. Thank you for my teenage years. Thank you for the smiles. Thank you for your kindness. Thank you for your laugh. Thank you for your words. Thank you for the love. Thank you.

"I want to write you a song, One to make your heart remember me, So any time I'm gone, You can listen to my voice and sing along."

I promise to remember you.

Always and forever.

Lisbon, 27th october 2024

[littleblackraincloudofcourse]

My thoughts on the lives and deaths of the House of Usher

Prospero - I almost feel sorry for Perry. His ideas weren't bad and unlike his siblings he was doing them himself. I also found it hilarious when he tried to fuck his brother wife. If nothing else that kid had confidence. Fredrick was dick to both of them anyway and she deserved to have fun. If you remove the blackmail and acid rain and that would have been one hell of a party.If Perry hadn't been planning to blackmail everyone he wouldn't have deserved his death. But his death was EXQUISITE. Everything about that scene was so perfect I can't find words to describe it. Everyone involved in creating that scene deserves an award

Camille - We actually got to know very little about her. Her whole story was about finding dirty on the others and managing crisis for the family. Even her death isn't shown. I think the point was that she never got to just be. She lived and died for others but never connected with anyone.

Napoleon - Leo was to me the closest to likable of any of the siblings. He clearly loved them and that may have been the only love he way capable of. He certainly didn't love his boyfriend or anyone he had/was having sex with. He treated people like objects. His death is tricky to categorize. On one side what he did to Pluto was horrifying and anyone who treats animals that way deserves the same fate. But he never actually did any of those things. It was all hallucinations and illusions first from drugs then Verna. He was stressed and grieving and kept finding dead animals everywhere. I would be ready to smash walls in that situation too. He definitely didn't need to be a pet owner but I think his death should have been less torturous

Victorine - I wrote this one last because it was my favorite Poe story growing up and she played it beautifully. That slow steady decent into madness I should have hated this character most of all. Those poor chimps and who knows what other innocent creatures she killed with experiments she knew wouldn't work. Even with her father constantly pushing for progress she should have stopped. Verna gave her so many chances, she wasn't even there when Vic killed her girlfriend or herself. She could have stopped at any point. Yes she still would have died but it could have been painless and less tragic. T'Nia Miller's performance was so good that I actually felt sad for her in that final scene. At least until I thought of the chimps again.

Tamerlane - Knock off Madeleine. Where her sisters hid and guarded their personalities she never had one. Her entire existence was for appearances (hence the ridiculous amount of mirrors). Even when she tries to show emotion she couldn't look at the person she was talking to. Her death might have seemed the most passive but it was shoot beautifully. It was also the only thing she actively accomplished on her own.

Fredrick - Fuck you Frodrick. When his siblings said he was just like their father they didn't even realize how right they were. He might have been worse. His poor wife deserved so much better. I genuinely enjoyed watching the pendulum swinging towards him as he was paralyzed beneath it. I only wish there was more than one so he could feel more pain. He was so much a piece of shit Verna enjoyed killing him. Everyone else got warnings, chances to walk away and have peaceful deaths But this asshole, she knew he didn't deserve one. He got exactly what he deserved. Lying in a puddle of his own piss waiting to die. Seriously fuck that guy

Lenore - This sweet brave girl was the only good the Ushers ever brought into the world. So pure and good even Verna mourned having to take her. I loved that she got to know how much good she put into the world and how many lives she saved. Even knowing from the beginning she would die, it was still heartbreaking to see. At least it was painless and instant

Madeleine - She was cold and selfish but she was also usually right. I respect that even when making a deal with the devil she still had standards. She at least made sure not to have children incase. There is a bit of irony in the fact she didn't want to spend her life serving a man then chaining her destiny to her brother. Gave of serious twincest vibes that I am glad where not explored. Her death seemed a fair balance for her past and mirroring her mother's death brought everything full circle. She fell with the house of Usher. Also sapphire is a good color for her.

Roderick - Without doubt the worst of them all. He knowingly killed millions with his drug. He destroyed any shred of humanity in his children. Possibly worst of all, he knew the damage he was causing and who would have to pay for it but he didn't even blink. Being mentally tortured by his dead children was not enough. He deserved the worst death of all. I understand the poetry of him dying the same way his father did but I wish he suffered more.

[a-couple-of-notes]

More Agatha All Along thoughts, before I watch the 3.5 hour deep dive/Jac Schaeffer interview from the House of R podcast:

This notion that Agatha was killing witches in the 1700s to stave off Rio from Nicky--a sort of deal in bodies--I see it, I respect it, I fundamentally disagree with it. I feel that it goes along with this strange desire to sand down Agatha's villainous edges and make excuses for her hunger for/addiction to power; it buys into the exact same lie that Agatha is telling herself, that it was all Rio's fault and that there was something Agatha could have done, could have bargained, to save her son. Perhaps, in the back of her mind, Agatha did like half-justify her murders this way--but I really think Rio would have given them the time regardless, just like she eventually took Nicky regardless. Sometimes boys die. Sometimes witches just murder for power.

God, I really hate Ghost!Agatha's design. It's the one part of this finale that's definitively soured on me.

If the "I don't want to see your face" line is the basis for Agatha's calculated risk...I hate it. I despise this with the force of a thousand burning suns. I don't think this is the intent given the original form of the line ("Retire that form."/"But this is the me you fell in love with."), which isn't about Rio not reaping Agatha but about doing it as a stranger, performing emotional distance. This ask is Agatha at her most hurtful, most grieving, most bitter. This is Agatha attempting to destroy her connection to a person who sees her and loves her (although we can argue all day about how "toxic" or not that relationship is). This is an awful, awful severing. It would, for lack of a better word, suck ass if Agatha is taking a risk with Rio based on what she said to her at her absolute worst, relying on that being true (it isn't). What an awful end.

More likely (and I realize that this is in part based on what I laid out in my fic), the complete opposite is true: Agatha asked for emotional distance, Rio sort of complied by giving her the huge, cackling Death performance. When Agatha chooses to sacrifice herself via kiss, that's Agatha's admission that they cannot be strangers--and that she doesn't want to. I believe Agatha's calculated risk is that she knows Rio will be emotionally compromised by her death (she knows she's getting special treatment) and that Rio will either let her go be a ghost or grieve long enough for Agatha to escape. Her play relies on recognizing the truth of Rio's feelings for her.

I already liked Billy's arc but I've come to like it even more. Though there's an argument to be made about it coming at the expense of the women in the coven (I see it, but I think it's slightly more complicated than that), that last scene in the basement is a brilliant gut-punch of an end to his arc. Because really, when he's trying to banish Agatha, he's trying to banish what he sees in himself: a killer who conned his coven for a selfish desire, someone who won't "just die," a covenless witch. His "So do I" after Agatha's "I do tend to kill my covens" is just such a crown on his journey of oscillating denial, self-righteousness, and understanding.

[pauleentology]

Ben Clark's trauma🩷

His mischaracterization is literally crazy bro especially on those Wattpad fanfictions I cannot bring myself to finish any of them because they all portray ben as the big quiet dude😖 he is so much more than that oms

Trauma analysis

in my honest opinion, Ben had the worst backstory ever of all of them like it was literally so brutal and for WHATTTTTT (jk red knows how much i like traumatized teenagers)

Imagine being judged by your appearance and not being able to make much friends because of being too "intimidating" just because of your size, and being judged for how you express yourself because it isn't what others expected of you to do, then ultimately being bullied for it just because your appearance didn't match your personality.

Imagine being feared by everyone and persistently being offered by bully-groups and punks to join them because all they see in you is a weapon and not a human being all because your size isn't that of your age?? Finally building up the courage to show everybody that you're more than just the dangerous giant they see you as and actually perform, but they choose not to listen to your voice and focus on why somebody of your size is singing instead of fighting and slacking because they're just that shallow.

Then at 12 years old having that one thing you love most taken from you because you refused to become something you're not, losing your way of expression, spiraling into depression not long after.

The moment he wakes up in the hospital, trying to speak or say anything but all that comes out is broken words and strained breaths. How disgusted he must've been after hearing his shattered voice for the first time— that his greatest treasure just slipped away from him like that, and the thought that he would never be able to sing again slowly settling in.

Being so blinded by rage and having that much anger inside of you that you just give up on controlling it and let it all out in forms of street fighting and brawling, becoming so numb and addicted to the sensation that you can't bring yourself to stop no matter how much you want to.

Coming home from school to see his house set in flames from spite of a fight HE started. Seeing his parents and little sister grieving over the loss of their home— all because of him and his rage.

The realization creeping in that you've become the one thing that you swore to never be. That all the pain and beatings you endured, all in vain because you gave in anyway. You gave in on your own volition. The hate he must've felt towards himself because he was the cause of their pain. Seeing himself as a monster. Realizing how much people he'd hurt because of his lack of self-control and rage.

The day his parents broke to him the news that he'd be staying at his cousin's house for the time being, thinking that they didn't want him around anymore. Him thinking that he was so dangerous his own parents had to ship him off someplace else. He'd hurt everyone around him, and it took so much for him to realize it. He'd look at himself in the mirror— and instead of seeing the innocent little boy what he saw instead was a rage-filled monster everyone feared but this time for good reason. How he'd lost himself completely, and there's nothing he can do to undo everything that happened.

How scared he must've felt that he might hurt Aiden's family too like he hurt everybody around him, and how much he hated himself for not being able to control it.

Finding comfort and belonging with Aiden again for the first time in forever— a newfound peace and purpose after picking up multiple hobbies and a new kind of happiness after meeting the SBG group. Buttttt at the cost of having to brush with death every single night and watch two of his friends die— imagine how he felt when they were talking about how they could be becoming phantoms, how it would all happen again. The feeling of becoming the one thing you sought to destroy and having no control over it was all too familiar to him. The fear he must've felt realizing that everything from his past would repeat itself this way, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Nobody ever talks about his reaction during Aiden's death. Watching his cousin and bestfriend get crushed by a ceiling right in front of him and not being able to do anything since he was still covering Tyler. The cousin that took you into their home, understood you, stayed with you, and saw you as a normal human being rather than a dangerous giant. The person that was able to finally make you feel what it felt to belong for the first time in your life— and watching that person die infront of you. And he just had to stay there— he couldn't do anything to save him. After all, he never could.

The constant reminder that he had no control over anything in his life.

[tyrantisterror]

An under-talked about part of Columbo is the way it presents non-murderers. Most episodes have at least a few scenes where Columbo talks to people involved in the case who, you know, aren't the ones who killed the victim, and in those scenes to see a multitude of ways people handle grief (or, if not grief exactly, the simple shock of someone you know no longer being around). I'm watching one of my favorite episodes right now, the one with Leonard Nimoy as the killer, and Columbo is interviewing one of the victim's co-workers, a nurse, and she just keeps going on an on about how much better the victim was morally than her - how the victim really cared about healing people as opposed to herself, who only wants to advance her career. And in this brief, minute-long interaction you get both the comic relief of Columbo quickly realizing this woman will provide almost no useful information but being unable to get her to stop talking without being rude, and a very clear illustration of how the victim was inspiring to others and how this co-worker in particular not only admired her, but feels inadequate for not living up to her. It's a very short interaction, easy to ignore in the scope of the episode (Leonard Nimoy gives SUCH a good performance as a villain it'd be hard to talk about anything else), but it all adds a humanity to the episode that would be sorely missing without it. If you didn't care about the murder before, you sure as hell do now, and you know Columbo is a better person than the killer because he actually cares about the effect these murders have on people enough not to coldly shut down a grieving friend of the victim when she's rambling on about her feelings.

Anyway, I know this is a hot take for Tumblr, but Columbo is really great.

[maimingaffairs]

Grieving for the Living (Aleksander Morozova x fem! reader) Part 2

The entirety of a capricious and treacherous marriage between the Darkling and the Lantsov princess.

read part one here!

-

hi all i love u, also merry early christmas to those who celebrate and happy weekend to those who don't! i've had people ask to be tagged in future parts so feel free to comment if u wanna be added to the silly little taglist for this silly little story.

word count: 11.6

warnings: man idk, everything is pretty canon. examples of a not very healthy relationship.

taglist: @il0vebeingdelulu @mellowarcadefun

-

You sat on a stool in the stables while your husband was occupied, putting a saddle on his horse. You had your legs crossed and you bounced your knee to pass the time, sighing occasionally. You wore tall, knee high riding boots and a pair of tight black pants. You had a peacoat over your white blouse and a cloak on over your shoulders, at the request of your husband. It had recently become much colder in temperature as the seasons shifted from autumn to winter, and your husband was constantly fussing about you getting sick. 

“You know, I grew up riding horses. I can ride my own. I have my own.” You remarked, glancing up at your husband as he secured half of the saddle onto his horse’s back. 

He eyed you from where he stood and he shook his head, “I believe you, but it’s cold and I’d prefer having you close enough to share body heat.” He explained, going back to tightening straps. 

“In what world will I be cold, dear? You’ve got me in a hundred layers.” You stated, keeping your eyes on him. 

Almost an entire month had passed since you had tried to walk out on him, and in that month, he had done an entire turn around. Days where you expected him to be off with Alina or off tending to things pertaining to his army, he had been spending with you. Conversations that you’d grown accustomed to being cold were now warm and inviting, and mealtime wasn’t stiff and just for the sake of appearances anymore. 

As to be expected, though, you two were starting at the bottom. Friends before lovers, you reminded yourself when you found yourself daydreaming about the one time he had kissed you.

Your husband looked down upon you and snickered once before he tightened the last strap on the horse’s saddle, “Well, at least you’ll be warm.” He said with a smile, shaking his head just once. 

You simply rolled your eyes and stood up off of the stool, “I’m serious, I’m an excellent rider.” You pressed, walking to his side. 

“While I don’t doubt you for a second, can you please just humor me and ride on my horse with me?” He asked, looking down at you with a small, amused smile. 

You rolled your eyes again but couldn’t help but smile back at him. You grabbed onto the saddle and he hoisted you up onto the horse before he gracefully climbed on behind you, grabbing the reins. He guided the horse forward and out into the path out behind the palaces. You’d never admit it, but you were glad for the extra layer he insisted you wear, because the cold bit your cheeks and made you grab the sides of your cloak and pull them around your body like a blanket. You leaned back a bit against your husband’s solid chest and you let out a little sigh, watching the trees pass the two of you by. 

“I want to discuss something with you.” Your husband said matter of factly. 

He let go of the reins with one hand and wrapped his arm delicately around your waist, pulling you back just slightly. 

“Alright, go on, then.” You coaxed, feeling tiny butterflies in your stomach when he wrapped his arm around your waist. 

“The Winter Fete is in a few weeks,” he began, sounding almost nervous to continue, “your parents have requested that the Sun Summoner and I give a… demonstration, of sorts. A performance of her abilities.” He finished, arm tightening around your waist just slightly. 

You had almost forgotten Alina had been there over the past month. It was seldom that your husband saw her anymore, pushing her training off onto other Grisha or the strange old woman, Baghra, whom you had only met once, the night after your wedding. 

“What’s that got to do with me?” You asked, confusedly, reaching out with one hand to touch some low hanging branches as you passed them. 

“I’m just going to have to spend a bit of time getting her ready.” He stated, and you pulled your arm back into your cloak, listening to him. 

“Can I accompany you?” You asked, turning your head to look up at him. His eyes shifted down towards you and he gave you a soft smile. 

“If that so pleases you, then I suppose it won’t be an issue.”

You smiled at him and then turned back around, “I’d like that.” You hummed, reaching down to gently place your hand on top of his as he held your waist with one arm.

His hand was cold as always and you moved your other hand over so that you could clasp his hand in both of yours to warm it up. 

“Your hands are always so cold.” You remarked, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, “Cold hands, warm heart?” You asked, giggling. 

He let out a little chuckle behind you and he leaned down so that his lips brushed the shell of your ear, “Perhaps cold heart, even colder hands.” 

“You don’t have a cold heart.” You quipped, bringing his hand up to your neck, warming it against your skin. 

“Would you say I have an overly warm one?” He asked, keeping his lips near your ear. 

“I think you’re just a little bit choosy about who gets to see your warmth.” You countered and then shrugged once, leaning your head back against his chest. 

The sun was starting to set, leaving the sky a brilliant orange and pink and you stared off at the bright colors, keeping his hand against your warm neck. You stayed silent for a while as he stopped the horse near a cliffside and you both looked over it. 

“Do you truly believe Alina is going to rid us of The Fold?” You asked softly, imagining a world where you could travel as you pleased with no imminent danger. You’d always wanted to travel past Ravka. Maybe to Ketterdam, or perhaps even beyond all that, and looking over this cliffside gave you a rather strong sense of wanderlust. The colors of the sky made the pine trees below look dull and lifeless and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sunset. 

Your husband seemingly hesitated before he answered, taking his time to formulate a response carefully. 

“I believe it’s achievable. She is a marvel.” He finally said, wrapping his other arm around you so that you were now encircled in his embrace. 

You paused. Your next question hung on your lips and you almost didn’t ask it, but before you could think better of it, it had already come out of your mouth. 

“Do you have feelings for Alina?”

The Darkling pulled you closer so that your back was flush against his chest and you could feel the metal embellishments on his kefta through your cloak. 

“I wouldn’t say so.” He remarked plainly, allowing you to lay your head back against the front of his shoulder. 

You let out a slow breath, and noted that it had now become cold enough that you could see your breath materialize in front of you. You felt an odd sense of relief. 

“What about anyone else?” You absentmindedly asked, tracing your finger along the sleeve of his kefta. You suddenly felt very intrusive and frowned, patting his arm once, “You don’t have to answer that, I’m being nosy.” 

He hummed and you felt his cheek against the top of your head. You kept your eyes on the sky and felt your eyelids grow heavy. The two of you had taken to going on horse rides later in the evening so that you could see the sunset. You’d mentioned loving the sunset to him once not too long ago, and he’d taken it upon himself to bring you here to a cliff in the forest behind the palaces. 

You dragged your pointer finger over the edge of his sleeve and down onto his exposed wrist. You ran your finger along the back of his hand and up onto the cold metal of the ring on his smallest finger. He turned his hand over so that his palm was facing yours and he slid his fingers in between yours. He held your hand delicately in his own as if it may break if he added any sort of pressure. You tore your eyes away from the sky to look at your joined hands and you turned your head and looked up at him. It took him a moment to move his gaze down to yours, but when he did, you felt breathless. The fading sun reflected in his dark eyes and you could swear that just this once, they had a golden hue. You tightened your fingers around his and leaned closer to him, twisting around to rest your chin against the center of his chest while you kept your eyes upon him. 

He brought a hand up and smoothed back your hair, a small smile forming on his lips. He leaned down and for a split second, you grew excited, anticipating a kiss. He did kiss you, just not where you had expected it. Instead, he placed a very gentle kiss upon your forehead. Your eyes fluttered shut and his lips lingered upon your skin. Your forehead felt warm where his lips touched it and you gave his hand another squeeze. When he finally did pull away, the air felt much colder. He brought the hand that was touching your hair up to your face and he felt your cheeks with the backs of his fingers. 

“I think we should head back. You’re getting rather cold, it seems.” He hummed. 

You didn’t move, though. You stayed with your chin against his chest and your eyes up on his face. He seemed amused by you now, a small laugh escaping his lips. 

“Y/n, I’ll not have you getting sick.” You could tell he was trying to be stern, but the smile on his face made it so hard to take him seriously. 

“You’d better warm me up then, quickly, General!” You teased, moving your head down and resting your cheek against his chest instead of your chin. Your back was twisted at an odd angle and you were admittedly very uncomfortable, but you didn’t move.

“I can warm you up better when we’re in a warm environment, now come on.” He stated and gently grabbed your arms. He turned you forward once again and he let go of your hand. He wrapped his arm around your waist once more and grabbed the horse’s reins with the other hand. He started the horse off back towards the palace and you leaned back completely against his chest once again, placing your hand back on top of his as he held you around your waist. 

The ride back to the Little Palace was silent, but not uncomfortably so. Your husband brought the two of you back to the stables and he easily jumped off the horse and then held his arms out for you. You slid off of the horse and into his arms and he gently set you on the ground. Once you were standing firmly on the ground, you wrapped both of your arms around one of his and leaned your cheek against the side of his arm. He looked down at you with that same amused smile and he led both of you inside. Once you were inside, you felt instant relief from the cold. You hadn’t even noticed how cold you really were until you’d gotten back inside. 

You and your husband made your way through the halls toward your bedroom and were nearly there when you heard someone clear their throat behind you two. Both of you turned around at the same time to see the old woman, Baghra, standing a couple yards behind you. She seemed irate, and took a couple steps towards the two of you. Your husband swept you behind himself in what you could only imagine was a protective manner. 

“I’ve been trying to speak to you for days, boy.” She said, her tone steady and cold. If she was angry, her tone wouldn’t have indicated it. In fact, it wouldn’t have indicated anything at all. Her voice was devoid of emotion, something your husband was able to do often. 

“And I’ve been avoiding you for days. I have important things to tend to, Baghra.” He answered. She came closer. 

Her eyes flickered to you and back to him. She did this a few times before she shook her head, her grey hair shaking with each movement, “Seems you’re not busy now. Have your wife run along so that we may speak.” 

You raised an eyebrow and took a step forward, intent on reminding this woman who she was speaking to. Your husband put his arm out to keep you back and he turned his head and looked down at you, shaking his head sternly. 

“Go get yourself ready for bed. I’ll be along shortly. I just need to speak to Baghra for a moment.”

You looked up at him questioningly but didn’t protest. You could read the room, and you knew this likely wasn’t a time to argue. You gave a small nod to your husband and he gave you a tense smile in return, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. 

“Good girl, run along. Start a fire if you get too cold.” His voice was warm when he spoke to you this time, and it made you smile. 

You turned away from him and you walked briskly toward your room. When you looked back over your shoulder, though, Baghra and your husband were both staring back at you, making your stomach twist uneasily.

-

Your eyes had just barely fluttered shut when the door to your bedroom opened, closing loudly almost instantly after. Your eyes flew open and you sat up on your elbows to see your husband standing near the doorway. You didn’t need to hear his voice or see his face in the light to know that he was angry. You sat up fully and watched him carefully. He stood there for a moment longer before he took off his kefta and hung it over a chair. He looked at you where you sat, and you could tell even in the dim light that he was looking at you, because his eyes shone in the candlelight. You watched him silently as he bustled around the room to rid himself of his dirty clothes and changed into his nightclothes. Once he had finished, he stood motionlessly with his back to you, hands clasped behind his back. You quietly climbed out of bed and you walked towards your husband. Your feet pattered quietly against the floors and once you reached him, you wrapped both of your arms around him from behind. 

He felt tense in your arms and you laid your cheek against his back. You didn’t say anything- you didn’t even know what could have been said. After a few minutes, he laid his hands on your wrists and brushed his thumbs across the backs of your hands. 

“Did you know that Baghra is my mother?” He asked after a long while of silence. 

“I did not.” You answered, but it made sense. They had similar mannerisms, similar ways of presenting themselves. 

Your husband turned around in your arms and looked down at you, resting his hands on your waist. 

“You don’t need to go mentioning that to anyone else.” He stated. 

A look of surprise flashed across your face and you blinked a few times. He had just confided in you. You felt oddly flattered and you almost felt like doing a happy little dance around the room, but you stayed planted in your spot. 

“I won’t.” You promised, leaning closer to him. 

He gave an approving hum and he reached up to tuck a lock of your hair back behind your ear. 

“You should be in bed right now.” He laid his palm against the side of your face and held it like it was the most delicate thing he’d ever handled in his life. 

“Well, I was. In bed, I mean. But then you came in. You’re upset. I just wanted to help.” You explained, leaning into his hand. 

The cold metal of his ring bit into your warm cheek and it nearly made you shiver. You closed your eyes and nuzzled your face into his palm, feeling soothed by the way he swiped his thumb back and forth over your cheekbone every so often. 

“Such a sweet girl,” he cooed, “I am just fine. Don’t worry about me.” he murmured and leaned down. He swept an arm behind your legs and he lifted you up into his arms. You grabbed his shoulders to steady yourself and he hauled you back over to the bed.

He laid you down on your side and you grabbed his arm, tugging on it, “You’re gonna lay down too, right?” You asked softly, looking up at him expectantly. 

“Yes, y/n.” 

You felt relieved when he answered and you rolled onto your side to face him as he walked around the bed and laid down next to you. You smiled over at him as he rolled onto his own side and you wiggled closer to him so that there was only less than a foot of space between your faces. His dark eyes scanned over your face before he reached across the distance between you and tugged you against his chest. A relieved sigh passed your lips and you closed your eyes, resting your head comfortably against the center of his chest. 

“What did your mother say to you that upset you so much?” You asked in a soft tone. As soon as you asked, though, you felt intrusive. He likely would’ve started ranting about it if it was something he wished to discuss. 

But instead of answering you with silence or some other evasive statement, he sighed and began to speak. 

“She believes me to be… threateningly power hungry.”

“And are you?” You asked, tracing your fingers along the smooth silk of his shirt. 

“I think there’s a fine line that runs between knowing what you want and doing everything you can to take it and being power hungry.” He answered, sliding a hand up into your hair. 

“I see. And what is it that you want?” You asked, placing a kiss over his clothed chest. 

“Power.” 

His answer came as a surprise to you. You didn’t expect him to be so forthcoming with anything, especially this. His fingers ran idly through your hair and you wiggled up a bit to tuck your face into the crook of his neck. You felt tired, much more tired than you had been before, but you didn’t want to stop talking to your husband. You didn’t want his openness to end and never make a reappearance. 

“What kind of power?” You asked, trying to ignore the sleepiness that threatened to drag you away. 

“All of it. I want it all.” He replied, voice calm, as if he were having the most casual of conversations with you. 

“I see.” You hummed. 

Neither of you spoke for a while after this. As much as you tried to fight it, you began to drift off to sleep, but it didn’t last long, because your husband spoke again. 

“I married you for power, you know.” 

Your eyes shot open and you sat up on your elbow, gaping down at the man next to you. You didn’t know how to react. His words had sent needle-sharp pains through your chest. Your mouth opened slightly as if you were ready to speak, but you closed it quickly. He held up his finger as if to ask you to hear him out and you blinked incredulously back at him. You didn’t want to hear him out, but you couldn’t think of anything to say. 

“I tried to dislike you. To push you away. I wanted this to be painless. But you made that so hard. You’re brilliant, intelligent, talented… you’re everything. You’re enchanting, y/n Lantsov. Falling for you… that wasn’t part of my plan, but here we are. You’d have to be a fool to not fall for you.” He breathed, reaching up to touch your face with the tips of his fingers. His fingertips grazed your skin and you shivered, eyes falling shut, “The fact of the matter is, I’ve tried with all my might to keep you out. I don’t want you out anymore. I couldn’t care less about power when it comes to you. You’ve enchanted me, Princess. I am under your unbreakable spell. Sometimes I think that you must be a sorceress.” 

His words hit you hard, leaving you struggling to breathe. You should have been mad at him for setting out to use you for gain. You should have slapped him and stormed out of the bedroom. He shouldn’t have been touching you so sweetly, and you shouldn’t have been letting him. Every logical thought in your head told you to get out of bed and run. Run to your parents, break the marriage, tell them the truth of what he had just told you. You should have listened to that logical side of your brain. You should have just listened to your brain in general. 

But wasn’t this what you wanted?

Confusedly, you brought a hand up to the side of your head and you shook it a few times. You’d all but begged him to love you, and here he was, confessing to you in roundabout words that he did. 

Your eyes met his and you wanted to be angry, but his gaze was so soft, so adoring, and it made you waver. He slid his hand around to the back of your head and he pulled your face close to his. 

“I will be honest with you, completely honest, going forward. I give you my word on that. You have every right to be angry. But I beg of you; don’t walk away.” And he was indeed begging. You’d never heard this tone leave his mouth before. He never begged. He was to be begged for. He commanded respect wherever he went. You doubted this man had ever begged for anything in his entire life. 

He pulled your face closer, so close now that his lips brushed yours as he spoke.

“Let me love you. The way you deserve.” 

Hearing his words was blissful. You tried desperately to muster up some- any- anger, but you were failing miserably. Every urge to scream, to run, to leave, was rapidly slipping away, and all you could focus on now was how close his lips were to yours. You swallowed thickly, not opening your mouth, afraid of what might come out. You noticed your hands were trembling and you balled them into fists to keep them from shaking.

Let me love you. 

Weren’t you asking him to do this just a month ago? The words echoed in your head on and on, back and forth, and despite your better judgment, you felt one word slip through your lips. 

“Okay.”

Then, he kissed you. This kiss was much sweeter than the last, and you were hesitant to kiss back now, but did it really matter? You’d already pushed aside all logic tonight. What would it hurt to kiss your husband back?

So you did. 

-

“Are your eyes closed?” Your husband asked you, giddy with excitement. 

You smiled and for extra measure, put your hands over your closed eyes, “Yes, my love. They aren’t open.” You replied, letting him gently steer you into another room. 

He finally stopped walking and held you still, his hands gently holding your waist from behind. You leaned back into his grasp and let out a soft, content sigh. 

“Alright. You may go ahead and open your eyes.” 

You uncovered your eyes and opened them up and your eyes fell upon a brilliant dress sitting upon a dress form in the middle of the room. It was a sleek, black gown with a low neckline and long sleeves. Pearls and little crystals were sewn into the fabric in swirling designs around the neckline and over the sleeves. You slowly turned around and looked up at your husband with wide eyes. 

“I know black has never been your choice of color to wear, and if you don’t want to wear it to the fete tonight, you may pick whatever else you’d like, but I had this made for you. I just thought perhaps that we could match.” He murmured, reaching out to grab your chin delicately. 

You smiled up at him gratefully and you shook your head, “No, I want to wear it. It’s beautiful.” You said softly, leaning into his touch. You were much more open to wearing black these days anyway, having the newfound desire to wear your husband’s color for everyone to see.  

He leaned down and brought your lips to his in a slow, relaxed kiss. You relished the feeling of his warm lips against yours and you moved closer to him, bringing a hand up to rest on the side of his neck. He pulled away and you let out a disappointed whine, trying to chase his lips with your own as he stood back up straight. 

He chuckled, “There will be plenty of time for that later, my love. For now, I think we ought to start getting ready for the fete tonight.”

You frowned and dramatically sighed, collapsing forward against his chest. You wound both of your arms up around his neck and you rested your cheek against the center of his chest, 

“Thank you.” You whispered, “The dress is beautiful.” 

He wrapped his own arms around your waist and drew you in close, his nose burying itself in your hair, “You needn’t thank me, sweet girl. It’ll look beautiful on you.”

“What will you wear?” You asked, tucking your face against his shoulder. Your fingers absentmindedly twisted in the hair at the back of his head and you gave it a very gentle tug. 

“Something nice. Similarly colored, too.” He said, sarcastically. 

You smiled at his dry remark and you pulled your head back to look up at his beautiful face. His dark eyes looked down into yours and he brought a hand up to your face, cupping your cheek carefully. There was a certain pain in his eyes that you couldn’t ignore and you brought your hand up to rest against the back of his. 

“What troubles you, darling?” You asked, your smile faltering just slightly. 

He brought his forehead down to yours and he nudged your nose with the tip of his, “Little love, what makes you think something troubles me?” He asked, lips grazing yours. 

“You look… anguished. In your eyes.” You answered, your own eyes falling closed. His breath fanned across your face and you parted your lips slightly when his brushed across yours. 

“Anguished? How could I be anguished at a time like this? I have my darling wife in my arms.” He whispered, his tone convincing. 

“Are you sure?” You asked quietly, “You can tell me.” You pressed, fingers sliding in between his. 

“I assure you, there is no anguish inside of me. You’ve made sure of that.” He cooed, pressing multiple feather-light kisses to your lips. 

You took his word for it and slowly pulled away from him, smiling just a bit, “Do you get to help me into my dress or is that a task for your Tailor?” You asked, wandering towards the dress in the middle of the room.  

“I suppose that if you want the dress on now, we can put it on you.” He answered and followed you. 

You turned the dress form around and unlaced the silk gown with delicate fingers before you pulled it off entirely. You held the garment out for your husband to take and he did, his eyes never leaving you. You quickly undressed out of your plain sky blue gown and you kicked it aside, eager to get into the dress that he had made for you. You turned to face your husband now and you stepped closer to him and held your hands out for the dress. Instead, he took a step closer to you and he grabbed your arm. He tugged you close to him and he dipped his head down to place a few kisses to your shoulder. You let out a soft sigh when you felt his lips against your skin and you nearly shivered. 

“If you start something like that, I’m afraid I won’t stop you.” You whispered shakily, bringing a hand up into his hair as he trailed his lips down towards your collarbones. 

“Don’t stop me, then, Princess.” He mumbled, hand still on your arm. You almost allowed him to convince you, but you frowned and shook your head.

“We don’t have time. You have to get ready, so do I…” you hummed, rather distracted. His kiss made your stomach do flips and as much as you said that you two shouldn’t, you wanted to allow him to do whatever he pleased in that moment. 

Much to your secret dismay, The Darkling lifted his head away from your chest and he hummed. 

“Such a shame. I suppose I’ll just have to look forward to taking you out of that dress, then.” He commented and finally let go of your arm and handed you the gown. 

You carefully took it from his hands and you stepped into the dress. You pulled it up and slid your arms into the soft sleeves and then turned around. Your husband moved your hair over your shoulder as your back faced him and he laced up your dress. You recalled the last time he did this and almost laughed at how different it was now. The first time he’d laced up your dress, you’d not wanted him anywhere near you, and now all you could think about was his hands all over you. The thought of his hands all over your body made you bite your bottom lip and you tilted your head to the side. 

He finished doing up your dress and he turned you around slowly, taking in the way the dress settled upon your body. There was a sense of pride in the way that he smiled down at you and you did a little twirl in front of him. The skirt of the dress swished around your ankles and you giggled, turning back around to grin up at your husband. 

“Do we like it?” You asked, running your hands over the pearl embellished bodice.

“We do.” His tone was low and his eyes were taking you in as if it was the first time he was seeing you. 

You bounded forward and threw your arms around his neck once more, tugging him down towards you. You pressed a handful of excited kisses to his lips and each time he kissed you back, his lips curling into a pleasant smile. 

“Thank you.” You breathed, bumping your nose against his. 

He pulled away and he took your hand in his, “Don’t thank me, Princess. I should thank you for wearing it, gracing my eyes with your beauty. Besides, I like it when you wear my color. It gives me a sense of pride, it’s such a beautiful sight to see you in it. I don’t just ask anyone to wear it, you know. Only someone who has a special place in my heart.” He replied and then winked down at you, “Come, let’s go get you ready for the fete.” He prompted and tugged you towards the door, his eyes lingering on you for just a second longer. 

You couldn’t help but notice the pained look that still hung in his dark eyes. 

-

“My beautiful girl!” Your mother’s voice rang out across the crowded room. 

Your parents rose from their seats when you came into view and you gave them a soft smile. You were clinging to your husband’s arm as if someone would take him from your grasp, and justifiably so. This was the largest event of the year, and there were hundreds of people, some of which from other countries. The eyes of almost everyone in the room were on the two of you, and you imagined you must have been a spectacle. It was no surprise to see the Second Army’s General in all black, but for you to be in his color? That must have been new. A little smirk threatened to cover your lips, you felt so powerful at his side. 

The two of you took graceful strides up to your parents and you finally pulled away from your husband’s arm. You stood up on your toes and placed a quick, chaste kiss on his lips. He let out a breathy laugh as you pulled away and turned to your parents. You greeted them warmly and gave them both little kisses on their cheeks before you turned to your brother, Vasily. You gave him a curt nod and then took your place back at your husband’s side.

“I never thought I’d see the day where you wore anything that wasn’t so brightly colored.” Your mother commented and sat back in her plush chair, “You look dazzling, dear. Both of you. You could make a burlap sack look good though, darling! I mean, I’d hope you never have to but, still!” Your mother gushed, and you chuckled and glanced up at your husband. 

His eyes didn’t meet yours. In fact, his eyes were transfixed on the doorway. You slowly followed his gaze once you realized he wasn’t tearing his attention away from whatever was at the doorway anytime soon, and quickly wished you hadn’t. 

Alina Starkov, the Sun Summoner stepped into the room looking as decorated as a war hero. Her hair was done up beautifully and she looked poised and… perfect. None of this would have bothered you though, if it wasn’t for her clothing.

Black. 

A black kefta with beautiful golden embroidery. 

Your mouth twitched angrily and you watched her as she approached you and your husband, her eyes on his. He watched her with a smile as she strode towards you two and you slipped your arm away from his, turning your head slowly towards him. He slowly shifted his eyes towards your face, and his smile seemed to melt. The pained look returned to his eyes as he looked at you and he opened his mouth as if he were going to speak but you held your hand up. 

“Not. A. Word.” You hissed and he seemed as if he was going to argue, but you cleared your throat and turned towards your parents, giving them a warm, performative smile, “May I sit with you, Mother?” You asked, motioning to the empty seat next to her. 

Your mother enthusiastically urged you to sit down and you did, your legs crossing stiffly. Your husband looked at you, pleaded for your attention with his eyes and the look within them, but you turned your head to listen to whatever conversation your parents and Vasily were having. You felt sick to your stomach while you only half listened to Vasily speak about the ongoing war and you wrapped your arms around yourself. 

“I don’t just ask anyone to wear it, you know. Only someone who has a special place in my heart.”

Your husband’s words from earlier rang in your ears and your eyes strayed to him. He stood next to Alina now, talking to her. A smitten smile covered her lips. You couldn’t take it. You shot up from your chair and you heard your mother gasp, startled by the sudden movement. 

“I’ll be back, excuse me please.” You murmured. 

Your mother grabbed your wrist and looked up at you, “Oh, but if you leave now you’ll miss the show!” Your mother exclaimed, pointing to Alina and your husband. 

“Let her go, Mother.” Vasily said in a sympathetic tone. You looked at your brother, shocked, and he gave you a half smile before his gaze wandered to Alina and your husband. He looked back at you and he nodded towards the door, “I’m sure she’ll be back in time for drinks, Mother.” He finished. 

You felt a bit taken aback by your brother’s kindness, and furthermore his attention to detail, but you were thankful nonetheless, and you turned quickly on your heel and made your way into the crowd. You moved past your husband and Alina and you pushed through a crowd of people by the door who all gasped once they saw who was shoving them out of the way. Tears welled up in your eyes and you swallowed them back, forcing yourself to stay composed. You heard gasps and cheers and then applause behind you, but you didn’t look back. You kept pushing ahead. Your hands were shaking as you made it out of the crowd and you rushed down the hallway, holding your hand over your aching chest. You came to the grand staircase which was being watched by two royal guards, making sure no partygoers got upstairs. You gave them both a polite nod, and they gave you a respectful bow of the head as you passed by them. 

You took the steps two at a time, rushing to get upstairs where no one could see you. Once you’d reached the landing at the top of the stairs, you bolted into a hallway just to your left and you leaned against the wall. You listened silently for anyone, and once you had deduced that no one was around, you slid down the wall, your shaking hand still clasped to your chest. You felt panicked and angry. You felt like your chest was going to collapse in on itself and you lowered your entire body to the floor, curling up into a makeshift ball, your dress not allowing you full range of motion. 

You wanted to slam your head against the wall. How could you have been so stupid? Your husband didn’t love you. How could he? You were both pushed into a marriage that you didn’t want, both practically strangers to one another before then, too. Tears began to stream steadily out of your eyes and down onto the cool marble floor beneath your cheek. He’d lied to you. He made you feel important to him, he spent every day since you’d admitted you wanted his love, doting on you and making you feel like you’d finally had it. You thought you’d had it. 

Of course he’d want Alina Starkov. Being with you had one selling point; a political advantage. A power grab. But being with Alina? They were both Grisha, you were not. They were each other’s balance. She was the light to his darkness, and you were… nothing. In fifty years, Alina wouldn’t have aged a moment, she’d still be as radiant as she was tonight, but in fifty years for you? You’d be growing old, you wouldn’t be able bodied any longer. 

So of course your husband wouldn’t love you. You were a handful of decades of slight inconvenience and then he’d never have to deal with you again. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there in the dark, empty hallway, but you had long since stopped crying. Your head ached horribly, your chest felt empty, and you couldn’t bear to drag yourself up off of the floor and down the corridor to your old bedroom, even though it was mere steps away from where you laid against the wall. You were certain that you looked absolutely pathetic there, curled up in a mess of fabric with tears stained cheeks and bright red eyes. 

You felt heartbroken. Did you even have the right to feel that way? Your relationship with The Darkling had been tumultuous and was all over the place, never staying consistently one way for as long as it had been a thing. Could you even call it a relationship? Your head spun and you reached up to dry your eyes, your arms feeling stiff. The air around you seemed to be cold and it caused little goosebumps to break out all over your skin. Distantly, you heard voices calling out for you, but you ignored them and pushed yourself up off of the floor. You refused to allow anyone to see you in such a state. You’d been taught from a young age to always be composed in front of others, it was unbecoming of a princess to be a mess. 

You shakily climbed to your feet, feeling another wave of tears building up behind your eyes and you walked tiredly into your old bedroom, slamming the door behind you. Everything inside was clean and crisp, just as you had left it many months ago. You collapsed onto the bed in the dark room and you stared up at the ceiling soundlessly, tears escaping the corners of your eyes. Odd, you thought. You’d been under the impression that you’d cried out all your tears.

The sounds of your name grew closer and closer, but you still ignored them, not wanting to be bothered. You wanted to be alone, you wanted to mourn, whatever this was, alone. 

You didn’t have such luck, though. Footsteps stampeded through the hallway and your door was flung open. 

“I’ve found her!” A voice called out, and you recognized it as one of your father’s personal guards. 

“Y/n!” You heard your mother shriek as she pushed her way into the room. You turned your head and watched your father, your brother, three guards, and much to your dismay, your husband all flood into the room. 

“Darling, are you hurt?” Your father asked and approached you, standing at the side of your bed. 

Yes, you wanted to say, but you shook your head a few times and turned your head away from your father. 

“Oh, my sweet child!” Your mother cried and rushed to your side, reaching down to wipe your cheeks dry with the backs of her hands, “Where on earth have you been? Someone has tried to kill the Sun Summoner, and we couldn’t find you, and we were so afraid-“

“Tatiana, we don’t need to frighten her. She’s safe.” Your father said, cutting your mother off. Your father turned and looked at your husband and he nodded at you once and you wanted to scream. Your husband slowly approached you as well and you wanted to jump off of the bed and throw yourself out the window to get away from him. 

But you didn’t. Instead, you stared up at him disdainfully. Unshed tears seemed to sit in his eyes and he looked unusually out of sorts. Perhaps no one could tell as much, but you could. You’d spent almost everyday with the man for many, many months, and you couldn’t tell, he wasn’t at his most composed.  

“You could have been killed.” He said in a harsh whisper, looking down upon you with a look of sadness. 

You didn’t reply, you only closed your eyes and turned your head away from all of them. Maybe if you held your breath for a moment, they’d disappear. Maybe if you kept your eyes shut, you’d disappear into thin air. You wished you were invisible.

“I want to be alone. I’m sure-“ 

“Alone? Oh, no. No, no. Absolutely not, darling. You are to go back to the Little Palace with the General at once. You are not to be alone, not after the fright we’ve had tonight.” Your father said sternly. 

You widened your eyes in anger and you readied yourself to argue, but before you could get a sound out of your mouth, your husband scooped you into his arms like a doll. You looked up at him scornfully and he avoided your eyes, looking up at your parents instead. 

“I’ll keep her safe while we figure out what’s going on.” He promised and your parents nodded. 

He finally looked down at you with that same, pained expression from earlier and he began to walk towards the door. 

Vasily stepped in front of your husband just as he was going to walk out of the room and he looked The Darkling up and down. 

“Vasily-“ you began, but you wouldn’t get the chance to finish, because your brother stepped aside and silenced you with a look. Your husband stared down at your brother as if to dare him to do something. 

After a tense few seconds, your husband walked out into the hallway, away from your parents and brother, and down the stairs. Once he had reached the bottom of the stairs, you sniffled and placed your hands on his chest, pushing slightly. 

“Put me down. Please.” You said hoarsely. 

“Not a chance.” He replied drearily. 

“Put me down, now. I don’t want you to touch me.” 

“I need you to trust me. I don’t care what you want right now, but-“

“Trust you?” You bellowed, feeling a white hot surge of anger at his words and your husband shot you a deadly look. You glared up at him as he did and you shook your head, “I will never forgive you for this.” You hissed. 

“I’ll live without your forgiveness. You could have been in danger tonight, you know. I was worried.” He scolded you, walking down into the courtyard with you in his arms. Once he reached the gravel road, he set you down on your feet and he stared down into your eyes, “If you had been hurt tonight… I don’t know what I would have done.”

“You would have gone on just fine by Alina’s side.” 

“Y/n, you already know I don’t have feelings for Alina.” He groaned and grabbed you by your arms, “Open your eyes! I only have a place in my heart for you.” He insisted. 

You jutted your chin up in the air and shook your head, “My eyes are wide open, and I don’t need to-“ you were cut off by the sight of Baghra, seemingly appearing out of nowhere next to the two of you. 

“I heard about your Tracker.” She drawled, looking up at her son with the same stone cold eyes that you’d seen on your husband many times. 

A pointed flash of controlled anger sparkled in your husband’s eyes and you rapidly looked between the two of them, unsure of what was going on in the conversation. 

“Who?” Your husband asked, tone blank. 

“The Tracker,” she repeated, “Yes, I know about him… and your little mission.” She deadpanned.

Your husband reached down and grabbed your wrist gently and moved you behind him, just as he did the last time Baghra had come around. She snorted humorlessly at the motion. 

“What have you done with him?” Your husband asked in a low tone. 

“Disposed of. Along with your hopes of locating the stag.” She countered back, a certain smugness hiding behind the collected tone she spoke in. 

Your husband seemed amused and his jaw flexed before he spoke again, “I always have hope, Mother. Even you can’t kill that.”

“That isn’t hope. That’s greed.” She corrected, taking a step closer to both of you. You felt uneasy, and even more so when her eyes flickered to you and stayed on your face, “You would use Alina against the rest of the world, just as you planned to use this poor little girl.”

Your husband’s lip twitched downwards and he balled his fists up at his sides, “Mother, I’d beseech you to leave my wife out of this. As for Alina, she is the future, she is the one-“

“Yes!” Baghra quipped, a little smirk forming on her thin, wrinkled lips, “but where is she?”

“Careful.” Your husband snapped, stepping aside to block you from his mother’s view, “you don’t really matter anymore, either.”

“Careful? Me? I’m always careful, Aleksander.” She cooed, and your mouth fell open. Aleksander? Was that your husband’s name? You’d never known him by a first name, and perhaps that was on purpose. You’d only asked about it once, days after your marriage, and he simply told you that his name wasn’t important knowledge. 

Baghra continued, breaking you out of your thoughts. 

“Perhaps you should be careful. Princess Lantsov isn’t indestructible, you know.” She said in a high pitched, cocky whisper. 

You felt a shiver run down your spine. Was she threatening you? You had never done anything to her, you’d never even had a proper conversation with the old woman. 

“If you so much as threaten to put my wife in harm’s way,” he began, stepping closer to his mother, towering over her menacingly, “think about what I might do.”

You watched the two of them from over your husband’s shoulder and you took one step back before your husband turned around and he grabbed your wrist again, pulling you protectively against his side while he walked away from his mother. 

“I’d wager you’d need a skilled tracker to find Alina now!” His mother called after him, but he kept walking with his hand around your wrist. 

You could’ve sworn he was trembling, but you weren’t sure. 

The two of you walked in silence back to your shared bedroom in the Little Palace, and he slammed the door behind the two of you, letting your wrist go once you were in the safety of your own quarters. You took a few steps away from him and you looked him up and down a few times, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

“You don’t have to understand all of the reasons behind the things I do.” He said, taking a step towards you. 

Your brain was reeling from the conversation he’d just had with his mother in front of you and you pressed your fingertips into your skin as he stepped closer to you. 

You took one step back again. 

“Stop.” You whispered.

“I need you to listen to me now.” He pressed, walking towards you now. 

“Stop.” You pleaded, taking a few more steps back. 

“You have to hear me out, Princess. This is life or death.” He insisted, taking another step closer. 

You backed up until your back hit the wall and you shook your head violently.

“Stop, please.” You said and covered your ears, but he still approached you. 

“Nothing is as it seems-“

“Aleksander, stop!” You cried, clutching your head in your hands. 

The silence was thick between the two of you, and when you looked up at his face, he seemed surprised. He stopped moving towards you, stopped speaking, stopped moving all together. It seemed you had completely caught him off guard. 

“Enough. Enough of this. This ends tonight. You will be honest with me- completely honest- and I will walk out of this palace and our marriage will be over. I am not negotiating, this is not up for discussion, I am telling you what you will do.” You commanded, leaning your head back against the wall exhaustedly. 

He seemed to completely concede and he gave you one single nod, “What would you like to know?”

“Everything. You will tell me everything. Start at the beginning. Why did you want to marry me? What purpose could I possibly even serve for you?”

He didn’t respond right away. He took his time to think, to stare at your face longingly. Finally, he exhaled and he folded his arms over his chest. 

“I wasn’t lying when I told you I wanted power. Marrying you means that if something were to happen to your brother, I’d be next in line to rule. Alongside you, of course. My plan was set in stone, until I made you cry in the hallway, the first day I was back with Alina. You looked so sad, so hurt by the words I’d said to you, and for the first time in a very long time, I felt guilty. Falling for you… came quickly after that. You were no longer just a means to get what I wanted. You were a girl. A beautiful, sweet girl, who only wanted to love and be loved in return, a girl that was completely innocent. You’d committed no crime, done no harm to warrant what I’d set out for. I didn’t lie when I said that you have enchanted me. I love you. I adore you. I am sick with adoration for you.” He confessed, falling to his knees before you. 

You stared down at him and it took everything in you to not crumble to your own knees and beg him to take you in his arms. It took willpower you didn’t even know you had to stay standing against the wall. 

“And what of Alina? What about her?” You asked, your voice wavering. 

“Alina Starkov is power. Alina is…” he trailed off, collecting his thoughts before he started back up again, “My intentions with Alina are less than honorable. She is a rather large stepping stone towards the power I desire. But she is nothing more. When I told you I didn’t have feelings for her, I didn’t lie, y/n. How could I? She isn’t you.” He insisted, leaning forward on his knees. 

“What of her wearing black then? You told me that you only wanted someone close to you to wear your color.” You demanded, hands on your hips. 

“I needed her to trust me. That is all. I swear on my life, darling, that there is no room for her in my heart.” He pleaded. The look in his eyes was desperate and you let out a shaky sigh you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. 

You knew by the way he spoke, the way his eyes were pleading with you, the way he had taken to his knees in front of you, that he was telling you the truth. There was no evasion, no stories. Just the truth. You very slowly sank to your knees in front of him and you grabbed his chin with your fingers. 

“What was your mother going on about?” You asked, staring into his eyes. 

This seemed much harder for him to answer by the look on his face. He reached up and grabbed your hand and pulled it away from his chin. He held your hand tightly in his and he let out a long sigh. 

“I will explain this to you in time. But all you need to know right now is that my mother is intent on hurting anyone who dares take my side, one way or another. I have been presented with the opportunity to further my power, through the use of a very old, very powerful, practically mythical creature, and my mother is hellbent on taking that away from me.” He explained, holding your hand tighter.

“Why do you need more power, Aleksander?” You asked quietly, staring into his eyes seriously. 

“So that I can build a perfect world for you and me.” He whispered, pulling you closer to him. 

You hesitantly moved closer to your husband and then you stopped. 

Though everything he said to you was likely the truth based on his demeanor, it still didn’t excuse it. Your bottom lip quivered and you sniffled back tears as you stared into his eyes. Your brain told you to get up and leave. It told you to walk out and never look back, and that’s what you wanted to do. That’s what you should do. But your heart ached in your chest at the sight of him and you found yourself shuffling forward to collapse against his chest. 

He let out a quiet sound that could have passed as an exhale, but it sounded a bit too similar to a sob. His strong arms wound around your body and held you against his chest protectively, lovingly. He pressed his cheek against the top of your head and you gathered the lapels of his kefta in your fists, pulling yourself closer to him. 

You felt weak, and you scolded yourself for not having the willpower to walk out of his room. You should have pulled away from him and done it anyway, but he held you so tenderly. You pressed your ear against his chest and could swear that you heard the faint thump of his heart. You felt safe in his embrace, comforted, too. 

His hand slid up into your hair and he very gently ran his fingers through it, knowing fully how it relaxed you. 

“Don’t leave me, darling. Please. You are all I have.” He whispered, pressing his lips against your temple, “All I need. I will protect you always, love you, always. Just stay with me.” He pleaded, voice gentle. 

And once again, you found yourself conceding. 

-

The day after the Winter Fete was overcast and grey. It was as if the party had summoned winter, because the air became much colder and much drier. The air was thick and full of tension in the Little Palace, and everyone was bustling about busily. Your husband had been among the busy. You sat in an armchair by your bed, reading-but-not-really-reading one of your husband’s books, tucked underneath a thick blanket. 

Your husband had mentioned the day would be busy for him as you two laid in bed last night. So far from what you understood, someone had tried to kill Alina last night. Your husband had slipped out once you were asleep to interrogate the man who attempted to kill her. Furthermore, Alina had run off last night after being prompted to leave by Baghra, a Heartrender close to your husband, by the name of Nina, was missing, and so was the boy that had told your husband about the mythical animal he’d been hunting. 

A knock sounded at your door, breaking the eerie silence around you, and you looked up from your book. 

“Come in!” You called, tipping your head to the side. 

Ivan, one of your husband’s closest confidants, opened the door and gave you a small, rare smile. 

“Your Grace, The General wishes to see you in his office.” He said, bowing his head at you respectfully. 

You tucked a piece of your hair back behind your ear and you smiled, “Alright. Thank you, Ivan.” You said softly and rose from the chair, setting the blanket on the bed. You placed the book down on the chair and looked up at Ivan who hadn’t left the room yet, “You may go, I’m sure you have much to attend to.” You said with a small smile. 

Ivan shook his head and he gave you another smile, though it was a bit sympathetic this time, “My apologies, Princess, but your husband has requested that I escort you there. He’s a bit worried after last night.”

“Ivan,” you began with a soft laugh, “it’s only down the hall.”

He gave you an apologetic glance and then you sighed, nodding once, understanding that he was only following orders. You walked towards Ivan and he offered his arm to you, which you took with a quiet ‘thank you’. He led you out of your room and down the hall to Aleksander’s office, which was quite literally just six doors away. He pushed the door open without knocking and he pulled his arm away from yours. 

You stepped inside of the office to see your husband sitting at his desk. He slowly turned his head to see who was at the door, and when he saw you, he looked relieved. A sweet smile crept up onto his face and he held his hand out for you, beckoning you closer. You returned his smile and made your way over to him, lifting the skirt of your dress up off of the floor. Once you reached his side, he grabbed your hand and lifted it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles and then he slowly moved your hand away from his lips, gazing up at you contently. 

“I’ve missed you.” He commented with a little sigh, “Sit.” He said and shifted a bit in his chair to give you space to sit on his thigh.

You sat down on his thigh and you wrapped both of your arms around his neck, peering down at the papers on his desk.

“Any word on… well, anything?” You asked, twisting the ends of his hair around your fingertips. 

“Not so far… but we’re going to be assembling a group to go searching for her.” He replied and leaned close to you to press a soft kiss to your cheek, “I’d like you to come with me. I’m not leaving you here where my mother is. I don’t trust her, and I don’t think any guard could keep her in line should she… act out.” He explained, resting his forehead against the side of your face.  

“Come with you? But what about my parents? Will they even allow it?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. You couldn’t imagine your mother being overly elated to have you leave Os Alta. 

“By law, you are under my care as my wife. They don’t really have much say. Though, I’ll speak to them and explain that you’ll be safer with me given the attack at the party last night.” He hummed and pulled his head away from yours. He looked back down at the papers on his desk and you looked down at them as well. Maps and notes and letters were strewn messily across his desk and it was hard to tell what exactly he was looking at. 

“Shall I pack?” You asked, eyeing a book that had a sketch of a large stag with an intricate set of antlers. 

“No need, little love,” he answered, not looking up, “I’ve already had servants pack everything you will need to be away for some time.”

You laid your head down against his shoulder and you felt his arm slide around your waist, holding you close to him. You felt a bit uneasy as you eyed the maps on his desk. You’d never been out of Os Alta more than once in your entire life, and you had sure never been anywhere near The Fold. You almost shivered as your eyes fell upon The Fold on the map and you hoped that you wouldn’t have to get close to it on your travels with your husband.

“We won’t have to go near The Fold, will we?” You asked softly, still fiddling with his hair. 

Aleksander sighed and he turned away from his work to look up at you, “Oh, my love, you don’t need to fear The Fold. Nothing can hurt you as long as I’m by your side.” He assured you. 

Fear made your stomach turn and you lifted your head away from his shoulder, “So we are? We aren’t going through it, though? Right?” You asked. 

“Well, when we find Alina, yes. We will be going through it.” He replied and you shook your head a few times. 

“Aleksander-“

“My love,” he cut you off, placing his hand on the side of your face, “nothing will happen. You will be perfectly safe and taken care of. Please, don’t fret about this.” He whispered soothingly, leaning up to press a few reassuring kisses to the side of your face. 

The thought of going through The Fold was terrifying. You’d been told from a young age that many times, people did not cross it safely. You bit your bottom lip and looked back at the map on his desk with the large black stain indicating The Fold. 

“If we’re going through with Alina, she’ll tear it down, then, right? That’s the whole reason we need her?” You asked and then looked back at your husband. 

He smoothed back your hair and he placed a little kiss on your nose, “You are worrying about things that don’t need to be worried about, darling. Everything will go according to plan.” 

You still felt uneasy at the prospect of going through The Fold, but you laid your head back on Aleksander’s shoulder nonetheless. 

“When are we leaving?” You asked softly and grabbed his hand in your own, playing with his fingers. 

“In an hour.” He replied and moved up to press a quick kiss to your lips. 

You hummed when he kissed you and slowly pulled back when he did, “So soon?” You asked, surprised. 

“Well, yes. We need to get going before nightfall.” He replied and slid his fingers in between yours, “Why don’t we go get you dressed warmly, hm?” He suggested and you slid off of his lap, nodding once. 

He rose from his chair and he neatly pushed it in, leaving the maps and other papers scattered across his desk. He had faint dark circles under his eyes and his hair was a bit out of place, he seemed tired. You gently grabbed his hand and frowned, looking up into his eyes. 

“You seem so tired, Aleksander. Why don’t you sleep for a little while? Surely we can leave after you wake.” You pressed, though you doubted he’d agree. You turned out to be correct because he shook his head and gave you a small smile. 

“We really need to get going, y/n.” He stated, tugging you towards the door. 

You followed alongside him as he brought you back to your bedroom and he dropped your hand as soon as you were inside. He rushed to the wardrobe and opened it up, pulling out your long, thick coat and one of his heavy, fur-lined cloaks. You puffed out your cheeks almost exasperatedly and you made your way to your bed. You sat down on the edge of the bed and watched him as he compared coats, trying to figure out which one was warmer. Truthfully, the last thing you wanted to do was follow him around while he hunted down Alina and this animal, but you weren’t too sure how well that conversation would go over. 

Finally, your husband had made a decision on which coat to put on you and he came and laid it next to you on the bed, giving you a soft smile as he did.  

“Will you put on a warmer dress, darling? One of the heavier ones, please.” He requested, standing in front of you to cup your cheeks in his cold hands. 

“This dress is plenty warm, especially if I will have a coat and your cloak on.” You replied and leaned into his hands. The cold, hard edges of your husband’s rings pressed into your cheek and you shivered slightly. 

“Y/n. A warmer dress, please.” He replied, and you knew this wasn’t up for discussion.

He pulled away and you stood up, going over to the wardrobe with a little sigh. You dug through your wide array of dresses before you found one of your winter dresses and you pulled it out. You quickly changed out of your current dress and into the warmer one while your husband rummaged through one of your chests, presumably looking for gloves. When he found them, he walked towards you and he placed them gently in your hands. 

“Put these on. And…” he paused and walked over to the bed and grabbed the coat, “this too.” He said and you let out a quiet sigh. 

You put the gloves on, as well as the coat with a bit of help from him, and once you were buttoned up tightly inside of your coat, he stepped back and surveyed you for a moment. He nodded once, seemingly pleased with his work and then he began to put on his own cloak and gloves. 

“Aleksander?” You asked in a tiny voice, looking over at your husband with a small frown.  

He lifted his head and looked at you while he tied his cloak up, “Yes, little love?” He asked, raising his eyebrow curiously. 

“I don’t want to leave home.” You said quietly, shuffling your feet almost awkwardly. The thought of Ravka outside of Os Alta was terrifying to you. Your parents had always told you that the war had taken its toll on the country and that the best place to be was the capital, the safest place, too. 

He thought for a moment on how to respond to you, and you thought that he wasn’t going to reply at all, but he finally let out a very slow sigh and approached you, holding his arms open. You slowly stepped into his arms and he wrapped them around your waist, holding you close to his chest. 

“I know you’re nervous, but you must understand, sweet girl, that I would never let anything happen to you. It’s simply out of the question. You will be the safest you’ve ever been with me, surrounded by other very gifted Grisha.” His voice was velvety and you suddenly felt very silly for your fears. He had a way of doing that- making you feel like he was the only answer to your questions, soothing your worries with sweet words and touches. 

As you rested your head against his chest, he brought a hand up to hold the back of your head and you let out a very quiet sigh, your eyes falling shut. He held you for a while, unmoving, and you wondered if he had turned to marble for a moment. Finally, he let go of you and leaned down to press a kiss to your hairline. 

“We should get going.” He murmured and took your hand. 

You nodded once and squeezed his hand, disappointed to find that you were still nervous.