#But still like there is guilt there because you CAN know more than I do nowadays

[kendrysaneela]

Genuinely. I really need people to stop saying “It’s only canon if they kiss” because 1. That means we will never get a slowburn queer relationship because no one will ever believe it without a kiss 2. That destroys queercoding. Which is a very important part of queer representation. And queercoding is not queerbaiting please learn the difference. 3. Not to mention how much queer representation we’d lose from history if kissing is a necessity for the representation to exist.

And then here’s a more modern example. So on the Kevin Can Fuck Himself there’s these two women Allison and Patty. This show was made by a queer woman. Allison and Patty are both stuck under the control of these abusive men. Patty stuck under the control her little brother who keeps her under his control out of guilt from their childhood. And Allison who’s stuck with her abusive husband mentally and financially. And also possibly even physically though that’s never explicitly stated the threat of that just lies in the air. And the show is basically Allison and Patty working together to escape the abusive men in their lives. And throughout this process they start to fall in love with each other. This is made so incredibly clear by the show. And Patty eventually becomes a canon lesbian. (She never says the word lesbian but they make that clear) Patty is more obviously in love with Allison most likely because she’s a canon lesbian whereas Allison’s sexuality is more still up in the air and she’s sleeping with a different guy. But it’s there you can see it. And we had it confirmed offscreen by the showrunner that Patty was in love with Allison and we know that because Patty said “Maybe can die alone together” and that was confirmed as an “I love you” by the showrunner. They’re leaning their heads together with their eyes closed when this scene happens. Very romantically coded. Then the show got prematurely cancelled halfway through the second season so they had to rush to wrap everything up in the second half of season 2. So Allison and Patty escape the abusive men in their lives much quicker than originally planned and in a different way than originally planned. Also lots of the original storyline between Allison and Patty had to be cut out because of it leading to a loss of development we otherwise would’ve gotten. But in the end they meet up again and they sit on the steps of Allison’s house and Patty says “Let’s die alone together” and Allison repeats “Let’s die alone together” now it’s already been established by the showrunner that this means “I love you” so you can take from that that they are in love with each other and somewhere down the line they will become a real couple. And that they will be together forever. The showrunner said about that scene “They are romantically alone but always together” or something like that. And SO MANY PEOPLE decided that because they didn’t kiss or say I love you that the entire show was a waste and all their romantic scenes were for naught just because they didn’t kiss or say “I love you” at the end and the QUEER showrunner didn’t explicitly say “That scene means they’re in love” and a big reason I saw people give for being angry at that was that “Straight people won’t know they’re queer they can just deny it if it’s not explicit!” And here’s the thing. Not only should we not be defining queer representation by how straight people view it but also straight people will deny canon queer representation even if they DO kiss!

Like for example on the show Doctor Odyssey there’s a canon slowburn mmf throuple. It’s been confirmed by the actors and showrunners that them being a throuple is going to be being explored this season on the show. All three of the characters Max,Avery and Tristan have all slept together once and they’ve all stated they liked it and the next episode they discussed the idea of polyamory and they showed us a polyamorous couple that was together and happy had all the characters discuss what polyamory is how it works and how it’s valid. The female character Avery very much wants them to be a throuple after their threesome and discusses it with the boys using the words “Throuple” and “Polyamorous” onscreen. the boys are still reluctant at the moment but they’ll get there they just need a second to get used to the idea. It’s basically as canon as canon can get before they actually become fully canon. And lemme repeat. Avery is the character who’s the most onboard for them being a throuple this is canon. They make this very explicit. She initiates the threesome and she spends an entire episode trying to convince the boys to be in a throuple with her. Yet yesterday? I saw an article talking about “Who should Avery choose?” Between the two boys. When the whole storyline of theirs is she isn’t going to choose nor does she want to. But yet there was an article STILL not getting it. Even with the words POLYAMOROUS AND THROUPLE being used in an episode MULTIPLE times and them all having slept together AND CANONICALLY ENJOYING IT. (They say so in words onscreen) And yet there the article was still denying it because it wasn’t fully canon yet. That’s what I’m talking about. Even when it is explicit as explicit as explicit can be straight people are going to deny it. So why are we defining our own queer rep by how straight people view it? It’s ours not theirs. They can come along and enjoy it if they choose they’re completely welcome! The more the merrier! But we shouldn’t define rep for us by how theyll view it. Because some straight people will never accept queer rep as real no matter how explicit it is. So their opinion doesn’t matter.

Discussions of what "counts" as "canon" queer representation fall apart the second you start talking about media older than about five years or so. If your only metric for "canon queerness" is a character looking directly into the camera and explaining their identity in specific, modern, US-American-English terminology, you're not going to get a good picture of what queer media looks like. If your barometer for what counts as "canon" requires two characters of the same gender to kiss on-screen, you're not going to get a good picture of what queer media looks like.

Dr. Septimus Pretorius (portrayed by Ernest Thesiger in 1935's Bride of Frankenstein) was never going to look directly into the camera and explain his sexuality in 2024 terms, but he remains an icon in queer media history. You cannot look at that character (blatantly queer-coded in the manner of the time, played by a queer man in a film directed by another queer man) and tell me that he isn't a part of queer media history.

To be honest, even when discussing modern queer media, I would argue that the popular idea of what "counts" as "canon" is very narrow and flawed. I've seen multiple posts in the past few days that say the Nimona movie is "implied" trans representation, and I just...no, y'all, it's not "implied," it's an allegory. The entire damn movie is about transgender struggle, and the original comic is deeply tied into N.D. Stevenson's own queer journey. It isn't subtle. You cannot look at that movie and pretend that it isn't about trans struggle. It's blatant, and to say that Nimona "isn't canonically trans" is a take that misses the story's entire message, and the blatant queerphobia that almost kept the movie from happening. (I wrote a five thousand word essay about the topic.)

Queer themes, queer coding, queer exploration, and queer representation can all exist in a piece of media that doesn't seem to have "canon queer characters" on the surface. Most queer characters are never going to be able to explicitly state their specific identity labels, be it due to censorship or just due to the fact that scenes like that don't fit in some narratives. Some stories aren't conducive to a big "so what's your identity?" scene.

Explicit, undeniable, "this is my identity in no uncertain terms" scenes are very important and radical, and I'm not saying they shouldn't ever exist. I am saying that you can't consider those scenes the only way for queerness in a piece of media to be "canon."

[hisfavegirl]

Veil Of Betrayal - King!Aegon Targaryen x Wife!Reader

Summary : You are safe and sound in the Red Keep, but that's probably what you think. Because after you escaped from the clutches of your father and mother, they did everything they could to bring you back.

Aegon Masterlist.

As Daemon’s figure disappeared from view, the weight of the moment bore down on you like a collapsing tower. Your knees gave out, and you fell to the cold floor, barely aware of Aegon’s arms catching you.

“Aegon…” you whispered, your voice choked with sobs as tears streamed down your face. The sound of your grief filled the room, raw and unrestrained, as you buried your face into his chest.

He knelt with you, holding you tightly, his arms a protective cocoon around your trembling form. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice steady even as his own heart ached at the sight of your despair. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

You clung to him, your fingers gripping his tunic as if letting go would shatter you further. “I didn’t want this,” you managed to say between sobs. “I never wanted to hurt him… or anyone.”

Aegon pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hand cradling the back of it as he whispered soothing words. “It’s not your fault,” he said firmly. “None of this is your fault. He’s the one who forced this on you, not the other way around.”

The memory of Daemon’s cold stare haunted you, and the weight of his words felt like daggers in your heart. You could see the pain in his eyes, even beneath his anger, and it tore at your soul to know you were the cause of it.

“I just wanted peace,” you said, your voice trembling. “I just wanted my family to be whole.”

���And you will have that,” Aegon said, his tone resolute. “We’ll protect what we have—our children, our future. No one will take that from us.”

His determination steadied you, and for a moment, you found solace in his presence. But the ache in your heart lingered, the guilt of choosing one part of your family over the other an unbearable weight.

As your sobs subsided, you leaned into him, drawing strength from his warmth. “What if he comes back?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Then we’ll face him together,” Aegon promised, his hand tightening around yours. “You’re not alone in this.”

The words were a balm to your shattered heart, and though the pain remained, you knew Aegon’s love would be your anchor in the storm.

You lay silently, feeling the warmth of Aegon’s hand as it gently caressed your hair, each stroke soothing the tension that had coiled within you. For a moment, with him beside you, the world outside seemed distant, the chaos muted by the safety of his presence.

Opening your eyes, you turned your head slightly to meet his gaze. His violet eyes softened as they met yours, filled with concern and unwavering devotion.

“Aegon,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but heavy with emotion. “I don’t want our children to grow up in a world torn apart by war.”

His hand stilled for a moment, resting gently against the side of your face. Aegon’s expression shifted, a flicker of guilt crossing his features before it was replaced by determination.

“I know,” he said softly, his voice steady but tinged with regret. “Neither do I. I never wanted this, for us or for them. But I promise, I’ll do whatever I can to protect them—and you.”

You reached up, placing your hand over his, grounding yourself in his touch. “I just want them to be safe, to be happy. To have the childhood they deserve.”

“They will,” Aegon vowed, his tone firm now. “I’ll make sure of it, no matter what it takes.”

He leaned closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours as he closed his eyes. “You’re my family. You, the children, and the one growing inside you. Nothing else matters more to me than keeping you all safe.”

Your heart clenched at his words, and you allowed yourself to find comfort in his promise. For now, it was enough to hold onto hope, even as the shadows of war loomed on the horizon.

The grand doors of the council chamber opened, and Aegon walked beside you, his hand resting protectively on your lower back. The weight of the moment pressed on your shoulders, but you steeled yourself, knowing this was where you needed to be—beside your husband, at the heart of the storm.

As the two of you entered, the lords and council members rose briefly in acknowledgment of the King. Their eyes flickered toward you, whispers already buzzing about your presence. Some seemed approving, others curious, while a few held unreadable expressions.

Aegon pulled out the chair for you, his hand lingering for a moment on yours as you settled beside him. Alicent sat to his other side, her expression calm and composed, but her gaze betrayed a flicker of relief to see you here.

“My lords,” Aegon began, his voice firm as he addressed the room. “Let us proceed. The matters at hand will not wait.”

As discussions began—strategies, alliances, and whispers of war—you found yourself absorbing every word. Though the conversation revolved around battle plans and the growing tensions with Dragonstone, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of each decision. Every choice they made could shape not just the realm, but your family’s future.

From time to time, Aegon glanced your way, his eyes seeking your reassurance. When his hand found yours beneath the table, you squeezed it gently, a silent promise that you were here with him, through every trial.

Alicent leaned toward you during a lull in the meeting, her voice soft but steady. “Your presence here strengthens him,” she said. “You’ve always been his anchor.”

You nodded slightly, though the weight of it all was not lost on you. Your place here was not just as his wife, but as someone who might help guide him in a time where every decision could mean peace—or destruction.

The council chamber was heavy with tension, the air crackling as Aegon’s voice boomed across the room.

“How in the name of the Seven did this happen?” Aegon roared, his fists clenched on the armrests of his throne. He turned his furious gaze to Ser Criston and Aemond. “Daemon now holds the largest fortress in the Seven Kingdoms, and we allowed it to slip through our fingers? Explain yourselves!”

Ser Criston bowed his head, his tone firm but laced with regret. “Your Grace, the garrison at Harrenhal was undermanned. Daemon arrived swiftly, using Caraxes to instill fear and force a surrender. The men there were overwhelmed before they could mount a defense.”

Aemond, standing stiffly at the side of the room, interjected coldly, “I warned you, brother. We should have acted sooner. I could have dealt with Daemon before this ever came to pass.”

Aegon turned his anger toward Aemond, his expression darkening. “You think I would risk losing you to him? Do you forget who he is? He’s not just our enemy—he’s a monster with no regard for life or loyalty!"

The tension in the room became suffocating, and Alicent, seated beside you, looked between her sons with worry etched on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but Aegon cut her off, his voice raw and desperate.

“This cannot continue. Harrenhal is a dagger pointed at the heart of our campaign. If Daemon holds it, he can strike us where we are weakest.” He turned his gaze to you, his anger momentarily replaced by a desperate plea. “Tell me, what should I do? How do I fight a man who seems unstoppable?”

You felt all eyes on you, the weight of their expectations pressing down like a physical burden. Taking a deep breath, you met Aegon’s gaze, your voice calm but steady.

“Harrenhal is a strategic loss, but it does not mean defeat,” you began. “Daemon is bold, but his arrogance is his weakness. Let him think he’s gained an unassailable advantage. Meanwhile, we fortify our positions and rally more houses to our cause. Strength in numbers will be the key to outmaneuvering him.”

Aegon listened intently, his jaw tightening as he absorbed your words. “And what of Harrenhal? Do we simply let him keep it?”

You hesitated, then spoke firmly, “For now, yes. Fighting him there would cost too many lives. But he cannot hold it indefinitely—not if we cut off his supply lines and force him into a position of weakness. Let him sit in that castle, isolated and vulnerable. When the time is right, we’ll strike.”

Aegon leaned back, his gaze lingering on you, a mixture of frustration and admiration in his eyes. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. We’ll do as you suggest—for now.”

The council murmured in agreement, though the tension remained palpable. Aegon reached for your hand beneath the table, gripping it tightly as if drawing strength from your presence. You squeezed his hand in return, silently vowing to stand by him, even as the storm of war loomed ever closer.

Ser Criston’s low murmur cut through the tense silence like a blade. “She thinks like Daemon,” he said, his tone carrying a grudging respect. “And that is to our advantage.”

The words struck you like a physical blow, and your breath hitched. You realized the truth in them—you were helping to craft a strategy that could very well be used to harm your parents, your family. The very people who raised you, who fought to bring you back to their side.

Your hand trembled slightly in Aegon’s grasp, and your gaze faltered. The room felt stifling now, the walls closing in as guilt twisted in your chest.

Aegon noticed your change in demeanor and leaned closer, his voice soft yet concerned. “What is it? Are you unwell?”

You forced a weak smile, shaking your head. “No, I’m fine. Just… overwhelmed.”

Aegon frowned, his free hand brushing over your cheek. “You’re with child. If this is too much, you don’t need to—”

“I’m fine,” you interrupted, a little too quickly, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

The murmurs of the council faded into the background as your mind swirled with conflict. You were supposed to be loyal to your family. You had told yourself that staying with Aegon, with your children, was the right choice. But now, as you sat here among your husband’s council, offering insight that could spell disaster for those you loved, you felt the weight of betrayal pressing down on you.

Could you truly stand by and watch as the two sides of your heart clashed in bloody battle? Or had you already chosen, your actions betraying where your loyalties now lay?

As the council continued to debate strategy, you stared at the table, your thoughts a whirlwind of guilt, love, and fear.

You rose from your seat, your movements slow and deliberate as you addressed Aegon and the council. “I need to excuse myself,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “I’m not feeling well and would like to rest for a while.”

Aegon’s gaze immediately softened, concern etched into his features. “I’ll take you to your chambers,” he offered, already rising from his chair.

You placed a gentle hand on his arm, stopping him. “No, Aegon,” you said softly, shaking your head. “This meeting is more important. You need to be here with the council.”

“But—”

“I’ll be fine,” you assured him, managing a faint smile. “Ser Criston or one of the guards can accompany me.”

Aegon hesitated, his violet eyes searching yours for any sign of deeper distress. But when you held firm, he reluctantly nodded. “If you need anything, send for me immediately,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“I will,” you promised, squeezing his arm lightly before stepping away.

Ser Criston moved to escort you, but you shook your head, indicating you wanted to be alone. With a slight bow, he stepped back, allowing you to leave unaccompanied.

As you walked through the halls of the Red Keep, the weight of your emotions pressed down on you. The betrayal you felt—not just toward your family, but toward yourself—gnawed at your soul.

By the time you reached your chambers, tears pricked your eyes. You closed the door behind you, leaning against it as a heavy sigh escaped your lips. The weight of your divided loyalties was becoming unbearable. How long could you walk this fine line before everything crumbled?

Sitting before the mirror, your brush moved gently through your hair as you tried to steady your thoughts. The soft hum of the wind outside was the only sound in the room until faint laughter reached your ears. Your hand froze, and your gaze shifted toward the door.

The laughter grew louder, filling the hallway with its sweet, carefree melody. A small, hesitant smile crept onto your face as the door creaked open.

There they were—Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor, their smiles bright enough to momentarily chase away the weight on your heart. Jaehaerys stood proudly at the front, holding his wooden sword, while Jaehaera clutched her favorite doll, and little Maelor peeked out from behind them with a toy dragon in his hands.

“Mother!” Jaehaera called out, her voice brimming with excitement.

Your heart swelled as you set the brush down and turned fully to face them. “What brings all of you here?” you asked, your voice warm as you opened your arms.

They didn’t hesitate, running toward you with gleeful laughter. Jaehaera was the first to throw her arms around your waist, followed by Maelor, who nestled into your lap. Jaehaerys remained standing tall, declaring, “We’ve come to cheer you up!”

Your laughter, soft and genuine, bubbled forth as you hugged them close. “You’re all doing a wonderful job,” you said, pressing a kiss to the top of Maelor’s silver head.

“Father said you weren’t feeling well,” Jaehaera added, looking up at you with concerned eyes.

“I’m better now that you’re here,” you replied, cupping her cheek gently.

As you held them close, the room seemed lighter, the burden on your heart easing just a little. In their presence, the world’s troubles felt like a distant storm—one that could wait, if only for this moment.

You sat alone in your chambers, the evening light filtering through the windows as the sun began its descent. The faint murmurs of the castle’s activities reached your ears, but none of it could quiet the unease twisting in your chest.

The long hours stretched endlessly, and your gaze flickered toward the door every so often, hoping Aegon would return soon. Yet you knew the council’s discussions were far from over, especially with the looming threat of war.

Your fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on the armrest of your chair as you let out a weary sigh. Thoughts of the impending war plagued your mind, not for the first time. You hated the idea of it—the bloodshed, the division, the destruction it would bring. Most of all, you despised how it forced you into a corner, caught between loyalty to your husband and your birth family.

And then there were your children. Their laughter and innocence were a fragile balm to your fears, but the knowledge that this war could shatter their futures made your heart ache. What kind of world would they inherit if this escalated?

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. Your hand instinctively went to your belly as if to shield your unborn child. “Come in,” you called softly.

One of your ladies-in-waiting entered, bowing slightly. “The king is still in council, your grace, but he has sent word that he will come to you as soon as it concludes.”

You nodded in acknowledgment, offering her a small smile before she left. Alone once more, you leaned back in your chair, your hand still resting on your belly.

“I won’t let this war take you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Any of you.”

The words hung in the air, a promise to yourself and your children. All you could do now was wait—and hope.

The night had fully enveloped the world, and only the soft whispers of the wind could be heard outside the windows. Feeling slightly weary, you took your warm robe and draped it over the nightgown you had already changed into. Your hand instinctively rested on your slightly rounded belly, a comforting warmth filling your heart despite the lingering worry about the impending war.

You made your way to your children’s chambers, walking through the torchlit corridors of the Red Keep. When you opened the door to their room, soft laughter and hushed whispers greeted you. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera were quietly talking to each other, while Maelor sat in a corner playing with his toy dragon. The moment they saw you, bright smiles lit up their faces.

“Mother!” Maelor exclaimed, running toward you with enthusiasm.

You chuckled softly and knelt down to embrace him. “It’s time for bed, my love,” you said gently, brushing his hair with your hand. “I wanted to make sure you’re all ready for sweet dreams.”

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera quickly climbed into their beds, each clutching their favorite toys. You settled into the chair between them, opening a storybook they adored. In a soft and soothing voice, you began to read, weaving tales of dragons and knights, stories that had once been shared with you in your own childhood.

Maelor was the first to drift off to sleep, his tiny hands still clutching his dragon toy. Jaehaerys tried to stay awake, his eyes struggling to remain open as he listened intently. Jaehaera, meanwhile, cuddled her doll and watched you with a contented smile until her eyelids grew too heavy.

One by one, their breathing slowed, and peace settled over the room. You leaned down to kiss each of their foreheads, whispering, “Goodnight, my loves.”

A cold shiver ran down your spine as the door to your children's room creaked open unexpectedly. You froze in place, heart racing.

Two figures stood in the doorway, their faces obscured by dark hoods. Before you could react, one of them stepped forward, drawing a blade with a smooth, practiced motion and pressing it against your throat.

"Stay quiet," the figure hissed in a low voice, the threat unmistakable. "We only want one thing from you."

Your breath caught in your chest, and a sharp panic gripped your heart. The intruder's words came next, each one more chilling than the last.

"You must choose one of your children," the voice commanded coldly. "One must be sacrificed. If you do not choose... we will decide for you."

Terror surged through you. Your mind raced, but no coherent thought could form as you stared at the blade, the gleaming edge reflecting the dim light of the room. You wanted to scream, to shout for help, but your throat was dry, your body frozen.

Your eyes darted to the children, peacefully sleeping in their beds, unaware of the nightmare unfolding around them. Maelor's small form curled in sleep, his toy dragon still clutched in his hand. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, their faces serene, seemed so innocent, so far removed from the terror that now threatened to tear their world apart.

"Choose," the second figure said, their voice colder than the first, a menacing echo in the silence. "Or we will!"

Tears welled up in your eyes as the impossible decision loomed before you. No mother should ever have to make such a choice. They were your children-your heart, your everything. The thought of losing any of them, of condemning one to death, was unbearable.

But you had no choice. The threat to your family was all too real, and time was running out. You could feel the desperation clawing at your insides. You had to act. You had to find a way to save them, to protect them from whatever dark force had brought these monsters to your doorstep.

"Please," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"Don't hurt them. Please don't make me choose."

The figure with the blade pressed harder against your neck, causing a sharp sting.

"Choose, or we will."

Your mind raced. A plan began to form, fueled by a fierce determination to save your children.

You wouldn't allow them to suffer. You wouldn't let your family fall apart.

"Let them go," you whispered fiercely, not just to the figures in front of you, but to yourself as well. You needed to outsmart them, to protect your children. Somehow, you would find a way.

Tears streamed down your face as the cold steel of the blade pressed against your throat.

You could feel the weight of the decision crushing you, every heartbeat a reminder of the life-or-death choice that loomed over your children. The figures in front of you were unmoving, their demands clear and unforgiving.

"I'll offer myself," you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper, desperate. "Take me. Please.Spare them."

But the cold, emotionless reply that came back from one of the figures made your stomach drop.

"It must be a son," the voice declared, sharp and uncompromising. "A son must pay the price."

You trembled, feeling your entire body shake under the pressure of the impossible demand.

You could feel the world around you spinning, your mind unable to accept what was being asked of you. The thought of losing one of your children, your precious sons-Maelor or Jaehaerys-was more than you could bear.

"Please," you sobbed, your voice breaking.

"Please, I can't choose. I can't."

But they were relentless, their gaze unwavering, their stance threatening. The second figure, who hadn't spoken yet, stepped closer, looming over you with the blade still pressed at your neck.

"You must choose, or we will."

Your eyes darted desperately toward your sleeping children. Jaehaerys, so brave, even in his sleep, and Maelor, the innocent child with so much life left to live. Your heart shattered at the thought of them being torn from you, of one of them being sacrificed for some twisted reason you couldn't even understand.

The silence felt deafening as the seconds stretched on, the room heavy with the weight of your indecision. You could feel the heat of the tears on your cheeks, the pain of your helplessness building to an unbearable point.

"Please," you whispered once more, the words nearly lost in the depth of your agony. "Please don't take them from me."

You couldn't bring yourself to choose. Your love for them was too deep, too overwhelming. You couldn't bear the thought of losing either of them.

The room spun as you were shoved to the floor, the sharp crack of your head hitting the ground sending a wave of dizzying pain through your skull. For a moment, everything blurred, the edges of your vision darkening, but through it, you could still hear the men’s cold voices and the terrifying calm in their words.

As you lay on the cold floor, the pain from your head throbbing fiercely, you could feel the darkness creeping in at the edges of your vision. The room spun as the men’s words pierced your heart, each one more cruel than the last. Your body trembled with fear and desperation, tears streaming down your face as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

They had pointed to Jaehaera’s bed, and in that moment, you knew. They weren’t asking for someone to be sacrificed—they were demanding the life of your child.

“He’s the eldest,” one of them had said, his voice cold and unforgiving.

Your breath caught in your throat as your heart stopped. No. They couldn’t be serious. They couldn’t.

Then the horrifying sound of Jaehaerys’ scream echoed through the room. A scream filled with pain and terror, and it shattered your soul. He was awake, and he was in pain. He was fighting for his life.

Before you could move, before you could protect him, you heard Maelor’s terrified sobs, his voice panicked, calling out for you. “Mother!” he cried, his voice breaking.

You forced yourself to stand, despite the dizziness, despite the overwhelming fear that threatened to consume you. But just as you reached out, you heard the sickening sound of a blade slicing through flesh, followed by a gasp from Jaehaerys.

“NO!” you screamed, your voice ragged and desperate. “Stop! Please, don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt my children!”

The world spun even faster, the tears blurring your vision. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. The agony of knowing that they were killing your son, that they were tearing your family apart, left you feeling as though you were dying inside.

The sounds of your children’s cries echoed louder in your ears, their voices filled with pain and fear. You reached for them, your arms weak, but your heart cried out for them to be safe. You couldn’t save them. You couldn’t protect them.

“Please, stop! Please!” You begged again, your voice trembling with despair, but all that came in return were the chilling sounds of your children’s pain and the cold laughter of the men who had done this to your family.

Your world was collapsing.

The room seemed to fade away as the cold reality of what had just happened settled in. Jaehaerys’ lifeless head, now sealed away in their bag, was a horrifying reminder of the cruelty they had inflicted upon your family. You were paralyzed by grief and disbelief, unable to process the enormity of what had just transpired. The air around you felt heavy, suffocating, as if the very walls were closing in on you.

Jaehaera and Maelor’s desperate voices pulled you from the abyss of shock. They shook you, their hands gripping your arms as they pleaded for you to hold on. Their voices were fractured, trembling with fear and uncertainty, but their determination was clear. They needed you. They couldn’t bear this alone.

“Please, Mother… stay with us,” Maelor cried, his voice cracking. “We need you.”

Through the haze of your tears, you could hear their panicked cries calling out for help, for anyone who could save them from the nightmare they were trapped in. Their tiny hands clung to you, their innocent faces twisted with confusion and terror. They had witnessed something no child should ever have to see. And yet, they still needed you—still wanted you to fight for them, to protect them.

The sound of their voices, so fragile and filled with pain, cut through the numbness you were enveloped in. You could barely breathe, but somehow you forced yourself to focus on them. You were their mother. You had to be strong for them, even if your heart was shattered, even if your very soul was torn in two.

You mustered every ounce of strength you had left, pushing through the suffocating darkness in your mind, and called out in a trembling voice. “Help! Somebody, please!” But the room remained silent, and the weight of helplessness pressed down on you even harder. You could only hope, pray that someone would hear your desperate cries.

But in this moment of anguish, one thing remained clear—you couldn’t give up. Not now. Not after everything. Your children needed you. And you would find a way to make sure they were safe, no matter the cost.

Your heart felt like it was being ripped from your chest as you lay on the cold floor, the pain in your head now a distant echo compared to the agony consuming you. Jaehaerys’ life had been taken so violently, and the memory of it haunted you, sending waves of grief and guilt crashing over you. How could something so terrible happen to your family? How could you protect them when everything felt like it was falling apart?

Then, through the haze of your despair, you heard them.

Aegon stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide in disbelief as he took in the horrifying scene before him. His gaze flickered between your broken form on the floor, the lifeless body of Jaehaerys, and the missing head, all the while his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. His heart stopped as the magnitude of the tragedy hit him.

“Love…” His voice cracked, barely a whisper as he took a step forward, his eyes never leaving the devastation that surrounded him. “What happened…? What did they do…?”

Tears began to well up in his eyes, his knees threatening to give way beneath him. He wanted to run to you, to hold you, to comfort you, but the horror of the scene kept him rooted to the spot. Jaehaera and Maelor were kneeling by your side, their faces pale, their small hands shaking as they tried to help you, but they were just as lost and broken as he was.

The room seemed to spin around him, every second feeling like an eternity as he struggled to comprehend what had happened. His son, his precious Jaehaerys, was gone. Brutally taken from him. And you, his wife, his love, were injured—physically and emotionally, your body laying broken and helpless on the cold stone floor.

Aegon’s heart shattered in that moment, as his legs finally gave out beneath him, and he collapsed by your side. His hands trembled as he reached for you, pulling you into his arms, cradling your head in his lap with desperate tenderness. His tears fell freely now, his voice ragged as he whispered your name over and over.

“I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry, Love…” he sobbed, his fingers brushing over your bruised and bleeding temple. “I should have been here. I should have protected you, protected him.”

Jaehaera and Maelor clung to him, their tiny bodies shaking with grief. Jaehaera’s voice, choked with tears, was barely audible as she whispered, “Mother… why? Why did they take him?”

Aegon couldn’t answer. The words were stuck in his throat, the sorrow and rage too great to form anything coherent. He could only hold onto you, his family, as the weight of this tragedy settled deep into his bones. The blood on the floor, the silence of the room, the absence of his son—it was all too much. And yet, somehow, he knew one thing.

He would make sure that Jaehaerys’s death was not in vain. Whoever was responsible for this—he would make them pay.

The sound of Alicent's horrified scream echoed through the chamber as her gaze fell upon the lifeless body of Jaehaerys, blood pooling beneath him. She staggered forward, her hand clutching her chest, her face pale with shock. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she knelt beside Aegon, her voice trembling.

"What... what happened? Aegon, who did this?!" Alicent's voice cracked as she turned to her son, desperate for answers, her eyes darting between you and the lifeless form of her grandson.

Aegon's jaw tightened as he held you closer, shielding you from the sight of the carnage.

His face was etched with grief and fury, his tears streaking his pale cheeks. "They came for her... for my wife... and they took him." His voice was raw, filled with agony and seething rage.

Alicent let out another broken sob, her trembling hands reaching to touch Jaehaerys's small, lifeless hand. "No, no, no... my grandson... my sweet boy..." she whispered, her voice hollow as she rocked back and forth in anguish.

Ser Criston stepped forward, his expression grim as he surveyed the horrific scene. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, and he bowed his head briefly in sorrow before speaking. "Your Grace, this was no mere attack. This was a message-a calculated act of terror."

Aegon's eyes burned with fury as he raised his head, glaring at Criston and the guards. "And where were you?! Where were the guards?!" he shouted, his voice thunderous. "This happened in our home, under our watch! My son is dead, and my wife could have been killed!"

Criston looked stricken but held his ground. "I failed you, Your Grace," he said solemnly, his head bowed. "But I will find who did this. I swear it on my life."

Alicent turned back to you, her hands hovering over you as if unsure where to touch, afraid of causing you more pain. "My sweet girl, are you hurt? What did they do to you?"

Your voice was weak, trembling with grief and exhaustion as you spoke, your hand resting protectively over your growing belly. "They came for Jaehaerys... they wanted... one of my sons..." A sob broke free, and you clung to Aegon, tears streaming down your face. "They said it was to pay a debt... I begged them to take me instead, but they wouldn't..."

Alicent gasped, her face crumpling with grief as she brought her hands to her mouth.

"Monsters... vile monsters..." she whispered.

Aegon's arms tightened around you, his voice trembling with raw emotion as he declared, "I'll kill them all. Whoever sent them, whoever dared touch my family-they will pay for this."

His words carried a promise of vengeance, one that echoed through the grief-stricken room, even as Alicent reached out to pull Jaehaera and Maelor into her arms, trying to shield them from the horror that surrounded them. The Red Keep had been stained with blood, and its halls would not rest until justice was served.

Aegon’s steps faltered when Alicent’s trembling voice called out, “Aegon! Wait—there’s blood…”

He froze in place, his breath hitching as he looked down and saw the faint trail of crimson staining the floor beneath you. Panic surged through him, his grip on you tightening as if holding you closer might somehow protect you.

“No… no, no, no,” Aegon muttered, his voice breaking. His eyes darted to Alicent, desperation etched across his face. “Mother, do something! She can’t… the baby…!”

Alicent’s composure, though shaken, returned as she gestured sharply to Ser Criston. “Fetch the maesters! Now!”

Criston nodded and hurried from the room while Alicent stepped closer, her voice firm despite her trembling hands. “Aegon, you need to lay her down. We mustn’t move her further.”

Aegon hesitated, his emotions a storm of fear and anguish, but he finally nodded, carrying you into the nearest room and gently laying you down on the bed. Your face was pale, your breathing shallow, and you clung weakly to his hand, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.

“Aegon,” you whispered, your voice fragile, “the baby…”

“Shh, don’t talk,” he pleaded, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. “You’re going to be fine. The baby’s going to be fine. Just hold on for me, alright?” His voice cracked as he fought to keep his composure, his free hand gripping yours tightly.

Alicent knelt beside you, her own fear clear in her eyes, but she forced herself to be calm. “My sweet girl, listen to me. The maesters will be here soon. Just breathe, my dear. We’re going to take care of you.”

Moments later, the door burst open as the maesters arrived, their expressions grim but focused. They moved quickly, assessing your condition as Aegon reluctantly stepped back, though he refused to let go of your hand.

One of the maesters turned to Alicent and spoke in a low tone, though Aegon could still hear. “Her Grace is in distress, and there’s a risk of premature labor. We must act swiftly to stabilize her and the child.”

Aegon’s heart plummeted at the words, his knees nearly buckling as he gripped the bedpost for support. “No… you have to save them both. Do you hear me? You will save them both!” His voice was a desperate command, laced with fear and fury.

The maesters nodded, working diligently as Alicent placed a reassuring hand on her son’s shoulder. “Aegon,” she said softly, her own tears threatening to spill, “she’s strong. Your child is strong. Have faith in them.”

Aegon nodded shakily, his gaze fixed on you, willing you to hold on. “I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Not you, not our baby. Please…”

The room was heavy with tension, the air thick with unspoken prayers, as the maesters worked tirelessly to protect both you and the life growing within you.

You opened your eyes slowly, the soft glow of morning light filtering through the curtains. The familiar surroundings of your chamber brought little comfort. The walls, once a sanctuary, now felt cold and oppressive.

Your body felt weak, as if the weight of the previous night still pressed upon you. Then the memories struck, sharp and unforgiving—Jaeharys, your eldest son, his life taken in a moment of unimaginable brutality. You could still hear his cries, the muffled sobs of Maelor and Jaehaera, and the laughter of the men who had stolen him from you.

Your hand instinctively went to your stomach, where your unborn child still rested. A maester’s words from the night before echoed in your mind: “The babe is safe, for now.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you curled into yourself, grief and guilt battling within. You had nearly lost another child. The thought alone tore at you, guilt whispering that you hadn’t done enough, even though you knew there was nothing more you could have done.

The door creaked open, and Aegon stepped inside, his face pale and worn from sleeplessness. His eyes softened when they met yours, but the pain and anger behind them were unmistakable. He hurried to your side, kneeling beside the bed and taking your hand gently in his.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He pressed a trembling kiss to your knuckles. “I thought—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I thought I might lose you too.”

Your lips trembled as tears began to fall. “Jaeharys…”

Aegon’s face crumpled at the mention of your son’s name. He pulled you into his arms carefully, mindful of your weakened state. “I know,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I know, my love. I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there. I should’ve protected him.”

You shook your head against his chest. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but theirs.”

“But it’s my duty,” he said fiercely, his grip tightening. “And I failed. I swear to you, I will find the men who did this. They will pay for what they’ve done to our family.”

You looked up at him, his words carrying the weight of a king and a father. But as much as you wanted justice, you also feared what this vow of vengeance would mean for the family you still had.

“Aegon,” you said softly, your hand resting on his cheek. “Please… don’t let anger consume you. I can’t lose you too.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. “You won’t,” he promised. “I’ll make sure you and the children are safe. No matter the cost.”

The silence that followed was heavy with grief and determination, the two of you clinging to each other as you tried to find solace in the aftermath of your shared loss.

Aegon held your trembling hand tightly, his face a mixture of sorrow and rage as he guided you toward the room where your children had been sleeping. The faint metallic smell of blood still lingered in the air, and the sight before you made your heart clench painfully.

The servants moved swiftly, carrying out the blood-soaked mattress that had once cradled your eldest son. You stopped in the doorway, unable to take another step. Tears streamed down your face as your knees threatened to give way beneath you.

“No…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “This was his room. His bed.”

Aegon’s grip on your hand tightened, anchoring you as much as himself. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes blazed with fury, but when he looked at you, his expression softened, replaced by heartbreak.

“I should’ve protected him,” you choked out between sobs. “I should’ve protected him, Aegon. I—”

“You did everything you could,” Aegon interrupted, his voice hoarse yet firm. “This isn’t your fault.”

But your grief was insurmountable. Watching the servants remove the last traces of Jaeharys felt like losing him all over again. You turned into Aegon’s chest, clutching his tunic tightly as your sobs grew louder.

“I can’t bear this,” you cried. “I can’t—he was just a boy. Our boy.”

Aegon held you close, his arms strong yet gentle as he whispered words of comfort. His tears mingled with yours as he kissed the top of your head, his own pain mirroring yours.

“We will honor him,” he said softly. “We will make sure no one forgets who he was. And those who did this… they will pay.”

Though his words were meant to comfort, they only made your heart ache more. You thought of Jaehaera and Maelor, the terror they must have felt, and the lingering scars this night would leave on them.

You pulled away slightly, wiping your tears with a shaking hand. “We have to protect them, Aegon. Maelor, Jaehaera, the babe… We can’t let this happen again.”

Aegon nodded, his expression hardening as he placed a hand over your own, resting protectively over your growing belly. “I swear to you, they will be safe. No one will hurt our family again.”

But as you stood in the doorway, staring at the empty room that once held so much life, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you. Would your family ever truly be safe?

As one of the servants passed by carrying the embroidered blanket you had painstakingly crafted for Jaehaerys, you froze. The sight of it, a tangible piece of your love and care for your son, brought a fresh wave of pain crashing down on you.

“Wait,” you said, your voice hoarse yet firm.

The servant stopped immediately, looking at you with a mixture of pity and unease. You stepped forward, your trembling hands reaching out.

“Give it to me,” you said softly, almost pleading.

The servant hesitated for a moment before handing you the blanket. The moment it was in your hands, you clutched it tightly to your chest, pressing your face into the soft fabric. It still smelled faintly of him, a mixture of childhood innocence and comfort.

Your knees threatened to buckle as you stood there, hugging the blanket as though it could bring him back. The tears came again, silently streaming down your face as you whispered his name.

Aegon stood by your side, watching you with an expression of utter devastation. He reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch warm and steady.

“You made that for him,” he said, his voice heavy with sorrow.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “I poured my heart into it… Every stitch was for him. He loved it.”

Aegon’s fingers gently traced your arm as he tried to comfort you, though his own grief was evident in the glassiness of his eyes. “He would want you to hold onto it. To remember him.”

You sank into Aegon’s embrace, still clutching the blanket tightly. “I feel like if I let go of this, I’ll lose him forever.”

“You’ll never lose him,” Aegon murmured, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “He’ll always be in your heart, in every memory. No one can take that away from you.”

Despite his words, the ache in your chest remained unbearable. You stood there, holding onto the blanket and the remnants of your son, as the world around you seemed to crumble into sorrow.

Aegon placed a hand gently on your shoulder, his voice tender but firm. “You need to rest. Please, for the baby’s sake.”

You hesitated, your eyes lingering on the room where so much of Jaehaerys still lingered—his favorite toys, the bed he once slept in, now a haunting reminder of his absence. But the weight of exhaustion, both physical and emotional, pressed down on you.

“Alright,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You clutched Jaehaerys’ blanket tightly against your chest, as if it were the only thing anchoring you to reality.

Aegon guided you carefully back to your chambers, his arm steadying you as you walked. The journey felt endless, your legs heavy with grief. Once inside, he helped you to the bed, adjusting the pillows behind your back as you sat down.

You curled up on your side, still holding the blanket close. The soft fabric against your cheek was both a comfort and a torment, reminding you of the warmth and joy that were now gone.

Aegon knelt by the bedside, his hand finding yours. “I’ll stay with you,” he said softly. “You don’t have to face this alone.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him. His face was etched with sorrow, his own grief clear despite his attempts to be strong for you.

“I don’t know how to move forward,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“We’ll figure it out together,” Aegon promised, his thumb brushing gently over your hand. “For him. For the children. And for us.”

You nodded faintly, though the weight in your chest remained unbearable. As the night deepened, you closed your eyes, hoping that sleep might bring even a momentary reprieve from the pain. Through it all, Aegon stayed by your side, his presence a fragile but steady beacon in the overwhelming darkness.

The following morning, the Red Keep felt suffocating, its halls shrouded in an almost tangible darkness. The news spread quickly—Jaehaerys’ head had been discovered by the guards, hidden in a blood-soaked sack strapped to a horse. The culprits had been captured, their guilt undeniable.

You lay in your chambers, the weight of the news crushing you further. The world seemed to spin as you struggled to breathe through the despair. Jaehaerys was gone, and now his mutilated remains were a cruel reminder of the nightmare you had lived.

Aegon had left your side as soon as the guards delivered the report. Consumed by rage and grief, he stormed down to the dungeons. Word soon reached you of his actions—how he had taken the lead in interrogating and torturing the men responsible for your son’s death. His fury was unmatched, his desire for vengeance insatiable.

But you couldn’t move. You couldn’t even bring yourself to feel relief that justice, or what little semblance of it remained, was being sought. All you could do was lie there, staring blankly at the ceiling, clutching Jaehaerys’ blanket close to your chest.

The door creaked open, and Alicent entered quietly, her face pale and drawn. She approached you cautiously, her hands folded tightly before her. “My dear,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “The men who did this… They’ve been captured. Aegon… he’s ensuring they pay for their crimes.”

Her words barely registered. You turned your head slightly to look at her, tears welling in your eyes. “It won’t bring him back” you whispered, your voice hollow.

Alicent knelt beside you, taking your hand in hers. “No, it won’t,” she admitted, tears spilling down her cheeks. “But you still have your other children. You still have Aegon. They need you. We all need you.”

You closed your eyes, trying to summon strength from her words, but the pain was too overwhelming. The only sound in the room was the soft rustling of the blanket in your trembling hands and the muffled sobs of a grieving mother.

Alicent sat quietly beside your bed, the weight of grief heavy in the air. Her hand moved gently through your hair, a comforting rhythm meant to soothe, though she knew it could never truly heal the wound carved into your heart.

You clutched Jaehaerys’ blanket tightly, your tears soaking into its fabric. Each stitch, each thread seemed to carry his presence, his memory, and you couldn’t bear to let it go. Your body trembled, overwhelmed by the ache of losing him, and Alicent’s touch was the only tether keeping you grounded in that moment.

“I know,” Alicent whispered after a long silence, her voice soft and steady. “I know what it feels like to lose a child.” Her eyes glistened as she looked down at you, her own pain resurfacing. “It’s a wound that never truly heals, but you find a way to keep going. For those who still need you.”

Her words resonated in the quiet room, and for a moment, the two of you shared a bond that only mothers who had endured such unimaginable pain could understand. Alicent’s hand paused briefly as she continued, “I wish I could take this pain from you, my dear. But I promise, I will be here. For you, for Aegon, for your children.”

You let out a shaky breath, your tears slowing but not stopping. “I don’t know how to go on without him,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “He was my firstborn. My little boy. How am I supposed to face tomorrow?”

Alicent leaned closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “One moment at a time,” she said gently. “And when it feels like too much, lean on those who love you. On Aegon, on me, and on your other children. They need their mother, and I know you’ll find the strength for them.”

Her words offered a fragile comfort, a reminder that even in the depths of sorrow, you were not alone.

Left alone in the silence of your chambers, the weight of loss pressed heavily on your chest. The blanket you held seemed to carry the warmth of Jaehaerys’ laughter, his smile, his joy—all now just distant memories etched painfully into your heart.

Your fingers traced the patterns you had embroidered on the fabric, each stitch a reflection of your love for him. Images of his first steps, his infectious laughter as he played with his siblings, and the way he would cling to you when he sought comfort flooded your mind.

The tears came slowly at first, then in waves, as the ache in your heart became unbearable. You clutched the blanket closer, burying your face into it, as if doing so could somehow bring him back to you.

“Jaehaerys,” you whispered brokenly, the name a prayer, a plea, a cry for something you could never have again. “My sweet boy… I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

The emptiness of the room amplified your grief. The sound of your own quiet sobs filled the space, a sorrow too profound for words. You rocked slightly, as if comforting yourself in the way you used to comfort your children.

The memories came unbidden: his excited voice calling you “Mother,” his small hand gripping yours so tightly, and the way he would light up the room with his presence. Each recollection was a dagger to your soul, a reminder of what you had lost.

“Why him?” you choked out to no one, your voice trembling. “Why my boy?”

The room offered no answers, only silence. You cried until your body felt drained, your tears soaking into the blanket that now held all the love you could no longer give him in life.

The creak of the door pulled you from your thoughts, and your tear-streaked face turned toward it. Aegon stood in the doorway, his figure slouched and disheveled, his expression hollow with grief. His tunic was marred with blood—evidence of the fury and anguish he had unleashed on the man who had taken your son from you.

His violet eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of his sorrow mirrored your own, and it was clear that he had been struggling in his own way, consumed by rage and despair. Slowly, he stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him.

“Aegon…” you whispered, your voice raw from crying.

He didn’t respond immediately, but his gaze fell to the blanket in your arms, the one you clung to so desperately. His steps were hesitant as he approached you, finally sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“I couldn’t save him,” he said hoarsely, his voice thick with guilt and pain. “I couldn’t protect our son.”

You shook your head, tears welling up once more. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t…”

He leaned forward, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch the blanket. His fingers brushed against yours, and for a moment, he held them there, grounding himself in the only comfort left to him—your presence.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about what they did to him,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “The way they took him from us… I made him suffer for it. The one who did this. He begged for mercy, but I showed him none.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You knew the fury that burned within Aegon, but this was different. This was the wrath of a father, a broken man seeking vengeance for a loss that could never be mended.

You reached out, cupping his bloodstained face with trembling hands. “Aegon… nothing will bring him back,” you said softly, your voice laced with sorrow.

“I know,” he whispered, his tears falling freely now. He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as he tried to find solace in you. “But I had to do something. I had to… for him.”

You both sat in the heavy silence, the weight of your grief wrapping around you like a shroud. Aegon shifted closer, wrapping his arms around you protectively as though shielding you from the world. For a moment, it was just the two of you, clinging to each other amidst the ruins of your shared heartbreak.

The journey to Sept was long and quiet, the weight of grief still hanging heavily in the air around you. It had been a week since your son’s brutal death, and every moment since had felt like a struggle to breathe. Your thoughts were consumed by the images of what had happened, the harsh memory of that night forever etched in your mind.

Helaena, sensing your deep sorrow, had taken your hand gently, her touch warm and reassuring. Her silence was comforting, as if she understood that sometimes, words couldn’t ease the pain. Alicent sat across from you, her eyes occasionally glancing at you with concern, but she knew better than to push you. Instead, she tried to shift the focus, talking about other matters—anything to help distract you, if only for a moment.

“Have you heard the latest from the council?” Alicent asked, her voice gentle but trying to pull you back into the present. “There’s talk of fortifying the defenses along the borders. There’s no telling what might happen next.”

You barely registered her words, your thoughts drifting again to the loss of your child. How could the world keep moving when everything inside you felt so broken?

Helaena gave your hand a soft squeeze, her eyes full of empathy. She, too, knew the pain of losing someone, though the circumstances might have been different. Her presence was a quiet comfort, as if she were offering you the only solace she could, without words.

Alicent noticed your faraway expression, and though her voice remained calm, a hint of concern showed in her eyes. “I know it’s hard, but you need to be strong now,” she said gently, though it was clear she, too, felt the crushing weight of your grief. “The gods will guide us through this. We must continue, even when it feels like everything is falling apart.”

You nodded absently, your gaze distant, the tears you had tried to hold back threatening to spill once more. It was hard to stay strong when the world around you seemed so cold, so indifferent to the pain you were living through.

But still, you kept walking, with Helaena’s hand in yours and Alicent’s voice trying to keep you grounded.

The flickering candlelight cast a soft, warm glow in the sept, creating a quiet sanctuary from the weight of the world outside. As you knelt before the altar, your hands trembling, you whispered a prayer for your son. The words felt foreign on your lips, too distant from the pain in your heart, but you said them anyway, hoping that the gods would hear your sorrow and bring some measure of peace.

The silence of the sept was overwhelming, broken only by the sound of your soft sobs. It was as if the whole world had quieted to give space for your grief. Alicent and Helaena stood beside you, both trying to offer comfort in their own ways, but neither could take away the raw pain that gripped you.

Helaena, ever gentle, placed a hand on your shoulder, her touch light, as if she feared it might cause you more hurt. Alicent stood a little further back, her expression a mixture of sorrow and concern, her own eyes betraying the shared pain of a mother who had lost a child.

They both knew that nothing could ease your heart right now. There was no word of comfort that could replace the empty space left by your son’s death. And yet, they remained there with you, silent in their own grief, offering you the space to mourn in the only way you could.

The flicker of the candles and the soft chanting of the sept echoed in the stillness, but all you could hear was the memory of your son’s laughter, his warmth, and the ache of the loss that would never truly fade.

As you slowly rose to your feet with Alicent’s support, the weight of your growing belly added to the heaviness in your heart. Each step you took felt like a struggle, both physically and emotionally. The journey from the sept to the waiting carriage felt longer than it should have, the air around you thick with sorrow.

The people who had gathered outside, offering their condolences and words of sympathy, only deepened the ache within you. Their sorrowful expressions, some of them bowing their heads as they spoke of their shared grief, felt like daggers to your already broken heart. You wanted to hide from it all, to escape the pity and the reminders of what you had lost, but instead, you forced yourself to smile faintly in return, acknowledging their kindness even as it made your heart ache further.

Alicent noticed your struggle, her hand gently resting on your arm, guiding you toward the carriage. “It’s difficult, I know,” she said softly, her voice filled with a mix of empathy and concern. “But your son would want you to carry on. He would want you to be strong—for the ones still with you.”

Her words were meant to comfort, but they couldn’t erase the grief that consumed you. Every step felt like it was taking you further from the life you once had, the one where your son still lived, still laughed, still held the light in your world. But despite the pain, you knew she was right. The world continued on, and you, despite your heartache, had to continue too—for your unborn child and the family still by your side.

As you finally settled into the carriage, the door closing softly behind you, you closed your eyes and let the tears flow freely. You allowed yourself the moment to grieve, to feel the weight of your loss, even as you knew you had to carry on.

You walked slowly through the corridors of Red Keep, your steps heavy with exhaustion. The weight of the loss still hung over you like a dark cloud, and the thought of facing the world outside your room felt unbearable.

As you neared your chambers, you heard Aegon’s voice—his frantic, anguished shouts echoing down the hall from the council room. His tone was one of fury, yet it carried an undertone of desperation that you couldn’t ignore. But despite the urge to rush to him, you knew you needed time alone, to rest, to process.

With a deep breath, you pushed open the door to your room. The familiar surroundings—your bed, the walls, the silence—felt both comforting and suffocating. You closed the door behind you and let yourself collapse onto the edge of the bed.

Tears that had been held back for what felt like forever finally fell freely, soaking into the pillow beneath your head. You didn’t know how long you lay there, lost in the sorrow of your thoughts, but the pain didn’t seem to lessen. Aegon’s anger, his pain—it all seemed to reach you in waves, but you couldn’t bring yourself to face him just yet.

You needed this moment of solitude to regain some semblance of control, even if it was only temporary. The war raging within your heart, the grief, the guilt—it was all too much, and you couldn’t carry it all at once.

You stood by the window, your gaze lost in the vast expanse of the Red Keep grounds, but your mind was far from the view. The memory of that night replayed in your thoughts, the terror, the chilling demand to choose a son. “It must be a son,” their words haunted you, echoing in the silence of your room.

Your heart ached with the cruel logic behind it. Perhaps it was retaliation for the loss of Luke, your brother. The thought of your mother being involved in such a brutal act seemed impossible. She wouldn’t do this to me, you thought. Your mother, Rhaenyra, might be stern, but she wouldn’t take the life of an innocent child to settle old grievances, especially not her own grandchildren.

Yet, the fear gnawed at you. The uncertainty of their next move was unbearable. As much as you tried to reason with yourself, there was a deeper, darker part of you that feared you might be wrong. Could your family really have fallen to this depth of cruelty? Or was it simply your own pain making everything seem darker than it was?

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath. The weight of your unborn child in your womb, the loss of your son, the fear for the future—all of it pressing on you. You had to be strong. For them. For your children. Even when your heart screamed to fall apart, you had to find a way to keep going.

You turned your gaze toward the door, your heart heavy with uncertainty, listening for any sign that Aegon was returning from his meeting. The silence in the room only amplified the tension inside you. After a long moment of stillness, you quietly moved to the wardrobe, pulling out your cloak. The fabric felt heavy in your hands as you draped it over your shoulders, feeling the coolness of it against your skin.

The decision felt impulsive, yet necessary. You had to know the truth. The questions swirling in your mind—the guilt, the suspicion—demanded answers. Was it really her? Could your mother have orchestrated such an unimaginable act? The thought of confronting her terrified you, but you needed closure. You needed to know where your family’s loyalty truly lay, especially now, with so much at stake.

As you stepped toward the door, you paused, taking a deep breath. I must do this. You didn’t know what you’d find at Dragonstone, but you couldn’t stay in this uncertain limbo any longer. With one final glance at your room, you quietly opened the door and slipped out, hoping to make it out of the Red Keep undetected. Every step you took away from the comfort of your room felt like a step further into the unknown.

You reached the Dragonpit, the massive structure housing the dragons, and the familiar sight of your dragon stirred something deep within you. The cold stone underfoot was a stark contrast to the warmth you felt as you approached your dragon. Its fiery eyes met yours, an almost knowing gaze. Slowly, you reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you stroked its snout. The bond you shared with the creature was undeniable, a connection forged through years of trust and shared history.

“Take me to Dragonstone,” you whispered softly, your voice filled with a mix of determination and uncertainty.

Your dragon let out a low rumble, as though acknowledging your command. With practiced ease, you climbed onto its back, the leather of your boots securing your position. The wind in your hair felt cool, but your heart was anything but calm. Every part of you was pulling in different directions—fear, hope, guilt—but you had to know the truth.

“Let’s go,” you urged, and the dragon unfurled its massive wings, lifting into the air with a power that made your heart race. The Red Keep slowly disappeared beneath you as you soared high into the sky, the horizon stretching out before you, unknown and daunting.

As the cold wind whipped against your face, your thoughts were consumed by the unknown, by what you would find at Dragonstone—and whether you were ready to face the answers.

As you descended from your dragon, the weight in your chest grew heavier. The sight of Dragonstone, with its jagged cliffs and looming silhouette, mirrored the turbulence within you. The castle stood as a cold, silent witness to your turmoil. You exhaled slowly, trying to steady your nerves. Every step toward the castle felt like an irreversible move, but you knew it was necessary.

The air was damp and sharp as you made your way up the stone steps, the sound of your boots echoing in the silence. The distant crash of waves against the rocks below was the only sound that accompanied your journey, a constant reminder of the harshness of this place.

The entrance to the castle loomed ahead, its dark stone walls filled with memories of times both cherished and painful. You couldn’t help but wonder what awaited you inside. Would your mother and father be there, or had they already gone? Was it truly them who had been behind your son’s death, or was something darker at play?

With one final glance at your dragon, still perched above the cliffs, you pushed the heavy door open, stepping into the shadowed halls of Dragonstone. The cool air hit you like a wave, and the distant sound of footsteps made your heart skip. Someone was here. You weren’t alone.

Every step you took felt like a question hanging in the air.

You looked at them both, your heart pounding in your chest. The sight of your mother, Rhaenyra, and your father, Daemon, standing there, their expressions a mixture of surprise and something else—something unreadable—sent a chill down your spine. Their presence, once familiar, now felt distant, like strangers from another life. The air around you felt thick with tension.

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened slightly, and after a moment of silence, she stepped forward, her voice calm but with an edge of urgency. “Come, let’s talk privately,” she said, her hand gesturing toward a door behind her. “We need to understand each other, especially now.”

Daemon, standing just a little behind her, remained silent, his eyes dark and intense, as if waiting for your next move. The air felt heavy between the three of you, as if the world outside had ceased to exist. Only the weight of what had happened and what was yet to unfold mattered.

Without saying anything, you nodded, though your heart raced in your chest. You followed Rhaenyra through the hallways, every step echoing in the quiet space, while your mind wrestled with the flood of emotions coursing through you.

As you entered your mother’s private chambers, the door closing behind you with a quiet thud, the atmosphere grew more intimate, yet no less tense. You knew this conversation would be difficult, but you needed answers—answers you weren’t sure you were ready to hear.

You sat in front of them, your heart heavy with uncertainty, the weight of your grief pressing down on you. The question you had been holding onto, the one that had haunted your every thought since that night, finally slipped from your lips.

“Did you have anything to do with the death of my son?” you asked, your voice breaking, though you tried to keep it steady. Your eyes searched your mother’s face, hoping to find a truth that could offer you some kind of peace.

Rhaenyra’s expression faltered for a moment, her eyes welling with sadness as she met your gaze. Her voice trembled slightly when she spoke, the sincerity in her words undeniable. “I could never do that to you,” she said softly, her hands clasping in front of her. “I know the pain of losing a child—how could I bring that pain to you, my own daughter? I would never wish that kind of grief upon you.”

Daemon, standing quietly beside her, didn’t say a word, but his eyes were sharp, his brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and concern. His gaze flickered between you and Rhaenyra, as if he too was trying to understand the depth of your pain, yet unsure how to ease it.

Rhaenyra continued, her voice growing more earnest. “I swear to you, I had nothing to do with it. If I had known, if I could have prevented it…” Her voice trailed off, the sorrow in her words hanging in the air like a heavy fog. “I would have done anything to stop it, just as I would have for any of my children.”

For a moment, silence filled the room. You could feel the tension, the uncertainty swirling between you, but there was a flicker of something—a glimmer of hope in her eyes that made you question whether it was possible that your own mother had been left as helpless as you in this tragedy.

But despite the sincerity in her voice, a part of you couldn’t let go of the doubt, the lingering fear that perhaps there were still pieces missing in the puzzle, pieces you needed to uncover to fully understand the truth.

As your gaze shifted to your father, Daemon, you saw his face remain cold and unreadable, offering no comfort or answer. His silence spoke volumes, and it gnawed at your heart. You couldn’t help but feel a growing unease. You turned your question to him, asking the same thing you had asked your mother.

“Did you have anything to do with the death of my son?”

Daemon’s gaze remained fixed ahead, his expression unchanging. He didn’t move, didn’t blink. He said nothing.

The tension in the room thickened, the silence becoming suffocating. Your eyes remained on him, waiting for some sign—any sign—that he would speak, that he would offer an explanation. But all you got was the cold indifference of a man who seemed lost in his own thoughts.

It was then that your mother, Rhaenyra, seemed to realize something. Her eyes flickered between you and Daemon, her brow furrowing as if a thought had just crossed her mind. She looked at Daemon, her voice tinged with worry.

“Daemon,” she began, her tone softer now, as if trying to break through the wall he had erected around himself. “Why are you silent? If you know something… if you were involved, now is the time to speak.”

Daemon’s gaze shifted to her, and for the first time, a flicker of something—something hard to read—passed over his face. It wasn’t guilt, nor was it fear. It was something else, something colder, something you couldn’t quite place.

Rhaenyra’s voice softened, a quiet desperation in her words as she urged, “If you had any part in this… now is the time to tell her. She deserves to know the truth.”

Daemon remained still, his gaze dropping to the floor, as if contemplating whether or not to speak. His silence was more than just an absence of words—it was a statement, a question you weren’t sure you wanted the answer to.

The weight of the room seemed to increase with every passing second. You wanted answers, but the more you questioned, the more you felt as if the truth was slipping further away from you.

As you stood, your hands trembling with a mixture of anger and disbelief, you reached forward and tugged at your father’s tunic, pulling him just enough for him to look at you. Your heart raced, and your breath caught in your throat as you stared into his eyes, willing him to speak, to say something—anything—that would disprove your suspicion.

But he didn’t. He remained silent, his eyes distant, his face void of emotion. The longer his gaze stayed fixed on you without a single word, the more the truth settled in your chest, heavy and suffocating. The silence between you was deafening, louder than any words could ever be.

With a broken sob, you stepped back, releasing the grip on his tunic. It was clear now—your father was the one behind the brutal murder of your son. You could feel your legs weakening beneath you, your body trembling, as the weight of this revelation crashed down upon you.

“How could you?” you whispered, voice barely audible, but the pain in your words was unmistakable. “How could you do this to me, to your own blood?”

Daemon finally broke his silence, but not with words. His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as if bracing himself for something. He didn’t apologize, nor did he offer any explanation. His face remained cold, implacable—unbothered by the devastation he had caused.

Rhaenyra, who had been silently watching the exchange, now stood from her seat, her face pale as she approached you. “Please,” she said, her voice pleading, “you must understand. There is so much more at play here, so much that you don’t know.”

But it was too late. The truth had already been revealed. Your trust in them was shattered, and the pain of losing your son, compounded by the betrayal of your own flesh and blood, was too much to bear. The walls of the room seemed to close in around you, and you felt as if you were suffocating in the crushing weight of it all.

“You did this,” you said, barely able to get the words out, your voice quivering with the intensity of your grief. “You took him from me.”

Rhaenyra reached out to you, but you stepped back, holding up your hand to stop her. There was no comfort to be found here, not from them. You couldn’t bear it anymore.

With a final, bitter glance at your father, you turned and walked toward the door. The pain and betrayal coursed through your every step, but you couldn’t stay any longer. You needed space. You needed to escape the suffocating atmosphere they had created.

The truth had shattered everything you thought you knew about your family.

As you made your way back to the dragon, your heart felt like it was shattering with every step. The world around you seemed to blur, and all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears, the pounding of your heart. The weight of the betrayal was unbearable. You had trusted them, your own flesh and blood, only to find that they were the ones responsible for the greatest loss of your life.

Reaching the dragon, you stumbled, falling to your knees on the cold, unforgiving sand. The tears streamed down your face without restraint, as the grief, the anger, and the hurt poured out of you all at once. The dragon, sensing your distress, approached slowly, its great eyes watching you with an understanding that no one else could offer. You could hear its steady breath, feel the warmth of its body, but none of it brought comfort. Not now.

Your body trembled, each sob wracking your chest, as the full weight of the loss came crashing down. Your son was gone. Your family was broken. And the ones you had once turned to for support had become the very reason for your suffering.

You curled in on yourself, clutching your stomach instinctively, feeling the life growing inside you, the only remaining piece of hope. But even that seemed fragile in the face of everything that had happened.

“Why?” you whispered to the empty night, to the stars above that seemed distant and indifferent. “Why did this have to happen? Why did they have to take him from me?”

Your grief consumed you, leaving you feeling hollow and lost. The journey ahead felt uncertain, and the future seemed impossible to face. All you could do was cry, lost in the pain, surrounded by the only thing that had ever offered you some semblance of comfort—your dragon.

As you approached the gates of King’s Landing, each step felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Your heart was heavy with sorrow, your mind clouded with grief. The castle loomed ahead, its dark silhouette a stark reminder of everything that had been lost. You could feel the weight of the eyes of the city upon you as you made your way through the streets, but nothing seemed to matter anymore.

When you arrived at the gates, the guards immediately took notice of your return. One of them rushed to inform Aegon of your presence, his concern clear in his hurried steps. You could almost sense his anxiousness, knowing that he had realized you had been gone for longer than you should have been.

You stood at the entrance, your body aching, your mind numb, as you waited for him. And then, just as you were about to turn back to your chambers, Aegon appeared before you, his face pale and strained. His eyes locked onto you with a mixture of relief and worry.

“My love,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “Where have you been? We’ve all been searching for you.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak at first. Your throat was tight, the words trapped behind the walls of your grief. But his presence, his familiar face, finally broke through, and the tears that had been stifled for so long began to flow once more.

Aegon held you tightly in his arms, the warmth of his embrace providing a small comfort against the turmoil in your heart. He gently stroked your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, as if trying to reassure you that he was there, that he wouldn’t let you go again.

But you knew that nothing could fully ease the pain in your soul. The truth weighed heavily on you, a burden you could no longer keep inside.

With a trembling voice, you pulled away slightly to meet his eyes, your words choked with emotion. “Aegon…” you began, the weight of the revelation heavy on your chest. “I went to Dragonstone. I had to know the truth. It was my father…Daemon. He’s the one behind Jaeherys’ death.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. You could see the shock in Aegon’s eyes, the disbelief, as if he couldn’t fully grasp what you were saying.

“I’m so sorry,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to believe it either, but… my father did this. He had him killed, and I had no idea until now.”

Tears welled up again as you gazed at him, feeling a mix of devastation and guilt. You didn’t know how to face him, how to explain what had happened. You only hoped he would understand, that somehow, through all this darkness, you could find a way forward together.

Aegon tightened his embrace, pulling you closer as he whispered soothing words into your ear, his voice low and steady. “I won’t let this go unpunished,” he murmured, his tone filled with quiet resolve. “Daemon will pay for what he’s done to our family. To you.”

His words, though comforting, only made the weight of the situation feel heavier. The pain of losing Jaeherys, the betrayal of your own blood—it was all too much to bear. But as Aegon held you, his presence was a lifeline, grounding you amidst the storm inside.

“I’m here for you,” he continued softly, his fingers brushing through your hair. “We’ll get through this together. I won’t let you carry this burden alone.”

You nodded, your heart aching but finding some solace in his words. You didn’t know what the future would bring, but with Aegon by your side, you hoped you could find a way to heal.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

Thanks to @zaldritzosrose for making the beautiful diveders and let me use them 🫶🏻.

[rootspiral]

hello! i’m thinking about The Hug again and how much the way agatha embraces rio looks like for a while there her primary goal it just to comfort rio. then the situation flips again so quickly but the way she cups the back of rio’s head and pulls her in and rio melts is so- anyways idk where i’m going with this but i’ve always found this scene so interesting because i feel like agatha is exuding tenderness and protection for rio and it’s so very different from the way she acts around her in the rest of their scenes together, i don’t really know what to make of it. do you have any more thoughts on that, aside from what you’ve shared in the deep dives etc?

I think that around the campfire and during the HUG Agatha was letting herself feel - maybe for the first time since Nicky died - sorry for Rio. And Agatha is by no means an empathetic person, some of it is nature but she also very much doesn't want to feel sorry for others, that would make all the serial killing a tad more difficult, you know? It's no surprise that she empathizes the most with Wanda and Billy who are so similar to her, she's self-centered like that!

When it comes to Rio, Agatha is making an active choice to hate her, to cast her as the villain who took Nicky, because the alternative is blaming herself or blaming no one at all, and then what? She'd be alone with her guilt and sorrow, and she can't have that.

(It's interesting that if you put Agatha in a situation where she doesn't blame Rio and she's allowed to grieve freely you get detective Agnes. Who's still a mess and still has some very unhealthy coping mechanisms, but when she doesn't associate Rio with Nicky? Her true feelings, that sappy romantic yearn, really start to show.)

Let's see what Agatha went through just before the HUG (I really like to call it that in all caps). She learned about Lorna Wu using the Ballad to save her daughter. She almost lost Billy and cried in front of the others. She then had a moment of genuine bonding with Billy. Around the campfire, she experienced a rare sense of community and connection. As a result she was more vulnerable than usual, more open and tentatively receptive to other people. In other words, she was exercising her long atrophied empathy muscle.

I really think that Rio opening up and talking about Nicky caught Agatha off guard. Not because she didn't know that Rio was in pain too, it's more like she'd always refused to acknowledge it or linger on it.

And look, despite all, these two really, truly, deeply love each other. Rio was Agatha's person, the only one she ever opened up to, her partner, her whole support system. Agatha has accidentally let herself feel these old familiar feelings and now her heart is melting for Rio. The hug is a a rare moment of selfless love from Agatha, it's "I see you too and I miss you and I'm sorry."

And then she flips it over because of course she does. If you think about it, it's exactly what happened when she killed Alice. Because Agatha is always so starved, the moment a treat is within reach she can't help herself, her body reacts before the mind can stop it. And just like that giving becomes taking. It's what Agatha does.

[detectivestucks2]

Geto as an Affair Partner

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Geto Suguru x F!Reader

Affair Partner Suguru who has always had a crush on you but respected your relationship and kept his feelings to himself.

Affair Partner Suguru who was your friend but didn’t expect you to vent about the truth of your marriage to him that fateful day.

Affair Partner Suguru who overheard your phone calls with your husband and hated how he talked to you. 

Affair Partner Suguru who witnessed how your husband injured you during his ‘pranks’.

Affair Partner Suguru who assured you that you weren’t crazy when your husband gaslit you or called you dramatic.

Affair Partner Suguru who got mad with you when your husband burdened you with his share of the responsibilities.

Affair Partner Suguru who came over to hang out but helped you clean your house when your husband left a mess first, before sitting down to watch TV.

Affair Partner Suguru who helped you install the ceiling fan when your husband refused to learn how.

Affair Partner Suguru who told you to start showering before your husband comes home cause he doesn’t like the idea of your husband seeing you naked.

Affair Partner Suguru who felt jealous at the idea of your husband coming home to you when it should be him.

Affair Partner Suguru who stole a kiss and then another.

Affair Partner Suguru who removed your clothes and kissed the parts of your body your husband called saggy and fat.

Affair Partner Suguru who latched onto the peaks of your chest and suckled till he tastes your tangy discharge.

Affair Partner Suguru who spread your legs and ate what didn’t belong to him.

Affair Partner Suguru who bent you into every position imaginable, before taking you from behind, finally fulfilling years worth of fantasies. 

Affair Partner Suguru who secretly recorded you because he didn’t know if you’d let him do this to you ever again.

Affair Partner Suguru who reminded you what passion felt like and finally gave you an orgasm you didn’t have to give to yourself.

Affair Partner Suguru who you betrayed your husband for and didn’t feel the slightest tinge of guilt or remorse.

Affair Partner Suguru who you thought about all the time.

Affair Partner Suguru who inspired you to shop for kinky toys to use at your next rendezvous. 

Affair Partner Suguru who had you wear a remote control vibrator to work one day.

Affair Partner Suguru who made you feel safe in his arms.

Affair Partner Suguru who caused your stomach to churn with guilt when your husband tried to touch you cause it felt too much like cheating.

Affair Partner Suguru who never pressured you to leave your husband because he knew the divorce was inevitable.

Affair Partner Suguru who was there to protect you when it was time to expose the truth to your husband.

Affair Partner Suguru who has been by your side every day since your separation.

Affair Partner Suguru who can't wait for your divorce to be finalized so he can take you on a proper date.

Affair Partner Suguru who you waited till after your divorce to finally say the words ‘I love you’ to when he admits he loves you back. 

Affair Partner Suguru who is no longer your affair partner but instead is the best boyfriend you have ever had.

a/n: had some inspiration and felt like writing this. I'm still working on my series but I chose to read the mangas before publishing the next chapter to see if my imagination fits with the actual events. And yes, I do intend on writing for jjk villains other than Sukuna. More Geto stories are in our future. 😉

[bwat5-blog]

A Heart Imprisoned: Vi's Time In Stillwater

**Spoilers For All Of Arcane**

Vi is all of fifteen years old, when she is kidnapped by the Sheriff of Piltover himself and thrown into the bowels of Stillwater prison. There she will spend seven years of horror, isolation, abuse, and fear. Accused of no crime, with her name not even on the record, she has no hope of escape or mercy until the naïve rookie Enforcer who will change her life comes to her cell.

What I want to try and delve into today, is the impact these seven years have on Vi as a person. Vi continues to be one of the most grossly misunderstood characters in this show. Even now I can come up with no logical explanation as to why, but that's okay. I don't think logic plays a big part in the anti-Vi crowd's day-to-day anyway. But! Still we soldier on, and hopefully by the end of this I can illuminate a tragic part of this remarkable character's story in a worthwhile way, and lend even more to the cause of helping see the humanity in her story.

Lead Up:

I have covered the events of Vi's childhood in heavy detail in other documents. So here, I will just run down a quick list for understanding.

Sees death of birth parents on bridge of progress: Age 9

Spends 6 years as part of family with Powder, Vander, Mylo and Claggor: Age 9 - Age 15

Vander, Mylo and Claggor all die violently in front of her. She barely survives brawl with more than ten armed thugs working for Silco, she is wounded during incident, she is separated from Powder in traumatic manner that leaves her ravaged by guilt.

Imprisoned for seven years until Caitlyn Kiramman frees her: Age 15 - Age 22.

To say Vi's life even before Stillwater has been harsh is a mild understatement to say the least. She begins her story in tragedy. And even though Vander and her siblings love her, the undercity is a hard and dangerous place to grow up. She is not saying things like "wanna see how that ends" to a knife wielding attacker at fifteen years of age because her life has been easy.

We also need to review a few telling things about Vi before her imprisonment to better understand the teenage girl who is sent to Stillwater.

"When people look up to you, you don't get to be selfish.. whatever happens, its on you"- This lesson of Vander's will come to haunt Vi's life for years. He gives her this speech entirely from a place of love and support, talking to her about being aware of the consequences of her decisions as the other kids look up to her. But when things go so..so wrong. Vi internalizes this to the point that she is unable to move on from the guilt of what occurred.

"I grew up knowing I'm less than them, that my place is down there. I want Powder to have more than that, and I'm willing to fight for it."- Take note of what she says. She doesn't protest that she isn't less than.. only that she wants Powder to have more. Vi tells us so early that she doesn't see more for herself. Only more for those that she loves, and that she is willing to bleed for it. And she will... over and over..

"I know you wanna hurt the topsiders for what they've done to us. But who are you willing to lose?"- Again, another of Vander's lessons that Vi tries to take to heart. it leads her to try and make the right decision to protect those she loves, and through no fault of her own ends with Vander taken, and Benzo and Grayson dead. She tried to stop fighting. Tried to lead with her heart and the world crushed her as a reward.

"You've got a good heart. Don't ever lose it. No matter how the world tries to break you"- See above.

"Take Care of Powder"- Again, this one is tough. Vander's last words to Vi are not of comfort to her, but instructing her. I am NOT bagging on Vander. Had things not gotten even worse Vi would have been the leader of their family now and Vander knew she could do it and was trying to help her be strong. Unfortunately, because things go so terribly, all it is is another source of guilt driving Vi into the dark.

Losing Powder:

Tragically, Powder in an attempt to save her families life detonates a monkey bomb that kills Mylo and Claggor, and initiates the series of events leading to Vander's death as well. All when they were so close to escape. Powder is a little girl. this is NOT her fault. And she is shocked when she comes around the corner to meet Vi's rage instead of praise...

But as I have stated. Vi was only fifteen and having been through all that she had, lashes out at her little sister. Hitting her, calling her a jinx, and aggressively grabbing her face before walking away in horror at her actions, stolen by Marcus before she can make it right.

Conclusion: So what does that all mean in a nutshell? A fifteen year old girl who has already lived a life of loss, and violence, has her entire family taken away her violently in one night, save for the little sister she feels she has betrayed. She is then thrown in a terrible, hellish prison, with the only thing to focus on being the loss of her family, Vander's lessons, and how she believes she failed him, her brothers, and most importantly, her sister.

"I spent so many nights, in that shitty prison. On the freezing floor, hungry, bloody, counting the hours. The only thing.. the only thing that kept me going was the thought of getting back to you."

In Stillwater:

Thankfully for all of us who don't hate this character for breathing, we see none of what happens to her while she is in here outright. But there are a few things we know:

She is routinely assaulted- When she and Caitlyn are speaking she says to just send in whoever is going to hurt her so she can get on with her night. The warden confirms this with absolutely zero shame. And when Caitlyn opens Vi's cell, Vi is rolling her shoulders out like she is getting ready to fight.

There is no record of her or her crimes - Marcus locked her up with no trial, no paper trail, no nothing. She would have been kept there forever. Routinely beaten and totally stripped of her identity. Gee, I wonder why she tattooed her name on her face. They tried to erase her from existence.

She isn't in solitary all the time, as she had access to the tattooed goon she keeps wrecking throughout the show- I'd say this is probably the only reason she is at least slightly functional and still able to socialize in the real world to some degree.

A Layman's Understanding Of The Impact On Her:

First and foremost lets dispense with the obvious. I am not a mental health professional of any kind. But as an adult with a basic understanding of people I feel confidant saying that seven years in a violent prison being victimized and assaulted are what leads to the guarded young woman who has turned her body into a weapon that Caitlyn Kiramman meets that day. Cut off from any kindness, or love, or understanding Vi has hardened herself to the outside world because the last time she tried to do otherwise, her entire life was taken from her. And I am not going for the pity points or for dramatics. But she was fifteen... I'm going to guess something akin to her crying for someone to help her, or for her sister and than being viciously beaten is not outside of the realm of possibility. Her entire life has taught her over and over that the only thing she has to offer is her ability to do violence. An article from the University Of Santa Cruz a few years ago gives us more trustworthy information than my blathering:

"many prisoners "believe that unless an inmate can convincingly project an image that conveys the potential for violence, he is likely to be dominated and exploited throughout the duration of his sentence."

"prisoners may come to think of themselves as "the kind of person" who deserves only the degradation and stigma to which they have been subjected while incarcerated."

"For some prisoners, incarceration is so stark and psychologically painful that it represents a form of traumatic stress severe enough to produce post-traumatic stress reactions once released."

The need to keep up walls and hide their vulnerability, the hidden inner belief they are not worth any better, and deep seated trauma even manifesting as PTSD. Sound familiar? Not to mention the fact that is all started for her when she was fifteen and in the wake of a terrible loss.

I have seen many people lambasting Vi over her inability to cope with change or see that her sister has changed. Let me ask you folks a question. You see your entire family die in front of you, you are almost killed, you get thrown in a horrific and violent prison for no reason holding on to the hope of your last surviving family member, and then you get out and the sweet little girl you were ripped away from is a MURDERING. MENTALLY ILL. TERRORIST (Don't yell at me Jinx fans I'm just proving a point). How well do you think your going to cope?

This is just a drop in the bucket and absolutely a layman trying to learn a-little about how something so terrible would impact someone's emotional and mental health. But it was worth exploring. Like the grouchy broken record I am I have continued to proselytize to all of you regarding the humanity at the core of Arcane being its true heart. So the misunderstanding of perhaps the most human character in the show, someone who wants so badly to love, be loved, and to stand for those she cares for, well... Suffice it to say, I will keep playing this song for as long as I need to.

As always thank you for reading! Keep standing up for stories that matter. See ya next time.

[connorsnothereeither]

Hyperthetically if giovani is alive how would they react to virgil and elwood ? Also how would they react to void sick virgil stuff ?

If they were still alive and around? I feel like they’d be supportive, in both instances.

I think Virgil would have immediately gone to Gio about Elwood things, rather than holding it in and stewing on it until he slipped up around Rune. Like their relationship with their Gia would give way to a much easier “hey, I’m feeling a feeling and don’t know how to feel” conversation. Would Virgil have figured it out sooner? Probably. I think Gio would have talked them through how those feelings are good and okay and can be explored. Would he have done something about it sooner? Debatable-

In terms of void sickness? I think outwardly Gio would be supportive, and try to be hopeful, and help work towards finding a cure potentially more urgently than Virgil. But I think inside they would never be able to let go of the guilt that they let this happen. Internalising what they think of as their “failure as a parent” in not being able to save their child from this, even if it’s not their fault and there was nothing they could have done. And they would do everything to hide that grief and work to fix things by themselves, so Virgil doesn’t need to see how much it’s affecting them.

Not to speak for Jamie on this, but I tend to think the attitude of taking on a weight of responsibility all by yourself, and trying to hide the struggle from loved ones, take on everything alone to make the lives of those around you easier, is an attitude that both Virgil and Pietro inherited from Giovanni. That is love, to them. Or a part of showing it. Protecting others by putting themselves in the way of the hurt. Putting their own issues up behind walls so that the weight of them won’t crush anyone else.

There’s something about Pietro keeping the avicane and the truth of their leaving Gio from Virgil, and in turn Virgil keeping his void sickness from both Pietro and Elwood, in both cases because they believe shouldering that burden alone is the best way to care for the other, that just makes me sob. They think that way about keeping secrets because that’s what they know. Because that’s what their Gia did, all their lives. And Giovanni loved them. So that’s part of loving someone.

[vladdyissues]

Every time I watch Vortex, I feel Vlad was forced to spend time with Danny, but during this period, Vald did not show any retaliatory negative emotions behind Danny's back that he couldn't see. Instead, Vald revealed more helplessness, distress, and confusion (even watching Danny laugh while playing video games together, which I declared to be the most furry pompous pep moment in the entire show). To be honest, I was really surprised when I first watched this episode, after all, it is well known that Vald promotes revenge... We saw Vald abandon Danny in the end, but can you say that Vald's performance during this period was really the same as his previous fruitloop?

During the crisis, Vald abandoned Danny and left, but he didn't throw out a bunch of dramatic and evil laughter and sarcastic words. Instead, he didn't show too many expressions, just like he didn't do anything more extreme because of guilt that he didn't even know. It was also like forcing him to do cruel things to Danny in order to deny his wavering heart and tell himself that nothing had happened.

Vald still hasn't realized that he needs to change or wants to change, but he has indeed been shaken by the time he spent with Danny.

The Vortex incident is not only Danny's emotional management class, but also Vald's emotional management class. Unfortunately, Danny graduated early, and Vald has too much homework to overcome, with 20 years of obstacles still to be overcome.

We need more time for Danny and Vald to be forced together due to the chaos caused by Vortex! Quantitative change will become qualitative change! (Nodding)

Speaking of emotional management class, why not ask Jazz to help out one day? Jazz needs practical experience, Vald needs psychological counseling, and Danny needs to feel Vald's troubles through Jazz Speaking of which, Jazz actually had a similar experience with Vald, in the episode about nanorobots

Let me be honest, when Jazz went to Vald's house, he didn't give serious psychological counseling to the person who needed it the most in the whole drama. Instead, he tried to use psychology to defeat Vald and let Danny know that he had the ability to help him. It made me feel that although Jazz was smart and capable, she still had a mentality of being a minor

And Jazz's roles as an older sister and a psychological counselor... How should I put it? In the series, I feel that when facing Danny, I use my therapist role more to help him, and when facing others, I use my older sister role to protect my younger brother. As an older sister, she is almost perfect, but as a psychologist who wants to contribute to society? If Jazz really wants to become a psychotherapist, he also needs to learn to actively adopt the approach of a psychotherapist towards others in need. Think about it carefully... Jazz's attitude towards family and friends can be seen to be very protective, loving, and attentive. She is the best sister to Danny, but besides that, Jazz is actually polite but not interested in others, isn't she?

This feature of not caring much about anything other than what he is interested in, and having a little bit of unconscious arrogance and innocence towards dangerous things, really looks like Jack... In addition, Jazz did intentionally approach Vald without any good intentions (for Vald), so it's no wonder that Vald was not shaken at all when he was with Jazz and when he treated Jazz afterwards... I have to say that if there was no hatred towards Jack due to accidents, then the person Vald hated the most, or the person he didn't care about the least, should be Jazz... They are incompatible

So... Danny is really happy when he's with Vald, unlike Jazz playing chess with Vald. Danny couldn't even pretend to be happy due to his weather ability, without any disguise of his own abilities. While possessing strong power, he was unparalleled in his openness, so open that others could see all of his emotions. Vald is always wary of others. Now when he sees someone with him, that person shows genuine happiness without disguise or deception. How could he not be shaken in his heart when faced with such a situation

(When he married Mads, Vald felt insecure because he believed deep down that the other person didn't really love him, so he did everything he could to control her.）

In a sense, weather events were the most favorable events to promote a positive relationship between them

……And also, Danny's emotions will change with the weather... Does that mean Danny can't hide his true feelings, which is too convenient for Vald to manipulate... After spending some time with Vald, won't Vald really use this feature in reverse

This is why Torrent of Terror is one of my favorite DP episodes ever.

Vlad was remarkably normal about having to take care of the emotional needs of a teenager. He immediately took responsibility for keeping Danny safe and calm, sent off Sam and Tucker to chase down Vortex, then took Danny into his own home and proceeded to cook him meals and play games and spend time with him without once complaining. (Danny, on the other hand, is a complete fucking brat.)

Vlad forgets to leave the tomatoes off Danny's sandwich? He doesn't even turn into Plasmius to try to escape Danny's little tantrum tornado. (Maybe he knows the sight of Plasmius will upset Danny and refrains from shifting form? That's extremely perceptive and considerate of him. Could be why he waited until Vortex returned to shift into his ghost form.)

Danny can't take losing a video game and blows his cool (literally)? Vlad whips out his checkbook and pays for all the damage.

I also think Vlad was 100% speaking the truth when he told Danny, "You know how much I care for you." (He also seems to be pretty good at playing video games, so maybe he enjoyed this little date outing to the video game convention, too.)

Vlad also agrees to give Danny a foot massage later (at night, in his house, just the two of them, totally normal), but we never got to see that because Vortex returned and Vlad's job was complete. And even then he didn't react with extreme vengeance and violence. (Though he did manhandle Danny a little lol. Nothing Danny couldn't take.)

Vlad showed that he was perfectly capable of being kind and patient and thoughtful and accommodating in this episode, but since it was played for laughs instead of taken seriously, I think it was sort of forgotten.

[starrycassi]

Jayvik & their respective bad habits.

Most of these are just actually trauma responses but I needed a name aight. also they live after that whole sky soulmates thing for the purposes of this idgaf. Also kinda toxic sooo

Viktor rations food. Which also means that he hoards it. Jayce and him have SEVERAL fights about Viktor either buying way too much and it rotting away on the fridge or Viktor simply not eating because he's "saving" something for tougher times. Jayce has to insist really hard on convincing him out of this mindset, and it never fully goes away. He keeps finding canned food that neither of them actually like, and eventually just donates it as soon as it's bought.

After the flying homos thing Jayce is just as bad with food. They end up getting a maid because things are getting dire.

After the whole alternative timeline thing, Jayce sucks at putting up boundaries. Yes, he's great at communicating, but doesn't necessarily excel in *putting up* something to communicate about. A lot of times, Viktor finds himself pushing too much with little to no repercussion, because Jayce would rather have an uncomfortable day with Viktor than a day alone.

This bleeds into a period of frustration for Viktor. He doesn't want to leave his boyfriend alone, but doesn't know when to stop or what is allowed. He finds Jayce to be much more malleable and kind of misses his headstrong attitude.

Jayce is VERY starved of any kind of affection and ready to bend and break for whatever Viktor wants. This is a common trauma response, and Viktor is relieved when he learns this because it means that he can help his boyfriend. He pours himself into the study of the fractured psyche and how to help it.

On the other hand, Viktor is living in a constant state of guilt. Pur guilt. Remorse and shame and embarrassment and disappointment. This manifests in him completely isolating himself when he gets overwhelmed, sometimes lashing out at Jayce in a way to try and "protect him" by "making him see how bad of a person he is" which... just ends up in Jayce worriedly staring at the bedroom door and wondering if Viktor will ever open it, or if this is just another hallucination and he's still on that cave.

They both recognize that the other needs professional help. Refuse to get for themselves. End up going to couples therapy after a fight in which Viktor looked himself up and Jayce had a panic attack when he started trying to talk to him and Viktor wouldn't answer. Then Viktor came out and saw Jayce wailing on the floor, and he felt so guilty that he considered just taking out and leaving so Jayce would never have to suffer like this for him again.

Yeah this is the author's thinly veiled desire for angst. What about it.

Jayce got used to being alone for so long that he now will sometimes forget that cleaning up is A Thing and just... doesn't do it. This is like a very brief thing because Ximena's spirit screams in his ear every time he doesn't do smth.

Viktor is horribly negligent with his own health and gets deeply irritated when Jayce tries to help. This is worse after the whole "I'm god" thing because he KNOWS now how it felt, to live without that burden. He never takes it out on Jayce (consciously) but his facial expressions are sooo obvious.

Sometimes Jayce says stuff about Zaun that makes Viktor consider becoming a widow by his own hand. Then he calmly leaves the room to come back with a glass of cold water to explain things to him

They both get Very Caught Up in their work. They actually made a rule of no more than 48 hours without sleep in the lab for the very reason that they would genuinely consider punching each other square on the mouth. Before ANY of you come at me "Oh Jayce would never-" I need you all to know that any college kid would. Give me them on finals week and I ASSURE you they're choking the living lights out of each other.

Like Jayce is trying SO hard to be kind and Viktor goes "Not so very bright, Gold Boy" under his breath and Jayce wonders how funny it would be to jump right now to make him feel bad

Yeah I think they should get to be kinda mean. Have I ever mentioned that I grew up shipping Vikjayce because my older brother played lol and gave me a lot of access to his free time. This is very machine herald/defender of tomorrow inspired so if you're squirmy about that dynamic maybe stop here.

Viktor tends to joke about taking himself out of life way too much for it to be funny. Not only to Jayce, mind you. 'I guess I should've jumped when I could've hahaha" because his favorite cafe is closed. He makes a lot of people uncomfortable with his humor in general, but Jayce finds it kind of comforting, to have someone who is so blunt with him.

Jayce goes "...maybe I should just disappear" when he really wants to manipulate someone OR is really tired. Sorry he needs to have his moments too you're telling Me Puppy Eyes has NEVER tried this tactic, even if disguised as a joke? Yeah no college changed him I know

He tried this once (1) with Viktor. Got out freaked. "If you do this I'm killing myself" "Okay. I'm jumping after you do. Yeah I will. Oh? Yeah? Suddenly quiet? That's what I thought. Pussy."

Jayce bites his nails until they bleed. Viktor always outs band-aids over the wounds and kisses each of his fingers while scolding him lightly.

If on the edge of any high place, they tend to stare down, wondering. Entranced. One time, they were doing this on the roof of a random hospital and touched each other's hand. They never say it out loud, but they thought about jumping together as soon as they did.

They both avoid confrontation like HELL after the glowing gays situation. Again, Mr Needy and Mr Guilty walk into a tense room with nothing but a bleeding and broken heart in hand. Knock, knock. Wait. I forgot the punchline.

Viktor sleeps with LOUD earphones. Going deaf early probs.

Viktor is always itching for a smoke. Yes he knows his lungs are dying leave him ALONE, Jayce.

Jayce has a slight problem with alcohol. Slight. He swears.

They can never agree on what movie to watch and end up with documentaries about some obscure discovery they both enjoy.

Jayce can never truly fully trust Viktor again, not when it comes to taking care of himself/others. He's always so scared of Viktor going down the same path. He does trust Viktor more than literally anyone else! Just... Not fully. He never says it. Viktor still knows. He doesn't blame him for it.

Similarly, Viktor tends to doubt Jayce's social decisions. He remembers how easily Jayce was swayed away. It isn't fair, to hold him to something he did when he was 20-someting and hopeful. He still does. He keeps this to himself. Jayce thinks his husband is just jealous.

He's right. Viktor is SUPER jealous All The Time. His husband is hot, kind, smart and emotionally competent. He already almost lost him once, he's NOT taking that risk again.

Jayce is actually also really jealous. He spent weeks, if not months, if not years completely alone thinking that everyone he knew and loved was dead (and kinda right). He's extremely caring, to the point of being overbearing.

This is actually a problem aside from his relationship with Viktor. Cait has to constantly tell him to leave her alone because he's being pushy with her.

Can he help it? She was dead. One day he woke up and she was dead, and everyone else was, too, and he was alone and cold and scared, and, Sprout, can he help it? That he wants to know where she is, what she's doing, how she's doing? Can he help it?

Vi and Jayce tend to enable each other's drinking problems by accident. They actually start going to AA together. Eventually. In like a decade.

Viktor will simply Not Speak to people he doesn't like. Which is, like, a lot, since he now knows the mind and inner thoughts of literally anyone.

Jayce puts on so much fucking perfume that sometimes Viktor feels like he's still in the fissures.

They very rarely get into screaming matches - even when they fight, it's usually in a controlled tone of voice - but when they do, they are SCREAMING at each other. It usually ends up with one or both crying.

They consider breaking up for each other's benefit, like, thrice a week, for at least a year after the Yaoi Jesus Incident. In the end, they're too selfish to try and live without the other, so they never bring it up.

Viktor constantly eats raw things. Which prompts a PowerPoint presentation of salmonella and its dangers. Jayce can't stand anything raw (except for, well, bedroom activities) after his dark souls plot. He WILL hyperventilate if the chicken is mildly soggy.

When drunk, Viktor will start insulting everyone. Jayce starts looking for a fight.

Jayce has tried to stop fights by making it sexy. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it just makes Viktor feel irritated at being treated "like a sex-blinded dog"

Holds the other to standards they definitely don't apply for themselves. "You should take a bath. You smell" "You've been in the lab for a day straight. I smell, you stink" "That's different"

They love each other more than themselves, despite everything. Which is, arguably, the worst thing on this list.

Idk guys I'm sleepy but... Angst... Hurting... So human yet literal deities...

Also why are people acting like vikjayce post butterfly stars would be cute together and live happily ever after. Jayce is Mr PTSD now and idk what you would even begin to diagnose Viktor as after allat. I would be surprised if they manage to go a week together without snapping at each other. So many feelings and a clear target... Yeah

[broidobe]

𝔯𝔲𝔡𝔢

requested! thank ya!

☾90s axl is cold with a quiet, shy reader he’s drawn to, but after being cruel to her one day, he makes her cry and apologizes, showing a softer side as he comforts her☽

☾warnings: emotional abuse, verbal aggression, alcohol use☽

⁎⁺˳✧༚guns and roses masterlist

you don’t understand why he’s like this, why he acts so hot and cold with you. most days, it’s like he can’t decide whether he wants to be a total jerk or just leave you alone altogether. he doesn’t let you in—doesn’t let anyone in—but something about you makes him keep you close. you’re different, and he knows it. your quietness, your softness... it’s not something he’s used to, but he’s drawn to it, in a way he’s never been before.

most days, he’ll snap at you for no reason. a rude comment here, a sharp word there. it’s like he’s testing you, trying to get you to react, to show him something. you never do. you just take it, because you don’t know how else to be. you’re not like the others, the ones who fight back or laugh it off. you stay quiet, always, like you’re not sure how to exist in this chaos that surrounds him.

and he hates it. he hates that you won’t push him back. but more than that, he hates that you never seem to care. you’re different, and he can’t figure you out.

then, one day, it all snaps.

he's drunk—too drunk, as usual—and you’re sitting there, just trying to get through another tour night. you’re tired, and the tension in the air is unbearable. you’ve been quiet for too long, and axl notices. he leans in, his words slurred, his breath too close to your face.

“why are you always so damn quiet?” his tone is harsh, cutting, like he’s trying to provoke something. anything. “what’s wrong with you? you think you’re better than us?”

you flinch, the sting of his words settling in your chest. but you don’t say anything. you never do.

"god, you're such a fucking ghost," he mutters, his eyes narrowing in frustration. “don’t you ever get pissed off, huh? do something.”

you can feel your heart race, your breath catching in your throat. it's too much. the insults, the coldness—it’s too much to take today. finally, a tear slips down your cheek, and before you can stop it, another one follows.

he stops, his expression shifting from anger to something softer, something like guilt, but it’s only for a second.

“shit," he murmurs under his breath, taking a step back. he runs a hand through his messy hair, looking at you like he’s just realized what he’s done.

you can’t control it anymore. you cry. the tears are hot, embarrassing, but you can’t hold them in. not anymore.

he sighs heavily, cursing under his breath. you don’t look at him, don’t even dare to. you just keep crying, the soft sobs shaking your shoulders.

then, before you even realize what’s happening, he’s there. axl. standing in front of you.

he doesn’t know what to say. he’s not good with this—he never has been. but he wraps his arms around you, holding you tight, pressing his face into your hair.

“i’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice low and rough. “fuck, i didn’t mean to…”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand trembling slightly as he wipes away a tear from your cheek. his usual arrogance is gone, replaced with something raw.

“i’m an asshole. i know that. but... don’t cry, okay? please.”

his words are soft, genuine for the first time in a long time. he doesn’t want to hurt you. not really.

you nod, sniffling, still not sure what to make of this sudden shift. but you don’t pull away. you can’t. not when he’s holding you like this, like you actually matter.

[shannonsketches]

Why is the anime so weird, it's not even the same series dude?? It's like,

Anime:

GOKU: I have a great idea to bring peace to the universe, and my leadership and compassion alone will unite us all. I have No Flaws and am A True Relatable Everyman :)

VEGETA: NO! I AM THE BEST AND I WILL CAUSE PROBLEMS UNTIL I AM RECOGNIZED AS SUCH!!!!

Manga:

GOKU: Vegeta what's cornmeal made of? I know it's what the corn eats, but what's it made of? VEGETA: Hey Kakarot let's play the quiet game until one of us dies.

[genericpuff]

vent post

[xxplastic-cubexx]

do u think either charles or erik had trouble coming to terms with their love for one another?? like religious guilt, internalized homophobia, etc.

Many such cases really … not hard to imagine them dealin with that …

[zerodaryls]

it's so funny (read: sad) that if bigoted fuckheads didn't insist i was a woman simply by virtue of my body at birth, i'd probably be chill with she/her pronouns in addition to he/they. if my mom didn't insist i was her daughter, i'd probably let her call me that, and we could still have a relationship.

i'm nonbinary and 'gendered' words are hypothetically meaningless, but because there are so many people who are more interested in telling me who i am rather than lovingly and curiously letting me express my own sense of self, those words carry trauma.

there's no reason a nonbinary person like myself can't be a son and a child and a daughter. there's no reason a nonbinary person like me can't go by he, they, and she.

'she' is not a slur. 'daughter' is not derogatory. 'beautiful' 'pretty' 'gorgeous' 'feminine' are not insults.

to the contrary, they're parts of language that express certain facets of a multi-faceted human existence, like mine.

and i have this sad, mournful feeling that if it weren't for unloving, condescending people, i'd probably be down to be called any of those things alongside my usual masculine/neutral terminology.

but i'd rather die than let anyone tell me what i have to be called.

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 9 part 3

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3])

the river flowing. mushrooms and lichens growing from a fallen tree. nicky's other mom is always with them.

agatha clearly loves teaching nicky all she knows about magic, because she is a teacher at heart! and he's literally the first person she gets to pass her knowledge on to, she's relishing every minute of it.

meanwhile poor nicky is just hungry. because the fucker makes him live in the woods.

and I guess she finds it easier to be honest when it's about explaining how magic works.

oh no the way they're whispering is so cute??? and she'll keep calling it her purple long after nicky's death.

and this has been pointed out many times, but when nicky smiles you're sure reminded of how they went out of their way to find a kid who looked like aubrey plaza too

another thing that has been pointed out ad nauseam and it will be repeated again, because it's so good: I cannot heal you, like jen would. I cannot protect you, like alice would. and I cannot divine, like lilia would.

could a real coven have healed nicky, protected him, saved him from his fate? did she kill him sooner than necessary by keeping him cold and starving in the woods? agatha will never know, because despite all her love, she put her own fear over his safety. maybe nicky would have died anyway, but it's still cruel and unfair that he had to spend the little time he had on earth in such a lonely way.

agatha, despite all the mind tricks she plays on herself and on others, is simply too smart to not see that what she's doing is selfish, harmful to nicky, and ultimately futile. this is why she'd rather blame rio, and it's why she can't go to nicky in the afterlife: she can't face her own guilt.

(also, she's afraid she'll find a version of him that can now understand what she did and will hate her for it.) (and I imagine that a grown up nicholas would have had a hard time coming to terms with his childhood too.)

and still. and still. this whole mess of a person doing a terrible job at raising her son? she's also the daughter of an abusive mother who is trying to be better, she is trying to give him what she never had - love, support, knowledge. her selfish choices don't negate all the love and joy she gave him too.

and on top of everything else, nicky is about to freaking die! in modern times we'd say he has a terminal illness, she doesn't know how much time she has left with him. that is an impossible lot to navigate, especially for a person alone and carrying with her so much baggage and trauma and unhealthy coping mechanisms. keeping nicky so isolated is the only way she feels like she has an illusion of control over the inevitable.

agatha is not only denying nicky a coven, she's denying herself a community that would have helped her carry this burden, that would have taught and encouraged her to do better, that would have ultimately shared her pain in mourning. isn't that another tragedy within the tragedy? knowing what could have been?

agatha teaches him magic, even though he doesn't have any. maybe he was still too young, maybe he really was just a regular kid. still, she teaches him.

NOT THE DANDELION. i'm about to bite my screen in anguish

sure, sure, the time has come to go. I'm fine, I'm totally fine.

aaaaaand some more scamming!!!

agatha the ham is one of my favorite agathas. but wait, I'll make you sad again now! they're doing this shit because they don't have any money to eat. and nicky is clearly sick, and agatha is still making him do it. because they don't have any money to eat.

meanwhile witches everywhere are getting curious about the Ballad. (doesn't she look a bit like sadie sink?)

for the THIRD TIME a witch notices nicky coughing / how sick he is and offers her coven's help.

nicky looks agatha straight in the eyes and refuses to lure witches to their deaths. he stands up for himself. he disobeys.

and yes, the obvious double meaning: my other mother needs me home.

agatha forgets all her scheming and runs after him in a panic. she is losing control over him. she is losing him.

go to episode 9 part 4

[edwinisms]

I know how it sounds at first, but I really gotta feel bad for the boys that sacrificed edwin; I mean even the term “sacrificed edwin” paints them in a more sinister light than they really deserve– considering that wasn’t really, actually their intention.

they were bullies, they were homophobic (and/or were self loathing gay boys themselves taking it out on edwin, or were equally likely peer pressured into acting a certain way), they planned something stupid and mean to do to an innocent, anxious boy with the goal of scaring the shit out of him, all because he was effeminate and an easy target. but they didn’t know or expect any of the ritual stuff to be real. they were all laughing and joking during the ritual because it was just that to them– a joke. a cruel joke, but a joke.

teenagers can be mean and stupid and they usually regret it as adults and grow out of it / grow from it. they were stifled the chance to grow out of it, at least while alive. none of those boys deserved to be instakilled and sent to hell; they’re really not that much less deserving than edwin himself. they were all just kids, after all.

[good-beanswrites]

And a sort of alternate version for the last Fuuta/cry prompt, from a normal au that lives in my brain -- some hurt/comfort with Mappi :')

Mahiru hummed as she stirred. The apartment was filled with the wonderful aroma of her cooking. A door around the corner clicked. Perfect timing, she thought with a smile.

She hadn’t been sure Fuuta would wake up in time for dinner. He’d been out cold ever since she picked him up from his dorm room. Well, he’d probably recount it as kidnapping, since he was in no state to actually agree to come along. But that was the very reason she’d dragged his weak form out of there – no one at the school had noticed that calls stopped going through to him, or that his social media pages all vanished overnight, or that he’d stopped attending classes. When Mahiru finally made her way to his dark, trash-piled room, she discovered him with a 39 degree fever and rambling frantically about death. She needed to take matters into her own hands.

And that’s exactly what she did. Fuuta could hardly keep food down, after his diet of instant meals, energy drinks, and painkillers (if the discarded containers around his room were any clue), so she replaced them with homemade soups and teas. She traded his rumpled bed for her own, which was sweet-scented and well-lit. Mikoto had even helped with a change of pajamas for him. 

Mahiru had taken the liberty of calling Fuuta’s sister to let her know the situation, though it was difficult to find her information without Fuuta’s phone. She couldn’t find it anywhere in his dorm. She’d also given Shidou a call, and he’d stopped by the first day to check in. He said Fuuta should be more coherent by day three, at least.

Mahiru could always count on him for reliable information. Sure enough, soft steps approached from behind. 

“Good to see you, sleepyhead~” She smiled over her shoulder. Though in a better state than when she found him, Fuuta was still a bit of a mess. He looked pale and thin in Mikoto’s clothes, which were already big on him. His eyes were bleary. Strands of bright hair stuck out at all angles. His expression was dull, taking in the cozy apartment. 

“Mahiru made your favorite for dinner! I bet you’re hungry.”

“I… don’t want it… ” His expression was uncharacteristically blank. 

Mahiru giggled; he must be really tired to be denying food. “Oh, of course you do!”

“No, you… you don’t understand…” 

“Come take a seat, it’s ready now.”

He took a step forward. “Mahiru…”

“You should be more careful, Fuuta-kun! Next time you come down with something, you should really let somebody know. It’s a miracle I came and found you in time, hm?”

She spun to set things on the table. The pride in her masterpiece faded away as his expression twisted up. His hands drifted up shakily to his face, and he started to sob. 

“Fuuta-kun!”

Mahiru hurried to him. His knees gave out as she wrapped her arms around him. He leaned down into her, his breath hitching and hiccupping as he tried to tell her something. “You shouldn’t… if you knew what I… I…” 

“Shhh, hey. Shhh...”

After a moment of broken phrases and body-wracking sobs, he regained his balance and pulled away from her. There was a look in his eyes Mahiru had seen in the last few days, when he was trying to talk through his delirium. She’d chalked it up to feverishness, but she now saw that this raw, revolted horror was something real. 

“I fucked up.”

The simple sentence sent him into a fresh wave of panic. He tried to step backwards and hide his face away, but she tugged his sleeve backward. Normally she wouldn’t be able to forcibly move him anywhere, but for the second time, he was too weak to stop her.

“Just breathe,” she said. “You can tell me.”

Mahiru had known Fuuta for long enough to hear the range of his voice – the excited chatter, the snarky muttering, the grating yelling. In all that time, she’d never once heard him sound like this. His words cracked and wobbled. Sometimes it was so hushed that Mahiru had to press her ear closer just to understand.

And by the time he finished, she understood why.

“I didn’t know,” he kept repeating. “I’d never h-have done it if… if…”

“It’s okay,” was all Mahiru could repeat in turn, through her own tears. It wasn’t quite the truth, but it wasn’t a lie, either. It was what Fuuta needed to hear, and that’s all that mattered.

“I just want to take it back… but there’s no way… What am I – what am I supposed to do?” 

“We’ll figure it out, alright? It’ll be okay.” She guided him around. “Let’s get you back to bed, okay? I’ll bring the food in to you.”

He paused. His teary eyes studied her in bewilderment. “W-why?”

“Eh? Well how else are you supposed to eat from there…?”

“No, I mean,” he swallowed hard. “Why would you do that? You… you don’t hate me…?” 

“Oh, Fuuta-kun.”

She wrapped her arms around him again. This time, he willingly returned the gesture. He grabbed onto her for dear life, and Mahiru was suddenly struck with just how much of a miracle it really had been, that she’d found him in the state he was. 

She held him close, one palm spread on his back, the other twisted through his hair. 

“Not at all. Now, let me feed you something, okay?”

“... Okay.”