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David Corenswet in Superman 2025

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if anyone is selling the free people all over lace in the purple colorway, please hit me up cause i need that one 🙏🏻

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violet harmon’s outfit in “birth”

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violet harmon’s outfit in “afterbirth”

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A Son for a Son

King Viserys is dead, Aegon has taken the Iron Throne, and Lucerys Velaryon has been killed. In the days following the Battle of Shipbreaker Bay, Aemond and his wife are not on speaking terms. Having banished him from their chambers, Y/N finds comfort in Helaena as she grieves the loss of her younger brother and the complications that come with it. (or judas part seven)

12k (18+)

Warnings: very graphic violence, targcest, strong language, jacaerysxreader crumbs, arguments, angst, and death.

The room falls into an oppressive silence, the weight of Aemond's confession hanging heavily in the air around them. Y/N feels as though the ground beneath her is crumbling away, leaving her suspended in a void of disbelief. In a world where her nightmares have melded with reality.

She releases his shoulders, her hands trembling as they fall to her sides, and takes a step back.

"How?" she breathes, her voice hardly a whisper. It's a question that is laden with desperation. "How could this happen?"

Aemond's eye, usually so fierce and unwavering, flickers with a mixture of guilt and regret. He opens his mouth, but the words seem to evade him the second he tries to speak. The silence stretches painfully, and Y/N's heart races as she searches his face for something—anything—that may resemble an explanation.

Aegon shifts in his seat, glancing between his brother and sister-in-law, clearly unsure of how to intervene. Still, he tries his best to aid his younger brother in the only way he can think of. Knowing Aemond is not keen on displaying too much of his emotion in front of others, he decides to offer him the gift of solitude.

"Stop."

He pushes himself into a standing position with his hands flat on the table. The sudden movement draws everyone's eyes to him, so he takes advantage of it and speaks before his brother is forced to endure a deadly martial spat with the entirety of the council watching.

"Clear the room. We shall reconvene tomorrow to address this as a council," he says. When they do not move, either acting like they have been frozen to their seats or trying to object, he bangs a fist on the table. "Out! Your King commands you!"

At this time, Y/N doesn't even have the capacity to appreciate the gesture Aegon offers his brother, and therefore her as his wife. No, there is nothing left within her but a starving hatred that will sees no need for logic or reason. Aemond, however, in a time of great vulnerability, finds himself stunned by the act of compassion. For as far back as he can remember, Aegon was his worst bully—the one who his mother allowed to treat him badly so long as it happened behind closed doors. To see him doing something kind without standing to gain much from it...It doesn't make sense. He must be doing this to avoid trouble, to go back to sleep and deal with it when morning comes.

One by one, every person walks out of the room.

Only Alicent stops to cast another look over her shoulder at the princess. Even though the younger woman does not notice her gaze, she cannot help but stare at her with a sorrowful expression. It isn't until Ser Criston Cole gently touches her shoulder that she snaps out of it and follows him out of the room.

The doors close.

Y/N feels a heavy weight settle within her chest as the last echoes of footsteps fade away, leaving her and Aemond in a suffocating silence. The flickering candlelight casts shadows across his face, illuminating the turmoil in his eye, but Y/N cannot bring herself to meet his gaze.

"What have you done?" she finally asks, her voice raw and trembling. The question hangs in the air, filled with a depth of hurt that she struggles to contain. "You were sent to arrange a marriage, not murder my little brother!"

Aemond's face falls, his mask shattering under the weight of her pain. With Aegon's act of kindness, he is permitted the privacy to express his true feelings in the presence of the only person he has ever trusted.

"Vhagar—" he says with desperation lacing his voice, then stops. "I did not mean to—“

"You did not want it to happen?" she echoes. In her voice, an edge of incredulity cuts through her grief. "This is what you have always wanted, and I was foolish to think otherwise! Luke is dead!"

His face pales further, and he takes a step toward her, hands outstretched in a plea for understanding. A plea she smacks away.

"Arrax attacked," he explains calmly. "I was commanding Vhagar to stop. I said no."

"And why was it that Arrax attacked?" Y/N interrupts. "Surely it was not without reason! What did you do?"

The desperation in his gaze cuts her as deeply as his betrayal has, and he cannot say anything but the truth. It is the only thing he has to offer her at this point. To deny her of it would be to twist the knife he has sunken into her back. To deny her of it would mean he never truly cared for her the way she thought he had.

"I...I cannot say I did not provoke them—"

"Gods, they were all right about you! And I was an imbecile! A stupid little girl with her head in the clouds, too busy wanting for your love to see past what everyone else could see plainly before them!"

Y/N shakes her head, her heart aching, but her resolve remaining firm as she turns from him. Her heart is unable to take any more strain than it already has. If she looks at him one more time, she may vomit her dinner up onto the floor from the image of him riding Vhagar into battle against an adolescent dragon dwarfed by her size.

"Don't walk away from me!" he shouts.

Anger flashes across her face—a face that, mere hours ago, looked at him with only love and adoration. She walks up to him the way one would approach an enemy. Worse, she walks up to him the way one approaches someone they do not fear or respect, and when she speaks, it is not with a raised voice.

"I heed no commands. Not of you or of any man, and you are a traitor, not only to the realm but to me. To your daughter, Aemond..." she trails off, unable to help how her voice wavers at the mention of their girl. "Not only have you denied her claim, you have killed her uncle. She may grow to loathe you for this, and I daresay I hope she does."

This reignites the same rage that caused him to mount his dragon and chase Luke through the stormy skies. Before, it was the outrage of injustice. Now, it is the outrage of her disapproval and the insinuation that he does not care for his own daughter. His body and mind stand on alert, threatened by the idea that something that belongs to him—his child—will be taken away. Her previous threat to take her away on dragonback lives in the forefront of his mind, and it is enough to make him lose control.

He walks forward, and with every step he advances, she retreats to evade him. It isn't until she hits the wall and finds herself trapped against him that he speaks at last.

"If I could kill your bitch of a mother myself, I would," he spits. "To strike down your father would be a feat unlike any other. Know that the only things I value in this life are you and our child, but I do not fear you. I do not fear anyone."

The silence that follows feels deafening, a chasm opening between them that may be impossible to bridge. Her eyes shine with the promise of tears as she stares up at him. Feeling his chest pressing against hers, holding her captive against the wall of the council room, sparks a sense of outrage that is too powerful to ignore. It swells inside of her chest until it feels as though it is going to explode, so she decides to do something. To act. If he is fool enough not to fear her, let it be his undoing.

Her hands plant themselves against his chest and shove with all of her strength.

Seeing that she caught him off guard, this sends him stumbling back enough to free her from the prison of his making. Once he steadies himself, he lifts his face to look at her in surprise, but she punches him straight in the jaw. Much like her brother's punch at dinner so long ago, it hurts him, but it does not do much else to subdue him.

"You are a monster! As ugly on the inside as everyone thinks you are on the outside!"

Those hands, so soft and sweet in their touch previously, aim to harm him. To land blows wherever they can. And so, he lets her. He lets her scratch, hit, and kick him anywhere she wants. He lets her scream as she pounds at his chest like a child having a tantrum, leaving behind bright red marks beneath his clothing that will surely bruise in the coming days. She is much stronger than most would assume, but not strong enough to incapacitate him while he tries to stand still. To her fury, he does not move an inch.

He grits his teeth together, feeling the sting of her blows on his skin and the ache in his chest from the pain in her voice. This woman, who carried his child and possesses his very heart, is in agony before him, but he does not know how to help her this time. Not when he is the cause of her strife.

"You promised me!" she screams as he holds her wrists to keep her from hitting him any more. It only makes her fight harder, bucking like a stallion in his grasp to free herself. "You swore to me you would not hurt them!"

He mutters, "I know."

"You have ruined everything!"

"I have."

His grip on her wrists tightens.

"You said you loved me—"

"I do," Aemond asserts, his voice breaking with the words. The hands that holds her wrists squeeze tightly enough for her to wince, but he refuses to let go. Selfishly, he holds her close and looks into her eyes as he says the words. "I do love you.”

The intensity of his gaze pierces through her outrage and tugs at her fragile emotions, even after everything that he has done to hurt her. When he spoke, when he pleaded, her body stilled. The tone of his voice was broken. His violet eyes were flooded with tears, shining as one spilled over and ran down his cheek. For the first time in their marriage, she finds herself paralyzed by his show of true vulnerability. For a moment, the world around them fades, leaving only the two of them locked in this tumultuous struggle. But the weight of his confession does little to ease the fire surging within her.

"Love will not absolve you of your sins," she replies, shaking her head slowly. "You've shattered the trust between us. I do not know if it will return. Not now, not ever."

"Wait—"

Ignoring his protests, she turns to leave, her heart heavy with the decision she has made, but she pauses at threshold with one hand on the door. Her back faces him, and with her face now shielded from his sight, she allows the ugly cries to flow free.

"Sleep elsewhere. I'd sooner cut my own throat than have you in my bed."

With that, she steps through the doorway, the heavy door closing behind her with a finality that echoes in the stillness of the council chamber.

Aemond is left standing alone, and, in this moment, he realizes the true cost of his actions, the irrevocable change they have wrought in both their lives. Whatever progress they made, whatever love that grew between them since the day since she discovered she was with child, is now ruined as a result of his unrelenting pride and lust for vengeance.

Whether he is ready to or not, he must live with the consequences.

-

Her head is pounding from crying for the past six days.

The curtains are drawn and shut out the light of day while she sits in bed with the old letters from her family strewn out on the sheets. Between Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Jacaerys, there are at least fifty pieces of parchment sitting before her.  Unable to help herself, she reaches for one of the few letters she received from Jace in the time since she left Dragonstone. He wrote on behalf of Luke most times, who adored her but often forgot to write his older sister.

A heavy sigh escapes her at the sight of her brother's familiar penmanship. Never before had he dared to announce his feelings for her, not until the last letter he sent before everything she knew was forever changed. This is the only letter she never left out for fear of her husband finding it. All the others she has received, she has left out for him to possibly see and read as a gesture of trust—to chip away little by little at the division that has separated their families for years. This one, however, would remain a secret. Her husband's history with her brothers already put them on unsteady ground, hanging precariously on the line between peace and wanton bloodshed every day of their lives. A thin line of which Aemond finally crossed when he met the late Prince Lucerys at Storm's End.

Her heart sinks at the thought of him drowning in her dream. Perhaps if she left this letter out for her husband to find, his ire would have shifted toward Jacaerys instead. Is this entire cursed situation is her fault?

She leans her head back on the pillow with a sigh. With the babe asleep in her cradle, there is naught to do but wallow in her misery and hate herself for how much she still loves the man who betrayed her. In spite of it all—her poor brother, the hatred festering, and the yawning void of grief within her—she cannot help but wonder where Aemond is and how he fares.

The sound of someone opening the door causes her to jump out of bed with one hand on the dagger she keeps hidden under her pillow.

"Please, it is only me," Nyla says softly. "I have come to check on you."

The knife slips from her grasp as soon as she realizes who is here to see her, and she sits back down on the bed with the ever-present threat of tears stinging in her eyes. For what feels like the millionth time today, she begins to cry. As it does every time, the act possesses her body and soul. Her shoulders jerk with the intensity of her sobs as she buries her face in her hands and wishes against reason that reality were a nightmare she'll soon wake from.

Although she can hear the soft sound of footfalls against the floor, she does not raise her face from her hands until she feels a hand touching her shoulder. When Y/N's head whips around to meet Nyla's gaze, the servant girl withdraws as though she has been struck, and the regret that flashes across her features is clear to see.

"Forgive me, Your Grace. I should not have presumed that you wanted me to—"

Her words are cut off by the feeling of the princess's arms suddenly closing around her small frame, pulling Nyla in so she can bury her tear-stained face into the apron tied around her waist.

"It is all my fault!" Y/N cries, pulling her arms tighter around the young girl. "I could have done something! I could have—"

"My lady, please, there is nothing you could have done!"

Nyla cradles her head in one hand while rubbing her back with the other. Although the princess is a year or two older, the comforting touch is almost...motherly. For a second, as she squeezes her eyes shut and hides her face in her stomach, she can pretend it is her mother holding and shushing her like one would a crying babe. This, however, only makes her sob harder at the thought of her dear, devoted mother. She must be mad with grief by now—both for her dead son and her daughter being held prisoner by the enemy.

"You know, I think it may help you to leave your chambers, Your Grace."

Y/N pulls away from her enough to meet her gaze and shake her head.

"I do not wish to see him."

"You do not need to. He is meeting with the small council now, and then he is due to train in the yard with Ser Criston. Come along. I have an idea."

-

Queen Helaena is the best company she could ask for at a time such as this. She is quiet, and gentle, and understanding. Silence does not trouble her the way it does others. If anything, her strange aunt revels in it.

Y/N sits on the floor behind Jaehaerys, humming a tune her mother used to sing while braiding her hair as a girl. Already having done his twin sister's hair, she takes her time with the boy and weaves an intricate design onto his head. And, of course, Nyla is here to tend to the babe while she spends time with the Queen and her children. Under no circumstances would she leave Daenaera with anyone other than her most trusted handmaiden.

"They quite like you," Helaena says seemingly out of nowhere.

This causes her eyes to snap up from where they were focused on carefully braiding soft locks of silver hair. Yet even while she looks away, her fingers move in muscle memory without a single error. What Helaena said brings a smile to her face, and she feels a small fluttering of joy within her for the first time in nearly a week.

"I am glad you think so, sister," she says. "They are such lovely children."

"As is your sweet babe. My brother should be so proud to have you both."

Her heart might as well have dropped out of her body and splattered onto the floor at the casual mention of her husband. Kinslayer, they now call him. What a disgrace he has become to her and their daughter. His very existence makes a mockery of her to the smallfolk. Oh, how they pity the poor, naive princess and say that she should have seen this coming from the day she was married to the one-eyed monster. What they did not see, she thinks with a sorrow that could knock a strong swordsman clean off his feet, are all of the moments during which he treated her with care. Moments in which he adored her, placing her on a pedestal higher than the gods his mother worships so fanatically. They did not see the love in his eye when he looked upon his child for the first time. She was covered in a fresh mixture of her mother's blood and other bodily fluids that he could not have cared less about as he took her into his arms.

No matter what those people liked to believe, Aemond was never a heartless man. Least of all when it came to his wife.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself, then says, "If it is alright, I'd prefer to not discuss my lord husband right now."

To this, Helaena nods right away. It's a swift, almost neurotic gesture.

"Yes, of course," she says, trailing off at the end into a silence that lasts uncomfortably long. "Tis not easy to have a husband. Especially if they are anything like my brothers. Targaryen princes can be so...insatiable. My son will not be, though. I know it."

Y/N cannot help but grin a little.

"No, he will not. He's a good boy." She pauses, then tilts her head to look at the young prince. "Aren't you, Jaehaerys?"

Seeing that she is still holding tightly to his hair as she braids it, all he can do is nod in response and utter a soft, "Yes," while he plays with his wooden horse figurine.

Helaena hums in quiet agreement, a small, distant smile playing at her lips. She watches her son with a look of fondness tinged with something sadder, something heavier. Y/N does not press her on it. Instead, she focuses on the warmth of the room, the weight of Jaehaerys's hair between her fingers, and the soft babbling of Daenaera from Nyla's arms. It is a fragile kind of peace, and she clings to it as best she can.

For the past week, her world has crumbled around her. Aemond's actions have cast a long shadow over her, their daughter, and everything she once thought was unbreakable. The court whispers, and the smallfolk curse his name, and yet, even now, she cannot bring herself to hate him.

How could she?

The man she knows—her husband—he is fire and fury, yes, but he is also the soft press of his lips against her temple when she cannot sleep. He is the gentle, awestruck way he traces the delicate curve of their daughter's cheek in the dim candlelight of their chambers. He is defined by every good thing he has ever done just as much as he is the bad, and it infuriates her beyond reason that she cannot hate him the way she wishes to. It would be so much easier, would it not?

"You braid well," Helaena murmurs after a moment.

"My mother taught me."

Silence stretches again, but this time it is not uncomfortable. The two women enjoy each other's company, as well as the company of their children, without so much as a word for the next fifteen or so minutes. After she finishes braiding Jaehaerys's hair, Y/N stands up and dusts off the skirts of her dress before joining her sister-in-law on the couch.

Just when she sits down , Helaena speaks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"He will return to you."

Y/N freezes.

Her hand clutches the arm of the couch for stability and her breath hitches in her throat as she turns her gaze to Helaena. The Queen is staring at the fire blazing in the hearth, her expression unreadable, and her fingers twist at the fabric of her skirts as though in discomfort.

"What?"

Helaena blinks slowly, as if waking from a distant dream. "My brother," she says simply. "Bonded by bloodshed, torn between crowns—he will come back to you and you to him."

A shiver runs down Y/N's spine. It is not the first time Helaena has spoken in riddles—she has heard the whispers of the Queen's dreams, of the strange foresight that lurks in her blood, and, on the day of Aegon's coronation, she witnessed it herself. There is a beast beneath the boards. That was what she said at dinner two nights before, as well as in the carriage on their way to the Dragonpit. Then, just as she predicted, Meleys broke the floor of the pit with Rhaenys strapped to her back.

She wants to ask more, to press, to demand what she means and reject the notion of him somehow returning to her so soon. But before she can, Daenaera lets out a sudden wail, breaking the moment like glass shattering against stone.

Helaena says nothing more. Instead, she goes right back to her needlework with a blank, contented look on her face.

-

The library should be safe at this hour according to Nyla. Much like the other day, when she visited the Queen in her chambers, Aemond is reportedly occupied with various meetings and duties that have doubled since his brother was crowned King.

Y/N moves through the dimly lit halls with careful steps, her heart a steady drumbeat in her chest. The weight of Helaena's words lingers as a ghostly presence at the back of her mind, refusing to be ignored. He will return to you. A memory of seeing the Dragonpit clouded with debris after Meleys ripped through the floor as though it was nothing flashes before her eyes. He will return to you. She cannot help but think back to all of the times her aunt has uttered seemingly meaningless words that later turned true. He will return to you.

She does not know whether to fear it or hope for it.

The library doors creak faintly as she pushes them open, stepping into the room of parchment and ink that has served as her sanctuary since she was old enough to spell her name. The scent of old books and candle wax envelops her, familiar and comforting. Here, at least, she can think without the relentless hum of court gossip pressing in from all sides. Nyla was right—there is no one here. A monumental relief. Considering how fond her husband is of reading, this is a risky place to visit if she does not want to see him.

She moves deeper into the room, trailing her fingers along the spines of the tomes lining the shelves in hopes of losing herself to one of them. The histories, the epics, and the poetry. With a weary sigh, she selects a book—something dull and distracting—and stands by the hearth for warmth. The fire crackles, its marigold glow casting shadows that dance frantically across the stone floor. She forces her eyes to the pages, but the words blur together, her traitorous mind refusing to be tamed into submission for even a moment.

Bonded by bloodshed, torn between crowns.

Y/N stiffens at the sound of someone walking on the other end of the room with heavy, familiar footsteps. And, somehow, she just knows. Her fingers tighten around the edges of the book as she listens with bated breath and looks out around the corner of the shelf.

Then, for the first time, since she banished him from seeing her or their daughter, she sees him.

Aemond, half-shrouded in shadow, stands at the far end of the aisle she peeks out of. His tunic is dark, disheveled, and his hair is styled the same way it was when he left for Storm's End. Although, when she looks closer, the braid tying half of it up is slightly crooked, sloppy, and she knows without having to inquire that he has been redoing it himself since that day. The sight of him steals the air from her lungs and makes her chest muscles tighten up due to an intoxicating mixture of excitement and fear. Then, of course, there is anger. Anger at him for what he has done, but, more importantly, anger at herself for still reacting this way to him after everything that's happened.

In her solitude, she grew to loathe him entirely.

She fantasized about telling him off the next time she saw him in the flesh, hurting him as truly and deeply as he has hurt her, but that is not what happens. It feels as though she has been struck when she catches sight of him. There is nothing she can do except stand there, frozen, and watch him scour the shelves for the book he seeks. Her fingers curl around the edge of the shelf, squeezing until the tips of them turn white and the edges of her nails dig into the wood.

How dare he come here?

It matters little to her that this is one of his most frequently visited places in the Keep, nor does it matter that he is still her husband and she cannot evade him forever. No matter how unhealthy it may be, she longs to trap herself in this state of isolation. If she has no one and nothing to depend on, to care for, then she has nothing to lose. The biggest mistake of all was letting him into her heart in the first place, because now that he has made a home inside, there is no way of forcing him out. Not permanently.

She shifts in place as she watches him, readjusting herself into a more comfortable stance. But when she moves her arm back down to her side, a book is sent flying to the ground from her elbow bumping into it, and she mutters a string of curses under her breath before she can catch herself.

Aemond's head snaps up to look down the aisle in search of the source to the sound, and when that intense stare finds her, her knees nearly buckle. There is only a split-second that she maintains eye contact with him, frozen like a fawn cornered by a group of hunting men, then flees behind the shelf. More accurately, she ducks behind it like a scared little girl hiding beneath the covers of her bed from a monster.

She hugs the book to her heaving chest and prays that he somehow didn't see her even though she knows he did. And, as expected, those familiar footsteps start to make their way down the aisle toward her. Somehow, she tries to convince herself that this isn't happening and he'll turn at the last second to walk away, but he doesn't not. And she knows he won't. She knows her husband far too well to mistake him for the type of man that accepts defeat easily, especially when it comes to her.

When he gets so close that she can hear him breathing, she stands up for the sake of not looking as pathetic as she feels. And there he is. Her love, her life, and her greatest villain all in one. An indiscernible expression flickers across his sharp features as he looks down at her, and, try as she might, she cannot bring herself to look away from him. Even when the sight of him makes her sick to her stomach, her attention is solely focused on him.

She opens her mouth to speak only to stop short when she sees the title on the spine of the book he carries. A Caution for Young Girls....the very same book he found her reading beneath the Weirwood tree days after they were betrothed. He does not like that book, she thinks to herself. Tears begin to flood her eyes at the thought of him picking up a book he hates solely because he misses her. Memories plague her. In hazy flashes, she can recall how he mocked her description of the story and chuckled to himself as though it was the most ridiculous premise imaginable.

Aemond, on the other hand, could not move from his place in front of her even if he wanted to. It has been days, and the last time he saw her, she was furious. No. Beyond furious. She was heartbroken. And rightfully so. Even now, he has yet to wrap his head around the gravity of what he did—not to Luke, but to her.

"What are you doing here?" The question she spits is laced with aggression and a twinge of sorrow. Unable to help herself, she then mutters bitterly, "You do not like that book."

For a moment, he just stares at her with an inability to say anything. Every word he's imagined saying to her, ranging from apologies to frustrated arguments, vanish into thin air the second they lock eyes.

He says, "You know I frequently visit the library. Should I not be the one asking that question?"

If not for the way her heart clenches at the sight of the book in his hands, she may have shoved him and ran off for what he just said. Instead, she just continues to stare up at him as the perfect storm of emotion brews within her and prepares to send her back to the confinement of her chambers. Seeing him again...it had an impact that no amount of bracing could ever prepare a person for.

"I should go," she whispers.

His response is immediate—instinctual.

"No."

He doesn't shout or yell the word. In fact, it comes out as more of a pathetic whimper. That typically sharp purple eye softens a little as he looks at her, one hand holding onto her forearm to keep her in place, and she wishes it didn't make her heart melt for a second before she remembers what he did. Loving a man like him isn't an easy thing to do, but she does. She thinks she'll love him for the rest of her life, and that is what truly scares her. Although she wants to bash his face in and ignore him for the next couple of years, she finds it troubling that not even the outright murder of her little brother could destroy the feelings she has for him. What does that say about her as a person?

Her eyes well up with tears when she look at his face and tries to make herself hate him. But it's all for naught. No, it seems that there is nothing in this world that can get in the way of her loving him. She can't help but wonder, though, if his love for her is anywhere near as resilient and everlasting.

She shakes her head, not to him but to herself. This little interaction has gone on long enough.

"I do not wish to see you," Y/N whispers, her tone harsh and cold. A far cry from how she spoke to him as they soaked in the tub together before he left for Storm's End that fateful day. "If you will not leave, then I will."

As she turns to go, his hand gently, ever so gently, catches her arm. She didn't know Aemond had it in him to be so tender. It must be a conscious effort on his part, she thinks, to keep himself from upsetting her further. It's as though he knows without having to talk about it aloud that this is the only problem they cannot solve through yelling, ignoring, and fucking. Truth be told, he isn't quite sure this is a problem they can solve at all.

Aemond says softly, "Ñuha jorrāelagon..." My love. "Gaomagon daor henujagon ziry bisa ñuhoso." Do not leave it this way.

Sniffling and wiping the tear that slides down her cheek aside, she is quick to counter.

"Emā vēttan ziry bisa ñuhoso." You have made it this way. Then, she speaks in the common tongue, not caring if anyone else overhears anymore, "Please, just leave me alone. I am not ready. I do not know if I ever will be."

With that, she pulls her arm from his grasp and takes a step back, looking up at him with teary eyes, and tries to remain resolute in her decision to take more time to process what happened by herself. Deep down, she knows it's the right decision. It's what she needs, but when she sees him looking at her like that...She is certain that she is the only person Aemond has ever cried in front of, at least since he was a small child, and, right now, she can see his eye shining the way most people's do before they cry.

"Aemond," she says softly, wavering for a second.

As soon as he hears his name falling from her lips, his face lights up almost imperceptibly with hope. Anyone else would have missed it, but how could she? She sees right through him. He said it himself the night Viserys passed in his sleep.

Ultimately, she stops herself from saying anything more. Anything other than—

"You may see Daenaera on the morrow. In spite of this...challenge...I have no intention of keeping her from a father who loves her," Y/N speaks softly, calmly, even though the emotions churning within her are anything but. "You may come visit her once we're both dressed for the day. After your training in the morning."

Then, in what feels like an instant, she is gone. Hurrying down the aisle between bookshelves, she makes for the library doors and doesn't look back at him. Even as he internally wills her to do so, to turn around and run back to him, she disappears into the hallway beyond, leaving him completely alone.

That emptiness he felt in his heart his entire childhood leading up to when he claimed Vhagar and later married her comes back swinging its fists. His own mother is disgusted by him and refuses to look at him as a consequence of what he did to Lucerys. Yet, more importantly to him, he has been isolated entirely from his wife and daughter for the past week or so. He hadn't realized how accustomed he became to her presence until this moment. In the time since they were married, he never had to worry about being alone like he had as a child. Every morning, he would roll over in bed and find the warmth of her body beside his. Every night, she would wait for him to join her before the fire for them to read their books together in silence.

Even in the silence and stillness of night, Aemond could feel her presence and know that, for the first time in his life, he wasn't alone. Now, whatever composure he mustered on the flight home from Storm's Ene and wore like a mask in front of everyone else shatters into a million pieces.

With his back against the bookshelf, hiding from anyone who may come in, Aemond wipes a lone tear on his cheek away with his jaw clenched in a strange mixture of anger and sadness. Thoughts race through his head too fast for him to process, and he holds the book she loves so much with a white-knuckled grip. One look at the cover springs him into action, rushing for the library doors and in the direction of his old chambers from before he was wed.

It is there that he finds Cole sitting, waiting to talk of war and strategy. He, of course, entertains this conversation despite his mind being far away, but it doesn't last long. After his grandsire, Otto, comes in to admonish them for plotting without the permission of their king, Aemond pulls a cloak over himself and pockets a small bag of coin.

With his heart still aching in his chest and his wife's favorite book open on his bed, he makes his way to the Street of Silk.

-

By the time Y/N finished crying in her room and eating the meal Nyla brought to her as she has every night since Aemond was banished from their chambers, the sun had fallen below the horizon through her window. The curtains billow in the wind as rain begins to pitter-patter against the walls of the keep, and she has nothing to do but pace the room as the babe lays on her stomach on the bed.

Seeing him again...just being in his presence was overwhelming. As strong as she willed herself to be, there's still a part of her that instinctively cares for him, and it drives her mad. If it were anyone else who killed her little brother, her sweet Luke, it would be so easy to damn them to a fate of eternal hatred. Aemond, however, is equally as easy for her to love as he is to hate. That was how it had always been between them. The lines between the two strong emotions blurred until they became one, and that was how she found herself entangled with him so.

Sighing, she walks across the room and plucks her robe from where it is draped over one of the chairs, wrapping it tightly around her waist to conceal her plain nightgown from view. Should she bump into anyone on her walk through the corridors at such a late hour, she wouldn't want them to see her in a state of undress.

"I wish to see Helaena and the twins before bed," she says to Nyla as she picks the babe up and cradles her against her chest. "Please, tell them I requested they give you a good cup of wine tonight. You have done so much for me since the babe was born, and you deserve a night to yourself."

The young lady's face flushes with color at the praise given to her by the princess, shaking her head.

"Thank you, my lady. Tis only my job."

This makes Y/N's lips twitch with the urge to smile—a rarity these days. Ever since she was informed of Luke's death, she has hardly smiled or even laughed.

"My appreciation remains," she says as she approaches the door, then looks back over her shoulder. "Goodnight. I will see you in the morning."

Nyla dips her head in a gesture of respect, saying, "Yes, your grace."

The corridors are barren of life.

Rain pummels the ground below as she maneuvers around Maegor's Holdfast, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Daenera's head. Little wisps of hair tickle her cheek as she does it, and she cannot help but smile. All she can think of when she sees her, in spite of all that has happened recently, is how wonderfully hers and Aemond's features have combined to make her. Even when she is this small, she is somehow breathtakingly beautiful, although her mother is quite biased.

"Ñuha dōna zaldrītsos, issa jēda naejot ūndegon aōha dubāzma." My sweet little dragon. It is time to see your cousins.

As she crosses the threshold of the room, a smile wide on her face, her eyes search the room for her aunt. Yet, the second she catches sight of her, her mouth falls open in a scream. There's a man holding Helaena captive in his arms, with a knife to her neck as he tugs her head back with a fistful of her long hair pulled taut. Those typically soft, kind eyes are stricken with fear as they watch the other princess get snatched up by the companion of the person threatening her life. The man behind Helaena is shorter, a mustache growing above his lip with an unkempt beard, and he grins at the sight of Y/N.

"Shhh," a man, Y/N guesses based on the large figure that presses into her from behind, urges her to remain silent with one of his hands clasped over her gaping mouth. "Just keep quiet, or we'll cut that pretty throat and bleed ya dry. We don't want nothing but Prince Aemond's head."

Y/N's eyes turn wide at what he says, and, even though she knows the consequence of disobeying them, she starts to buck against the one holding her and squeals into the palm of his big, dirt-stained hand. Suddenly, all of the hate that flowed through her in the aftermath of him confessing to her brother's murder disintegrates into nothing. All she knows is that she still loves him, and if he dies, the heartache will only compound into something far more tragic than it already is if he is gone.

"Don't scream!" he whisper-yells into her ear, pressing the blade in just enough to break the creamy smooth skin of her neck.

To this, she forces herself to regain whatever scraps of composure that remain within her and nods. Slowly, cautiously, the assassins remove their hands from both of the princess's mouths, but they do not lower their knives. Should either of them try to call for help, they will be silenced in a matter of seconds.

With her newfound freedom, Y/N pleads, making sure to keep her voice down, "I do not know where my husband is, but I am here. If it is him you are searching for, take me instead!"

The babe starts to squirm in her embrace, whining as she wakes to a room filled with fear and despair. After a few seconds, her whines progress into full-on cries that can be heard from the hallway beyond. Y/N tries her best to calm her, rocking her in her arms as much as the man restraining her will allow, but it is useless. This is one of the many times Daenaera is searching for the comfort of one person alone.

That makes three of them who seek Aemond tonight.

"Shut that kid up!" the one holding Helaena spits.

Her captor, however, remains focused on the job they were sent to complete.

"We aren't 'ere for either of you women. We're 'ere for the Kinslayer. Aemond One-Eye."

The shorter man pulls his knife away from Helaena's neck to point in the direction of Y/N–no, she realizes as her heart drops into her stomach–Daenaera.

"What about the babe? That's Prince Aemond's only child, that is. If we're to collect his debt, she will do just fine."

Y/N's face turns red at the mere mention of them taking and hurting her daughter, pulling her tighter until she is flush with her mother's body. If they want to take her, they will have to kill her and kill her quickly. She was trained with the sword by her father, Prince Daemon, and if she manages to steal a knife, it'll be plunged into their hearts one after the next. But with Helaena and the children at the mercy of these depraved people, she doesn't want to risk being the reason for all of their deaths. Her aunt would eventually forgive her for it, but how could she ever forgive herself?

"No," she starts to speak, her voice wavering, "No, you can't–"

The big man is eager to interrupt her begging for her daughter's life with his own plea.

"A son for a son, he said. Does either of them look like a fucking son? If we do this wrong, we don't get paid."

It is only now that it clicks. Why they're here and who must have sent them. A son for a son...a debt to collect...

This could not have been Rhaenyra's orders. Her mother is nothing if not sympathetic to the suffering of other noble women, especially mothers. Having lost her own child in the birthing bed, then Lucerys at Shipbreaker Bay, she would not demand the head of a babe. The instructions would have been clear if they came from her. It would have been to strike down Aemond. Only him.

Tears stream down Y/N's cheeks while they casually debate whose life to end as if none of them matter at all. As if they are choosing which pig to slaughter for the dinner feast. She watches on in horror as the shorter one then points his knife at the other side of the room from which he stands. When she and Helaena look at where he points, her knees almost buckle and send her to the floor. If not for the babe, she likely would have fallen.

He asks his partner, "What about them two?"

All of the eyes in the room turn their attention to the small pair of beds that Aegon and Helaena's twins sleep in. Silence descends over the room like a heavy fog, the deadly kind that only precedes the most horrific moments in life. The twins sleep deeply, unaware of the danger lying in wait in the form of the two men standing a few feet from the ends of their beds.

Y/N's heart hammers against her ribs as she stares at the tiny, rising chests of the children–Jaehaera and Jaehaerys–tangled in their linen sheets with their pale hair spread out like halos on their pillows.

"Which is the boy?" the big one asks. "Tell us!"

Helaena, terrified that her movements will set them off if they're too abrupt, slowly reaches up to unclasp the necklace she is wearing with a dangling gemstone pendant.

"I have a necklace...it's of great value..."

In one swift motion, the bigger man rips the necklace from her heaving chest, pocketing it without a second thought. To answer the pleading look in her eyes, he just shakes his head. There isn't a price high enough to force them to abandon their mission, not when they've already come this far and let the princesses see their faces.

"S'not a son. Which is it?"

The shorter man holds his knife up at Y/N, allowing her to back up until she reaches her aunt's side. Her free hand, the one not clutching her month-old daughter to her chest like a lifeline, reaches for Helaena's hand. Much like the day of Aegon's coronation, she does not smack it away, but it is likely because she is too overwhelmed with the situation at hand to care. It's clear to see how quickly she is forced to process the decision of whether or not to sentence one of her sweet babes to death. A tear slips down her cheek as she shakes her head, not wanting to accept the reality she is living in, and looks between the two men holding their knives out at them. If she does not choose, they will kill them all...they said so themselves that they would bleed the lot of them if she disobeyed when they first entered the room.

"These are children," Y/N says. "Innocents! You mustn't hurt t–"

"Shut that mouth or I will kill every last one of ya!" the bigger one whispers. "Including the little babe in yer arms."

If the knives held out to threaten them weren't enough, that is all it takes for Y/N to shut her mouth and step back to see the situation for what it is. Coming to the very same realization Helaena came to seconds ago, her breaths come in shallower and her stomach churns with the unmistakable feeling of dread. Someone is dying tonight—a son, to be specific—and there is only one son in this bedroom.

The smaller man with the mustache–a rat-catcher, she recognizes from around the Keep–keeps his knife pointed at them.

"Which?"

Y/N's mind races with all the possibilities of how tonight could have happened differently. What if she did not send Aemond away to wherever it is he is right now? What if they had a son instead? If they found her husband like they intended to, would Helaena's children be safe from having to pay the price of his misdeeds? In the end, she can only blame herself for not doing enough and Aemond for killing Lucerys in the first place. As much as she loves him, she would rather Aemond fight these men off than have the children put in harm's way. At least he would stand a chance.

Finally, she is brought out of her haze of self-hatred and regret by the sight of Helaena pointing toward one of the beds.

The bigger man takes a step, then stops.

"Wait, it's the other one. She's not gonna give up the king's heir that easy."

But the rat-catcher stares into Helaena's eyes and shakes his head. Her finger is still pointing to where Jaehaerys sleeps, and Y/N knows it's him. She can see him sleeping with one of the braids she styled for him this morning in his hair.

"No," he says, "she's telling true."

Like a switch was flipped, the men stalk toward the young prince's bed with their weapons at the ready, leaving the two of them standing in a state of utter shock.

Unable to do anything else, Helaena walks to Jaehaera and picks her up from her bed, eyes wide as she watches the men holding her son down with one of their hands flattened over his mouth. Y/N is still frozen as she waits for Helaena to get her daughter, and she has to look away from where the assassins start to slice open the little boy's throat. The only thing she saw before squeezing her eyes shut and turning her head was the sharp side of the blade breaking open his skin. Blood bloomed over the side of the steel fast, far too fast, and she did not care to watch any more.

The sound of the serrated knife sawing at his bone, as well as the spurting of blood, is loud enough to make her collapse to her knees. Her face is pale, her stomach sick, and it takes everything in her not to spill her guts on the floor from having to hear them behead Jaehaerys. Unable to do anything else, she holds Daenaera and turns her back to the two men, curling forward to use her body as a shield to protect her daughter. Even though she knows they got what they came for, she still does it. If she dies, their daughter will be able to cope. Daughters lose their mothers all the time. It's a natural part of life. But a mother losing her daughter is something that should never happen.

That is precisely the reason why her heart aches for her aunt. Not only has she lost her only son, she witnessed it firsthand.

Now, with the men having sprinted out of the room with the young prince's head in a sack, Helaena sees the headless corpse of her baby son and begins to scream.

-

For the next two hours, as servants come in and out of the bedchamber, Y/N remained on the floor with Daenaera clutched in her arms.

Shortly after letting out a bloodcurdling scream, Helaena ran out of the room. To where she went, Y/N does not know, but a flurry of guards came rushing in moments later. Still, she couldn't move. Even as the infant in her arms cried, then later fell asleep, she sat on her knees in the middle of the woven rug and stared at the wall ahead of her. When faced with danger, people either find it in themselves to fight, flee, or freeze. Having been raised the way she was—on the beaches of Dragonstone sparring with her father and brothers at sunrise each morning—she always expected herself to put up a fight. Yet tonight, when it mattered most, she froze.

The servant girl who ran out with the bloodstained sheets in hand came back sometime later and knelt on the ground next to her.

"Princess," she spoke softly, not daring to touch her. "Princess, you must get to bed."

It wasn't until the Queen Dowager came to check on Helaena, fresh from speaking privately with her father, that she managed to get herself off the floor. A soft hand brushed her shoulder, and her head spun around to see who it was. Despite the tenderness of the touch, her mind conjured images of the mysterious men who came in the night for her husband's head and left with that of a little boy's.

It was Alicent.

"Let us go to your chambers, sweetling. Ser Criston Cole has ordered a knight to take the night's watch at your door, and your handmaiden is there to help with the babe while you rest."

She shook her head.

There was a slight pause, understanding the reluctance to function at a time so tragic, then—

"I will see to it that the Grand Maester himself brings something to help you sleep...Come now, please."

It felt like ages that they walked around corridor after corridor until they found their way to the chambers she shared with Aemond up until recently. A fresh fire was lit in the hearth, and Nyla was waiting to take the babe, but she couldn't say a thing to her. Wordlessly, she handed Daenaera off and sat down on the edge of her bed with a faraway, dazed look in her eyes.

When the doors shut behind Alicent, she lifted her head to find Nyla watching her from across the room. Suddenly, she felt so unclean. One of those strange men had touched her, held her to his body in a way no man but her husband has before, and held a blade to her throat with the intent to kill should she have put up a fight. Even though none of Jaehaerys' blood sprayed onto her, she could feel it there coating her skin all the same. Most of all, she felt it on her palms.

"I"—she stammered for a moment and looked into Nyla's kind eyes—"I would like to bathe, please."

"At once, Your Grace," the handmaiden said and went to the door to fetch another couple of servants to help.

The copper bathing tub took the better half of the hour to fill with steaming water, yet they heard no complaints from the princess. Some of them watched her like most people would a wild, dangerous animal. She could feel their eyes on her when she wasn't looking but didn't utter a word. She simply stood from the bed and walked to the tub, shedding her clothes as she went until she was as naked as the day she was born. The fabric fell into a heaping pile that was quickly scooped up a servant the second it hit the floor. Hopefully they would burn them.

The heat doesn't bother her now as she sinks into the deep bathing tub.

If anything it helps as she begins to scrub her hands with the sponge given to her by the additional servants. Slowly, tears begin to well up in eyes. The pressure she puts on the sponge grows harsher with every swipe she makes over her palm. Her shoulders start to tremble, the tears coming faster, and, before she knows it, she is fully sobbing. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees the first slice the blade made into the child's neck, so she keeps them open. Blurred with tears, she keeps them open for the sake of whatever is left of her sanity.

It's all too much.

If she didn't have a daughter, she could've leapt from her window to silence the screaming within her head. Mayhaps if it was, indeed, her daughter that they murdered, she would've taken her own knife to her wrists and ended it all. But that isn't an option. As long as her little girl draws breath, she will do what she can to endure. For her, only her, Y/N would fight those urges.

At the very same time his wife soaks in the tub, Aemond returns to find the Red Keep in a state of disarray. As he walks through the front gates, Criston stops him in his tracks for the sake of asking questions. Did he see anything suspicious? Where was he when the attack occurred? Did he hear what happened tonight?

"Your Nephew, Jaehaerys was slain," says the Lord Commander. "It happened in front of the Queen and Princess Y/N. Two men invaded the walls of the Keep to take his head. The city gates are to remain closed until the villains are caught."

His heart begins to pound the second he hears his wife's name. The rest of the information given to him is shocking, a tragedy to put it lightly, but his concern is mostly focused on her. She may be a strong woman, but to see a child killed right in front of her is something he knows could break her. Before he can open his mouth to ask where she is, Cole is speaking again.

"They threatened to kill your daughter, my Prince...Your wife couldn't be moved from the room for hours. It was only when the Queen Dowager came to see her that she returned to her chambers." There is a solemn pause. "I am expected in a small council meeting in a few moments, though, so do with that information what you will. I will see you on the morrow, Your Grace."

The Lord Commander turns on his heel and walks away after the last word escapes his lips, his hand on the pommel of his sword as he walks in the direction of the council chamber. In Aemond's lifetime and that of his father's before him, no one has ever breached the castle and harmed a member of the royal family. Nothing could have prepared him to receive news like that. For the time it takes for Cole disappears from his view, he stands stock-still in the middle of the open doors and tries to process everything that was just said to him.

Then, he's walking.

For the first time since he told her about what he did to Lucerys, Aemond is taking the familiar route leading toward the chambers they shared together since they were wed. With every step, he is moving faster and faster. The mental images he concocts of his wife and daughter tormented at the hands of those two men haunt him the whole way there. Despite being told by Ser Criston Cole that Jaehaerys was the one slain, he needs to see them. Even if she screams at him to leave and shuns him again, he will feel better having seen that the two of them are alright with his own eye.

The knight standing in front of the door to their chambers steps aside at the sight of Prince Aemond approaching. His gait is sure and confident from the outside looking in and his stare as lethal as ever, but it is all a means to conceal the uncertainty within.

Y/N jolts in surprise at the sound of the door opening. Through her teary eyes, she can only make out the outline of a man walking into the room. The thought of a strange man coming into her bedchamber sends her into a harder fit of sobs, but when she sees Nyla standing beside the babe's cradle with a calm expression, her fear is quickly assuaged. The man keeps walking, coming closer and closer until she can make out his long silver hair and the patch covering his scarred eye socket.

"Aemond!"

Hearing her cry out his name like that—the way she used to—makes him rush across the rest of the space between them and bend down to lift her into his arms. Water drips over the floors and soaks his clothes, but he cares little and less about making a mess when his wife needs him so. His strong arms hoist her from the tub and pull her legs closed around his waist. She clings to his body like it's the only thing left to tether her to the ground, her arms squeezing tight where they wrap around his shoulders.

"They came for you," she whispers through cries that make her whole body shake. "They were sent to kill you, but they couldn't find you." The sounds of her wails reverberate off walls of the sprawling room. "They threatened to kill our girl, then they killed Jaehaerys!"

"Nyke gīmigon, ñuha jorrāelagon, nyke gīmigon," he says softly, brushing her wet hair away from her face. I know, my love, I know. "Iksan kesīr sir. Kesan daor henujagon ēva ao mazverdagon nyke. Iksā ȳgha, ābrazȳrys. Kesan mīsagon īlva lentor." I am here now. I will not leave until you make me. You are safe, wife. I will protect our family.

The sound of his lilting accent when speaking the language of their ancestors brings a sense of relief to her. It's how they have communicated from the beginning of their relationship. Every time they want privacy, or to say something they are too scared to voice in the common tongue, they speak in Valyrian. Hearing him speak it now calms her far more than she anticipated, especially since the death of her brother and the loneliness it caused. It doesn't matter now what has happened. Whatever reprieve she can find from the suffering right now, she takes gratefully.

"You," he says to Nyla as he lowers his wife back into the bath. "Take the babe into the other room for the night."

Y/N grabs his wrists and shakes her head repeatedly, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

"No, please, I don't want her to be alone! I'm—"

"Shhh," he shushes her softly and reaches down to cup her cheek. "She will only be in the adjoining room. Nyla will be with her. There is a knight at the door, and you have me here with you." His eye stares deeply into hers as he forces her to look at him. Just at him. "It'll be okay."

Despite everything that has driven a wedge between them recently, when he says this to her, she believes him. If there is anything Aemond could be counted upon for, it would be his fiercely protective nature regarding what he sees as belonging to him. Within the span of a moment, Nyla is moving the cradle into the other room and shutting the door behind her, leaving her and Aemond by themselves.

Sighing, he kneels down on the wet floor, getting his pant legs soaked, to help her clean herself. The pitcher sitting beside the tub is empty, so he dips it into the water and lifts it up to wet her hair. Those gut wrenching sobs have died down to stifled cries and sniffles.

"Tilt your head," he says.

She does as he asks, leaning her head back so the warm water can soak through her hair. Aemond places the pitcher to the side and reaches over towards the ledge where all the different soaps and oils are placed. There, he finds her favorite one, the one that Daemon sent a gift when she was younger, then returns to her side. The familiar lemon and lavender scent threatens to bring tears to his eyes. After all of the time they spent apart, he almost forgot how much he loved the smell of that soap—of her. With the rain lashing at him from all directions as he watched Lucerys and his dragon fall into the sea in pieces, he could smell her precious soap on his hair. The whole way back to King's Landing, he was tormented by it.

He starts off with her hair, rinses it, then moves on to wash her body. Those rough hands lather the soap on her back, massaging with enough strength to loosen the tight knots in her shoulders but not to hurt.

Strangely, he feels like this is the most intimate moment he's ever shared with a person before. When they bathed together before he left for Storm's End, it had been different. They were both undressed and vulnerable. Equal. Now, he cares for her in a way he never has before. He kneels before her as though he is swearing his fealty, and he helps her bathe much like the servants helped him as a child. There is no ego. No titles. Just a husband and his wife. There is something he quite enjoys about it, though he isn't certain what. Mayhaps it is simply the fact that she needs him. That she finally isn't shunning him as every other woman in his life has.

"I thought about trying to steal one of their knives and killing them," Y/N says suddenly, drawing his mind out from the clouds it floated into. "But I froze...."

Her brows furrow enough for a line to appear between them as she tries to take deep breaths and keep at bay the urge to sob again. Aemond gives her a chance to continue, washing her feet now with a gentleness even she didn't realize he possessed, but she doesn't.

He hums in acknowledgment of what she said, then speaks quietly.

"If it weren't Jaehaerys, it would have been our girl."

This opens the floodgates and unleashes a string of breathless cries from her. Her shoulders jerk with the intensity of it, and she tries to wipe away the tears with her fingers but they keep coming. To think of what happened to that sweet boy happening to her babe, who is but six weeks old, makes her sick to her stomach. Still, she wonders if it makes any difference which child was killed in the grand scheme of things. The loss is infinite to those who loved him, and it will be a death noted in the histories that will outlive them all.

She turns her head to look at him for the first time since Nyla left the room. Her eyes display a sort of pain that his have ever since that day at Driftmark. She was always the happier of the two of them—lighter, almost—but now when he looks at her, he sees his own reflection.

"I begged them to take me in your stead." She chuckles wryly through her tears. "How stupid of me. You murdered my brother, and I tried so hard to hate you. Part of me still does hate you. Part of me will always loathe you, Aemond, but when it truly came down to it, I could not stand the thought of living in a world without you."

To say that this stuns him to silence would be a drastic understatement.

Aemond has spent the days since she banished him from presence in agony. Torn between the guilt he felt for what happened with Luke and the pride that caused him to pretend it had been a purposeful killing to everyone but her, he spent his sleepless nights rereading her favorite book just to feel close to her again. It wasn't until he encountered her at the library earlier this day that it sunk in. That he realized he had lost her. Every day before this one, he held out hope that she would somehow come back to him, but then she pushed him away. That was the only reason he went out into the city when the two assassins came to murder him in his bed.

With everything he knows about himself, about the dark and ugliest facets of his character, he struggles to see how she could ever want to die for him. It doesn't make sense. Yet, nothing never does with them, does it?

He slowly reaches for the hand she holds the rim of the bathtub with. It's a cautious move on his part. Should she smack his hand away, he will retract it and apologize like he was raised to do. But she doesn't. In fact, she lets him rest his hand atop her own. Then, he simply nods. Whether it is to her or his own thoughts, she isn't sure.

His hand squeezes hers tightly.

"Come loathe me at a closer distance, then."

A/N: finally! let me know what you think in the comments if you want to :)

Tag List: @m-indkiller, @tinykryptonitewerewolf, @hopebaker, @bcon24, @eleganttravelercloud, @the-blue-banshee, @saramayu, @merakiaes, @its-sam-allgood, @grungegrrrlxo, @singitoutgirl26, @scarlettmoon98, @itisjustwhatitis, @cl-0-vr, @d34d-4c1d, @hargrovehoe, @leahjean, @captainweirdo42, @magnificantmermaid, @dark-night-sky-99, @ladybug0095, @bellaisasleep, @blackravenart, @reneki, @heylosers06, @izzicle, @bucky-thorin-winchester, @hangmanscoming, @harrypotteranna23-blog, @fan-goddess, @glame, @barnes70stark, @lv7867, @kckt88, @callsignwidow, @aspookiepookie, @palomavz, @bellaisasleep, @sinistersnakey, @minttea07, @calmingmelody96, @optimistic-but-very-realistic, and @shintax-error.

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rereading romeo and juliet while also rewatching the 1996 adaptation is really putting me in the mood to write more of judas 😭

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the hyperfixation is getting too real 😭

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DAVID CORENSWET AS CLARK KENT

SUPERMAN (2025)

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might have to write some clark kent fics after seeing superman

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i need him so bad its concerning at this point

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progress on the conrad fic has slowed down but i am trying to keep it going lol

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GIVEAWAY WINNER

the winner i chose for the anakin giveaway is @sunnytotheend and i will be writing the request you sent in as well as giving you a candle made from one of the anakin coke cans! thank you to everyone who participated 🫶🏻

i will try to ship candle in the next couple of weeks, and work on the fic as soon as i can.

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the conrad smut i’m in the middle of…

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can’t even imagine the buzz we’ll be feeling when we get the last few episodes (aka bellyconrad the movie)

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The peach scene 3.05

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THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY || Conrad and Belly in 3.05 "Last Dance" That night, that was the last time we were ever together like that. What if I hadn't fucked it up four years ago? What if I hadn't pushed her away like I always do?

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cooking 🫶🏻