charlie: guess who now has their own damn place???

seth: you're allow to shoot me down, but here me out first

               it was chilling in here, each of her breaths creating a puff of smoke in the air — this place could’ve used a lit chimney. it couldn’t be so hard, could it ? all lexa had to do was find that lukas guy, get an exit visa so she could board a train to paris, and get out of here. the deserted palace was filling her with a sense of déjà-vu. each of her footsteps resonated within the hallway as they stirred up clouds of dust, the clicking sound of her boots’ heels softened by velvety carpets. if she closed her eyes, it’d be easy to picture the noble lords and graceful ladies swirling across the wooden floor, dancing to a melody she’d only ever hummed in her dreams. “ bimka, you come back here right now. ” these words were adressed to the gray-furred puppy she’d picked up on the road a few days earlier. his yapping was the only sound in the empty room, though she couldn’t locate him; “ bimka ! ” lexa called. oh, goodness ; he must’ve gone into another room. she rushed up the grand staircase, two steps at the time.                and froze into place. even her uncultured self could recognize the now deceased imperial family, staring down at her from an extraordinarily detailed painting. the tsar, a tall, lanky man with ink-black hair and startling blue eyes, looked severe next to his wife, her fair curls framing a doll-like face. the tsarina’s jade-green eyes seemed to look down at her, filled with kindness where it could’ve easily been pride. ( christian and vasilisa dragomir. ) besides them stood five children ; the tsarevich and grand duchesses. the oldest girl looked about twenty, while the boy had the youthful face of a seven-year-old. looking at them, her heart tightened, though she didn’t have a clue as to why. lost in her contemplation, lexa didn’t even suspect another’s presence until the pup started barking. the girl turned around, eyes narrowing. “ who’s there ? ”

░▓╳┊:                ZARA DAVILA’S INSTAGRAM  ─  FEATURING NOAH EVERETT !  ❞ ╯  @ofsimplicities !

░▓╳┊:                LUNA VIERA’S INSTAGRAM  ─  FEATURING POPPY DELACOURT !  ❞ ╯  @ofsimplicities !

░▓╳┊:                DAHLIA VALENCIA’S INSTAGRAM  ─  FEATURING MATTHEW DERRINGER !  ❞ ╯ @ofsimplicities​ !

               YEARS HAVE PASSED. years since she’s gotten on her knees before an adamant throne and solemnly sworn that by the end of the year, there would be no rebel left alive within their borders. years since she’s thanked the gods for not letting anyone hear her heart breaking. years since she’s looked straight into the king’s eyes, and lied. he would’ve done something, she’s told herself, trying to mend her shattered heart. atalanta remembers it all — grabbing him by the shoulder, her grasp gentle yet steel-firm. it’s hopeless, she remembers snapping at the rebel leader. she describes the trained unity, the weapons, and what a slaughter might be — blood in the streets and crows in the sky, both the work of a monarch who’d never let his broken crown go. go away, and take your people with you. or the king’s army will wipe you out. i’ve seen them at work ; i’ve led them once. i know what they’re capable of, and i know what they’d do to every single one of you if given the chance. go away or die. i don’t want to see you dead ; for the love of god, please go. she remembers helping him plan their escape, locked into a stubborn silence saved for the few words they’ve eventually had to exchange. ( faking it has always been easier with her mouth shut. ) days have come and gone, then, all in a blur ; planning how the official operation would go, what to let the whole kingdom believe, safe havens on the borders — every detail of the plan worked out before their eyes. part of her cannot believe they’re really giving up, yet the most selfish side of her soul rejoices. it’s okay to endure a little more if it means he they’ll be safe. she remembers the last night before they’d have to turn thoughts into actions, herself standing on the room’s treshold. he’s beautiful, she’s thought, the crackling fire outlining his silhouette. what he’s packed waits, lined against the wall, the whole thing pitifully small for a boy born noble. what he doesn’t know is that she’s slipped her own personal piece into it — an engraved arrowhead made of pure gold, and a silver chain to go with it. it’s little, she knows, and she hasn’t dared giving it to him herself, but there’s a small comfort in knowing that wherever he’ll go, something of hers would go too. “ oliver, i lo— ” her breath has caught then, burning tears threatening to roll down her cheeks, and she’s turned around, bursting through the door and into the streets, running until she hits the castle’s gates. ( “ i don’t want to see you anymore. and i’ll be fine, knowing we never have to meet again. ” i must give him no reason to stay. ) i hate them i hate them ihatethemfortakingeverythingaway— the following day, the city has burned. she remembers her guards going through the streets and slowly, one by one, set fire to every address she’s given them, now deserted. blowing it all to ashes, so that nothing would be left to remember the rebels — no personal items, not even corpses or graves to remember them by. she’s gotten a blame that day, by a crowned man who’d wanted to see them die himself, but it’s alright, she’s whispered at nightfall. they haven’t all gotten away, but at least we have sacrificed the few to save the many. she refuses to think about how it feels to miss him already. her guard kept saving or sparing civilians when they could. they have carried on with the weight of life — and her unspoken words have lingered. i’m not coming with you, oliver, she recalls telling him. and all her reasons have sounded terrible, then. this is my home. someone has to stay behind and watch our people. who knows who he’d appoint after me ? with all her words, she’s forced him to go still. and somehow time has gone by. she’s found herself laughing every once in a while — as she takes the ten-year-old crown princess under her wing and secretly teaches how to roar. the day her mother comes to the palace, draped in silk and glitter, to hug her behind the scenes and tell her that she’s sorry for whatever made her daughter sad. atalanta doesn’t have the nerve to tell her. she’s told off a few suitors, even, despite their wealth and good looks, with a sad, sorry smile every time. ( it wouldn’t be fair to any of them, to let them court her or hope to wed her, with another’s face still haunting her sleep. ) she has waited long enough, she tells the world. eight years. enough for that one day to come. one day to shout one sentence at the top of her lungs. THE KING IS DEAD ; LONG LIVE THE QUEEN ! it’s coronation day ; two weeks since they’ve been all freed. two weeks since princess naomi has first sat on her father’s throne ; two weeks since she’s faced the council and told them she would be queen. two weeks since her first order has been edicted. “ some of you may not remember, but eight years ago, brave and good people fought for our freedom. i respect my father, but i was also taught, by another not of my blood, what was right and what was wrong. lords and ladies of my court, i may be young, but i’ll tell you one thing — i have learned how to be wise. and today, i say we must welcome back those who left because their hearts were right all along, and honor those who died for what they believed in. to each and every former rebel, in my kingdom and beyond ; i invite you all to my coronation in fourteen days, at the summer solstice. ” an eighteen-year-old girl with a crown on her head has spoken — and she hasn’t measured how much of an impact it’s had on her captain of the guard ; on her now general. it’s a day of celebration, and there are flowers everywhere. atalanta has even accepted to wear a dress for naomi’s sake, and to let the girl ( her queen, though it is strange for her to think of her as such while remembering the fire-hearted child she’s met at twenty. ) braid threads of gold and daffodils in her hair. what she hasn’t let go off is her sword, sheathed and hanging at her side ; but the sigil on her breast has changed, and it is no longer a roaring lion but a snow-white dove adorned with silver and gold, the embroiderement an elegant touch to her blue dress. and despite the apprehension twisting her stomach, she cannot help but smile as she beholds the decorated streets, more cheerful than she’s ever seen them. she sees merchands and their stands, bakers handing out cookies to little kids, flower girls twisting leaves and petals into crowns. but they are not those she wishes to see. she hurries down the decorated streets, throwing hurried smiles at random, until she’s almost at the city’s gates. part of her bun have come undone, strands of golden hair falling on her shoulders. and — there. she sees their symbol as a hoisted flag before she can recognize their faces. the rebellion’s emblem is there, right next to naomi’s dove. and the silhouette riding at their head…her heart stops. they’re getting closer by the second, and each of her heartbeats threatens to break her ribcage. when the sound of hooves hitting the ground is close enough, she closes her eyes. when she opens them again, he’s there. he’s aged, as she has — but it suits him indeed, and he is still as handsome as ever. she recognizes everything, the color of his eyes, the line of his jaw, the way he stands. and yet it feels like meeting him all over again. their outfits throw her back to another celebration, a colorful ball, the top of a tower and his lips on hers. before she even knows it, she’s stepped forward and thrown her arms around him. he’s warm and there and real, and it makes her eyes well up with tears she tries to blink away. ( it’s okay if you push me away, the way she holds him says. i just want to touch you one last time. ) “ oh, ollie — you must hate me. but gods, how i’ve missed you. ”

carter: you may be busy right now but can you come over asap??