#Just filled with betrayal and grief

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Is it truly new year's eve if you don't feel like consuming several class B and C substances when you think back to the year you just had?

[the--days]

so it's like this.

you're young and you're scared and you're trapped in the feywild (happens to the best of us) with the love of your life. You're a half-elf and she's a fullblooded elf but you don't think about it very much because you're barely surviving day to day. And you get offered a deal to get yourself home again, and you take it. And the price of your freedom is that you leave her still trapped there, alone.

And then five years pass. And you age a century in that time, and you grow, and you change, and you find her again, and you're still in love, and you meet people, and you lose people, and you love them too, and you learn, and you start wanting a future again, and caring again, taking care of yourself, taking care of other people--

and after all of that, at the end of things, you find out the man responsible for all of the misery in your short, sad life has cast a spell which gives him complete control and ownership of you- mind, body, and soul (again. this happens to the best of us). And you are given the choice to stay under his thrall, and live a thousand years-- or to age and die, like humans do, and to be free of him.

And the love of your life is there, and you're married now, and she's still a full blooded elf, and you're still a half-elf, and you think about what that means a lot more than you used to.

And still, after everything you've learned-- you choose your freedom. You choose leaving her behind.

[raddest-laddest]

imagine being an artist, writing a song with intention and purpose, pouring your heart and soul into it, and singing it out for the whole world to hear

just for some kid on the internet to find it and make it about their Tragedy Blorbos

…anyways, listen to this

[spiltcandycoatedpunkblood]

i forgot how much abandonment and loneliness has affected me and then i watch doctor who videos where the doctor talks about losing people and getting tired and losing his mind and then i'm reminded of the fresh trauma of the last few years and then i want to fucking sob my eyes out

[breesperez139]

Dc x Dp Prompt #6

“I’m a twin”, Damian said one night. He could feel the narrowed eyes of his family drilling holes on his back in disbelief. Not that he could blame them. Damian had never so much as implied being raised with a companion, much less a sibling.

“I had a brother”. Damian paused to recollect himself. He had not said his brother’s name out loud in over 8 years.

“His name was… Danyal”. Damian hated the way his voice wavered, but he could not help it. Danyal was everything to him, his other half. Their heart beat as one and when one heart stopped beating, the other one died with it. At least until his family put his heart on metaphorical life support without ever realizing.

“Where is he now?” His father asked, voice filled with knowing grief and a hint of betrayal. It had in fact been 6 years since Damian first showed up on his doorstep.

“Up there”. All eyes shifted towards the specific star he was pointing to. “Right before he died, he promised me he’d guide me from the stars. Unfortunately, the stars are not visible in Gotham, so my brother is unable to be of much help unless I leave the city.”

“Your brother is Polaris, the North Star?” Tim questioned warily, most likely in attempts to not offend him. Damian was aware of how stupid it sounded, but Danyal had promised, and his brother never broke his promises.

“Yes. Danyal is with the stars now, just as he always wanted”

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

Breaking the cycle

Warning ⚠️; Grief, quick mention of child abuse, trauma, angst, past character death, let me be delusional. Spoils for Arcane all seasons.

Pairing: Silco/Male!Reader, Jinx & Male!Reader (Father Figure)

Summary; you were angry and hurt after the death of Silco, your lover and partner, by the hands of your adopted daughter Jinx. So you just walked away, needing time to heal. But how could a father stay away when his daughter needs him?

~~~~~~~~

You never imagined a life without Silco in it. From your time in the mine to now, he has always been there. Either by your side, in your shadow or his name being on someone’s lips. You couldn't recall a time without him except when you were a kid.

He had always gotten your back and you his. You had stopped counting the times you took care of his injuries or how many times Silco stitched you up. You almost lost him, still having nightmares about it even after his death.

You remembered how bloody and raw his face had been. You thought he was done for, but he had lived. Lived and with you had taken care of that ankle biter. Jinx had been a daughter to you the second you were introduced to her as you saw so much of yourself in her. She was a bundle of joy to you.

But now she was the reason of your greatest pain.

As Silco once said “Is there anything so undoing as a daughter?” and the answer was no. No there wasn't. For he had died by the hand of your own daughter.

You remembered screaming at the sight of Silco’s dead body as your heart and soul broke. His skin had been so cold when you cradled him in your arms, rocking and trying to wake up from that nightmare. Jinx had been crying, begging for forgiveness.

But you only felt anger and betrayal toward her. How could she after everything Silco had done and sacrificed for her? She was your only child and in a tantrum, she killed the only person who ever truly loved you.

How could you forgive her?

You had left, needing space away from her. Away from everything so you could heal and accept the reality. Easier said than done. Each morning you wake up cold in an empty bed, in a place filled with silence. Gone is the smell of cigars, makeup and coffee during the morning and it leaves a deeper hole in your heart.

The worst are the dreams and nightmares. The nightmares haunt you with the memories of the past of the mistakes you made. The dream teases you with a reality that isn't yours anymore. Like waking up next to Silco, being able to touch his face once more or kiss him one more time.

Either way, you always wake up crying, breaking more with each passing night.

Before you knew it, months had passed. You kept an ear out, listening to the news. Jinx was still being herself, but the tensions also grew. Even in your hole, you could feel it. It was a question of time before a single act blew everything up and conflict would turn into a bloody mess.

When you came back to your senses, grief still clouding your mind, you felt ashamed. You had turned your back on Jinx when she too was hurt by her own actions. You didn't know what to do, how to approach her and ask for forgiveness.

You wrote letter after letter, throwing away each one of them, disliking them. You couldn't find the right words until you stopped trying. You tried to explain to her how you felt, that you didn't hate her and forgave her just like Silco would have. You asked for her forgiveness for how you just treated her, knowing damn well you didn't deserve it.

After sending it, there was no answer.

Through the great vines, you learn that Jinx had taken a little girl under her arm. A child she had named Isha. Isha, what a sweet name you thought the first time you heard it. Jinx was still the kindhearted girl you remembered her to be and you were glad she had someone by her side even if it was a mute child.

Staying in the shadows, you watched over her. She seemed happy with that little girl, a spark coming back in her eyes. It was clear Jinx saw the kid as her sister, but that child saw her as more than that.

Jinx never noticed you, but Isha did. She came to you a few times and you always gave her a little something. Food, toys and even her own little gun once. Her smile reminded you of Jinx’s when she was little before Vi left. Maybe that was why Jinx kept her around, because Isha was just like her and she knew how to take care of the little girl.

You had wished to take your time coming back into Jinx’s life, but things took a wrong turn and you were forced to act quickly. The battle against Warwick took you by surprise, more than it should have. Why you didn't see it coming, you didn't know, but you showed up.

How couldn't you when your daughter was there, risking her life? But you didn't see her. Didn't see either her hair or heard her voice and you feared you had been too late. That she had died before you could ask for her forgiveness.

Then you heard her scream and just ran.

You saw a little flash of blue as Jinx screamed Isha’s name. The child looked at you as she passed you, running, a gun in her hands. Your blood turned to ice as you immediately knew what she was going to do.

You turned on your heels and followed after her. You were an adult, taller and larger than Isha and, more importantly, slower. But you managed to make your way through the battle and reach her as Isha raised her weapon. You snatched the damn thing from her and threw it in the air. Before it fell back down you took Isha in your arms and booked it.

Your legs and lungs hurt as you ran away, little hands grabbing your clothes. You gasped when the explosion happened, the blow hitting you in the back. You wrapped your arms around the child, trying to shield Isha as much as you could. Your body hit the ground with a loud thud and you felt your shoulder give up, dislocation.

Dust filled your mouth and nose, making you cough and sneeze. But so did Isha.

You opened your eyes, grimacing with pain before looking down. The kid was crying, her little hands rubbing her face. You sighed in relief seeing her unarmed. Unlike you. But you didn't care.

You slowly sat down hearing running footsteps coming towards you. You sat the kid on your lap still making sure she really wasn't hurt. Your shoulder was killing you, but you ignored the pain when Isha smiled at you before hugging you.

- “ISHA!” Jinx’s scream surprised you and you both looked in her direction.

Jinx was running toward you, her long braids bouncing all around the place. Tears rolled down her eyes you saw as she fell onto her knees next to you. You never got the chance to talk, your daughter wrapping her arms around you and Isha before she broke down crying.

You embraced her, letting her melt and snuggle against you. You weren't better as you began to cry as well, asking for her forgiveness. Jinx just nodded, whispering that you had nothing to be sorry about.

You closed your eyes, just wanting to savour the moment, but the next thing you knew darkness actually swallowed you up. You woke up on a comfortable bed, a small ball of heat pressed against your side. Groaning, you looked at what it was only to find Isha sleeping next to you. Her helmet had fallen from her head to the floor, but her hand still grabbed onto you. Little snores left her mouth and you smiled, passing a hand in her hair.

- “You are awake.” Jinx's voice almost scared the shit out of you and you froze, looking to the side.

Your daughter looked tired, like she hadn't slept in days. Maybe it was the case since you didn't know how long you were out. There was sadness and fear in her eyes as her gaze shifted to Isha. The sweet thing was unbothered.

- “Yeah. I guess I am.” You whispered, slowly blinking. “Jinx, sweety I…”

- “Don’t. Don’t say you are sorry. You have no reason to be, I understand. I got your letters I… just never knew what to reply and where to send them.” She cut you off, her fingers pinching the skin around her nails. “Thanks for saving Isha. I… I don't know…”

Tears filled her eyes and you offered her your hand. Jinx took it and you squeezed her delicate hand in your. You knew what she meant as you felt the same. Losing Silco had been painful, the worst pain you ever felt, but the thought of Jinx dying? Of losing your daughter to the cold embrace of death?

Oh, that sort of pain was unbearable. You wouldn't be able to keep living in a world without her.

- “I know princess, I know. That is why I was there, for you. I didn't want to lose you like that, not before asking for your forgiveness. I never should have left. I abandoned you when you needed me the most and I'll never forgive myself.” You said, voice low as to not wake up the kid.

Jinx dried her eyes before almost jumping into the bed. She dropped on your other side, arms around you as she buried her face in your unhurt shoulder. You grimaced a bit, body still sore, but wrapped your arm around her.

- “You are my daughter and you'll aways be. Nothing will change that, Jinx, okay?” You whispered in her hair as she nodded.

- “You scared me. When you lost consciousness I thought you just dropped dead. I thought… I thought I had lost you again.”

Her voice shivered as she fought back her tears. You closed your eyes, kissing her head. You didn't want to think about it. You weren't scare to die, but you also didn't want to leave Jinx alone with a child in her charge.

- “I’m sorry. I never meant to scare you so much.” You said, stroking her hair.

- “That's a lot of sorry…” She whispered and you snorted.

- “Yeah, I have a lot to be sorry about… What about the kid? How’s Isha doing?” You asked, turning your attention toward the sleeping girl.

- “Hadn't left your side ever since we got you here. She helped me take care of your wounds and your shoulder. I don't think she like the sound of dislocated shoulders.”

- “You didn't either at her age.”

She laughed and you smiled.

- “Dad… are you…” She mumbled, unable to fully ask her question but you knew what it was.

- “I am not going anywhere. I came back home, I came back for you and Isha.” You replied and Jinx relaxed against you as if you had taken the weight of the world off her shoulders. “But the kid is still your responsibility. You took her in, you are raising her.”

- “Too young to be a mom!” She whined and you chuckled.

- “Then be a big sister to her. Like I said, I ain't leaving you alone. We will manage. After all, me and Silco raised you well enough. I bet I can do it again.”

Jinx had tensed when you mentioned Silco but quickly relaxed again. She nodded and wrapped her arms tighter around you.

- “Sleep. You need it as much as I do.” You whispered and Jinx denied it.

Yet, it wasn't long until your daughter was fast asleep against you. You looked down at her, admiring the woman she was becoming. You were glad you had managed to save Isha, not liking the idea of her death destroying Jinx. She had lost so much, losing that kid would have been the last straw.

You fell asleep soon as well, wondering if Silco was watching over your little family from the other side. You felt a wave of sadness at the though of Isha never knowing Silco but chased the thought away.

Even if he was dead, you weren’t and you would make sure to share memories of him and Jinx’s childhood with Isha.

You fell asleep with a smile on your lips being finally back home.

[thesecondhandwoman]

ISHA’S DEATH

Sevika x f!reader

Synopsis: Sevika is devastated after learning that Isha, the young girl Jinx had found and whom Sevika had grown close to, died sacrificing herself to protect Jinx during a violent incident. Stricken with guilt and grief, Sevika crumbles, unable to cope with the loss, especially since she wasn’t there when it happened. In a rare moment of vulnerability, Sevika falls apart in your arms, desperately needing comfort.

The news came like a thunderstorm on a clear day.

Sevika had always been the one who was prepared for anything, the one who could take on a hundred enemies without flinching, the one who could shoulder any burden, no matter how heavy. But this news—this thing—was different. It wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t a betrayal. It wasn’t something that could be punched out of existence.

It was a loss. A cruel, senseless loss.

Isha. The little girl Jinx had found when she was barely more than a whisper of herself, a non-verbal, rebellious spark of defiance that had found a home in the chaos of the world they lived in. Isha, the one Sevika had grown attached to, who had wormed her way into her heart with her unspoken resilience and her quiet, yet unwavering loyalty.

And now she was gone.

Sevika stood at the doorway, her broad frame framed by the dim light outside, looking like she had just been struck by a physical blow. Her eyes were wide, unseeing, staring at the floor as if it could give her the answers she needed. Her normally composed expression was gone, replaced by something raw, something wild, as if she was trying to process the unthinkable.

You had heard the whispers long before she walked through the door—gossip, rumors, half-truths—but you had hoped, prayed that it wasn’t true. That Isha was still out there, laughing her silent laugh, running circles around Jinx as they always did.

But when Sevika had stepped into the apartment, her face a mask of disbelief, you knew.

You knew that the storm was finally here.

“Sevika…” you whispered, your voice a tentative thread of concern. You had never seen her like this.

Sevika didn’t answer, and you knew she wouldn’t. She wasn’t the type to speak when words could never be enough. You approached her slowly, your heart pounding, unsure of what to do, how to comfort her when the hurt was so vast, so endless.

Her eyes met yours, and you felt your breath catch in your throat. They were empty. There was no fire in them, no hardness, no walls. Only a hollow, vast emptiness that swallowed everything in its path.

“Isha’s dead,” Sevika rasped, her voice thick, hoarse, and cracking. “She… she died saving Jinx. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there… and she’s dead.”

The words didn’t feel real, not in the way they should. Isha was a kid, a girl who had barely started her life, a girl who’d found something like family in the wreckage of their broken world.

The details were hazy, but you had heard enough—an accident. A violent break-out. A sacrifice.

She had stepped in front of Jinx.

You felt the ground beneath you tilt. Isha had always been so quiet, so protective in her own way, but you hadn’t thought of her being so… brave. To protect someone with her life, someone who meant everything to her… to her family. You knew how much Sevika had cared for Isha—she had never said it aloud, but in the quiet moments, when Jinx was distracted or the others were fighting, Sevika had been the one to watch over the girl.

The one who tried to fill the space that had been left when everything had fallen apart.

You reached out instinctively, your hand brushing the sleeve of Sevika’s jacket, but she flinched away as if your touch was too much, too soon. It was like she couldn’t breathe, like the air had thickened and pressed against her chest.

“I wasn’t there,” she repeated, this time with more anguish, her voice cracking under the weight of guilt and helplessness. “I wasn’t there. I should’ve been there. I should’ve—”

Her voice broke on the last word, and before you could stop her, Sevika dropped to her knees. You rushed to her side, your heart in your throat, but she was already shaking. Not violently, but with that quiet tremble that comes before something breaks.

“I should’ve been there,” Sevika whispered again, almost to herself, her hands gripping the floor like she was trying to anchor herself to something solid, something real. “I promised… I promised I’d protect her.”

You knelt beside her, your arms reaching out to her cautiously. You weren’t sure if she wanted comfort, if she wanted anything from you at all. But when she didn’t pull away, you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her into your chest, pressing her face to your neck, the warmth of her breath sending a chill through your body.

Her hands clenched at the fabric of your shirt, like she was trying to hold on to something that wasn’t slipping away. Her body trembled against yours, and the soft sobs that had been building inside her finally spilled out in a quiet, guttural sound.

“I couldn’t protect her,” Sevika gasped, her voice trembling with frustration and sorrow. “I wasn’t there when she needed me. I wasn’t there when she gave herself up. I couldn’t… I didn’t—”

You shushed her gently, running your fingers through her hair, pressing her closer to you. You knew the words wouldn’t heal the wound, not now, not with what had happened. But you also knew that she needed to feel something besides the crushing weight of guilt and helplessness.

“She knew you loved her, Sevika,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm. “She knew you would’ve been there if you could. She knew you would’ve died for her. She knew.”

Sevika’s sobs deepened, her body going limp against yours as she let go of the dam she had been holding inside. She clung to you like a lifeline, her tears soaking your neck, her breath ragged and uneven. She wasn’t just mourning Isha’s death. She was mourning her own inability to protect the one person who had needed her the most, who had trusted her the most.

“I failed her,” Sevika whispered through the tears. “I failed her like I failed everything. I failed them all.”

“No,” you said softly, your hand pressing against the back of her head, guiding her gently back to look at you. “No, you didn’t. You’ve been there for them, for Jinx, for everyone. You can’t save everyone, Sevika. Not all of them.”

The words felt empty, but you couldn’t find any better way to express the helplessness that had settled over you both. The truth was, there was no right way to console someone in the face of such loss. You couldn’t bring Isha back. You couldn’t undo the past.

But you could hold Sevika. You could hold her as she crumbled in your arms.

“I’m here,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the heartbreak you felt inside. “I’m here, Sevika. You’re not alone in this. You’re not alone.”

It wasn’t much, but it was all you had to give. And, in that moment, it had to be enough.

So, you stayed there with Sevika, cradling her in your arms as her sobs slowly began to taper off into quiet, exhausted whimpers. The weight of her grief still pressed down on her like a suffocating storm, but her tears had slowed, the brokenness of it all sinking deeper into her bones.

She didn’t speak anymore—just leaned into you, her breath shallow and uneven, her body trembling in your arms as if she couldn’t quite shake the agony of the moment.

There was no magic cure for the pain she felt. No comforting words that would ever be enough to erase the guilt and loss clawing at her heart. Isha was gone, and no amount of regret could bring her back.

Still, you kept holding her. One hand pressed against her back, the other running through her hair in slow, soothing strokes. It wasn’t much, but it was the only thing you could offer—your presence, your warmth, and the unwavering understanding that she didn’t have to shoulder this alone.

You could feel her exhaustion seeping through her, the weight of everything finally wearing her down, and slowly, very slowly, her body relaxed. The tense shuddering of her muscles eased, her sobs becoming faint little gasps. You shifted slightly, adjusting your position to support her more comfortably, but she didn’t pull away.

You kept your voice quiet, just barely a whisper, speaking into the quiet space between you both. “It’s okay to rest now, Sevika. You’ve been holding on for so long… it’s okay.”

Her only response was a small, broken exhale, and then, finally, her body went completely limp in your arms. She was still—completely still—and her breath became deeper, more regular, as if sleep had finally claimed her.

The tears had stopped, leaving only the softest trace of salt on your skin. You felt her weight, the heaviness of her heartbreak, resting on you as she slept. Her face was peaceful for the first time in what felt like forever, though the faintest shadow of pain still lingered in her features.

You didn’t want to move. You didn’t want to disturb her. Sevika, the fighter, the protector, was finally letting herself fall apart, and for the first time, she was allowing herself to be weak, to be human. The woman who could take on the world had crumbled into your arms, and though it tore your heart to pieces, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of tenderness toward her in that moment.

You stayed with her, as the hours passed, your body still aching from the grief you couldn’t fix. But as Sevika slept, the sound of her breath steadying in the crook of your neck, you realized something. She had needed this, even if she couldn’t admit it. Even if she hadn’t known she needed it. She had needed to break, needed to feel the comfort of being held in someone else’s arms, to know she didn’t have to be strong all the time.

And so, you stayed.

The night passed, and time seemed to lose meaning as you sat there, holding Sevika as she slept. Her heartbeat had slowed, her face now softened in sleep, and despite everything—the tragedy, the pain, the emptiness—you felt a quiet hope bloom inside you.

Tomorrow, you would help her heal. It wouldn’t happen quickly, and it wouldn’t be easy, but together, you would find a way to carry the weight of this loss.

For now, you just held her.

And in the stillness of the night, as the world outside seemed to hold its breath, you wished you could make the ache in her heart disappear. But for tonight, you could only be there, as she rested, utterly broken—but not alone.

[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; going back to the coven is anything but comforting. meanwhile, the pack finally face the truth, consumed by shame and grief as they finally grasp the depth of their betrayal—and what it’s cost them.

⚠️ warnings; none

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

The trip home stretched endlessly, the hum of magic-infused machinery barely masking the heavy silence that filled the car. You sat in the back seat next to your Mother, her gaze remained fixed out the window, unyielding and distant, while Cath Palug purred softly in her lap, seemingly impervious to the tension.

Up front, König drove in complete silence, his focus locked on the road. His stillness was matched by Sybil, who had climbed into the back with you, pressing herself against your side. Her warmth and steady breaths anchored you.

The landscape shifted as the car veered off the main road, winding deeper into the countryside. The town near the coven came into view, a picture of quiet prosperity nestled among the trees. Its flourishing streets and bustling community reflected your Mother’s fierce protection and the coven’s watchful eye. People paused as the sleek black car passed, bowing deeply or offering respectful nods. Despite your Mother’s cold and exacting nature, her loyalty and strength ensured the people's safety and growth.

The car rolled through the wrought iron gates of the estate, the sprawling grounds of the coven’s domain stretching out before you. The old English-style mansion rose ahead, a commanding presence surrounded by lush gardens and shadowed paths. Across the grounds, women in training moved purposefully, their whispered conversations halting when they caught sight of the car. They too bowed deeply, their expressions a mix of admiration and caution. Others, bolder, whispered amongst themselves, their gazes darting away when you glanced toward them through the window.

As the car slowed to a stop, your other mother emerged from the grand entrance, her wheelchair gliding forward with its graceful, hand-like appendages navigating the uneven stones effortlessly. Horangi walked steadily behind her, his presence as sharp and watchful as ever. At her side, her sleek, pitch-black Borzoi, Barghest, padded with a measured elegance.

Your Mom’s face lit up at the sight of you, though her eyes quickly darted to Sybil’s slight limp and the exhaustion etched into your features. Concern softened her expression, and her lips parted to speak, but her gaze shifted to your Mother first. She extended a hand, and your Mother leaned down, placing a tender kiss on her lips.

“I missed you,” your Mom murmured softly, her hand lingering on your Mother’s cheek.

Your Mother, though ever composed and aloof, allowed the faintest softening of her features. “As did I,” she replied, her voice low and steady.

Their connection, brief but undeniable, reminded you of the rare moments when their love shone through the icy expectations that so often consumed your Mother.

Turning her attention back to you, your Mom’s warm expression returned, though concern shadowed her gaze. “You look dreadful,” she said gently, her tone laced with worry. Her eyes flicking down to Sybil. “Not just tired. Injured. Both of you.”

Barghest tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing as she approached Sybil. There was a moment of stillness, a silent assessment passing between the two dogs. Then, the larger Borzoi lowered her head, greeting Sybil like a mother would her pup. Sybil, though hesitant at first, leaned into the touch, her tail giving a faint, tentative wag.

Your Mother remained silent, her cool poise unshaken, though you caught the faintest flicker of tension in her jaw—a rare tell. Without a word, she turned sharply on her heel, her movements precise and deliberate as if to shield any hint of unease. Cath Palug, ever her shadow, padded gracefully beside her, the flick of her tail echoed the unspoken dismissal left behind.

Your Mom sighed, shaking her head gently. “Inside. Now,” she said, her tone firm but kind.

König stepped out of the car without a word, his quiet efficiency undisturbed as he moved to the trunk. “I’ll handle everything,” he said, his voice low and steady. It was both a reassurance and a dismissal, leaving no room for argument as he began gathering your things.

Too drained to muster much else, you nodded faintly and followed your Mom’s gesture toward the house. Her wheelchair, its enchanted appendages moving with fluid precision, moved alongside you, the faint whir of magic lacing the air. Sybil kept close, her steps tentative as she walked beside you.

The familiar halls of the mansion unfolded around you, the heavy drapes and intricate carvings exuding an air of both history and expectation. The scent of aged wood and faint herbs lingered, familiar and oppressive.

In the sunlit sitting room, your Mom gestured for you to sit. “Horangi,” she said, her voice firm, “fetch tea and something to eat. They’ve been through enough already.”

Horangi hesitated for the briefest moment, his lips pressed into a thin line, but he turned on his heel and disappeared toward the kitchen without a word.

As you sank into the plush chair she indicated, Sybil curled at your feet, her head resting on your ankle. Barghest lingered near the doorway, before settling herself a short distance away, her gaze never straying far.

Your Mom clicked her tongue softly, a mix of concern and affection coloring her voice. “Put your feet up, darling,” she instructed gently, and with a graceful flick of her wrist, an ottoman slid effortlessly into place in front of you, gliding as if carried on an invisible current. “You’ve had a long enough journey, and I’m not having you sit there like some tensed-up statue.”

You hesitated for a moment, but her expectant gaze left no room for argument. Sighing, you shifted slightly and rested your feet on the plush surface, instantly feeling a sense of relief from the aching tension in your legs, especially your ankle. Sybil lifted her head slightly, her gaze flicking to your Mom with quiet, watchful curiosity.

“Good,” your Mom said, her tone softening further as she leaned forward, her sharp eyes sweeping over you with maternal precision. Her hands moved deftly as she checked your ankle, her touch light yet methodical. When she saw the faint marks left behind by your injuries, her lips pressed into a thin line, but her expression quickly morphed into one of quiet pride.

“These have already begun to heal,” she said, nodding approvingly. “Quick thinking, and your technique was flawless. If nothing else, I can see you took my lessons to heart.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her obvious gloating. “I didn’t have much choice,” you replied lightly. “It was that or worse.”

“That,” she said with a knowing smile, “is exactly what I taught you. You’ve made me proud, my darling. Even your binding work on these wounds is excellent, though it’s high time they were changed.”

With practiced ease, she removed the bandages, inspecting each mark carefully before conjuring a soft glow around her hands. The warmth of her magic soothed the lingering aches as she worked. Fresh bandages appeared at her side, summoned with a flick of her fingers, and she replaced the old ones with an efficiency that spoke to years of experience.

Satisfied with her work, she turned her attention to Sybil, who watched the proceedings with quiet patience. “Now, let’s see about you,” she murmured, crouching slightly as she reached out toward her.

Sybil tilted her head, her large, intelligent eyes locking onto your Mom’s. After a moment’s hesitation, she allowed the inspection. “Remarkable resilience,” she remarked, her voice tinged with admiration. “She’s a true reflection of her master’s skill. But even she needs rest.”

Barghest lifted her head slightly at the remark, her ears flicking forward as if to assess Sybil once more before settling back down again.

With Sybil’s examination complete, your Mom nodded in satisfaction. “There we are. Now, no arguments—you’ll have tea and something to eat before I let you do anything else.”

As if on cue, Horangi returned, carrying a tray laden with steaming tea, biscuits, and small plates of fruit. His expression was as cool as he set it down on the low table before you. “Tea,” he announced curtly.

“Thank you, Horangi,” your Mom said warmly, her tone cutting through his frostiness like sunlight through mist. “We’ll manage from here.”

You poured yourself a cup, the warm aroma calming your frayed nerves as you leaned back into the chair. Sybil sniffed at the tray, her nose twitching curiously as you passed her a small piece of biscuit. When Horangi offered her another, she snorted, turning her head with a pointedly disdainful flick of her tail.

Your Mom chuckled softly, shaking her head. “She’s as particular as her mistress.”

With the tea and bandages sorted, your Mom clapped her hands, signaling the end of your brief respite. Her gaze softened as it rested on you, though the warmth didn’t mask the firmness in her tone. “That’s enough for now, darling. Go to your room. It’s been prepared and left untouched since the day you left.”

The words landed with an unmistakable weight, unspoken tension crackling faintly in the air between you. For a moment, you considered saying something, but the words died on your tongue. Instead, you gave a curt nod, rising to your feet as Sybil stretched and followed close at your side. Barghest didn't move from her place, but you could feel her watching the two of you go.

The door opened before you could reach it, and there stood König, his towering presence filling the doorway. His gaze immediately dropped to you, scanning your face for any sign of distress . Still, he said nothing, but his intent was clear as he stepped aside, waiting to escort you.

“König,” you started, exhaling sharply, “I don’t need—”

“Upstairs,” he interrupted, his voice calm but firm. “Your room.”

You frowned but knew better than to argue further. He didn’t push; he simply waited, his quiet resolve enough to make you give in with a sigh. His hand hovered near your lower back, not touching but close enough to guide you as you left the sitting room.

The climb up the grand staircase was heavier than it should have been. As you ascended, the apprentices of the coven—a mix of young women in training and those tending to the estate—moved about their tasks. Some bowed their heads respectfully, their gazes averted as they murmured greetings. Others, less acquainted with you, whispered amongst themselves, their curiosity poorly hidden.

“Is that her?” one murmured, her voice barely audible but sharp enough to reach your ears. “The young lady who ran away?”

“She is,” another replied, her tone hushed with a mix of awe and skepticism. “The heir.”

The words pricked at your composure, but you forced your expression to remain neutral, your stride steady. König, however, shot them a sharp glance over his shoulder, his narrowed eyes silencing the whispers instantly. His imposing presence alone was enough to scatter their murmurs, leaving only the faint shuffle of their footsteps.

“You didn't have to—” you started again, but König interrupted with a quiet, unyielding tone. “I do.”

When you reached your room, he stepped ahead of you, opening the door with a slow push. The air inside was still and heavy, thick with the weight of time passed. Everything was exactly as you’d left it—the furniture untouched, the books neatly stacked, and the faint scent of your perfume lingering as though it had waited for you to return.

Sybil padded inside first, hopping onto the bed and curling up in its center with an air of practiced ease, as if reclaiming her territory. You lingered in the doorway, your gaze sweeping the room. What should have been comforting instead felt stifling, the untouched state of the room more of a reminder than a reprieve.

König stepped aside to let you enter fully, his eyes following your every movement. “It’s the same,” he said softly, almost as though the words were for himself.

“It’s suffocating,” you admitted quietly, your fingers brushing against the edge of the desk. The room, with all its familiarity, felt like a cage—one you’d thought you’d escaped.

König frowned slightly but said nothing, his expression under his mask unreadable as always. After a moment, he reached down and gently picked up your bag from where he’d set it near the doorway, placing it on the bed beside Sybil.

“I’ll leave you to settle in,” he said finally, his tone softer than before. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on you as if searching for something, but then he gave a small nod. “I’ll be close if you need anything.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and left, his heavy steps retreating down the hall. You sighed, closing the door behind him, and leaned back against it. The stillness of the room pressed down on you, and though Sybil’s steady presence was a comfort, the weight of the past seemed to close in.

Crossing to the window, you pushed it open, letting the cool evening air sweep into the room. It helped—if only a little.

As you moved around the room, a soft knock came at the door. Sybil, ever vigilant, lifted her head from her paws, her ears perking. Before you could say anything, the door creaked open, revealing a young girl you didn’t recognize. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, her wide eyes hesitant as she stepped inside, balancing a neatly folded pile of clothes in her arms.

“These are for you,” she said softly, her voice carrying a nervous edge. “Lady Le Fay picked them out herself.”

Your gaze flicked to the clothes—exquisitely made, as always. Their elegance spoke of your Mother’s impeccable standards, her expectations woven into every stitch. You nodded, a simple acknowledgment, and reached for the garments, but the girl hesitated, her hands tightening on the fabric for just a moment before releasing it.

“I’ll help you,” she offered quickly, setting the pile down on the bed. She busied herself with smoothing the wrinkles, her nervous energy filling the room. As she worked, she glanced up at you, her expression uncertain. “I—I know it’s not my place, but… I wanted to say something.”

You arched a brow, motioning for her to continue as you picked up the blouse, the material cool against your fingertips.

“I think… what you did—leaving, I mean—was brave,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her words hung in the air, heavy with risk. “I know most of the others don’t see it that way, but I do.”

Her admission caught you off guard. You paused, meeting her gaze, and she flushed under your scrutiny, her hands wringing nervously. “I just think that… if more of us thought like you, maybe this place wouldn’t feel so—” She hesitated, her words catching on the edge of something unspoken. “So oppressive.”

A bitter smile tugged at your lips, though you tried to suppress it. “Oppressive,” you repeated softly, the word tasting both foreign and familiar on your tongue.

The girl straightened, her expression shifting as if she regretted her honesty. “Not that I’m ungrateful,” she added quickly. “Our lives are good. Better than most. It’s just…” She trailed off, shaking her head as if the rest of the sentence was too dangerous to utter.

You turned toward her fully, folding the blouse carefully in your hands. “You’re not wrong,” you said after a beat. “But you’re also not ready to say it out loud. Not here.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, you thought she might argue. Instead, she nodded, a faint look of understanding passing over her features. “Thank you,” she whispered, dipping her head respectfully. “I’ll leave you to finish.”

With that, she slipped out of the room, the door clicking softly behind her. You stared at the closed door for a moment, the tension in your chest knotting tighter. Sybil padded closer, her head nudging your leg.

“Brave,” you murmured to yourself as you began dressing, the word echoing in your mind. It wasn’t how you’d ever seen it. Foolish, reckless, selfish—all those had been easier to accept. But brave? It felt foreign, like a coat you weren’t sure how to wear.

As you fastened the final button, Sybil huffed softly. You knelt to scratch behind her ears, her steady gaze meeting yours as if she, too, approved of the sentiment. “Maybe,” you said quietly, “just maybe.”

. . .

The silence after Alejandro and Rudy’s revelations was suffocating, a tangible weight pressing down on the room. Laswell had gone upstairs to deal with Leah, leaving the pack to sit with the unbearable truth laid out before them.

At the centre of the table sat the nail, sealed in a small glass flask. It was a stark reminder of everything they had ignored, every warning they had missed. Alejandro and Rudy had placed it there when they began their explanation, a silent indictment of the pack’s failure to see what had been festering under their noses.

Price sat at the head of the table, his expression was unreadable, but the lines around his mouth and the set of his jaw betrayed his inner turmoil. He’d barely spoken during their explanation, his hand resting heavily on the table, fingers occasionally twitching as if itching to grip something—anything.

Gaz sat at the table, his face buried in his hands, silent tears slipping through his fingers. His knee, usually bouncing with nervous energy, was still for once, the tension in his body radiating a quiet devastation. The guilt tore through him like claws—how had they let it get this far? How had they hurt you so deeply, so irreparably?

Johnny, unable to bear it, had bolted from the room. His overgrown hair whipped behind him as he fled, his footsteps heavy and uneven. The door slammed somewhere in the distance, and they all knew he was headed back to the woods, a place he’d always gone to hide when the world became too much.

Price’s gaze moved to Ghost, who hadn’t uttered a word since the conversation began. “Simon,” he said, his voice firm but quieter.

Ghost didn’t move. His hands were still planted on the table, his head bowed, his broad shoulders tense. Price’s tone softened, though the weight of his words remained. “You’ve got to say something. Anything.”

Still, he said nothing, his mind an unrelenting whirlwind of fragmented memories, half-formed regrets, and the crushing realisation of what he’d done. He’d been the one who brought Leah into their lives. But worst of all, he’d hurt you. Attacked you and Sybil.

The reality had settled over him like a lead cloak, immobilising him.

Alejandro, standing by the wall with his arms crossed, scoffed. “What’s the point of talking? He knows what he did.” His sharp gaze cut to Price. “But don’t think for a second that any of you are off the hook. You all failed her.”

“Enough,” Price said sharply, his tone commanding. “We know. Don’t you think we bloody know?”

Alejandro smirked coldly, his gaze unwavering. “Do you? Because from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like it.”

Rudy, standing nearby, placed a calming hand on Alejandro’s arm. “Ale, we’ve said what we came to say. Let them deal with it.”

“Fine,” he muttered, but his eyes burned with disdain as he looked at them.

Gaz swallowed hard, “But who… who did this? Who’s responsible?”

Alejandro shrugged, brow furrowed. “We don’t know exactly, yet at least. Whoever it was, they knew what they were doing.”

Price exhaled heavily, his hand running over his face as if trying to push back the weight of the truth. “You’re saying this was all to isolate her?”

Rudy nodded solemnly. “That’s how these curses work. They isolate, divide, and weaken. She was the target from the start. You? You were just tools. Puppets.”

Alejandro crossed his arms, his gaze hard. “So don’t sit here wallowing in your own self-pity. Whatever guilt you’re feeling, it’s deserved. But the real question is, what are you going to do about it?”

Gaz let out a choked sound. “How… how do we fix this? How do we even begin to fix this?”

Price stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he walked to the window. His broad shoulders were rigid, as he stared out at the darkening horizon. “For now,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute, “we leave her alone. Like I said, we need to fix ourselves first, we have no right to even think about going after her.”

Alejandro and Rudy exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Rudy sighed, his voice quieter but no less resolute. “We’ll keep looking,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the broken pack. “Whoever’s responsible for this won’t get away with it. When we know, we’ll keep you posted.”

Alejandro gave a firm nod, his expression unyielding. “But don’t expect miracles from us,” he added sharply.

They turned toward the door, the weight of their words settling like ash in the room. Rudy paused briefly, glancing back at the pack with a flicker of hesitation. But before they could leave, Ghost finally spoke.

His voice was low, gravelly, like the sound of rocks grinding together. “Is she… okay?”

Alejandro stopped, his hand resting on the doorframe. Rudy looked at him, eyebrows furrowing, but Alejandro didn’t move.

“You should know the answer to that, shouldn’t you?” he said flatly. “You know her best.”

Ghost stayed silent, his head bowing ever so slightly. Deep down, he already knew. The part of him that loved you with every fiber of his being—despite feeling unworthy of it—knew that you were okay, wherever you were. But that knowledge didn’t ease the hollow ache inside him.

With that, the front door closed with a heavy thud, leaving the pack alone once again.

Price stood at the window, unmoving, the faint glow of his nth cigar's ember casting a dim light in the darkening room. His shoulders were tense, the weight of his failures settling heavily on him, but his voice was steady when he finally spoke.

“Get it together,” he said, his words cutting through the silence like a knife. “We’ve all failed her. But if she’s still out there, we owe it to her to fix this.”

Ghost remained at the table, his eyes fixed on the cursed nail. The silence that followed was more damning than anything that had been said.

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[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 🫶🏻.

[natsarrownecklacx]

Down The Witches Road

Agatha Harkness x Reader Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 1,898

Summary: After the death of your wife you decide the best way to get her back is by travelling the witches road. Not everything goes according to plan.

Warnings: Talks of death, scary Agatha, mean coven behaviour, betrayal, lil sad moments, in general just be warned this is not a fluff fic. Based on this thought I had.

ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ

This, every single thing about this, is difficult. There is no other way to put it. The witches road is set to test its travelers, those who are mad enough, desperate enough to brave it. You’d known this before you’d ever even approached Agatha with your plan to travel its tricky path, but you had not expected it to be so cruel.

Ms Heart- Sharon, she was a kind woman. There was not a single bad bone in her frail body, no trace of malice or ill intention to be found in her.

Her death was too sudden. Everything happened so fast. One moment she was there, beside you, the pair of you sharing a quiet, personal moment of shared experience and grief over a glass of wine. The next thing you knew, the very next moment of stillness you got, she was gone. Dead. Her body laid out limp and haunting beside you as you landed in the dirt.

You could do nothing more than shed a tear for the woman, for the love she lost, for the life she lived. For the fear she must have felt in her final moments, all alone. Forgotten until the very last moment. A moment too late.

You shared a sense of comradery with the woman, her loss something you knew all too well. It was your idea to bury her, your plea that swayed Agatha to stay as you and the others layed Sharon to rest.

You’d not expected to grow as fond of Agatha as you had, or at all really. When you’d approached her, it was merely because you knew she could be convinced, that her hunt for power would ultimately lead her down the road along side you, much like it did the first time she dared to face it.

Over the days you’d traveled together, Agatha seemed to take a liking to you, her behavior towards you strangely protective but surprisingly comforting. At first you’d been skeptical, but as trials were complete and challenges beat, you took to her much the same way.

The bond between you, although unexpected, became one you valued. She was your friend. Someone you would protect. Someone you would do anything for. Someone, you feared, you would miss if anything were to happen to her.

You saw the way she looked at Rio, just as you saw the way the green witch looked at her. With so much love in their eyes, so much loss. They longed for each other. You could see, everyone could, but no one said anything. No one needed to.

When Agatha's trial rolled around, her contorted body running at you in the darkness of that room, you’d cried. You’d yelled out for her to stop, told her she was scaring you.

The witches body froze in front of your own, her mind clearing through the fog long enough to catch sight of you tear filled eyes through the cracks in your fingers, hiding your face from her.

Everything froze, the witch fighting with everything inside her to pull away from you. She managed one step back before the lights came on, her mind going black before she woke, an apparition of her mother hovering over you and the rest of the coven.

“You!” Her mothers ghost spat, lunging toward you. Your eyes widened, as did everyone else’s, no one expecting the witch to acknowledge you at all.

Agatha, acting on pure instinct and adrenaline, called out to her mother, running towards her and drawing everyone's attention toward her, away from you.

Evanora stopped, hearing her daughter's voice, turning to her. Agatha’s arms were spread wide in front of her, prepared to defend herself from the ghostly woman, her eyes darting between you and her mother, quickly checking you over for any injuries.

“Agatha.” Evanora sighed, almost as though she was relieved. Agatha's face scrunched in confusion.

“You have to stop her.” Evanora said, an edge to her voice that spilled out into the room, drawing everyone's full attention. “You all have to stop her. She wants to bring her back. She will destroy everything.”

Agatha stands in shock and confusion, her mind racing a mile a minute as she tries to make sense of it all. It wasn't her Evanoa was trying to hurt by taking possession of her body, it was you. “Mother what-”

“SHE!” Evanora said furiously, turning an accusing finger toward you. “Has been marked by the scarlet witch. She intends to use the road's power to bring her back to life.”

A gasp sounds through the room, the others, who were all crowded protectively around you, take a step away, as though being near you might cause them harm. Agatha turns to you, hurt and disbelief evident in her eyes, her hands faltering in front of her.

You open your mouth to explain yourself only to snap it shut a second later, what was there to say, Evanora was right.

Agatha's eyes harden, seeing the truth in your own. “Agatha I-” You feel a tap to your forehead, Rio barley entering your vision before the world fades away around you, the green witch catching you and helping your limp body to the floor gently.

When you wake, you're no longer in that house. It's cold, the feeling of mud beneath you making you cringe as you lift yourself from the floor. Agatha is sitting on a log beside you, the rest of the coven a few feet away, sitting around a fire.

Her head snaps in your direction when she senses you’ve woken up. She stands, moving toward you without even thinking, wanting, needing to make sure you're okay.

She’s been crying, you can see it on her face, the evidence of it tracking down her cheeks. Her arms wrap around you, her voice a flurry of emotion as she asks if you're okay, how you're feeling.

You assure her that you're fine, that everything feels normal and the next second her arms are gone, her body completely taken from you as she steps back, staring you down with a storm in her eyes.

“She took everything from me.” The raven haired witch says, a hint of something you can't place in her voice, making your chest feel tight.

You sigh, taking a step toward the woman you now called your friend, the uncomfortable feeling in your chest growing when she takes a step back.

“I love her, Agatha.” You say, your eyes starting to well, you can feel the desperation to have your wife back creeping back in again. The suffocating feeling of missing such an intricate part of you. “I- I need her. You don’t understand, when you met her, the pain she was in, that wasn’t really her. She’s different. She’s filled with so much kindness and love, god Agatha she is the most kind and caring person I have ever met-”

“You need to keep better company then.” The older witch snaps, regret filling her when you shrink back slightly.

You sniffle, defeat filling you as you bring your hand up to pull on your shirt, revealing the mark, the symbol Wanda had left on you before her death.

Agatha gasps, she’d never seen a symbol like that in real life before, only ever heard of it, read of it in the darkhold. The symbol bonds its wearer with the person who drew it. It ties their souls together. They can sense each other, feel each other's emotions, their love and their pain which means…

“I felt it when she died.” You whisper, your voice shaky as you relive that awful moment all over again. “I could feel it everywhere. Not physically, she protected me from the physical pain somehow but… It was like she was there and I could feel her, I could feel her heart beating in time with mine, I could feel her warmth all around me and then it was just gone.”

Your voice breaks, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you will yourself to keep them at bay. “I was just overcome with this hollow, cold feeling and I knew she was gone.”

You try to step toward her again and this time she allows it. “Agatha.” You say softly, your voice a plea, the desperation you feel shown clearly on your face now. “I can still feel it. Everyday it gets stronger. I’m scared that soon it’s all I’ll be able to feel.”

There's a reason that spell resided in the book of the damed, if not cared for properly, it could have catastrophic consequences for the wearer.

“I need her.” You cry, your hands reaching for hers, pulling her closer to you. “Please, I need her. Help me.”

Agatha’s heart breaks for you. She hates to see you suffering like this, too see you in so much emotional pain it almost consumes you. She can feel it radiating off of you in waves.

She wants to help you, she will. But this, bringing Wanda back, she can’t do that, she won’t. Not after all the pain she caused in Westview and certainly not after the massacre in Kamar Taj.

“Y/n…”

“Please, Agatha. Wouldn’t you have done what she did if it meant you could see your son again.”

Agatha’s gaze turns cold, the concern in her eyes overshadowed by something akin to betrayal. Her lips curl into a sinister smile, a cruel laugh leaving her lips.

“You’ll never get her back.” She whispers. “You will never see her again.”

“Don’t say that.” You snap, the possibility of her words becoming a reality making you feel nauseous.

“You know, there is a way for me to remove the symbol, to take away all that pain you're carrying around.”

You know what she means, had been presented with the same option by others before in the past. The symbol can be lifted, its effects dissipating with a simple spell, freeing you from its cruelty. But there was a catch, the wearer would have to forget the person who drew it in the first place.

Any and all traces of Wanda would be gone from you forever. You can’t bare the thought of not knowing her, not even having the memories you shared, knowing she loved you. No. You wouldn’t ever let anyone take her from you.

“No.” You say, anger in your voice at her implication. “You can’t do that. You can’t take what’s left of her from me.”

“I can’t let you bring her back y/n. I’m sorry.” As she says this Agatha wraps her arms around you, keeping you still as you try to worm your way out of her grasp. “Do it.” She says, her voice cracking as she does.

You can hear the coven as the surround you, their words blurring together into one big chant as you kick and scream and beg them not to do this to you.

Agatha cries the entire time, silent tears falling down her face as she tries to keep you from hurting yourself, from getting away.

When it’s done, your body limp in her arms, she looks down to your peaceful face through watery eyes.

You’d never forgive her for this.

Luckily you won’t even remember why you hate her so much and after time, she tries to convince herself, maybe you’ll forget you hate her too.

ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ

A/n- I wrote this so fast in fear that id lose motivation n it would never be written but I hope ye like it anyways :)

[killerkillerkillher]

Bound to Fall in Love

Angel/Demon! 141 x reader

Tags: kidnapping, sacrifices, religious references, reader is too angry to die, reader commits murder lol, canon typical violence??, reader gets a kissy on the forehead, a tad crack-ish

Inclusivity tags: reader is referred to w he/him and they/them pronouns, no bodily description, no y/n

A/n: call my brain an apple w all the worms it's got. This was just a blurb at first, but I made room in there for me to potentially make it into... something I guess.

minors dni!

"Cole, I can't fucking focus while they're just... staring at us like that."

"Ignore it, Bess. We have to finish these candles."

You wish a bolt of lightening would come down and strike all three of you at once. Or maybe the building spontaneously combusting would be better. Anything, anything, would be better at this moment than watching your boyfriend and best friend work together to light a summoning circle after having tied you up in your sleep.

For a fraction of a second, you wonder if any gods are watching, if any of them would be willing to give you a boon and allow you one last chance to punch both of these betrayers in the face.

"Okay, okay, the book," Bess mutters, going to the pick up her ritual book from the coffee table you bought. Honestly, if they were going to try to sacrifice you somewhere, your living room is one of the most disrespectful places. Probably right under your bed room.

"I'm sorry," Cole has the gaul to look down at you with a face stricken with grief. Like you're dead already. "We didn't know what else to do. We're both in bad places and you've always been so good to us, so we figured-"

"You better hope this fucking kills me." You grunt. Cole's face melts into a glare. "Because if I'm still breathing, it's going to take more than Satan's intervention to save you from me. I swear on my mother." You jerk forward, making him jump back a step.

"Cole...?" Bess looks at you, then up at Cole with unease. Cole doesn't say anything for a second, sorting his feelings out with a leer before turning to her.

"Read the book."

He drags you into the middle of their pentagram while she sings Latin words off the old book pages. The candles flicker and waver before their flames grow twice as tall. Cole rolls you onto your back and pulls a knife from his back pocket.

"I meant it when I said I'm sorry," Cole mutters. You snarl, but don't jump at him like you want to.

"Yeah? Yeah, you're sorry? Kiss my ass!" You shout over Bess's reading. "If I'm still alive after this, I'm killing you and burying you in the fucking septic tank!" You crane your head up so you can see Bess as well. "Time to get some stuff off my chest, yeah? Bess, I fucked your older brother on the day we graduated."

Her eyes go wide, and she almost stops talking, but Cole shoots her a look that forces her to continue.

"And his friend Carl, the one you had a crush on. And Cole? I never. Fucking. Finished. Ever! You are the only person I've dated who couldn't get me off." Cole's hand's twitch around the blade.

"Are you serious?"

"Does now look like a time to- ack!" You don't get to finish because Bess finished the spell and it was time for your blood to fuel it. The blade buries in your gut, turning this way and that way at measured increments. You just lay there and twitch, breathy gasps falling from your gaping mouth, the pain only throwing fuel to the fires of your rage.

"Please, we call you here! Honor us with your presence!" Bess chants. Cole step away from you when the candles roar and your vision is filled with bright red and orange.

The ground beneath you rumbles. Whispers fill your ears, nothing you can ever imagine understanding, but something tells you they're other summoners. Or maybe little souls of those who were just where you are now, with a people sacrificing them.

It's odd, you think as blood soaks your back, your hair. You thought you'd be more scared in what could be your final moments. But there's only anguish where there should be fear. Only unfettered violent tension felt in your muscles, and a tongue hungering for iron and gore. You're jaw is wound tight enough to shatter your teeth.

If you could think straight, if you weren't about to die, you might be a little concerned. Never have you wanted to sink your fingers into someone's soft bits as much as you do now. This is normal, right? A normal amount of rage for the people taking your life.

Something in your gut tells you it's not.

In the fog of your rage, you missed the appearance of a pair of men above you. They hover, leathery plum colored wings sagging. One wears a leather strap harness across his chest, while the other favors an unbuttoned silk shirt. One of them looks at you curious as the fire dies, steam and copper colored smoke bellowing from his mouth. A thick cigar hangs on his lips.

"You came! There's... two of you?" Cole gawks, then falls to his knees beside Bess. You can't help but scoff at their sniveling forms.

"We did. There are." The one without the cigar brushes back his long mohawk to get a better look at the whimpering humans. They're nothing new to them, just another set of weak little things looking to get something without putting in the work for it.

Well, they might have had to put in the work to capture you, based on the way you still squirm and fight the rope keeping your arms together. So much blood has left you. You are going to die. Yet you spend your last moments doing what most humans find to be a waste of precious time. Being angry. It's interesting.

"What do you want?" The bearded one in the silk shirt grunts out around his cigar. Bess lifts her head just a bit to speak.

"We want to make a trade. A soul for a better life for us."

There's a moment of silence. You blink your heavy lids, growing too tired to do much else anymore. Both demons look back at you, then to the kneeling humans.

"They're not dead." They say at the same time.

Bess and Cole stiffen and finally chance a glance at you. You're bleeding, a glassy look to your eye and a smile on your face, but you're not dead.

"See, Bess?" You cough up blood only to swallow it back down, "what did I tell you? The cunt can't make me come and can't... can't even make me go."

The mohawked devil pops a wicked smile, not even hiding it from his would-be contractors.

Cole fumes. "I can finish the job. Fuck, am I going to finish the job." He stands, moving to step into the circle only to yelp, the invisible border around the summoning circle becoming visible if only to shock Cole back.

"Not so fast," the bearded one spawns a scroll in his hand. He's eyes glow a molten orange as he scans it. "Section 1, clause 3, part 19 states: executioner(s) must sacrifice one(1) human soul to contractee(s)... Let's see... Here it is: Sacrificee(s) must be dead upon arrival so that proper collection can be done. If sacrificee(s) is still soul bond upon arrival, then they are made the true contractor and all work will be conducted with them."

"In other words," the mohawked one grinned, "you should have went for the heart." He taps at his chest.

"Or the neck." The other devil offers.

"Or that vein in they're thigh."

"The sephenous, Johnny."

"Yeah, that."

"No, no!" Cole grabs at his hair as Bess looks like she's about to start crying. You want to laugh. They deserve the despair. They deserve the horror in their mistake. They were going to kill you!

"That means," the devils lean back to look at you. "You're our contractor. You get two requests at the price of one, human. I suggest one of those requests includes healing you." He flicks the ashes of his cigar on your leg. You don't even have to think of what you want most right now.

"I want you to untie me." You roll on your side. They wait for the rest. Cole and Bess look like they're going to shit themselves from the pale faced looks of terror they give you. Your eyes narrow. "And a hammer. A old fashioned iron and wood handled hammer."

Another beat of silence before the infernals bend over in laughter. The room shacks, sulfuric smoke pouring from their mouths to funk up the room. Cole tries to cox Bess to her feet while they're distracted. Their feet can't move though. It's like they're glued in placed and no amount of pulling and tugging could get them loose. Shame.

"Yer a funny one, love. I'll love having your soul for a few eternities." The one in leather floats over you, tilting his head this way and that way to get a good look at you. You settle him with a neutral look. "My name is Johnny. You sure that's what you want? I think you've only got a few minutes left in you."

"Then let's hurry this up a little, huh?"

"Ooh, you heard 'em." The cigared one snickers and snaps his claws. Two contracts appear in front of your face, both written in a language you can hardly comprehend. A pen appeared in front of your mouth. "Sign on the dotted line please."

You take the quill in your mouth, dip it in the blood beneath you.

"Rah 'ere?"

"Mhm."

You lean forward to dot the paper with your sloppy signature, but bizarrely enough, it seems like the powers that be have decided that they haven't made enough appearances. The floor trembles, and you worry about your poor infrastructure for a fraction of a second, when a set of gold doors spawn right behind you. You roll back onto your back to intake everything. You swear you're hallucinating when a pair of white winged angels step out, the clouded blue of heaven at their back.

"Hello?" You greet stupidly. You must be losing your mind, right? What the fuck is happening.

"Do not sign a thing." The bronzen angel instructs. "Human, we are here as messengers. God sees great things for you in your ascension. Please do not squander that to these demons." He shoots a sharp look at the demonic pair. The angel's counterpart wears a white cloak, obscuring all but his glowing golden eyes. You half expect him to sing "Be not afraid." despite you actively shitting bricks.

Oddly enough, their appearence seems to have some sort of healing property. Your lethargy starts to clear and the blade in your gut starts to get pushed out. Nothing hurts anymore.

"Oh, so we've got a big soul on our hands here, huh?" Johnny smirks. "Price, what's the plan?"

Price the devil throws his cigar to the ground and crushes it.

"Do what we do best. Bargain."

"Don't play with us, Price." The shrouded angel grunts. He's got a mind piercing voice that's got your head ringing, and you swear it echoes despite the room being well furnished. "We can provide them with just as much, if not more, at no cost of their soul." Those gold orbs land on you. "All we ask for is your faith."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You tug at your bonds with renewed vigor. The angels wince at the mention of their Lord, but only watch as you force yourself upright. "I could not give a rat's ass who gets what! How about this? First one to get me free and a hammer in hand gets my loyalty."

There's two resounding snaps from either side of you. The ropes disappear, a hammer is in your left and right hand. You don't think deeper on what that implies. You finally stand, dropping the hammer in your nondominant hand, and march over to the two people you thought you could trust. They kneel now, seemingly ready to beg for their souls.

"Come on, don't look scared now." You drop your hands on your hips. "What happened to you finishing the job?"

"I didn't want-"

"Say it with your chest." You poke his breast plate with the iron hammer head.

"I didn't want it to come to this!" Cole yells. The divine audience doesn't say anything about it. They watch you curiously as you bounce the hammer in hand. Your soul is visible to them. What should be a glowing ball of light is a red and white morning star, all sharp edges and pulsing like a heart. Your soul will certainly not end up with the others, that much is true.

"I just... I couldn't keep up with you! Your life style, the way you act, your job. I never left good enough. Bess expressed the same thing and we just... clicked. We would have just left, but we could have never lived without struggling, so we just..." He swallows. You can't look at him anymore, hands clenching at what he says next. "The book called for someone we cared for."

''That supposed to make me feel better?" You tilt your head. Cole winces, eyes falling on your feet. You look to Bess. "Thought you were better than this. You were going to kill me. Because what, I was happy? I loved both of you, you could have just talked to me."

"We're sorry! What more do you want?" Bess sobs. You straighten up, bouncing the hammer on your hip, acting like you next action is something to deliberate. You already know what they deserve, and a flash of sadness bubbles in your chest, but it quickly passes as a hot, searing emotion burns a hole into what little hesitation you had left.

"Reckon I want your souls after all the shit you've caused." You grin before swinging the hammer back and caving in Cole's chest.

"Fuck..." is all you can say after everything is done. Cole and Bess lay in a bloody heep, all recognizable features destroyed and crushed. You pant, hands trembling and nothing but white noise and static crunching around in your head. You just killed your best friend and boyfriend. For some reason, you've never felt so light.

Someone's whistle gets followed by a clap.

"Impressive. Done that before?" Johnny chuckles. He floats closer, hand running down your back as he moves past and pokes around the pulped organs. "Shite, did them right in. Can't tell which is which."

"I've never-" you start to answer, but hands are clapped onto your shoulders, shocking you into silence.

"Well, that was a good place to start, lad. Your swings were a bit sloppy, but we can fix that." Price squeezes at your trapezius, massaging the stiffness out of them. A throat clears, and Price sighs like he forgot there was other company.

"We aren't finished. The human is our ward now, Price." The uncloaked angel snaps his finger, pulling you from Price and making you spawn between the two angels. The bronzen angel smiles down at you with teeth so white you could damn near see your reflection.

"There you are. It's nicer to have you close. My friend here is Simon and I'm-"

"Come on, Kyle, you know he's ours!" Johnny spits, his wings flaring out. "We gave him the hammer first, so piss off."

"Uh...huh." Kyle's smile falls. "I think you're a bit mistaken. Look, after executing the human's request, I have his name here." A stone slab appears in front of your face. It's smells like sunshine and warm grass. What the fuck. "His pledge to the Lord has been set and his soul already has a place next to Their throne."

"Right, right, like we don't have documentation neither." Johnny huffs. The stone disappears as a scroll appears next to the devil. The smell of sulfur and smoke wafts over to you. "His name is right there, pretty boy. Getting yer fuckin' lookers on."

Kyle ignores the rude tone and does pull out a pair of reading glasses to go over the scroll. You stand there in the silence, a little too scared to speak up. What could you do anyway? In a blind anger, you didn't really have the mind to think any of this out. Angels and devils are fighting over you because you'd stupid ass was too blood hungry to think past murder. All that can be done is for them to figure this out amongst themselves, and for you to wait for the sentencing. Heaven, or Hell?

"...Simon." Kyle slowly pulls his glasses off. "This is legit. His soul is promised to all of us."

You glance up at Simon, the scary motherfucker. He blinks. Once. Twice. Then pinches the bridge of his nose with a hagard sigh.

"Shit."

That's not good.

Johnny laughs, Price grinning like a dog with a bone. Kyle marches over to you, patting your shoulders with an awkward smile. His demeanor reminds you of the way your mom acted when she said she was going to divorce your dad. And all you can think is "Not this again." Are you going to be spending your afterlife going between heaven and hell forever? Does God get weekends because Their day is Sunday or whatever?

"We need to go and talk this over with some superiors. We'll clean this up," Kyle snaps and the gore is gone, so is the ritual circle and candles. "And we'll get back to you in the morning." He places a feather light kiss on your forehead, and suddenly you're squeaky clean and in the softest set of pajamas you've ever worn. "Stay safe while we're gone and don't allow these two to influence you. Get some rest."

"Blah, blah, blah," Johnny mocks from the sidelines. Price tilts his head, and there's nothing but amusement behind those eyes. Yeah, this is exactly like your parents divorce.

"O-okay? I mean, I'll try." You shrug.

Simon nods. "That's all you can do." He steps back into the golden doorway and Kyle falls in stride. You make some distance, and with a final wave from a white toothed angel, the doors shut with a slam that shakes the house's foundation.

"Just you and us now, stud."

You turn with a comedic slowness to the devils. Price chuffs and floats forward. His assess you, takes you in in all your fluffy white pajama glory, and it seems he finds what he wants when he nods.

"Guess we've got to talk with top brass to see what's going on ourselves. Pity we couldn't stick around longer." The devil's eyes never meet yours, staying glued to various parts of your face. They hop from ears, to your eyebrows, down to your lips. Christ on a bike, is it getting hot in here? His blue, glowing cerulean eyes appear to flash with something.

"Shite, yer right." Johnny groans. "I hate going down there."

"Suck it up, love. You know how I feel about sharing." Price drops his interest in you like an old toy and takes Johnny close by his waist. You watch with a lead poisoned stare as their noses touch intimately, words you can't hear being exchanged. It's kinda of awkward to just stand there and watch but your brain isn't really functioning well enough to tell you to stop.

"Hey, stud." You blink, refocusing on the pair. Johnny seems to have climbed his partner, his legs on his waist and arms around his neck. Price makes busy opening a portal to hell in your livingroom with one hand, supporting Johnny under his ass with the other. "Sit pretty, yeah? 'll be back before those two arseholes, promise."

"Right... yeah." You nod. "Uh, be safe?"

"Be safe, he says." Price mutters. "Cute." Johnny waves until Price steps through the infernal hole and falls from view. The portal closes right behind him so you'd have no hopes of seeing anything but the red hue of smog and dust.

And here you are. A little dazed, a little sad, probably holding back a break down from the last hour of events. But you're alive and you're healed. There's no blood to clean, you're in comfortable pajamas. Could probably sleep right now if your brain would stop for a minute, but it doesn't look like that's in the plans.

So you look for something to do. Cole and Bess and moved around all your furniture to make the summoning circle. Guess you can start there, right?

[plasticfangtastic]

Dairy Girl

A Homelander X F! Reader fanfic

A/N: I am still working on my other projects but I just wanted to write something fun and light to get me back into writing. I hope y'all enjoy this short little piece, btw i aint got no kids so i have very little idea how milk banks work, this will be a 2 or 3 part story.

Synopsis: In order to provide a constant supply of fresh breastmilk for Vought’s number one hero, Vought has had to get quite nifty in order to prevent this secret desire out the press and the public– you have unfortunately discovered the truth.

Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, abusive dynamic, Homelander being Homelander, dub-con, dark, mild smut, breastfeeding kink, kidnapping, child-death mention tw, cheating tw, set in s4 but canon nothing, slow burn.

Word Count: 3K

Part 1– Heifer

Such a small box, smaller than a shoe box, just big enough to fit its contents with enough space for his ghost to move. You stared at the small box as its buried in the family plot… you never thought of visiting this place to ever bury the last shred of happiness you had left, his body was born weak, so small you wonder if you’d given birth to a child or a chick, 2 months ago you had come home to find your now ex in bed with his ex, he had turned this betrayal on its head and blamed you for it, something about your lack of desire lately, about how your pregnancy had given him amounts of pressures he'd never agreed with, talking endlessly about his needs and how much you’d ignored him.

Whoever this man was, you didn’t recognize him.

Time blurred into nothing but disconnected colors and shapes, all you know was that the stress and anguish lead to this.

A box under soil.

Days passed and in your empty apartment, surrounded by all the stuff you bought you stood in front of the sink, throwing a bottle of fresh milk down the drain feeling tremendous guilt, the doctor said you would dry out soon enough but your breast had swollen so much your bras no longer fit– even the spare ones you bought just in case they’ve grown a size too big from what you expected, you booked an appointment with your doctor hoping they could give you whatever cocktail of drugs to dry you out and save you from the pressure and pain in your chest, it had been nothing but a passing message from a worried neighbor who had stop by to give you some mail that had been sent to them by accident when she mentioned her daughter-in-law had donated her excess milk after her little one refused to latch, she gave you the name of the charity and after much thinking you gave in, you lost your baby but there was some woman out there who could end up experiencing your same grief if their baby starved to death, yours simply born too small and weak to hold your finger for very long.

It felt good, you met the women running the charity and even some of the faces of the women you helped, as you delivered your frozen packs to the women’s clinic where the charity operated, it helped you heal, it gave your pain purpose, but as the months faded behind you a part of you worried about how much you keep producing, less than before but still too much, yet you keep going knowing it would end soon enough. 

Perhaps somebody in the clinic or the charity had dropped your information to these people but you'd received some mail regarding some research trials Vought International was running and how they needed some donors to drop fresh samples, in their pamphlet they offered to pay a decent amount--your divorce had been costly plus having to move to a new place and breaking your previous lease had left your bank account quite dry, this was cheap money, you had given your milk for free, you looked at the few pouches you had collected for next week's drop you saw a wonderful opportunity to make some quick cash.

You went to the Vought Clinic and saw a few other women filling up forms, reading old magazines or dilly-dallying on their phones until some nurse called their numbers, you filled the medical form, waited less than half an hour before your number was called, brought into a small bleach scented room, the nurse read your form and told you she would take a blood sample, a doctor came in, reciting whatever script he’d been given about what this project was, giving you big words you had no interest in, this was about providing better milk formulas closer to natural milk than anything currently in the market apparently, thanking you for your donation, he looked at your form smiling as he saw your inked words.

“You're still producing 4 months after…” The doctor handed you a disinfecting wipe and a freshly steamed breast pump in a silver tray– we just need two samples, please press the alarm to let us know you’d finished, then follow Nurse Potts to the front counter to sort out your payment.”

It had been an awkward experience, but there you were 300 dollars richer, you probably should’ve read those papers a bit closer before signing but money was money and you were told to come back if you could.

You did it a couple times for 2 months, much like a man donating sperm for pocket money or plasma to pay the rent.

That was the first mistake, you headed home and woke up the morning after wishing you had stayed out for an extra hour or two, perhaps caved in to your friends pressures and tried going back to dating (after all your ex was whoring himself all across the lower east side without moral qualms) or hookups so you would had gone to a different address, maybe you should had taken a taxi instead of taking the train and walking home.

Regardless you woke in some strange empty room, the only thing beside your person was a pair of pale pink hospital gowns, grippy socks, clean underwear and a pair of thick large towels, you screamed and banged on the door for an ungodly amount of time but nobody ever came, you stayed alone in that room for what could have been 12 hours or more… maybe less… who knew it was all too much, suddenly a sharp sound cut into the silence a note had been slid under the door, you rushed to the note.

It was instructions, they wanted you wearing their clean clothes, you could not leave the room unless you did so, and as much as you hated the idea, you wanted to get out so badly, you knew if you wanted to escape your only chance came in knowing your surroundings, you begrudgingly and tearfully changed, waiting until anything changed– the doors hissed opened, a woman in a sharp cream coloured suit stood there with clipboard and an armed guard, at the sight of the heavy looking gun– you froze.

Then you took the first step towards hell.

You knew the following things: You lived in some basement area– there were no windows, only elevators. You weren’t alone, there were other women here and they made sure to keep your interactions at minimum no doubt to keep all of you submissive and not getting any ideas, sometimes familiar faces will fade and you could only speculate nightmares. Lastly… your purpose, the reason you were trapped here in the first place was… to lactate.

A plucky little thing that stayed optimistic despite your shared horror called herself a ‘Heifer’ she wasn’t wrong… you lived in a small cell where everything had sat on top of each other feed to keep fat and producing milk much like a cow, whoever developed this diet knew of all the ingredients known to help production, and you knew there were putting something else in the food for your breast begun to feel uncomfortable, for a little while you thought you could fight it by starving yourself, then two men with guns came into the room and told you to eat or else.

The time you spend outside this microflat hong-kong style cell was in the milking room and the shower room, you were ordered to stay clean and quiet, at least in the milking room you had some television and could spend time with the other women, but they keep you isolated, you could do very little, sometimes music would play and a book would be dropped with your food but your happiness wasn’t priority, you had to fill a quota.

After a couple weeks of this you simply accepted defeat, too many guns… not enough spaces to run, and nothing to come home to… a man that wanted to sue you for more feeling as if the judge had been unfair, a pestering family who acted as if they had been the only ones who experience loss, an empty cot you still hadn’t gotten rid off and piles and piles of bills, in this quiet cool room you had spend endless hours thinking, you didn’t love your job, you had been distant from most of your friends and you could only imagine that they assumed you had run away or killed yourself after what happened nobody could blame you.

Existing for the sake of existing until you could figure out what to do next.

“Good Evening… I’m glad you’re eating so well” The lady you met the first day said as the door hissed open, she watched you like a hawk as you process this sudden interruption, clutching at your paper thin blanket, you looked at the floral fabric in her arms and the clipboard under her arm– I need you to sign this before you’re allowed upstairs”

“Am I being let out?” You said anxiously, no way it could be that easy you thought.

The lady let her smile waiver, looking at the unseen guard then at her wrist watch as she handed you the clipboard.

“Your performance might determine how soon you'll be release…”

“You assume I won’t go to the police…”

“That wouldn’t be wise Miss L/N but we assure you that you’ll be sufficiently compensated for the inconvenience.”

You wanted to yell, but a voice in the back of your head thought of this but nothing but pageantry, you were dead either way, but perhaps this could be your opportunity to escape, whatever they wanted to do now meant being outside of these buried walls, you signed the sheet without thinking, briefly considered stabbing the bitch in the eye but is likely they would turn you into swiss cheese before you even took a step too close, she took the paperwork from your hands and in change handed you a long sleeved dressed straight out of the mormon section in target, she closed the door and you dressed up.

The halls looked so odd when you didn’t wear your prison clothes, the other few doors housed sleeping and bored girls, your plucky friend hidden behind one of them, the new girl hidden behind one of them and the girl you seen before in the milking room once hid behind one of them.

They took you to an elevator– it was old box, if you had to guess by the button’s design maybe built in the late or mid 70s, you never left their side until the elevator closed before them, the box moved slowly, a dingy silver box with low honey coloured lights, so dim… and you were alone, as the light chime as it went up you felt your entire being sink into your stomach, your heart beating so fast you were sure you were gonna have a heart attack before the doors opened once again, swallowing dry spit, your eyes opened so wide it hurt.

Quiet… it was so quiet when the doors opened, you expected something else, something menacing… something frightening– not an old house, an old house in the middle of some evergreen forest, everything screams old, untouched, museum like, like it's meant to present this idea that somebody lives here but not really, despite it being an elevator hidden behind a bookcase, you take a few cautious steps, your naked feet bury in the plush carpet, there’s bird singing outside and the sun is so bright and warm it hurts your eyes, the cool tones gone and this feels like a bad dream, pinching yourself but you’re awake, tragically awake, a weird wiry smile creeps on your lips, an almost laugh escapes your lips before you can feel tears burning your eyes.

“Hello…?” You ask and you don’t know why.

As you venture into the living room, hands firm against the tacky dark pink wallpaper, you found old floral couches that matched the drapes and despite how old school it was it had a charm to it.

Then you saw him.

Perusing the VHS collection filled the entire bookcase on the wall, just rows and rows of VHS boxes, some plastic and some cardboard, the TV boxy and just as antiquated but who cared— he was there.

You ran before you even realized you done it, crashing into him with desperation, tears staining your cheeks and you could barely breath as you tried so hard to speak.

“Homelander please help me!! I’ve been kidnapped!! Please!!” You cried, pulling on his suit– please!!”

Those endlessly blue eyes more poison dart hide than veronica flower bush the more they stared at you calmly, his lips into a thin smile and his hand thad taken your wrist inflicting just enough force to keep you firmly in his grip… to show you how he wasn’t an ordinary man, he looked at you as your tears changed meaning as if you were the most unfortunate creature he’d ever seen, his lips parted just enough to show those sharp canines that had looked so charming in sidewalk posters, now you could sense their presence squeezing at your jugular.

“You are so much prettier in person, Y/N.” His voice is disturbingly soft and calm, intimately quiet as he takes a whiff of your neck, moving you to make it easier, his free hand creeped towards your hip– I was so glad when I saw your picture and you weren’t hideous.”

Trembling against him, a nonexistent cold draft blew against you, your whole body shivering and covered in goosebumps.

His eyes fixated in your breast, mouth agape as his tongue dared to lick his lip, watching you like a starved man at a las vegas buffet, his hand slithering upwards, you know where this is leading, you can’t stop crying but you can’t scream either, you're just there as his hand avoids your breasts and creeps towards your back and presses your bodies together.

“I’m so glad you signed that sheet, I was getting sad endlessly waiting for one of you to agree to the deal” He says quietly, you stare at him and you realize you should’ve actually read that stupid sheet– why so scared? I ain’t gonna bite.” He bites the air as a joke and you could tell that that single bite could have torn your finger off cleanly.

His eyes shift to your clinging fingers that stayed so stiff against his padded suit, you stopped squeezing at him now they rested limp against him.

“Let’s watch a movie…” 

It’s an awkward dance concluding in sitting down on a couch, its surprisingly soft and you’re sinking on the cushion while your mind dissolved in the sky, the coffee table had a humbled spread of snacks, pizza and milkshakes, not once did you notice, you stared at him clutching at your dress as he picked something out of the shelve, watching as his hand worked the VHS player, the clicks and whirling all you could focus on. He sat beside you as the speakers began to play the included trailers, he took the drink urging you to do the same with a menacing look, filling you with incomplete thoughts as you obeyed.

Malt vanilla marinated in your tongue, you had a terrible thought.

‘Milk’ 

You were there to provide milk… to whom? Why just milk? You thought they would sell your body or your organs, experiment on you but… they wanted your milk, but who was buying it? Who was drinking it? Where did it go? You stared at the pretty blond whose arm kept your shoulders still, you saw the news– you’d known he had a child and who knows with whom but his kid was old enough to not need it… was it for him? You thought… thinking of it as ridiculous until you remember how 20 minutes ago  he was staring at your tits as if he was malnourished, you looked at his lips pursing as he took a long sip of his milkshake and wonder if that was milk… from a cow… not a heifer like you.

Homelander smiled at you.

“I don’t like ‘The mothman prophecy’ , never been a Richard Gere fan” he said casually.

“He was really good in ‘Pretty Woman’ . This one is okay…” You looked at the screen your voice so stiff– what’s going on…? Mr. Homelander… I…"

“Shhh… watch the movie” He leaned against you resting his head on your shoulder– you tasted the best… every batch perfection– such delicate custardy taste… So this is what we are gonna do… I’ll keep you in this floor so you’re not so bored ."

You swear he’s purring as he rubs himself against you marking you as much as he was making himself comfortable.

“There’s cameras everywhere… The glass is bulletproof, doors won’t open without a fob and code, and there’s no phones or internet, but if you do manage to get out of here just be aware I’ll know.” He said such terrible things as if it was nothing– if you tried to off yourself there will be 3 armed guards and nurses here in less than a minute but if you behave I promise you– you’ll be allowed out, but only if you gain my trust.” He looks up at you as you focus on those thin lips of his– there’s no kitchen but your meals will be delivered… if you want anything just tell the camera over there.”

He pointed at the corner tucked in between two VHS tapes was a small camera.

“I like you Y/N you're cute… you’ll behave for me, right?”

You nodded, too afraid to disagree.

“Now… let’s finish the movie… I actually like this part”

You stared at the pizza box, you could at least tell that the pizza was from an american restaurant, which made you feel safe ‘Select Pizza and Grill” said in the box and you knew you were somewhere in Pennsylvania, far from your apartment in Clinton Hill.

You looked at your boobs feeling his piercing gaze on them, you started drawing lines connecting weird things together, back when you were donating your milk, girls joked about people buying for medicinal and fetish purposes, this spelled itself out for you.

Maybe you could get out of here… but you had to do something weird… but as you heard the birds outside and the warm light peeked into the room, you realized maybe you could leave… no you’ll leave, you’ll go back home and you would find a way to ruin this man and those bastards beneath you, you’ll get them out too, so you took one courageous breath and forced a smile on your dried lips.

“You really liked it?”

“Huh?”

“My milk…” You mumbled– you know I never tasted it myself but am glad to get a review.”

“It’s really tasty” he bites his lip.

Your hand plays with one of the buttons on the dress.

“It hurts a bit… I usually get asked to pump around this time… dunno if you know this but it's a bit painful when they get this swollen.”

The look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know and as you leaned away from him pulling on buttons with slightly trembling fingers, you watched him follow your movements like a snake chasing prey.

“Would you help me out, mister superhero?” Is not flirty but is slightly playful and you’re surprised that you can lie that well, he’s so shameless as he shakes his head enthusiastically, mouth opening for you– please don’t bite.”

He gasps as you let him see all that he’d wanted from the get go, why he put you in that box, why you ended up in this place for.

His body was lighter than you thought as he sunk against you-- eyes closed, body limp against yours, he made the softest sounds it put you at ease somehow, for a moment you saw a very small being latched on your chest, you’d only experienced it once before, and it was seared into your mind as a painful yet tender memory, so you close your eyes dreaming of a fantasy far removed from this peculiar reality, half lid eyes found a man so blissed out your lips curved, this was unbelievable, the world most famous supe keeping you hostage just so you could indulged him.

But you knew now… that this was your way out.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Won't You Leave? (Clark Kent)

Summary: You find out your best friend is actually a superhero.

Warnings: angst

WC: 700ish

Read on Ao3!

-

The city buzzed below the rooftop you were standing on, lights flickering as Metropolis went about its usual business. The air was crisp, the kind that carries the faintest promise of rain. You stood by the ledge, staring out at the skyline with an overwhelming sense of unease. Clark was supposed to meet you here, but there had been no sign of him yet.

A soft whoosh of air brushed past you, and you felt it more than heard it — the quiet presence behind you. You didn’t turn around immediately. Instead, you let your eyes close, savoring the brief silence before the storm inside you unleashed.

“I thought we promised no more secrets,” you murmured softly, voice trembling more than you intended. “I thought that’s what friends were for.”

Clark’s voice, usually so warm and calming, cracked with tension. “I didn’t want to keep this from you.”

You turned slowly to face him, your breath catching in your throat. He stood there, looking as human as ever, his eyes filled with the same kindness, the same vulnerability you’d always known. But now you knew. You knew. The blur of Superman’s cape hung in the air behind him, as if lingering to remind you of the reality you’d been forced to face.

“Clark…” you whispered, taking a step back, “how could you lie to me about something like this? For years?”

His hand reached out instinctively, but he hesitated. You could see the conflict in his eyes. “I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was protecting you.”

You felt a sharp pang in your chest at those words. Protection. Always protection. But what about trust? What about the bond you thought you had? A bitter laugh escaped you as tears pricked at your eyes.

“You were my best friend,” you said, shaking your head. “I trusted you with everything. And you couldn’t trust me with this?”

Clark’s face fell. His brows furrowed in that familiar way he did when he was wrestling with emotions too big to contain. “It wasn’t about trust. It was… I didn’t want to lose you. To put you in danger.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” you snapped, your voice breaking under the weight of all the emotions crashing through you. “This… this changes everything, Clark.”

“I know,” he whispered. His voice was thick, almost pleading. “But please, don’t leave. Don’t walk away. I’ll never be the same if you do.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. The air between you was charged, thick with tension, grief, and something else — something unsaid, hanging in the air like an unspoken confession. You had loved him, more than you had ever admitted to yourself. But this secret? This lie? It was a chasm too wide to bridge.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks. “You’ve been Superman all this time, and I… I didn’t even know who you really were.”

He took a step forward, his expression desperate, searching. “I’m still me. I’m still the same Clark. Please, don’t go. I need you. I need you more than anything.”

For a long moment, you didn’t move. You felt the weight of the world pressing down on you, threatening to suffocate you. But despite the hurt, despite the betrayal, there was still that part of you — the part that knew Clark, the real Clark. The one who listened when you had bad days, who made you laugh, who made you feel safe.

But how could you reconcile the man you loved with the superhero who had kept this enormous part of himself hidden from you?

“I need time,” you finally whispered, stepping back once more. “I can’t just… I can’t just pretend like this doesn’t change things.”

His eyes dimmed with sadness, but he nodded slowly, accepting your words. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here. I’ll wait for as long as it takes.”

You turned, swallowing the lump in your throat as you walked toward the rooftop stairs, your heart breaking with every step. You didn’t know what the future held, or if you could ever truly forgive him.

But one thing was certain — neither of you would ever be the same.

[hyperions-light]

What Will Be Left, Then?: Illario in the Fade Ossuary

This is the third part in a series of posts about Spite's Fade Ossuary. The first is here, the second is here.

Illario's Room

Illario is the final and greatest obstacle to Lucanis getting out of the prison. He stands in front of the vial (that thing's like a fucking... pitcher lol) of Lucanis' blood. The notes in his room are located behind Rook when they enter inside the boat, on the table by the ledge, and under the "vial" when you break it. They read:

I think this is less a single emotion and more of an amalgam of feelings that Lucanis has had regarding Illario throughout the game so far: the fear that he'd be killed, the pain and anger at his betrayal, and that he ultimately still loves Illario as his brother, despite everything he's done. When you speak to him, Illario will say:

Rook... you're too good to be wasting your time in a place like this. Forget about my cousin. You've got much more important things to worry about, don't you? You've got the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Which is, again, Lucanis thinking that he doesn't deserve Rook's help, that his feelings aren't important and his issues aren't worth dealing with-- that he is wasting Rook's time. Spite then gives you some insight into Lucanis' feelings by saying:

Sharp. Jagged edges. Hurt with every breath. Grief and relief. Hope and anger. Mixed.

Which is.... a lot. He loves Illario, he's happy that he's safe, but he's angry, devastated, that his brother would betray him like that. He's extremely conflicted about what he wants to do, how he can fix this situation; before Rook enters the Ossuary, Lucanis calls Illario an idiot and asks how he's supposed to deal with this. Illario has utterly complicated the situation by mixing together Lucanis' three categories of people, which Spite tells Rook earlier are family, contracts and enemies. What is Illario, now that he has done this?

After more commentary from Rook and Spite, Illario reiterates that Rook should leave, that letting Lucanis out is dangerous. If Rook asks the question here, Illario will talk about how the entire Dellamorte family perished in the war of succession except for Caterina, Illario, and Lucanis. He will ask what will be left if they fight each other, and if Rook really thinks they and the Veilguard will survive it. This once again emphasizes Lucanis' fear that he will destroy everything he has left as he pursues vengeance; is it really worth it, if he endangers what he values?

Rook can here say one of three things to Illario: that a confrontation with him is inevitable (1); that Illario is just trying to save his own skin (2); or that Lucanis should not let Illario speak for him, because the situation is his fault (3). I think Illario's responses are interesting, so I'll relay them:

1. A year he spent in this hole. In darkness. Dreaming of escape. Just to come home and kill his only family for a job he never wanted. 2. Would that be enough? Would anything? 3. Is it? Are you sure of that?

I think these answers indicate different things Lucanis is afraid of about himself, about Illario. That he will have to murder his only brother for something he doesn't even value; that killing Illario, sparing Illario wouldn't be enough to sate Spite, to stop his revenge; that maybe all of this isn't really Illario's fault, but Lucanis’ (I didn't say he was being super logical lol). Illario follows all three with:

Do you really think he made a deal with a demon? He's not even a mage! Or do you think, maybe, he just found the one there already? He'll carry this prison with him forever, and he'll fill it with corpses, given time.

Lucanis still doesn't know how he was able to contain Spite, why this is working at all, and that feeds into his fear that maybe he was always this way. Maybe it's just him who's uncontrollable and violent and dangerous (oh my gooooood Lucanis ;;;-;;; let me hug him, BW). He will never get out of here, and he will only destroy more and more of what he loves.

Rook can dismiss Illario by saying that Lucanis is a professional, who knows friend from foe; by saying he should evict his cousin from his mind; or that Lucanis doesn't know the future, and that fear is no reason to stay somewhere that's hurting him, especially when he's needed. Illario will warn Rook about the consequences of their choice, and Rook will say that no matter the outcome, they will help Lucanis.

I was hoping this would be the last post, but Illario had a lot to say, so Lucanis will get his own. Last one is here.

[twooftheluckyones]

Cult of the Lamb: Luck of the Lamb Part 4: Reap the Whirlwind

The physical body does not exist within the afterlife, instead the land is inhabited by the souls of the dead or departed. Resurrection repairs the mortal coil, but godly wounds ceaselessly weep. Thus, a god cannot survive death without the healing properties of a conduit crown. Despite this many have tried, though normally its not someone else's power keeping them clinging to the margins of life. A power now bonded through the sheer force of will to share a lonely throne. ~Previous/Next~ ~Start~ ~~~~ Story Segment Under Cut ~~~~

Rage. Betrayal. Vengeance.

Their fight filled the afterlife with destruction and violence. Two gods wrestling for the key to their power. Blade and blood met flame and fury.

Narinder was an old god, powerful beyond measure even in his imprisonment. He had commanded life and death, and weilded curses effortlessly. Una would not be the first god he'd killed.

Yet fate had other plans.

She crackled with divine energy, dancing around his attacks effortlessly.

Lucky.

It felt like ages, and yet before he knew it, it was over. Her blade, made of his crown, plunged into his chest, and his eldritch form crumbled. A god defeated, reduced to nothing.

And then...

Pain. Nothing but searing hot, agonizing pain. Narinder felt lost in a sea of torment, his body suddenly awash with screaming flesh. Through burning nerves he distantly noticed the world around him felt different, the brittle bone meal landscape of the gateway gone. Instead, he felt stone, grass, and chill air against his skin. His eyes felt like hot coals shoved in their sockets, and even trying to open them felt like a dagger to the skull. The sensations were nothing but a candle to the raging inferno of suffering. In another time, he wondered if this was what the mortals he damned in the afterlife felt like. Perhaps that was his fate now. Eternal pain. Fitting. Yet as he laid there, squirming weakly in the depths of agony, something approached. "Nrdnr?! Hly Shtt!" Muffled words reached his ears, soft hands scrambling over his skin. Some demonic tormentor, come to perpetuate or relish in his state? "Hld Stlll! Fgk Fgk!" It was impossible to think over the agony, and they pushed away his hands as he feebly tried to fend them off. The cold ground under him suddenly felt warm and sticky, the silken robes he wore suddenly wet with something. "Hre! Ths iz phor thg baain." His attacker grabbed his head, shoving some vial of something against his lips. The biter oily fluid hit the back of his throat, a spasm of coughs making his body jerk and flail, each one feeling like barbed wire was being flossed through his bones. This really was hell. Hands yanked his tattered robes off, exposing his skin to the cold air. Some kind of cloth wrapped around his arms, pulled tight against the angry nerves. More on his chest, pushed against the spaces in his ribs where an echo of betrayal now bled. Two betrayals. Twice now he'd trusted and lost for it. At least the last time he hadn't been alive to feel what dying was like. "Hold still! Where did all this blood come from?!" A sudden calmness entered his mind, and the fire of agony faded into a foggy, numb abyss. Narinder opened his eyes. Stars met him, the half moon's pale light shining down. He tilted his head up, the movement feeling like lifting a boulder. Some figure hunched over him, their hands covered in inky black liquid as they quickly unrolled another bandage and began wrapping it around his chest. Almost instantly the white fabric turned black. The fog around his head grew thicker, eyes fluttering heavily as consciousness became fleeting and fickle. The figure glanced at him, red meeting red. Despite his injuries, Narinder still possessed enough strength to recognize them.

"Narinder," Una's voice poured with grief. "I'm so sorry, please just hold on. Its going to be okay."

Another empty deceitful lie. "Una..." he muttered, voice a mere whisper through his scratchy and weak throat. "Narinder?" Her eyes wept a river of tears, the guilt in her words echoed across her face. The traitorous eye of his former crown gazed down from atop her head, watching with unending apathy. Rage bloomed in his oozing chest, a small surge of fury granting him some measure of energy. He summoned all of his remaining power, defiance filling his fading mind. "Fuck you." Darkness.

[brighteuphony]

Some reunions, like Naruto and Lee, are filled with happy hugs and warm welcomes.

Others...not so much.

Ino and Sakura's reunion...yeah it doesn't go great.

Sakura had been invited back into her mother's estranged family after her accident, but on the way through Tea Country, the caravan had been attacked by bandits/dissidents and Sakura ended up jumping into a river to save herself.

Her body was never found, and she was considered dead. She has an empty grave right beside her mother's and father's in Konoha.

Ino, Naruto and Lee were devastated. Ino, in particular, was inconsolable. She'd just made up with her friend and they'd been struggling to find footing after Sakura's accident, so to get the news of her death crushed Ino.

She'd felt so guilty, fighting over stupid things like boys, all the dumb insults they'd leveled at each other, and her helplessness at Sakura's condition ate at her for a long time. Ino threw herself into the job and she left flowers at Sakura's grave every Sunday for a year (and her parents did it for her when she was on missions) before finally beginning to heal.

To learn that Sakura was alive the entire time, that she didn't care enough to send Ino a single letter...that she just let Ino go through all that heart-wrenching grief is a betrayal that Ino can't suffer. It's like having that wound, only just now scarring over, be torn open and salted.

She spent a year mired in grief, and the next three trying to mend the hole Sakura's death left in her life. And to have all of that history, friendship and grief disrespected... Ino doesn't talk to Sakura for almost 7 months.

As for Sakura, she was in such a depression after her accident, she managed to convince herself that she didn't matter to any of her old friends (especially because it was so awkward and difficult to find common footing with everyone after being honorably discharged). So she made the mistake of assuming no one cared, almost as a method of protecting herself from the consequences of her own decisions.

This bites her in the ass, ofc.

Eventually, they enter a 'cold but civil' relationship when Sakura makes a sincere, heartfelt (and groveling) apology. After that, the walls come down, but their friendship won't ever take the same form as it did before, but maybe that's for the better.

Their new friendship is much stronger.

Once again, thank you so much to everyone for all the amazing asks and the incredibly kind words about this AU!

@evaregia