#meaning she did indeed have less power than him

[redfoxwritesstuff]

For Eternity, Chapter 2 of 13

Alastor x Angel!Wife Oc (Isabel) Rated: Adult - this fic contains content inappropriate for minors. Chapter Warnings: Suggestions of sexual assault

@impulsivethoughtsat2am Was darling enough to beta <3 Many thanks, Dearheart.

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

~~~~~<3

“Welcome back, Ladies!” Alastor was in the hotel lobby as soon as the doors opened. “How did your ill-fated endeavor go?” 

“Bad.” Vaggie answered, not wanting to talk about any of it. The less people that knew her angelic origin story, the better in her mind. 

“Alastor?” Charlie tried to find the similarities between the man in the picture she had spent most of the trip home looking at and the one standing before her. 

“Whatever can I do for you?” He was in front of her in a heartbeat, leaning into her space slightly, hands planted on his cane as was his way.

“I think maybe I have something for you?” Charlie held out the silver pocket watch. 

“Angelic steel?” He asked as he stepped closer, eyebrow cocked in curiosity. “As a pocket watch? What a silly trinket to bring back. Pocket watches were a thing of the past long before my day.”

“It was given to me. A woman, she asked me to give it to you. At least, I think you’re who it’s for. Maybe there’s another Alastor? Or one who isn’t dead yet. Or one that already had their soul destroyed. Or-”

Alastor bounced the watch in his hand a few times, enjoying the weight of a well made pocket watch in the palm of his hand. Wristwatches had indeed replaced the pocket by in his time on earth. Still, they had an elegance he had favored in life that few knew about. 

They made handy trinkets to fiddle with. In life, he’d run his thumb over the faceplate of the watch his wife had gotten him while he stalked his victims… or while he sat through pointless meetings. 

She had gotten it for him as a gift early in their marriage, upon discovering his rather modest personal collection. It’s weight lived in his pocket during those few short months they had spent together. In the time after her death however, he had wore the faceplate smooth, running his thumb over it again and again as he went about his daily life. 

Alastor froze as he opened the watch. A face he had spent what felt like eternity trying to forget looked up at him.

He had hoped that was where she was. He had feared she had already perished in hell, having been damned for one wrong thought or some childhood action like so many of the weakest sinners in the realm. 

Static jumbled his voice, radio filter going heavy, “Where did you get this?” 

“A woman, she gave it to me.” A shiver ran up Charlie’s spine as Alastor clicked closed the watch and slipped it in his pocket, moving without a trace of the dangerous flair of power he had displayed. “Do you- is she-”

“My wife.” He confirmed. Though they had been separated in death, he wouldn’t deny her. He had spent decades trying and failing to forget her, but he would never deny her outright. 

“You had a wife?” Angel was too shocked to add any quips to his question. Alastor having a wife ment that surely, at some point he had an interest in more than just himself. “Does that mean that you do-”

“I advise you to speak carefully,” Words came nearly lost in static as shadows deepened, lights dimmed and Alastor’s back twisted and his neck turned far more than should have been possible so Angel was faced with his terrifying face. 

“What is she like?” Charlie was eager to settle the mood and learn more of the woman who she had only gotten to meet for a fleeting moment.

“She was sweet as honey. A woman truly deserving of Heaven.”

“How’ed she end up with a fella like you?” Angel stuck his neck out to ask the question on everyone’s mind, not having enough sense of self preservation to keep his mouth shut after the first warning. 

“I was far from deserving of her,” Alastor felt like such didn’t need saying. “We had family connections pushing us together. Is she well?” 

Charlie hesitated, her mind replaying the way Adam manhandled the wisp of a woman. 

“She’s in Heaven.” Vaggie answered, as if that was an answer. 

Alastor accepted it with a nod, “I thank you for bringing me her trinket.” 

“She said to tell you that she loved you,” Charlie blurted out. “No, that’s not exactly it. She would always love you, that was it. I didn’t have a chance to talk to her but she said she would wait forever for you.”

The wide toothed smile on Alastor’s face closed, pulling tight, “She shouldn’t.”

“You can try for redemption.” Charlie felt renewed hope for him. He had someone to be redeemed for!

“No, thank you.” Alastor’s smile grew again, cut wide by his sharp teeth. “I am hardly the man she knew. I thank you again, for the trinket, and carrying my Isabel’s message. Good Night.”

~~~~~<3

Adam was in a rage as he threw her against the wall. Isabel wished for nothing more than to die. If this was heaven, she didn’t want to be here. 

“What were you talking about!”

“I just wanted to find him.” She whimpered in the face of Adam’s rage. He was held up as the perfect man, the first man. If he was placed next to the man she loved though, he couldn’t even live up to his shadow. 

“He’s a disgusting Sinner!” Adam grabbed her again. “Why do you hold out for him? You could have me, the original dick.”

“You’ll never be half the man he was!” 

Adam threw her on the floor and loomed over her. “Take what I am willing to give you,” His hand grasped her ankle and pulled her toward him as she tried to get away. “And I will make you forget him.” 

“You’re as much a sinner as anyone in hell!” She kicked at him, “This is no Heaven. This is but a beautiful blasphemous lie. This is Hell!” 

~~~~~<3

Alastor sat in Rosie’s parlor, teacup of rich warm blood swirling as he was lost in his thoughts. Across from him sat his dearest friend in Hell. Her territory was a refuge for him, somewhere without cameras and where those who would spread idle gossip about him were not eager to wander inside.

“Alastor Dear, As glad as I am to see your face, what troubles you?” 

Rosie had been sitting in silence, watching him. She waited patiently for him to open up before her soft prodding, though she wouldn’t dare push or pry. Maintaining a friendship with her often chaotic fellow Overlord took some delicacy and respect for his many boundaries and walls.

“My wife,” Alastor’s smile was subdued yet ever present even as the weight of his punishment in hell crashed over him once again. 

It was a weight he had long ago gotten used to. He had learned to thrive under but when he was forced to remember this part of his living life, it was a stone around his neck that threatened to try to drown him. There wasn’t a chance in hell that he would let it.

He needed to once again cast aside the stone. She was where she belonged and he would never be with her again. So what if she waited for him? So what if she still loved him? She didn’t know the sins he carried. He needed to throw her memory aside, once again, and leave the past in the past. 

There was nothing that could be done to change anything. 

She sat back in her chair, back perfectly straight and empty eyes wide. Sure, she had been privy to the fact that at one time, he had been married but most gave up such ownership over their spouse after a few decades, referring to them as former, ex or late.

It was easy to assume due to his apparent lack of romantic or sexual drive that he had mentally divorced himself from the relationship long ago, shed the shackles that societal expectations bound him with in his life. They hadn’t spoken explicitly about his preferences or desires, it wouldn’t be proper, but she had a way of knowing these things. 

Or at least, she had thought she did.

The idea that taking a wife had been anything more meaningful to him than the socially expected and proper thing to do hadn’t crossed even her mind. All things exist in a spectrum, she supposed, and matters of the heart were rarely anything less than complex. 

Alastor placed a open pocket watch on the table between them after she was all but certain that he wasn’t going to discuss the matter further, “She’s in Heaven.” 

“How did you get this?” She asked, picking the silver watch, gleaming in a way things in hell rarely did, and examining the picture inside. 

It was hand sketched and ever so detailed. Crafting the image clearly took a significant amount of time. Someone had slaved over the artwork inside for a great many hours to produce something that had near photo results. 

“Is this-?” 

“My Darling and I, the day we wed.” Alastor confirmed. “She had always been a talented artist, though I’d say her skills have progressed significantly in the decades since she left my side.” 

“It’s very good,” Rosie said, “You made a lovely couple.” 

“Our Darling Princess delivered it when she returned from Heaven,” Alastor took a long pull from his teacup. “A gift from Isabel.”

“I’m so sorry, Alastor.” She slid the watch back toward him, not sure what the proper thing to say to him in that moment was. 

“No need, my dear friend.” He absently responded as he pocketed the watch, sparing a moment to run his thumb over the faceplate hiding the picture inside. “No need. She is where she belongs, as am I.” 

“Yet it weighs on you,” Rosie pointed out, “You long for her?”

“Perhaps.” Alastor wasn’t fond of the questioning but thankfully, Rosie did so with tact and respect. It was something lacking from the hotel residents who struggled to picture him caring for anyone, let alone as a husband. “She is safe, as she should be.”

“It’s a relief then?” Rosie asked, plucking a lady finger from the plate between them. “To know she didn’t parish in an extermination?” 

It hadn’t occurred to her that he had been looking for, hunting for anything more than the powerful demons he killed as he arose to power. Perhaps there had been a bit of something else driving the events of those days. Now wasn’t the time to ask however.

“To know that she is where she belongs,” Alastor countered.

“Which isn’t with you?” Rosie delicately tried to untangle the complexities of her dear friend. 

“Which is somewhere safe,” Alastor corrected. “You know just as well as I, Hell chews up and spits out those who are not savage enough to earn respect and take power.” 

~~~~~<3

Sulfur stung her nose as the portal to Hell opened. This was her chance, she had humored Adam though it had made her skin crawl to get to this moment. Adam wasn’t an intelligent man but still, it wasn’t easy to allow him to believe that she was finally willing to entertain his advances, his hands on her. 

It was too much to hope for that he would know anything about her husband but he was her ticket to where he was. It was common knowledge that Adam took his warrior angles between Heaven and Hell in order to protect the gates. 

There’s no way she could convince Adam to take her with him. Manipulation wasn’t her strength in the slightest. Just pretending to accept Adams advances was challenging enough. 

It wasn’t for nothing at least. It had gotten her here, standing at the front of the select crowd who would see off Adam and his warriors to the mighty battle as the citizens of Hell once again rose up to try and overtake the gates. This was a war only a select few knew about and being one of those few took work. 

Golden sparks kicked to life in the air in front of the army. Sparks grew, swirling to life into a large portal from what had started as a pinprick. Adam offered her a cocky grin that she did not return before he lead the first wave of his army though.

This was her chance, Isabel knew. It was now or never. If she let this chance pass by, she wouldn’t get another. 

Counting, Isabel prepared herself to do something she knew she could never come back from. 

One. Looking in the distance she saw her Mother-in-law nod her blessing. How she had managed to get that close, Isabel would never be able to ask her. Everything she had learned, everything she had feared, everything she had experienced in Heaven, she had shared with her dear Alastor’s mother. If anyone knew how much being separated from him was torture to her, it would be his mother. 

Two. She fluttered out her wings, tensing muscles and ruffling feathers. To pull this off she needed every feather in place. She needed every muscle to propel her forward before anyone could stop her. Hopefully at least. 

Three. One last deep breath of the cleanest air she would ever breathe as the hot sulphuric air wafted into heaven from the open portal. Just a few more rows of the army were left. 

 Now. She ran, long dress clutched in one fist as she hiked the hemline up to her knees, wishing she had worn the dip hemline she had favored instead of the ankle long hemline Adam liked. She had to manage without getting caught. She had to make it through and out of reach of the angels while she fell. 

One powerful beat after the other allowed her to pick up speed as she ran forward, going as fast as her legs would carry her. Then she was going faster, feet grazing the stone floors as she shot forward into the stream of deadly angel warriors.

Fingers grazed the feathers of her wings in a startled attempt to stop her as she shot away from the army. For a moment, she was disorientated. 

They were supposed to be high above hell, defending the gates from one of the frequent uprisings. She had planned to fall, hoping to miss the battle and fall fairly safely.

Instead, the portal all but threw her out into the battle near the grounds of Hell. This wasn’t right but Isabel had no time to get her feet under her. The air burned her lungs as she gulped  air as her wings beat with all the strength she could manage. 

Dodging out from the army, a black tentacle nearly knocked her out of the air. She had to get away from here, where ever here was before she could do anything else. Flying from rooftop to rooftop, she did everything she could to try and put distance between her and the battle without drawing attention to herself.

Once the fighting was over, she would look for him. First she had to find somewhere safer to wait out the violent fighting taking place around the large building. Surely, everyone would be paying attention to the battle and one lone angel wouldn’t draw too much attention, right?

~~~~~<3

TagList: @catticora, @alastor-simp

[geekgirles]

I'm obsessed with the fact that Amalia and Yugo have individual thrones while Armand and Aurora had to share (I don't have a screenshot for it, but if anyone could add one, I'd really appreciate it).

That's right, babies! You show 'em how to be a literal power couple!

[mediumgayitalian]

The best part of being his own camp counsellor is that he can wake up whenever the fuck he likes.

Nico’s a fan.

Because, however, his dumb ass made friends with the camp’s head medic, he doesn’t get to sleep in as often as he would like. He is instead often woken up before the clock strikes nine, which is a tragedy and one of the forty thousand reasons he is going to be present on Will’s judgement day. (The scales tip any which way on a regular basis, but as of last week, Will is going to hell. Unfortunate. Nico’ll still visit him, though. Bring him one half of a twizzler or something.) So when he wakes up, one lovely morning, mouth tasting like something rotted in it and sun well past halfway across the sky, he is capital-C Concerned.

What a horrible tragedy that is. Finally, for the first time in months, he was able to sleep in. And his first thought is not gratitude. Solace may indeed have to die — Nico was not this way before he started planting his annoying ass front and centre in Nico’s life. He’s quite fairly certain he used to be frightening and badass. Now Will orders him to drink milk for the sake of his calcium and he does. Gods.

“Morning,” he hedges, approaching the archery range, feeling marginally more alive than twenty minutes prior.

Kayla raises an amused eyebrow. “Dude, it’s, like, two.”

“Well fuck you, then.”

She smirks. “Aw, did baby not get his Sunshine fix of the day? Is that why he’s so grumpy?”

It really sucks that Will is so fond of his siblings. Nico wonders if Will would still like him if he knew how many times he daydreams of transporting Kayla onto the moon per day.

“As soon as I figure out which god would appreciate you as a sacrifice, you’re gone.”

“Yeah, right,” she snorts, turning away and lining up an arrow. She lets it fly, watching as it shaves a splinter off a hunk of wood fifty feet away. “You couldn’t get close enough to kick my ass before I’d skewer you, di Angelo.”

Remembering the warning arrow Kayla had shot through his shoulder last week, he wisely chooses not to press the matter any further. The power visibly goes to her head. Fuck.

“Just — tell me where Will is.”

“Why?” She strings another arrow. The grin on her face is a level of shit-eating that Nico has only before seen on a Stoll. She should spend less time around Julia, or else the camp is in for some serious trouble. “What are your intentions with my dear brother?”

Nico, on principle, refuses to answer that question. Kayla shrugs, finishing her shot and then turning around to stick her tongue out at him.

“No answer, no location! Find him yourself, loverboy. And remember that I am always watching.”

Stomping away, and ignoring the smile twitching at his lips — she is so annoying, truly, gods above he owes Bianca a thousand apologies for ever opening his mouth — he heads towards the infirmary. There are only six locations Will is at any given time, after all, except when he disappears for several hours randomly but Nico doesn’t know how to bring that up yet. As he approaches the infirmary, though, he hears it absolutely blasting with music, like genuinely shaking the ground a little bit, and knows exactly where to find him.

As he approaches the door, wincing at the door, he finds it closed. Odd — Will likes a breeze when he works. Even odder is the hastily-written sign pasted onto it:

ANNUAL CLEAN OUT DAY. IF YOU NEED ME, TOUGH SHIT. IF YOU NEED A BANDAID, TOUGH SHIT. IF YOU’RE BLEEDING OUT, CALL AN AMBULANCE AND PRAY. I AM BUSY.

(‘Busy’ is underlined three times.)

In smaller print, under the all-caps monstrosity, is:

Unless you’re Nico, in which case disregard the previous sentiment. No, Cecil, this does NOT mean you.

The note is written again in Ancient Greek, Latin, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Mandarin, Italian, Polish, Korean, Morse Code, and another ten languages Nico can’t even name. Actually, wait — the top left is Klingon. And middle right note does not appear to be language, showing instead a poorly drawn stick figure in armour being shoved into a cannon and shot into the sun by another poorly drawn stick figure in a lab coat. Nico loves a man who’s multi-talented, indeed.

Hesitantly, Nico cracks open the door. He is immediately assaulted by a solid wall of sound, and then nearly bowled over by the enigma himself, William ‘I Can Restructure A Human Brain But Cannot Tie My Shoelaces’ Solace. He catches himself at the last second, and then barely manages to catch Will, grabbing him around the waist just before his head hits the floor.

“Nico!” he shouts over the music, smiling brightly. “Hi! You’re here!”

“I’m here.” He can physically feel his voice cracking, but luckily the music drowns it out. Hopefully. “Uh, what’re you doing?”

“Cleaning!” Will straightens up, although he stays within the circle of Nico’s arms. Nico tries real hard to keep his gaze firmly planted on his face and not on the hands he still has in his hips. “I do it once a year, kick everybody out and deep clean the place. Helps keep it fresh and minimize the bloodstains on the floor.”

“Ah. And the music…”

“It’s fun!” Will shouts. He gasps when the CD player skips and a new song comes on, heavy base and funky synths blasting so hard the window panes shake. “Oh my gods! I love this one!” He turns his bright grin at Nico full force, absolutely no holdbacks on the dimples or freckles, gods help him, and bows cheekily. “Can I have this dance, good sir?”

“It’s Britney Spears’ Outrageous,” Nico protests weakly.

“Yeah!”

…Very, very weakly.

“…Okay.”

Will whoops, grabbing his hands and spinning him around. Nico yelps, nearly tripping over a cot, but when he looks back up Will has his eyes closed and is shimmying not unlike a worm on a fish hook, and it’s so ridiculous that he can’t help but laugh. Will pries one eye open, grinning widely, and shimmies harder.

“You’re such a dweeb!”

“Join me in the dweebiness! Free yourself!”

Nico rolls his eyes fondly, squeezing Will’s hand, and lets himself get ridiculous. He’ll deny it if anyone asks, but it’s fun.

…And not just because Will is next to him, smile brighter than any star, dancing like a massive dork, hand clasped in his.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

"His plaything"

Pairing: Prince Nuada x Fem. Reader (Human / Third person POV)

Themes: Dark | Smut

Warnings: Dark! Nuada | Dub-Con | Power imbalance dynamic | Degredation | Explicit language | Spanking | Penetrative sex | Rough Sex | Oral (Male receiving) | Cream pie | Angst

Word count: 1.6k words

Summary: Nuada searched for a means to satisfy his physical needs. The opportunity presented itself in one of the mortal servants made to serve at court.

Rating: 🔥🔥🔥| Minors DNI. You are responsible for the media you consume. | 18+

Rules and tag form here.

Nuada was a disciplined elf. He spent hours pouring over books and stone tablets in his lord father's great library. When he was not reading, he was sparring.

The crown prince was a warrior without peer, so the singers said. Even when he was but an elfling, it was said no match could be found for Nuada's gift with spears and swords. His father, the high king of all elves, considered him to be the greatest warrior of their people. And the most accomplished. The prince was not just gifted with the blade and well-read; he was also skilled in craftmanship and music and even dancing. It was a strange thing indeed, to see such a brutal warrior glide across a hall like a feather on the wind.

Handsome and charming and dangerous in equal measure, the prince never wanted for company. Nuada was always surrounded by beautiful maidens, all of them vying for his attention. He was unwed, you see, and was expected to take a wife. That was one of his duties: to marry a maiden of the highest birth and produce an heir. The prince understood this. He was more than willing to pledge himself to marriage, but he just needed time to find a bride worthy of him. Until then, he decided, he would find other means to satisfy his needs, for he was a warrior, and as disciplined as he was, he had a warrior's many appetites.

Of course, it must be said that the prince would never sate his hunger by taking another elf to bed. Oh no. Nuada abhorred the very notion of sullying one of his own people that way, no matter how lowborn the elf in question may be. He turned his eyes to the servants instead. They were all mortal hostages taken by his lord father after a great and terrible war. King Balor tolerated them as well as he could manage, and turned a blind eye to how they were treated, provided certain decencies were observed. Those decencies were simple enough: No torture. No working servants to death. No forced couplings. Alas, these edicts had many and more cracks to find if one knew how to find them.

And Nuada found one precisely to his liking.

"Why are you whimpering, little mortal? He grunted. "I thought a good little whore like you wanted nothing less than being bedded by the crown prince Bethmoora."

Whore. That was the choice word he called her, among other things. And yes, y/n did desire the crown prince ever since the moment she first saw him. Her dreams had been haunted by sweet and tender visions of him wooing her before bedding her. She thought that should her dream ever become reality, he would be as generous and courteous and gentle with her as he was with the ladies of his father's court. Such blissful ignorance only lasted until he caught her looking one night while serving his dinner. The prince only waited till his guests took their leave of him before asking her to sink to her knees. He had caressed her cheek, almost in affection, and insisted she open her mouth for him. Not knowing what was expected of her, y/n obeyed. So much had changed since then.

She jolted when he slapped her thigh. His hand was large and had been roughened by centuries of fighting and wielding weapons. It left a mark all of its own. He slapped her thigh again and dug his nails into her flesh. Y/n licked her lips. The prince was expecting an answer.

"I whimper out of pleasure, your highness," she replied as fast as she could, hoping it would please him. She may have felt some pleasure; it was true, but it was so little. The prince would slake his lust upon her body and chase his release, and show little care for her own. As soon as he was satisfied, Nuada would order her to dress and leave.

"You are not lying to me, yes? You do know what happens when people lie to me, yes?"

"I know, your highness. I am not lying, your highness."

Nuada grunted and grabbed her hips, muttering indencies in her ear the entire time. His hands left bruises wherever they touched. Sometime he held her so hard her body would be sore for several days after. Then there were the things he called her, not caring about how they might make her feel. Y/n would not have minded any of it had he shown any interest in her during the act. Or showed concern for her after it.

"Such a good little whore," he said, picking up his tortuous pace and thrusting even harder, filling her as deeply as he could. His nails dug into delicate skin, leaving bruises in their wake. "But you must be fucking silent. I like you that way. Is that understood?"

"Yes, your highness." Y/n lowered her arms and rested her head against the pillows. That allowed the prince to find another angle. He rammed her and found a new place that made her moan long and deep.

"I said be silent!" He barked at her and soon lost himself in her flesh. Nuada moaned and grew drunk on the sound of his thighs slapping against hers. He chose well, he thought. Y/n was meek and discrete and obedient, a maiden who had not known the touch of men until him. She was so soft, her skin warm, and her cunt plush and sinful whenever it fluttered and tightened around his cock. Then there was that sweet little mouth of hers. Nuada enjoyed seeing it swollen and glistening with the remnants of his spend.

The bed creaked softly. Y/n bit her lip and buried her face in the pillows. A heady mixture of pleasure and pain overwhelmed her even as fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. They had sprung from the knowledge that she was a mere plaything to the prince, someone he could use and throw aside once someone worthy of him was in the offing. And there would be someone worthy. Nuada would take an elf-maid hailing from only the highest of births for a wife. She, on the other hand, was a mere mortal, the only child of a petty king who dared to march against King Balor.

"If only your pathetic father could see you now," Nuada grunts and stops just long enough to reach over to gather her wrists. One hand tightens over them, keeping them behind her back. The other curled around her hair. He tugged hard whenever he sheathed himself in her. "A slut servicing her master."

Her father had been allowed to live on the condition that she be sent to court as a hostage. He had no say in where she was placed or whom she had to serve. He was not allowed to know, either. Perhaps this was a mercy.

The air grew thick and heated. The room felt uncommonly warm. Y/n's neck ached from Nuada tugging her hair. Her entire body trembled with each violent thrust. Tiny beads of sweat formed over her skin. Her breath had reduced to shallow gasps and pants. A sweet tension gathered in her core. She was close. So close. But the question remained: will the prince let her have her pleasure just this once?

That was not to be. Nuada felt the coiling in his belly. He was on the precipice of his release, and he had no intention of spilling his seed in y/n's slick heat. As glorious as that would be, he did not wish to risk planting a halfling bastard in y/n's belly. The elves were the children of the earth. The golden blood of the true ancients and the elder gods flowed strong in their veins, and Nauda would never dream of mingling his blood with that of a lesser creature. He drew back and got out of bed, pulling y/n with him as he did. She knew what was to happen next and did well to hide the sadness welling within her.

"Open," he commanded, after she settled on her knees.

Y/n obeyed, letting her mouth go slack while he sank his length all the way in. She kept still while he set the pace, her breath filled with the clean scent of him. His cock was warm and heavy on her tongue. Y/n tightened her lips just enough, just as he taught her the first night. He moaned. She opened her eyes. His head was thrown back, and his mouth was slightly parted. Nuada moved, fucking her mouth and grunting whenever that sinful tongue of hers glided along his member. He sighed wistfully, grabbed at her hair, and went faster and deeper, delighting in the little gagging sounds she made. All y/n could do was keep her hands on her thighs and let Nuada enjoy himself. She was not allowed to touch him during the act or speak to him unless spoken to. He delighted in that too, for he believed that was where mortals like her belonged. Silent and by the feet of their betters.

A few more moments were all it took. "Fuck," Nuada muttered while his cock throbbed and twitched and a warm torrent of his spend spilled onto y/n's tongue. He pressed himself hard against her lips while still riding the high of his orgasm, groaning one last time before finally pulling his cock out of her mouth. The prince ran a thumb over the servant girl's lips, pleased to find them glistening and swollen as always.

"Swallow," he commanded, and brushed a thumb over her tears. He brought it to his mouth, as if to savor the taste. "Swallow my spend like the good whore that you are."

Y/n obeyed, trying not wrinkle her face when the salty essence of him washed down her throat. She knew Nuada would not let her leave until she had swallowed every last drop. Nuada grunted in approval when she opened her mouth and he found it empty. He lifted y/n to her feet and kissed her hard on the lips, his fingers digging into her skin. When he pulled away his eyes glinted in savage triumph.

"Get dressed, and then get out," he said without even looking at her. "I have had my fill of you this night."

Y/n gathered her clothes. Her fingers trembled, as if they had all turned to thumbs. She fumbled with the lacing on her dress, the ties of her neat little apron. She glanced at him. Many a turn of the moon had come and gone since their first coupling, and the prince could not bring himself to even pretend to show her a shred of kindness and respect. Y/n sniffled and looked away.

Nuada made a sound of disgust. "Spare me the sad little doe eyes. I will not fall for it. Now get out and get one of the others to draw me a bath."

Y/n slipped into her shoes and fled into the cold and empty darkness, finding it a welcome relief to the prince's company.

[future-island-egghead]

Man I have so many thoughts on the Seraphim and since it's been over a year since their introduction I've had a lot more of them but overall I kinda.. feel bad for them, more than anything else?

No matter how powerful or scary or cool they are, one thing always remains the most important and unforgettable aspect of them.

They're sentient. They're sapient. They're aware and alive. They're people.

Not just people. But children.

They're just children.

And they have to grapple with being the crossover of two terrible things to be.

A clone of someone else, who's life has already been lived and decided by their own terms, and forced to follow it to the letter, and having no fundamental identity independent of them. only footprints of memories that aren't even their own, purely for the purpose of making them better fighters. How can they be anything more than simple variations or derivatives of "real" people? Can they even consider themselves "real"?

A pacifista. A human weapon. No agency. No humanity. Stripped of everything from will to dreams to freedom to even self-expression and forced to follow commands and never ask questions. Like a soldier. Like less than a soldier. Like a tool.

Like a gun.

Vegapunk said that Kuma's lack of free will would force him to obey, even if they asked him to murder a child. But he originally had free will to begin with. Kuma's life as PX-0, a sentient being with no will of his own, nothing more than a passenger in his own body is a nightmare. S-Bear has known nothing but that nightmare since birth.

People said that Doflamingo was born evil, but in reality, his life was shaped by the events he lived through more than anyone in-universe wants to admit. I wonder how S-Flamingo must feel, forced to carry on Doflamingo's legacy as a monster to the core, regardless of how monstrous he himself might or might not be. i wonder if the pressure of being the clone of a demon will cause a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Hancock's worldwide status was one even she did not want. It was a curse she herself learned to turn into a weapon. S-Snake does not even get the privilege of encountering OR weaponizing the curse herself. Already forced into the limelight without warning, and the eyes won't leave. Everyone already treating her like a celebrity, without a chance to even know what it was like to be a person first.

All she can do now is follow the same government that traumatized her origin and forced her to destroy her home.

Similarly, what of S-Hawk? Moreso than any seraph, any creation of the World Government, surely all eyes are on him to succeed. to be the strongest of the Seraphim and a symbol of total global safety. The world's strongest swordsman, new and improved, right? And what if he isn't? What if he's not as strong as Mihawk? What if he never is? What if he can't do it?

And what if he does? What if he ends up even worse than his origin: a bored god sitting on an empty throne with an empty title, with no one left to challenge him?

Jinbei wanted nothing in the world more than discrimination towards Fish-Men and Merfolk to end, to the degree he'd stake his life on it without hesitation. I wonder how S-Shark, a tool of the World Government, partly born from a race nearly extinguished by them, and forced to uphold their fascist, discriminatory rule against his will feels.

If Crocodile's secret is indeed his transgender identity, then what does that mean for S-Croc? At least Crocodile got the opportunity to keep it under wraps, even if some people do know. S-Croc will never get that opportunity, ever. the whole world on him from birth. Will they even let him be.. him? or will they force him to live in a body and identity that not only isn't even his own, but isn't anybody's at all?

and if it isn't, sure! I suppose he won't have to worry about that. but what of his intelligence? his own ambitions? It's said that Crocodile's greatest attribute was his mind, but the seraphim aren't allowed to break from the orders of others or formulate strategies, so S-Croc would be forced to take orders from people less experienced or intuitive. The footprints of a forgotten dream of wealth, fame, power, and freedom still sputter in his chest. A natural-born leader, forced into the role of lowly weapon, emptily paraded as a hero. How pitiful.

And S-Gecko? Always the runt. The last one. The weakest of the bunch. The world government never cared enough to hide their disdain and contempt for Moria. I can't imagine this won't bleed into how they treat S-Gecko. No matter how hard he works, being treated as nothing more than the worst of the best. Being equated to nothing but failure because his origin was one and constantly put down as "obligatory" and only existing at all because they couldn't get a better warlord to clone instead. Sure, he's not traumatized by the loss of his crew like Moria was.

But at least Moria had a crew.

The Seraphim are scary, and they're powerful. They're not naturally-born organisms, and they're programmed to follow the words of the World Government, even if told to kill in cold blood.

But they're still people.

They're still alive.

They're just children.

For the love of Nika, they're only children.

[choster33]

Gambit- X-men 97's Romantic Hero

I love Gambit and after watching X-men 97 I'm sure that he's a lot of people's favorite right now. After watching and rewatching, season 1 I think that the writers have set him up as the Romantic Hero which is not just that he's a main part of a love triangle which he is but Romantic in the Byronic literary archetype way of "possessing the qualities of being larger than life, enjoying suffering, being isolated from society, being always haunted by an unseeingly unidentified sin and is known for being quite cynical" according to Brainly.com. Not to mention having a long suffering love interest!

He is not in the series for a lot of time, but his arc through episode 5 and the impact that he has throughout the whole show is monumental. He begins with a splash looking hot in his iconic pink crop top. I mean, there are very few people who would make this look good and he really does. He also comes off as way more interesting than Scott who bores me to tears. I sometimes skip Scott and Jean stuff to be quite honest and that comes from Remy being a good guy, but not boring. He has a sense of humor, a sense of adventure, and an all around down to earth personality. He is a strong fighter and loyal X-men, but even from the beginning he is seen as charming, funny and right. There is less of a threat after Xavier's death and Scott, Bishop and Ororo did have it handled.

Then we get to the club and Gambit is the ultimate lover in that he pairs up with Rogue and then proceeds to look at her lovingly whilst telling her what any worthwhile man would do to be with her. Swoon.

Then we have episode 2 where Rogue and Magneto reestablish their connection. We may cheer Rogue for being able to touch someone, but look at Gambit's hurt and sad eyes. Long suffering relationship indeed. Romantic heroes seem to love suffering and what is more painful and self inflicted than falling in love with someone who can't touch, but also is full of insecurities about love and commitment. I love Rogue, but she's afraid of love and terrified of hurting someone else which shows in how she handles relationships.

Mon dieu, it's freaky Rogueneto telling him what he tells himself, his deepest fears. A good Romantic hero always has demons and haunted by past sins and who is more haunted by his past than Gambit. I have to say here that some people might be thinking who is more tortured than Magneto, but I disagree. Magneto has a dark past, but he thinks he's right. Whereas Gambit is wracked with guilt and feelings of not being worthy of being called a X-man and being Rogue's man. He grew up a Cajun swamp rat from a Thieves guild raised by thieves, assassins and other nefarious people and lived most of his life as a thief. What makes him interesting is the tortured guilt and modesty that Gambit has.

He goes to Genosha because he's jealous and wants to make sure that there is nothing going on between Rogue and Magneto. Magneto even says as much. He wasn't even meant to be there and might have been safe on Earth, but we know what happened to him tragically. Plus we see how he is not cowed by Magneto and willing to ask questions no one else is willing to ask. Another reason why Magneto is not the Romantic hero, is that he is mutant MVP in this show, the heir to the X-mansion and the X-men, asked to be king of Genosha, and etc. where Romantic heroes are on the fringes of society like Gambit, who is a hero as a X-man but not wanting fame, glory, or power like Magneto.

Kurt is so observant and sees instantly the connection the two have and calls Gambit out on being theatrical. Gambit calls himself a scoundrel and yet again dismisses the possibility of a happy ending for himself. Then we get that iconic line of "There is no love without sin. Love is best measured in what we forgive." Gambit again falls into the Romantic hero trope of thinking he is too low for love, but isn't going to necessarily change his ways, just accepts that he is on the fringes of society and all that entails. One of the things I love about Romy is their understanding about one another. They both have murky pasts and are filled with self loathing and self doubt. They are strong attractive X-men but they are best friends because they GET each other.

Oof, the breakup scene. How more Romantic and tortured was this? He showed how amazing a man he was by patiently listening to her tell her story and then at the end not blowing up at her or making her feel like shit, but just wanting the truth from her and showing how much it hurt him. He played the Swamp Rat, because a lot of that was a game, a way for her to feel OK with keeping him at arm's length, dangling on a string, never fully letting him in because intimacy was too scary.

It's scenes like this that make me wonder if they have touched before even accidentally because Gambit as a character is so self loathing that if she touched him even by accident, she is holding so much of that loathing in her which may be something contributing to her doubts. A part of comic!Rogue leaving Gambit in Antarctica was because she absorbed him and was filled with self loathing.

He is such a gentleman that he even kisses her hand and agrees to be friends. And granted that the Magneto and Rogue dance was hot, but that must have been torture for Gambit. Then our Byronic hero becomes a man of action and hot damn we get James Bond level action and heroics. He shows his strength and does whatever is necessary to save his lady. Despite his differences with Magneto, he doesn't petulantly sulk but does what is required of him because he is a hero at the end of the day. He is brave and selfless and chivalrous. He is giving old school knight chivalry here and I'm here for it.

Then my heart breaks as does every other viewer at the death scene and the "can't feel you" line. It's very soap opera-y and dramatic to kill him after breaking his heart, but here we are. Rogue is the long suffering love interest and most Romantic stories don't necessarily have a happy ending. He wasn't even meant to be in Genosha and because of love and circumstance ended up dying tragically as the ultimate hero. He died a hero's death dying to save thousands, but more importantly to save the love of his life.

In later episodes, his death is a catalyst for Rogue taking action and even turning darker. Her love for Gambit shows more when he is gone and is going to be a fundamental chapter in her life. One that might make her think twice about being commitment phobic and using her abilities as an excuse not to feel intimacy and how wrong she got it with Gambit. It was love, true love and she didn't see it until she was too late.

This may just be a chapter in their story and we may have more drama and angst with Deathbit in Season 2, but even dead Gambit was the troubled Romantic lead that made X-men 97 work and be so interesting. Episode 5 was my favorite and probably the best episode next to the finale and that's due to Gambit. We relate to him and feel deeply in his pain, self loathing, jealousy, and love of Rogue. I find Magneto interesting and Rogueneto is fun to read and write about, but Romy is the OTP and Gambit is Lancelot.

[coraniaid]

I guess I'm running the risk of sounding like a broken record at this point, but I don't think I'll ever not be deeply depressed by the way so many people on here talk about Joyce Summers.

I mean, I'm just thinking out loud here, but.  Maybe the reason that Giles was much more immediately accepting of Buffy's identity as the Slayer than Joyce was might have something to do with the fact that Giles has been training to be a Watcher for over three decades when he first meets Buffy? That his family sat him down and explained to him that vampires were real when he was a child, and that he's had over thirty years to get used to that fact? And that he is in fact literally paid to train Buffy and mentor her and prepare her for being killed in the Cruciamentum after she turns eighteen and he helps rob her of her powers her destiny? 

Whereas Joyce learns about the reality of vampires and Slayers and the supernatural for the very first time while in a state of extreme emotional distress, only hours after discovering that her daughter is wanted by the police for murder, and in circumstances such that Buffy simply has no time to sit her down and explain things in more detail in the manner they would both want?  Which is a turn of events that can be attributed in large part to the fact that Giles himself repeatedly told Buffy that she couldn't possibly tell her mother about vampires, even after (1) a vampire attacked her in her own home (in Season 1's Angel) and even after (2) the vampire Buffy had been dating, who had a standing invitation into her house, lost his soul and started going after the people closest to her, people explicitly including Joyce. (And note that Giles never offers a better argument for not sharing this potentially life-saving information than Xander's "the more people who know the secret the more it cheapens it for the rest of us".)

I mean, I know you're all pretty wedded to the popular competing theory that it's because *checks notes* Giles is a perfect dad who Buffy should have been much more grateful and sympathetic towards while Joyce is an evil bitch who never once did a good thing for her daughter (and Buffy must be stupid for ever thinking or saying otherwise), but the problem is that that theory is … uh, bad, actually.  Really incredibly cartoonishly bad. And dressing it up in pseudo-progressive language doesn't make it any better.

Wringing your hands over how poorly you think the show writes middle-aged women as if there's simply nothing to be done about it except conclude that they are indeed horrible people (and maybe give them some completely new flaws the show never did), while at the same time you write endless hagiographies and apologia for the show's canonically terrible (and often just as badly under-written) men is definitely a choice though.

And yes, it is definitely true that Giles matters more to the story of Buffy the Vampire Slayer than Joyce does. It is clear that the writers care about him more as a character than they care about Joyce, and that he is consistently used in a metaphorical way that Joyce normally isn't. At best you can perhaps argue that Joyce exists to vocalize and reify Buffy's own lingering desires to be seen as respectable and 'normal', but I don't think this is a reading the show ever commits to in the systematic way it does the Mind/Heart/Spirit reading of Giles/Xander/Willow. But on a less metaphorical level, thinking about the different characters of the show purely as distinct people in their own right, nothing Buffy says or does ever suggests she cares about her relationship with Giles more than her relationship with Joyce. Quite the opposite, in fact.

[hitokiri-izou]

HSR spoiler talk ahead

.

I think this is a popular theory, where we are in a timeloop dream in Penacony, and upon a re-watch im starting to think it's true.

Some moments that stand out to me are when we first arrive in Penacony and meet Acheron, where she seems to recognize us. We also have a series of images flash on screen that might be what we've experienced before. That being said, I don't think the Acheron we interact with throughout the story is anymore aware of a loop than we are, this moment felt like a slice out of time.

Another moment is when we're tracing Firefly's footsteps and in the tv room, she says she wants to try again. I wouldn't have given it much thought had Acheron not drawn more attention to it. She also seemed more attached to us than what a day would allow but thats my own view.

What really kinda sealed it for me was when we met Aventurine at the end. When we were walking down the hallway, he said it was a familiar hallway to a familiar room and says he remembers the little game we played. The way it's phrased makes it seem like he's just talking about our meeting at the beginning of the game when he gives us his room but he says "I finally remember". I think that memory he was referring to was that but now it seems so far away since he did indeed remember everything. To us, we met him a day ago. Maybe with his memories back, it's been much longer.

There are other things that I'm absolutely missing but these were three key moments for me. There's just some little stuff that seems to allude to reversing time, such as clockie and the clockwork powers. And there's definitely something going on with Misha, and I bet we've had a closer relationship with Robin at some point.

Whether it's the Watchkeeper's legacy or the family or how anything is possible in a dream or hell if there's another memokeeper around who's less benevolent and is messing with everyone's memories, I don't think this is our first run.

And a fun similarity: Acheron sometimes speaks with red text, something that happens in umineko no naku koro ni which happens to be a time loop of sorts, or rather a retelling of what story was actually told. When a certain character speaks in red text, it means that what she's saying is the truth.

I'm very curious to see what the red text means for Acheron. She says we will see the world in black and white, but sometimes red will appear when there's a choice being made.

So maybe the red text she speaks is a choice being made - but there's no other choices. Like when you refuse for her to join you and Black Swan, she asks for you to repeat your answer until there is only one option left - also in red. This would also call back to what Aventurine told us when at the beginning of the game and what he repeated at the end:

Allow me to make you an offer - one you can't refuse. No reason to choose otherwise...

If it's a time loop, maybe the red text she speaks are things that will absolutely happen in every loop?

Anyway this isn't any actual theory crafting, I'm more just typing out my train of thought. I've seen other theories too - especially about Acheron and Firefly - and I'm really curious to see where this is gonna go

[starcrossedxwriter]

Built for Love Part 10 (MBJ x Famous Black OC)

Warnings: Depictions of violence, trauma, lots of angst, recovery

A/N: ok this one is a longgggg doozy… gonna apologize in advance cause it is really just all angst lol BUT I'm hoping there's a treat in here that'll make y'all hate me less? lol maybe?? Enjoyyyyy!

It took everything in Charlotte physically and emotionally to drag herself to the theater the next day for opening night. She was physically exhausted, only sleeping in increments of 30 minutes or so before her own screams jolted her awake. Mentally, she was hanging on by a fraying thread. She had not felt this jumpy in so long, every unexpected noise causing her to look over her shoulder every five seconds, even in the comforts of her own home. But nothing was worse than the physical pain she was in. The bruise on her side was far worse without the adrenaline of the night before pumping through her veins. The cry of pain she let out when she first moved that morning sounded more like a dying animal than a person. 

The entire drive she dreaded the facade she’d have to wear all day. She did not know how she did this years ago, mustering up her last kernel of strength to plaster a stupid fake smile on her face. Perhaps because back then, it was a means of survival and this situation was caused by her own hubris. She wanted to fight, she wanted to do this her way, but this path was lonely and more difficult than she thought. And reality was sinking in fast that she was, perhaps, not strong enough to deal with him alone this time.

She did not regret staying, that was the right decision. But she just wished Michael was here. She wanted him here, not to do anything, but just to fold her up in his soft embrace. He was the epitome of safety and she severely underestimated how alone she would feel without him here, even just for a few days. She was balancing on a tightrope and the bungee cord that secured her was nowhere to be found. She already made one wrong move, she could not let herself think what risk another one would bring her. 

Here he is, about to ruin another special moment for you, she thought to herself as her driver weaved in and out of traffic to get her to the theater. 

He doesn’t have to, another voice spoke up louder. 

She thought back to their argument in the hallway the night before. Until she found herself on the floor beneath him, she had been proud of herself. The old her would have never said a fraction of those things to him. But she had squared her shoulders, looked him in the eye, and pushed back. Sure, she could not physically win a fight against him. But last night proved the psychological power he held over was indeed gone. And despite the emotional distress and pain she was in, that small act felt like a win in and of itself. 

That small win was all the strength she needed to push through. Today was her moment, something she’d worked for for years. He could not take this away from her, the bruise he gave her could not take this away from her… not if she didn’t let him. 

“You look like hell. You good?” Malcolm remarked as she dragged her feet past his dressing room.

She glanced back at him and gave him a smile that was more like a pained grimace. “Remember what you told me about fighting? Well, I got knocked down… trying to pick myself back up again.”

He raised his coffee cup as if to salute her. “That’s all you can do.” 

As the day went on and she did interviews with the camera crew recording footage of opening night and they did a final rehearsal of one or two of the numbers, she did find her exhaustion and pain slowly dissipate. She knew it was all in her head, she was still very much both exhausted and in pain, but she just found the strength to ignore it. The stage was her home, her domain, and she felt at her strongest here. It was the flicker of light that she could always cling to when everything else felt dark. And so she held onto it, seized it with every fiber of her being and allowed that to give her whatever she needed to get through the day. 

There was no other option, no other bungee cords to fall back on. It was just her and she had to pull herself, hold herself up, and shine bright even as she wanted to fall. Besides, she had not done all this, the secrets and lying, to let him psych her out so close to game time. She could fall apart when the show was over, but until then, her own strength was all she had. And that’s what she held on to as the day passed and showtime drew closer. 

By the time she slid on her dress, she felt more like herself than she had in the last two weeks. She was ready a bit early so she slipped out and snuck to the stage. As everyone hustled around her to prepare for showtime, she watched through a slip in the curtains. The audience was almost full already. Her eyes followed the front row, recognizing some folks like Malcolm’s wife, Vanessa. She did a double take when she saw who sat next to her. 

“Michael,” his name came out as a breathless sigh of relief. She did not know whether to cry tears of joy or have a panic attack. On the one hand, she could already see her web of secrets untangling right before her eyes. Even if they made it through the night without Michael and Shaun’s paths crossing, the moment they got home, there would be no hiding the angry black and blue bruise that covered her side. And she knew Michael was too smart to believe any lie she could come up with to explain it away. 

However, as she looked at him, her fear of his reaction did not outweigh the joy and relief she felt at seeing him. He came back to see her, to be there for her on the biggest night of her career to date. And even if all her secrets fell apart, she could not feel anything other than gratitude and love for him for sacrificing his plans for her. Every day, he chose her and made her feel loved, supported, and safe. He did not need to say a word to her and his very presence made her stronger. Knowing he was nearby made her feel lighter and more at ease. She was no longer alone and felt as if someone attached more bungee cords to her to steady her. 

She returned to her dressing room and pulled out her phone. She walked around her room, texting him. 

Els: Funny… I don’t remember LA looking quite like where I work? 🤔

She did not have to wait long for the response bubble to emerge and her phone to ding. 

Bakari: How’d you spot me? It was supposed to be a surprise for the end of the show ☹️

Els: I have eyes and ears everywhere 😉 seriously, though something happen in LA? Not that I’m not happy to see you but why’d you come back early? 

Bakari: Something told me I was needed here more. Was I right? 

She nodded as if he could see her. He knew her far too well. She did not even bother lying this time. 

Els: Yea you were. Thank you ♥️♥️

“Maybe I’ll go introduce myself,” a voice whispered behind her, Charlotte’s heart sinking. “I always liked him, great actor.” 

She should have known he would not let the day go by without finding some way to torture her. And she knew him stopping by minutes before show time was not a coincidence. But she refused to let him throw her off her game like he did at rehearsal. 

“Hit me again and I’ll scream bloody murder,” she threatened as she turned around. She could tell he did not believe her but she knew it was effective. This was just as much his job as it was hers. He would not risk someone seeing him hurt her.  

He merely sneered at her and shook his head, raising his hands in surrender. “Nope, just came to wish you luck. And say I’m a bit surprised to see you. It must be hard to dance with that?” He gestured toward her side. 

“I’ve performed through a lot worse, remember?” She reminded him through gritted teeth. “This was always the one thing you couldn’t take.” 

She studied him for a moment as he sucked his teeth in annoyance. She could tell he seemed a bit disappointed and frustrated by that fact, by the knowledge that she was not in bed nursing her side, crying over what he had done. Instead, she was here with a smile on her face, ready to do her job. 

She had always felt like he had taken everything from her, broken her and reduced her to nothing. But this very moment was proof that he hadn’t. Every time she got up and performed with bruises or broken bones or any other injury, she silently told him that this was the one thing he could never have, the one thing she would never yield to him. That she would fight through all the  pain to make it onto that stage night after night, to savor the few minutes every day where she could be the version of herself he tried to destroy. This was that flicker of light and he had always tried to stomp it out. Her brain was immediately filled with recollections of all their worst fights, all of which coincided with important shows or huge moments in her career. And every time, Charlotte never faltered, she never fell down, she never broke. She just bandaged herself up and kept moving. Not even the threat of him looming had driven her away this time. 

“You know, I’ve been trying to figure out why you did all this. You want your plaything back, want that control again, sure. But this,” she gestured around them. “Is a fucking insane way to get to me. But now I know why, because this was the one thing you could never take. You took everything from me for years, reduced me to nothing but a shell of a person. N-No light, n-no personality… no agency. Nothing. B-But when I went to work a-and got on stage, even if it was for only two hours a night, I became something again. Was reminded that I was more than the nothing you made me believe I was. And you hated that. This is the last piece. You take this, you destroy my career, and I’d really have nothing.” 

“I already did,” he took a menacing step toward her. Charlotte did not move though, forcing her body to stay rooted like a tree. She did not know where this sudden insurgence of strength came from but she welcomed it. For the first time, she had the upper hand. And she was going to use it. “I already took it once. You don’t think I can do it again? You were nothing back then and you still aren’t. A pretty face, a famous nigga on your arm, a nice voice… None of it changes what both of us know. I’m the only one who can love you like you deserve. I’m the only one who knows the truth about you.” 

And for the first time that he told her that, she thought about all the ways in which Michael and her family proved to her daily that his words were not true. And though she still did not know if she truly deserved someone as perfect as Michael, she knew she deserved so much better than him. 

She sighed, taking a step forward to close the space between them. 

“I lived in absolute terror of you for years. My entire world was dictated by the look on your face. Three years ago, I would’ve believed every word you just said. In some lights, I’m still terrified of you,” she admitted, taking a deep breath. “Last night proved that. But since I left you, I built myself back up brick by brick. I met someone,” she smiled. “Who holds me up when I can’t, someone who rushed back here to protect me when he didn’t even know what I needed protecting from, someone whose very being and presence reminds me every minute of every day that I am something and I deserve so much more than the scraps you gave me. And in that light, you are far less terrifying.” 

He let out a low chuckle, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward him. His grip was tight and painful but she still did not waver. “You keep forgetting what I’m fuckin’ capable of, Charlotte. Maybe I need to close the door and remind you?” 

The prospect terrified her but she knew his hands were tied. It was just intimidation and she would not fall for it again. 

“The thing is… I haven’t. You’ve shown me the worst you have to offer time and time again and I’ve survived every time. And it’s true. If you want to hurt me, there’s nothing I can do to stop you. I know I’m only alive because of God and luck. I can’t win in a fight with you. So take your best shot. But you know what else is true? I’ll still never choose you. No amount of fear or intimidation or pain will make me choose you. It’s him. For the rest of my life, it’ll always be him. And no matter what happens to me, you’ll have to live the rest of your miserable life knowing that.” 

She used all of her force to rip her arm out of his grip, her skin stinging, as she grabbed the sweater that went with her costume and slid it on her arms as she spoke. 

“You are right about one other thing though. I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve this light or the love he gives me. And maybe,” she offered sadly, “Maybe one day, he’ll realize that too and leave me. And maybe I’ll never find anyone to love me like he does ever again. But even then, I’d spend the rest of my days alone before I spend another moment of it with you. So I hope all of this time and energy was worth it. Because I’m done… I’m done giving you a return on this investment. You can’t take this and you can’t take my joy, my body, my relationship, my peace, or anything else from me again. Your time controlling my life is over.” The lights around them started to flash, signaling that everyone needed to get in their places. She took a deep breath and offered him a smile. “That’s my cue. Enjoy the show. I’ve got a good feeling about it.” 

She smiled before walking around him and walking out the door. She could feel his rage wafting off of him but that did not stop her. As soon as she rounded the corner, she leaned against the wall, her heart pounding. She let out a breath she had not even realized she was holding in, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She messaged her arm, another bruise she would have to explain away. But that one had been worth it. To say those things and finally say her piece… the only thing better would’ve been to punch him in the face but she refused to resort to violence as he did. 

“Fuck, that was terrifying,” she mumbled to herself. “But you did it, you did it. Another win for today. Deep breaths,” she instructed herself, her entire body relaxing as she took several calming breaths. “Now let’s go get another one.” 

She steadied herself for a few more minutes before getting in her spot just as the announcer came on to start the show.  

***

She was in the middle of changing when Michael finally made his way backstage to her dressing room. Her after party dress was just passing her hips when she heard her door open. 

She did not even give him a chance to speak, she barely held in the tears that immediately welled up in her eyes as she saw him. She just immediately rushed into his arms, her lips slamming into his. The breath of relief she let escape was muffled as she kissed him. She buried her face in the space between his shoulder and neck as he held her, forcing herself not to flinch as his arm rubbed against her side when he pulled her in for a tight hug. Her breath was shaky as she breathed him in, grateful to be in his arms again. 

“I-It’s so good to see you,” she whispered. “I m-missed you so much.” 

His hand cradled her head into his neck, surprised at her intense reaction. He was concerned when he arrived but the tremble in her voice and body, the way she sagged into him, only increased his concern tenfold. He could tell she was trying to hide whatever it was that was wrong, hold it back. But he could feel it, feel everything that simmered beneath the facade of a performer.

“You were amazing.” His other hand rubbed her back. “But what’s going on, love?” He leaned back to force her to lift her head and look at him. His thumb wiped one of the stray tears from her cheeks, kissing the path it trekked. He did not see a point in prolonging the question. He knew it was a special night but she needed help. What kind? He had no idea. But the version of her that stood in front of him was not her, at least, not a healthy version of her. “You’re not ok.” 

Charlotte sniffled. She could not keep this in any longer. This was just not sustainable. That had been the problem the first time with Shaun, she had dealt with it utterly and completely alone. And here she was, falling back into that same pattern of isolation. No one in her corner, no one to support her or help her. And she could not survive that way. If she was going to stay here, she needed someone’s help. Even if all they did was help pick her up when he mentally knocked her down. And she had robbed Michael of the opportunity to do that, and she knew there would be anger for that. But more importantly, she had tied her one hand behind her back by doing so. She had robbed herself of safety and comfort and it showed in the hell-ish experience of the last two weeks. She had asked Michael to move with her because she needed him. Now, it was time to call that support in.

“No… I’m not. But now that you’re here, I will be.” She pressed her lips to his cheek. “I need to tell you something though… about-”

The last part of her sentence was drowned out by Chris sticking his head in her door. She had not realized that Michael left her dressing room door open and glanced up to find Chris, Malcolm, and a couple other company members standing outside her door. 

“Everyone’s heading over to the lounge. You two ready?” 

“Umm… actually I think we’re gonna head home?”

“Home??” His tone was so filled with offense, you would have thought Charlotte quit the show. “Absolutelyyyyyyy not! The star of the night can’t miss the after party. Trust me, the sex’ll be 10 times better after a few drinks.” Chris, inappropriately so, automatically assuming they just wanted to go home to fuck. “Come on!” 

She sagged deeper into Michael and rolled her eyes. She glanced at him, a silent conversation passing between them. She knew they weren’t going to take no for an answer, everyone was on too much of a high from the night. Her eyes searched for his approval to which he gave her a small nod. 

“Fineeeeee, we’ll come but just for a bit,” she acquiesced, Michael’s arm not leaving her waist.

“Alrighty. You better. I have at least two cocktails with your name on it!” The man disappeared, everyone starting to head over to the party. 

“You sure you’re ok with going?” 

He nodded. “Yea, tonight is still your night and you should enjoy it. As long as you’re up for it. We have plenty of time to talk.” 

She squeezed his hand before following him out to their car. She had no interest in staying at the party too long. She found it hard to relax at first, her eyes constantly darting around the party to see if Shaun was there. But as she and Michael had those two drinks promised by Chris (and then some additional ones), she still did not see Shaun anywhere and loosened up. 

Despite the looming difficult conversation she knew she would have to have with him when they got him, she still managed to have fun. The night moved faster than she expected as she and Michael danced with Malcolm and his wife. Unlike the stuffy cocktail event from the night before, this was a true party, an opportunity to let their hair down and celebrate. 

Charlotte escaped the dance floor to grab another drink, leaving Michael chatting with some of the other actors and their partners. 

A hand touched her arm unexpectedly, Charlotte flinching and a groan escaping her before she could stop herself. She clenched her fist in pain. However, when she turned and realized it was Michael, her heart sank. 

Fuck. 

“You’re hurt?” His hand gently grabbed her arm and lifted it up to examine under the dim lights of the bar. She braced herself, his eyes flashing with rage.

“Who did that to you?” he demanded as he took in the light but distinct bruise disrupting her otherwise flawless skin. He had never seen a bruise or mark on her before. 

“U-Um… no one. I m-must’ve hit it or something,” she lied. She could not even stop herself, it was as thoughtless and second nature as breathing or walking and talking to lie about an injury. She also knew this was not the venue to tell him what really happened. She wanted to tell him everything in the privacy of their own home. 

“You’re lying,” he said immediately, his anger only rising. “Nothing you could’ve done would cause that. Who. Did. That. To. You? Tell me right now, Charlotte.” His voice was low but she heard it. There was no room to lie or hide the truth from him now. He would not accept it. 

“I p-promise I w-will tell you. B-but can y-you just wait till we get home? I d-don’t want to talk about it here. Please,” she begged. 

He studied her, his hand going to her neck to hold her gaze to him. “But you’re ok right now? Whoever did it isn’t here?” he glanced around as if he could spot the person in the moment. 

“N-No, no. I promise. They aren’t here. It’s just a l-long story a-and I'd rather tell you at home. T-that’s all, I promise.” 

He kissed her temple, nodding. “Ok, ok. I’ll call the car.” 

“Thank you. I j-just need to run to the bathroom. 5 minutes?” She could tell he did not want to let her out of his sight but she offered him a reassuring nod. “I promise I’m ok. Just five minutes. I’ll be right back.” 

He nodded and kissed her on the cheek, watching as she left. 

Charlotte had to take a couple turns to find the bathroom, finding it empty when she entered. She tossed her clutch and phone on the couch before going into one of the stalls. She took a few deep breaths, already strategizing how she would explain the last two days to Michael. She was almost thankful the tower was crumbling, it was too hard to hold up anyway. But she wasn’t ready for the fall out, not fully anyway. But she knew once she told him, the weight would be off her shoulders and she could breathe easy for a moment. And she welcomed that. She knew honesty after secrets and lies came with a storm but there was always calm after, eventually. 

As she finished up and readjusted her clothing, she heard the door open. However, she did not think much about it until she stepped out to find Shaun standing in the bathroom. 

“W-what are you d-doing in here?” She asked, taking in his staggering posture and eyes. They were red, glazed over with rage. She was not even sure when he arrived at the party. She had not seen him once since she left him in her dressing room. 

“You know I tried. I fuckin’ tried so hard to be reasonable…” he remarked as he reached back to the bathroom door and locked it behind him.

Charlotte let out a shaky breath, all of that confidence from earlier vanished in an instant. No escape and no upper hand this time and she knew, when push came to shove, he would always overpower her. She wondered if anyone would even be able to hear her scream over the loud music. She knew Michael would come looking for her in a few minutes if she did not return or some woman would likely try to come use the bathroom. However, she also knew Shaun did not need long.

“But then… you parade that nigga around in my fuckin’ face?!” He slammed his hand against one of the stall doors, the force causing it to bang against the wall loudly. Charlotte nearly jumped half way out of her skin, taking another step back from him. “‘It’ll always be him,’ he mimicked her speech from earlier. “It’s me… Or it’s no one, Charlie.” His steps were measured and menacing, despite the alcohol that clearly seeped out of every pore of his being, a predator who had finally cornered its prey and was tired of the games. There was nowhere to run or go as Charlotte found herself cornered by the wall. “You choose.” 

Charlotte knew what she should say, lie to get herself out of the situation alive. And if he had asked something else of her, perhaps she would have said anything to appease him. However, she could not force herself to do it, not this time and not about this. She knew in her heart and soul that Michael was it for her. And she would never deny that, no matter the consequences. 

Her heart pounded out of her chest but she forced the words out, “I-It’s… it’s still him, Shaun. M-My h-heart is his, my soul is his. A-and I c-can’t give you what you want. Not anymore. If it’s not him, t-then it’s n-no one.” 

He let out a few deep breaths of shock and staggered back from her for a moment as if she had slapped him. She imagined he did not expect her to answer truthfully but she could not deny Michael. She would never. 

Charlotte started to peel herself off the wall, hoping this was her moment to leave and escape. However, she only made it a step before she felt a sharp sting across her cheek, the force of his slap sending her body crashing into the sink in the bathroom. She grunted as her stomach hit the hard edge of the counter and knocked the wind out of her. She used one hand to brace herself to stop from falling to the ground. The other immediately touched her cheek, pulling her hand back to find blood where his ring had cut into her skin.

“S-Shaun, p-please d-don’t… do this…”

He scoffed and shrugged, his face resigned as if she had given him no choice. “I told you. Me or no one.” He slapped her again, harder, her body falling to the ground as her head hit the cold tiles of the floor. Her vision immediately grew blurry as he appeared over her. Her arms and legs flailed violently as she tried to fight back. 

She could feel every blow, his fists aiming for any part of her body he could reach. Her face, her chest, her stomach. All she could do was scream for help as she futilely tried to fight him off of her. 

His hands wrapped around her neck, squeezing. Charlotte’s eyes grew wide as she realized his intentions, her fingers clawing at his skin with all her might to force him to break his grip. However, it was no use. He had strangled her before, which was scary but she always knew he would stop. This, however, was totally different. This time she knew he had no intention of stopping until he felt the life drain from her body. She could see it in his eyes, it was over for her. 

The edges of her vision started to blur. The last thing she remembered was the feeling of his weight and hands being ripped off her before everything went black and her last thread to the conscious world snapped. 

***

Michael took a last sip of his drink as Charlotte walked away from him to the bathroom.  Michael sighed as he did a scan of the party, his eyes following on a man in a disheveled suit who appeared at the entrance. Michael stared at him for a moment, something about him gave him pause but he could not place why. He watched as the man did a scan of the room before heading to the hallway that led to the bathrooms. He figured he was merely on edge as the sight of Charlotte’s arm came back into his mind. His hands clenched into a fist. 

Another puzzle piece, another thing that did not make sense. Someone had clearly hurt her but he did not understand how or when or who would do that. He had only been gone for two days. Shaun did pop up in his head but he dismissed that quickly. When would the man even have shown up without Michael knowing? Michael was pretty much with her anytime she was not at the theater since they moved.

He continued to people watch for a few minutes, his eyes glancing in the direction of the bathroom every few seconds as he waited. His phone dinged with a message from Rob letting him know he was waiting downstairs. Michael glanced at his watch, realizing more than five minutes had passed since Charlotte went to the bathroom. He searched the crowd for her. He happened to run into Malcolm and his wife during his search.

“Aye,” Michael grabbed their attention. “Have you seen Charlotte?” 

“Nope, not since she went to get a drink. Why?” 

“Y-Yea. She said she was going to the bathroom but it’s been a minute. And she didn’t answer her phone. Figured she maybe passed by me or thought I was gonna meet her outside or something.” 

“I was about to head to the bathroom before we headed out too. I’ll walk with you. I’m sure she’s fine.” 

Malcolm and Michael walked the maze of hallways to the bathrooms, Michael stopping as they turned the last corner and another sound filled his ears, battling against the thundering bass of the music from the party. 

“You hear that?” 

“Yea. Sounds like someone screaming?” 

Michael rushed up to the ladies’ bathroom door, getting close enough to hear the screams behind it. He only needed to hear one to recognize the voice. Charlotte. It was as if someone had replaced the blood in his veins with ice water. That sound would haunt him for the rest of his days, he was sure of it. 

He immediately went to open the door, finding it locked. However, he did not give that a second thought as he told Malcolm to call the police and ram his entire body into the door. It took two tries before it yielded to his force and weight. 

Michael did not need an introduction or explanation as he took in the scene in front of him. He had never seen a picture of Shaun in his life but instinctively, he knew who he was. Charlotte’s brief descriptions of him, her actions for the last two weeks, her nightmares, her injury, all those puzzle pieces seemed to fit instantly and paint quite a clear picture. 

Michael immediately grabbed the man by his collar, dragging him off his girlfriend.  He got a quick glimpse of Charlotte’s bloodied and bruised form, her eyes half closed, as he pulled the man away from her. He threw him down to the floor and kicked him in the chest, a satisfying crack filling the quiet bathroom. And he did not stop at one. 

Shaun barely had time to think or defend himself as Michael channeled a year’s worth of boxing training into beating the life out of him. This man who had terrorized the love of his life for years, this man who had been the source of so much strife and pain in her life, this man who had been the reason for the rage filling Michael’s body. All he saw was Charlotte’s broken body and he lost all sense of himself. 

He was thankful the loud music of the party drowned out Shaun’s screams. Every punch he rained down on him felt cathartic. Every scream and yell felt like music to his ears. Though he typically believed violence could be avoided, in this case, his soul needed this more than anything. This was the only answer. Michael had never felt the desire to feel someone’s life leave their body but he felt it in that moment, strongly, fervently. And he knew, if it came to that, he would not feel an ounce of guilt about it. This man did not deserve to be among the living, not with all he had done. 

He thought about every time Charlotte screamed or whimpered in her sleep; every time her big brown eyes filled with terror and panic as something triggered her; every time she thought of herself as broken, unworthy, and unlovable - these things that were the farthest from the truth but he made her believe; every scar littering her perfect form that she looked at with disgust. He thought about it all and every time his fist connected with Shaun’s skin, he felt a bit of that rage he had bottled up since he learned about Shaun release. It felt good to finally do something with it. No longer did he have to punch the punching bag in his gym pretending it was this man’s face. The object of his rage was right there and he did his worst.  

Michael only stopped when a force pulled his arm back, his savage beating cut short by Malcolm.

“It’s over, it’s over.” He whispered, holding Michael’s raised arm back. “I think Shaun understands your point. The police are coming. Charlotte needs an ambulance, now.” 

Michael stopped, his hand still holding Shaun up by his collar, and glanced at Charlotte who was unconscious and propped up against the bathroom wall. He almost wanted to throw up at the blood that smudged the floor by her body. 

“She’s alive,” Malcolm assured him as he took in the look on Michael’s face, Michael knew it must have looked lethal. “She hit her head but she’s alright. But she needs you right now and you can’t be there if you get arrested for killing him.” 

He nodded and pulled his arm out of Malcolm’s grip. He stood and pulled the man to his feet. He was not even recognizable now, covered in blood. Michael could tell his nose was broken, a few teeth had been knocked out, and he was not even sure if the man could still see with both of eyes nearly swollen shut. And despite this damage and the pleasure he felt administering it, it still - somehow - did not feel like enough. The man was still conscious and still breathing and that did not feel fair. 

“I’m only gonna tell you this fuckin’ once.” Michael’s voice was low and lethal, he did not even know his voice could sound so terrifying. He did not know who this person was, this dangerous version of him he’d never needed to pull out before. “Stay. The Fuck. Away. From. Her. If I ever see you again or you ever lay a finger on her again, I swear on everything I love, I will fuckin’ kill you. I’ll make what just happened look like a scratch. And I’ll end your pathetic life. We clear?” At his silence, Michael scoffed before throwing two back to back jabs into Shaun’s ribs, the sound of more bones cracking filling the air along with a pathetic, girlish scream. “I said, are we fuckin’ clear??”  

“W-we’re c…c-clear,” Shaun forced out, the words barely audible as Michael’s arm pinned him to the wall by his neck, crushing his windpipe, was the only thing keeping him from doubling over in pain.

“Good.”

Michael removed his arm, the man unceremoniously crumpling to the ground with a groan. He could not help it but he kicked the man once last time for good measure as he shook out his hand and flexed his fingers. His knuckles were caked with blood and ached but it did not matter as he rushed over to Charlotte.

He pulled her body into his arms, propping her up against his legs. His breaths were shallow and rushed as he pressed his fingers against her neck. He knew Malcolm said she was alive but it was as if he needed to prove it to himself, assure himself. He let out a strangled sigh at the pulse he felt pumping against his fingers, strong and distinct. 

She’s ok, she’s ok. Just knocked out. 

“I’m here, baby. I’m here. I gotchu. You’re safe, you’re safe.” he whispered as two EMTs rushed into the bathroom. Michael did not notice the small crowd that followed them, Malcolm going over to Chris who was standing at the front, his face the picture of shock and confusion. 

Michael felt as if he was just going through the motions as he rode with Charlotte in the ambulance. He merely just repeated that same refrain over and over again, holding her hand as the EMTs worked around him. They assured him none of her injuries were life threatening or severe. She took a beating but she’d be fine once they treated the head injury.  

They forced him to wait in the waiting room while they rushed her to the hospital, Michael calling all of her family and his to tell them what was going on. He knew this would likely make it onto the news somewhere and did not want anyone to find out about it. Her father, who lived in Baltimore, and oldest brother, who lived in DC, promised to drive up first thing in the morning, Lauren, Jackson, and Jazz were planning to be on the first flight out of LA, and her eldest sister would be on a flight from Atlanta. 

He cycled through pacing and texting her family until a nurse came to get him. He was thankful, the two hours he waited seemed to move by in slow motion. 

Michael absentmindedly scratched the nape of his neck as he rushed behind the polite nurse, his ears barely registering her preppy and annoying voice. Her words were nonsensical until he saw Charlotte. He barely registered them once he realized she had little information to offer him. He knew nothing she could have said would satisfy him anyway until he saw her for himself, saw the warmth in her skin, felt the blood pumping through her veins, saw her injuries without blood caked in them, making them look far worse to his eye. He had not seen her in hours and he did not want second hand accounts that she was ok, he wanted to see her for himself.

The cycle of torture he had been on for the last few hours finally ended in front of her closed door. He took a deep breath and sent up a silent prayer before walking into the room to find Charlotte, his sweet honey bee alive and conscious. He studied the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way her hand fidgeted with the fraying edge of her blanket. He let out a strangled breath he did not realize he was holding in. He felt as if he was breathing for the first time in hours, a weight lifted off of his heart and body. The room was completely silent aside from the beeping of machines surrounding her, her eyes trained on the glittering lights of the skyline out of her window. 

He examined the injuries he could see: the bandage on her forehead, the bruises already blooming on her face and neck. He imagined more had to litter the rest of her body, the areas hidden beneath blankets and a hospital gown.  

“H-Honeybee…” his voice came out as a strangled whisper, his pain and fear flowing from his words like blood from an open wound. Her eyes clenched shut as she heard his voice, and heard the emotions laced throughout it. 

At her silence, his hand wrapped around hers as he sat in the chair by her bed. He did not bother stopping the tears that slowly trekked down his face as he gently stroked her forehead. 

“Baby…” 

“I-I’m ok… r-really, Bakari,” she croaked out, her voice sounding small and broken. She avoided his eyes but he could see the clouds of guilt, shame, and embarrassment that filled hers. He knew she likely hated that he saw her like this. But it did not matter to him. He was just happy she was alright. “I-I’m o-ok.” 

“No, you aren’t. Els... baby. Look at me, please," he whispered, noting the small shake of her head as she bit her lip. He could hear her silent pleas to not push. However, he needed to see her, truly see her.

“Charlotte.” His rare use of her full name did the trick, the young woman turning her head toward him.

Her eyes still did not fully meet his, but he decided it was a start. His thumb stroked her cheek, her eyes fluttering closed at the soothing gesture. Her head lulled to the side and rested in his palm. He did not say a word, he just offered her what he could tell she needed. His presence and his gentle touch that always soothed the troubled waters of her soul. However, so much of her face was bruised that it did not take long for him to graze a tender spot and cause her to wince. 

“I-I a-a-m so-so sorr-sorry…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I f-…” she started to hyperventilate, her hand going to her chest as she felt the shooting pain of her sharp breaths radiating against her fractured ribs. “I-I t-tried to fight… I-I s-should’ve t-told…”  

Her words became incoherent as she tried to talk through a panic attack. Michael immediately moved to the edge of the bed, hoping he could calm her down. 

“Hey… hey, shhh… baby, take a deep breath for me. It’s ok, Els. You ain’t got nothing to apologize for, I promise.” 

His voice was low and soothing as he tried to get her to calm down. He took a few deep breaths, encouraging her to mimic the action to slow her own breathing. “There we go… That’s good, baby. Relax, it’s ok. You’re with me and you’re safe now.” 

He watched her eyes fall down to his hands, which a nurse cleaned up and bandaged for him. She sniffed. 

“You saved me?” She asked quietly. 

“Yea… I c-came for you.” 

She wiped the tears from her eyes, refusing to let them fall. She winced slightly as she hit a bruised area. “You always do. Thank you.”  

“Always,” he whispered, his hand wiping his own tears that started to fall. He knew he could be vulnerable but part of him battled to be stronger, despite how upset and scared  he was. Right now she needed to be the vulnerable one, which meant he had to be the rock. 

“I-I s-suppose y-you wanna know w-what happened?” she asked quietly, knowing he likely still did not know how they ended up in this situation in the first place. 

“Yea but… that conversation can wait till we get home. All that matters right now is that you’re ok.” 

She did not argue with him on that point. Charlotte’s head pounded as she laid in the bed, Michael sitting quietly next to her. Neither of them said much, she just closed her eyes and focused on his touch, his hands, strong and comforting against her skin. But cautious, she could feel that caution with every caress and stroke. She thought she had lost this forever, that she would never feel the heat of his loving touch on her skin again. 

A knock at the door tore their moment of solitude away from them, both of their eyes moving to find two men in dark suits standing in the doorway. They flashed their badges identifying themselves as NYPD. The back of Charlotte’s hand hastily whisked away her tears before forcing herself up into a seated position. She forced a smile on her face but she knew with the cuts and bruises, it likely did not look like one.

“Good evening. We are sorry to interrupt. I am Detective Simpson and this is Detective Zidan. Ms. Bennett, we are so sorry for the ordeal you have suffered tonight. The doctors told us you were conscious. Would you be up for talking about what happened?” 

She nodded, gesturing for the two men to come farther in. “Y-You can just call me Charlotte. And yea… Um… we were at the Purple Cat lounge, c-celebrating the opening night of our broadway s-show.” 

“The Lighthouse?” Detective Simpson interjected. “My wife’s a big Broadway fan… we saw it last week in previews,” he clarified. “You were phenomenal.” 

“T-thank you,” she whispered. However, even that compliment could not lift her spirits right now. “Umm, we had a few drinks… two or three I guess? But I w-was tired a-and M-Michael realized I was injured so w-we decided to go home. I went to the bathroom a-and when I came out of the stall, Shaun was there. H-he locked the bathroom door and knocked me down… hit me. A-and then he started choking me.” 

“Did he try anything else?” His words were vague but Charlotte and Michael understood the implication. She felt Michael stiffen beside her. 

“No, no. He didn’t do anything like that.”

“And what is your relationship with Shaun Parker, the assailant?” 

“We dated for about three years a few years ago? He was abusive. I-I had a restraining order against him when I lived here back then. F-filed a police report a couple times then dropped them.” 

“That’s great, very helpful thank you. That’ll establish a history of violence, pattern of behavior. How’d he know about the show? Have you had contact with him since you broke up? Any idea how he might’ve gotten access to the event you all were at?” 

Charlotte clenched her eyes shut. And here goes that wrecking ball, she thought to herself. She prepared her mind and heart for the inferno of rage Michael was about to experience, this time directed at her. 

“H-He showed up at o-our last rehearsal b-before previews two weeks ago. H-he’s a-and investment banker or manager and w-was working with one of the producers.”  

Michael’s head whipped around in her direction, shocked that her answer was not a simple no. 

“What the fuck?? He’s been around for two weeks??” He approached the bed, his brow furrowed and his heart rate increasing as his frustration skyrocketed. He was seething.

Charlotte’s hands twisted in her lap as she felt his anger waft toward her. 

“I… I-It was fine at first, he didn’t really say anything o-or bother me. But l-last night, one of the investors hosted a cocktail event for us a-and he approached me… and punched me,” her voice got really small as she said that part, Michael stepping away as his rage grew to unprecedented levels. “A-and then today b-before the show, he c-came by my d-dressing room to taunt me. A-and grabbed my arm, l-left a bruise. I t-told him that I’d n-never be with him a-again.” 

Michael ran his hand over his face. “Why didn’t you tell me??”

“I didn’t want you to worry!”  

He threw his hands up in the air, his exasperation obvious to everyone in the room. “I don’t believe this shit,” he muttered under his breath before turning back to her. “You’re in a fuckin hospital bed, Charlotte. There was clearly a reason to worry! A-and you let me go all the way to fuckin’ LA where I couldn’t do shit to help you??”  

“Michael, I-I’m s-sorry, I j-” 

“Charlotte, Mr. Jordan, please,” the detective interjected. “Let’s all just calm down for a second. We don’t want to take up too much of either of your time. We know this is difficult to hear and a lot to process. Mr. Jordan, can you tell us what happened when you arrived in the bathroom?” 

Michael turned away from Charlotte. His mind was on information overload, his anger pulled him in 30 different directions. But he knew the detectives were right, now was not the time. And putting this man behind bars was more important than his anger. 

“It had been a few minutes and she didn’t come back, I went to the bathroom and heard her screaming. I forced the door open a-and saw him choking her. I-I pulled him off a-” Michael stopped speaking, the anger of that moment flooding back. 

“Yea we saw Mr. Parker’s injuries. We can piece together the rest. Well, that’s all we need for now. Your accounts align with Malcolm Roberts’, the witness, and the scene so we are good for the evening. We’ll leave you two to get some rest.” He fished his business card out of his wallet and handed it to Michael. “If you think of anything else once you’ve gotten some rest, give us a call.”  

Michael stopped the men. “And what about me?” While Michael did what he did to protect Charlotte, and did not regret it, he knew his beating of Shaun would be considered overkill by anyone with eyes. 

The detective shrugged. “From my assessment of Mr. Parker’s injuries, you used necessary force to subdue him. And that’s what I plan to write in our report.” 

At the raised eyebrow Michael gave him, the other detective merely winked at him. “I’m a husband… If I’d walked in on what you did… let’s just say he’s lucky he got off the floor at all. Even if he wants to press charges, given the circumstances and well, your status, the DA will likely decline to move forward and we would back that up. We aren’t here to ream you up, Mr. Jordan. You will have to pay for the damages to the door at the club but that’s it.” 

Michael felt relief wash over him. 

“We’ll be in touch,” the detective said before turning to leave. However, he turned back and said, “Loved you both in Creed. Take care of yourselves.” 

Michael pocketed the man’s card and watched as they left before turning his attention back to Charlotte. 

They sat in silence for a while, Michael’s hand rubbing her arm to comfort her. She could still feel it, his anger, but he controlled it, kept it to himself. They were both two powder kegs ready to explode. Both of them were using materials as flimsy as scotch tape to hold back the avalanche of emotions that threatened to consume them. 

It took a few more hours of poking and prodding before the doctors told her she could go home. She was thankful, just wanting to sleep in her own bed in Michael’s… if he was not too angry at her to deny her that. 

She pushed herself out of bed, Michael handing her the clothes Malcolm had picked up and brought over for them. She started to lift the nightgown over her head but groaned lightly at the stretch needed to do so. She let it fall back down over her legs. 

“Let me help.” 

She bit her lip, fiddling with the gown for a moment as her eyes bounced between him and her body, before shaking her head.  “Umm no, no… I got it.” 

“Why won’t you let me help you?”  

“Because I don’t need it. I got it.” 

He scoffed and raised an eyebrow at her. “You really think now is the best time to lie to me again, Charlotte?” 

She covered her eyes with her hand for a moment before sighing. “I j-just don’t want you to see t-the bruises… I k-know you’re mad at me. I-I don’t want to m-make it worse. A-and I don’t want them to change h-how you see me… feel about me.”

Michael’s feet came into her line of vision before he lifted her head and kissed her forehead. 

"Look at me," he quietly demanded. He rarely demanded but she heard it in his voice, it was not a request she could refuse. His hands held her face, holding her gaze to his once she looked up at him. “There is nothing in this world that’ll ever stop me from wanting you, aight? These bruises are just a reminder that you survived and that’s all that matters to me. And it doesn’t matter how mad I am, I’ll never deny you what you need. And right now, you need help. So let me help you.”

It took another moment or two of coaxing but ultimately, she relented. He kissed her cheek before his hands pulled her gown over her head, the young woman wincing at the stretch in her side. Michael’s eyes trailed up her body, happy to see most of it looked fine. Her upper half though, her chest, her stomach, her neck and her face were covered in bruises that made his hand clench into a fist. 

His eyes focused on the bigger one on her side, one that clearly had been there longer than the others. 

“That’s where he…” he could not even say the words. At her small nod, he took a step back from her and turned away from her. His breaths were shallow and pained.

“It’s not as bad as it looks… I’ve had worse.” 

He shook his head, the scotch tape simply could not hold his rage back any longer. “I can’t believe you kept this from me.”

“M-Michael… I’m s-sorry. I didn’t want to upset you.” 

“I’m upset because this,” he gestured at her bruise, “is upsetting. This nigga was terrorizing you, Els. And hurting you while you let me fly across the county to sit in bullshit ass meetings when you knew you needed me here.”

“I thought I had it handled!” 

“Oh so what? You’re fuckin’ Olivia Pope or some shit?” 

“Not funny, Michael.” 

“I aint fuckin’ laughin’ Charlotte. If this was handled, I would not be looking at your body covered in bruises and we wouldn’t be in a hospital. He could’ve killed you. If I hadn’t gotten there when I did, he would have killed you. I mean… what were you thinking??” 

“I-I s-should’ve told you,” she admitted. She knew there was no excuse for lying as she had and she would not waste his time trying to come up with one. “I-I just didn’t t-think you’d understand.” 

He shook his head, a strangled sigh of frustration escaping him. “Well you’re right. I don’t understand why my girlfriend, the love of my life, the woman I want to marry and build a life with, lied to me and hid something so dangerous and life threatening for weeks. You let me move all the way here to protect you, and when you needed it most, you didn’t trust me to do it. I don’t understand why you didn’t trust me.” 

All she heard in his voice was his pain. Beneath his righteous anger, she understood where it stemmed from, a well of hurt and disappointment that she did not trust him with this problem. 

“M-Michael,” she approached him. “I t-trust y-you with my life. I-it wasn’t a question or lack o-of trust. I w-wanted to tell you so b-bad. T-that night when you helped t-through that nightmare, when you called me the other night from LA…in my dressing room earlier. I wanted to tell you.” 

“Then why didn’t you?” 

She sighed, she turned back to the bed and sat down. Her physical body was barely standing, barely holding on. 

“I dunno… I t-thought I needed to d-do it alone. It’s a-always been me d-dealing with him… I g-guess it’s just a-all I know. A-and I-I was t-tired of losing… tired o-of him t-taking everything… tired of r-running,” she admitted. “A-and I was afraid, afraid you a-and my family w-wouldn’t understand why I would w-want to stay once I knew he w-was around. A-and I was afraid you’d try to stop me. A-and worst of all, I w-was afraid if you gave me an out, I’d be a coward and take it a-and then he w-would’ve taken something else from me. So I l-lied. I lied and kept it from you b-because I knew it would force me to handle it on m-my own a-and it almost killed me. Literally a-and figuratively. B-Because I did… need you.” She let out a small sob. “I needed you so bad. J-just to be there. A-and I deprived myself o-of that and I deprived you of the chance to help me a-and I am s-so so sorry.” 

Michael unfolded his arms as he listened to her. He could hear it, her regret and the sincerity of her apology. He was still angry but the roaring rapids of anger were now more like a quiet stream. Far easier to manage and put in perspective. He understood that her scars with Shaun went deeper than he could possibly understand. It was not shocking that she had defaulted to these choices. Michael sat next to her on the bed, his hand resting on her thigh. 

“I know, I know. But listen to me, Charlotte.” She lifted her eyes to look at him, surprised to find the anger gone and nothing but grace and compassion remaining. “You never have to deal with anything alone again. I’m here and whether I agree with your decisions or not, I’ll always support you and help you. I promise you that. But you gotta come to me from now on, Charlotte. This? The lying, the secrets, putting your life in danger. You can never do this again. When I saw you, I thought you were…” he stopped himself and let out a shaky breath. “You can’t scare me like this ever again. Do you understand me?” 

“Never. I promise. I’m so so sorry, baby.”

He nodded. “I know you are. It’s ok. Let’s get you home and in bed, aight?” Michael still felt guilty, ashamed that he was across the country instead of protecting her. He had known something was off and still left and that would haunt him for a while. But holding her choice against her because he felt ashamed would not help either of them. He trusted that she understood him and would come to him if she ever needed help again and that would have to be enough.  

***

“How are you feeling?” Charlotte’s dad asked as they settled around the living room. 

Charlotte was tucked into Michael’s side as she talked with her family. She had not really left his side since they left the hospital that morning. And he kept his hands somewhere on her the entire time. She knew they were both clinging to each other, unsurprising given what all had transpired. 

She was not surprised but still slightly put out to find her entire family waiting in their apartment when they finally got home. She had not slept well in weeks and had not gotten more than an hour or two in the last 48 hours. She just wanted to curl up into Michael’s chest and sleep for days. Instead, she was on hour four of her family fawning over her. It was sweet and she understood why but she had never been less excited to see them in her life. Emotionally, she was barely holding it together and she was ready to fall but instead she was forced to hold on a bit longer, remaining upbeat so her family knew she was alright. 

“I’m in some pain b-but none of it is super bad. Doc said I c-could be back on stage in a week as long as this heals alright,” she answered, pointing to the bandage on her head. Her voice signaled her hopefulness that that would be the case. 

“That fast?” Tiffany, her eldest sister, asked from the kitchen. 

Charlotte nodded. “Yea, I was kind of surprised too. But Chris canceled a couple shows, just till Tuesday so I won’t even miss a full week. The optics of his lead almost dying at the after party weren’t the best,” she admitted. She glanced up at Michael. “Can you make sure we send him some flowers and a bottle of wine? There’s a Merlot he loves that I can try to find. As an apology. I know that’s not how he saw his opening night going either.” 

“Whatever you want, babe.” 

Charlotte smiled, trying to keep the mood positive as everyone’s faces still looked grim every time they looked at her. “Well in a sort of silver lining from last night, the show went really well? Reviews came out a-and Michael read them on the way home. They are so amazing. I can’t wait for y’all to come back so you can see it.”

“Oh that’s great!” Allen offered. 

“As if there was even a doubt about -” CJ started to say before Jackson cut him off.  

“Are you fuckin’ serious right now?” Jackson blurted out, his anger getting the better of him. Charlotte could tell he was more upset than the rest of her family as he had been virtually silent since they arrived. But she knew why. “Are we really gonna talk about that damn musical like she didn’t fuckin’ almost die to be in it?” 

“Baby…” Lauren chastised him. She offered Charlotte and Michael an apologetic glance that told them she tried to head off this outburst before they arrived. “We said we were gonna talk about this later.” 

“Nah, fuck that!” Jackson stood up and all the anger in him seemed to explode. “What the hell is wrong with you?? How could you be so reckless? So fuckin’ stupid to let him do this shit to you again?? What the fuck, Charlie?”

Charlotte knew her brother did not mean his words, knew he was just angry. However, in such a fragile state, she could not help the way her body folded into Michael’s at Jackson’s tone and his words. She knew she deserved it. She had kept secrets and lied to her family as much as she did Michael. She knew what she put them through was wrong. 

Michael immediately stood up in front of her, using his body as a protective shield from her brother’s harsh tone. He understood Jackson’s anger, he really did. But he had made peace with Charlotte’s choices and accepted her apology. And hours removed from the shock of everything, he regretted piling onto her pain in the hospital by blowing up at her. It was the wrong time to have that conversation. And so was this. He refused to allow anyone else to do it either. She had been knocked down enough in the last 24 hours, the last thing she needed was to get it from the people she loved too. 

“Aight brah. Cool it. She knows she messed up but regardless, what happened last night wasn’t her fault. You need to take a breath and calm down.”

“Like hell it isn’t. She knew what he was capable of! And no disrespect but I’m tryin’ to have a conversation with my sister. In case you forgot, I’m the one that pieced her back together after that nigga fucked her up the first time. Meanwhile, she wouldn’t even look like that if you had been here protecting her instead of out in fuckin’ LA.” 

“Aww shit,” Jazz muttered as Michael took a menacing step toward Jackson, his words clearly striking a sore spot. 

There was barely any space for God between the two men as they stood off, Michael ready to throw hands with anyone who stepped at Charlotte the wrong way, present company included. The other men in the room rose from their seats as well, the tension between the two men palpable. 

“I don’t give a fuck what you’re tryna do. I’m the one takin’ care of her now. And I’m tellin’ you to back the fuck up and calm the fuck down. Take another step toward her or raise your voice at her in my house again and I won’t be tellin’ you shit.” 

“Alright, enough, enough.” Charlotte called out. She grunted in pain as she pushed herself up from the couch and made her way through the sea of testosterone to her brother and boyfriend. “Let’s all just calm down and sit down. N-No one, least of all me, has the energy to hear either of you argue about who’s more protective.” She placed a gentle hand on Michael’s chest to nonverbally let him know she was fine. He took a step back, raising his hands in surrender. However, when Charlotte stepped in front of him, his hand still went to rest on her hip as if he would need to move her behind him again. He was on edge, everyone understood it. 

She turned and faced her brother. “You’re right. What I did was reckless and it was dumb. But I know you, Jackson. Look me in my eyes and tell me if you knew what was going on, you wouldn’t have flown here and made it your mission to drag me back to LA with you?” 

Jackson scoffed. “Of course I fuckin’ would’ve. Because I’m the one that nursed you back to health when you left him, the one who woke up to you screaming night after night for months. Every good day, every bad day, every horrible day. I was there. I saw what he did to you, how he destroyed you. And I never wanted to see you go through that again. But I can’t believe I would’ve even had to convince you. The fact that you weren’t on the first flight home after you saw him is fuckin’ insane, Charlie. It makes me question your judgment entirely.” 

“I know I wouldn’t be standing here without you, Jackson. Y-You and Lauren saved my life. A-and I am sorry for the lying and the secrets. Truly. I-If I could go back and do it differently, I w-would have told all of you. But even though I regret that, I still would’ve stayed here and done this show even if I knew this would be the outcome.” At her family’s shocked expression, she sighed. “Question my judgement, call me stupid, I don’t care. You helped me heal but I put myself back together piece by piece and I didn’t do that to live in fear of him for the rest of my life. I did it so I could live the life I want. So I could build the life I want, so I could be free. And I don’t regret staying here to fight for that life. I almost died and it was terrifying for me a-and I can only imagine how it felt for you all for the second time. And I’m truly sorry for that. But it was my choice. And I’m not gonna apologize for fighting for what I want, for what my soul needs. You don’t have to like that decision but you do have to respect it.” 

“Jackson… she’s right,” her dad, Christian Sr, interjected. “Charlie has always been smart and driven. I wish there’d been another way but I understand. I’m just glad you’re ok, squirt.” Her dad wrapped her in a tight hug. 

“Same, sis. But can this be the last time you almost die on us, please? It’s getting kinda old,” Tiffany joked under her breath, CJ hitting her on the arm. 

Charlotte let out a belly laugh that made her ribs ache. “Y-Yea, I can do that. I’m down to 6 or 7 lives now anyway. I should preserve them. I’m sorry for scaring everyone. Seriously.” She glanced at her brother who had now gone silent. “Can you forgive me, J? Please?” 

He pulled her into a hug, his lips pressed into the top of her head. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, Charlie,” he warned. 

“I promise.” 

“Ok, let’s all go check into our hotels and give Michael and Charlie some time alone. She needs rest. We can come back tomorrow,” Lauren remarked, shoo-ing everyone toward the door. 

Charlotte mouthed thank you to her before wrapping her in a hug. If there was one person who was always a ride or die for her, it was Lauren. She never failed. Michael immediately led Charlotte into their room as soon as everyone filed out and started to help her get ready to finally rest. 

“I-I think I want to shower first?” 

“Whatever you want, baby. Need help?” 

She shook her head. She had not been able to detach herself from Michael since they got home. But she realized after her family’s visit that she needed at least a moment of solitude, a few moments to process the last 48 hours alone. “No, I don’t think so. But I’ll leave the door open just in case.”  

Michael settled into bed himself, grabbing his phone to check his email and text messages. It took him a while to make his way through all of them. He had ignored nearly every notification in his phone since he got back from LA. He clicked on one, a link to CNN from Steelo.

He wondered if he should even press play on the video but he decided to. 

“And now, breaking news from Broadway. Last night, after the opening night performance of The Lighthouse, the musical’s star, Charlotte Bennett was attacked at the show’s afterparty at a nightclub in the Upper West Side. Bennett, a rising star most known for her role in the recent blockbuster hit Creed, recently returned to Broadway after a two year absence. The assailant, Shaun Parker of New York, was apprehended and is in police custody. NYPD held a press conference late this morning where they announced the state would be pursuing assault and attempted murder charges against the 30 year old investment banker. NYPD also shared that Bennett’s boyfriend, actor and star Michael B. Jordan, also from Creed, was also involved in the altercation, restraining Parker until police arrived.” 

“NYPD found that there was a history of domestic violence between Parker and Bennett, Bennett having filed a restraining order and several police reports during their relationship. Lead detectives are still determining Parker’s motivation for attacking Bennett but evidence suggests it was in retaliation for rejecting his advances. Parker’s lawyers were not available for comment.” 

“Guess that cat’s out of the bag,” he heard Charlotte mumble. Her body was wrapped in a towel, leaning against the door. He had been so wrapped up in the story that he had not even seen her exit the shower. He quickly closed the link and threw his phone down on the bed. She looked better to him, the light and life returning to her skin. She still looked dead on her feet but he knew only time in bed would fix that. He watched as she chewed on the side of her lip. 

“I guess… I knew it’d make the news a-and people would find out. Now everyone’s gonna know how dumb I was, every stupid mistake I made.” 

“Or… everyone’s gonna know you survived something awful and applaud you for it,” Michael offered as he grabbed clothes for her to change into and handed them to her. 

She used his arms for balance as she stepped into a pair of his Calvin Klein briefs and he helped her pull the sweater over her body. She tried to control the grimaces and small expressions of pain but it proved difficult.

“Somehow I doubt that,” she whispered as he helped her get situated in bed. She let out a deep content sigh of relief at finally being able to relax. She looked at him for a moment and pulled on his arm to bring him close to her. “Thank you for taking care of me and for saving my life… a-and loving me.” 

He shook his head. “You don’t ever have to thank me for any of that.” He pecked her on the lips. 

However, as he leaned back, her hands cupped his face to stop him. Her thumb rubbed the stumble of his beard as she studied him. After a moment or two, she kissed him again and this time, they did not stop. Michael could feel it, all the pain she felt, her desperation and need as she clung to his body as if he would disappear if she let him go. However, when her hands naturally drifted to the waistband of his sweats to take it to the next level, he wrapped his hands around them to stop her. As much as his body responded to hers, he knew he could not allow this moment to go too far. 

His hesitation had nothing to do with a lack of desire, his straining manhood was the proof of that. However, given how Shaun treated her during sex, Michael took great care in how he did. He vowed to ensure she never felt like she was merely a plaything or a warm body for his use. And while, after the day they had and almost losing her, he would love to bury himself inside her, he knew he could not do it even if she wanted it. Even if she chose to ignore it, Michael knew she was merely minutes away from falling apart and this would not help her hold it together.  

However, the pained and disappointed look in her eyes almost made him question that resolve. And it broke his heart. 

“W-what’s wrong?” 

“You were almost murdered less than 24 hours ago. You’re injured and in pain. I can’t fuck you like that didn’t happen. I don’t think this is a good idea.” 

“But I wasn’t. And I appreciate you being a gentleman but I’m fine, I promise.” She captured his lips again.

“I-It’s not about being a gentleman. It’s about knowing you and what you need and this ain’t it.” 

“ I need you,” she whispered back, her forehead resting against his. “Bakari, please. Don’t make me beg you. Please.” She tried to stop her voice from breaking, she knew that would not help convince him she was ok enough to do this. But she could not describe how desperate she was to feel something other than her current pain. 

And now, his refusal only made her feel worse. This was utterly foreign to her. There had never been a time where Michael denied her or pumped the brakes. She had not even considered this outcome, figuring he would be ready to go if she was. But she supposed she could not blame him. Her bruised body was far from attractive. 

He’s angry and disgusted by you, a voice in her head rang out loudly.

His eyes clenched shut as he struggled to stay steadfast in his convictions. But the need in her voice tested every fiber of his being. That voice, so vulnerable, so clearly desperate for him, made him want to relent. But he couldn’t.

“The last 48 hours have been hell. I see it in your eyes, you’re barely… you’re barely holding it together, love. You need rest and maybe you need me but I don’t think sex is what either of us need right now. And… whether you realize it or not, I imagine the things he did to you, however long ago, are gonna come back up. I don’t want to trigger any…” his words failed as she tore herself from his arms and turned on her side to face away from him in frustration.

“I-I k-knew this would happen,” she whispered to herself. “The bruises… s-seeing what he did. I d-disgust you.” 

“That’s not it! Look at me. You have never and will never disgust me. I don’t even want to hear you say that shit. I always want you. But your physical and mental health is more important to me than anything else and that means we can’t do this.” 

“I just want…” she whispered, unable to put her desires into words. It was not even a physical desire she craved. She just wanted to keep moving. She just knew if she laid here and sat in the stillness with him, the dam would break and she would fall apart. And she just was not ready to feel the extent of all of this yet. And she hated that Michael knew that, picked up on that so quickly. “I’m fine, Bakari.” 

“I think you just want to feel something else… I think if we do this, it’ll make you feel like you’re fine when you aren’t. I know it’s hard for you to be vulnerable. But you got me, I’m here and you can fall apart, scream, cry… whatever. You can be not fine. You got me and I’m not going anywhere.” 

Her eyes went to the ceiling to stop the tears from falling. “I am fine, Bakari.” She let out a groan of frustration at his silence, knowing he did not believe her. She could not tell who she was trying to convince more. Him or herself. “I’m fine.” 

His hand wiped a tear that fell from her eyes as she stammered. “I promise you… I’m fine. I’m… fine,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of it all, the simple words being much more difficult to say. “I’m… f-” the words died in her throat as she started to sob.

“Come here.” He enveloped her in his arms as she broke down into tears, her sobs filling their bedroom. “You’re gonna be ok, Els. I promise. I gotchu and you’re safe. I promise.” 

He moved onto the bed to better cradle her into his side, her face buried in his chest. They stayed like that all night, until she cried herself asleep, finally releasing weeks of pent up pain and fear. Michael watched her for most of the night, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest next to him. Every so often, she woke up whimpering softly, nightmares plaguing her sleep. And he would just hold her again and whisper the same refrain in her ears until she calmed down again. She was safe and he'd never let her feel this pain again. And he would make it his life’s mission to ensure he kept that promise.

Tag List: @certifiedlesbianbaddie @bangtanxmegan @reelwriter19 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @hi888888sworld @msniaimani @destinio1 @lynaye1993 @chaoticevilbakugo @blackerthings @pipsqueak-98 @miyuhpapayuh @passionxwrites @gopaperless

A/N: First, if you made it through this long sad chapter, THANK YOU! I hope the savage beating of that nigga was worth it LOL If you are wondering what I envisioned, if you watched Game of Thrones, think about when Jon beat the hell outta Ramsey after Battle of the Bastards lol that sort of visceral rage and Ramsey looked better than Shaun in my mind haha… I promise y'all, our story is on an upswing from here on out lol 90% fluff from now on, I promise!

Drop a comment and let me know what you think/let me know if you want to be tagged! How do you think Bakari and Els are gonna recover from all this?

[snowblack-charcoalwhite]

why do you think alicent loves aemond so much? why she doesn't love aegon as much as she loves aemond? alicent appears to have misconceptions about her children. just like dumbledore said to snape about harry. you see what you want to see. the thing is alicent overlooks aegon good traits like cunning (he convinced people living for years at dragonstone to follow him without bloodshed so it means he convinced them. it means aegon is far more diplomatic than aemond even though aemond brags about studying history and philosophy so one can expect aemond to be more polished snd diplomatic but all his knowledge goes out of the window when he's angry) and resourceful while she is too preoccupied with aemond not causing problems compared to aegon that she paints aemond as unproblematic golden child. this and aemond actually never comes back. aegon does. alicent was so wrong about both of her children. had alicent really understood aemond she would have never loved him that much because he represents everything she despises thirst for blood, war and violence. she just likes her men strong, not self-pitying like aegon because he reminds her of herself. had she really understood aegon she would have loved him more because they are very similar doing their duty and fighting till the end. she hated parts of aegon she hated in herself and loved parts of aemond she loved in herself.

this is very funny old joke that the child who rebels the most often ends up as the one more successful than obedient dutiful one.

Hello, thank you for the ask! And I`m awfully sorry for the delay with answering:(

Well, in a way you answered your own question. "she hated parts of aegon she hated in herself and loved parts of aemond she loved in herself" - there is quite a lot of truth to it, I think. However, I do not agree with the premise that Alicent doesn`t love Aegon (or, more precisely, that she loves him less than she does Aemond).

In fact I find it quite difficult to say which one of her sons, in my opinion, Alicent loves more - because she loves them in different ways.

She sees Aemond as a pillar she could lean on (just like she views Criston), as a shield she could grab to protect herself and the rest of her family (not in a sense that she`s ready to sacrifice Aemond but meaning that shes sure he can take it). There IS a part of Alicent that lives in her second son (in one of my posts I called him the voice of her bitterness and rage) but overall they are quite different people. She might not understand Aemond as well as she would like to; she might love him less if she did - but we will never know. As it is, Aemond is her brave and fierce baby boy who went through a horrible traumatic experience (that started with him fighting alone) and still was strong enough to be the one to stand by her side when pretty much everyone else turned against her.

Aegon indeed too strongly reminds Alicent of herself. She feels it - and since she is often too harsh and demanding (sometimes even resentful) towards herself, she projects these feelings onto her child that resembles her the most. She might feel like she is not enough (screw you, Viserys, by the way) - so Aegon does not feel enough as well. There might be some apprehension about the way Aegon deals with his suffering: drinking, whoring, lazing around - trying to drown out the voice of his suffering with other powerful sensations and feelings where Alicent (almost) always chooses to suppress them. But that doesn`t mean she doesn`t love Aegon. In a way thinking about him - about his lot, his duty-bound fate, the neglect he suffers where the support should be given to him - hurts her too much, so she can`t fully process the love she feels for her eldest son, and neither she can express her properly. So here go slapping, shouting and saying the words that she knows will hurt a lot - but she can`t stop herself from saying them.

Her love for Aemond makes her feel stronger. Her love for Aegon makes her bleed. So no wonder Alicent feels more ready to embrace the former. And yet, when she takes a stand between Aegon and Meleys none of it matters.

[presidenthades]

Once again, I am doing a series of my behind-the-scenes thoughts for The Golds while I do light edits for formatting, typos, and continuity. Here’s Chapter 10!

For this chapter’s title, I chose the final lyric of “The Song of the Seven”: they see you, little children. The lyric is supposed to mean that the gods are always watching over you. In this fic, Jace and Aegon (and all the Targkids) are constantly being watched by their family, the court, and the realm because they are royal heirs. Although Jace and Aegon are adults by Westerosi standards, they’re still quite young—and now they have a child of their own to protect and watch over.

Aegon mentions in Chapter 6 that Jace hasn’t ugly-cried since she was 7, and now here’s the story! I discussed in previous commentaries how Rhaenyra and Laenor were trying for a son but after Joff was born, they called it quits. Since Joff was born sickly, Rhaenyra was distracted with that for several months. Once Joff was healthy, Rhaenyra decided to tell Jace on her seventh nameday—since seven is a special number in Westeros—about officially being her heir.

Prior to that, Jace is a normal, girly-girl child who’s only worried about games and such. She’s still well-behaved and responsible, but just in the “I need to make sure Luce brushes her teeth” sense rather than the “I have the weight of the realm on my shoulders” sense.

Laenor was like a Disney dad to Jace and Luce. He loved them but was often away living his own life, and when he came back he lavished them with presents to try to make up for it. Jace is careful with the dolls he gives her not only because she’s naturally a careful person, but also because they remind her of her father while he’s away. And to Laenor’s credit, he knows his daughters well enough that he can pick good presents for them. He notices that the dolls never last long in Luce’s hands so he gets less fragile stuff, while for Jace he buys delicate and expensive dolls because he knows she’ll appreciate them. I imagine he picks dolls wearing the clothes and hairstyles of whatever place he’s visiting, so Jace can use the dolls to learn what gowns are fashionable in Lorath or wherever.

Aegon is the eldest Targkid and he’s very important to Jace, so she gives a lot of weight to what he says. And Aegon has said a lot about how it sucks to be the heir and he’s glad he doesn’t have to do it. Now he’s regretting his big mouth 🥲.

Aegon was bad about carrying around handkerchiefs when he was younger, but he was always willing to sacrifice his sleeve if Jace needed it.

Aegon did indeed steal back Jace’s dolls from a 5-year-old, and I’m sure Luce bit him at least once (and yelled for Aemond to come hit Aegon). But once Luce realized how distraught Jace was about the dolls, she was willing to give them up. And Jace is very good about sharing, so Luce knows she can play with them whenever she wants.

Aegon doesn’t understand magic but he fully appreciates Joff’s help during the birth. If she hadn’t gone berserk in the middle of the night, she would have become his new favorite person after Jace and Cheeseball.

Is there symbolism in Aegon undoing his son’s swaddling and telling him “be free”?? Yeah probably.

Aegon was so worried about his influence being bad on the baby, but now he’s so proud and daydreaming about Cheeseball being a troublemaker like himself!

“I won’t be like my father. I’ll be better than him.” Foreshadowing for the rest of the chapter and Aegon’s arc in future fics? Yes it is! Also me pulling in some themes from Greek mythology, where sons becoming more powerful than their fathers is a common trope (Kronos vs his father Ouranos, Zeus vs his father Kronos, Zeus taking great pains to thwart his hypothetical son by his first wife Metis from being born so that son can never overthrow him).

Aegon’s little speech to Cheeseball is basically what Aegon wishes somebody had told him growing up. People called Aegon the future king and had high expectations for him. Aegon can’t stop other people from thinking and saying what they want to think and say, but he can make sure his son knows he has more value than his status as heir.

I’m not 100% sure but I think Aemond was voluntold to transport the egg, and Aemond is secretly pleased by the responsibility. Even though Aemond is awkward around his nephew, he does care about Elenar and he doesn’t want his nephew to grow up dragonless like himself. Aemond is concerned by the seeming imperfection of the egg (just as how he thinks his missing eye is an imperfection), but in the end, that “flaw” is a unique feature that makes the hatchling very special.

I enjoyed writing the juxtaposition of a serious conversation about politics and battle while Aegon is trying to help a baby pass gas 😂. Babies operate on their own timeline, they’re not waiting for the adults to finish speaking. If they need to fart, they need to fart.

Aegon would have been bloodthirsty toward the Tyroshi and Tyrosh in general, but he’s been busy taking care of Jace and then the baby. He prioritized giving attention to his family, and now that he has bandwidth to think about other things, a lot of that initial bloodthirst has died down because…well, Aegon is pretty happy with life right now. Jace is safe and happy, Elenar is safe and happy, so Aegon is content (and it helps that he’s seen what Daemon is doing in the Black Cells). But when Viserys disrupts that happiness, it kickstarts Aegon into action.

Aemond has been thinking a lot about how to avoid marrying Cassandra. His preference would be eloping with Luce, but she has hesitations because she knows his pride will likely lead to the marriage souring. Since he can’t talk her into that right now, he has to think of alternatives. If he remains in Westeros, Viserys could order lords and knights to send Aemond back to KL, which means Aemond would basically have to go rogue with Vhagar. Aemond could go traveling around Essos like many second sons, but that would make him look irresponsible. So he lands on the Stepstones option, which takes him physically far from Viserys’s reach and still allows him to fulfill his duties as a prince and dragonrider. Also, Aegon and Aemond left the Stepstones rather hastily so they could attend Jace and Aegon’s wedding. They arranged a deal with Racallio to make peace, but it ended up being a bandaid solution because Racallio is having trouble now. Aemond likes finishing what he started, so he also has that incentive to return to the Stepstones.

Aegon and Aemond aren’t the kind of guys to have a lot of heart-to-hearts, but Aegon still knows him really well. They aren’t friends, but they’re definitely brothers.

Luce fending off suitors from her island palace while Aemond is away = Penelope and Odysseus vibes, except our Penelope is NOT waiting for 20 years and she has a dragon that can take her places.

In Episode 9, Aemond stopped Aegon from running away from his duty. Here, Aegon is helping Aemond run away from his. Who would’ve thought Aemond would be the one shunning his duty? 🤪

Aegon has learned from his past mistakes. In Chapters 3 and 4, he forgot to communicate with Jace what he was doing, but now he makes sure to keep her apprised of his shenanigans.

Cheeseball being happiest while naked is another trait he shares with his father 😂. Both times when we’re introduced to Aegon (Ep 6 and Ep 8), he’s butt naked. He just seems really chill about casual nudity.

Aegon has been projecting dialogue and thoughts unto Cheeseball ever since he was in the womb, but honestly Aegon is probably accurate 99% of the time what his son is thinking and feeling.

Several months ago I saw a guy waiting in line at a fast-casual restaurant with a newborn, and he just started doing squats to soothe the baby. Hence, Aegon doing squats with Cheeseball and totally not caring that the entire court is watching him.

The Baratheons might be power-hungry, but they are genuinely mourning Floris. Most of them, at least. Cassandra is kinda heartless in F&B, so I could see her excitement about marrying a prince outweighing her grief. She’s done her homework about what (or whom) Aemond likes in the hopes that’ll make him like her better. Unfortunately, her efforts to evoke Luce spur him to flee the country instead 🥲.

Cregan is like twice Aegon’s size, but Aegon is still willing to fight him for hurting Jace’s feelings.

Deep down Viserys knew Jace and Aegon would NOT be happy about the fostering arrangement, and that’s why he didn’t say anything about it until they were at a public event where they can’t make a scene. But Aegon did make a scene, and that’ll be a cue for a lot of courtiers that there might be a schism among the Targs.

Viserys’s dragon dream is different than his show canon one (seeing his son wear the Conqueror’s crown), and what he sees gives him a greater sense of urgency re: the prophecy of the PTWP. He thinks it’s really important that the Targs forge a stronger bond with the Starks ASAP, so he’s speeding up the timeline for a fostering. Ironically, if Viserys set the fostering for age 7 like most, Jace and Aegon probably would’ve been unhappy but more accepting since it’s a normal arrangement. But yeah, this was really bad news for two new parents who just experienced a harrowing birth, and Jace’s emotions especially are still all over the place.

Viserys invoking being Aegon’s father when he’s done a shitty job of it 🫠.

To be fair to Cregan, he doesn’t really want to take Elenar as a ward at all, but like he said, it’s hard to say no to the king. And fostering a future king is supposed to be a huge honor.

In F&B, Baela gets dealt a crappy hand after the Dance. She marries Alyn Velaryon to avoid a worse marriage, but Alyn ends up being a serial cheater 😑. In this verse, with so many other Targ girls ahead of her in the succession for the throne and Driftmark, Baela has the option to not marry at all, especially if she goes the Queensguard route (Daemon would let her, and everyone is still thinking about Jace’s abduction so a sworn shield seems like an excellent idea to most people). But Jace knows Baela is reacting very emotionally right now and she didn’t want to entrap Baela in a lifelong oath she might regret later. For now though, it’s a good path for Baela so she can maintain her independence and stay near her family. Girl just needs to make sure not to enter any rebound relationships…

BTW if Daemon had an enemies list, he probably took the Targbros off but put Cregan on it instead because of the Baela situation.

Now we have a mirror scene of Aegon’s convo with Otto in Chapter 2! In Chapter 2, Aegon leaves the convo determined not to be involved in anything political because he wants to just focus on Jace. Now, Aegon realizes he has to be involved in politics if he wants to achieve what he and Jace want.

Otto truly isn’t happy with the fostering arrangement. The Starks aren’t happy with the Targs right now, and someone cynical might worry how Elenar is treated while he’s far away (he probably can’t even write a letter at age 4 to tell anyone what’s happening). As a prince and heir, Elenar would be accompanied by a household full of trusted servants and caretakers, but it isn’t the same as his own family keeping an eye on him. The North also isn’t a bastion of learning and diplomacy, so Otto is probably worried about what Elenar’s education will be like.

Since there’s so much genderbending in this verse, Targ princes are a hot commodity because there are only three of them in the current generation. Otto likes the Baratheon arrangement, but because Viserys offered Aemond as reparations, it affected how much the Crown could negotiate from the betrothal contract. And like Otto said, bad precedent: “Did the Targs wrong you? That’s ok, you’ll get a royal marriage or ward in exchange.”

I originally wanted another scene with Bethany in this fic but there wasn’t room for it. Her face is scarred very badly, and this hampers her marriage prospects (which is a lot of the value of a highborn girl in Westeros). Remaining as Jace’s LIW sends a message that Bethany is being honored rather than sent away where nobody can see her scars, and if Bethany is unable to marry, she still has a position of status and privilege at court. Bethany’s family isn’t happy about the attack at the Sept, but they’re grateful she at least survived. And since they have close ties to Alicent and Otto, they’re willing to be less grumbly than the Baratheons and Starks.

Otto gives zero credence to things like prophecy, so he is worried Viserys might be suffering a mental decline/break. This especially concerns him after Viserys has publicly declared that as king, his word is law (re: the fostering, but Otto is also thinking about Viserys keeping Rhaenyra as heir).

Otto might not care personally about the smallfolk, but he definitely appreciates the power of popular appeal, which Jace and Aegon have in spades. Otto sees that Aegon has a natural instinct for certain aspects of politics, and he’s frustrated that Aegon refuses to engage unless it’s by accident or at Jace’s behest. Otto knows what Aegon is like, so he pushes all the right buttons to trigger Aegon and motivate him to act.

A lot of Jace’s hangups about food are because of her fear of moon tea. But she wants to overcome that mental roadblock so she can continue with her life, and now moon tea is beneficial rather than harmful. She’ll probably still have some trouble with drinking it, but Aegon will be there to help her, and they’ll probably learn about/invent other contraceptive methods to double up on protection.

Aegon is willing to commit war crimes for Jace and she knows it, but she’s too lawful good to take advantage.

So many commenters were rooting for future Alyssa x Elenar! And at least one person suggested Elenar having a polygamous marriage with both Alyssa and Viserra (Daemon would love that lol). We shall see what happens! The kids are still developing their personalities.

Daemon resigned himself to Jace/Aegon a while ago, and now he’s spying a new opportunity to potentially get his blood on the throne one day 👀. Which means it behooves him to play nice with Aegon, who is understandably suspicious of Daemon being nice to him. I also think Daemon, after his growth arc in the Handbook, would like for his daughters/stepdaughters to have some semblance of happiness. And now that he’s begrudgingly admitted to himself that the Targbros aren’t so bad, he’s kind of insulted that Viserys is just handing out royal princes to any house willy-nilly.

“Much sorrow, many tears.” I haven’t seen Queen Charlotte but I have seen the memes of Charlotte going “sorrows, prayers” constantly. If you’re wondering whether there’s a connection…yes.

Viserys was 100% a snitch when he was growing up.

Joff didn’t have a real first meeting with Elenar. She passed out in the birthing room, and then she had her Exorcist moment that night. She just wants to meet her nephew without any drama 🥺.

Aegon isn’t particularly interested in magic in the first place, and he knows that way lies madness, so he decides the possible benefits of digging for more info aren’t worth the trouble. He’s had two months to let his anger settle and mull over the events. If the candle is the reason for Joff’s behavior, and if Joff is willing to put the candle aside, then he’s willing to move forward and carefully allow her interaction with Elenar as she regains his trust that she won’t act like that again.

Joff can be really sneaky about her words and actions, but she has a pretty strong personal code of conduct. If she did something wrong, she’ll own it, and if she makes a promise, she’s keeping it—which is why she’s so sneaky about it in the first place.

Viserys is not a good father, but generally it IS a father’s duty to arrange a good marriage for his daughter, which is arguably what he did for Helaena. But anyone who knows Helaena’s preferences (so definitely not Viserys) knows that she would hate a marriage taking her away from her family (and Rhaena) and forcing her to have a bunch of children.

It could be argued that it’s unwise for Viserys to wed a female dragonrider outside of the house, and this is true. But options for Helaena’s husband are limited. There are very few Targ princes in this universe. As for the other Valyrian families, the Celtigars are still kinda in disgrace from the Clement incident, and the only Velaryon men are from cadet branches like Vaemond’s sons, who have no inheritance worthy of a king’s daughter. The other option is for Helaena to remain unwed, which is her preference, but Viserys is trying to play politics 😒. At least he could address the dragon issue by declaring that none of Helaena’s children are permitted to have eggs or claim dragons—if he thinks of doing so.

Joff and Daeron are the little siblings trying desperately to keep up with their older siblings, and Aegon is NOT having it.

Before Joff and Daeron were born, Luce was the baby of the royal nursery, so she spent a lot of her early years running after the others. Then after the Driftmark funerals, Aemond and his siblings left with their parents for KL while Rhaenyra and her daughters stayed longer—only for Luce and her sisters to realize they weren’t returning home to KL but moving to Dragonstone. Then of course there was Aemond’s first trip to the Stepstones (I don’t think Luce even had a chance to say goodbye that time). Then when she was fostering at Driftmark, Aemond visited often but had to leave at the end of every visit. So Luce has developed a bit of a complex where she feels like Aemond is always going somewhere and she can’t go with him.

I realized that Aemond ended up being a very important secondary relationship for Aegon in this fic, so I wanted to make sure they got one last scene together. Daeron is also Aegon’s brother but he’s much younger, whereas Aemond has been his partner in crime for most of his life 🥲.

Aegon is actually pretty decent at planning logistics for his schemes. There’s this scene with the council, and earlier in the fic there was the raid on the warehouse, and in the Handbook I feel like he had a strong role in plotting the elopement.

“I am, as ever, your obedient son.” Aegon is so damn sassy in that moment 😭.

Viserys had put all of his children where he thought they belonged in his masterplan (kinda like how he puts all the pieces in his model of Valyria exactly where he thinks they belong), but Aegon (whom Viserys is quick to blame) has upended the board. Now Viserys is wondering if he needs to be worried about what Aegon will be up to in the future…

Is the white raven announcing the end of summer a symbol? 👀👀👀 Honestly this day is probably one for the history books. End of summer, Prince Aemond departs for the Stepstones, Aegon’s nameday, and a new dragon hatches.

The hatchling mostly resembles Sunfyre (like how Elenar mostly resembles Aegon), but with some sunrise coloring as the culmination of all the sun/morning symbolism throughout the fic. The blue eye is like a sign from the universe that even though Aemond is away, he’s still with his family in spirit 🥲.

[prezaki]

Marianne's Past

I went and read the Marianne vi Britannia chapter from Mamoru Iwasa's "Knights of the Round" short story anthology that was released as a bonus volume to his Code Geass R2 novel series.

I am 80% sure that this image that is often seen floating around online was made to promote this specific short story (or maybe accompany a serialized release?), but the illustration itself is not included in the tankobon release.

I'll provide summary of the short here here, but please be aware I am reading with machine TL and there may be errors even despite the best of my double-checking. If you want these details for, idk, academic reasons please go to the source text first!

Anyway this story rules, here it is. Italics mark direct quotes.

We start off strong with Charles thinking "I had no reservations about wasting my own life." Standing in the middle of a battlefield, he laments that Britannia is a dying country structured around a bloodthirsty elite. No dreams, no hope.

"Born into such a world, why would you desperately try and such a small thing as your own life?" he thinks, but then Marianne's voice cuts through to him. Marianne waltzes into the room where Charles stands surrounded by soldiers pointing guns at him. Injured, in her bloodstained white uniform, she fights her way through to him with unbelievable competence and elegance. She beheads all the men as the narration describes the beautiful glisten of her sword and the flow of her hair.

Marianne, the Knight of Six at this point, sheathes her sword and bends the knee before Charles, in the middle of corpses and with both of them splattered over and over in blood.

"I sincerely apologize for any trouble I've caused you by being late," she says.

Marianne tells Charles to evacuate, but he remains stoic and only looks at her arm, which is rendered unmoving by her injury.

"That wound. You've killed, Knight of Six. You've killed the Empire's most powerful knight, the Knight of One."

Only he would have been able to hurt her this badly, Charles reasons.

The Knight of One turns out to be the person who staged this rebellion in the first place and Marianne did indeed kill him before coming to find Charles.

We learn that Charles' reign is being questioned by conservatives because he was such a distant candidate for the throne originally and ascended mostly due to the past emperor's insistence.

"There is external trouble, and the internal anxieties are becoming more and more serious. This a country on the verge of ruin. Don't you agree? Knight of Six," says Charles who is feeling talkative.

Marianne disagrees. After all, she's here and so is Waldstein, still Knight of Five at that time. They won't let it come to that.

"Then, will you come to my side, Marianne?" It's the first time he's ever called her by name and not title and she blushes.

(Here we briefly learn Marianne had a normal military career before being promoted to the Knights of the Round.)

Before she can ask what he means, Marianne realizes the truth for herself and blushes harder. Through a whirlwind of emotion she finds unwavering determination within herself.

"I humbly accept your offer."

He looks at her with eyes that seem almost sad.

"You might regret it."

The narration suggests he may be trying to make sure she knows he isn't going to force her.

Marianne denies the possibility. She won't come to regret this, because as long as she's by his side she will prevent all causes for regret from occurring.

"So you're saying your own happiness depends solely on yourself." Charles finally smiles faintly. "You're bragging, Marianne. Show humility."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Amidst the smell of gunpowder and blood, a man's hand was slowly held out. The girl's hand rested on top of his, a little awkwardly, but with a certain intent.

We then learn that this rebellion, the Blood Crest Incident, took place May 6th 1997 so a bit less than three years before Lelouch is born. Most of the Knights of Rounds were murdered in it or executed for being complicit.

The narration spends some time discussing whether Charles should be seen as a good or bad ruler, coming out conflicted.

Arguments for being a good ruler: Britannia was on the verge of collapsing and being divided between the other two super-powers before Charles revived it. Arguments for being a bad ruler: ... well, about that bloody conquest though.

Fun side details: leader of Charles' political opponents was his uncle the Archduke Louis. Anyway, we skip forward 5 years, and the civil war and unrest has now ended.

Marianne is the 5th Empress. We are treated to her in the Aries villa garden, sparring with three young teen girls from the military academy: Cornelia, Beatrice and Nonette.

None of the girls stand a chance and Marianne harshly critiques their swordplay, but she ends with saying they're getting better and she's looking forward to the next vacation. She winks at them.

We briefly learn that Cornelia's mom comes from a pretty traditional family and wanted her to be more of a palace lady but Cornelia's own wish was to enter the military. Whenever she has time off from school she comes to the Aries villa to let Marianne train her.

As Marianne talks to the girls about their training later, a small kid looks out from under her skirt.

Barely 3year old Lelouch enters the scene! He's entered a shy phase and has to be coaxed to say hi to Cornelia. (But he does do a proper bow and greets her as 'elder sister'!)

Cornelia mentions that Lelouch's shy phase is the total opposite of Euphy who is currently following everyone around 24/7 and being SUPER social no matter the person.

Then, Bismarck comes in. He is holding a crying baby Nunnally and is locked in a vicious circle of trying to get her to stop crying by smiling but having a smile that is too scary to comfort the poor baby. Cornelia laughs at the Knight of One in such a predicament.

Of course, Marianne was the one who forced him to hold the baby despite all his protest that he, who's not even married, would be shit at it. She appears remorseless.

Marianne says she was trying to teach him the stress of a mother who has some maternity nerves due to taking care of two kids, and he's just like. Ma'am the nannies take care of your kids, there is no way you are that exhausted. (He does not say this out loud.)

Beatrice, who has many younger siblings, saves Bismarck and calms down baby Nunnally. Nonette, who likes throwing babies in the air, is banned from approaching the bappy.

Marianne tells the girls to watch the kids for a bit and walks off to talk with Bismarck about serious matters. There's a cute paragraph about the girls helping Lelouch do his first tumble roll and him being really happy about it.

Bismarck muses that not too long ago it would have been unthinkable for there to be the laughter of children in the palace. Marianne teases him that continuing to ensure this is possible is why he's here, isn't he?

Bismarck is Knight of One and also the ONLY Knight of Rounds at this moment. Marianne left the Knights after becoming Empress and the others all died due to the Blood Crest Incident. No new ones have been appointed since.

Bismarck tells Marianne that he thinks she is more suitable to be Knight of One than him.

Marianne doesn't entertain the thought. Bismarck wants more Knights appointed but Marianne says that Charles was ambivalent to the suggestion, being not really concerned about his own safety. Also there are no promising candidates right now.

Anyway, the main reason Bismarck dropped by is because the current Chinese Emperor passed away. This unrest and uncertainty has Charles setting his sides on border expansion and conquering more territory.

Marianne grows pensive. Is Charles good or evil? She's wondered often. We launch into a flashback:

“Your Majesty--do you aspire to be a conqueror?”

Marianne asked him one day, and Charles, laughed happily, which was unusual.

"Hmm...Is that what you see, Marianne?"

"Yes. At least in my eyes."

"Conqueror, huh? If that's what you want, that's not bad either," Charles muttered, an even more amused smile appearing on his handsome face.

When Marianne heard this, her expression turned grim.

“If you are serious about such things, I will refuse to touch His Majesty from now on. Please do not enter my sleeping quarters again. I will immediately decapitate myself.

"I thought you'd say that. But, Marianne, there's one thing you forgot to mention. In that case, you would only kill yourself after beheading this emperor, right? ”

......

"Is it untrue………?"

"Mhm."

"You are a person who never compromises on yourself. Just like me. Therefore, your wings are something that even this emperor cannot control, and the way you flap your wings nobly captures his heart." Marianne couldn't help but smile crookedly as the truth was whispered to her from an unexpected source. Seeing this, Charles also laughed.

"Marianne. My desire is not to conquer the world. It is to strip away the lies of the world. In the process, I hope for the world. I will rid the world of lies. That is my oath. ...But let me promise you this, Marianne. The inside of your heart that you never show to others. That emptiness that cannot be wiped away. Even that, I will make up for it.”

Marianne's expression returned to normal and she fell silent.

Then she said, "If His Majesty truly thinks so, I will create a 'vessel' for His Majesty. His oath, the power to approach it. The path - an army strong enough to conquer the world."

The emperor laughed loudly this time.

"That means you're joining forces with the worst sinner in history, Marianne. Your children and grandchildren will continue to be accused of being witches who assisted the most evil king in the world."

Marianne smiled too.

"Of course, I am prepared. Your Majesty does remember what I am called, right?"

"The Flash. It sounds good, but a flashing light burns people's eyes out. Moreover, your light is by no means the halo of a saint..."

"A bloody hero's death. I have never wielded a sword for anyone other than myself.

"Even when you protected me... that's why I wanted you. Would you like to see the world together, Marianne?''

“Even if it costs me my life.”

Since then she knew.

This person was planning to spread his wings even bigger someday.

Britannia, a continental country. However, this person cannot fit into such a small container. He has to involve many countries and puts the world under its control. Even if he was called a tyrant, or the king of Hades with the sickle of death. Moreover, his motivation was never ambition. Nor was it vigor. Instead it was because of the tears of blood that this person shed when he was young. To fulfill the vow he made. In that case, what she can do after deciding to walk with this person is--

With this cut-off phrase we go back to the present.

In the evening of her meeting with Bismarck, Marianne calls the three girls to meet her. She appears wearing her old Knights of Round uniform and tells them she won't be able to accompany them in their training for a while, so they should use this opportunity to come at her like they mean it because she also won't hold back. For the first time in their sparring, she is dual wielding which was her preferred mode of combat during her active days.

We skip the combat and go right to Marianne coming back out to talk to Bismarck. He remarks that this was quick. The girls stood no chance, though Beatrice held out slightly longer than the others. Marianne asserts that a Knight of the Emperor needs no naivety or kindness so she tried to knock that out of the girls here. She expects they will be changing bit by bit from here on out. Marianne and Bismarck begin to leave for the capital.

Marianne: "Then let's go, Bismarck. To help the king commit the worst crime in history."

Bismarck: "And so it's the return of the empress general."

As they are about to leave a nanny and a crying baby Lelouch stop them. Lelouch had a scary dream during nap time and needed to see his mommy. He had a dream his mother was going very far away.

Marianne tells Lelouch that she isn't going anywhere. But her eyes are cold, as if she was looking at a wooden dummy. Bismarck has seen this expression on her many times before - it's the face she makes before cutting somebody down on the battlefield.

Bismarck is so used to this expression signifying killing intent that his body almost intuitively moves to protect Lelouch - but Marianne just hugs him.

"Lelouch and Nunnally are mother's treasures. I will always be with them and protect them. Forever and ever."

In her heart, Marianne adds: 'However, this is only true so long as you do not stand in the way of he and I.' She suddenly finds baby Nunnally staring at her - she smiles, and Nunnally suddenly trembles as if frightened.

All she can do is stare at her mother's smiling face.

Six months later the Britannian Empire starts its massive expansion campaign, with Marianne The Flash serving as Charles' greatest support.

[kootiepatra]

#FFxivWrite2023 - Day 16: Jerk

The Crystal Exarch’s head jerked upwards as the aetherial chain around his neck pulled taut. Emet-Selch, who for gods-only-know what reason still wore the garb of Emperor Solus, walked into the room with a cool nonchalance.

“Sorry, am I intruding? I had hoped you might indulge me with a little chat,” the Ascian said.

G’raha simply stared with a calm, patient loathing. He needed to conserve what little strength he had—and hopefully even recover a little more, if that was even possible. It would be difficult. He was so very far from the tower. Coming to that, he did not rightly have an idea where he actually was, besides “a long way away”.

The surrounds were amenable—almost hospitable—but huge, built for beings several times larger than anyone he knew. He felt he saw faint hints of design that one might see in Garlean architecture, but this felt warmer. Richer. Less consumed with constantly brandishing a fist of iron. More invested in art and enlightenment. Were it not for his aetheric restraints, he would be quite eager to explore.

Of course, he had made all of those observations between when he had regained consciousness, and now. He was a bit preoccupied with other matters at the moment. 

Emet-Selch was by no means the first dangerously-powerful madman he’d faced. So he knew he must stay stoic and focused. Maintaining composure was absolutely essential for not talking one’s way into a trap—doubly so when dealing with one of the Paragons.

It also tended to drive said dangerously-powerful people to utter distraction, which was always a bonus.

“No?” Emet-Selch sighed, feigning disappointment. “Shy, are we? I would have hoped for more from the, what was it again? ‘Adjudicator of sacred history’...?”

The subtlest smirk tugged at the corner of G’raha’s lips. The Ascian’s tone had clearly been intended to mock how low he had fallen. But he took it as a heartening sign. He had gotten to him.

Emet-Selch’s face registered the briefest flicker of irritation. But he shrugged and shook his head. “I had thought to use your chosen title to be polite. But if it no longer suits you…” he knelt to the Exarch’s eye level, who was bound, seated, against the wall. “Then perhaps you would prefer I use another term. Tell me, what should I call you?”

“‘Crystal Exarch’ will suffice.”

“Hmm. I think not, G’raha,” the Ascian replied. He was only the second person in a hundred years to use his true name. G’raha did not appreciate it. Emet-Selch wryly continued, “Oh yes, I did indeed hear your champion as you were trying to draw that light out of her. What a pity you did not have the strength to see the deed done in the end. What a torturous, agonizing transformation she must be undergoing. Perhaps even as we speak!”

To any who did not know him well, G’raha’s utter non-reaction would have come as a surprise. One might conclude he did not seem to care all that deeply for the Warrior of Light after all.

But of course, the truth was simply that nothing Emet-Selch could say would be worse than what he had berated himself with already. He remained quiet. He did not break eye contact.

The cavalier air started to fade. Emet-Selch’s gaze grew hard. “So, G’raha. You are clearly from the Source. But who are you?”

“No one you would ever need be aware of.”

“Well, obviously,” he said, rolling his eyes, “Else we would not be having this conversation. How came you to know such unique applications of the tower?”

“Do you not find its workings simple enough?” he answered dryly.

“Quite so. And what you have done should not be possible. …And we have had this conversation before, so let us cut right to the chase. How did you do it?”

“Impossibly, it would seem.”

Emet-Selch raised his hand, and with a quick turn of his wrist, the aetherial shackles wound around the Exarch tightened. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but made not so much as a sound.

“Do you know how easily I could kill you?” the Ascian asked.

“With very little effort, I’d imagine. …But you won’t.”

Another squeeze of the constraints. Emet-Selch’s voice was low, nearing a growl. “I would advise you not to tempt me otherwise.”

Both men stared at each other, waiting to see who would balk first.

Suddenly and without warning, Emet-Selch straightened up with a start and looked off into the distance at nothing. He appeared as if he had heard something. G’raha couldn’t tell what.

But whatever it was, it allowed Emet-Selch’s infuriatingly casual facade to slip back into place. He released his intangible grasp on the chains, and G’raha slumped, gasping a quiet breath of relief. 

The Ascian stood. “Ah. Forgive me, adjudicator, but business calls me away. Do have a think about what we discussed while I am out, would you?”

“Anything for you,” he replied, allowing himself a parting barb of sarcasm.

Emet-Selch smirked. He walked away with a halfhearted wave. “Try not to dally too much. After all… the forthcoming rejoining is back on schedule, and it shall wait for no man.”

As the heavy door swung shut, G’raha hung his head and tried to breathe deeply. If he had any desperate last chance to make things right—however slim—he must focus.

With every onze of his senses, and quietly whispered incantations, he began attempting to decipher a way to dispel his bonds.

[incesthemes]

final thoughts: supernatural season 15

holy shit. i did it. i finished supernatural. i actually finished it a couple hours ago but i'm still having trouble processing it. i've been working at this for six months (but with a one-month break back in december) and i'm finally finished. honestly i don't think i really believed i would do it because shit this show is long, and i am not predisposed to enjoy shows like this. so this is a huge mark of pride for me, that i can finally say i did indeed sit down and watch all 327 episodes of supernatural :)

anyway all that to say i hated this season with a passion lmao, hasta la vista baby ✨

honestly i think i'll end up keeping this short because frankly most of my criticisms boil down to

how did you fuck up your own lore this badly

holy plotholes batman

this is so disrespectful and irreverent toward kripke's supernatural

nothing about this writing makes any kind of sense

well, that's convenient (in the most boring way imaginable)

so it's basically just a game of spin the wheel and see what it lands on.

the season started super weak; the concept was bad from the get-go and executed only to a mediocre standard, so i couldn't help but cringe my way through it. rowena's death was really well done, but her character was never well developed, in the same way most side characters on this show are never well developed, so while i appreciate the care that went into that scene it felt rather empty. it made me regret how poorly and inconsistently written she was. and yeah most side characters get this treatment—hell, cas gets this treatment which is why i don't care about him much—but she had such a provocative death scene that it had me lamenting that she didn't get a better foundation and better development. alas, that's just what it means to be someone other than sam and dean on supernatural.

after that was... the eileen subplot. i do really like eileen despite her being a rather flat and uninteresting character the way most women are on this show (y'know, kickass independent "girl power" women without nearly any other significant personality trait), but i really didn't appreciate the substantial pivot sam took from dean-focused to eileen-focused in this season. yes, season 12-14 did go to great efforts to make sure this wasn't The Sam And Dean Show anymore, but season 15 is so dramatically incongruous from even 12-14 that it just boggled my mind. the sam/eileen stuff was a major part of that, and it just didn't feel good because it was one more nail in the coffin with regards to how little the showrunners respected the foundation of the show (y'know, "the epic love story of sam and dean"). the only real salmondean moment in the entire season was the 7-minute incest speech in the finale—like what? i couldn't even properly enjoy that because of how poorly it was set up, thanks to the four seasons of retconning their relationship and making it less important to the series overall.

anyway all that to say, they had this massive sam/eileen subplot and then nothing even came of it. sam didn't even call to check if she was alive after jack resurrected everyone? he didn't meet up with her on screen even once? like if you're going to give him this season-long romance with someone other than dean, you could at least have the balls to commit to it. i find that just. godawful writing. eileen didn't have to be sam's blurry wife or anything, but he should have had some kind of resolution, literally anything at all, if we're meant to believe she's in any way important to him. c'mon.

more incongruous moments: dean got weirdly angry in this season. like what's with episode 17 man? there is nothing about dean in that episode that feels even remotely in character. from "jack's not family" to dean pulling a gun on sam, it all felt wildly overblown, way too melodramatic and sudden, and just not anything dean would do. yeah he's an angry guy, but???? this was too much, even for him. and the whole jack argument between sam and dean made me roll my eyes hard. because how do you expect me to believe that after all of the developments up to that point, that

dean wouldn't consider jack family. first of all that's stupid, dean drops the f-bomb on literally anyone he thinks is useful to further his goals. second of all it contradicts the bond they've formed since season 13, and it no longer fits with the parallel themes set up between sam, dean, and jack. it undermines what's been established, what's been developed, and what jack means to them on a thematic level. so so so stupid. cannot stress how dumb this move was. it just felt like the writers pulling out yet another OOC moment just so they can conveniently move the plot in the direction they wanted. so annoying.

sam and cas are equals in dean's eyes. like that's just hilarious to me. the last time cas died dean got sad for a little bit and burned his body on a pyre. the last time sam died dean committed suicide. these are not equal reactions. and sam and cas have never been equal to dean because dean always chooses sam over everyone, again evidenced in the series finale. so it was just hilarious for this one episode to pretend like sam and cas could ever be equal.

of course season 15 did really push a destiel agenda in the most unexpected and bizarre way. like wow, and i thought seasons 12-14 were a totally different show. no, season 15 is so much worse than that. i have absolutely no idea why they made the choices they did with this season, but they were not good, they routinely disrespected kripke's foundations of the show, and they ignored every theme ever laid out up until then. all for... what, exactly? so dean and cas can have a weird little non-romance together for 18 episodes only for them to slip wincest back in at the end? what's up with that? no like seriously, what were they trying to do here????

i told my friend this earlier, but i do think it's funny how cas's death speech is just straight-up factually incorrect regarding dean. i'm 100% fully willing to believe that castiel was blinded with lust by dean winchester that he simply made up some guy in his head who looked like dean. and that will be my headcanon going forth because wow it's shocking and funny as hell how much he got wrong while waxing poetic about dean. "you're the most selfless man i know" when kripke spent 5 seasons pounding it into our heads how fundamentally selfish dean (and sam, obviously, but the speech is about dean) is. girl what are you saying. dick so good he rewrote dean's basic character traits to be more convenient to him. i respect it truly i do.

anyway the finale. i hated it! to absolutely no one's surprise. a few days ago i wrote out what i thought would have been the most thematically cogent endings for supernatural. i knew what actually happens, obviously (hard to miss tbh), but my resolve on this front was only strengthened by actually watching it. yes the 7 minutes of incest were very nice and compelling, but... wow. this episode has some of the worst pacing i've ever seen in my life. dean died halfway into the episode? and the rest of that was... a sequence of short scenes that are too drawn-out to be a montage??? like there was no tension, no buildup, and no setup for what they did. it felt so lazy and underdeveloped, lacking any kind of poignancy or thematic cohesion. and then i had to watch TWENTY MINUTES of half-baked scenes of dean in heaven and sam growing old. i wouldn't have hated this ending so much if they had better pacing, i'm serious. like the outrage i feel is predominantly because of how badly it was written. the concepts aren't good, but they were par for the course. but TWENTY MINUTES OF MONTAGE. A MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH WITH NO EMOTIONAL BUILDUP, WHICH ACTIVELY CONTRADICTS THE THEMES OF THE SHOW. WHAT!!!!!!! WERE THEY THINKING!!!!!!!!!!

anyway i disliked that a little bit.

so overall i pretty much hated every part of this season and there were very, very, very few redeeming features sprinkled in. it's fine though! i'm fine. it's all over now :)

a few brief thoughts on the series overall: i regret ever speaking badly of kripke's supernatural; i didn't know how good i had it until it was gone. in hindsight, a lot of the seasons i thought were dogshit were actually not the worst things ever—i just didn't realize how bad bad could get. i know now. i will carry that knowledge with me forever.

dramatics aside, i honestly did enjoy watching the show. as much as i hated so many of the writing choices, the plotholes, the retcons, the way the writers just handwaved away anything inconvenient and rewrote characters entirely just to force them into the story they way they wanted them—it was still, like, fun. the agony was enjoyable (things masochists say). i think it helps that the fandom at large generally agrees that the writing is bad; it gives a sense of community and solidarity in the misery. there's no uneasy disconnect between myself and the rest of the fanbase, and that honestly does make all the difference. it's fun to suffer together, and i don't regret watching this show one bit :)

so with that said, here's my final ranking for every season:

season 1 (thematically strong, tight writing, incredible vision, truly foundational in its establishment of overarching themes, tone, and genre)

season 2 (such an interesting plot which builds on what was established in season 1. this is where the meat of the show is, where the heart is exposed to daylight as the chest is ripped open)

season 3 (well written, though disappointing in some areas largely due to kripke dropping the special children plot thus leaving a hole. not very noticeable due to the good writing, but still there. i'll never forgive them for killing off henricksen)

season 4 (this is the first real drop in quality imo, but it's relatively insignificant. the writing feels more meandering, and the tone shifts rather drastically away from the horror of its origin. the introduction of angels destroys a lot of the religious anxiety that formed the foundation of the show, but at the same time introduces a fantastic story about fate and doom)

season 5 (same as season 4, but with the flaws a bit more glaring. castiel's unclear motivations and underdeveloped shift in perspective are a major point of contention for me; i don't think it was handled well and could have been written better to make him a stronger character from the get-go, possibly allowing him to be a better character in later seasons instead of the conflicting mess we ended up with)

season 9 (the writing is atrocious, but the vision is so good. i still don't know how they managed that. they had such a great idea and they took kripke's supernatural and expanded on it in such a satisfying way. it drove me crazy! but holy shit the actual writing is so bad)

season 8 (i feel largely the same about 8 as i do 9, but i just think the writing was overall worse. it does get brownie points for having benny in it, though)

season 10 (boring. boring and paced so, so, so badly. the sole redeeming feature was how committed it was to its vision. it has the exact opposite problem as season 6 in that it has too little content to fill out the season. but god, the vision. you'll hear me waxing poetic about the season 8-10 vision on my death bed)

season 7 (it did a lot to pave the road for seasons 8-10 which i can't ignore. it also got itself fairly settled after the mess season 6 was and didn't try to bite off more than it could chew. i didn't love it, but it had a lot of moments that were provocative and interesting, and it provided pretty good setup for season 8. the writing was not good, but i think that goes without saying)

season 6 (introduced really interesting ideas, but tried to cram so much into one season that it failed to deliver satisfying payoffs for any of its setup. soulless sam was an interesting exception and really redeemed it for me)

season 12 (12 and 13 are about equal for me because i hate the plots, i hate the intense diversion away from The Sam And Dean Show, i hate the writing, i hate the concepts, etc etc. but they both introduce supporting characters which show off new and interesting sides to sam and dean: mary in 12 and jack in 13. it allows for focus to stay on sam and dean's relationship a little longer even though they're no longer generating any organic conflict between them, so i appreciate that at least)

season 13 (i fucking HATE the apocalypse world. that is my deciding factor between seasons 12 and 13. also i hate what they did to mary here)

season 14 (honestly an inoffensive season. i still hate the writing way more than anything else pre-12, and it doesn't have the benefits of a new character introduced to provide external conflict between sam and dean, so while it was relatively inoffensive it was also boring, lacking, and really obvious how little the writers cared about maintaining sam and dean's relationship as the emotional core of the show)

season 11 (the writing all things considered wasn't the absolute worst thing i've ever seen, if i'm being fair. on the other hand, i hated everything about this season conceptually, and i hate that it vouched for christianity as the ~one true religion~ which again undermines kripke's original series. this is me being petty and i'm okay with that)

season 15 (see above. oh but i'm honestly surprised it managed to surpass my ire toward season 11. like honestly it's impressive because i hold a massive grudge toward 11 which should have been insurmountable. a feat has certainly been achieved here!)

anyway. i said this wasn't going to be long but then i just kept on writing and writing. because that's what i do. i never learn 😔 i'll end it here then. i intend to go back and rewatch seasons 1-5 now that i'm finally finished, so i'm looking forward to that. i want to see if my rose-tinted glasses that i've been looking at kripke era with are based on reality or simply a longing to return to less terrible times :P

[unfortunately-obsessed]

Miguel is an antagonist, not a villain.

Kingpin wanted his family back, and he was willing to sacrifice everything to have it. He failed.

Miguel did what Kingpin wanted to do, but he wasn't willing to sacrifice everything for it. Indeed, he didn't even act on that thought until his variant died. He probably assumed that he was doing something good, in a way, preventing Gabriella from turning into an orphan without no one to lean on.

He might have rationalized all he wanted, yes. But this didn't mean that what he did was right.

And, the thing is, Miguel not only got punished for this, but he was punished with a far greater punishment than his acts: being responsible for a death of a whole dimension (which includes trillions of lives, if you count not only Earth, but also the other planets...)

But he also felt something Kingpin never felt: regret. Villains don't feel regret.

He might be wrong about the Canon, he did say things he shouldn't have to Miles, and he definitely shouldn't have choke-slammed a kid.

(There's a note here, also, because Miguel might not be the strongest hero on the SS, but he might be the most aggressive one on his combat style. And, because of that, it is clear that he didn't want to permanently injury Miles, much less kill. He probably was fighting to either capture or knock out Miles. And that is, Miguel knew, or at least had an idea, of how much Morales could take in a fight. After all, he is surrounded by heroes with the same set of powers and durability.)

Y'all guys shouldn't forget he still is an antagonist – someone that opposes the goals of the main character, Miles. And I'm not trying to justify his acts.

At least, Miguel is trying to do the right thing. He has a idiotic view of what is right, and he is desperately trying to prevent what happened to him and doing a bunch of things he shouldn't.

But it's like I'm seeing the whole drama with Gwen again. People said she was the villain because she made mistakes, because she didn't told Miles about the Canon and didn't visit him for a whole year. But why people would throw all the hate on her?

She was under scrutinizing pressure, an imminent death threat hanging over her head, homeless, and went through the trauma of he father pointing and shooting a gun to her.

Miguel nor Gwen's traumas made it all rainbows and sunshine. It doesn't erase their wrongs. Gwen's wrongs can't even compare to Miguel's, actually. He is in another level.

But you never did something you shouldn't have? Never stood still when you should have done something, because of fear? Never made a mistake? Never thought you were doing something right and was actually hurting people around you?

So, no, neither of them are villains.

Because villains are those characters with malicious intent, who not only opposes the protagonist, but also wants to do something morally bad, for example, kill a innocent person to reach a goal.

Oh, do you know who fits this description?

Spot.

Yeah, he's the villain. He's not a silly little guy. You can tell whichever story you want with him in it, of course, make him as silly as you will on your fics, commit to the bit! I'm not saying you shouldn't interpret him as you want him to be. He doesn't exist, after all.

He still is the villain of atsv tho

[goodqueenaly]

It’s like poetry or whatever but the Knight of the Laughing Tree and the Knight of Tears as fascinating parallels of and inverses to one another.

In both cases, the goal of the mystery knight is to make an objective point, without the details of their respective identities muddling or neutralizing the message. Indeed, one potential advantage of an individual donning the disguise of a mystery knight is the ability to send such a message to the competitors and/or attendees of any particular event, pursuing a goal otherwise unobtainable or complicated by their persons. Yet where other mystery knights may have wished simply to convey their individual worthiness to compete irrespective of their identities (as, perhaps, Baelon Targaryen did when he tilted as the “Silver Fool” to win his spurs at Old Oak, or as Jonquil Darke did when she entered the War for the White Cloaks as the “Serpent in Scarlet”), Prince Aemon and Lyanna Stark were not interested (or, at least, entirely interested) merely in jousting for the sake of jousting; their victories in the tilt mattered less than their motivations for doing so.

Instead, for both Aemon and Lyanna, their points attempted to correct wrongs which inextricably linked the personal and the political. Aemon’s personal love for his sister (complicated as it might have been by his devotion to the vows of the Kingsguard) was clear, and on those grounds alone he might well have resented the preferment of his brother’s mistress over his beloved sister. Yet the insult did not end at mere familial (or even potentially romantic) closeness between Aemon and Naerys. By publicly attempting to snub the present queen for his current mistress, Aegon IV was declaring to the assembled courtiers and aristocrats that his wife - the only woman he could, at least openly and officially, have a publicly approved romantic/sexual relationship with - was not the fairest woman in the land (or at least among the tourney attendees). Beyond being a major breach of courtly etiquette, such a move could suggest greater ambitions on the part of the king to remove Naerys from her place as queen - no empty threat, when Aegon IV had (likely) already used Morghil Hastwyck as a proxy to accuse Naerys of adultery and when the Brackens had schemed to replace Naerys with Barba. Aemon, himself the champion for Naerys against Morghil and one of the voices to call for Barba’s dismissal, would thus again take up the defense of his sister-queen to an insult at once personal and political.

Likewise, Lyanna framed her rescue of Howland from the bullying squires in terms at once familial and feudal. Howland was, so Lyanna declared him, “my father’s man”, the most fundamental expression of the political order which obligated her, as a member of the liege family, to protect the liege’s vassal with her own power. Just as Lyanna cared for Howland herself following the attack (“t[aking] him back to her lair to clean his cuts and bind them up with linen”, in the tale told by Meera Reed) and welcomed Howland into the bosom of the Stark household at Harrenhal - again emphasizing the personal responsibility of her as a Stark to look after a Reed of Greywater Watch - so Lyanna recognized her role as redeeming the honor of young Howland. It was her duty as a resident Stark to personally take up arms against the master of those squires and defeat them (albeit in a play-combat context), much as Lord Rickard would have been expected to do should anyone have made war on any of his vassals. The insult to Howland had triggered Lyanna’s personal obligation to him as a Stark; here was her opportunity to do as her Stark ancestors had done for generations, caring for and defending the people under Winterfell’s protection.

Yet Aemon and Lyanna diverged in the means by which they conveyed their respective messages, placing them on opposite ends of a symbolism spectrum. For Aemon, the proper moniker to demonstrate his point was the Knight of Tears. Even without the specifics on his shield’s device, the designation conveyed Aemon’s sense of grief at the humiliation of his sister. While the disguise may have subtly recalled the history between the siblings - when Aemon had, so the songs relate, wept to see his sister wedded to their brother - its main purpose was, I think, to communicate the objective shame of the king’s proposed action. If the king himself would forget (or actively refuse) his social duty to his lady wife, Aemon would remind him - not as his brother (whom then-Prince Aegon had ignored in their quarrel at Aegon’s wedding to Naerys), nor as his Kingsguard (since Aemon would, at least in his mind, owe the king his unquestioned loyalty), but as the representation of a chivalric ideal. To so great an insult, Aemon’s guise suggested, any true knight must surely weep - and only such a true knight could redeem the honor of a queen so disparaged by her king.

Lyanna, for her part, also sought to shame the men who (indirectly) humiliated the person she sought to defend, but in a way which more directly mocked the knights in question. The Blount, Haigh, and Frey knights she challenged may not have directly or publicly insulted Howland Reed as Aegon IV attempted to do to Naerys, but their squires’ harassment of Howland reflected none too well on the knights themselves as ostensible instructors of honor and chivalry. The laughing weirwood thus mocked the pretensions of both the knights and their squires to the outward appearance of chivalry. Where the squires had failed in honor by attacking a young and much smaller man, their knights would fail in the public demonstration of knighthood, being roundly defeated by the Knight of the Laughing Tree. This mystery knight, and openly bearing the symbol of a non-Andal, non-Seven-worshiping land and people (and thus without inherent ties to the Andal tradition of knighthood), would humble the knights whose squires had acted so unchivalrously. That Lyanna was of course no knight herself only underlined the joke intrinsic to the choice of device: she could not be the chivalric ideal as Prince Aemon (himself one of the most publicly celebrated knights of all time) had been as the Knight of Tears, but she could secretly advertise that these knights would be unhorsed by a teenage girl with no formal knightly training.

In turn, both Aemon and Lyanna found (or likely found, in Aemon’s case) in the outcomes of their tourneys reversals of their chosen disguises. Aemon might have symbolically wept to see Naerys so insulted by their brother, but in emerging victorious in the tilt, Aemon perhaps restored a smile to Naerys’ face. In being presented with the crown of the queen of love and beauty, Naerys had been publicly acknowledged as the fairest woman in the land (at least in the context of the tourney). Too, that it was a mystery knight who presented her this honor (supposing Aemon was still disguised when he did so) may have only underlined the triumph in Naerys’ mind; to all onlookers, this was not a brother playing favorites against their loathed eldest sibling, but a true representation of knighthood defending the position of the queen. Aegon IV would not cease his attempts to humiliate and undermine his wife after this event, but in at least this instance, the queen and not the king’s mistress (or the king himself) would have the last laugh, thanks (with no small sense of irony) to the Knight of Tears.

By contrast, while Lyanna had chosen a laughing device for her tourney stunt, the end of the tourney of Harrenhal was “the moment when all the smiles died”. If Lyanna had succeeding in (literally) beating honor into the knights whose squires had so abused Howland Reed, she then found herself on the opposite side of the knightly dynamic, the unexpected recipient of the crown of the queen of love and beauty at the hands of Rhaegar Targaryen. Where his great-great-great-great-great-granduncle had refuted an attempt to honor the king’s mistress and instead acknowledged the queen as the rightful queen of love and beauty, Rhaegar likely seemed, to the attendees of Harrenhal, to do precisely the opposite - grossly publicly insulting his own present wife (and the future queen) for the sake of a would-be mistress. Not for Lyanna the power or desire of a Prince Aemon, to follow through on crowning a queen of love and beauty, and so not for Lyanna the ultimately happy outcome promised by her weirwood’s laughing face; hers would be that “sadder story” alluded to by Meera Reed, one more full of tears than Aemon’s tourney victory.