#cannot respect that cannot respect that at ALL

[daylightmidnights]

It's been ages since this was posted and I got time to read it today. Finally!

I cannot begin to tell you how happy I am that they're married now. My babies!!!! I love them so much. Kingrry has turned into such a pookie bear for her I can't help but love him. Can I have him please? I need someone who'd fight everyone for me like he did for his Queen 🥺

Those people are so disgusting and real pos. The audacity of Lord Mayor, Mrs Mable and the doctor!!! They all should rot in hell. And they don't even have any respect for harry as their king and what he wishes. Fuck all of them. Especially Mrs Mable because why the fuck would you want your daughter to be a mistress and then you are offended when he calls her ugly? That bothers you? And you're fine with using your daughter as your golden ticket to secure a spot at the palace? Disgusting!! I kinda feel bad for Pearl because that girl is also a victim of the system. Yn is 20 so I'm guessing Pearl is younger than her. That girl's brain is not fully developed yet and she's being fed all this bs by her mother and the people around her and the society. Just a horrible time for women to live in. That being said, i absolutely loved the way harry insulted her looks. I lost it at the bug comparison. Especially loved when yn said "I heard her tell this one..." Imagine being referred to as this one! Poor pearl, but deserved 😂

I have to mention the words you used tho. Bedswerver, i never heard of it. Gutter-waif, I don't even no what that means. There's so many words you use that are so fascinating. Must take so much time researching for all that. Thanks for doing that.

Love her friendship with Phoebe so much. She even kisses her when tucking her in? That's so so sweet it made me emotional. I love them. Everyone deserves a friend like Phoebe. When yn said "I'm not queen yet" and Phoebe replied "You are to me" aahhhhhh i love her so much. Supportive bestie!!!!

And I was so glad when the new dressmaker treated yn so nicely and with respect. And I found this hilarious for some reason "She wasn't sure if he'd said leave this dress to me, or leave the stress to me…" my sleepy confused queen.

Lastly their wedding was beautiful. I know no one in attendance was actually interested or happy but it was still beautiful solely because harry was super happy and excited for her to be his wife. He's just so in love. He even kissed her properly. I love him more than i hated him in the beginning. That says a lot about how the story has progressed and how well you wrote him.

This chapter was so eventful and action packed. A rollercoaster really. Made me angry on so many instances but also soothed me with the little bit of wholesomeness in between. You did so good wrapping it up nicely and leaving the spicy part to the next chapter.

I just cannot thank you enough for this story. You don't understand how much this means to me. It has become my favourite and i look forward to it so impatiently. I appreciate you for taking your time researching for this and making time out of your home life and busy patreon schedule to write this for free. Just know that you make me and many of us happy and we are so thankful to you for everything you put out on here. I love you so much and I'm so proud of you for pulling this story off so perfectly. Can't wait for the next chapter ❤️

[5] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST | It's Good to Be King Masterlist

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 5 Word Count: 8,476

Ch. 5 Warning: Discrimination, bullying, slight angst and miscommunication, jealousy, hurt feelings, wedding scene -> smut will be in ch. 6, for those anticipating it

. .

The Duke remained quiet and sat in the comfortable feather-down cushioned chair near the fire as he watched Harry and Virgil go back and forth. He'd been meant to mediate the discussion, but Harry overrode that decision and told him to sit before he was removed from the castle. The king didn't need someone there to arbitrate anything. Harry would be the one with the final say, no matter what the Duke's opinion.

It started, on the surface, amicably. But quickly spiraled when Virgil told him he'd regret his choices as king (stripping the Lord Mayor of his title for one, and marrying Y/n for another). Harry'd expected to hear the Lord Mayor bemoan his decisions again. It was no surprise to him, but it was quite galling to listen once again to the same justifications.

Harry rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "And I thought you came here to accuse me of theft. You are a sad, tiresome man, Virgil. I'm bored listening to this drivel."

Niall watched from the door, letting his eyes rove the three gentlemen slowly. He was only there to protect Harry, should he have needed to. But more than that, he found their little tiff to be quite amusing, though he'd never let on to it.

The Lord Mayor continued, dismissing Harry's comments. "And furthermore, it's clear to everyone that you do not have Thornekeep's best interest in mind. Marrying a gutter-waif? Setting her up in the castle like she's been bred for the crown? Why… It's preposterous!"

Harry bristled at gutter-waif, but decided to hold his tongue (and his anger) in front of the Duke. "Bred for the crown? What are you? A husbandry worker now? You breed animals and ready them for royalty?"

A quiet breath fell from the Duke as he turned his head away from the pair arguing. Even he was amused.

A sputtered noise of disbelief fell from the Lord Mayor as he shook his head. "Quite vulgar! Once again!"

The king laughed sardonically and stepped around the edge of the table, glancing at Niall as he ticked his fingers, tapping his nails together slowly. "Are we done here?"

"Before we make our leave, I want to discuss the young woman again. Pearl."

"And what would you like to tell me about the young woman with whom you are infatuated?"

"Your Highness! I am not infatuated!" Virgil pushed himself up from the chair and stepped near to Harry, but not close enough that the king could get his hands on him. "I'm trying to offer you a better choice of wife. Pearl will not disappoint you. She is happy to serve you as a good wife and queen should, and she learns quickly. She will see to it that you are well taken care of."

"I do not want Pearl. I've already made my choice. If you want her so badly, you can have her. Your wife seems quite meek. She wouldn't mind you taking a lover, I'm sure. Most men of your ilk do."

Virgil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, ignoring how Harry had once again suggested that he wanted Pearl for himself. "My Lord, we can attest to and confirm that Pearl is a virgin, which is required of the queen consort. I have my doubts that Y/n is pure and virginal."

Harry laughed darkly, without a single drop of humor. "I suggest you make your leave before I become violent with you. My future wife is not up for discussion. I will not have you speak her name again."

"Then a mistress! Pearl would make a lovely mistress for you. She's fine to take on the role as long as you keep her and take care of her and her family in return."

Clenching his jaw, he shook his head and looked at the Duke. "Is he deaf? Dumb? Were you able to understand my orders just now, or am I the mad one here?"

"My Lord, I understood well your desires," the Duke said, not daring to look the Lord Mayor in the eye as he sided with the king.

"You cannot expect to be satisfied with just one woman. Surely you have plans in place to accommodate a mistress, if you haven't already," the Lord Mayor added.

Harry sighed and looked toward Niall again before stepping closer to the old man. "I think I can infer what's going on here. You and Mrs. Mable were quite close at one time, weren't you? The rumors were true then. She was your house-fed lamb, and you're a bedswerver. Your poor wife. Is Mrs. Mable threatening to let the cat out of the bag if you don't secure her virgin daughter a place in the castle?"

Virgil's mouth dropped open as his eyes nearly bulged from his head. "I… Why that's not even—"

The king moved closer, and the old man backed up to keep his distance. "That is what this is all about, isn't it? Most would wonder if Pearl was your daughter and not Mr. Mable's, but I'm convinced you're all dried up, impotent. And you, being like every other fleece-monger in Thornekeep, took Mrs. Mable as your secret, fancy piece."

"This is outrageous! I take umbrage at your accusations!"

Calmly, Harry looked at the Duke with a pleased grin. "Our old billygoat here takes umbrage. What do you say to that, Duke?"

Duke Hughes looked from the King to the Lord Mayor and stood up from his seat. "I say that it's time for us to make our leave."

"Now that is a smart answer. You could learn a lot from the Duke, Virgil."

"Just one meeting with Pearl, my Lord. She is ready to serve and would make a beautiful Queen, if not a kept mistress…"

"I said, get out! I'm quite finished with you, worm. Niall, remove him from the lounge…"

The old man raised his hands in surrender as Niall stepped forward. "We're leaving. No need for intervention. But please, consider meeting with the girl once. You will not be disappointed."

The dress was exquisite. Y/n glanced at Phoebe, who had covered her mouth with her hands after seeing all the pieces put together. She grinned at her friend and looked back at her reflection and couldn't help but focus on the young woman who Mrs. Mable had brought along for the final fitting. She had not been introduced to her, but Y/n could see that the girl was dissatisfied and annoyed.

"It's a shame this wedding and everything to do with the king's selection was rushed," the dressmaker said as she pulled at the fabric and tightened the bust, making Y/n gasp.

"Mama… When can I meet King Styles? I'm bored, and the stench in here is unbearable."

The young woman looked directly at Y/n as she mentioned the stench but Y/n was more worried about the girl's request to see the king. She'd become accustomed to insinuitive remarks and had learned to brush them off. But she did not like the idea of this pretty, young, blonde asking about her husband-to-be.

"Soon. He's been summoned. I imagine he'll be coming in any minute."

Y/n quickly grabbed her skirts and lifted them as she stepped down from the platform and looked at Phoebe. "He can't come in here! I'm in my bridal gown. It's bad luck—"

"It won't matter anyway. There's nothing customary about any of this. No one is so deceived as to think you're a virgin anyway…"

"It's so vulgar to think of it!" The pretty blonde said as she stood up and stepped in front of the mirror, smoothing out the silk panel in her dress. "The king deserves purity and beauty above all."

"Who is this? Why is she here? What business has she with the king?" Y/n pointed at the blonde as she stepped in behind her.

"There's the stench," Pearl said as she turned to look at Y/n, a smug expression drawn on her face.

Just then, the door opened and Harry barreled in with Niall and his assistant Fred trailing behind him. "Y/n… Is—what is this?"

He looked at Pearl, her mother, and the other women in the room, his brows pinched together dubiously. Y/n tried to hide the fabric of her skirts and duck behind a wooden table, but it had all been too late. He'd seen her gown.

"This is my dress fitting. You're not supposed to see me like this!" Y/n was almost in tears, and she knew it was a trivial thing to be so worked up over, but she had envisioned the surprised look on his face when she walked down the aisle toward the altar. She'd been so excited for that moment, and now that would be taken from her. He'd already seen her beautiful dress and it would no longer be a surprise.

Harry let his eyes sweep over her gown and back up to her face. "I was told that I was needed urgently. Who sent for me?"

The room fell quiet as Y/n narrowed her eyes at Mrs. Mable and then Pearl. "They did." She pointed. "I heard her tell this one that you'd been summoned but I did not call for you."

Harry could see the dismay on her face. To him, it was all the same. It didn't matter if he saw the dress now or on the day of their ceremony. But it was clear that it meant a lot more to Y/n and so for that he was livid.

"You're the dressmaker. Mrs. Mable…" Harry said and then he set his eyes on the pretty young blonde who was blushing softly and lowering her gaze in respect. "And you must be Pearl. Virgil has spoken highly of you, but unfortunately, you're wasting your time here."

Mrs. Mable rushed toward Harry and pointed at her daughter. "She is ready, Your Highness. She's been trained for this and she will do anything you ask of her. Give her a chance. You may take her into your chambers if you'd like to make a more informed choice."

Harry sniffed and looked at Y/n before he shot a look of disdain at Mrs. Mable. "Are you dull in the head? Your conniving with the Lord Mayor is pathetic. I know what you two have done and I care not if you expose him and yourself for the bedswervers you are. But do not pull my bride-to-be into this ratbag scheme."

"Is she not more lovely, not more fit to your tastes and to the kingdom's? You will require a virgin—"

"Pish! You and Virgil seem to think I hold virgins in high regard when that is the least of my concerns. Take her away. I don't wish to look at your daughter or to have her near Y/n. I can tell by just a glance that she's jealous."

Pearl let out a frustrated laugh. "I would never be jealous of her! She's akin to the filthy swine at the entry of the rookeries from where she came!"

Harry calmly stepped in front of the blonde, a rage boiling beneath the surface that he had to tame. She had to crane her neck back to look up at him. "I pity people like you," he said in a dark, spiteful tone. "Wrapped up in silk with pink lace bows and a turned-up nose. You haven't a single original thought in that tiny brain of yours and that's the most unattractive thing about you. Moreover, I can't find a solitary redeeming quality that you possess. I do not find you to be pretty. On the contrary… Your face is too wide and pasty, your wrists like a hollowed sprig, and your eyes are set too close, reminiscent of those fat bugs that like to feed off dung in the farmyards. I would never take you as my wife, much less a mistress. You are no better than anyone in this room, and you never will be."

Pearl stepped back and turned her face downward as tears threatened to burst from her eyes. Y/n felt a spike of satisfaction course up the knobs of her spine. She had been blind sided by their little trick to get the king to walk into her room for her fitting, so to hear Harry speak his mind to the young girl in that way had her holding her head a little higher, despite the devastation she felt at him seeing her dress before he was meant to.

"You bootjack! Do not speak to my daughter that way!" Mrs. Mable wrapped her arms around Pearl protectively.

Harry laughed. "Brave soul you are to mock the king and your queen-to-be. What did you expect of this disgraceful, desperate exhibit? That I'd look at her…" He gestured toward Pearl, who still had her face downcast. "And find myself smitten by her pastel garments and curled locks? She is nothing more than the dressmaker's daughter. She does not interest me in the least."

Mrs. Mable scoffed and looked at Y/n, Phoebe next to her, holding her arm. "She's a regular street beggar turned flag-hopper. Who knows how many men she's done the business with and if you want to marry into that kind of rubbish, then you dishonor your father's legacy. You are an embarrassment to the kingdom."

Letting his eyes flicker over his bride-to-be, he clenched his jaw. "If you were a man I'd have you tossed from the window down to your painful demise for speaking that way about her. Does she look rubbish to you? And who do you see standing before you as King? Not my father. He's dead, buried in the ground where he belongs."

One of the seamstresses gasped and turned away quickly in surprise at Harry's rough words for the beloved, deceased King Augustus. He shook his head and pointed toward the door. "Niall, take Mrs. Mable and her daughter down to the study and wait with them until I arrive. The rest of you are dismissed. Phoebe, you may stay with Y/n and help her out of this dress."

Niall motioned to the pair and Mrs. Mable scowled at the king on her way out of the room. Pearl kept her head down in shame with cheeks wetted by tears. Y/n watched with cautious delight, her eyes shifting from Mrs. Mable and Pearl, and then the workers as they all filed out of the Rose Room.

Then, before she even realized he'd made his way to her side, she felt his hand wrap around hers, and she turned to look up at him. "We'll have a new dress made for you. A better one. You will never have to see Mrs. Mable and her insufferable, hideous daughter ever again." He thumbed at her cheek as she nodded, a small smile working up on her lips.

"But the wedding is in two days. I don't know that that's possible. There is no better dressmaker in the kingdom than Mrs. Mable."

"I will find you a better dressmaker even if I have to bring them in from another province. Fred," Harry said, his sight still on his bride-to-be, "go find Luther and have him send for that Parisian man in Bethel. Find out who he uses and have them brought here at any cost."

The door closed behind Fred, and Phoebe stood to the side, watching as Harry and Y/n stared at one another. "You are not upset by them, are you?"

She blinked and looked toward the door. "I'm unsure how I feel. I found Pearl to be very pretty, and I imagined you would like the looks of her." She turned her gaze back to him. "Is it true you find her to be hideous?"

Harry continued running his thumb along her cheek as he lifted his other hand to the opposite side of her face. "Compared to you? She's repulsive and boring."

"But you wouldn't even take her as your mistress?"

"I won't be taking a mistress."

Y/n shook her head. "Isn't it customary for the king to have mistresses to keep him satisfied? What if I cannot make you happy?"

"Do not worry about that, little mouse. Now, I need to go and sort out the hatchet-faced sows who await me."

She giggled quietly as he stepped away from her, a cheeky grin on his face.

The moment he closed the door, Phoebe stepped in behind her and began helping her untie the corset. "She's not pretty. Not at all."

"Who? Pearl? I believe she was very pretty."

"Her attitude was ugly. I can't believe he compared her to a dung bug!"

The girls laughed together. "I wonder what he's going to say to them in his study."

"He's already love-stricken. It's so romantic," Phoebe said as she laid the corset down on the dressing table.

"Love-stricken? I don't believe so."

"Oh, but he is. I have a secret. Something I've wanted to say but didn't know if I should… But now I can't hold it in any longer…"

Y/n looked at Phoebe. "Well, what is it?"

"He's telling you the truth that he doesn't want a lover. I overheard him with his assistant and the castle steward telling them to clear the room that was meant to be kept for a mistress, but he didn't want it. He had changed his mind. Mr. Fred told him to leave it just in case, but the King insisted they give the room another use. He said it was no longer necessary, and I think it's because he can't imagine having anyone but you."

Y/n smiled and looked toward the window as her heart thumped in her chest. It was becoming quite common for her heart to patter harder every time she thought about Harry. He made her skin heat and her fingertips tingle. And she even indulged in touching herself as she imagined his eyes and his lips and his fingers… She knew her feelings about him were different than anything she'd felt before.

She had never belonged anywhere before, begging in alleyways, sleeping on the floor in her family's cramped tenement, ignored by carriages that splashed muddy water on her skirts. And now, she stood in there in castle with a little more meat on her bones and a relaxed smile on her face. The king had not only chosen her but defended her with the kind of fury only true feelings could ignite. Her feelings of being an impostor still bubbled to the surface at times, but she couldn't deny that Harry soothed the rising simmer with each passing day.

When the new dressmaker, Eugène Louise Lafitte, arrived the following evening, he had brought with him a whole caravan of helpers. Three covered carts filled with dresses, designs, supplies, and materials; two hairdressers, three seamstresses, a milliner, and two of his own assistants; as well as all of his personal belongings, as he was going to replace Mrs. Mable as the official royal dressmaker.

Y/n found the whole ordeal to be chaotic, but if she insisted on a new gown (she didn't really), then this was the only way. Eugène had set up everything in the Rose Room, and he began to measure and fit her right away. And despite the fact that there were a dozen people milling about in the room, jumping at every command Eugène spat, she found this fitting to be much better than with Mrs. Mable. For one, he never "accidentally" poked her with the pins the way Mrs. Mable had. For another, he treated her with appropriate respect. As if she were the queen already.

"Bring me the white silk Lanvin bodice…" Eugène said as he waved an arm toward his assistant, his other hand clutched at the middle of Y/n's back as he held fabric in place, and then snapped his fingers. "And check the third trunk for the custom silk skirt with cream lace. And those silk flourettes I've got in my leather satchel. I need them here."

And it went like that until Y/n could barely hold her eyes open. The buzz in the room continued for hours until Eugène was pleased with the look. Of course, he checked in with Y/n, often asking her opinion, of which she had none.

It embarrassed her, in a way, that she had no clue about what looked pretty and what did not. She didn't know fashion, but she did love the little silk flowers that were pinned along her outer skirt between bunched lace and smooth satin. The dress was lovely, Y/n could tell that much. And the finished product (which needed to be ready by midday) would be stunning. It would be paired with the original Turkish diamond necklace she'd been gifted and the finished veil that Mrs. Mable had made.

"Now, you rest," Eugène said to Y/n after Phoebe had helped her out of the delicate material and tucked a robe around her chemise. "The most important part of any outfit is the person wearing it and her disposition. Your beautiful smile will be the star of the ceremony, and you need your sleep. I will take care of the rest for you, madam. Leave the stress to me."

She paused and squinted at the odd man (he was quite odd, but she rather liked him). She wasn't sure if he'd said leave this dress to me, or leave the stress to me… Either way, she was too exhausted to think of much else than her comfortable bed as all of the workers left the room and Phoebe tucked her in and kissed her cheek.

"Goodnight, Queen." Phoebe smiled.

Y/n fluttered her eyes closed with a small, quiet laugh and whispered tiredly, "I'm not Queen yet."

"You are to me."

Despite the pre-wedding spiky nerves Harry was feeling, he was pleased and maybe even a little excited. The ceremony was only a couple of hours away and the castle was abuzz with activity all over. His suit was ready. He'd hidden in his study in hopes of a bit of peace and quiet before the doctor had forced his way in and begun talking nonsense.

"She has not yet had her physical examination, My Lord. It would require, at minimum, a quick and simple two-finger test, which is very run-of-the-mill."

Harry pinched his brows together and nodded with a sneer, his leg draped over his knee as he listened to the castle doctor. Sucking at his teeth he narrowed his gaze. "That will not be happening."

"Excuse me?" The doctor looked surprised.

"I said… That .. will not .. be happening."

"I don't understand. It's customary to check that the bride of the king is a virgin. How will we determine her virginal status if she doesn't have an examination?"

"I am sorry you're confused, but I believe I made myself clear. She will not be needing an examination. She's already told me she's a virgin." Not that it mattered to him in the first place.

"Please accept my sincerest apologies, My Lord, but how do you know she's telling you the truth? That is why we have protocol for this kind of thing. We cannot trust her to be honest about that. Of course, she'd tell you she's a virgin in order to procure her spot as Queen."

Harry sighed and placed his foot down on the floor, as if her were about to stand, his posture only slightly threatening as he leaned forward and kept his eyes hard on the doctor. "When I first picked her, I sought a woman who was not a virgin on purpose. I had hoped to enjoy some wick-dipping with her right off, but she was quite unsettled by the idea, worried about God and purity and all that. She's a virgin."

"My Lord, this is a—"

"This is a discussion that has come to an end. I won't hear of it anymore. You may take your leave. I'm busy. If you hadn't already realized it, I'm getting married today. I don't have time for your nonsense."

The doctor seemed rather vexed but he left the king's study without another word. Harry understood the usual traditions. He knew that it was expected that Y/n be a virgin. He was also not under any illusion that the people would demand proof and want to see their bedsheets the following morning to check for her blood.

He shook his head and gulped down the last of his gin. He hadn't even wanted a virgin. Mostly for selfish reasons but also because he'd never been with a virgin before. The very first time he saw her up close outside the castle gates, he found her features to be very pleasing and he made the mistake of assuming she was not a virgin. Though even after learning she was, he didn't regret his choice after getting acquainted with her.

He smiled as he stood from the chair. That's what she did to him when he thought of her. She made him smile. The kind of drowsy, sappy smile that told the world he was done for.

He wished he could see her right then. Ask her how she was doing, make sure she was being treated well… and perhaps to soothe his own nerves as well. What if she ran off? What if the foul treatment she'd been subjected to had finally gotten to her and she was on the run? Not many would stop her from running because they didn't like her anyway.

With a heavy sigh, he looked out the window to find the day overcast in soft pewters, clouds hanging low as if reluctant to bear witness to the scandal of the century. He was looking forward to making Y/n the Queen, but even more than that, he was looking forward to having her as his wife.

Y/n tried to stop the tears from escaping her eyes as she looked at herself in the mirror, the final product of her hair, the dress, her jewelry... The gown was even more luxurious than the previous. It had a fuller silk skirt with ribbons of cream lace and soft pink, green, and yellow satin flowers delicately sewn in. The bodice gave everything structure and form at the top, and the thin lace sleeves fitted over her arms like a second skin.

She grazed her fingers over the diamond necklace and inhaled a wobbly breath. "I can't believe it. I've never seen anything so beautiful."

Eugène stood behind her with a smile on his face. "I've never seen a more beautiful bride. You wear this dress well, my dear. I know it's not in keeping with tradition but I've been told that you and Harry are not a traditional royal couple. I hope it's just scandalous enough to make everyone turn heads and talk. If anyone can pull this off, it's you."

"And all in less than 12 hours! It's magnificent!" Pheobe exclaimed.

"Thank you, sir. I didn't believe it would be possible, but you've proven me wrong. I'm overwhelmed with happiness."

"Then I've done my job. Now, I believe your carriage awaits to bring you to the cathedral. I will be riding with you and your family, should anything come loose and need fastening."

.

The bells of Thornekeep Cathedral tolled with a heavy, ceremonial rhythm, each echo rolling over the gray-tipped rooftops of the town center like a reluctant proclamation. Inside, sunlight filtered through tall stained-glass windows, coloring the polished stone floor with fragments of ruby, emerald, and sapphire light. It was beautiful, solemn, and grand.

The nave was lined with nobles, foreign dignitaries, and members of the peerage, each clad in their finest silks, lace, and tailored uniforms. Rows of powdered wigs and jeweled collars bobbed stiffly above tight lips and narrowed eyes. They did not applaud. They did not smile. But they did watch carefully. Judging as if they were qualified.

A hush settled as the great organ began to play, a stately, thunderous processional. In the vestibule, Y/n stood just beyond the threshold, her hands trembling against the folds of her gown. The dress was nothing like the ones she used to imagine when watching brides pass in the street. It was better. Phoebe stood at her side, fussing with the long veil that trailed like mist behind her, whispering encouragement.

“You look divine,” Phoebe said, adjusting the fabric atop Y/n’s head. “Now, chin up. If they’re going to hate you, let them hate a queen, not a beggar.”

At the front of the cathedral, King Harry stood waiting beneath the high stone arch of the altar, dressed in a black frock coat with gold embroidery along the cuffs and collar. His ceremonial sword hung from his hip—a nod to tradition he’d allowed begrudgingly—but his cravat was loosened ever so slightly in subtle rebellion. Fred stood just behind him, rigid as he watched on.

Harry’s expression, however, was anything but restrained. He grinned brightly when he saw her appear at the end of the aisle, arm looped with her father's. Gasps rippled through the crowd, not at the gown, not at the diamond necklace, but at the girl wearing them. A commoner. A beggar, soon to be their queen.

Y/n walked slowly down the aisle, trying not to falter under the weight of stares that clung to her like sticky brambles. Her breath caught when she met Harry’s eyes, mischievous, proud, and tender. There was something grounding in his gaze, like a rope cast to a woman who was still learning to stand on marble floors.

At the altar, the Archbishop cleared his throat and began the ceremony, reading from the Book of Common Prayer, as was custom. The vows were traditional, spoken clearly before God and court:

“Will you, Harry, take this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I will.”

“Will you, Y/n, take this man to be your wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance—”

“I will,” she said, quietly but firmly, not letting her voice sound weak in front of the staring spectators.

There were no whispers of love, no passionate declarations. But when Harry slid the ornate ring, a band of twisted gold and sapphire, onto her finger, his thumb brushed hers with lingering affection. A touch that said more than their vows ever could.

When they were pronounced husband and wife, the organ swelled. Tradition usually dictated a polite kiss on the cheek before turning to face the congregation. But Harry, never one for subtlety, leaned in and kissed her full on the lips, dipping her ever so slightly, and Y/n grabbed onto his coat to steady herself. Gasps rose, half in horror, half in delight. He pulled back with a wink only she could see.

Then, side by side, they faced the court. Stone faces stared back. Y/n straightened her spine.

"Let them glare," he said under his breath as they smiled.

The cathedral bells rang again as the newly crowned Queen Y/n emerged from the grand oak doors on Harry’s arm. A scattering of cheers broke out in the crowd gathered beyond the palace gates, though they were thin and uncertain, peppered with scowls, taciturn nobles, and commoners caught between fascination and suspicion.

The royal carriage stood gleaming in the late afternoon light, a glossy black and gold coach pulled by six white horses adorned in crested harnesses. Its polished sides mirrored the anxious faces that lined the route, and the royal seal glinted on the carriage doors.

Y/n climbed in first, the veil like a cloud behind her. Harry followed, waving once to the crowd with an exaggerated flourish, as if daring them to boo. Fred closed the door after them with a look of quiet resignation, before hopping into the carriage behind with the footmen.

Inside, the carriage was warm and velvet-lined, the heavy scent of roses clinging to the seats. Y/n stared out the window as they began to move, flanked by guards on horseback.

“They hate me,” she whispered.

Harry leaned against the cushion and smiled as he pulled her hand into his. “You shouldn't worry about what a bunch of thick-headed sardines think of you. They'er blind.”

She looked up at him and smiled. "I woke up thinking that you'd come to your senses and call it off. That I'd be waiting, all dressed and ready, and you'd be locked in your chambers and have me removed."

He shook his head, soft green irises sliding over her frame and up to her face. “I’ve come to my senses, all right. That’s why you’re sitting here now.”

Y/n looked down at their joined hands—his thumb gently stroking over her knuckles—and for a moment, the heavy world outside the carriage fell away.

“I don’t know how to be a queen,” she admitted, voice barely audible over the rhythmic clatter of wheels on cobblestone.

Harry leaned closer, his voice lower, softer now. “Good.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, and he smiled at the sound, genuine and unguarded. Then he brought her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against her fingers. “You don’t have to be perfect, Y/n. You just have to be real.”

Outside, the crowd grew louder as the palace gates loomed ahead, but inside the carriage, it was warm and still. She shifted closer to him, their shoulders touching now, the lace of her sleeve brushing the brocade of his coat.

And though the kingdom buzzed with scandal, and the court plotted behind polished smiles, in that quiet stretch of space before the next curtain rose, King Harry and Queen Y/n simply breathed, side by side.

.

The Great Hall of Thornekeep Palace was transformed for the occasion—hundreds of beeswax candles glittered from chandeliers high above, and polished mirrors doubled the light across the walls. Tapestries were drawn back to reveal the grand stonework of the castle’s bones, lending an air of both splendor and severity. Long banquet tables were laid out in rows, gleaming with silverware, crystal goblets, and floral arrangements that spilled over with wildflowers and white roses.

Music floated through the room, an ensemble of violinists and harpists near the hearth played a series of traditional waltzes, though the tempo felt more funereal than festive. No one danced yet. The air was too tight.

At the head table, Y/n sat beside Harry beneath a carved wooden canopy bearing the royal crest. Her plate was filled, but her appetite lagged behind her nerves. The food was elaborate: roast venison with plum glaze, lemon-rosemary quail, bowls of minted peas and white asparagus, and trenchers of honeyed bread and soft cheeses. There was wine from the southern vineyards and towering sugar confections shaped like swans and crowns.

Phoebe stood nearby, ever watchful, whispering quiet instructions on what to do with each fork, when to dab her mouth, when to rise. Y/n nodded gratefully.

The murmurs never stopped.

“She curtsied too shallow.”

“She speaks like she’s from the gutter.”

“Can’t even hold a wineglass properly…”

Harry heard them. Y/n could see it in the tick of his jaw. At one point, a nobleman seated halfway down the table made a thinly veiled comment about the "peculiar scent of fishmongers at court." Harry stood, clinked his glass, and with all the weight of his crown and grin declared:

“I rather like the smell of a woman who knows how to survive.”

The room went silent. Then, reluctantly—awkwardly—a few polite claps began. Phoebe stifled a laugh. Fred looked like he’d aged ten years.

As the night wore on, the air grew looser. Jugglers and acrobats entered, performing near the rear hearth to entertain the children and lower nobility. A small group of traveling actors performed a dramatic retelling of King Augustus the Wise, a none-too-subtle dig at Harry’s late father, much to Harry’s delight.

Y/n watched it all in a dreamlike haze, the velvet of her seat warm beneath her and her crown tugging gently at her temples. She caught Harry looking at her between sips of wine. He reached across the table, not for her hand, but to slide a sugared fig onto her plate.

Y/n picked it up and bit into the fig. Sweet. Sharp. Decadent.

She looked at him with gratitude, holding his gaze a beat longer than proper, feeling something settle in her chest, something warm, steady, and terrifyingly real. Before she could say anything, Fred appeared beside the table with the stiff posture of a man who’d tried to interrupt twice already and failed.

“Your Majesty,” he said quietly, bowing slightly toward Harry. “Lord Chancellor Whitely requests a word regarding the foreign trade representatives. He says it won’t wait.”

Harry groaned under his breath, tilting his head back like a man being dragged to the gallows. “Of course it won’t.” He gave Y/n’s hand a final squeeze under the table. “This is important. I will return as quickly as possible.”

As Fred guided him away, a soft voice called Y/n’s name from just behind her. She turned to find Phoebe leaning in with that same practiced smile she wore whenever navigating nobility like thorns.

“Your mother’s asking for you. I told her you’d come as soon as you’d had a moment and now that the king has been called off…”

Y/n blinked, surprised, rising carefully, nodding her thanks as Phoebe adjusted the fall of her gown behind her. The palace loomed vast and glittering, but with Harry’s warmth still clinging to her skin. Y/n lifted her chin and walked toward where her mother and sisters were standing.

Her mother let out a dramatic sob and pulled Y/n's hands into her warm ones. "You are the Queen. I hear the whispers of everyone around me, but I know you and you are worthy. Even if he already has his mistress up in his room waiting, we all know who his wife is. Whom he has chosen as his queen."

"His mistress?" Y/n looked over her shoulder at Phoebe, who shook her head in confusion, eyes flitting between the mother and daughter.

"Yes. I heard some people talking about a woman named Pearl. She's waiting for him in his chambers right now. Did you not know?"

Y/n swallowed, the back of her throat hollow as she shook her head in disbelief. Her head swirled, making her dizzy, and her sight suddenly shaded in red. Had that been the real reason why he was called off so suddenly? Had he lied to her about what he thought of Pearl? But why?

"I did not know. Thank you, mother. I need to sit."

Y/n tried not to let the dismay that clenched at her heart show on her face. Phoebe was speaking, but Y/n couldn't put together the sentences or make sense of anything. If he'd just been honest the first time around, she wouldn't have so suddenly been caught off guard. She had expected him to take a mistress but when he told her he wouldn't be…

Sitting back in her place, she looked around at the lingering gazes and then at her plate in silence. The food she hadn't finished staring back up at her in a taunt. She couldn't believe that she'd been deceived by him. But she refused to let tears stain her cheeks. She was already the butt of the joke and now she knew it to be true. She'd been so stupid.

Even though the room was full of wealth and opulence, no one danced to the music, and very few applauded the children's entertainment on the other side of the Great Hall. The longer she sat in her fancy chair, in her beautiful dress, without Harry by her side, the more she became certain that he was with Pearl. Why would he be rushed away on the evening of his wedding if not to secretly see his new lover? Would he really allow a business meeting to take precedence? None of it made sense anymore.

Y/n drank down her glass of wine and motioned to have another filled. If she was going to be ignored by her new husband while he played with his mistress behind her back, she was going to try and get on with things, and a bit of drink couldn't hurt. Phoebe had tried to offer her comforting words but it didn't help.

"He's off with her. How long has he already been gone? It's been an hour? I know better than to trust him again."

"Please, madam… I think your mother was mistaken. The king only has eyes for you—"

"My mother knew her name. Someone was speaking about it right in front of her, and she learned a secret that was not meant to be exposed. I'm happy to be armed with the truth. At least I know now."

The chatter in the room softened as heads turned toward the hall's arched entry when Harry and Fred stepped back inside. Y/n looked away. It wasn't fair that he was so handsome after having come back from wherever he'd been. His bed with Pearl likely.

When he sat back down, he reached his hand under the table to place over her skirt but she scooted herself away as much as possible and turned sharply to look anywhere but at him.

"What's wrong, mouse?"

She lifted her glass to her lips and took a long pull of her drink before setting it back down with a loud clunk onto the table. She refused to look at his face. "Do not call me mouse ever again."

Harry glanced up at Phoebe, who was standing near Y/n's chair and then back at his bride's side profile, speaking louder that time. "What is wrong? Tell me what has happened?"

Those who sat closest to the king and queen watched on curiously.

"Did you have fun while you were away? Was it necessary to take an hour to do it?"

"The Lord Chancellor had very important news, and I needed to settle an issue. I did not intend for it to take as long as it did. I apologize. Is that why you're angry?"

She felt her heart thudding in her chest as anger rose up her spine. "Liar."

"Liar? Do you think I am lying right now? Why would I lie to you about something like this? I did not… Will you turn and look at me?"

Y/n turned away further stubbornly, into an uncomfortable position in her seat as she kept her gaze set away from him. Harry groaned and a few seconds later, Y/n felt her chair being pulled back and a hand grasping at the top of her arm, pulling her up to stand. She huffed as Harry brought her with him away from the table and toward the servant's door out of earshot of the guests.

"Look at me right now, Y/n. I will not tolerate your cryptic anger. Tell me what's wrong at once."

She clenched her jaw and slowly, ever so slowly, let her eyes land on his. "I know what you did. You don't need to lie to me and make a fool of me. At least have the respect to be honest with me!"

Harry wanted to laugh, but he was beginning to get angry himself. He hadn't the slightest idea of what she was on about. "Okay. Then tell me what you think I did."

Y/n tried to maintain a stern, defiant expression and not let her emotions rise to the surface but the longer she looked at his pretty face the harder it was. "Pearl."

He raised his brows and blinked. "What about Pearl? The Mables were all disinvited from the wedding. They are not here. What of Pearl?"

"She was waiting for you in your chambers, and you just went to her. Everyone already knows that's what you did. Your secret got out, and now I know."

He couldn't help it when he a laugh fell from his mouth, and Y/n scowled. "You think that I was with Pearl? Are you serious? Have you not learned yet that believing the whispers of the overly pampered people in this room are as good as fiction?"

She blinked at him, her lips turning downward as her conviction faltered. "My mother told me."

He shook his head. "I don't care who told you. You were lied to. I was with Fred, the Lord Chancellor, and two of his men…" Harry pointed behind Y/n. "Look. There they are now. Taking their seats."

She turned to see three men sitting down, smiles on their faces. And as she let her eyes wander the room, she noticed that many people were not paying much attention to her at that moment. A few were staring, but most were drinking their wine and talking to the people around them.

She looked back up at him. "Do you have a mistress? You might as well tell me now, Harry. At least be honest with me. It's not like I'm going to end the courtship or anything. Too late for that."

"I told you I wasn't taking a mistress, and I meant it."

Y/n searched his face, eyes flitting between his irises and the anger, and the sharp ache of betrayal slowly dissolved when she found nothing but honesty in his eyes. She realized that someone had purposely said those things about Pearl in front of her mother for this very outcome. She'd fallen for the lies.

"You need to trust me. No one else here can be trusted. No one cares about you like I do, so you can't listen to them. They are lying to put a wall between us but it won't work because you're smarter than that. Look who I married?" He ran his knuckles along her jaw. "You're all I want. Why would I ever go with Opal when I have you, here, looking like this…" he said as he looked down over her gown.

"Pearl."

"Who?" He grinned playfully.

She smiled, finally, and Harry let out a breath. "There's that smile. Beautiful."

Y/n looked down, feeling embarrassed by her behavior.

Harry ran his hand down her arm and pulled her closer. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

She breathed out a soft laugh. "And you're the devil."

"A handsome one?"

Nodding, she grinned wider, unable to stifle it any longer.

"Let's go back and take our seats before we politely make leave."

The great hall had grown quieter. The candlelight, though still plentiful, seemed to flicker more lazily now, wax dripping down to silver trays as though the evening itself were beginning to loosen its corset. The musicians had shifted to slower, gentler melodies, less formal, less performative. A lull had settled in.

Guests were beginning to drift away in pairs and small clusters, offering final bows and well-wishes to chamberlains and assistants rather than seeking out the king or queen directly. No one had announced the end, but the message was clear: the night was folding itself closed, and that was more than fine with Harry and Y/n.

Y/n's back ached faintly beneath the weight of her new crown as they took their seats again. Across the room, Phoebe stood watchfully near the far wall with Niall next to her, whispering, while the kitchen staff had begun clearing away the final courses with quiet precision.

Harry slid his hand against hers under the table, and quiet chatter surrounded them. She was ready to leave the Great Hall and be done with the theatrics of the day. Her emotions had been quite volatile all day, and the quiet of Harry's bedchambers was beginning to sound like a dream right then.

Fred appeared at Harry’s side and said something in his ear. Harry gave a faint nod, then turned to Y/n with that same roguish smile he’d worn at the altar, but softer, laced with something she couldn’t quite name.

He leaned toward her, close enough that only she could hear. “It's time for us to depart.”

She rose with him, and though no formal announcement followed, the shift was immediate. Some of the guests turned their eyes away in practiced discretion. A few nobles bowed as they passed. Some merely watched with disapproving eyes.

They exited through a smaller side corridor, footsteps muffled on hand-woven rugs. The hall behind them continued to hum, but it was like walking away from a fever dream, something ornate and strange, but already fading.

Once they were alone, past the eyes and expectations, Harry reached for her hand again as he led her up to his room. The corridors of the royal wing were hushed, dimly lit by flickering sconces.

Neither of them spoke. There had been enough of the show. Enough talking and forced smiles. As their footsteps echoed down the long hallway, Harry’s thumb traced idle circles against her knuckles, and Y/n held onto his hand like it was the first real thing she’d touched all day.

At the doors to his chambers, he paused only briefly before pushing them open. The room had been set up for the wedding night, warm with candlelight and perfumed faintly with cedar as the fireplace crackled. The moment the heavy doors clicked shut behind them, something inside the silence softened. The weight of the crown, the stifling eyes of the court, the perfect stillness she’d worn like armor… it all began to peel away.

Harry turned to her and reached for her waist to pull her close, his touch gentle and secure. Her hands slid over the lapels of his coat, anchoring herself in the solid warmth of him.

"My Queen," he spoke just above a whisper as he palmed at her cheek softly.

Y/n smiled shyly. "My King."

He leaned down, slowly, unhurried, and pressed his forehead to hers as they both closed their eyes. There was no rush to move away from the quiet moment; in fact, it had been necessary, vital. The sound of their breaths, the feel of closeness between them… Y/n trailed her fingers up his arm and tilted her face toward his lips, before pressing them to his in a kiss that was sweet and filled with quiet relief.

. .

Chapter 6 is where we'll finally be getting the smut. I'll be dedicating the entire next part to their wedding night 🤭 xoxo

. .

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[dissociativewriter]

Headcanons about making the guys watch the Disney movie we associate with them?

Z = Frozen; X & S = Sleeping Beauty; R = The Little Mermaid; C = Snow White

this is so cute omg. i rewatched all of these when writing this (for research!) and it was very nice. this is very fluffy, i needed to write some lol I've been writing some very mean angst lately.

spoilers ahead and some references to their myths!

❀ It was your turn to pick the movie for you and Xavier's regular Saturday movie night. When you picked Sleeping Beauty, he furrowed his brow. "A Disney movie?" "I think it will be fun!"

❀ Xavier was silent through most of it, content to simply enjoy the movie with you. He would interrupt to offer you popcorn or to refill your drink. "She's a little scary," he whispered when Maleficent appeared.

❀ You caught him dozing off a few times, but Xavier always jolted awake when you nudged him. "I'm up!" "Were you falling asleep again?" "I was just resting my eyes." He did actually fall asleep when the kingdom was put to sleep alongside Aurora.

❀ As the credits rolled, you told him, "This movie reminds me of you." "...because I remind you of the prince, right?" His ears turned a faint pink when you explained you connected him more to Aurora. "So… I'm a princess in your eyes?" "A very pretty princess!"

❀ When you tell Zayne you want to watch Frozen with him, he’s… hesitant, to say the least. “Isn’t that a children’s movie?” He still watches it with you, though, no complaints.

❀ “I understand they’re worried she might harm someone, but locking her away isn’t good for her development,” he says matter-of-factly. He’s very respectful during the movie, though, not saying much. That is, until Hans’ betrayal. “That’s just not right,” he mutters. “What a scoundrel.”

❀ When you tell Zayne he reminds you of Elsa, he just stares at you blankly. After a moment, he quietly responds, “I hope you don’t plan on getting me gloves.” When the movie ends, he gives you a chaste kiss on the check. “If I truly am Elsa, then you’ve thawed this frozen heart.”

❀ For a few days after you watched the movie, Zayne finds himself quietly humming Let It Go. Occasionally Love is an Open Door. He’s alright with that one. He’s extremely annoyed with himself when it’s Let It Go.

❀ Rafayel will gladly watch any movie with you, but best believe he’s judging The Little Mermaid. Heavily. "Giving up your voice is sooooo unromantic," he groaned. "At least give your lover your heart." "What, like you just rip it out of your chest and offer it to your lover?" You laughed. Rafayel didn't.

❀ "Yes," he said very seriously. "Let my blood spill down your wrist as you feel how my heart beats only for you. Let my blood stain your lips the perfect shade of red so that every time you see your reflection, you cannot escape my endless devotion to you."

❀ You try to scoot away from Rafayel after that but he keeps you pulled close against him. He cries during the wedding scene but vehemently denies it afterward. "I'm just really happy they could finally be together! They're from two different worlds!"

❀ Rafayel sings the entirety of the sound track for at least a week. It’s pretty at first but after the tenth time (that day) of hearing, “What do they got, a lot of sand? We got a HOT crustacean band!” you’re throwing tomatoes.

❀ Sylus is always willing to do whatever you want, so when you asked him to watch Sleeping Beauty with you, he didn't object. He just settled you in his home theater with fluffy blankets, snacks, and an arm around your shoulders.

❀ When Maleficent comes on screen, he's already making commentary. "Cursing a baby to die because you didn't get invited to a party seems a bit excessive. And these gifts the fairies have given aren't useful at all."

❀ He’s judging you heavily when you start implying he's similar to Maleficent. "Doesn't her bird remind you of Mephisto?" "So I remind you of a villain?" "..but a really pretty one. I think you'd look very handsome with horns." "Hm."

❀ Sylus looks extremely unimpressed by the time Maleficent turns into a dragon. "...interesting design," he mutters. "See, there's another thing! You remind me of a dragon." Sylus met your wide smile with a raised eyebrow. "Really, sweetie?" "Sure! You're really warm, protective, you hoard things..." Sylus chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You have an overactive imagination."

❀ When you tell Caleb you want to watch Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, he's immediately agreeing. "Whatever you want, pips," he says. "But... didn’t this used to scare you when we were kids?"

❀ It’s not like this is his first time watching it. Caleb's watched a lot of princess movies with you since you grew up together. But, that doesn't stop him from making commentary. "I can't believe she just moves into some random men's home without asking. Promise me you'll never do that, pip-squeak."

❀ Caleb's confused when you tell him he reminds you of Snow White. "I remind you of that little princess?" he asked incredulously. "Sure," you shrugged. "You're a mother hen like she is. You cook, you clean, you're easily tempted by apples." "I'm not making you apple pie anymore," he pouts (he’s lying).

❀ When the poisoned apple comes around, he's desperately defending himself. "I cannot seriously remind you of her. I would not fall for that." You shrugged again. "I just call 'em as I see 'em." He's quiet for a few minutes. "Maybe the sleeping death is a good idea, " he says. "Then you'd be all mine." You stare at him. "Remind me to never eat any apple you give me."

I saw this art on Pinterest and thought it was so damn cute 😭 it wasn’t credited though so if you know whose it is please let me know so I can credit it!

comments and reblogs appreciated and asks open! <3

masterlist

@dolledbunnytail @sleepykittyenergy @orbitraiden @coffeedragonhobbyist @plzdonutpercieveme @sylusgworl

[mydeimoed]

Casual sex with Mydeimos... I wonder what it would be like to be friends with benefits first.

Perhaps it was through you and the way your friendship (relationship?) turned out that Mydei realized just how starved for intimacy and touch he really was. It turned his world upside down entirely that you were an option. You were there, this real physical person that he could touch whenever he wanted. If he mindlessly reached for you, his hand trailing up your back, you wouldn't question it. Just lean into it. Give him that familiar look as you ask him if he's hungry.

It isn't often that Mydei gets to touch another person in this way. Something gentle and achingly simple, instead of torn and bloody. He finds that he prefers to touch you than for you to touch him- it isn't anything against you. He's a warrior who's bled and fought more than he's slept, and you reaching for his hand without warning will never feel comfortable (not yet).

But in the context of sex- sex is different. Touch is desired and expected here, so once the two of you find your way to bed- or whatever other unlucky surface you can find- then he can say without hesitation that he wants you to touch him more. To never spare a moment without that boiling source of contact and connection.

In fact, the more that this "beneficial relationship" goes on for, the more greedy Mydei finds himself becoming. For someone who was once so uptight and rigid beneath you, he slowly transforms into this needy little thing. Demanding in his own way, as much as he was allowed to be.

Perhaps it's no surprise that Mydei fell for you. There was an understanding that your physical relationship was casual, but because Mydei wasn't one to simply go out and find a partner- for so, so many reasons- you were his only outlet. This wasn't mutually exclusive, and he respected that. As much as he could, because he respects you.

Mydei cannot commit himself to you. He can't promise you anything because in the end he's a Prince to a struggling city- and don't even get him started on his supposed demigod status. The only way he really feels like a demigod is the fact he cannot be human- he cannot simply relax and let go, he cannot join the masses in love and relaxation because there is so much more he has to do. Especially for his people, who rely on him, who need him to succeed.

All this frustration- because yes, after you wore him down and yelled and pushed him enough, he finally admitted of course I am frustrated- it definitely comes out a few times during your time together. It's nothing cruel, if anything it makes the sex better. More painful for Mydei, perhaps, because when he's done fucking you with all that rage you always run your hands through his hair and kiss his temple and say does that feel better now? Maybe it does. Maybe it feels worse and makes his heart melt in a way it's not supposed to.

But you aren't going anywhere. Like this, no commitment, you're still his ally. His friend. Even if he finds himself thinking idly about how dangerously content he would be if you were in his bed not only to spread yourself but to relax and recover, he doesn't need it. Can live without it, has lived without it. It's better if you remain friends, he thinks. He knows how to do that, at least he thinks he does. And it is less likely that he will hurt you like this than if he tried to be a lover, and less likely that you will leave. Isn't that better?

[trippinsorrows]

authors note: well, friends, after 85 years of ya'll patiently waiting for my slow ass, it's officially time to kick off book two of the ltye series. buckle up. it's gonna be an interesting ride.

note: this is a sequel to book 1, looking through your eyes. thus, you cannot read this unless you've finished ltye.

warnings: angst

words: 10k (and some change)

song inspo: 'i hope you dance' by lee ann womack

cast + masterlist + story playlist + taglist request form

There’s a common, popular belief that the new year brings in everything aligned and corresponding with the word “new.” That everything that occurred in the past remains just that—the past. 

And on one hand, Solana Reigns believes that. She welcomes it even, because majority of her past has brought nothing but heartache and pain. 

And yet, there’s many things, especially in the year prior, that have been quite the opposite. 

Starting with an arranged marriage. A union intended to bring about death and destruction but has birthed anything and everything but. 

Solana’s hand moves to her growing belly, that small, happy smile on her face as she thinks about her babies. Two beautiful little girls that, in a matter of mere months, she’ll be able to hold and love on.

Her daughters. 

Lives created out of the purest love with her husband. 

Roman Reigns. 

The man she met last year. The man she fell in love with last year. And so so much more. So, yes, while 2024 brought a lot of different things that were varying degrees of good and bad, unlike most, she doesn’t hope for a blank slate with the new year. 

She hopes for a continuation. 

“I take it you haven’t spoken to that husband of yours about the baby shower yet, have you?” 

Afia’s warm voice pulls Solana from her thoughts and reflection. Her sister-in-law works gracefully, gliding almost, from one end of the kitchen to the other. A combination of layering the plates with the snacks they just made and placing the dishes dirtied into the sink, spraying them with soap to aid in the later-on washing. 

“Not yet,” she answers, bitting down on her bottom lip, walking over to help. “I will. I just—”

“Solana.” Afia’s voice, much like everything else about her presence, especially over the past couple months, is nothing short of helpful. Beyond that. Kind. “I understand.” She nods, full lips turning into a bit of a smirk. “I just heard the last time you sprung a social gathering on him, he didn’t take it well.”

Solana chuckles. That’s a safe way to describe it.

What started out as chaotic ended infinitely more disastrous than she could have ever anticipated. 

And just as quickly as she was smiling, Solana is frowning.

Jey.

Thoughts of her husband's cousin, once like a brother—to the both of them—now a stranger. And with him, Jimmy as well. 

Naomi.

Afia is many things, perceptive being one of her many strengths. She turns away from the sink, drying her hands with the towel, already knowing where Solana's headspace has drifted off to. “You haven’t spoken to her yet either, have you?”

A simple, heavy answer. 

“No.”

Not from intentional avoidance. At least, that’s certainly not Solana’s intent. 

With them only being a week and two days into the new year, she's just been occupied with so many other things. She and Roman discussing wants for the new house, her long distance mentorship with Aurora and relationship with Paloma, designing and readying the nursery in their current home until the new house is ready, planning for their second wedding next month, and just preparing for parenthood altogether. 

Not to mention there’s still so much to unpack and process from the Coup.

Some of which Solana has gotten Roman to discuss with her. Most of which, he has not, which she works hard to respect while also acknowledging it has to be fully unpacked at one point or another. 

Not even including her own thoughts and feelings regarding all that, but the difference between herself and her husband is that Solana has talked about it. With Gail. With Trish. Afia. Bayley. Even him. Her entire support system that she’s leaned on greatly since…that.

She wishes she could say the same for her husband.

A gentle hand on her shoulder pulls Solana from potential overthinking. Afia’s grin comforting. “Give him time.”

Solana sighs. 

If only that was easier said than done.

“In the meantime, help me with the food and drinks, yes?”

An agreeable nod. “Of course.” After gathering her share of the trays of food and snacks, Solana looks over at Dulce who sits in her bed kept in the kitchen. “Come on, baby. Let’s go see daddy.” 

Solana’s sweet puppy doesn’t need to be told twice, hopping out of her bed, fluffy body swaying as she prances towards the steps, leading the way. 

Afia chuckles, commenting, “let no one say she’s not smart.”

Solana smiles, carefully balancing the tray of food. “Sometimes I think she’s smarter than me.”

“You? No. The average man? Probably.”

Shared laughter as the women make their way up the steps, Solana noticing the way Afia keeps darting her eyes over, as if watching and making sure she’s okay. It makes her smile but also evokes a teasing comment. 

“And here I thought Roman was the only overprotective one.”

Afia rolls her eyes, denying nothing. “Can’t help it.” She skillfully manages holding the tray of drinks with one hand, the other reaching over to feel Solana’s growing baby bump as they reach the top of the steps. “Many are waiting to meet these little ones.”

Solana doesn’t say anything, but truer words have never been spoken. 

Herself and Roman at the front of the line. 

And speaking of, it’s heard before seen. Obvious grumbling, arguing, and disagreement.

“Just hang up the damn phone. It’s been 45 minutes.”

“If I was gonna hang up, I would have done so about 30 fucking minutes ago.”

“He’s right, Roman. Doesn’t make sense—”

“What doesn’t make sense is—”

Afia and Solana arriving and standing in the doorway is all that’s needed to stop each man, mid conversation, three sets of eyes turning onto them and then Dulce who walks over to the big box that remains leaning against the wall, in the same spot Solana saw it in the last time she and Afia checked on the men.

Almost two hours ago.

Regardless, it’s a stark contrast to the other box that looks like it was practically shredded open, the contents of which are spread across the room. 

Again, very similair to how she left them.

“We umm—,” she starts, ignoring the mess, walking over to Roman who, even without saying anything, or him even needing to express as such, Solana can see is visibly and clearly annoyed. “We brought snacks.”

She can tell he’s about to protest, hence why she uses the still unopened box as a makeshift desk, laying down the tray and taking a plate. “Ro, you need to eat something.”

He manages to fit in that protest, scowling, “baby, I can eat when we’re done.”

“And just when is that going to be?”

Matteo, mouth full of food, mumbles something indecipherable at his wife’s question.

“We’re almost done,” Dwayne is the only one to offer an answer, Akara in one hand, homemade lemonade in the other. 

Solana looks around at the scattered pieces. 

“Are—are you sure?”

It’s only then that she becomes aware of what she’s sure Afia already noticed the second—if not before—they entered the room. The cell phone that lays on the window mantle, screen up and lit, revealing a duration of 47 minutes. 

And counting.

It makes her frown as she reaches for one of the Akara’s, leaning up on her heel to force feed her stubborn husband, if that’s what it takes. 

That's exactly what it takes. Solana with a small, pleased grin at the sight of him chewing while scowling at the same time.

Typical Roman.

“Who are you on hold wi—” Afia’s question is cut off by her question being answered. Just not by anyone physically in the room. 

“Hello, thank you for calling—” The poor soul on the other end of the phone, voice light, warmhearted, but deeply accented, has no idea what she—most likely—is set to experience.

Because Dwayne is quick to close the distance, snatching the phone and barking into it like a man on the brink of a crashout. “Yeah, listen here, we’ve been on hold for goddamn a whole ass hour when all we fucking need is you to email over a copy of directions for one of your products in Engl—”

Beep.

Solana’s jaw drops at the same time Afia covers her mouth and turns her head, that small smirk of amusement sneaking through her partially spread fingers.

“Son of a bitch!”

“Did she hang up?”

“No, the phone just randomly fucking beeped.”

Roman’s smart ass comment is silenced by Matteo running his hand over his face, muttering, “and this is why I said I should handle the call.”

Dwayne, however, couldn’t disagree more. “No one has the fucking time for you to pull that suave Casanova shit, Fabio.”

Matteo remains unbothered—as always—calmly countering. “Tell me then, how was your approach any better?”

“It was a waste of fucking time from the beginning,” Roman growls, Solana stepping closer, placing a calming hand on his chest. “We don’t need them anyway.” 

“I’ll just finish translating.”

“Because that was working so well before.”

Matteo’s second smart comment that earns a snort from Afia makes Dwayne stand ten toes down. He gestures to the half-brothers. “Well, I speak better French than you two fuckers.”

At that, Solana finally speaks up, looking between the men. “French?”

Roman answers, angrily gesturing to the ground where a booklet, edges torn and pages worn, stares back at her. “The fucking directions they included are in French.”

Solana makes a face, starting to say something in response. Only to stop herself. To keep it as a thought.

If you would have just let us get the cribs I saw at Target, maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation.

It feels a bit mean and too “I told you so” for her liking, hence Solana offering what she hopes is a helpful suggestion.

“Maybe you all should take a break. You’ve been at it for a while now.”

What she wants to say or even ask is for Roman especially to take a break. He still hasn't fully healed from his injuries sustained from the coup, partially due to the severity but mostly because while he's close to the end of his rehab, the taking it easy part of his treatment plan is just something he's clearly chosen to ignore.

Typical Roman.

But, what Solana intends to be hopeful and encouraging appears to come across as some sort of challenge what with her receiving various forms of disagreement.

“We got this.”

“They should be built in no time.”

“I’m not taking a break. We’re gonna get this shit built, and we’re gonna get it built today.”

Solana sighs. 

Though she’s had very little experience with the opposite sex, well, more negative experiences than anything, one thing seems to remain the same, regardless of individualistic differences. They’re all stubborn.

And her husband, his brother, and his cousin seem no different, if not the prime examples of this stubbornness.

And pride.

She readies to try another approach, seeing the stress building and settling on her husband’s handsome face. The way he stands, hands on his hips, mouth set into one of his infamous scowls. It’s a position, mimicked by the other two men, sans Dwayne who has the foreign directions in one hand and a cup of lemonade in the other.

Buy, it’s in looking in that direction that she spots something. Among the discarded, non-assembled pieces, a card, glossed with something so evident and obvious staring back at her.

Of course.

“Umm, Roman—”

But, it’s too late. He’s already talking amongst the men, the three having gathered once more in a sort of huddle. He waves his arm dismissively, too focused on the conversation at hand to even look in her direction. “Not right now, Sol.” 

She frowns. “Bu—”

“Solana and I are going for a walk,” Afia cuts in, her tone all the proof that it was an intentional interruption. That only makes Solana's frown deepen, the confusion multiplying when Afia sneaks a wink before clearing her throat. “The kids are all down for naps, so they should be good until we get back. Same for Dulce.”

Dulce, who has made a bed for herself out of the stretch film. Solana would go and grab one of her beds if not for her puppy already being fast asleep. 

“Sounds good,” Matteo responds, also deeply focused on the conversation versus what was said by his wife. He instead looks over at Roman, asking something in Italian.

Solana watches her husband roll his eyes, responding tersely in the same tongue. 

Dwayne then cuts in, English being his language, “that’s what the directions say, so it’s gotta be true!”

Solana sighs once more. 

Something tells her that the projected “no time” will end up being a long time.

“We won’t be too long,” she offers, realizing there is no use in trying to get through to them. To any of them. 

No reply.

She and Afia meet in the doorway, leaving behind the food and drinks they carried.

“Take security with you,” Roman calls out, his eyes finally meeting his wife's just long enough for him to issue his order.

Afia smirks from where she stands beside her. “She’s with me.” Solana looks over at the other woman. “She doesn’t need it.”

Solana doesn’t doubt that one bit. However, she also knows her husband. 

They can take a guard or two with them.

It’s not until they’re both out of the room and heading towards the staircase that Solana stops her sister-in-law to ask, “why didn’t you let me tell them about the QR code?”

The same QR code Solana is almost certain that none of the men realize most likely will bring them to the website with the manuals and other useful information.

In English.

Afia giggles, the sound soft and melodic, such a stark contrast to the vicious killer that rests deep within, always ready, willing, and waiting to be called to action when the occasion arises. “And take away the satisfaction of seeing such grown, powerful, and seemingly intelligent men struggle?” She shakes her head. “No. There’s no fun in that.” 

There’s something about her response that makes Solana smile, lightly chiding, “that’s so mean.”

“You call it mean. I call it entertainment.” Once again, Solana uses the bannister to descend down the steps, Afia keeping a watchful glance in her direction. “We were definitely right about one thing.” Solana stops to look at her. “Our husbands certainly have more in common than they probably realizes.”

Solana chuckles.

That, they do.

They most certainly do.

—————

Solana knows it’s a bad idea, or perhaps it’s less she knows it’s a bad idea, and more she suspects the fact that she’s doing so without telling Roman is what makes it a bad idea. She will. There’s no way she’ll keep something like this from him. Time and hard lessons have taught her that few good things sprout from her keeping secrets from her husband. And, vice versa.

However, she would prefer to have more to tell him than just his mother was reaching out to speak with her. Requesting an audience with her. Solana would like to be able to tell him what said audience was about, hence why she opted to skip informing him until after the meeting.

She can only pray it’s the right choice.

Solana walks into the rented out restaurant with her chin held high, flanked by personal security detail, Bloodline and Cartel included. Stephanie remains close beside her, eyes surveying and watchful. Always waiting and ready.

For anything.

Smoothing her hand over her dress, for a second, Solana wonders if should have worn something else. Perhaps something more modest, that doesn’t show as much of her ample cleavage, something that feels a bit more appropriate. However, just as quickly as that concern appears, it deflates almost instantly with the reminder that Solana doesn’t care about this woman. 

Doesn’t care what she thinks about her. Not even a little. A strange sentiment considering who she is, but ironically, it’s because of who she is that Solana doesn’t care. She’s heard not one good or nice thing about this woman in the few instances that her husband has spoken about her. But, truth be told, what he didn’t say spoke more than his words ever could. Solana could see the pain and distress simmering, buried deep within him, the hurt this woman caused him. Her own son. 

It’s a type of pain Solana knows all too well. The hurt and pain that comes from knowing a parent doesn’t want you. 

Doesn’t love you.

At the time, she tried to comfort him. Empty words holding little weight but what felt right to say at the time, because no one wants to believe that their parent cares little to nothing for them. However, deep down, Solana knew. She knew that Roman’s mother was just like Xavier. Incapable of loving or wanting a child they never asked for in the first place. 

Once painful, it stirs up more anger than anything. Anger that stems from not understanding how people can be so cruel. Anger that stems from carrying two children that she hasn’t even met yet but would do anything for. 

She just doesn’t understand.

So, a small part of her wonders, maybe more so hopes, that this meeting could give her some sort of clarification. A why. Something she knows Roman doesn’t give two shits about at this point in his life, and rightfully so, but something she’d like to know regardless. 

For her own sake.

Viviana Reigns is a woman whose presence is felt long before it’s seen firsthand. Solana recognizes this the minute the woman walks into the restaurant, surrounded by guards who wear the Cosa Nostra insignia. Solana stands from the table, looking her over. This woman. A ghost, but also not. Because seldom has Solana heard of ghosts donning designer suits that have clearly been tailored to fit and mold to every one of her soft curves. Viviana is neither tall nor short, some perfect space in the middle. Her figure slim and lithe, somewhat similair to her features. Features that, right off the bat, Solana can see Roman in. Can see the resemblance between her husband and his mother.

His mother. 

Viviana’s thin lips, bathed in rich red lipstick lift into a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “Solana.” Her voice is light, deeply accented. Regal. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

If only Solana felt the same. 

“Mrs. Reigns….”

Viviana waves a hand in her direction, Solana catching a glimpse of the wrinkled, partially disfigured skin. Burn scars.

Similair to the ones cloaked beneath Roman’s tattoos. 

“Please. Call me Viviana.”

A small part of Solana doesn’t want to, for reasons unknown, but it’s not a hill she will die on. 

Not with so many other options for hills.

“Okay.” Nothing more. Solana taking her seat as Viviana waits for one of guards to pull out her own. 

And then, she smiles, leaning back in her seat. She says something. Not in English. Most likely Italian.

Solana frowns. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh nothing.” She shakes her head, Solana briefly focused on the motion of her chestnut brown hair that brushes past her shoulders. Viviana shuffles with the tea cup and plate on the table in front of her, setting both to the side. “You’re just…not what I expected my son to go for.”

Solana’s frown only deepens.

What’s that supposed to mean?

“How far along are you?” 

Solana can’t tell if it’s an intentional change of topic, albeit somewhat strange considering they’re only having met minutes prior, but on some level, it’s appreciated.

“Ummm…” She pushes some of her hair back behind her ear, one hand naturally going to her bump. “5 months.”

Viviana doesn’t attempt to hide her surprise. “That’s it? I would have thought you were further.”

Sting.

“I’m having twins.”

There’s a spark in the older woman’s eyes, as she asks, almost excitedly. “Boys?”

“Girls.”

A small part of Solana wonders if she should be sharing as much. So much, in some ways.

Too much.

But, there’s a larger part of her that also feels like the sharing, at all, is about to come to an end real fast. Especially with the obvious disappointment on Viviana’s face.

“Both are girls?” She shakes her head, eyes dipping to the table, murmuring something in Italian before offering a faux smile. “Well, I suppose you can always try again. But, not too late. After all, Roman will be turning—”

“You’re confused.”

She pauses. “Excuse me?”

“I said you’re confused.” Solana doesn’t stammer nor stutter not once. “Clearly confused, because in no world, especially this world, my world, do you get to walk in here and speak to me like this. Disrespect me the way you have in the little time I’ve known you.” Time Solana has not appreciated nor enjoyed not one bit. 

“I—”

“Will remember who you sit in front of?” Solana readily and happily answers for her. “Yes....yes, you will.”

It’s a surprisingly easily role and space to slide into. Once upon a time, Solana would have sat there silently and quietly. Would have allowed this woman to say whatever she wanted, only having a bit of a response later that day. Only feeling her feelings about it after the fact.

No more.

No more will Solana allow anyone to disrespect her. 

Her new motto has become that if she wouldn’t want her girls receiving or putting up with it, then neither will she. 

No matter who it is.

“I see.” Nothing else is said, the older woman's nude nails tapping against the table. She clears her throat, moving around in her seat once more. “Well, I suppose we should get right to it, then, shall we?”

Absolutely. “Yes.”

Viviana’s smile remains. Nothing has ever felt or looked so cold. 

“Obviously, you, like my son, are aware of my….reappearance.” Solana offers nothing in response. The time and opportunity for sharing with her is well past gone. “As I’m also sure, he’s most likely expressed to you his….disinterest in speaking with me or even learning why I decided to make my still being alive known.”

Again, nothing.

Viviana sighs, clearly irritated with the lack of engagement. She starts shuffling with the folded napkins on the table that also now have the pleasure of her eye contact. “Well, I need you to speak with him, as he’s not returning any of my—” 

“No.”

Icy eyes dart up with inhuman speed. Viviana’s expression shifts so subtly that it’s almost unnoticeable. Almost. “No?”

Solana, however, remains undeterred. It was obvious Viviana wanted a response. Well, she’s got one now. “Yes. No.”

Silence. The woman sits across from her, gaze still unmoved, the tight smile on her face widening just enough, small age lines in the corner of her mouth pronounced. “I don’t think you understand—”

“I understand just fine.” An interruption conjoined with the shift of Solana’s body as she sits up in her seat, completely uninterested in the cup of tea that’s now gone lukewarm, a stark contrast to the conversation at hand that burns with flames lapping and rising on both sides. “You are the one who doesn’t understand.”

Viviana's calm facade drops. “Listen—”

“You are not the Faletua anymore.” A cold, necessary reminder, as Solana points to herself. “I am.” Her eyes travel to the team of security sat quietly but observantly behind the older women. Their movement subtle but noticeable, a shift forward just as Solana sat up, matched by her own set of security. Especially Stephanie. “And the wife of the Capo, which means they answer to me.” And without a second of hesitation, a simple, one word command. “Leave.”

Viviana stares and scoffs. Her expression shifts from enraged, to haughty, to enraged all over again as “her” security team stands and exits out without a single word of protest. She turns around in her chair, scoffing with disbelief, growing irritation evident in the way she narrows her eyes. “You—”

“You didn’t protect him.” A harsh but truthful statement. The underlying emotion that drives Solana’s determination—and anger—overtly present in this conversation. Viviana's lack, a catastrophic failure that resulted in so much pain and heartache for the man she loves. It deepens her resolve. “But, I will.”

Viviana’s gaze remains heated, boiling, rage simmering. “You think being married to my son for not even a year makes you better than me? His mother? That carrying his children means something?” She laughs, voice emotionless like the look in her empty blue eyes. “You’re a pretty girl but clearly naive as to how all this works.”

“It works the way I say it works.” Solana’s fist forms on the table, the other placed protectively over her baby bump, one of her daughter’s kicking. Sharp. As if also angered by the conversation transpiring. Lina. “Roman may be the one who sits at the Head of the Table, but make no mistake Viviana, I sit right there next to him.” Head tilted ever so slightly, the calmest, coldest question. “Where exactly is your seat again?”

Checkmate.

Viviana’s defeated expression says just as much, but so does her frustration. It’s palpable. The anger. 

Solana never flinches. 

“I’m not sure what you expected of this meeting, but if there’s anything you should leave today with knowing, it’s that no matter what, I’m on my husband’s side.” Then. Now. Always. “Whatever he wants or decides to do, I support, and nothing you say will change that.”

Ever. 

Viviana’s eyes remained narrowed, her upper lip crinkled, her mouth set in a way that indicates nothing nice is set to follow. 

Solana is ready for it. 

For her. 

Expect, that never comes. She’s instead met with a quiet chuckle. “Perhaps I underestimated you, child.”

“Your mistake.” Solana doesn’t miss a beat. “I wouldn’t advise you to do it again.”

Because if there’s anything Solana has learned over the past year, has become committed and determined to, a religion of sorts, it’s the refusal to allow anyone to mistreat or speak to her in a way she doesn’t deserve.

She’s spent the better half of her years being the mental, emotional, and physical punching bag of almost everyone in her life.

And, she’ll be damned if she lets that continue any longer.

Not after all the hard work she's put in.

But, even more. She has to lead by example. She wants her daughters to know their mother as an assertive and strong woman. Not the weak, timid, and traumatized girl Roman married. That girl is gone.

Forever.

Viviana’s smile remains tight. “Noted.” 

At that, Solana doesn’t wait for another response. She just moves to stand up, using the table to brace her. “I believe this meeting is over.” 

Whether she wants it to be or not. Solana is walking past her when Viviana’s hand shoots out, grabbing Solana’s wrist. Naturally, Stephanie and the rest of security jump, ready to intercede, only for Solana to lift her other hand, halting them.

Blue locks onto brown.

Reigns vs Reigns.

The calmest, yet eeriest of tones. “You should know, Solana, I’m a determined woman.” Her eyes flash with something, her smile faltering just so slightly. “I haven’t survived everything I have by sitting idly on my ass. If I want something….I get it. Always.”

Threatening. A part of Solana perceives the words, a supposed general statement, as threatening. Another part sees it as a challenge.

A challenge she’s ready and willing to take on. 

Roman has enough he’s dealing with right now. He doesn’t need anything else added to that plate.

She can take care of this. 

Gladly.

Solana jerks her wrist from Viviana’s hold, leaning over as much as her bump will allow, words simple but matching exactly the tone used.

“Then that makes two of us.” 

—————

Solana debates it. 

She debates telling him. She knows she needs to, but she also doesn’t want to.

Roman is already handling so much as it is. Continuing to monitor the Bloodline. Working closely with his representatives out in Italy for the Cosa Nostra. Handling negotiations with Domingo for the Cartel alliance.

Preparing for fatherhood.

She would like nothing more than to remove from his plate. Not add to it.

But, she also knows secrets in their marriage have never done either of them any good.

It’s only made things worse.

Thus, she knows what she needs to do. 

Later that evening, well after she’s prepared and they’ve shared dinner together, she finds him in the space both have occupied more than not over the past week, almost two weeks.

There’s minimal decorations up, as they’ve yet to pick up the major things like decor. It was just the cribs—both assembled, sitting on either side of the spacious room, that they saw online, and Roman really liked. Solana liked them, too. She just found the price a bit too exorbitant; however, Roman’s look of disgust when she showed him more affordable options on the Target website was all she needed to see to know he would accept no such thing.

Only the best.

The warmest smile on her face as she leans against the doorway, hand on her belly. He sits on the floor, shirtless, nothing but dark joggers on. Hair pulled up into a messy, lazy bun. Phillips screwdriver in hand as he tightens a screw in the rocking chair that he has on its side. It’s the same white wood as the cribs with pink outlines. From the same collection, but something he only needed to see Solana’s eyes light up at to know he had to get it for her.

“I take it that one was a bit easier to put together.”

He chuckles, not looking at her but also offering no visible sign of surprise at her presence. Expected. Roman’s attention to detail and his surroundings is unmatched.

“Having the directions in English tends to make assembly a little fucking easier.” Her smile wides as he looks up at her, tossing the screw driver in the bag. “I still can’t believe you saw that box shit and didn’t say anything.”

She giggles. “It’s a QR code, baby.”

“Yeah, well, whatever it is, it would have helped to have it three hours fucking earlier.”

She shakes her head. “I tried to tell you.”

“You could have text me.”

“True.” She’ll give him that. Solana plays with the material of her gown, sharing with a teasing smile. “But, Afia was right.”

His brow lifts. “About?”

She smiles. “It was kind of funny seeing the three of you react like that.”

He looks away, cutting his eyes, muttering, “I knew she was a bad influence on you.” Solana laughs, shaking her head as Roman moves to his feet, turning the chair right side up. His gaze falls over to her. “Try it?”

Solana doesn’t need to be asked twice. Pushing off the wall, she walks over to the rocking chair, one hand on her belly, the other accepting Roman’s as he helps her ease down into it. Instantly, the pink padding on the back and seat soothing her in the best of ways.

She releases a content sigh, as Roman moves to one knee, his watchful gaze staying on her. “Is it alright?”

The easiest answer as she brings his hand to her belly. “It’s perfect.”

The relief that flashes in his brown eyes makes her smile deepen. Solana reaches to cup his face, her smile faltering. “I need to talk with you about something.”

She hates the way his face drops, like he’s bracing for the worst. “Everything alright?” Naturally, he looks down at her stomach. “Are they—”

“They’re fine.” She assures, thumb brushing against his salt and pepper beard. “I promise.” They just had another follow up appointment that confirmed as such, but Solana also knows with everything that happened, he’s been a little more on edge regarding her pregnancy. 

Understandably so. 

“It’s—I—” She takes a deep breath, forcing herself to spit it out. “I met with your mom today, Roman.”

She didn’t expect the warmest reaction, but Solana can’t deny there’s a bit of sadness that imbues within her as his hand drops from her stomach. “What?”

Solana swallows. “She—she asked to meet with me.”

He stands up, Solana grateful he still offers his hand, helping her to her feet. 

“And you went?”

She won’t lie to him. 

“Yes.”

Roman looks away, but she doesn’t. She studies every movement. The subtle clench of his jaw, the way his eyes shut and open as he clearly works to gather himself. She sees it all. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t want me to go—”

“You were right—”

She sighs. “But, I also….I just wanted to know what she had to say. Where her mind is, Roman.”

“I don’t give a fuck about where her mind is, Solana.” She winces at the drastic shift in his tone. So harsh. “I don’t give a fuck about her.”

“I know you don’t, and I respect that. I do, but I—I wanted to know and hear for myself, because if she’s up to anything, I want to know. I want to know, so I can take care of it.”

He sighs, eyes shutting, voice softening. “Sol…”

“She’s done so much harm already, Roman….” Solana moves over to him, hands on his chest, grateful when he looks down at her. “I won’t let her hurt you.”

Not anymore.

Not ever again. 

He continues to calm down, hands moving to her hips, holding her against him. “I don’t want you worrying about me, Solana. I can handle this—”

“Yeah? Well, so can I, and I will. I did.” He eyes her, clearly curious and wanting to know what she means by that, hence her elaboration. “She….she wasn’t the nicest to me.”

His eyes darken. “Of course, she wasn’t. She’s a fucking heartless bitch.”

“But, I—I set her straight.” And did. “I made it clear who I am. My position. Along with the fact that whatever you decide to do about and regarding her, I support. My loyalty is with you.”

As it always will be. 

Her reassurance seems to chip away at his iciness. “What did she want?”

Solana presses her lips together before answering truthfully. “We didn’t get to the specifics, but I think she thought I could talk to you for her….convince you to talk to her.”

His entire body stills, his voice calm but even. “Solana, you know I love you more than anything in this fucking world, but not even you could convince me to do that.”

The most unsurprising thing ever. 

She presses a kiss to his clothed chest, offering additional reassurance. “I know, and that’s why I’m not trying.” Nor would she try to undermine his boundaries like that. Not when he’s a major reason she even has any and knows how to set them for herself these days.

It would be such a slap in the face.

Her fingers move gently against the cotton of his shirt. “You know….if there’s anyone else other than Matteo who knows how or even a fraction of how you feel….it’s me.”

He doesn’t say anything, but she knows he understands where she’s coming from. What she’s referring to.

That part of her life that she also has to figure out. That, currently, non-existent relationship. 

And if she wants it to stay that way. 

But, one thing at a time. 

Solana presses her body against and into him, as much as her bump allows, cheek mushed into his shirt, voice soft but audible. “I’m sorry.”

Not for the meeting. 

For all of it that led to the meeting. All of the unhealed hurt and trauma this woman, the same woman who should have showered him with love and affection, has caused. Then. Now. Perhaps, always, to some extent. 

Again, Solana understands the impact of parental trauma more than anyone. As hard as she’s worked and as much progress as she’s made, some scars are too deep to be fully healed. 

Too painful.

Too permanent.

And, she knows her husband, sadly, has more than a couple of those scars.

Especially…especially after the coup. 

“Hey.” She looks up, offering a small smile. “Let’s go baby shopping this Friday.” 

That brief spark of something more hopeful, less heavy makes her chest flutter. “Yeah?”

She nods, pressing another kiss to his chest, “maybe just clothes and stuff. We can take a break from the furniture, since, you know, that was….a little stressful for you.”

“Solana.”

————

A few hours later finds the husband and wife in their bedroom, their puppy lounging in her bed, playing with one of her fifty million toys that Roman loves to complain about, despite him having purchased half said toys. 

Not that he’d ever own up to that. 

Never.

In comfortable silence that’s eventually interrupted by that. 

It’s the smallest thing, a simple sound, an indication of something that could very well be nothing, but Solana knows her husband well enough to know he’s too perceptive for that. It’s why he immediately halts his movements, hands still on the sole of her feet as he works to ease some of the discomfort that stems from the swollenness.

His eyes quickly scan over her, searching for the source of the sound. The cause. And then, “what’s wrong?”

It’s impossible to not smile. Small but warm. Moving. “Nothing, mi amor.”

A bit of a silly answer considering who she’s speaking to. “Solana….”

The sigh that tumbles out is accompanied by her reaching for him. “Come here.” A directive that doesn’t need to be repeated. Roman is soon causing the bed to creak under the weight of him joining her, beside her, Solana allowing him to reposition her body so she’s leaning at an angle into his chest. Hand on top of his, she guides it along her stomach before finding placement. “Right….there.” Solana chuckles, looking up to see that same almost transfixed expression she witnessed the first time she let him feel the girls moving around. “They’re active today…”

Roman moves his hand around her belly, Solana allowing hers to remain atop, traveling with him. “Does…does it hurt?”

“Not really,” she answers. Uncomfortable at some points, especially when Lina is kicking, but the blessing that is knowing her girls continue to grow big and strong inside of her is more than enough to outweigh any sort of discomfort. “Now keep talking.” Solana shifts her body once more, reclining further into his chest, eyes closing.

Even without her vision, she can feel his confused gaze on her. “Why?”

Another simple answer. Solana opens her eyes long enough to reach her hand to cup his bearded cheek, offering yet another simple explanation but one that tugs at the heartstrings of both, even if he doesn’t outwardly admit it.

“They’re most active when they hear daddy’s voice.”

And, she’s right. Roman’s eyes flash with something akin to appreciation, but because she knows her husband, she sees it. Feels it even. In the way that he drops his gaze, pulling away and repositioning himself to continue her massage. 

Solana sighs, deciding to share something she’s been sitting on for the past few days. 

Something she feels ready to share.

That she needs to. 

“Can you do me a favor?”

His answer is immediate. “Anything.”

She smiles. “Give me your phone.”

Roman doesn’t hesitate, pulling it out of his back pocket and handing it to her. Solana’s heart fills with warmth seeing his Lock Screen photo. So similair to her own. From their New Years Eve party. Her on his lap, arms around his neck, hugging him, face buried into his neck, his hand splayed protectively across her baby bump. 

That warmth multiples when she realizes just how similar it is to one of her older Lock Screen photos. From her birthday trip last year.

She sighs.

Every year with him just gets better and better. 

Solana unlocks the phone and navigates to Apple Music. She’d give anything for him to use Spotify, her preferred music app, but her stubborn, old fashioned husband rants about it being “too fucking complicated” and preferring the ease/simplicity of the phone’s native music app. 

Regardless, it’s hardly a hill to die on. Plus, it serves the purpose. Especially for the task at hand. 

Pulling up the song and saving it to his library, she hands him back the phone, explaining, “I just want you to listen to that.” 

Roman accepts the phone, looking at the screen, seeing said song, and then back at her. “Okay, and?”

She shakes her head. “And keep listening to it until you get it.” 

Naturally, he frowns, his confusion understandable but also something that makes her smile a little. “Get what?”

Solana takes his free hand, lifting it to her mouth, pressing a gentle kiss. 

“You’ll know...” 

—————

The past few weeks have proven to be some of the most challenging of Roman’s life. The closest to death that he’s ever come to, the closest to the end of it all, that almost had him by the collar. 

But, even with all that, all the deception, the lies, the death, none of it could have prepared him for this.

For standing besides Matteo, standing besides his brother, in front of the one person he would have bet his life on never seeing again.

At least, not on this side of life.

For a second, a brief second, he considers it. Considers if in the blink of an eye, he went from among the living to among the dead. If a bomb was somehow planted in his office, detonating and killing all of them.

Because death, in his mind, has always been the only way he would ever see her again.

See his mother.

She steps closer, gaze falling between the two of them. A part of Roman wants to back away, run away even. Just get the hell away from her. Out of there. His office suddenly becoming so much more claustrophobic than he remembers. 

She doesn’t stop until she’s in arms distance, her smile small and almost….emotional. 

That’s the thing that sways him, just slightly, from his state of shock.

His mother was—is—a lot of things, but emotional would never be one of them.

“Look at you two,” she breathes, taking yet another step closer. Roman closes his eyes. “My sons. My handsome, strong—”

There’s something about her words, laced with honey that doesn’t saturate, doesn’t penetrate him in any sort of way, along with her taking his hand in hers. Holding it. Thumb moving over his rough knuckles that does it. That breaks him from that trance of sorts. Snaps him back to reality. 

Roman jerks his hand back, aware of the way that Matteo looks at him, expression still filled with shock. The way he keeps his hand entertained with hers.

Viviana’s look of surprise at the action is contrasted with something else, something heavy, something almost…hurt.

She looks hurt.

If only he gave a flying fuck.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” It’s what he asks, but it’s not what he wants to ask. No, what he really wants to know is how and why the fuck she’s still alive. 

A lot of Roman’s memories around that time are blurry and unclear, but he’ll never forget the hours he spent at the cemetery the day of the funerals. Multiple. The funerals of his entire family. He’ll never forget the tears he shed, the last time, in years, that he truly allowed himself to feel. The way he sat in front of his mother’s coffin and murmured a quiet apology. 

How he apologized to all of them. 

For not saving them. 

For not saving her. 

For—

“I—I know this must be confusing for you—”

“Confusing?” Matteo is the one to speak, an undertone of anger in his deep, accented voice. “We’ve thought you dead all these years.”

She presses her lips together. “I know.”

“You know?” Roman’s voice is mocking and cruel, and he doesn’t give two shits. Because as shocked as he was before, he’s none of that, maybe some, but mostly just anger.

He’s pissed. 

“What the fuck do you mean, you know?”

“Careful the tone you take with your mother, boy.”

At that, both Matteo and Roman snap and turn to the other part that had completely lost in the midst of the believed dead returning to the land of the living. 

But, before Roman can address the man who is his grandfather in blood only, Matteo is two steps ahead. “There are no boys present in this room, but there will be a dead body if you don’t remember who the fuck you speak to.”

Roman’s gaze briefly flits to his brother, at the simmering rage underneath each word. Something deep. Something personal. Roman recognizes his own….complicated feelings towards that side of his family, but the level of aggression and rage in Matteo’s threat makes him wonder just what that relationship looks like for him. 

It’s something to explore. For sure.

“Please.” Viviana’s pleading tone drags their gazes back to her. “This is a lot. I recognize that—”

“You survived.” Roman has never been one for fluff. To beat around the bush. Moving past the haze of it all, it’s easy to come to that simple conclusion. Especially with her standing before them.

She swallows. “I did.”

How? He hasn’t the slightest clue. She didn’t come out unscathed. The burn scars—similar to his own—all the proof. But, right now, he can’t say he very much cares about that. All he can focus on is the fact that, regardless of how it occurred, she survived. 

She survived that night he believed he lost everything. 

She lived. 

And has been living all this time, only to now come out of the shadows. 

And, he doesn’t hesitate to express as such.

Especially when he starts to put more pieces together, factoring in what was said before he even saw her. 

“Given all that’s happened the past few weeks, we realized it was time—”

“You’ve been alive all this time and only decided to make your being alive known because you found out we weren’t dead, after all?” 

Even if she wanted to deny it, she couldn’t. Roman is too smart for that, but beyond that, he’s perceptive as hell. He absolutely catches the moment her eyes flash with something loud and clear. 

Guilt.

“It’s not that—”

“Go to hell.”

A simple, blunt, telling response and cut-off to whatever she was going to say. He doesn’t care. About her. About any of it. 

“Roman…” Matteo’s voice beside him doesn’t register. Not really. Especially not as Roman makes his way past her, jerking his arm away as she attempts to reach for him. To call for him. 

“My son—”

It’s that word, that fucking triggering ass word that makes him turn on his heel. He lifts his hand, index finger pointed, jaw flexing, the difficulty in controlling his emotions in this very second one of the hardest things he’s ever experienced.

God, he’d give anything to have Solana with him right now. 

Anything at all.

“I’m not your son.” He’s uncaring of any sort of reaction, she, they, any of them have. He doesn’t fucking care. At all. “And, I never was.” 

Solana shifting in Roman’s arms is the perfect distraction and route for escape from a memory he’d tried hard over the past few weeks to scrub from his mind. And, in a lot of ways, he had. Or, he thought he had.

But, Solana dropping that on him earlier, that she’d met her, revealed that for all his valiant efforts, he’d failed miserably. 

He looks down at her, soothed by the peaceful expression on her face as she sleeps, hand on his chest, her bump pressed against his side. Even the sound of Dulce’s light snores as she slumbers away in her bed on the side of their bed. 

It’s all comforting in a way he needs.

Roman meant what he said when he told Matteo, Dwayne, and even Solana, that he wants nothing to do with her.

Nothing at all.

She never added anything to his life when she was alive the first time around, and he has zero interest in seeing if that will change on this second go-round. 

And perhaps, it’s less she never added anything, and more she only added negative. Was only a detriment to him. A poison. 

A trigger.

And judging by his reaction since her reappearance, that hasn’t changed. Even after all these fucking years, almost forty fucking years-old, and that bitch still has some level of impact on him. 

He hates it. 

Fucking hates it.

But, what he hates more is the fact that she’s trying to loop Solana into whatever the fuck she wants. 

He’s not upset with Solana for going. A little upset at her about not telling him about it beforehand, but he also understands why she didn’t. She was absolutely right when she said he wouldn’t have let her go. 

He works hard to not restrict her of anything, to allot her as much autonomy as possible. But, the exceptions have always been safety, and that woman, for him, falls under the umbrella of safety concerns. 

Roman barely knew her then, and he definitely doesn’t know her now. Nor does he want to. 

But, considering she’s still in town, something tells him she has no plans on leaving anytime soon. That’s fine. If it comes to it, he’ll make sure that she stays gone. In the meantime, however, he has to set some ground rules. 

Boundaries, as Lita calls them.

Because going behind his back to speak to his wife, to try to manipulate Solana into talking him into speaking with her is one thing. Disrespecting his wife is something entirely different.

He’s killed for less.

And while Roman believes Solana when she said she set her straight—she’s come so far with that, with being assertive—he’ll be damned if anyone disrespects his wife, and he doesn’t put them in their fucking place. 

Or six feet under.

The latter is usually preferred but not exactly an option in this case. 

Not that it would make a difference anyway. 

Not even death wanted to deal with that bitch. 

So, Roman will suck up his pride and allow himself to be around her, in her suffocating presence long enough to make sure that she knows that was her one and only pass. Same for fucking Alicia, who she apparently left the message with. The message that she wanted to speak to Solana, said message that his secretary then passed onto Solana.

Regardless, while Roman will set Alicia’s ass straight too, it’s her that he needs to make clear on one thing and one thing only.

Stay the fuck away from his wife. Even more than that. 

His hand moves down their connected bodies, resting on Solana’s stomach. 

She needs to stay away from his family, and ensure to enforce that message, loud, clear, and unmistakable. He thought he had before, but clearly he hadn’t. 

No worries.

He’ll make sure of it this time around. 

—————

Months.

It’s been months since Solana was in this house. A place that holds the best and worst of memories. A combination of both. Which outweighs the other? She’s not entirely certain.

She’s not sure she’ll ever know for sure, truly.

“Leave us,” she directs the security, unsurprised to see them cast a questioning glance to Roman who promptly puts them in their palace.

“When she says to do something, you do that shit.” A set of downward, almost embarrassed countenances. “Leave.”

This time, there is no delay. One by one, they depart until it’s only herself and her husband. There’s a quiet that settles over them as she takes a look around the place she once called and considered home.

It’s never felt so untrue.

“Solana…” 

Roman’s voice registers but not enough to draw her attention. No, her focus is drawn on studying and observing all the details. The expensive Persian rug she can recall on numerous occasions, her mother was forced to stay up until the witching hour, scrubbing and working to get out the blood stains from an earlier beating.

Her blood. 

The same thing Solana would end up doing only a few years later. The wall opposite the same place where she was shoved into so many times. Choked against. Sometimes until she was unconscious. Sometimes to where she was hunched over, clutching onto her stomach, coughing up blood from the intensity of Wes or Xavier’s powerful punch to her abdomen. 

She looks over at the kitchen, only a few feet away, a place that held both wonderful and horrific memories.

The sound of her mother’s laughter.

The sound of her screams.

Solana’s soft singing as she worked to prepare meals.

And then her shouts and pleas for mercy as her face was held over the heat of the same pot that held food she slaved over but wouldn’t be able to consume. Just them.

Good. Then bad. Decent. Then horrific. A specific pattern, formula almost, that follows as she makes her way around the house, never saying a word, all the while aware of Roman’s close presence behind and near her.

A silence that’s only broken when they finally arrive at the sole reason she even asked him to come with her today. 

The reason she needed him to come with her.

He says her name again. This time, firmer. Concerned, almost. “Solana.”

And her response, somewhat to her surprise, matches his tone. “I have to.”

She doesn’t want to. God, she doesn’t want to, but something deep within her is pressing and pulling her in that direction. In the space that she once swore she would rather die than be exposed to.

Her childhood room.

The same room that not even a year ago, just the thought of entering would have dragged her to the pits of a mental breakdown. The room that the man beside her had to enter on her behalf, because she felt physically paralyzed by just the idea of it.

Of entering.  

The same room she’s about to enternow.

“Baby, I don’t think—” 

“I have to.” Same words. Stronger determination. 

Solana adjusts the shoulder strap of her purse and reaches for his hand, her fingers clasping around his. Secure. Her other hand goes for the knob, the coolness of the metal a stark sensation to whatever else burns within her. Something close to courage. But also fear. Anything and everything, the likes of which only multiplies the second she opens the door and walks in. Solana stills, close to the doorway, Roman directly behind her, their hands still clasped but wresting on her hip. 

Her other hand drops to her stomach.

She closes her eyes.

I can do this. 

Words of encouragement that loop in her head as she wills herself to open her eyes, vision instantly blurred by the unshed tears.

Quiet sniffles, the faint stale smell of the room that’s been unused for almost twenty years. Items untouched and left just as they were that night.

The signs of the horrors still visible. Nail marks, dried blood, the almost ominous aura. 

A violation. 

A death.

All of that remains true and firm but not enough to break Solana’s determination, to force the crumble of her resolve. No, she breaks away from Roman, releasing his hand as she walks over to the closet. Dated, worn edged stickers against the door that slides open, the scent of staleness maximized from a release that’s had almost twenty years pass since the last one.

Solana’s eyes take in the clothes. Her clothes. Hung up neatly, some folded on the white metal rack at the top of the closet. She sees the selection of shoes, also neatly lined on the also carpeted floor of the closet. That’s when she sees it. When her breath catches, a sob almost instantly rising and waiting patiently in the back. 

The shift in her disposition felt by her husband who steps closer, ready. For what, he’s not sure. Whatever she needs.

However, Solana’s request in that moment is simple. She simply needs his forearm, her palm wrapping around as a sort of bearing to support as she angles her body down, maneuvering carefully with her baby bump to lift the brown bag from off the floor. 

The minute it’s in her hands, Solana takes a deep, shaky breath. She can feel Roman’s gaze burning into the item that needs no explaining. The bold, black word written in the largest font compared to the other words speak volumes. 

Evidence

“Solana…”

She says nothing, the silent tears making their way down her cheek. She won’t open it.

She can’t.

That much she knows.

Just like she knows opening it isn’t the point of this.

Not even close.

The point is closing it.

Closing up one of the most painful chapters of her life. Of truly reclaiming back so much, if not everything, that was lost that horrific night.

And, that chapter could only be closed, Solana realized, by freeing herself completely of the shackles of her past.

Starting with anything that links her to that.

And, Solana can’t think of anything more fitting to destroy than the tattered, ripped, and bloodied remains of her clothes she wore that night.

The night she was raped. 

Walking over to her bed, still unmade, still reeking of those haunting memories, and places the bag in the middle. 

She takes a step back, Roman, as always, remaining nearby. He doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing for him to say, and she knows that he knows words are not what she necessarily wants or needs in this moment. 

His presence.

Him being here and with her, supporting, is what she needs. Why she asked him to come.

Everything else….everything else she has to do. 

By herself.

For herself. 

It’s what floats through her as she adjust the strap of her purse, bringing it in front of her and pulling out the tiny red, white, and blue box of matches.

She can feel her husband straighten up behind her. His stance that of a man ready to move at any second, if need be.

An understandable reaction, especially given where they are, what’s transpiring. Even her history. 

Solana, however, is not there. Not in that headspace.

No, she’s in the headspace that led to this very moment. From the second stepped foot in this godforsaken to even well before that. The way she dragged herself out of the house that night. The heaviness that consumed her when she was discharged from the hospital and forced to return to the same place that only held nothing but horrific, hellish memories. All the way up to the day where she walked in to retrieve her items, Roman right by her side, serving as her advocate and protector. A role she had no idea at that time would be permanent. 

That he would always be those things for her—and more. 

But, ultimately, it’s everything outside of this house that carries her into taking that life-changing next step.

Words, statements, sayings, experience, they all comes rushing and storming in with the intensity and force of a tsunami. 

It’s one thing though, one passage from a book she’d had for so long but only felt able and capable of using and reading once out of this place, did she embark upon it. The journey to heal.

The journey to love.

A section containing the thoughts and feelings of another woman who’d experienced the unspeakable. A survivor. 

"In spite of the horror, in spite of the

tragedy, in spite of the weeks of sleepless

nights, I'm finally alive. I'm not pretending.

I feel real. I'm not playing charades anymore. I wouldn't go back to the way I was for anything. I'm really like a different person. I'm where I am, and I'm making the most of it. I know I'm courageous now. I found out I had it in me to face this."

Solana closes her eyes.

Nothing has ever felt more relatable and real.

A final verbal declaration. Whispered. Hushed, but felt. 

Oh so felt. 

“No more.” 

With that, Solana doesn’t hesitate one bit to quickly drag the match head against the striker, a flame appearing at one end. And just like that, she tosses the match onto the bed, watching the flames spread to the sheets, to the bag. 

Done. 

Naturally, Roman steps forward, gently pulling her back into him, away from the fire. 

She takes his hand, squeezing gently, eyes watery.

“Let’s go.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

Roman allows her to lead the way, to guide them out of that room and out of the house.

It’s not until they’re outside, that she breathes in the fresh, freeing air, eyes briefly shutting as she tunes out the sounds around her. Guards talking quietly amongst themselves, waiting for a command. 

And one is issued. 

Digging the matchbox out of her purse, she tosses it to one of the guards. One of the same ones who refused to heed to her command when she told them to leave before.

“Let it burn to the ground.”

Naturally, his expression is one of confusion. “Ma’am?”

“Till nothing’s left.” She doubles down, not offering any sort of elaboration. 

He’ll find out soon enough. 

Solana walks past him, Roman close behind, heading to the SUV where another of the guards opens the door for her. But, she waves him off, instead reaching for Roman. 

In seconds, he’s in front of her, holding her as Solana buries herself in his chest.

“I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs into her scalp, hand to the back of her hair, the other on the small of her back.

Solana closes her eyes.

So is she. 

She only pulls back to look once more at it, at the house. Once a home, but never her home. A place with bits and pieces of love and life, the majority of which often stomped out by violence and trauma.

No more.

It ends today. 

“I’m gonna build one of the safe houses here,” she shares. Roman looks down at her. “For my foundation.”

The smallest smile on his face, one of pride and admiration. “Yeah?”

She nods, mirroring his small smile. “Yeah.” One more look. The final one.

With that, Solana allows Roman to help her climb into the SUV. In under a minute, he’s seated right beside her, barking at the driver to take them home. 

Home.

The word that settles and resonates with her, washing out any feeling of discomfort, grief, sadness.

Just the calm. 

Tucked into his side, holding onto his arm, as they drive off from then, straight into now. The sight behind her remaining just as it will always be from here on out.

Then.

She never looks back. 

[syn4k]

"Okay." The king turned back to his desk and resumed writing.

The priest was baffled. "But- Your Majesty-"

"It's gonna happen anyways." The king dipped the feathered pen in the inkwell. "There ain't no use wasting energy fighting it. The real questions were never if it was gonna happen, but when and how."

The priest blinked and bit back a frown. Ever since His Majesty King Gillian the Third had ascended to the throne, he had ran his kingdom with a surprisingly lax fist compared to his predecessors. His council constantly made fun of him for it, but King Gillian (nicknamed Lord Nil by his opponents and most of his advisors) did not flinch. Many muttered that his madness had no method. Gillian himself did not comment on his actions.

As one of the King's most trusted advisors, the Priest tried his best to stay on his good side, accepting most of his eccentric decisions without question or complaint, but this... this made no sense.

"My lord," he said carefully, "do you not worry for the security of your office?"

The King did not look up. "No."

"With all due respect, sire, I beseech you to remember that your reputation amongst your council is..." he chose his words carefully "...debatable, at best." He bit back the incredulity creeping into his voice. "If they hear of this, I cannot promise that their reactions will be favorable." He let the sentence hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "They may move to depose you."

The King finally looked up at that. "Come here," he said, standing up from his desk.

The Priest advanced hesitantly, sure that he was about to be reprimanded or fired or executed or at the very least backhanded, but the King simply gestured out of the window that sat in front of his desk. "Tell me, dear Priest, what those sharp eyes of yours see."

The Priest wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond, or if this was a trap. He squinted at the window and eventually decided to go with the most obvious answer. "...Your kingdom, sir?"

"Correct. And in this kingdom, all living things die and nourish others in death and are replaced by other living things of their kind as part of the court of the kingdom of Nature, do they not?"

"They do, sir."

The King turned to him. "Now tell me, Priest, are we humans, as simple animals in the Kingdom of Nature, excluded from death in any form, fashion, or manner?"

The priest swallowed and did not turn his gaze from the window. "Not except in memory, sire."

Gillian nodded. "In this way, it is wiser to let the river of Fate take its course and shift it in little ways here and there than attempt to block it off entirely." He sat back down. "When the child comes, we will know. I will raise it as my own and teach it the ways of grace and strength the best that I can. In this way, when the time comes for it to take my place, it will not do so in anger, but remember my grace and give it back to me."

The Priest sincerely doubted this, but he said nothing.

The king waved a hand. "You are dismissed."

---

The next spring, during an assembly, the Priest walked into the throne room and knelt. "My lord."

Gillian waved him up. "You may speak."

The priest looked him in the eye. "We have found the child."

A murmur rose throughout the courtesans assembled in the room. The King glowered at them and slammed his fist three times on the arm of his throne for quiet. "Where?"

"In a small hovel on the edge of the village."

The room was silent. Gillian nodded. "And how fares the mother?"

The priest cleared his throat. "Dead in childbirth, m'lord."

A shocked murmur rose through the room again, louder this time. The King frowned to himself, but made no move to quiet them.

"If this is the child fated to dethrone you, my lord, then we should kill it," said a noble loudly.

The King's eyebrows furrowed in disgust. "No."

"But Sire-"

"I said no!" the King snapped, and the room went silent. Gillian was a man of lax and easy temper, reasonable even in the most inane situations, and he almost never raised his voice. "I will not condone the murder of an innocent child, prophecy or no. We shall bring it here and raise it."

The Queen Marie, who up until this point had sat quietly in her own throne with the merest raising of eyebrows in sympathy at the news of the mother's death, flicked her eyes towards her husband in question. It had long been rumored that she was infertile, and many had sneered at the King for keeping her despite this, but he held fast.

He noticed her gaze and turned towards her. "Unless, that is," he said quietly but clearly, "my Lady protests."

One or two people mumbled in shock. The Priest had to stop his own mouth from dropping open. A king asking his wife's permission for anything was unheard of, especially for something like this.

The Queen froze for a half second, then sat up a little straighter in her throne. "If you are sure," she replied.

Gillian nodded. "I am."

"Then it shall be."

The king nodded decisively and turned back to the room again. "It has been decided! The child will be brought here and raised as our own."

An explosion of enraged voices echoed throughout the room. The priest bowed, although he had not been addressed, and the King's eyes landed on him. "Fetch the child and bring it here so that I may see it," he said, and the priest nodded and scuttled out of the room, grateful to let the heavy doors shut on the now chaotic room behind him.

The king, after hearing the prophecy about a child fated to depose them, decided to just let the events play out without interfering.

[literallypyro]

I FINALLY FOUND A TF2 BLOG IM SO HAPPYYY 😭🙏💞💞💞

Can you do headcanons for the mercs, with a reader who's a good cook, basically welcomes them with their favorite foods and drinks when they came back from a battle because she loves all of them very much🍔😚.

(hope this isn't much)

Because of the way this is worded, I'm assuming it's not all separate like I usually do them. So I'll just be writing down random headcanons as they come to me in no specific order

To make this easier on myself, I made this in the context of you used to fight on the team, but after it being deemed unfair for one team to have more people, you took up a job as being a housekeeper of sorts. Like a house spouse but without being married to any of them. You do regular household chores all day and make meals for the mercs, but you only got that job because you asked. How could you possibly leave this darling little band of misfits?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

It's a piece of cake

-Even though you were literally getting paid for what you do, they still wanted to show their gratitude. You didn't have to take up that job, after all

-It made them happy to have someone there who would do the chores they just didn't want to. However, they never treated you like a servant

-I mean, obviously, right? They still treated you as a part of the team

-Especially on the nights when you'd make their favorite meals. They can't even begin to imagine how much effort it takes to cook nine different meals just the way they like it

-Sometimes the mercs will collaborate, but they usually have their own way of saying thanks

-Scout would wake up earlier than you to make you a nice breakfast before you have to start your day

-Soldier would most likely make you one of his morbid as hell gifts

-Pyro would probably draw you something for you, but they might bake something for you depending on their energy level

-Demo would get you something he saw you eyeing in one of the shops in town

-I feel like Heavy would tell you not to make dinner for yourself and just relax at the end of the day and make your favorite dinner in return

-Engineer, ever practical, would build you something that makes your job easier. There's a small chance he would just make something nice like a little music box or something

-Medic is a bit strange with his gratitude. He would offer to find ways to enhance your skills to make your job quicker and easier, and implement them if you accept. Yes, he obviously has a random person biologically similar to you to experiment on first to make sure he has it right before trying any surgeries on you

-Sniper would give you small handmade gifts, like a wooden charm of your favorite animal. After a while, if there's an animal you like that basically takes care of itself, he'd get you one

-Spy would find out your favorite scent and get you the best body spray of it he can find. Classy brand, but still exactly the way you like it

-Even when they don't have the means of time to do these things, they are so grateful you stuck around. They care about you a lot, and they truly cannot express just how much they appreciate you

-Aside from all that, they are impressed at how skilled you are at cooking. Not only do you whip up dishes from different countries and cultures, but you put the time and effort into learning how to do it perfectly

-They are absolutely floored the first time you present them with their favorite meals all in the same night, each one cooked to fit the respective mercs taste. To make the meals the way they're supposed to be is one thing, but to make them with every change they would personally make is a whole other level

[santae-salt]

Hey, this is former artist (and briefly art director) Keshi. My anxiety over how I had to leave has prevented me from speaking up about anything, and has even prevented me from publicly interacting in Sancord or anyone affiliated with Santae (I really do miss a whole bunch of you though). With the current events, and the many times the teased breeding mechanic has been brought up, I’d like to finally break my silence, and share my experience.

First off, the situation CJ has put Ember in is horrifying, I do not wish to take attention away from this appalling selfish act with my post. I cannot fathom what would bring a person to do this to someone they call their friend. CJ should truly be ashamed of himself, this is going way too far. I never really got the chance to interact with Ember, but I am so sorry you are going through this and I hope things work out for you soon.

A little background on me, I have worked for Subeta and MisticPets in the past, and done commission work for various petsites and games. This experience is spread over the last 18 years, so I’ve seen my fair share of drama on these sites. I’ve never witnessed this level though.

I was willing to (and did) put a lot of time and heart into the egg and hatchling art. I was aware of the amount I’d need to draw, and was ready to commit to what I thought was a desired fun feature with really cute art. I had no idea that this mechanic was not wanted, that it had been stated it would never be a feature on this site. And while I know it wasn’t my decision to make this happen, I am so sorry that money was spent on me creating those images. I am saddened that the feedback on this feature wasn’t respected and listened to. At one point, the AI art incident was brought up during a discussion with CJ, and that the NPCs were being revamped. I am strongly against AI art, and I offered to help fast track the revamps by working on some myself. This was turned down, and I was only to focus on the breeding images.

When it was made aware that Whixy was to sadly step down, I was surprised to be offered the position to take over. I probably triple checked that there definitely wasn’t another artist who had been there longer, who wanted to role, and was reassured no one was interested. I accepted the role, and was excited to be closer to the team and feel I was actively contributing more to current events and features. With access to the calendar and full trello, I could see how many events were planned, the artwork we needed, and that we were, in my eyes, quite behind schedule. I want to preface that this was in no part, Whixy or the previous and current artists fault. They are all amazing, and were doing the best with what they could. I expressed my concerns on how much we needed in a short time. I had offered that I could help get us ahead by working on some items, but I was reassured that we were doing fine and once again the breeding artwork was to be my focus. (Despite this claim, CJ then proceeded to assign/reassign tasks last minute to various artists, and I was informed after the decision was made. So I can only imagine what staff members like Ember, Whixy and Ermineleader would have been through during their time, so much respect from me there)

After realising how much CJ continued to mismanage the site and staff, and witnessing his public conduct in front of users on the discord server and beyond (just in the 2 months I was there), I knew I couldn’t align myself with him. I finally looked into this blog and read the staff letter+ the statement on toyhouse, and my heart was heavy. This, along with many long days/late nights dedicated to drawing for the site, and working on my new art director roles, my body and mind kind of gave up. I won’t go into detail, but it was a sign I had to leave. I know I chose to work as much as I did, but I’m a chronic people pleaser/overachiever (and I also needed the extra income).

The art team was not informed that I had left, and it took almost a week before I had the strength to come back and let them know. I still feel some guilt, like I let everyone down during an already rocky time. I’m so sorry I couldn’t help more.

I have my fears in talking openly about this, but I’d love to lift this weight off my shoulder and finally move on. I know my experience is a small fraction compared to what others have endured, but thanks for allowing me the space to share it. An emotional breakdown over a virtual petsite was not on my 2025 bingo card. I hope everyone left on staff, and those negatively affected by the site both past and current are doing okay.

💜 Keshi

☁️

[luigisbambinaaa]

hi everyone,

it feels extremely ridiculous to have to write all this out. i was sent this video of luigi speaking in a group chat with zero context, meaning i was unaware that this was a widely gatekept video. personally, i did not choose to gatekeep it because i wanted to share the video with ALL my girls on tumblr, hence all the hashtags. i did not post this for likes, comments, or reblogs--i posted this simply because i knew all my girls on here would GREATLY appreciate hearing his voice.

i have NEVER entertained drama on this blog and have tried my best to keep this blog strictly luigi orientated, but this is childish. i posted this without any ill intent and the reactions were quite literally so fucking immature. i am very glad as time has passed and almost everyone has been able to calm down and take accountability for what was said in the heat of the moment. i have honestly been speechless for hours and my thumbs ache from all the back and forth ive been doing because of this. i TRULY appreciate everyone that has reached out to me, defended my character, and kept me up to date with what has been said in the last few hours.

i have tried my best to remain a friendly and respectful individual by ignoring certain things said time and time again fyi. this is probably unnecessary but i cannot bring myself to post without saying this. vers is a friend of almost all my good friends on here so i have always tried to give the benefit of the doubt but i am floored at this statement, "if we had fulfilling lives we wouldn't be so upset over any of this." every single friend i have made on here and talk to daily are employed, in school, or directly a part of the health care field, myself included. i did not see anyone else but her and her friends upset at this video being posted so im not sure who this shouldve been directed towards.

i saw the anon message saying that palmers was implying that i leaked the video and i want to say i appreciate palmers being able to take accountability and explain the situation to everyone. palmers was the very first friend i EVER made and she encouraged me to start writing and i have loved every minute of it. i love sharing my ideas with everyone and i am hoping i will be allowed to go back to that. really what kills me here is that without fail this shit is walked over and us smaller blogs forever deal with hate no matter how long time goes by. i have always voiced this frustration with my friends and i knew drama was inevitable, but i did not think it would come so soon.

i have unfollowed individuals that have said questionable things and have rubbed me the wrong way and if anything i say here has done the same to you i kindly ask you unfollow me, the hate and death threats i have gotten are so unnecessary, please touch grass! i have been long time fans even when i was a lurker of some of these accounts but i can no longer hide my disdain. i hope we can all move forward and STOP FUCKING LOSING THE PLOT.

thanks for reading, this is just me spilling my thoughts and not proof read or anything, i have tried to be as authentic as possible and i am not going to apologize for sharing this video because i do not see the point in it. i love you all and i hope i can get back to writing idk i feel in a very awkward position.

ITS FREE LUIGI MANGIONE !!!!!!!! DONATE TO HIS FUND, KEEP TALKING ABOUT HIM, WRITE TO HIM, SEND PHOTOS TO HIM !!!!!!

[hazard-haze]

I have more Eddie and Volt headcanons. I can't stop thinking about them.

Mild TW for brief mentions of Self Hatred and Harassment. Nothing major or explicit but just thought it was worth a mention.

-----

-Their bar is incredible accessible. You cannot tell me they did not build that place with the comfort of any object or person with any level of accessibility needs in mind.

-Volt has given Eddie compression gloves. He doesn't wear em' (even though he should) but they are around here somewhere.

-Eddie's favorite color is orange.

-Ooooh we actually have some player ones this time, the homeowner is definitely welcome to hang out before opening and after closing (assuming the friendship or love ending)

-eventually they'd probably give them a key so, as Eddie puts it, they can "make themself useful by locking up for us" but in reality it's just so they can get in even when the 2 are in the back.

-They have all the fixings in the back or at the bar for injuries/disabilities/emergencies. Including but not limited to epi-pens, narcan, good first aid kits, juice/snacks for blood sugar, a fold up wheel chair, free earplugs/noise cancelling headphones, and cots.

-Homeowner will not be served alcohol if Eddie thinks something is up with them. Or at least they will be cut off before they can even get tipsy. Bro is not letting them drown and ignore their problems, usually Volt will end up doing most of the talking to them about whatever is bothering them.

-It's kind of obvious but the hallway closet is very much the hub of the upstairs. And honestly? Most objects hold Eddie and Volt to the same level of respect that they do the mayor, neither of them really realize it but they are pretty integral to the community

-Not a headcanon but I just thought of the funniest shit: Breaker Box Hallmark Movie AU. Featuring the Breaker Box getting shutdown for some reason and through the power of winter holiday magic and love probably it is saved lol. Would anyone read this?

-Eddie inadvertently gets so much tea working the bar. Bathsheba has been begging him to give her some gossip. Eddie refuses every single time.

-Volt cries when he see's cute animal/inanimal videos

-If they got a cat people would assume its name is like Sparky or something but no, Volt is gonna want to name it something really pretty like Eleanor or Anastasia, and Eddie is gonna take one look at it and go: "Uhhhh... Todd." "Eddie she's a girl." "So? Girls can be named Todd!" "..." "Stop assuming our cat's gender Volt!"

-I don't know if he actually would in canon, but I think it would be so fucking funny if Volt just loved calling minor inconveniences homophobic. This includes Eddie. Eddie won't stop working? "Eddie if you don't go to bed your homophobic!" "Wha? I'm ga-!" "HOMOPHOBIA!"

-Self deprecation? In my breaker box? I think not! And by that I mean Volt holds the very strong conviction that no one in his club is allowed to be self hating except for him. I mean he is a flirt, but he is also a sweetheart. He see's someone crying? Absolutely not. Gives you a tissue, tells you your too hot to be crying over anyone and then reapplies your mascara for you.

-Eddie does not play when it comes to patron safety. He will cut you off if he thinks you've drank too much. He is making sure everyone leaving at the end of the night has a designated driver (I don't know if any of them NEED designated drivers seeing as they all live in a house, but its the principal okay?). Harassment of any kind you are gone and banned so fast you won't even know what happened.

----

God this hyperfixation hit me like a truck.

I noticed most of these ones focused more on how they actually run the club. Idk why it just kind of ended up like that. Anyways I'm having so much fun with these let me know if ya'll want more or if anyone has specific hc requests because I CAN cook up more! Hope you enjoyed!

[morlock-holmes]

So... IS the new Supreme Court decision that lower courts can only start injunctions with respect to specific plaintiffs?

i.e. That if the next President signs an executive order making hand gun ownership illegal, the lower courts can only block the executive from seizing the particular guns of specific, named plaintiffs, but cannot block the executive from seizing the guns of anybody else?

Hey, so, the question I have with basically every single one of these rulings and Trump executive orders follows here:

How come this didn't apply to student loan debt cancellation?

Doesn't this mean Biden should have been allowed to continue moving forward with student loan cancellation in all the states that weren't suing him?

What, uh, is supposed to happen in cases where the Supreme Court actually rules against the government, but, e.g., the government has at that point already seized and destroyed all the firearms.

[corpse-kissesxoxo]

people jerking it to fictional characters is definitely not the issue you think it is.

people jerking it to actual people in exploitative situations? yes, absolutely horrible and illegal. report to police.

jerking it to pixels on a screen that don't exist, don't experience pain and suffering and never will? perfectly legal and a non-issue, and reporting supposed "child porn" (incorrect term, csem or csam are more appropriate and do not give off the impression of consent) made of fictional characters (which does not fit into the legal definition of csem and is instead simply artistic expression) would be a waste of resources that could be used to help real children

taboo sexual fantasies of all shapes or forms can exist without being inherently harmful unless the individual intends to act on them with someone who does not or cannot consent to the act. in and of itself, having fantasies is morally neutral, and consuming non-exploitative content of those fantasies is morally neutral as well

of course there's nuance depending on how you are inclined to absorb the content. if, for example, a child or psychotic individual (people generally easily influenced, children because they're still growing, psychotic people because they're prone to delusions) they could be inclined to repeat the behavior however that would still not be the fault of the creator who (supposedly) outlines a trigger warning and a "minors dni"

if someone still interacts with content that could trigger them, and if a child doesn't respect the "minors dni" label, that would not be the creator's legal responsibility. in the case of the minor, it would be a lack of parental oversight that causes any potential issues following the content consumption, as parents have the responsibility to limit a minor's internet access if they are too young to understand the difference between fiction and reality and can find their moral code influenced by what they view. in the case of the individual suffering from psychosis, supposing it's undiagnosed, it would just be an unfortunate series of events, but one largely unpreventable knowing that themes fueling delusions exist everywhere, in religion, movies with themes of persecution, even simple superhero movies.

the truth is that the vast majority of the adult population can differentiate between real and fictional depictions of themes and events and will understand that actions depicted in fiction are not necessarily good in real life. it's simple critical thinking.

so regardless of whether it makes you uncomfortable (shotacon and lolicon, for example, make me personally uncomfortable), it's not an issue, and is just. people having fun with fictional characters, which isn't a bad thing whether they use it for their own sexual fantasies or just because they enjoy exploring these themes

"proshippers are invading fandom" oh no! people having fun with fictional characters?? clearly the biggest problem of 2025

[glassmitu]

Idk why I’m requesting again tbh.

So you know of Doey!Reader right? So I’m requesting for platonic forsaken survivors and Kissy Missy!Reader because I think she’s pretty cool and innocent. You can ignore it if you don’t want to.

Masterlist — Forsaken

Request — Survivors with kissy missy!Reader, platonic, headcanons,,

⭑𓂃 ⌗ Staff — kissy missy!! She's my fav other than player hehe, also love the drawing as always <33

SURVIVORS

𖣠 You are toy, technically made for kids to play with and such, but after crushing down since you protected a old employee of the place, you were forsaken.

𖣠 When you first got forsaken, most of the survivors thought you were killer but turns out they were wrong,

𖣠 you really didn't speak since you cannot, but you use sigm language to talk,

𖣠 in rounds, you protect the survivors, when a killer is nearby, you always protect the ones that are injured.

𖣠 Overall, they respect you as much as you respect them, you are one of the only people that seems to value others than yourself,

© GLASSMITU ─── all of my works belong me alone! do not copy, steal, plagiarize, or spread any of my works in any other social media platform. these have only been reloaded on my own account on tumblr

[turtle-paced]

Revisiting Chapters: Tyrion V, ACoK

Once you get to a certain level of management, it's all meetings, all the time.

The story so far…

With so many armies in the field against the Lannisters, and King’s Landing just kind of…sitting there, like some sort of duck… Tyrion’s attempts to plan the defence of the city take a turn to the unorthodox.

Overripe Fruits

The chapter begins with Tyrion freezing in the Guildhall of Alchemists, holding onto a hand grenade. In this pseudo-medieval world, it is in fact a clay pot filled with magic napalm. The danger of these objects is quickly made clear through background details and exposition. Tyrion was told to wrap up warm to avoid shivering. Hallyne the pyromancer carries a sealed glass and oil lamp rather than a torch, and that very carefully. The pottery containing the wildfire is roughened to help prevent slipping. Then we’re told that this stuff can’t be quenched with water and will seep into wood, leather, and steel - still burning. And it only gets more dangerous with age. From the safety mechanisms Hallyne describes (devices to smother the lab in sand), the only thing that works is cutting off oxygen.

We also learn quickly that the Alchemists have fallen out of favour in recent years. They enjoyed more favour with Aerys. Favour enough that Aerys insisted on making the wildfire jars in the shapes of fruits, the sick fuck. Strange thing, but they lost track of a lot of the stores made for Aerys when a whole bunch of the previous leadership was murdered during the Sack of King’s Landing. Just last year a cache of two hundred unstable dynamite/napalm grenades was found beneath the Sept of Baelor! Nobody knows how they got there.

Tyrion cuts off this anecdote, much as he cuts off Alliser Thorne’s explanation about the walking dead. He’s here because he wants to know how much of the stuff the Alchemists have on hand. Cersei commissioned ten thousand jars; the Alchemists believe they can fill the order. Tyrion wants to be sure the order can be filled safely. As Hallyne tries to reassure him:

“The substance flows through my veins, and lives in the heart of every pyromancer. We respect its power. But the common soldier, hmmmm, the crew of one of the queen’s spitfires, say, in the unthinking frenzy of battle…any little mistake can bring catastrophe. That cannot be said too often. My father often told King Aerys as much, as his father told old King Jaehaerys.” “They must have listened,” Tyrion said. “If they had burned the city down, someone would have told me.”

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Tyrion also recalls what he knows of the alchemists, mostly from Jaime, who has indeed passed a few stories on to his little brother about Aerys burning people alive.

But Tyrion does at least take the safety seriously. He asks for spare pots (which we will learn are for practicing with, stepping up from paint to lamp oil to wildfire). Then he departs.

As he leaves, the reader’s view goes from the damp, cold cellar to a grand marble hall lit by wildfire torches. Tyrion notes that the torches were lit that morning and aren’t staying on a minute longer than his visit - wildfire’s expensive and the Alchemists hard up. The author’s led with the danger, not the mystique - and he’s also been careful to make the mystique itself ridiculous. Just as Tyrion lampshades the economics behind the lamps, so he points out how the alchemists use titles, when all they can really do is make magic napalm. There’s also Hallyne himself, his name-dropping, and his palpable eagerness to be back in royal good graces. Tyrion is not caught up in the pretty green flames. He sees a hazardous substance and he takes it seriously.

Alas, Tyrion has too much on his plate, and he can’t waste the time digging into the history of the order or just how so many high explosives came to be stored under the Sept of Baelor of all freaking places, where they have absolutely zero buisiness being at any point.

Outside the Walls

As Tyrion leaves the Guildhall, he’s accosted by Bronn with two competing demands for his attention - more on that later. For the moment, we’ll just follow Tyrion down to the Gate of the Gods, where the markets are usually held. Ser Cleos is there with Robb Stark’s peace offer.

Tyrion gets a secondary report on matters in the Riverlands from Cleos too. Everyone’s burning everything - the Riverlords are burning their own crops, Tywin’s men are burning villagers and putting smallfolk to the sword. And here we see a profound limitation in Tyrion himself.

That was the way of war. The smallfolk were slaughtered while the highborn were held for ransom. Remind me to thank the gods that I was born a Lannister.

This is just how it is, per Tyrion. His response is not to address the unfairness but to show gratitude for the benefits he enjoys. The idea that everyone should have those privileges does not cross his mind. It’s a way in which he’s like Cersei. Though again, and as usual for the Lannister siblings, this is also a product of an abusive home. Tyrion’s only protection against the various injustices he faces in life due to his disability come from being a Lannister. The idea that everyone should have Lannister-level privileges is a threat to him - which in turn is a belief born of despair that of course everyone will hate him for his disability, and this can never change.

But going back to the terms. Robb’s asked for “half the realm”, the hostages the Lannisters have taken, and his sisters returned to him. It’s clearly an opening position. Cleos asks if Tyrion will trade Sansa and Arya for Cleos’ brother Tion plus Willem (another cousin). On its face that one is not possible, and Tyrion says so immediately - without letting Cleos know that the Lannisters do not have Arya to trade and therefore can’t make good.

Cleos also offers some analysis of the situation. Since Robb has allowed the Riverlords to scatter to defend their own lands (one of his worst mistakes), Cleos thinks Robb is afraid to face Tywin in the field. At the same time, Cleos also tells Tyrion that he doesn’t think Robb will yield easily, noting that Catelyn’s the voice for peace in his camp. Tyrion, who’s spent more time with Catelyn, says that Catelyn wants her daughters. He will be proved right on this.

Tyrion gives us an internal monologue on what he hopes to achieve here. In short, to stall. These peace negotiations are not good faith but a delaying tactic, meant to occupy Robb while Ser Stafford trains new Lannister armies.

Now if only Robert’s brothers would be so obliging…

The problem with this is that Tyrion has ignored what he’s been told: Robb does not want peace. Tyrion’s right that Catelyn’s principal motivation is getting her daughters back. It does not follow from that fact that Robb is the driving voice behind peace. Tyrion’s missed the part where Catelyn’s agitating for peace as a means to get her daughters back. He’s missed Catelyn having developed plans, a fuller agenda, not just “woman want family”. In spite of the fact that Catelyn has outsmarted him already! If he allows here that Catelyn has “plan to retrieve daughters, step 1 negotiations”, then he maybe doesn’t fall into the trap of thinking that Robb’s the one after peace and truly is afraid of facing the Lannisters in the field. Maybe he doesn’t assume that a man is the driving force behind any given political action. In this, Tyrion is very much a product of his society.

Needless to say, Robb is not going to be so obliging. What Robb does next, what he’s got in motion now, is going to shape the circumstances of the siege Tyrion’s anticipating.

There’s more on the broad strategic situation when Tyrion catches up with Cersei. Cersei asks plaintively what Tywin is doing. Tyrion outlines the waiting game Tywin’s engaged in, hanging out at well-defended Harrenhal, waiting for fresh levies to be trained and Renly to make a move on King’s Landing. Once anyone moves, Tywin will swoop.

Since Tyrion's spelled it out for us, that's definitely how it's going to go down.

Within the Walls

We learn during the pyromancer visit that Tyrion’s banned feasts until the war is won. The order was issued in Joffrey’s name, but it is most definitely Tyrion’s order.

Pretty much as soon as Tyrion pokes his head above ground, we see that he might not be the most popular man in King’s Landing. He’s got the full guard - Burned Men, who Tyrion chose specifically because they scare the smallfolk of King’s Landing. Tyrion needs someone to keep the "rabble" off his back because there was another food riot three days ago, one that Joffrey dispersed by having his guards shoot at them and telling them to eat the dead. We see the problems further as Tyrion heads to the Gate of the Gods, usually packed with farmers selling vegies, now deserted. Tyrion orders that Ser Cleos and his men are not to be allowed inside the city so they don’t see what’s going on here and how desperate the food situation is.

As Tyrion heads back towards the Red Keep, he almost runs into a crowd in the streets. The people of King’s Landing are listening to a prophet in Cobbler’s Square, a man preaching of curruption in the Lannister regime. The incest is a rumour prevalent enough to be shouted in the streets, and Tyrion himself is depicted as a “twisted little monkey demon” pulling Joffrey’s strings. Tyrion, critically, ignores this. Not just the depiction of himself, which leaves him deeply vulnerable as a scapegoat when things go wrong, but the increasing religiosity of the people.

How Tyrion interacts with Cersei and her political influence is also a strong theme in this chapter, and is even before Cersei appears in person. Cersei ordered the wildfire; Tyrion makes those orders effective without involving Cersei herself. Cersei orders Tyrion to attend her immediately; Tyrion decides to let her stew because that makes her mad, and mad makes her stupid. Tyrion instead heads to the edge of the city where he’s clearly made some arrangements to intercept Cersei’s own guests. As we see with Ser Cleos and his message, Tyrion yoinks it right out of Cleos’ hands.

“I was told to bring the message to the Queen Regent,” Ser Cleos said as the door shut. “I shall.” Tyrion glanced over the map that Robb Stark had sent with his letter. “All in good time, cousin.”

This incident tells us something about Cersei’s handling of information - she doesn’t consider the logistics. She doesn’t conceive of information as something with labour attached to delivering it, she assumes that information will be brought to her as directed in a timely fashion. It is a small lack of imagination and a small manifestation of her belief in class superiority. So Tyrion, who does understand that someone has to physically carry messages, gets loyal people at the gates and goes to meet the message as it arrives.

And then we get to Cersei herself. Like Tyrion anticipated, she’s fuming that Tyrion left her on read for a few hours. What she’s mad about is Tyrion’s offer to Dorne with a marriage for Myrcella. Combined with events of previous chapters, this tells Tyrion that Pycelle is the one going straight to Cersei with information.

Tyrion’s ready in a heartbeat to justify the offer on solid political grounds, reiterating to the readers that Doran has recent, good reason to hate the Lannisters. Tyrion puts it in those words, too: “every cause to hate us”. He does not beat around that particular bush. What he’s hoping is that a hefty bribe and some wedge politics with Doran’s Reach-hostile bannerpeople will sway Doran in favour of accepting the offer. We get our first impression of Doran’s personal character here, as Tyrion observes that Doran’s a man of honour who won’t kill a child out of spite. Especially not when Tyrion’s offered Gregor Clegane as well.

The reasons for this dysfunctional approach to power in King’s Landing are manifestly apparent as Tyrion tries to justify a reasonable decision, while Cersei insists he’s overstepped his authority and offered Doran too much. What’s her alternative? She doesn’t have one. What’s Tyrion doing to assuage her concerns? Misogynistic attacks on Cersei. (And yes, asking her if she was planning to use “that hole between her legs” is misogyny - he could have left it at “what would you have offered” for exactly the same point.) Which results in Cersei outright hitting Tyrion and threatening his life. This is not a pair of people who can work together effectively. There’s a long and toxic history here, and the pain of it is apparent when Cersei starts to cry, overwhelmed by fear for her life, fear for her children’s lives, and fear for Jaime:

Awkwardly, he took a step toward her. When your sister cries, you were supposed to comfort her…but this was Cersei! He reached a tentative hand for her shoulder. “Don’t touch me,” she said, wrenching away. It should not have hurt, yet it did, more than any slap.

Cersei genuinely hates Tyrion. Tyrion does not hate Cersei. So while Cersei is out there like a wrecking ball, Tyrion’s position in his thoroughly abusive family means he both has to work around her and with her. While also dealing with the heavy feelings.

As we might expect having read AFFC, though, Tyrion gets a lot further with Cersei when he’s buttering her up. When he turns to reassurance, when he explains to Cersei what their father is planning, and offers her the token of Robb’s peace offer (which he’s already decided on an approach to), Cersei’s resolve softens instantly. This is someone Cersei hates and who she believes hates her speaking, and she’s gone as soon as they show the slightest amount of deference. Not for no reason does Tyrion end the chapter believing he’ll be able to wrangle consent to the Dornish marriage out of her, with the bonus knowledge of who’s feeding her direct, high-level information.

Chapter Function

GRRM here is showing Tyrion preparing for the imminent siege of King’s Landing. This is an immediately important thing to do. Since the Lannisters are going to win this battle at the end of the book, the author needs to put in the work showing how it’s possible. This is even as the characters principally involved think they’re more likely to be fighting Renly than anyone.

On a character level, Tyrion’s entire storyline in this book shows us his resilience and creativity in the face of some severe adversity. The creativity is on full display in this chapter, both in his approach to securing wildfire and ensuring his side could make practical use of it, and in his outthinking Cersei. It also shows us some of Tyrion’s more profound limitations - his lack of appreciation for his public image (since he came in with the belief it’s a lost cause) and his lack of empathy for the common people of Westeros (again, a reaction to his deeply internalised belief that they are always going to hate him).

As discussed above, this is also important prep work for Cersei’s future action and character development. She’s watching Tyrion work around her - even if she doesn’t know how to stop it or the full extent of his manipulation, she knows that he’s doing it, resulting in outcomes she’s not keen on. Her hatred of Tyrion isn’t going away. While from Tyrion’s PoV this is an obstacle to his goals this book, it’s also the basis of her accusations of regicide next book, and feeds into her AFFC and ADWD plot later still.

Combined, the chapter inches Tyrion and Cersei ever closer on their collision course. Tyrion's trying to stave off this conflict out of love for his family - and Cersei's just making a longer and longer list of reasons for her to hate Tyrion.

And longest term of all, the reason we get to see this particular visit with the pyromancers and not, say, a meeting with the smiths making Tyrion’s chain across the harbour? It’s set-up for both the reveal of Jaime’s motivations for killing Aerys, and foreshadowing for the missing wildfire that remains underneath King’s Landing. It’s right up front of the chapter that Aerys was a wildfire enthusiast and that improperly stored caches have been found. Tyrion’s just lacking the context, because he was a child a continent away when these decisions were made. The dramatic irony is the fact that Jaime could have told anyone, at any time…

Miscellany

Cersei’s attitude to gender roles and her family comes out in a quote near the end of the chapter.

Cersei sniffed. “I should have been born a man. I would have no need for any of you then. None of this would have been allowed to happen. How could Jaime let himself be captured by that boy? And father, I trusted in him, fool that I am, but where is he now that he’s wanted? What is he doing?”

Patience is for weak women. Hell, misfortune and the consequences of one’s own actions are for weak women (‘weak women’ being redundant terminology, if you ask Cersei). At the same time, we’re seeing Cersei perceives that every man in her life has failed her. The AFFC attitude does not come from nowhere.

Also in Cersei-related miscellany, that slap was not nothing. She hit Tyrion so hard her nails drew blood.

Clothing Porn

Tyrion wears heavy quilted breeches, a woolen doublet, and a striped shadowskin cloak far, far too long for him.

Food Porn

Banned by order of King Joffrey.

Next Three Chapters

Eddard X, AGoT - Sam V, AFFC - Tyrion IV, ASoS

[finns-fish-facts]

water (what are) yalls ofishnions (opinions) on some of the otter (other) toons?

> “Haha- Those are some good puns! Let me think…”

[Text Wall under cut with all opinions.]

Poppy

> “At this point she’s like a sister to me!”

> “She’s fun, always knows how to bring up the energy.”

> “I leave thumbtacks under her pillow. Next.”

Boxten

> “He’s awful nervous, I hope someday he feels safe enough to open up around me!”

> “He’s cute, in a lost dog kind of way. I enjoy his company.”

> “I HATE the noises he makes.”

Cosmo

> “One of the nicest Toons I know!”

> “I don’t really talk to him much.. But he’s nice enough.”

> “Hate him. Hate his stupid bodyguard.”

Looey

> “Never a dull moment! Always a go-to when I need some cheering up or pun exchanges!”

> “He’s catches onto things a lot faster than most. Not a bad thing I guess.. But it’s hard to keep a secret from him.”

> “I am going to put needles in his shirt.”

Tisha

> “I think her patience’s with me is wearing thin..”

> “Tightly wound, but when she’s relaxed she can be a lot of fun.”

> “Grgrgfhrgrhgrgh”

Yatta

> “Life of the party! I’ll take her company any day, she’s plenty funny and super charming!”

> “I CANNOT see her in my vents anymore. I’ve already had nightmares.”

> “I hate tall toons. She’s obnoxious.”

Brightney

> “She’s really smart! We don’t stick too close since.. Water n’ all.. But she’s friendly from a distance!”

> “Not really my circle- but she always has great book recommendations. Or at least knows which ones I’d like.”

> “Hurts my eyes. I hate how bright she is.”

Teagan

> “Teagan has a way of making me feel safe around them.”

> “One of the best! We hang out ALL the time.”

> “… I hate tea.”

Razzle

> “We don’t talk much, but nothing negative to say!”

> “I think they’d eat sand if you let them.”

> “Stupid masks.”

Dazzle

> “I hope someday they can see themselves in a better way.”

> “.. I mean, like, depressing? But that’s to be expected. At least they’re supportive.”

> “… I hate how meek they are.”

Rodger

> “I wish he’d relax every now and then..”

> “Easy to bother, even if he takes things way too seriously.”

> “Hate his stupid questions.”

Blot

> “Sometimes it’s hard to understand them.. But he’s really creative! And funny too!”

> “If only they put their skills into literally anything else..”

> “He gets ink everywhere. I hate them.”

Connie

> “She likes to scare me- But I’m catching on!”

> “Connie is a TON of fun. Her and Vee always host the best movie nights.”

> “I wish she was invisible more often.”

Toodles

> “She’s going to be a great detective some day!”

> “That kid knows WAY too much. It’s kind of scary.”

> “Easy to pick on.”

Flutter

> “She’s a total sweetheart! I know no matter what, Flutter will be there to help!”

> “Not to mention she has a great sense of style. One of my go-to’s if I need advice.”

> “Too loud.. And too fast. I hate how she buzzes.”

Gigi

> “Glisten already mentioned.. But we’re on good terms! She’s a great friend.”

> “A little thief! But she’s funny, so she gets a pass.”

> “I hate her. I hHATE her. Steals my things!! I’ll break her head open to get them back!!”

Goob

> “The best hugs all around!”

> “Total softie. I don’t mind his company.”

> “I HATE hugs. Especially soft ones.”

Scraps

> “She tries to hunt Barnaby sometimes…”

> “DIY chic is kind of tacky.. But she’s got a vision. I can respect that.”

> “Bites.”

Astro

> “No one else I’d trust in my dreams! He’s.. Really kind.”

> “I’m glad he’s doing okay after.. Whatever. He’s quiet, but he’s definitely got like, a presence to him.”

> “… Next.”

Pebble

> “The best boy!”

> “I wish he didn’t try to jump up, but.. He’s cute.”

> “Annoying.”

Shelly

> “She’s super smart!!! I love talking to her, we can go on for hours back and forth!”

> “.. I mean.. she’s.. There I guess? We don’t talk much.”

> “Least irritating main cast. Still hate her.”

Sprout

> “I like how upfront he is! It’s refreshing!”

> “Great cook, but like, super stubborn. He can’t just let things lie..”

> “….”

Vee

> “I’d really like to be her friend! I think we’re making progress- though this might set us back a bit..”

> “Oh I LOVE Vee. There’s no other Toon who can match my energy as well as her!”

> “I HATE her prizes.”

Bassie

> “She’s.. Uhm.. We don’t really talk.”

> “Girl has some confidence issues. Not my circus.”

> “Too much pollen.”

Cocoa

> “I love her ambition! She really cares a lot about us.”

> “She’s too nice for her own good.. But it seems to work out, so good for her.”

> “I hate how she acts like something’s wrong with me. I’m fine.”

Flyte

> “He’s nice to kick back and relax with! Flutter’s got a great brother.”

> “One chance.”

> “What?”

> “I mean- He’s cool. Yeah. He’s cool.”

> “Hate his stupid attitude.”

Eggson

> “He’s kind of everyone’s grandpa at this point! But that doesn’t stop him from making everyone feel special.”

> “Finn said it- Though he can be a bit embarrassing at times.”

> “I’m his favorite. Shrimpo wins.”

Bobette

> “We’ve gone ice fishing a few times together!”

> “Makes ugly sweaters fashionable.. I can’t complain.”

> “I hate the holidays.”

Coal

> “Who’s a good girl? Who’s the best girl!”

> “She’s like.. A better trained version of pebble. I wish she stuck around longer.”

> “.. Bworf.”

Rudie

> “We don’t talk as much as I’d like, but I’d still trust him! He’s a good leader and a friendly face when things seem to be at their darkest.”

> “I wonder what it’s like seeing the world through a red hue all the time..”

> “I hate his stupid nose.”

Ginger

> “Even if her baking isn’t the best- I’d still eat any cookie she makes!”

> “She’s one of the few here I could trust to do my makeup and get it right.”

> “Bad chef. She shouldn’t be allowed in the kitchen.”

Dandy

> “… I worry about him.”

> “He rarely talks to us outside of his shop, and will leave if it’s not something he wants to hear. He’s.. Kind of a jerk nowadays.”

> “He’s a weed. I hate weeds.”

[twelvemonkeyswere]

on this pride month my biggest hot take is that we cannot let ourselves make the mistake of thinking the Right Words are more important than action or effect. the internet is very often dominated by English speakers, and there are ways to use words in English that just do not translate into other languages or cultures. everyone is fighting their own battles, but some folks have so very few things to worry about that they become obsessed with applying Labels and Terms to the point the Label and Term are, on themselves, the point, and not a part of a bigger thing. we cannot make this mistake, especially us non-native English speakers. don't let the internet give you brainworms in English that aren't even applicable in your day to day life. maybe the words available to us aren't perfectly suited but if people are being sincerely respectful of you and your experiences then who gives a fuck, i rather have imperfection if it comes with respect than pretty words without it. language will always morph, so we cannot make language THEE goal. the goal has to be as palpable and as real as we can make it, with public institutions upholding human rights in effective ways. words ARE a part of this, and by all means, let's fight for them too, especially since they are powerful tools. but you cannot favor them to the detriment of everything else.

[butchkitsuragi]

Everyday I become more and more convinced if we abolished AGAB language in its totality we would effectively disarm a large branch of anti trans and intersexist language but particularly TERF rhetoric and transmysoginistic assertions. Due to seeing it used so frequently im just going to break down my reasoning why.

1. AGAB language is imprecise, demeaning, and has origins baked in the medical pathologization of intersex and transgender bodies that it simply cannot be divorced from as doctors, to this day, continue to use it when describing my or other peoples bodies. This doesnt even change when people get their gender markers changed (even to a neutral status) because any indication of deviance from strict "cisgender male/female" lines will get you thoroughly investigated as a "possible transsexual or 'hermaphrodite' by doctors". And typically, they will make this assumption based on inherently bigoted biases.

2. The popularization of AGAB language outside of medical contexts cannot be divorced from these origins either; the misgendering and investigation of transgender individuals. The reason the absolutely vile and transmysoginistic "AFAB Nonbinaries and Women" spaces started fucking popping up everywhere was because it was deemed socially acceptable to effectively misgender and demonize trans women based on a "inherent biological truth" or make an "exception" for tme transgender people instead of challenging the entire idea and the violence its based upon. By continuing the use of this language even in educational spaces be they trans or intersex we keep giving bioessentialists of every type the ability to reduce transgender and intersex people down to incorrect sex assignments that were given to them in childhood.

I actually dont know how to say that this has tangible and real consequences for real people when you keep referring to yourselves as AMAB/AFAB as if this has a tangible meaning beyond its actual use: a violent sexgender assignment. To me if you use this language for yourself even in a clinical manner it is essentially like functionally misgendering yourself or acting like you being trans just makes you "an exception" and not something inherently worth respecting.

And to really nail this post home Im going to talk about my experiences as a trans and intersex person who was given multiple redundant sex assignments which were all deemed "functionally useless" due to me having several intersex variations and having doctors try to "investigate" my "true" sex several times. When I went to go recieve gender affirming care and HRT as an adult; (going back on estrogen to see if it helps with some of my issues since ive been on prog for awhile and went off e due to cardiovascular concerns (had a heart attack) but now that its managed its considered safe for me to resume) I was clocked in the room by the nurse and openly asked if I was "AFAB or AMAB" , I felt very nervous because I didnt actually know how to answer this question because neither of these are True about my body or my life experiences and both of them are going to get people making incorrect assumptions about my transition goals. I quietly explained that I was intersex, IE; having mixed sex characteristics only to be asked once again "Okay but were you AFAB or AMAB?" and I essentially had to drop the bombshell that I was born with ambiguous genetalia and mixed internal sex characteristics (lit. having multiple internal structures even if some were underdeveloped. And only then was I explicitly asked everything I was and was not born with , what reproductive surgeries I have had, and whatnot. Even then I had to explain I dont know the full extent of my history due to it being fucking redacted from my file (likley due to its legal implications) and my parent (mother) repeatedly lying to me. It was an entirely dehumanizing experience and it should really highlight why I say this language is imprecise, dehumanizing, and not appropriate for transgender or intersex people even if its considered a revolutionary take for me to have. There is no reason why doctors, other transgender people, other intersex people, or anyone should be making assumptions about your body like this. It would be more than acceptable to simply ask people if they were born with xyz or have had xyz surgeries or had the experience of being reared xyz. I truly need people to understand this is not language we should continue using.