#cw death during childbirth

[forestofforever]

"Echoes of the past" (sylvester or the crow!!)

"Come on, take your gloves off! I wanna see! Is it because your hands are ugly? I bet that's it."

The one excitedly yelling these words is Noah, the Crow's half-brother. The Crow's mother passed away during childbirth and his father remarried soon after, resulting in Noah, who was only about 2 years younger than the Crow. The Crow quite likes his half-brother, and they often spend time together, playing outside of their little house as Noah's mother watches them either from the window or from the garden. The reason Noah is yelling is because of the gloves.

The ones that the Crow never takes off.

The Crow does not know why he wears these gloves, is unsure about their purpose. His father, however, told him quite sternly to never take them off. The Crow, being as obedient as he is, simply follows this order. He's never even considered taking them off.

"They're not ugly, they're just normal hands." The Crow protests, laughing along with his brother. His brother gives him a playful shove "I bet they're hideous, that's why you're hiding them. Ugly hands! Ugly hands! Ś̵̷̞̹͝v̷͓̈́_̷̙͌s̸͇͋t̷̴̡̟̑̓ȑ̸̼ has ugly hands!"

And that's when the Crow decided to remove them. Sure, it is just playful teasing and he doesn't have to prove anything, but he wants to show Noah that he is wrong, mostly because it feels great to point it out when your sibling is wrong about something. And so the gloves are removed, revealing the skin underneath. The Crow's hands are the colors of a bruise, deep and purple, and not at all the color that skin should be. Both the Crow and Noah stare at it in silence for a moment before Noah shouts.

"See! They are ugly!"

The Crow doesn't even mind the comment, he just laughs and gives his brother a playful push "They're not!" But as his hands touch Noah's bare skin, it's as if the boy's life is drained in an instant, his body crumpling to the floor as an empty husk. The Crow looks at his brother, shakes him, laughing at first, assuming it a joke... but then growing frantic when Noah does not wake up. He doesn't even fully realize that his stepmother has joined him and is now kneeling next to him, cradling her dead son while weeping. The Crow reaches out to comfort her, forgetting his lack of gloves.

His father finds him, eventually, once the sun has gone down, sitting in front of the house with two dead bodies that used to be his family. His father is livid. While the Crow never felt unloved by his father, he could still tell that there was always a distance between them, and Noah was obviously the favored child, but the way his father looks at him now makes it quite clear that the Crow is no longer considered family in any way. There is shouting. Insults. The Crow can only make out noise, meaningless noise.

He doesn't want to know the meaning because it hurts.

He runs until his feet can carry him no longer, into the forest, that cursed forest where his mother wished for a child. She got what she wanted, didn't she? And he runs, and he runs, until the crows welcome him with open wings.

[itsjustevil]

I did this with some of my friends in Discord as we took turns doing the prompts. How I went about doing it was five per character. I'm gonna catalogue them all here because why not.

Abe(no last name)

1- Abe has no siblings and does not have any information on his extended family.

2- Abe's mother died in childbirth. All he knows about her is that she gave him three things, his life, his name, and a long black scarf. These are the only things he considers anyone to have given him, the rest of his possessions are things he took.

3- Lmao bitch is fatherless. He has no interest in the concept of a father, though in the situation where he had the chance to meet his dad, he would kill him.

4- Abe once witness a teenaged girl kick a grown ass man in the nuts and then threaten to strangle him with belt for information. This didn't change his morality, he was always a fucked up guy, but this change one vital thing. There are a few people in this world that are interesting, and maybe worth keeping around just to see what they'll do next.

5- A gun, a lighter, some lock picks, a few different fake IDs, some components to a molotov cocktail.

Sera Norio

6- He dreams about being buried several feet underground in a coffin. Strangely he doesn't consider this to be a nightmare.

7- What he does consider a nightmare is whenever the dream morphs into a sort of second phase, where his coffin is suddenly dug up. Normally his coffin is wooden but through dream logic it changes into a glass one so he can slowly make out the person digging him up as the dirt disappears. It's a girl in dark purple gown, with messy dirty blonde hair, and no facial features besides a big sinister grin. The nightmare ends with the girl getting down to open the coffin, but he always wakes up in a cold sweat before she gets him.

8- no.

9- He lived in a tiny little town as the local undertaker's son, and now he lives in the capital as a mortician the government often contracts.

10- More clothes. He does not like being exposed, especially if there's intimate subtext in the air.

Ian "Crocodile" Clives

11- Any situation where there's something that's able to connect him to his past. He doesn't want anything to do with his old life because he A. Doesn't want to endanger the person he left behind, and B. Doesn't want to face the person he left behind.

12- He describes the time where he's sleeping to when he's the most comfortable. He never dreams, so it's just like he's not existing for a few hours, which to him is relieving.

13- No. He cuts up recently murdered people and preserves their organs to sell on the black market for a living. He's extremely comfortable handling a corpse or messy crime scene, it's second nature.

14- Names. Names are important to keep track of in the criminal underworld.

15- Not too much, he doesn't really have any material possessions he's particularly attached to, and he doesn't care too much about money beyond "I need to pay rent so I have a place to live, and I need to meet my quota so my boss doesn't have me offed."

Clance Clansol

16- Success. Clance considers happiness to be a byproduct of success. If he's not accomplishing whatever the fuck his weird strange goals are, then is he really happy?

17- A rubik cube. It just has an "intellectual" aesthetic to it, a style he purposefully parodies with his memer redditor persona.

18- Both wisdom and ambition are important qualities to Clance, though he'll likely lean towards ambition. Gotta have big goals.

19- Clance is very self destructive when it comes to his relationships with other people. He purposefully built his whole persona around being the obnoxious kind of guy that you can easily find yourself in an antagonistic relationship. His only real friendship is with Sunada, who herself has issues with how she views friendships.

20- Clance is always looking at what others are trying to accomplish, what they're trying to get done, and silently compares his progress with theirs. He's secretly really critical of himself. It's a little hard to go further into detail without spoiling the deets.

Wendy Pan

21- When something negative happens to Wendy, it is simply The Universe trying to get in her way of achieving her goals. She believes both herself and Sera to be those scorned by the very cosmos itself, and attributes most bad things that happens to divine sabotage.

22- She does not like people that aren't Sera Norio. In her childhood, the only one to ever shown her kindness was Sera, and thus she's constructed the belief that he's the only person in the world that truly deserves happiness.

23- Wendy simply thinks that most people are inherently evil, or just ambivalent to the actions of those who are evil. She does not think very deeply on her opinions of others, her mind on humanity and society was made up years ago.

24- In their childhood, it took Wendy a long time to go to trust Sera. At first he was just the strange child who lived in the undertaker's house, who didn't snitch on her when she hid in his cupboard. It was a long while until she grew to trust, to attach herself to him, though it was inevitable. The only person to offer shelter to her, the only person who she could talk to, to confide him. Wendy has room for only one person in her beaten and abused heart, and that is Sera Norio.

25- Very quickly. Low opinion of people and all. Anyone that she isn't bribing or blackmailing and isn't Sera is most likely working against and wants to punish her for the act of existing.

(BONUS!: This is the same person in Sera's nightmare. Also kidna fucked up that there's only three girls here, and one of them is this creature. My cast is more evenlt gender split, the Wheel just chose mostly guys for some reason.)

Omura Minori

26- She is a children. Despite the fact that she's more intelligent then anyone else her age, she is still a little kid and likes hanging around other little kids. If you let her, she'll organize a group of kids into a little army, and under her control they'll actually be incredibly dangerous. Now that I'm thinking about it, when she was first noticed was when she over threw an entire orphanage by getting her fellow snot nosed imps to unite with her.

27- Omura is tactically minded and confident, she approaches and reacts to conflict with stoicism and a plan. She handles confrontation probably better than most of my characters.

28- She is tiny. She can't inflict physical violence. She will however command adults to "get ready to engage combat/use persuasive force." She'll think her choices through, but she doesn't have qualms with making someone beat the shit out someone else who isn't giving her what she wants.

29- Omura is still a child, and yet is already what she wants. She's recognized as one of the greatest tactical geniuses of our time, and more importantly, she gets to eat breakfast food three meals a day. So many pancakes. What more to life is there than that?

30- Insects, mustard, adults making sexual innuendos with each other, etc. She is tiny silly kid, who just so happens to have the strategic mind comparable to hi story's greatest military commanders.

Lionel Theobold

31- Honestly, hard to say, and that's because Lionel wants to get out of his comfort zone, my man wants to interact with people, he wants to experience the trial and error of learning how to act around people his own age. When he'd naturally feel the most comfortable is on his own, maybe reading a novel or doing cartography work, but he also doesn't want to just hide in his room all day.

32- Probably just his introduction in the plot. He wakes up in a room he doesn't recognize, and is woken up by not only a stranger, but a stranger a gender he has no experience talking to. He is forced to speed run learning how to be normal around women. Bitch was damn lucky that Isa's natural instincts lead her to try find out why someone is acting a particular way, and try to be more empathetic when she thinks the other person is out of their element. There's a version of that scene where [my friend] was in control and man does that not go well for Lionel.

33- Lionel knows he's scuffed in a lot of areas, and does want to improve. He wants to learn actual social skills. He can sometimes take a piece of criticism hard, but in the end he's willing to take whatever you dish at him as long as it's at least a little constructive.

34- Eh??? I'd say he's smart enough to try different solutions to a problem, though sometimes he can get hung up if he was *pretty sure* something worked a certain that it's not seeming to.

35- Lionel is very kind and polite to those he likes. He's constantly offering to help people with their problems, wanting to be as valuable as a friend as he can.

(BONUS!: A way I like to describe him is this: Lionel has permanent disadvantage on all Persuasion checks, but has like, a 16 in Charisma(that's good.) He's genuinely a great guy, but his personal life experiences just leaves him absolutely scuffed when it comes to social interactions.)

Sunada Maki

36- Matt should knows how this goes well, Sunada did not tolerate Seth's BS. She's very upfront about her opinion about other people, and will actively fight back if she believes someone is wronging her. (This next bit all happened in a RP, isn't strictly canonical but is a good reflection of how'd she react to ableist people.) She ran over Seth on multiple different occasions, and when he apologized before he was about to be executed, she was just like, "Yeah, whatever man" and absolutely refused to give him closure on that front.

37- I don't think Sunada necessarily really thinks about the concept of honor? She might throw out the word when doing a monologue or rant during a trivia game or tournament, but won't really mean much by it. She kind of feels it in sense, she doesn't like disrespect or losing, but on the whole honor's not a big thing for her. Status on the other hand, is. Her self worth comes from the fact that she's recognized her encyclopedic knowledge on all subjects.

38- Remove the problem. If she isn't the problem, then why would she remove herself? No, if something is causing her grief she is dealing with that shit.

39- no.

40- This probably won't put her in the best light, but she'd likely be very commanding and thorough when speaking to people in service positions. Not necessarily mean, but not really polite or empathetic.

(BONUS!: Context on the bit where she reacts to an ableist bastard, she's paralyzed from the waist down, has been since birth.)

Chiba Shou

41- He feels he should have what he wants, for he already earned it essentially. Not in a "I'm naturally deserving" sort of way, but he feels like what does on a daily basis should earn respect and admiration from his peers.

42- Eh... Probably not. I actually don't think I've ever made him a backstory. I guess he doesn't really need one, but I might write one for him some day.

43- Hm... I'm assuming this means like adopting, which is not something he's ever done, but he's the kind of person who tries to take others under his wing. He really thinks of himself as a father figure, but that's just because of his ego. My man ain't a role model.

44- Pretty easily honestly. He believes he means it, he'll convince himself of it in the moment, but never has it been truly sincere.

45- If asked, he'll probably say something romantic about becoming one of the stars or something else like that. Bullshit. Chiba does not know what'll happen when he dies, and fears it. He hopes by becoming surrounded by admirers and having people remember him after he's gone, he'll find some solace in passing away, but in truth it's all empty, and when his time comes he'll scream and plead with the void as it consumes him.

Character Development Questions: Hard Mode

Does your character have siblings or family members in their age group? Which one are they closest with?

What is/was your character’s relationship with their mother like?

What is/was your character’s relationship with their father like?

Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?

On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?

Does your character have recurring themes in their dreams?

Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares?

Has your character ever fired a gun? If so, what was their first target?

Is your character’s current socioeconomic status different than it was when they were growing up?

Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?

In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been?

In what situation was your character the most calm they’ve ever been?

Is your character bothered by the sight of blood? If so, in what way?

Does your character remember names or faces easier?

Is your character preoccupied with money or material possession? Why or why not?

Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success?

What was your character’s favorite toy as a child?

Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?

What is your character’s biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?

In what ways does your character compare themselves to others? Do they do this for the sake of self-validation, or self-criticism?

If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others?

What does your character like in other people?

What does your character dislike in other people?

How quick is your character to trust someone else?

How quick is your character to suspect someone else? Does this change if they are close with that person?

How does your character behave around children?

How does your character normally deal with confrontation?

How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation?

What did your character dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?

What does your character find repulsive or disgusting?

Describe a scenario in which your character feels most comfortable.

Describe a scenario in which your character feels most uncomfortable.

In the face of criticism, is your character defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve?

Is your character more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method?

How does your character behave around people they like?

How does your character behave around people they dislike?

Is your character more concerned with defending their honor, or protecting their status?

Is your character more likely to remove a problem/threat, or remove themselves from a problem/threat?

Has your character ever been bitten by an animal? How were they affected (or unaffected)?

How does your character treat people in service jobs?

Does your character feel that they deserve to have what they want, whether it be material or abstract, or do they feel they must earn it first?

Has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?

Has your character ever had a dependent figure who was not related to them?

How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?

What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?

[doyouknowhowtowaltz]

Can I have your opinion on a small headconon I had for the beast for a while?

For the longest time I had a thought that Lorna’s mother/birth parents where made into elder oil and burned in the lantern. I also like the idea that everyone that burns in the lantern Is kinda part of the beast/he can hear them and they can have a small influence on him if he allows it. So the thought that Lorna’s mother is kinda looking through the beasts eyes and watching Lorna’s grow and the beast actually kinda listens to her voice when it comes to Lorna. Personally I like the idea for a scene where Lorna laments to the beast that she never knew her birth parents and that she was curious about her mother and the beast is able to give her the opportunity to communicate with her to some small degree or at least tell her things about her because he has access to the memory’s of everyone in the lantern, including her mother/parents.

This is sweet!

I've added a break, because it occurs to me that I've veered into disturbing territory.

I would assume Lorna's mother died shortly after giving birth, which lends itself to an interesting idea of the Beast playing midwife to a dying witch, her reasoning that he'll take her regardless, but if the child is born perhaps one day they can grow into something he can plant.

It would have to be a desperate time for the Beast to consume Lorna's mother's tree during Lorna's life time, I figure he usually prefers to leave trees to ferment, but it could be he only helped deliver the child because he was entering a stretch of lean years and can't afford any degree of wastefulness.

It's interesting to think of the remains of people who join the Beast's... ahem congregation as whole people. While I usually think of them as being somewhat conscious, I've always thought of them as unwhole things, reduced into shells of themselves, hungry, scared, hopeless, screaming, perhaps they recognize faintly and react to things that tied them strongly. Their strength in reaching him, swaying him, only comes from the fact that they scream together, like a flock, a legion, they loose their individualism. The idea of the Beast being able to reach into their past's with perfect clarity is... chilling in the implications it has for his hunting.

I would be fascinated to know how you think the Beast's relationship with Lorna is colored. Is it the echoes of her parentage that draws him protectively around her? Or is it their shared hunger, and he only dredges up her mother's soul from the depths of himself because he's already grown fond of young Lorna.

Either way it's a very cute idea, and it's a delightful way to show what a soft spot the Beast has for Lorna, the idea of him trying to fill the maternal role that he's also (partially) responsible for ripping away.

[daygeneral]

@scribare     ⸺     💭 + home

as cliche as it sounds home is not a place to serenay it is a person. she never had the comfort of loving parents, seeing as her mother didn’t survive childbirth due to her being born with wings. her father is an unknown ( i am still figuring out the lore for her father, tempted to draw inspiration from other fae-based universes. since serenay’s wings doesn’t truly fit illyrian’s or peregryn’s ). the orphanages at the war camps don’t feel like home either. picked for what was believed to be an elite program for young promising warriors. it is there the belief that a home is a place is truly broken. she cannot hide from the former day court general, the ‘home’ provides her with no safety. the war camps are the place she lives for the next five hundred years, but they are not home —— provides no safety. 

home instead is the arms of her significant other / mate ( usually defaulting to cassian in an acotar-inspired setting unless otherwise plotted ). it is the first place serenay experiences a sense of safety, where she allows herself to let down her guard. slowly the idea of a home expands from just her mate’s arms to their circle of friends —— it becomes the people she finds safety in, people whom she trusts and loves. so as long as she is with her people she is at home, not mattering if she is in the open wilderness or a lavish house. 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬.

[catsteeth]

She's My Collar

Sandor "The Hound" Clegane x Baratheon Princess

+:✿ Request ✿:+ 

Request: “This request is for sandor of course!! I am all for angsty, yearning sandor clegane!! My train of thought is all over the place but heres a list of something I hope you could include in the one shot: •hozier level yearning •unrequited love/want •perhaps stark!reader or baratheon!reader •fleeting interactions like something small but it sticks with sandor •“im not a religious man but ill follow her” kinda vibe if that makes any sense!!" CW: MDNI, ANGST, afab reader, alcohol consumption, unrequited love, yearning, misogyny, arranged marriage, violence, joffrey being joffrey, mention of death.  A/N: He’s pathetic and I love it

Word Count: 5K

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The girl was born a Baratheon, born to Robert Baratheon during a previous marriage. Her mother, born to some wealthy house. But her memory would be lost in time after she died in childbirth. Robert did not speak of her. Cersei despised the mention of her name. So not much was known of her. Though she must’ve been pretty, as the girl born to Robert Baratheon was a girl of beauty. And soon after her mother’s death, Robert married Cersei Lannister. 

Either due to jealousy or embarrassment Cersei would treat the girl with malice, and hostility. But unlike the King's eldest son, the girl was kind and good. 

The boy was born to a man who wanted nothing more than for his sons to be knights of the Seven Kingdoms. His ambitions blinded him, allowing his eldest son Gregor to commit horrid acts. So long as the boy was a knight, none else mattered. The man's youngest son was kind. He was just a boy, no more than six years old. 

The little boy dreamed of being a knight just as his father did. Dreamed on the good deeds he would do in the name of his king and the Seven Kingdoms. Though those dreams would be dashed and discarded once the boy's older brother showed him the cruelty the world is capable of. The cruelty he was capable of. The cruelty the world rewarded him for. 

The boy grew into The Hound, Sandor Clegane the second most feared man in the Seven Kingdoms. The girl grew into a princess, one hated by her stepmother and eldest half brother. But loved by her father, her half siblings, the realm, and by a Hound.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

The Hound and the princess grew alongside one another most of his life. He could remember when he and she were much younger. The Lannisters and the Baratheons were traveling across the Stormlands. It was a hard journey, soon food became scarce. Naturally the scraps of whatever the royals did not eat were left to the guards and any other member of the traveling crew. But the princess would offer a young hound the meat from her plate every night.  He always hesitated, but was too hungry to deny her charity. She never held her charitable act over him, never even mentioned it. 

He was not one to appreciate beauty, nor was he one to indulge himself in fantasies of love. But the princess’s beauty was one that haunted Sandor. His whole life he looked at her as though she were the maiden herself. And the princess did not look upon the Hound with grotesque curiosity. Nor did she flaunt his presence to others in a manner of threatening them. No, the princess was kind towards him, kind when she did not have to be. He often found kindness a weakness in people, but in her kindness he found a comfort. 

The girl was different from her father, different from her brother. She was kind, she was honest, and he would follow her as if she was a God.  

He could also remember the first time she bestowed her favor onto him. 

Sandor never feared the tourneys he fought in. He did not fear the joust, he did not fear the competitors. What he did not like was the tradition of asking a noble lady for her favor. 

Sandor never liked this tradition. Never liked having to speak to noble ladies much less ask them to favor him. Not only was it ridiculous to him, the ladies often grimaced at his gesture. But at this tourney, and every tourney after it, he would pick the lady he wished to have picked each time before. 

As he rode his intimidatingly large black ill tempered stallion around the tournament pit. He looked up at all the noble ladies above him, looking down at him. They all sneered at his gaze, wishing not to be picked. The noble men all snickered amongst one another. But there was one person who looked upon him with indifferent eyes. The Baratheon girl’s eyes were not filled with pity, disgust, nor anticipation for the violence he was about to insight for the high lord's entertainment. She simply watched him with her same kind eyes. 

He did not think much of it, it came naturally to him as he stopped his horse in front of the royal family's seating. “I ask the favor of the Princess.” He said begrudgingly. 

The princess rose from her seat with a smile. She grabbed a ring of florals and silk. The flowers were yellow and the silk ribbon was black, the colors of both her house and his. As she approached him, she smiled upon him and placed the favor upon his joust. “I wish you good fortune, Sandor Clegane.” Sandor, he did not know she knew his name. Her voice itself was gentle and hushed, only for him to hear. Her smile was gentle and warm, one that he would have killed to see each night. One that he won the tourney for. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Once, Joffrey had decided that a servant boy had shot him a momentary disrespectful glance. If he had, it would not have been unwarranted, though who is to say if he even did. Joffrey, sometimes bored, would pretend small disrespectful gestures were made against him. Allowing him to justify any horrid act he found amusement in subjecting any poor soul to. 

“I am sorry, my prince! Please if you would give me another chance-” The servant boy pleaded on his hands and knees. His cheek red from the blow Ser Meryn had given him moments before. 

Sandor never liked being Joffrey's sworn shield. Never liked that blonde cunt at all. Whenever he wanted to feel powerful, wanted to hurt someone weaker than him for no good reason, it bored and irritated him. 

Though it hardly ever embarrassed him, until she stepped into that room.

“Brother stop this!” The Baratheon princess commanded with a look of disgust. Sandor, though he’d not laid a hand on the boy, swallowed hard and stood straighter at her sudden presence. He worried how she’d look at him now, would her kind eyes fade for him?

“Why should I?” Joffrey asked her back with a raised brow.

The girl, bravely scoffed and took a few steps closer to her younger ‘brother’, “Because I commanded you to.” She said with angry eyes, an expression Sandor rarely saw from her. She looked beautiful even when she was angry.

Joffrey narrowed his eyes at her, “Who are you to command anything of me?” he stifled a laugh which only enraged her more. And only enraged Sandor more.

She took another step closer to him. Her hand gently trailed along the extravagantly dressed wooden table. “Your elder sister, the Kings first born-” 

“First born daughter.” Joffrey finished her words for her. “Daughter. You are not heir to anything. I’ll be king one day and you, a princess for a lifetime.” He said laughing as if he were amused by some great jest. “And as your king, I could have anything done to you that I like.” He walked closer to her, with a threatening gaze. “In fact, as heir to the throne, I could do anything I like. I could have Ser Meryn hold you down and-”  And with that the girl's temper got the better of her. She grasped a glass goblet from the table she stood by, and threw it with great force at her brother’s feet. The goblet shattered into a hundred pieces. Bits of it flew and cut Joffrey’s right hand. And some other bits cut Sandor’s cheek, not deeply but enough to bleed. “You cannot do that!” His shrill voice cracked as he grasped hold of bleeding palm.

“Clearly I can.” The girl said with little emotion. It would have made Sandor laugh if he didn’t have to worry about the other royal guards. He worried that they would put their filthy hands on you, or would be foolish enough to draw their swords. 

Though none would. The guards were shocked by the scene. This princess had never done so much as raised her voice, and now she was assaulting their future kind. They had to think of defending one of the King’s children from the other. They stood, unsure of how to act.

Furiously Joffrey shouted, “I’ll tell my mother!” Knowing his father would do nothing but ridicule him.

The princess raised her hand, and slapped the boy across the cheek, “Tell her I did that as well.” She added. 

Her slap was enough to leave a red imprint across the boy's face.

In a fit of anger, the young prince grabbed hold of his sword. Prepared to draw its blade and point it at the princess. Just before Sandor could grab the prince, a different Kingsgaurd stepped between the two royals. “Stop this!” the man commanded. Joffrey let go of the sword's hilt and the girl began to walk away, ready to face whatever punishment her step mother desired. 

With her back turned, and the guards' attentions divided. Joffrey ceased his moment, and drew the thin blade of his sword and readied himself to strike the princess. 

“Boy!” The princess turned back as the Hound’s loud voice boomed out through the dining hall. She was stunned by the sight before her. The prince’s attack was stopped by the Hound ceasing the blade with his bare hand. Blood from his hand trickled down the blade of the sword.

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Soon the two royal children were brought before their father the King.

“How the fuck did any of this happen? You are meant to protect my blood!” King Robert questioned the KingsGuard furiously. 

“Never had to protect a princess from a prince.” Ser Meryn attempted to explain, “Or a prince from a princess.” He said in a lower tone that angered Joffrey.

“Shut up!” King Robert angrily shouted, sick of hearing whatever excuse they had. He sat back in his chair, and huffed loudly. He looked between his two children. “Well done, my girl.” He said in a gruff low tone.

Joffrey looked surprised his father would congratulate her on striking her brother. “But look what she-“ Joffrey began, holding up his cut palm.

Though Robert interrupted him, “How could you ever be a king if you cannot win a fight against a woman?” 

“Father!” Joffrey’s shrill voice shouted, 

“Leave!” Robert shouted back. With an infuriated huff, Joffrey left accompanied with two guards by his side. Though Sandor stayed in the room. “Girl, come ‘ere.” Robert commanded much softer to his daughter, waving his hand, beckoning her to come closer. 

She did as her king commanded. Stepped closer to him with her head lowered. Robert stood before her, and held her chin up with his fingers. “You’re more of a man than your brother.” He said proudly. He meant it as a complement, it was a rare thing to receive as a child of Roberts. With a sigh he patted the girl on the back, “Go on then.” He said softly dismissing her. 

She nodded and took her leave as her father requested. 

As the girl left, Sandor turned to follow her out. Though the King’s voice beckoned out, stopping him in his steps. “Dog.” Sandor stopped, and turned towards the King, “If that yellow haired shit lays a hand on my girl you beat him.” The King commanded. Sandor needed no other instruction. He was quite content to do so. “Understood?” The King pressed.

Sandor nodded, “Aye.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As the Hound walked down the Halls of the keep, he saw the princess walking in the opposite direction. He tried to keep his eyes ahead, not looking at her at all. 

Though his illusion of disinterest did not deter the girl, “I beg pardon, ser.” Her serene voice called out gently. It felt like a cool breeze on a hot day, a relief. 

Sandor looked up at her, hoping she was not speaking to him. If she was, he knew whatever words she spoke to him would haunt his thoughts. As he looked at her, he knew she was speaking to him. He swallowed and then croaked out, “I’m no ser.” 

The Baratheon princess shook her head, “No. You are more true than any knight.” He knew her words would haunt him, but now they would torture him. The girl stepped forward, making him almost flinch, “All the knights in that room were content to let my brother kill me. What you did today-“

The girl began but the Hound interrupted her, knowing if she thanked him, his stomach might turn. “It’s my duty to protect you.” He grumbled, attempting to not look the girl in the eyes. Her beautiful eyes.

“I’d call it brave.” She chimed, making him stop and turn to face her once again. He was about to tell her it was not brave but she continued, “But I know you’d not. You are a hard man with many scars. You needn’t courage, nor praise. But I thank you for what you've done.” 

Fuck.

He was never thanked for doing his duty. Never thanked for anything. He was commanded and he did as he was told. 

Her eyes wandered over the Hound’s face. It made him feel weak, for the first time in a very long time. “I am sorry-” She said, her voice sickeningly sweet. Sandor looked at her with confusion, “Are you hurt?” She asked as she reached her hand towards the cut on his cheek. Her sudden movement made him flinch. 

“No.” He rasped quickly. 

The girl however was scared of the Hound. She continued forward and placed a hand on the Hounds shoulder. Even though her hand was separated from his skin by his thick armor, he still felt a chill run over his body. “Oh but you are-” She began, concerned for him. A feeling that was new for him.

“It’s a scratch.” Sandor interrupted the girl.

She shook her head, “Still, I caused it.” The girl reached into the neckline of her gown, making Sandor almost blush. Such a strange thing, a man who had seen every part of a woman, and every sexual act no matter how deviant in almost every brothel in KingsLanding would blush at such a thing. She pulled out a handkerchief embroidered with her name, “Take this.” She said holding it out to him.

He could not take it. He could not, no matter how badly he wanted to. “Don’t need it-” 

“I command you to take it, as your princess.” The girl said without hesitation. Reluctantly Sandor grabbed the cloth, “I am sorry.” She said once more before continuing on and walking past Sandor. 

She did not know that he would worship that cloth. Keep it in his armor, and keep it in his rooms when he slept. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

When Robert mixed drinking and hunting too often, a boar attacked him. Leaving him so injured he was on a deathbed.

The princess visited her father each day, morning, noon, and night. And when he died, she stayed confined to her chambers. Her only company she’d allow was her Septa. Though the girl was grown enough to be without a Septa, hers was closer to a mother. Since the girl never had one, her septa was there for all her girlhood. So she insisted on keeping around. 

Sandor often checked on the girl, though of course she was not wise to this. 

He would open her door, just a crack. He would listen in just to be sure she was alright. One day when he decided to open her door he heard her and her Septa speaking plainly. 

“Do you think the boar was the Gods doing?” The girl asked as she stared out her window with a stoic and dazed expression.

“Hm?” Her septa responded, looking up from the needlepoint she mindlessly toyed at.

The girl did not look at her septa. Simply continued to stare out her window into nothingness. She paused for a moment, not speaking, “I’d a dream the Stranger came to those woods. He changed into a boar and killed my father for his deviance.” She spoke of such morbid dreams with no emotion attached to it at all.

“How awful.” Her septa gasped, throwing her needle point down onto the table in front of her. “No dear girl I don’t think it was.” She said more gently, “You dream too much.” 

The girl shrugged, still not looking at the old woman. “I suppose I’m trying to find the Gods in everything I do.” 

“Prayer is best for that. Not such morbid dreams.” The old Septa said, picking her needle point back up. 

The girl did not respond for a moment, still simply staring out into nothing. “Do you think they’re real?” She asked softly and without shame. “Do you truly believe it? Never did you doubt it?” She asked, finally looking at the Old Septa.

“They are real.” She asserted sternly, “You believe they aren’t?” 

The girl sighed, not wanting for a lecture, “I know the Gods are a necessity for people. Like food, water. I know they must exist. But I also know they don’t.” She said calmly. Her words stuck with Sandor like a knife driven into his back.

“What a terrible thing to say.” Her septa said shocked.

“Is it?” The girl's eyes narrowed in confusion, “It’s just my thoughts.”

The septa shook her head looking back to her needle point. “You think too much, dear girl.” 

The girl sighed and went back to looking out her window, “Seems I do too much and not enough.”

Without many words at all, this lonely girl would consume Sandor’s every thought. She was smart and kind. Two things Sandor did not think of himself. 

He did not believe in the Gods, because if there were Gods, why did they punish this girl? Perhaps she was his punishment. Perhaps he was hers. Perhaps it was the world that was their punishment. 

This girl should be queen. She’d be a good one, a better one then her cunt brother. She’d be loved by the small folk and no doubt able to keep some kind of peace, even with the war. She’d not let her pride keep the seventh kingdom. If they wanted independence they’d have it. Clearly they could fight well enough on their own. But she was not queen. But she was his. 

How her hair laid against the delicate fabric of her pillow. She was all too precious for his affections. He couldn’t help it really, he felt drawn towards her. Felt a stronger pull towards her than he felt towards anything, even food or water. But he’d never subject her to his presence. 

He simply needed to see her, needed to know she was safe.

She slept sweetly, her breathing though loud was the calmest noise he’d heard. It was like the sounds of waves meeting the sands. 

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes he would fantasize about what it would feel like to sleep beside her. For her to invite him into her bed. To sleep in his arms. He’d feel her heartbeat against his own. He’d smell her scent, and feel her chest rise and fall with each breath. He never slept well, but he believed if she was in his arms, perhaps he could. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As time went by, the royal family debated what to do with the girl. She was not a Baratheon Lannister, she was the reminder of Robert's first marriage, a reminder that Joffrey was not the true king. 

Sandor stood guard by the small council’s chamber door as he heard the girl’s step mother Cersei say, “She’s as wild as the boar that killed her father. No man would want her, she is too difficult. So give her to the Tyrell’s, a poisoned gift.” 

Overcome with a myriad of emotions, anger, sadness, and grief, Sandor rushed to the girl's chambers. 

Sandor stood behind her door. His hand firmly grasped the door handle, and his forehead rested against the wood of the door.

He stood there for what felt like an eternity. 

He wanted to open the door, ask- no beg you to run away with him. He wanted to tell you all the things he felt for you. Wanted to protect you. 

But he was a second son, a kingsguard, he had no land, and no money. He had nothing to offer you, he didn’t even have a handsome face to bargain with. 

And so, he let the handle of the door go, and he walked down the hall. He considered it mercy. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Instead of subjecting that poor girl to his company he decided to subject tavern dwellers to him instead. That night, as her marriage was announced, Sandor sank into his cups.

Though even there he was not protected from talks of her betroval. 

Beside Sandor at another table were four men, 

“Say what you will, I think it’s a perfect match! Loras Tyrell loves a Baratheon!” Some oaf shouted as he slammed his cup onto the table laughing. 

“Aye but she’s missin’ a cock now isn’t she!” A shorter guard shouted out.

Sandor wanted to break the fool's jaws for speaking of her situation with such amusement. “Too bad for Loras, and too bad for all the other men in the realm!” A bald guard added,

The shorter guard raised his cup, “Hear hear. I’ll miss seeing that girl… Miss seeing her bend over to pick flowers.” 

The bald guard nodded in a facade of sadness, “Aye that ass will be missed-”

“No, her pair of tits will be missed!” The fatter guard spoke up.

“Nay her cunt! Ah and what a waste she’ll be giving it to a boy whore.” One of the men said, it was enough for Sandor to slam his cup onto the table in anger. He was trying with all his might to hold onto his restraint.

Though this did not go unnoticed by the men at the table. The oafish one spoke up again, “What of you Clegane?” He said getting closer to the Hound, “You guard that sweet stag so loyally. Surely you’ve thought of what her cunt tastes like-” 

Without another thought, Sandor took the man by the back of his head and slammed it into the table. His nose broke and his teeth cracked. Sandor took his dagger out and stabbed it through the man's hand. His blade took one of the man’s fingers. 

Sandor stood, taking his drink with him, “You speak to me like that again, I’ll take more than a finger.” He warned as he left the tavern in a huff.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Against his better judgment, that night Sandor checked in on that girl. 

She was with her Septa again. He hoped that she were alone, if she were perhaps in his drunken state he’d have actually begged her to run off with him.

“My father would never have allowed this.” The girl said with a scared and sorrowful waiver of her voice, “Though I suppose it will be a relief to be gone from this place.” She sniffled, “I just don’t want to be forgotten.” 

“You’ll not be forgotten, dear girl.” Her Septa said petting her hair. 

“I suppose if I were to marry anyone in this city it would be him.” She shrugged, “But, I am unsure of how I could please him. You know of his nature. Know of his relationship with my uncle. I care not for any moral righteousness and I hold no judgment of it. But how could I ever make him happy?” She asked desperately, frightened by the prospects of her future. 

Her Septa grasped the girl by her shoulders tightly, “You will make him happy by giving his children royal blood.” 

“And how can I even do that?” The girl put her face into her hands,

“You are familiar with the act, I have explained it-”

The girl interrupted, “I won’t want it.”

Her Septa sighed, “A dreadful duty for some wives. Just lay there. Look at the ceiling and memorize the pattern of the trim. Count the seconds. Anything to let your mind wander away from your body.” She tried her best to comfort the girl, but clearly was doing nothing to help the girl’s fear.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As Sandor took leave of his duties. He threw off his armor without caution, and nearly ripped his clothing off himself. He was angry, no, he was enraged. 

This girl did not deserve this. She deserved none of the shit those blonde shits put her through. And the words of ‘advice’ given to her by her septa only enraged him more. She should have told her to slip poison in his wine. 

Sandor sat down on his bed in his small clothes with a huff. His weight made the bed creek and bow. He drank from a wineskin as he thought of it all. Soon his anger subsided, replaced with a defeated sorrow. 

Naught could be done for her. This much he knew for certain.

So, after his wineskin ran dry he laid down. Finally allowing his body to rest even though his mind could not.

As he laid there, stripped of his armor and steel. As his sensitive skin laid against the rough material of his bedding he was reminded once more that he, and his body were punished. Punished by both too much, and not enough.

Too much combat, too much drinking, too many tourneys, too many cuts and bruises. So much he endured, and his body was punished for it. He ached and felt pains all over his body all the time. His scars were sensitive and hurt in warm bath water. 

But as he laid there he was again reminded how he had not enough. Not enough gentle touches, enough love and care. Though of course he’d never admit it to anyone. His body felt truly alone in his bed. He wished he could have felt her around him. He’d fucked before, that would not shock anyone. But he’d never made love to anyone. And Gods did he need to. 

He thought of it often, kissing her. He’d do it gently. He’d be gentle with her. She deserved gentleness. He’d kiss her while he held her face in his palms. Kiss her neck, press his lips against her skin and lick where she was most sensitive- wherever those spots were. Gods he wanted to know where they were. 

He felt shameful for thinking this way, he really did. He was no better than those men in that tavern. But, he’d be good to her.

He’d make her his wife, in the eyes of The Seven. He’d build her a home. It wouldn’t be like the one she’d been brought up in. Not a castle, but a house made of stone and wood. He’d give her safety, love. And as his hand began to wonder his punished body he thought of how he’d give her children.

He wished to know how her body would feel in hands. How it would feel to have his hands caress her breasts, the curves of her body, the soft plumpness of her belly. He wondered how it would feel to be inside of her. How his cock would feel to slide in and out of her slick, warm, inviting cunt. He did not know, but he did know it would have felt oh so much better than his calassed hand that was wrapped around his length now. 

Though his actions were vulgar and sexual, he did not think of it as that. He couldn’t think of her for long without feeling the need to have her. To be close to her. To please her. To hold her close and make her feel safe under his touch, to make her feel loved and desired with his body, his hands, and his mouth. 

He thought of what her septa told her. That she’d have to lay down and take it. If she was with him she’d want it, she’d never be forced. Bedding would be a pleasure not a duty.

His groans loudened, and his breathing quickened as he thought of how she’d ask him for it. How gentle her touch would feel on his ruined skin. 

Soon he was awoken from his day dream as the hot splash of his release jolted his mind back to reality. 

He did not have her, and she for all he knew, did not want him. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

And so the Hound was left with nothing to do but sit and watch as the love of his life was preparing to leave his life forever. 

He felt his heart breaking as he escorted the royals to the docks with the rest of the Kingsguard. He felt his eyes water as she began to step onto the dock, and approach the boat that would take her away from him. 

Naught could be done for her. 

So without a word the Hound offered the girl his hand. She took it, gently. He helped her into the boat. Her gaze fell onto him, and Gods it felt warm. He wanted to cut through them all. Wanted to take her off that boat and ride her away on Stranger. He’d do all the things he thought of the night before. Build her a home, keep her safe, and he’d love her. But they didn’t live in that world. 

The princess would marry that Tyrell. She’d have his sons, whether she wanted it or not. And she would never know how much her dog loved her.

The Hound watched as the boat sailed away with the girl he had loved all his life.

It’s the world that’s awful.

Thank you so much for your request! It was so much fun to write!!

Requester: @rhinestonecowboysworld

[bumblesimagines]

Obsessions and Cruelty

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Despite the love Princess Alyssa and Prince Baelon had for their twins, Prince (Y/N) and Prince Aegon, Daemon never truly forgave (Y/N) for causing the death of their mother; but he'll never genuinely hate him either.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical HOTD warnings, Targcest/Incest (Brother-Brother), mention of childbirth caused death, mentioned death of a sibling (Lil Aegon), toxic behavior?, Daemon stop insulting women challenge (impossible)

~~~

Princess Alyssa and Prince Baelon had been overjoyed when (after a long and excruciatingly painful childbirth) the Mother bestowed them with the gift of twin boys whom they happily named Prince Aegon and Prince (Y/N). Their two older brothers, Viserys and Daemon, welcomed them into the family with ease, making plans of all the things they'd teach the boys.

All had been well, until six months later when Alyssa passed after being unable to fully recover from having the twins, her body too weakened from the hours of pain and blood loss. Tragedy struck again with the weaker of the twins, Prince Aegon, passed just shy of his first nameday, leaving the family in distress and an ocean of grief.

Prince (Y/N) had been born sickly as well, and the boy had hardly cried or fussed when he'd been born; so much so that the midwife and maester present feared he'd been stillborn until Baelon took his boy into his arms and the little one finally kicked off with some wails. His health fluctuated throughout his first few years of life, having its highs when he raced down the hall with his little legs and a flurry of maids following as well as its lows when he could hardly get out of bed. 

While his father deeply grieved the loss of his beloved sister-wife and child, he refused to allow it to push him away from his youngest boy. He ensured to assign (Y/N) a personal maester, one who'd only tend to the boy when asked and would give him all the attention he needed.

Others assumed (Y/N) would pass before becoming man-grown, but the prince proved them all wrong, much to the relief and glee of his father and eldest brother, Viserys. His second eldest brother, Daemon, stewed in his grief and growing resentment. 

Daemon had loved their mother wholeheartedly. Alyssa had been a fierce, determined, daring princess who taught Daemon much of what he knew. He loved her, from her blonde hair to her mismatched eyes to the fact she rode the beautiful Red Queen, Meleys, because she'd been denied of riding Balerion. Alyssa's wild spirit had passed down to her son but she'd been stolen from him before she'd ever get to see him in action.

He despised it, despised how much they coddled him, how much they fretted over a weak little thing. Daemon spent much of his time avoiding the boy, for the sight of him alone reminded him of the night he learned of his mother's passing. Perhaps it was guilt too, that made him ignore his brother, for he also reminded him of the thought that he screamed in his mind during the funeral.

I wish they'd died instead.

Daemon hadn't looked anyone in the eye when little Aegon had been pronounced dead from a harsh fever; an inevitable death, the maester had claimed, for the boy had been weak for months. But Daemon believed the Gods had done it to remind him they were always listening. 

(Y/N) had been around four when Daemon's resentment first spilled over into actions. The younger prince had been left without a playmate after their brother left for training lessons, and (Y/N) had refused to play with the willing maids in favor of stumbling out of his room in his stubby toddler legs to search for his other brother.

When he approached the seven-year-old in his bedchambers, Daemon snatched the wooden toy wolf and snapped its head clean off with the threat of doing the same to the rest of his toys if he ever approached him again. (Y/N), of course, bursted into tears and Daemon awkwardly watched until their father arrived to scoop the little one into his arms and give Daemon a scolding. 

Baelon attempted to get the two to reconcile a few days later with a hug. When Daemon extended his arms out toward (Y/N), the little boy made a face and ran right back to their older brother who immediately gathered him up into his arms. It'd been then that Daemon felt a twinge of bitterness, not at (Y/N) for having Visery's attention but at Viserys for being chosen over him. He forced it away and told himself it was what he wanted. He hated him after all. Or so, it was what he told himself in the years that followed. 

Without fail, the weeks leading up to each of (Y/N)'s namedays seemed to set something off in Daemon and he'd make it his life's mission to bother the boy into tears. The first few years resulted in many wails and scoldings from their father, brother, and eventually even their new sister, Lady Aemma. His life had resulted in the death of the woman Daemon loved most, and he'd never forget it. But, Daemon soon learned everyone, even sickly weaklings, had their limits. 

On (Y/N)'s tenth nameday, Baelon had settled (Y/N) on his knee after the celebration and began recalling stories of Alyssa, starting with the fact she'd always followed him around in their youth like a shadow. (Y/N) had been enthralled, eyes big and wide and head eagerly nodding for more tales of the woman he'd never get to meet. Grief made Daemon's chest constrict, and without thinking, he'd blurted out: "There'd be more stories if you and Aegon hadn't killed her." 

The room had fallen deathly silent afterward, only family members lingering around who all turned to stare at the boy wide-eyed. His grandparents and father seemed on the verge of lecturing him when (Y/N) slipped off Baelon's knees, walked right up to the spot on the floor Daemon was sitting on, and landed one good punch to his nose that left a heavy flow of blood. Some in the room laughed, others shook their heads but Viserys had ensured to swoop in and separate the two until the maesters arrived. 

And while Daemon had a maester tend to his bleeding nose (luckily dismissing the possibility of it being broken), (Y/N) sent him a triumphant grin from across the room that made Daemon seethe. Still, he couldn't deny the hint of pride that swelled in him, as well as a new bubbling feeling. 

From then on, fighting and bickering were the only thing the boys seemed to do together, mostly because picking on (Y/N) was the only way to get him to pay Daemon any sort of attention. His accusation had been enough to permanently cement him as the enemy, even with all the coaxings and reminders of blood being thicker than water. He leaned into it, even if it meant having to sit back and grumpily watch (Y/N) happily cozy up to Viserys and sometimes even Lady Aemma. 

The Gods had cursed him for wishing the Stranger on (Y/N), he was certain of it. Why else would he care so much?

By the time the two were in their teens, Queen Alysanne had wed Daemon to Lady Rhea Royce of Runestone. He'd been sent off to live with her in the Vale, perhaps the most boring place in Westeros and annoyingly far from home. When he'd returned home for a visit, he'd learned from Viserys that the soon-to-be seventeen-year-old (Y/N) had many marriage prospects. Daemon had hoped to find himself thrilled at the idea of (Y/N) moving far away to become the new lord of some noble house but it only soured his mood whenever someone brought it up.

"I hear Lady Lusia is quite beautiful." Lady Aemma told (Y/N) one afternoon, a cup of sweetened milk in hand and a gentle smile on her face. Daemon scoffed quietly at her words, a bitter taste forming in his mouth that made him angrily swallow the piece of apple he'd been chewing. Lady Aemma seemingly ignored him. "I hear she has a fascination for dragons. I'm certain she'll love Sōna." 

"Or Sōna will eat her in a single bite the moment she lays eyes on her." Daemon piped in, pushing himself up from the couch he'd sprawled himself across and smirking at the eye-roll (Y/N) sent his way. Truthfully, Sōna was exactly like her rider in more ways than one: spoilt, easily annoyed, and downright bratty at times. The pretty beast had certain food preferences, for Gods' sake. Lady Aemma merely shook her head and sipped on her drink whilst Viserys finally tore his attention away from the book in hand. 

"Perhaps you have someone in mind then, Brother. You seemed against Lady Katherine and Lady Breyna as well." Viserys's finger dragged along the edge of the book, an amused twinkle in his eyes as he regarded his brother in a way that seemed to say I know. Daemon scowled at him, unable to resist the heat creeping up along his neck. 

"I'm saving those ladies from a lifetime of misery, more like. (Y/N) would probably drop dead if he saw a woman naked." 

At that, (Y/N) whirled around to look at him with a sneer. "It wouldn't be my first time!" He snapped at him, and irritation rolled over Daemon like a crashing wave. He'd been gone from court for a little less than a year and had already missed so much. His new wife's family had insisted he stay in Runestone with her despite her indifference, but he hardly cared for her or the Vale of Arryn. She was plain-faced, boring, and never bothered to converse with him. He much preferred the bustle and hustle of the Red Keep.

But nobody mentioning his little brother had bedded someone while he was away? It shouldn't have annoyed him as much as it did but the thought of some lousy little lady - or anyone, truly - laying hands on his brother in a less-than-friendly way made his blood boil. Had she even done it right? Had she even kissed him with passion or just with the desire to boast about lying with a Targaryen prince? 

"Who?" Daemon demanded, springing up to his feet and chucking the apple aside so hard it slammed into the wall and broke apart. Lady Aemma flinched at the noise and gave her husband a bewildered look that was met with a quiet sigh. Daemon's long silver hair spilled over his shoulders as he grasped the back of (Y/N)'s chair and leaned down to glower at him. "What dumb bitch decided you were worth laying with?" 

(Y/N) bristled like an enraged stray cat and shot up from his seat, planting his hands on Daemon's chest and shoving him back. Daemon stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his boots, and scowling immediately but before he could cut the distance, Viserys planted himself firmly between the two. At twenty-four, Viserys had no business being forced to stop fights between the two, but he believed it to be his job as eldest much to their annoyance. Daemon opened his mouth to spout some more things but he bit his tongue when he noticed the way (Y/N)'s eyes glistened. 

"Nyke vēdros ao." (Y/N) spat venomously, and Daemon's shoulders sagged, his body reeling back as if he'd been struck. (Y/N) stormed past the two of them, the doors shaking violently when he slammed them close behind him. Lady Aemma frowned at him, shaking her head with a soft sigh of disappointment. 

I hate you. 

He'd meant it, Daemon was sure of it. He'd been a bother since (Y/N) had been born, just a baby prone to illness who had no memories of their beautiful mother. The birth had impacted Alyssa severely, sure, but the twins had never asked to be born. Daemon had realized that early in his teenhood, but most of the damage had been done and he'd never been one to apologize or admit wrongdoing, to begin with. But as he stood there, staring into nothingness while the words replayed over and over in his head, he swore he felt his heart cracking. 

"Go apologize," Viserys told him softly, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it an encouraging squeeze. "Make things right before it's too late. Father intends on having him wed before the winter."

Silently, Daemon turned on his heel and left the couple alone in their room to make his way down the hall. He'd upset (Y/N) enough to make him cry, something he hadn't done in years, so he felt certain the teen had rushed off to his bedroom before he could be seen. The servants and guards he encountered along the way were quick to step out of his way, and the ones stationed at (Y/N)'s bedchambers opened the doors for him without having to be asked. 

(Y/N) sat at the edge of his bed, legs crossed and lips pouting like a child but Daemon could only wince at the tear stains on his cheeks. His hands messed with his boots, undoing the laces of one and throwing it onto the floor. When he spotted Daemon lingering by the doors, he threw the other one at him, nearly hitting him in the thigh. "Go away," He demanded. 

"Your aim's better." Daemon simply told him, slipping off the holster holding Dark Sister to his waist, and leaning the sword against the wall. (Y/N) reached down for the boot he'd tossed on the floor, scooping it back into his hand and throwing it at Daemon. His brother caught it with ease before it could slam into his chest, causing (Y/N)'s cheeks to puff out in annoyance and Daemon to smirk.

"Come to laugh at me some more?" (Y/N) asked bitterly, his eyes following Daemon as he made his way further into the room. With nothing else within grabbing distance to throw, he remained seated on the bed with a glare and curled hands ready to hit him. Daemon eyed his tense form and took a seat beside him, scoffing when (Y/N) scooted away.

"You act like a child." Daemon sighed, snatching (Y/N)'s wrist into his hand and squeezing the skin exposed when his sleeve rode up. (Y/N) struggled at first, angered muttering falling from his lips, but he slowly relented and gave in with a heavy sigh. Daemon gave him a hard tug that forced (Y/N) to fall onto his side, a grin gracing his lips at (Y/N)'s narrowed eyes. 

"And you act like an arse." He replied, shifting around to sit up straight again. 

"I didn't..." Daemon pursed his lips. Viserys knew how to apologise, knew all the right things to say to make things better. Daemon only knew how to hurt and break things. "I didn't mean to-... to make you cry." 

"Liar." (Y/N) huffed and Daemon's jaw clenched, his temper flaring up with ease. "You like seeing me cry. You probably get off on it." 

Daemon bit his tongue, this time literally, so he could fight the wicked smirk from spreading on his face. "Yes," Daemon exhaled, the breathy, amused tone making (Y/N) grow still with suspicion. "I get off on the thought of you crying from how much you desire me." He said lowly, moving an inch closer so their noses would bump together. He relished the quiet hitch of (Y/N)'s breath.

"I- I- You- I would never- What-" (Y/N) sputtered, tongue twisting so violently he almost choked on his words. Daemon's free hand rose to grab his jaws, fingers digging into the heated skin of his cheeks. He delighted in the heat, for he believed it meant there was a chance of his feelings being mutual. 

"Who did you lay with?" Daemon questioned, his fingertips digging into the skin of (Y/N)'s cheeks and pulling his face ever so closer. He dragged his lips over his cheekbones, trailing them over his little brother's nose and brows and any part of his face he could reach. (Y/N) squirmed in his grip, his closed hand pressing against Daemon's chest in a half-hearted attempt at pushing him back. "Tell me."

"No." (Y/N) grumbled, ever the disobedient one. 

"Was she worth it?" Daemon prodded, pushing his brother back onto the bed until his back was flat against the covers. He swung one leg over (Y/N)'s hips to straddle him, laying his weight down on the prince's thighs to prevent him from getting up. (Y/N) glared up at him, lips forming a deeper, more pronounced pout. He pinned the wrist in his hand beside his head, ensuring to keep a steady grip on him. 

"Better than you'll ever be!" (Y/N) spat, the challenging tone in his voice only making Daemon's desire flourish, the overwhelming feeling pumping through his veins. He swooped down and slammed their lips together, swallowing the squeak that escaped (Y/N) and shoveling his tongue into his mouth when (Y/N)'s lips parted. He suckled his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on it until he tasted a hint of metallic. 

"You should've come to me, sweet brother." Daemon sighed, tongue lapping up the small trickle of blood that stained both their lips red. (Y/N)'s fingers curled around the collar of Daemon's tunic, battling between pushing him back and drawing him closer. "You need not for anyone else. I will take care of you, regardless of what anyone else dares to say." He cooed, pressing a sloppy, bloody kiss to his cheek. 

"You hate me." (Y/N) murmured, his nose crinkling at the taste of blood dancing on his taste buds. Daemon frowned at him, hands harshly squeezing (Y/N)'s jaw and wrist for his words. When (Y/N) grimaced, he released his jaw and instead tenderly stroked his knuckles over his cheek. 

"I do not." He assured, nuzzling their nose together and kissing him again, savoring the shudder that went through (Y/N) when he pressed down on the small cut. "I care for you. More than you'll ever know, little brother."

[temis-de-leon]

Demon Brothers as Single Fathers

What if the brothers already had a kid when MC first appeared in the Devildom?

Characters: demon brothers, gn! kid and gn! MC

Part 2

Masterlist

CW: lesson 16, death during childbirth mentioned, but there's nothing explicit. Some brothers are better fathers than others, but they all love their kid with a passion. Romantic interest towards MC at the end

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Lucifer

There´s no way he’s having a kid with a random woman. I already posted a headcanon regarding demonic pregnancies, stating them as difficult, so my guess here is that he had a long-term relationship and his partner died during childbirth.

Of course, he’d cope with her death just like he coped with Lilith’s: hiding his feelings. He had his sister’s room hidden in the House of Lamentation without any of his brothers knowing, so it makes sense that he’d hide everything regarding his former partner from everyone, including his child.

Now, don’t get me wrong, he loves that kid, but he is who he is. A strict parent that wants his family to be perfect, obedient and loyal to Lord Diavolo. His child might get an obvious special treatment, but they still have to reach their father’s standards.

All of that, mixed with the load of paperwork he has to take care of on the daily, makes bonding time very limited.

When MC arrives, he makes sure they know not to bother the kid, his threats visible to anyone with eyes.

We know MC, however. They meddle and they become friends with most of the brothers very easily, so it’s understandable that the kid wants to get close to them too.

Lucifer tries really hard to break that friendship, not trusting MC at all, but the more effort he puts in that task, the more effort his kid puts in disobeying him. And we all know Satan is helping them just to anger Lucifer.

It all reaches an end when MC frees Belphie from the attic.

The kid doesn’t understand the situation, why their new friend is all bruised and bloody on the floor and why their uncle is laughing in such evil way.

Lucifer only gets how much his kid loves the human when he sees their distraught over MC’s death and their tears of relief when MC reappears in perfect conditions.

Time passes and the family is whole again, granting the kid a new feeling of happiness and comfort they’ve never felt before. Lucifer feels obligated to rethink the situation when he sees that.

Then comes the last day of MC’s stay at the Devildom and he knows he’ll regret not showing his desire of deepening their relationship before they leave.

His kid and his brothers are not the only ones that need MC anymore.

Mammon

I kind of imagine him having a child with a one-night stand, to be honest. For the sake of this fic, the other parent is not in the picture, but Mammon loves kids, so there’s no doubt he’d keep his own.

And oh, how much he spoils them. He saves money just for them. Does he go right back into bankruptcy after that? Yes, but the intention is there, you know.

I also think the brothers would use the child to blackmail him, like “you’re such a scumbag, Mammon, you’re going to disappoint the kid”. A dick move, but they are assholes to Mammon most of the time.

And then comes MC, rocking Mammon’s world and, by extent, the child’s.

No matter how old the kid is, they can sense their father’s love towards the human. It’s almost painful to see and it brings so much second hand embarrassment, but Mammon’s happiness makes everything worth it.

Especially when MC starts to defend Mammon from his brothers’ insults.

The kid promotes themselves from child to matchmaker. 

They spoil their uncles' plans with MC so they can spend time with their father, boasting Mammon’s confidence and telling MC how good he is and how good of a couple they’d make.

At first MC thinks it’s pure childhood innocence, not suspecting the kid is acting on ulterior motives, but Mammon knows what his kid is doing.

He tries to defend his status as too good to be interested in a mere human, let alone date them. Of course, the child sees right through his bullshit.

No one stands a chance against his little hellspawn, not even him.

Suffice to say, MC and Mammon establish their relationship long before the year ends.

Leviathan

I love Levi, I truly do, but c’mon guys. I doubt he has any friends outside the online world, let alone a partner; we can all agree he’s a virgin. So, for him to have a child, I think he would’ve had to be either really lucky or unlucky (depending on how you see it), meaning that his brothers took him out of his comfort zone so he could lose his virginity and he left that one girl pregnant.

I think the mother wouldn’t have wanted to be in a relationship with him, leaving him more reclusive than ever. He needed his brothers’ help to lose his virginity and now not even the mother of his child wanted to stay with him? Yeah, he’s not leaving his room ever again.

It’s difficult for him to bond with the kid at the beginning due to the lack of knowledge on how to take care of a child and the kid being born out of a loveless meaningless one-night stand.

He watches and buys anything family-related, finally understanding that the way he became a father doesn’t have to influence their relationship, so he steps up really quick.

Don’t worry, the brothers offer their help the whole time.

They spend most of the time in his room, bonding over anime, manga, videogames and cosplay, especially about TSL. He also forces himself to get out of his room more often for the sake of his kid, even if it’s minimal.

He still distrusts MC when they arrive, not paying them any attention, but he has to reconsider a little bit when he sees the kid so interested in them.

The whole TSL quiz happens and he’s surprised to see not only Mammon and Beel helped MC, but his child too. He feels betrayed and irrationally mad at all of them for an hour or less, just until the kid insists on MC’s genuine interest on TSL and convinces him to give them a chance.

After that, their friendship develops quicker than anyone could've ever anticipated, as well as Levi’s crush on MC.

Another kid that evolves into a matchmaker, although their methods are more dramatic due to being based on anime and manga.

The rest of the brothers have a lot of fun witnessing the whole thing.

Satan

My man has contacts, he knows people all around the kingdom, he fucks. I’m not sure if the child came out of a long-term relationship or a one-night stand, but his contacts definitely have something to do with it.

His whole mission is to treat his child better than Lucifer ever treated him.

No baby voice at all, what nonsense is that? When he reads to them at night he uses different voices according to each character, same as when they play.

The type of parent that wants to respect his kid so much he kind of treats them like an adult. Full conversations and everything. More like monologues, actually, but Satan is patient enough to wait for his kid’s answer, even if it’s a babble.

Cats everywhere. Toys, clothes, bedsheets… You know the drill.

Overall, Satan puts his whole heart into his child’s development.

And when MC arrives, he’s only curious about them because Lucifer is on edge. He’d prefer if his child was left to their own devices, living their life in peace with no human bothering them for no reason.

Then he swaps bodies with Lucifer.

Boy oh boy.

The moment he sees his child running to his brother instead of him, he’s spitting fire. MC intervenes just when the kid starts to get scared, something he’s extremely grateful for.

After the pact is made, both him and the kid see MC in a completely different light, but he doesn’t think about taking them out on a date until his child trips and falls while playing in the garden.

MC tends to them, dries their tears and cleans their bloody knees before using some cute bandaids on them. Cat-themed bandaids.

How could he say no to that?

Asmodeus

One-night stand one-night stand one-night stand one-night stand.

One-night stand? YES.

I’m surprise he doesn’t have a legion of children, Hercules style, but oh well, what do I know.

I like to think the mother tried to stay, but Asmo is a certified narcissist who loves spending time with himself and who’d also love the idea of having a mini him running around, ready to try new clothes on every opportunity and match him.

It’d be difficult to stay in a family like that, with a partner that monopolizes the child’s time so selfishly. It’s bad, but I could understand if the mother chose to leave. I don’t even know if Asmo would care, given that it was a one-night stand with no feelings involved, and he’d probably believe himself to be enough.

Asmo is as dirty minded as ever and he still has various relationships, but he tries to tone down really hard, at least in front of his kid.

They’re partners in crime above all, their chemistry is insane. ‘Don’t talk to me or my son ever again’ type of relationship.

Although the kid doesn’t have Asmo’s charming powers, they’re cunning. Doe eyed with a shiny glare and a brilliant smile, who could say no to them? Sometimes they even fool their own father.

Both of them are pretty superficial, but kind-hearted at the bottom of their hearts. It just takes some time and effort to see that.

The kid treats MC the same way Asmo does, although they have no ill intent, they just want to be like their father. So when Asmo starts to show some interest in MC, pursuing a friendship, so does his child.

Partners in crime, remember? It doesn’t take long for the child to act coy and cute, turning MC’s interest to Asmo. Again, no charm nor manipulation, but a little help from an innocent hand never hurts anyone, does it?

Beelzebub

I don’t have a single idea where the child came from, but if there’s something I’m sure of it’s that they’re each other’s best friend.

Beel takes them everywhere, in his arms, strapped to his chest or sitting on his shoulders, he doesn’t care, but they’re together all the time.

Scared to his very core of losing them, but tries not to be overbearing, trusting his brothers to take care of them when he can’t, mostly Lucifer and Belphie.

They're the most important reason to control himself, Beel feels guilty when he lets loose and scares his child. Seeing your father eat a column can’t be pleasant, after all.

Another one that ignores MC when they get there, preferring spending time with his child. Now more than ever, since Belphie apparently went to the human realm as an exchange student.

When he breaks MC’s wall and they’re forced to share his room, he’s introduced to the dilemma of whether letting them sleep in Belphie’s bed while he shares his own with his kid or letting them sleep in his bed, with his kid in Belphie’s and him on the floor.

He’s very reluctant to let anyone but his twin sleep in the other bed. His nightmares lessen when he shares his space with the child as well, so Beel’s very conflicted.

MC offers to be the one sleeping on the floor, something he immediately refuses, so he finally agrees to let them both sleep in his bed while he’s on the floor.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

It isn’t until MC defends him from his own brother that he starts to think of them as a true friend. He trusts them with his kid and he even feels okay leaving them alone while he’s out doing his own things.

Days after MC goes back to sleeping in their room, his child confides in him how much they miss having the human with them and Beel can’t help but agree.

He asks for his child’s permission before taking MC out on a date.

Belphegor

Had the child with a situationship, but the mother thought he would be too absent to be a good father. She tried to leave with the kid, but Belphie insisted on keeping them. Being one of the Avatars of the Devildom, he had the upper hand.

As much as he tries to be present, he can’t help but fall asleep most of the day, so Beel takes the role of second father. Still, Belphie wants to be in the same room as his kid all the time, even when unconscious.

He’s able to enter other people’s dreams, so his favourite way of bonding is at night, interrupting his child’s nightmares and transforming them into beautiful dreams where they can do whatever they want to do.

He even made versions of Lilith and Beel for them to be together during those dreams.

Kind of entitled, to be honest.

Belphie is a brat and so is his kid, but the child at least has the benefit of the doubt.

When Lucifer imprisons him he’s ready to destroy the house. The only way he can talk to his kid now is through dreams and even then he isn’t sure what to tell them. In the end he decides to let the kid be, but he’s always on edge, trapped, not knowing what’s happening until everyone goes to bed.

MC’s presence feels like a gift. A pathetic gift, but a gift nonetheless.

He asks about his kid and he seethes when MC tells him they’re becoming friends, how much they like spending time with the child.

He focuses so much on revenge that he doesn’t even realize what the kid could think of him if he carried along with his plans; how they could feel when all of it is done.

Killing MC is satisfying and leaves him wanting so much more.

That look from his child, his own blood, takes it all away.

Why are they crying? Why are they hiding away from him? Trying to reach MC’s corpse despite Lucifer’s words or Beel’s grabbing hands, screaming in terror when uncle Mammon doesn’t answer their questions.

Then MC reappears, looking as perfect as ever, and Belphie is overwhelmed with relief, convinced that maybe his kid will stop looking at him that way.

But that doesn’t happen.

He sleeps with Beel that night, feeling lonelier than ever, hands aching and reaching for a smaller body that isn't there. He can’t find them in their dreams when he falls asleep and when morning arrives and he goes to the bathroom, he makes sure there’s no blood under his fingernails.

It takes days before his kid can even look at him without that angry pout on their face. They tell him they’ve been sleeping with MC, listening to their advice so they can mend their relationship with him.

Ever since then, Belphie can’t help but blush whenever MC is in the room.

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Tagging: @deepestartisanhumanoidshark

[chaoticbardlady99]

I Wondered If I Could Come Home? (Astarion x F! Reader)

Synopsis- It’s been 4 months since you last saw Astarion and 3 months since you killed the Netherbrain with your other companions. Shortly after, you settled down in Silverymoon to begin a life out there and try to push Astarion out of your mind- except it can never be that easy. You shortly discover you are pregnant with his child- a child that could kill you during childbirth. Scared and alone- Shadowheart stays with you to help you deliver the baby and keep you alive.

While out at the local market, Shadowheart runs into Gale and invites him over for dinner. Gale has unexpected company.

CW: Pregnancy, mentions of potential death during birth, mentions of nudity, mentions of NSFW smut

To my fellow DND fans- no this is probably not canon compliant, yes I’m upset about that, but look I really needed to write this so sue me I guess

Author note- Self indulgent, I have baby fever, but don’t want a baby fic. I’m unsure of how long this will be or if it will have more parts-it depends on how angsty I feel, but I need to have like six different ideas to think about at a time soooo 😂

*This hasn’t been edited ✨well✨so please forgive me

*again, no fucking clue who’s picture it is, but it sure as shit isn’t mine so if it’s yours- reach out so I can give credit!

You keep yourself propped up against the sink in the kitchen as Shadowheart holds your hair out of your face and dabbing away the cold sweat that drips down your neck.

You are really sick of being morning sick. It’s absolutely the worst thing in the world- well besides your potential death from carrying your little girl inside of you. You sometimes think Astarion may get his wish- you may just die screaming.

You dry heave one last time- not a single thing comes up because you haven’t kept a single thing down since two mornings ago. Your morning sickness is inconsistent and comes on with little to no warning.

It’s been five months since you conceived this fricken kid, but it was like all the symptoms hit after you killed the Netherbrain.

A part of you really wishes you had somehow known before then- maybe it would have changed the cruel fate that ended your relationship with Astarion. You were literally pregnant in the middle of fighting Cazador. You think about what he last said to you all the time and just sob hysterically- like it happened yesterday.

A deeper part of you feels abandoned, but you blame yourself for him leaving. You should have been more convincing or maybe you shouldn’t have flat out told him no and explained why in the hells you didn’t want him to ascend.

For example- you didn’t want to lose him to some evil version of himself.

Ironically, you lost him anyway and are pregnant with his fucking child who insists on occasionally making you miserable.

Despite your inherent sadness, anger, and sickness, you find you are actually quite excited to meet her. You haven’t settled on a name yet and Shadowheart has been very helpful in regards to making sure you are healthy and strong for delivery. She’s your best friend and you could not be more grateful for her.

“I’ll go back to the market today and get you more of those herbs,” Shadowheart says quietly when she talks to you, “they seemed to help last time?”

You nod- exhausted and your head is pounding. You and this kid are going to need to have a serious conversation. You will not be letting a second Acunin make you miserable before she is ever born.

Shadowheart guides you to your bed upstairs, standing behind you in case you get hit with a wave of vertigo- which usually happens post vomit episode.

You pull your curtains closed- thankful that the desperate hope in your heart led you to buying black out curtains. You close your door and lay down on your bed- tears spilling down your cheeks freely.

You miss him terribly. You shouldn’t. You should positively hate him, but everyday of this pregnancy makes you ache for him. You should be doing this together.

You know it’s hormones- the weepiness, the intense longing, and the Gods awful horniness. Dreams are the worst. You wake up a squirming disaster at least three times a week with your skin burning hot with memories of Astarion touching you.

You are happy that isn’t the case currently, but the weepiness sucks too. Remembering how he used to curl around you, the way it felt to have him kiss you on the forehead, and all those late night conversations with (now empty) promises. You curl yourself around your pillows, willing your imagination to pretend it’s him, and you sob until you fall asleep.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Astarion tries to contain his excitement and fear as he follows Gale and Shadowheart to your home. Finally, after searching for literal months, he was going to see you again.

Astarion has been haunted by the last words he had said to you for what feels like eons now. He hadn’t meant it at the time and he certainly doesn’t mean it now.

He had been too afraid to come back to you after everything he had said. Astarion decided you probably hate him anyway so he tried to move on.

He tried being with other people (it always failed miserably because they weren’t you), he drank until he couldn’t remember a damn thing, and when all else failed, he began his search for the Ring of the Sunwalker.

After the nightlife of Baldur’s Gate lost it’s appeal and he finally found a ring location, Astarion found himself in front of Gale’s door in Waterdeep- begging him of all people to help him.

The wizard had been puzzled and melancholy when he realized Astarion was at his door. Astarion told him every little piece of how he feels about you, how much he misses you, and how he wants to be able to give you the life that you deserve. Astarion was practically on the verge of hysteria while trying to make his case.

Thus began the search for the Ring of the Sunwalker.

They were able to locate and obtain one after a grueling three month long journey and some help from one of Gale’s old friends. Then, they headed straight to Silverymoon- your last known whereabouts.

Running into Shadowheart had felt like a miracle, but to also have her living with you had made the trip even easier. Except Shadowheart was being really really weird towards him.

When Gale first asked if Astarion could come along too, Shadowheart had asked Astarion why he wanted to come and see the person he “hoped died screaming?”

Astarion had flinched at the anger and venom in Shadowheart’s voice. He figured the others would be mad, but he was hoping maybe Shadowheart would give him a little easier time like Gale had. Astarion was genuinely surprised by how quick she was to be defensive of you and your whereabouts. When Gale confirmed that Astarion was telling the truth, Shadowheart reluctantly said he could come.

The three arrive at the front of your shared townhome- it faces the beach and has the perfect amount of windows for the sun to light up the house, but one of the rooms is hidden from sight with heavy, black out curtains.

Shadowheart turns to both of them, “Tav might not be able to join us… she’s been sick for a bit now and is… recuperating.”

Astarion feels his heart drop to his stomach.

“Sick? For how long?”

Shadowheart shifts on her feet uncomfortably, “5 months, but it got worse around 3 months.”

“Tav has been sick for that long?” Gale exclaims, “why didn’t you write!? I could have helped.”

“This particular affliction is one you wouldn’t understand,” Shadowheart says with a finality that suggests the conversation is done as she leads them into the kitchen.

Shadowheart immediately gets fussing with the herbs while Gale looks around the house. Astarion is still unsure of what he should be doing. The house engulfs him in your scent and he feels positively intoxicated. You must be really sick though because your scent smells different- not bad at all, just different.

Does he talk to Shadowheart? Does he look around with Gale?

Or does he sneak off and find you? Astarion doesn’t want to waste anymore time than he already has. Slowly, he creeps towards the stairs.

“Don’t even think about it, Astarion,” Shadowheart warns.

Astarion looks at her and then back at the stairs. He does this a couple times until Shadowheart appears to be annoyed enough that she’s let her guard down a bit.

Astarion takes off up the steps and he hears Shadowheart and Gale coming up right behind him.

Astarion hears a dry heave from down the hallway and he goes racing for the door.

If you are as sick as Shadowheart has suggested (5 months is crazy long), Astarion may not have much time with you and Gods he needs to take advantage of the time he does have.

Shadowheart be damned.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You wake up feeling even worse than you did when you fell asleep. Your headache feels like it’s taken on a life on it’s own and Gods you are going to vomit all over the floor if you don’t move NOW!

You get up with an impossible amount of speed for how dizzy you are and you grab the pail on your nightstand and heave painfully.

You are rocking back and forth, groaning as more stomach acid comes up because again, not able to even keep anything down.

You hear a pair of footsteps and then Shadowheart screaming after-

“ASTARION! THEY ARE SICK! YOU NEED TO WAIT!”

“I have been looking for them for months now,” you hear him hiss, “if they are sick, I need to see them. If this has lasted five months- then who knows how much time I’ve wasted!”

“Will you stop being selfish for five minutes!? It’s not about you and who even says she wants to see you!?”

Shadowheart and Astarion are yelling in front of your door now. You feel tears prick your eyes- Astarion is here. Here here. A flurry of excited kicks from inside you catches your attention and a feeling of blissful happiness comes over you. Oh look, the nausea is gone. Of course it is.

“Traitor,” you whisper before laying down on your bed for a moment.

You are very happy that your unborn daughter appears to be pleased and feels good about her dad being on the other side of the door. You, on the other hand, are less than optimistic.

Wasted time doing what? And why did Shadowheart say I was sick!? In what world was that going to keep him from going upstairs!? Especially if he, your mind pauses, cares about me? Again?

Which you hope he does- you would hope Shadowheart wasn’t so sick of taking care of you that she brought him here to finish the job. Maybe this is all one big show.

Another, “I WILL DO WHAT I PLEASE” from Astarion, a “YOU SELFISH BASTARD” from Shadowheart, and a “Please can’t we all just be nice, catch up, and get along?” from Gale finally gives you the motivation to get up. The arguing feels far too much like being in camp again. You pinch the bridge of your nose, willing the growing headache to go away.

It doesn’t so you change into a pair of longer cotton pajama pants, a t-shirt that is unfortunately showing off your bump more than you’d like, and then you swing open the door in tired annoyance.

You are met with Astarion looking at you- his eyes scanning up and down your body- settling on your stomach. His expression is unreadable- it’s somewhere between lust, love, grief, and heartbreak. Embarrassed by Astarion’s intense gaze, you look over at Gale who is all smiles for you.

“Congratulations Tav!!!” Gale practically yells, making you wince, “the father is a lucky man.”

“I don’t think he considers himself a lucky man,” you say pointedly before turning to Astarion, “or do you?”

Astarion’s face changes entirely with your words. His eyes look at you, round and soft. His eyes are full of adoration and need- a look you never thought he would give you again. You have to fight the urge to grab him and drag him into your bedroom. You will not let the hormones win- you will be strong.

“I- it’s- I mean,” Astarion is fumbling over his words, “you are carrying my child?”

“Yes,” you say grumpily, crossing your arms,” and she’s been giving me nothing but trouble. Thanks to your genetics, I’m sure. This is day two of not being able to keep a damn thing down and this fucking headache is UNBEARABLE so please for the love of every God keep the arguing down.”

Astarion is still looking at you with a mystified expression- taking you in as if for the first time in his entire life. You look back towards Gale and Shadowheart- you are entirely too self-conscious and way too excited to see him for him to be looking at you like that. You are trying to be mad dammit!

Shadowheart gazes at you and your surely red tipped ears with amusement before she says, “I’ll go and get the potion ready for you- that should hopefully help.”

“I will- uh,” Gale says awkwardly, looking between you and Astarion, “join you! I might need to know which herbs to use… in the future?”

“Planning on getting pregnant Gale?” You say with a smirk.

Gale snorts at you, “Dear friend, as wonderful as you look right now- none of the side effects sound appealing.”

“Oh they most certainly aren’t,” you say,” but thanks for thinking I look ‘wonderful’. I feel, well, disgusting.”

“Gods, how could you even think that?” Astarion blurts out, appearing shocked that he even said it, “you look like…. A vision. A wonderful, stunning vision, Darling.”

Shadowheart and Gale excuse themselves as you struggle to find the words for Astarion’s comment. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire and you feel yourself begin to melt a little bit. You feel your emotions bloom into something resembling spring as he steps closer to you- looking at you with pleading eyes.

You clear your throat, “would you like to come into my room and talk?”

Astarion nods eagerly, following behind you so close that you once again have to remind yourself that ripping off the clothes of someone who literally told you they wanted you to die screaming was not healthy- at least not until you get a proper apology.

You sit against your headboard as Astarion walks around your room- running his fingers along the bassinet and rocking chair in the corner. You still can’t get a read on him.

“A girl?”

His question breaks the air.

“Yes,” you smile at him, “no name yet though.”

“I’m sure you’ll pick a nice one,” he says with a smile, but his tone is entirely too melancholic.

A painful thump in your heart fills your body with sadness. He doesn’t want to be involved. Of course he doesn’t want to be involved. You are his knocked up ex-girlfriend. What were you expecting? The lump forming in your throat is unbearable.

“You don’t want to be involved?”

Oh good Gods you are crying. Astarion rushes over to you the minute your tears begin to fall- sitting in front of you on the bed. He reaches out and gently wipes your tears away as he speaks.

“I want to be involved so badly it hurts,” his voice comes out scratchy and emotional, “but that is your decision, not mine. You have been on your own for months, my Love. Instead of trying to come back and make it better- I pushed it off until I thought I could give you what you deserved- a life in the sun.”

You almost whine in protest when his hands leave your face. He twists the ring around his index finger before continuing, avoiding your gaze, “But maybe I was wrong. Maybe what you deserve is a person that isn’t so damaged. Someone who can give you what you actually deserve which is a loving partner who hasn’t hurt you over and over again- a man worthy of being a father to ou- I mean your child.”

His confession and the tears that are streaming down his face are enough for you. Yes, you absolutely want to scream and yell at him, but you also ache for him. You can’t fault the man for being a slave for 200 years and then not taking it very well when you told him what to do. You always knew you would forgive him if he came back- you never thought he would, but here he is and like he said- there is no reason to keep wasting time.

“She is our child, Star,” you whisper and guide his eyes to look at you, “I want you to be involved. I don’t care what you think I deserve either. I have missed you so horribly since you left. It’s almost pathetic really. I’ve tried to blame it on the hormones, but… I don’t know. The picture has felt incomplete up until now.”

You absentmindedly put your hand on your stomach- receiving a kick. You glare at the place where your hand is resting.

“Will you stop kicking me for five minutes!?” You scream, “I WAS IN THIS BODY FIRST!”

Astarion looks at you bewildered and confused, but quickly realizes you aren’t talking about him. The smile that spreads across his face is wide and Astarion gingerly moves closer. You are still a little cautious- needing to protect not only yourself, but also your unborn child. He moves to the right of you and goes to move you just slightly so he can slip in behind you.

“Could I? I mean if it’s not crossing any boundaries!”

Astarion is on edge- you can tell that much, but he doesn’t look at you like he did that last time you saw him- Astarion is looking at you like you are the most precious individual who has ever walked this earth.

You nod shyly, and then Astarion slots himself behind you, your back against his chest, his face in the crook of your neck, and his legs on either side of yours. He cautiously puts his hands on your stomach and is immediately kicked.

Astarion laughs with joy, “she’s strong!”

“Strong willed and strong physically,” you shake your head and you are laughing a bit now too, “you may just get your wish yet.”

“What wish?”

It had slipped. You hadn’t meant to bring it up again- or maybe you did. You want to know for sure if he still feels that way, but the confusion in his voice says he doesn’t. You go rigid and go to dismiss it when you feel his posture change behind you, his grip loosening ever so slightly.

“Right… that.”

The silence is nerve-wracking. You’ve lost him again, you are sure of it. A stray tear begins to roll down your cheek.

“Astarion-“

“No, let me think, Darling. I want to make sure I say everything I want to say correctly.”

You continue to sit there in silence, he places soft kisses on your neck. You feel him smile against your skin at the needy moan that escapes your lips. You absentmindedly reach out for one of his hands and begin to play with his fingers while he thinks. Astarion used to let you do this all the time while you were traveling- it helps you feel grounded.

“I was so consumed by all that power in the moment,” he says slowly, “I wasn’t thinking. By the time I had realized what I had done, I felt like it was already too late- you most likely hated me and moved on.”

You have to bite your tongue- you want to scream. Hate him? Never. You had been miserable without him around for that last month of traveling. Your heart had felt like a dead weight in your chest and you had been moving around like a zombie.

“So I tried to move on… I even tried to be with others, but I just couldn’t do it. It’s selfish, but I want you. I never want anything bad to happen to you- I certainly don’t ever want you to die screaming. I don’t want you to ever carry a child that is not mine.”

You are surprised by the warmth in your core when he says his last sentence. There is something so primal there that you have to really focus on what he is saying next.

Astarion clears his throat before finishing speaking, “I don’t want to be without you anymore- four months is too long. I don’t want to miss out on anymore of your pregnancy and I want to be here for you- with you- doing this together like we should have been doing this whole time. I was a horrible fool- please give me another chance. Please, Darling. I love you- so so much more than I ever thought anyone could ever love someone.”

Astarion’s words hang in the air and you are trying not to begin crying for the 15th billion time. This is what you had wanted to hear all along. You can feel his tears on the collar of your shirt- the way he inhales as if to memorize your scent like this is the last time. Astarion is not expecting you to say yes- you know that because he’s starting to loosen up, pulling away from you so that he can respect your decision.

“I love you too,” you whisper, “I don’t want to be without you anymore either. I forgive you- please stay.”

“I won’t be going anywhere unless you want me too, my Love.”

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

''Fight and Die'' Slightly darkAemond x AFAB Reader 18+ MDNI PART 4

Aemond x fem oc/reader

Tags: Show setting, abusive brother (but its not aemond) mentioned of forced marriages and duels, mentions of parental loss.

🔷Summary: Your ancestors once betrayed the Targaryens and paid a high price. Now you are back at court with your brother, who hopes to sell you in exchange for his freedom.

🔷Author's note: It might still be a little darkish but not as dark as usual. I think this is the closest to show aemond I ever got. So he still is not a unicorn yall but he is at least imo he is decent and nice.

🔷Wordcount :5133

Warnings below the cut

Special thanks to: @pterodactylterrace for spelling and grammar tips!!!:) ((it is much appriciated friend!)x

CW: Mention of oc's mother dying in childbirth, mention of treasons, also vaginal sex, oral sex (f recieving) fucking, dirty talk, smut, aemond being a little dark but nothing too extreme! Discussion of murder.

----

Only a few days ago, your brother swore he would restore your house, house Marthyralys back to it’s former glory, back to where it was during Maegor’s time. Your ancestor, Daeyor Marthyralys was a council member for king Maegor. His crimes eventually ended with him on the stake, being burned by dragon fire and ending with your family being  banished from Westeros for almost a century. 

That was until you and your brother Fyrand returned to the Seven Kingdoms. You remember how you first entered the Red

Keep, your hands shaking and your eyes scanning every inch of every room, taking in as much security detail and doors as you could. It was clear to you that these silver-haired people were not your friends. They were your enemies. Your brother, Fyrand, said so himself multiple times. 

The Targaryens frightened you. Of course they did. They were your father’s killer, your older brother's killers, the reason your house became dragonless, why you almost starved to death. And aside from that, Targaryens are known for their short tempers and long grudges, their insanity and incest. There is much to fear from the dragon people. And so you do.

And now, two days later, you are married to the King's son, Prince Aemond Targargyen. He won the duel for your hand against Prince Jacaerys Velyaron, the Princess’s heir. You assumed Fyrand would prefer Jacaerys, as it would be his mother that one day will become Queen, but for some reason unknown to you, he had already made peace and assumed Aemond would win the duel. He was very certain of it when you visited him in the dungeon.

And he was right, as always.

Prince Aemond won the duel and humiliated prince Jacaerys. The wedding ceremony followed the same evening, as was custom in your house. The one-eyed Prince had done his research into your house, your brother, your traditions…even you. He knew of the full day rule when it comes to duel-marriages, and he used it to his advantage by forcing you into marriage with him on the same day he won your hand. 

Fyrand simply had asked you to keep the prince happy and so far you like to think you succeeded. You have done your duties and even went as far to sleep with Aemond, which was surprisingly pleasant. He was not the beast he wants the world to think he is. He has not hit you. Not once. Nor forced you or hurt you. He is gentle. Kind, in a way. And so unmistakably broken.

Your brother assumed you would have no trouble winning Jacaerys and Aemond over, and in his head that might have made sense but outside of that skull, there is no magic in your veins. You can’t just snap your fingers and make Aemond fall in love with you. He is his own person and you have the feeling that even if you tried to manipulate him into doing your bidding, it would either be too obvious or end up in an argument.

Ever since you were born, you were loyal to your house. But now that you are married, you are starting to doubt everything you ever know. Aemond shows you kindness and grants you protection in ways you never thought possible. Ways you never dared to even dream of. 

But the rest of his kin, his blood and his fire that roams the halls of the red keep, hells, even the bloody servants and the guards, from the kitchen wenches to the maids cleaning your chamber pots: They all despise you and your brother for the crimes of your ancestors. There is no winning these people over with whining by Aemond’s side, you need to show them that you are different. But how? Your personal life does not matter, it is your last name that defies you and that is still  Marthyralys and not Targaryen, for better or for worse.

And therefore you are worried that you will never be accepted into the Red Keep. Not truly. At first, that did not matter to you. But now that you have met and came to know Aemond, you already developed complicated feelings for him in a very short time. And you know: You want his mother to like you. To at least approve of you. For the sake of your brother’s plans and Aemond’s approval.

She’s his mother, yes. But also the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You can imagine that Fyrand would like it if you became her friend, or even trusted advisor, some honerably position among court.

You are preparing for the meeting by putting on a different, less pious gown. Your old gown is disposed of, It slides down your body, bearing you half naked in front of your husband, who does his best to pretend to be busy with his book to notice. However, you notice his good eye, sometimes briefly lifting from the words on paper taking secret glances at your body instead. As if he’s not your husband yet, as if he is not entitled to you. ‘’Does your mother have a preference for a dress?’’ You ask him, as you pillage the closet that servant earlier had filled with gowns for you. Red, black, green, gold and even silver gowns end up on the ground as you quickly look everything over, your head drowning in fabrics and ideas of what Alicent Hightower would approve of.

Aemond no longer pretends to read, slamming the book shut so carelessly that you doubt he was even reading to begin with. ‘’She loves wearing green.’’ He says, politely, smiling and clearing trying to talk you into picking a green dress. 

‘’That’s what I’m afraid of.’’ You mutter. You wearing green would be a declaration of war to Princess Rhaenyra. She would see it as an allyship with Alicent. And for now, it’s important to play and appease both sides, Fyrand told you that before you left Pentos. 

‘’I would like it as well.’’ 

Aemond continues to push you slightly, standing up from the chair he was sitting on. His hands wrap around your waist as he puts the green dress in front of you, eyeing you despite standing behind you all thanks to the big mirror in his room. You nervously bite down on your lips, tasting a bit of blood. He picked a dark green gown with sleeves made of dark lace. The back is also made of lace almost exclusively for the corners. It is a beautiful gown. ‘’You’d look beautiful in this gown. Although,’’ He lowers his voice, whispering in your ear. ‘’I can’t make any promises it won’t be ripped before the next sunrise.’’

‘’When I rip it off your body when we are home, tonight.’’ He leaves several soft kisses on your neck, all the way to both your shoulders.

You stagger on your feet, shocked and pleasantly affected by his words. He grins, pleased with the effect and leaves a soft kiss on your cheek. ‘’Pick whatever you like, but know that Green is superior.’’ Those words echo a lot in your head as you compare the dress to a red more modest gown with less lace made of modest silk.

You doubt if Alicent would appreciate you showing up half covered in her rooms, wearing the lace green dress. It also perhaps would be chilly or awkward to wear as well.

So, you pick up the red dress. The fabric feels much softer, much more pleasant and warmer. You let your fingers pet and slide along the fabric, following where the stitches were once put. There is a golden belt to accompany the dress, a thin accessory. The shoulders have subtle details, but you can tell it is supposed to represent dragonscales. Perhaps a nice dress if you are meeting with Rhaenyra.

You hold the dress to your body, imagining yourself in the lush fabric. ‘’Hm. Opposite of Green.’’ Aemond comments, from where he leans against his desk. He pretends to be busy with cleaning it, putting aside quills, vials of ink and parchment. 

You put the red gown back on the bed, and instead pick up a gorgeous soft blue coloured gown, with silver patterns of swirls on the sleeves.

‘’Blue?’’ You ask Aemond, tilting your head slightly.

He has one response and it is not a pleasant one. His nose slightly rises in disapproval and his stance becomes closed, as if he reminds himself to be careful around you. ‘’You do as you wish.’’ 

You sigh, careful to not roll your eyes at that. What a horrible answer. You do as you wish is not only dismissive, impersonal and cold but also vague. He truly seemed to care about the dress a moment ago and now he pretends he does not care at all? Who does he think he’s with? Your memory is not failing you yet.

You feel a sting and have to fight the tears, but instead of running away or hiding from him, you stand up to him. ‘’Don’t be like that. Just say you don’t like the gown.’’ In another time, you would’ve ran or cowered. Not anymore. No longer.

Aemond sighs, still with his mind elsewhere. ‘’It’s not the gown I don’t like…’’ He murmurs. 

You wonder if it’s you he does not like anymore. ‘’Revaera,’’ he tries to touch you but you step out of his reach. Aemond sighs. ‘’I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t like the color blue.’’ He says. ‘’You wear what you want. Green, black, blue, fuck it, go nude. You’re a Princess now. Someone will always be offended.’’ And that is the truth and it terrifies you. Someone will always be offended. How do you please a world that will never be happy? 

You look over the gowns, but can’t stand to wear the blue or red one anymore. But going with green is also not an option. You dig a bit further into the pile of gowns, and eventually you stumble upon a beautiful purple with silver piece. Your fingers touch the silverwork, feeling the metal. The last time you saw these colors, they were on your brother Kagyr, your mother Roysa, and your father Laeyol’s caskets. Purple, violet almost so dark purple it's nearly black, and clear untroubled silver. Symbolizing the pride and the unity of your house. You hear yourself take a deep breath. You tug the dress with you. You first put it on your body, fitting it without lacing the corset. 

You dismissed all your maids and ladies maids, or rather, Aemond did that. ‘’I wish we didn’t dismiss all my maids.’’ You tell him, laughing despite a few lonely tears escaping your eyes. You do it subtly, so he does not notice it.

Yet your face is turned toward his own anyway, and he wipes away the tears, before leaving a soft kiss on your forehead. ‘’We can always hire other people.’’ Instead of calling someone else in, he steps behind you, and grabs the laces of your corset. He laces it for you. You look a lot better than you did a few days ago, and with you finally dressed and proper you two can go meet the Queen.

Aemond and you walk to her chambers. Your husband has long legs and could be there long before you but instead trails behind you to ensure you are not alone in the Keep. When passing statues and portraits, Aemond tells you about the history of the people behind it, making the trip to his mother’s rooms entertaining, and useful. You know some things about the Targaryens, but more information is crucial to your survival out here. 

Aemond walks as a true prince, hands folded on his back, back straightened and his pace slow as if he is in no rush to get there, despite his long legs making this challenge impossible. 

Soon, instead of late you both arrive in front of a majestic looking door that already somehow tells you just exactly who is waiting behind it. These are the Queen’s chambers. Her rooms, her den, in a way. The page announces you both, as the doors swing open.

You gulp, feeling the nails on your left hand in an impulse to pull again, but you have no more nails to pull or to rip off your fingers.

You and your husband both walk in. 

When you enter the lavious and luxurious rooms of the Queen, she is sitting on a bench, with her feet pulled up under her. She reads an old looking book, her mind elsewhere, clearly.

Aemond politely clears his throat, and Alicent’s red haired head snaps up in his direction. You see kindness and love in her eyes, in a way you never saw yourself. You see a mother looking at her child. Her smile dies the moment she sees you, however. ‘’Ah, Aemond. There you finally are.’’ She says, ignoring you as if you are air. You keep smiling regardless, as you do want her to approve of you.

The tender, loving slender hands of your husband find your own once again, as he whisks you away to his mother, showing you to her, introducing you formally to the Queen. ‘’Mother, I brought someone. This is Revaera, my lady, and my wife.’’ Try as he might, Aemond Targaryen cannot stop the smile that slowly grows on his lips as he speaks those words, and he seems a different man when he looks at you.

You understand now is the moment to show your respect. You make a curtsy for the Queen. Alicent sits back down, closing the book.‘’I am glad you brought her here.’’ She tells Aemond, and you can’t help but uncomfortable at that. They are like farmers talking about their broodmare. Your opinion is clearly not required.

Your husband reaches out to touch his mother, hugging her in such a gentle way unfamiliar to you. You wonder what he is feeling when he hugs his mother. Does she feel warm? Did your own mother feel warm, did she hold you like that, before she died? Did she smell as nice as Alicent? Dozens of questions you never will get answers to.

The pain of seeing another child with their mother, is unfamiliar to you. You would never wish for another to go through what you did. But why did you have to go through that regardless? 

The two break their hug, unaware of your feelings and your pain. Aemond gestures a bit vaguely to you. ‘’You told me you had questions for her.’’ 

Whatever could she want, indeed. She’s queen of the seven kingdoms, has a husband and you have been kind to anyone here except…

You close your eyes, softly cursing yourself. This is about that handmaid that you hit. The one who called you unworthy of carrying Aemond’s children. You just know it, when you see the poorly hidden rage in Alicent’s eyes.

Somehow you should have know that Alicent provided the maids, and that in upsetting them, you upsetted her. You came in this room wishing for a allyship, you are lucky if you leave this room with mutual displeasure instead of a conflict.

Alicent nods, smiling at you. She turns to her son, her locks briefly turning so they catch the light of the chandelier. ‘’Yes, thank you for bringing her here. Aegon needs your help in his chambers. I’m afraid it is quite urgent.’’ The queen speaks, sweet as a fox. Aegon is Aemond’s brother. You have yet not spoken a word to him. You know he is the elder brother, despite Aemond being taller. Despite that he was present during the duel and your introduction, he did appear to be there with his mind at all. He was a ghost.

The expression on your husband’s face pains you, as you can see he is in clear conflict. He is ordered by his mother, by his Queen to help his brother. But he is also bound to you, his wife and his lady. 

As much as it scares you to be alone, to be alone without Aemond to protect you, as you have discovered pretty early that your word means nothing without him, you know you must confront Alicent alone. She will never be honest with her son near her. ‘’It is alright, husband. I am quite certain I have nothing to fear of her grace, the Queen.’’ Famous last words, perhaps.

Alicent returns your smile, very pleased with your words. Aemond grabs your face with both his hands, gently and caresses your cheeks. He kisses you soft and kindly, respectful of his mother watching you both. ‘’I shall return soon.’’ He promises you. You hope he is right.

Aemond finally takes his leave and Alicent gestures to the lavious armchair across the small bench she is sitting on, inviting you to come sit. And so you do.

The moment you sit down, she begins her questions. ‘’I understand your life has been anything but uneasy.’’ She pauses when she sees you pinching and clawing at your own skin, in lack of nails to pull. She tries to hide it but you can see she is very distraught. She sits up straight. Unexpectedly she comes a bit closer, yet keeps her distance. As if she does not know yet if she wants to come closer or stay away. 

You hear her words, silent. Why does she care? Yet you nod, agreeing with her. Your life has been uneasy. Your mother died, your father tried to kill the king, your house was exiled and poor, you nearly starved and your drunk of a one-handed brother almost daily abused you. It has not been easy.

And yet, here you sit. Alive. Whatever that is worth. Alicent takes a deep, shaky breath. It catches your attention, and when you look into her eyes you see small tears shimmering, despite her efforts to hide it. ‘’I must know, for my own sake. How does Aemond treat you?’’ You think back of the few days you have known your husband. He has been kind, gallant, gentle. A dream come true, a breaker of your chains, a light of hope you cling to in utter darkness. But why does she care?

‘’He treats me well, your Grace.’’

‘’My ladies reported they found blood on Aemond’s bed linen. You can tell me,’’ she reaches out to grab your hands. ‘’Anything, Revaera. I am not angry with you.’’ You become uneasy at her treatment, perhaps even insecure and worried.

You would not feel comfortable with lying about how well Aemond treats you. So you tell her the truth, despite you feel umcomfertable sharing such personal details and matters. ‘’Aemond and I consummated the marriage. That was expected of us both, so we did that.’’ Your voice sounds a bit snappy, and you hope that the Queen reads your body lanagune that you do not want to talk about it at all.

But to think a Hightower would just give up, would be a mistake. ‘’How did that happen, Revaera? Did he force you?’’ She asks, folding her hands against her lap.

You shake your head.

‘’No. I went willingly. It was ..pleasant, in a way, your grace.’’

Alicent seems relieved, almost happy by those words. ‘’You are happy, then? With my son?’’

You feel heat creep up to your cheeks when you think about your husband, your prince Aemond. Happiness is an unfamiliar, strange, alien, concept to you. You have never been really happy. You don’t know what that feels like. But Aemond makes you feel safe, respected and as if you matter. That is enough, for now.

‘’I’d say so, your Grace.’’ You nod to confirm your words.

She sighs, clear relief written on her face. ‘’I am glad, you are happy and both have respect for each other. A marriage without mutual respect is a marriage destined to fail.’’ You know it is unwise to speak when Alicent speaks, as she is the Queen. So instead, you sit there, nodding, as if you lost your tongue.

‘’I am afraid we must discuss a unpleasant matter.’’ Alicent says, suddenly very sharp. You gulp.

‘’I heard you abused a servant.’’ 

‘’She told me I was unfit to marry Aemond. That I was a traitor and a …whore.’’ You mutter. ‘’I do regret hitting her. I do. Aemond told me not to worry about it, but the truth is: I do worry. I worry a lot.’’

The door behind you opens, and your husband walks inside. You are relieved to see him, standing up. He makes a respectful bow for his mother, and after he has done that rushes to your side, to kiss you. ‘’You both seem well.’’ He observes. ‘’I hope your conversation was a pleasant one.’’

He stands next to you, hands folded on his back as you take a seat in the chair. ‘’Is your brother alright?’’ You ask. He thinks long before you get an answer.

‘’My brother is…my brother. He is fine.’’

That is a relief. And somehow also a concern. 

Alicent is silent. ‘’Aemond, is it true that my handmaids have spoken about Revaera’s virtue? Did they call her a …whore?’’

He nods. ‘’Yes. I meant to speak to you about that, Mother.’’ His tone is still gentle and kind. He continues. ‘’I know it was not your fault, Mother. You likely thought they were well, kind and good for Revaera. But they were not kind or good or well for her. Not at all.’’ 

He takes a deep breath.

‘’Revaera has become a Princess of House Targaryen. She is my lady and my wife, one day she will become the mother of my children, gods willing.’’ You can’t help but feel even more heat rush to your cheeks at that description. Desire and fear fight in your head. Your own mother died when birthing you, and now Aemond wants to do the same with you? But to remain childless, forever out of fear…It is a big conflict. One that won’t be solved easily.

He continues, making wild movements with his hands. ‘’So, I cannot, we, as House Targaryen cannot, let this insult stand. We cannot have our servants or who else spread rumours about my wife’s purity.’’ You don’t like the sound of the finality in his voice. The sound of a man who is hurt and shamed and must restore his honour.

‘’What do you suggest, Aemond?’’ Alicent asks, and you are prepared for anything but what Aemond chooses to say.

His licks his lips briefly, his good eye so focused on you that it makes you uneasy. He is good at staring. ‘’I want them all hanged.’’ He reveals, after a brief moment, shocking you.

‘’Aemond! You can’t mean that.’’ You say, instantly. ‘’Surely a mistake was made-’’

He ignores you, planting you back in your chair firmly but gentle. He cups your chin into his hands, touching and caressing it. ‘’But I do.’’ he insists. ‘’By questioning your virtue, they question if you were pure for me.’’ 

You become uncomfortable once more, as you were more than pure for him. He was your first. You turn your head away. Aemond lifts it, forcing you to look into his one eye as he speaks. ‘’By questioning your purity, they question any future children we might have. Your life could be in danger, as well as the life of any child we may have. That is why I am so angry.’’ He finishes, and you understand him a bit more, but still…

You already blame yourself for your mother’s passing. What will become of you when another soul is added to that list? ‘’Fine. But only the woman that said I was a whore. The other two shall live.’’ You declare, as if it is up to you. Aemond chuckles, kissing your cheeks. 

‘’I understand you have a kind, gentle heart, my wife but this is not an insult. ‘Tis high-treason.’’ And Targaryens have only one answer to that. Two, actually. One word in high-valyrian and one in the common tongue. ‘’Dracarys’’ and ‘’Behead’’.

Yet you don’t give up. You can sway your husband. You must. ‘’At least spare the girl that talked with you. You know the one. The kind one, who regretted her actions. Surely, a good man must know when to forgive?’’

To that, Aemond is briefly speechless. He thinks himself a good man.

Alicent sighs.

‘’What shall we do with her, Revaera? After she was caught, no one wanted her as their maid anymore.’’ You can imagine that must be a dealbreaker for many of the guests at the red keep. 

But not for you.

‘’Have her become mine.’’ You say. 

—

The maid is known as Dyana. She is a kind, humble servant from flea bottom, and you need to tell her several times to stop apologizing to you. She is very thankful. You told her she should thank Aemond for changing his mind, but she is convinced you had a hand in it. You did of course. She is lacing up your gown for the evening supper.

You and the Targaryens will have dinner tonight. It is your first official dinner and it worries you. Will you live up to the expectations? Will you do well? ‘’You have nothing to worry for.’’ Dyana assures you. ‘’Just keep smiling.’’

That is an easy one for you.

You leave Aemond’s room at last, bumping into your husband. ‘’Aemond.’’ You greet him, politely. He grins mischievously, briefly looking around for witnesses. Once he has concluded there are none, he gently pushes you against the castle walls, kissing you fiercely and without shame. You moan against his lips, lost in pleasure as he gives you dozens of little kisses on your shoulders that all feel like little bites at the same time. They pierce through your skin and leave memories and marks. Your husband grins, madly in love with you. ‘’Yes, wife?’’ He greets you, teasingly. You stutter, your cheeks heated once more. ‘’I-’’ He silences you with a grin. ‘’I think we may skip supper this once. I am in the mood for a certain Marthyralys delicacy.’ He traces a finger down your throat, slowly pulling down your gown a bit, so he may have a look at your breasts. ‘’I wish to taste my wife, properly.’’ He whispers. ‘’You will like it. I promise.’’ He adds, when he sees your worry. ‘’I told you, I would never do anything you would not like, and I meant it.’’ You pant, softly, whimpering as he kisses you again. Aemond opens the door to your bedroom again. You are turned around, your back facing his front as he works on your corset. ‘’Aemond, we have promised we would be there for supper.’’ You tell him, as you hear him breath heavily with anticipation and lust. You wonder if itll feel as pleasant as the first time. 

Aemond chuckles, amused. ‘’Have we? I seem to have come down with a terrible headache. I can’t possibly attend.’’ He says, blinking at you. You realize that is him winking. Your dress is finally pulled down, as are your small clothes. Aemond throws his eyepatch on the bed, pushing you next to it. Your hands intertwine as Aemond pulls his pants down, revealing his already erected member. Your head hits the front of a pillow as your husband parts your legs, feeling your wetness and slith. He grins, rubbing your shimmering, wet pearl as you whimper, at his mercy fully. ‘’You were going to attend supper like this? Soaked up, ready for my cock?’’ He whispers in your ear. ‘’Were you hoping I would bend you on the table between two plates of food and gave you a good through nice, warm, fucking?’’ His fingers increase in speed and you notice him smirking as his face becomes closer to your entrance. Eventually, he levels it and you watch as his tongue comes out, taking a good and proper lick of you. You gasp, twist, under his grip and finally you feel pleasure waves hit your body as Aemond feasts upon your body. He moans as well, giving you fuckings with his fingers and licking you at the same time. 

You cry out. He grins. He is taunting you. You think. You can taunt him back. You look at his swollen length, wrapping your fingers around it, and start touching it. Aemond growls. You smile, innocently and stop touching him the moment his length nearly jumps, ready with delicious white precum you can’t wait to lick off. Aemond grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling you to his face. He kisses you one last time, before you end up on your back. ‘’Do you want this?’’ He asks one final time. You nod. Aemond grabs your legs, leveling himself back inside of you. You sigh in bliss and pleasure as he begins to push. It as if he never truly left. Your hips join in this time, surprising the prince in a pleasant way. ‘’Yes, my wife. Just so.’’ He tells you, kissing your forehead. He picks up the speed, making the movements and what men call ‘’fucking’’ go faster and harder. Your needy cunt is being taunted by his lenght and skill and you would very much like to feel as good as the first time. ‘’Please.’’ You beg soft in his ear. 

‘’Pleasuring you is my duty.’’ He whispers back in your ear, before giving you a firm hard trust. You cry out, bucking your hips back. Aemond answers by taking you harder and harder on your back, fucking you so hard that you have tears of pain and pleasure. He keeps going until your soft whimpers become cries and your cries become desperate needy screams. He gives you one final time to beg for it. ‘’Please.’’ You whisper. And then, he gives it his all with a final push, sending you down in a spiral of insanity and pleasure your body can’t really handle. Your body spasms and your mind feels wonderfully blank as all there is your husband, lining himself up at your entrance and emptying his load inside of you. You have come.

‘’Good girl.’’ Aemond whispers, knowing you appreciate that. ‘’So proud.’’ He adds, kissing your sweaty hair. He gently pats your hair. ‘’I think we’ll have some servants bring us some food. As delicious as your cunt was, I can’t survive on it alone.’’ You nod. He smiles, and tucks you in as you are used to. After that, you both have supper in your bed. But the dessert? You already had the dessert. A bit earlier.

--

Oh, they nasty-

Anyway, thanks for reading along with me!:) Soon we'll see people hang i guess? And everyone's favourite character Fyrand returns! And also, Revaera will meet Daemon, that is sure to be interesting.....Thanks for reading!:))

[rouecentric]

Hello! Are requests open? Can you do more lant agriche x reader pls 😭😭😭

COLD HANDS AND A HARDENED GLARE.

synopsis ; the cruel head of the black agrece, a menacing man, truly, but he was nothing more than a loving grandfather to his grandchild.

tw/cw ; lant agrece in general, childbirth, death.

letter from the stars ; i made these into a half headcannons- half oneshot and made it platonic since you didn't specify what kind of relationship you wanted lant to have with reader, so i hope you don't mind it!!

LANT AGRECE, a man who's said to not care about anything but himself, a man who's the head of the black agrece, a monster in many people's eyes, but to you? he was just a peculiar and strange grandfather.

the duke thought he wouldn't care about his family, simply using them to his benefits and wants, until his eldest son, dion, had a child with his now-dead wife, with the child thankfully ending up healthy.

but, just for the sake of it and to keep his son in check, he had come unannounced to his grandchild's nursery to see what all the fuss is about when it came to the newborn, as he heard that the newborn was oddly calm, rarely crying or making noise, instead just either staying quiet or sleeping. once he had arrived at the nursery, he ushered the maids and nanny out, wanting to be alone with the child for until he left.

after his meeting with the newborn, it's been said and known that the head of the black agrece would then on often visit his grandchild, usually having a gift for them.

that revelation somewhat shook the other agrece members, but mostly dion, jeremy, and roxana. what did the newborn do to make the head like them so much? they'll unfortunately never get to find out, though.

once the new addition of the family turned old enough, they'd soon enough constantly find themselves stay beside their grandfather's side during meetings, going as far as to join the banquets he went to with their father, aunt, and uncle.

everywhere the head of the black agrece went you would too, it was almost if he gained a shadow that mimicked everything he did. it was almost terrifying to think that the young child could resemble the head that much, even though only in behavior.

it's not unknown that he favored you more than his children, teaching you everything he knew from a young age, as a way for you to both bond and to raise you as a possibly fitting future head if dion ever dies prematurely.

[the-s1lly-corner]

I JUST WATCHED AN EPISODE OF LAW AND ORDER AND I GOT AN IDEA.

Tim x reader who died giving birth IDK WHAT ITS CALLED HELP- (they're Married 😽)

This one's for the fem readers for now, im sorry 😔

-Tim obsessed 🙀 not so anon anymore

P.s. I love Tim fr fr

Tim x reader who dies during childbirth

Using the term "x reader" loose here on account that uh... readers dead

Notes: Reader is GN but AFAB

CWs: Death, pregnancy, traumatic labor/pregnancy

To say that tim is broken is an understatement- you were one of the main good things going on in his life after.. everything that's happened. He was ready to give being a father a go, as long as you were by his side

But just like that, you were gone

He doesnt blame the child, of course he wouldn't... does it hurt when he looks at them for the first few months? Of course it does

He feels so guilty for it, and he feels so guilty for having to go through this without you- would you not have wanted the chance to meet your baby?

It hurts even more as the kid grows and starts to resemble you more and more

He tries not to smoke around the kid, but old habits root themselves in deeper than ever

Tries his best to be a single father- its unlikely that hes going to be seeing anyone new anytime soon

When the child is older he tells them about you so you won't be forgotten

Usually this is during moments where hes.. hurting more than usual or perhaps after a few drinks

He.. usually doesnt talk about you for a while- its terrible but it's to keep himself together.. even if shoving things down isnt the healthiest route

A little against putting himself out there, so a lot of support is going to rely from your family- if you have a good relationship with them- as well as your friends

Tries his best to be a good dad even if some days it feels impossible

[love-toxin]

Your yandere zag hcs are so JFNEJJCKDJF I love them sm I can't stop reading that post 💔

Could we permahaps have an outline of what would happen if Zag DID manage to get an afab mortal partner pregnant? His reaction and how it goes, etc?

heheh! ur ask could not have come at a better time, I'm replaying Hades rn!! <33 sorry i kinda went off on a tangent ehe 👉👈

(cws: a mere twinge of yandere zagreus, f!mortal!reader, canon-typical death mentions, childbirth, violence, a plot twist!)

It's during one of those escape attempts, which have become pretty routine by now, that he gets word from one of his godly relatives about what's happening on the surface. It'll probably either be Hermes or Athena delivering the news, the former more blunt and the latter breaking it gently to her cousin for fear that his heart may break. Those on Olympus have little to no idea about his rendezvous with you save Aphrodite, who supposedly can see the glimmer in his eyes that betrays a post-coital love affair--so while they know that Zagreus is in love with a mortal girl, they're shocked to find out that he's delighted to hear the news, because he knows that the baby is his and you haven't moved on to some other, more easily accessible lover. You're simply too loyal, and you've waited too long to ever consider pursuing another after your beloved. Word will spread quickly on Olympus after that first encounter with him in Tartarus, and the deliverer of said news watches in shock and awe as Zagreus zips around them and barrels straight through the next door before they can even help him with a boon. Because now starts the sprint--he has to get up there to be there for you.

It seems as though every floor he hits, he feels the presence of one of the gods helping him, and it only grows stronger the higher up he goes. Every so often when a boon appears, one of his relatives will be clamouring to congratulate him; Dionysus, Aphrodite, Poseidon, Zeus, even Ares has the smallest of smiles as he offers a particularly wrathful power to help him cut through the lakes of Asphodel and burn into the fields of Elysium. Each one of them is so excited for a new arrival, a new member of the family--except, of course, for Hades.

His father is absolutely appalled when the news reaches him via overhearing Hypnos, and in that moment of swiftly oncoming fury, Zagreus' journey to you immediately becomes ten thousand times as dangerous. He can't stop, he can't turn back, and he cannot die before he gets to you, because based on the tremors and the ominously encroaching dread at his back, Zagreus will be in for an eternity of suffering if he allows his father to stop him from seeing you. Even if it's the last time, he has to see you and his baby just once--he doesn't want to pass on his own tumultuous upbringing to his precious, innocent child, nor the feeling that their father has abandoned them completely. Between his godly relatives helping him out and his father doing everything in his power to sabotage him, this journey is the most perilous he's ever faced by far. And time is so nebulous in the Underworld, so he doesn't want to waste any second he has because they mean much more to you mortals up there than it does to a demigod down below--what if he falters, or fails, and he misses not only the birth of his baby but their whole childhood? What if he finally gets to the surface only to find that you've waited your whole life for him, and wasted away without an ounce of comfort simply because he couldn't get to you in time? He can't have that happen. He won't.

So up he goes, and not once does he stop. Meg takes it easier on him at least (though she never admits it) the Hydra falls as hard as it always does, and Theseus barely gets through half of his spiel before Zagreus is lunging at him to start the battle. Even the Minotaur is impressed at his fervor, though the reason won't be clear until Zagreus comes back--but they weren't the real challenges. Up there, when his flaming feet hit the snow-covered surface, he finally feels some surge of insurmountable pressure as he faces off against Hades himself.

And to say he fights for his life in the name of that sliver of freedom he desires is an understatement to the highest degree. Zagreus can barely get a hit in, his father is so furious--if not for Athena's shields and Zeus's lightning he probably would have lost his head about a dozen times. Hades is determined to stop him from not only meeting his own child, but to bar him from ever associating with you again, and one of those underhanded ways is to send his own courier ahead as a failsafe of sorts--and when Zagreus finds out that Thanatos is headed your way, he loses it. While it was meant to break his spirits, it has the opposite effect--his son is thrown into a rage so violent that even he can't withstand it, and when Hades has been slain Zagreus is pounding dirt as he sprints for your home, the path engraved into his head so deeply that he's on his way before his father even hits the ground. He remembers these hurried marathons to your home, the jubilant excitement at getting to see you and touch you and hear his name on your lips....but this time, it's panic that drives him forward as your garden comes into view, and he leaps over your rickety little fence to pound his shoulder into the door and burst into your tiny, quaint little cottage.

The first thing he sees, rather than you, is Thanatos standing near the door--and although he's already raising his sword with nothing but fear for you in his mind, his childhood friend doesn't bother even flinching, and just turns his head to cast a knowing look at him that betrays the truth of what he was told.

"Oh, please, Zagreus. Ruler of the Underworld or no, you know I cannot reap a soul before it has withered, no matter whether Hades wills it." He mutters quietly, and tilts his head towards the other end of the room that he's facing. And when Zagreus hurries closer to his side, and moves to look towards the spot where he knows your bed always sits, his heart is sent soaring into his throat at the sight that awaits him.

There's one thought running through his mind: I missed it. He missed the birth, and just by a hair, as evident by your mussed clothes and sheets as you sit back against your pillows, your lap covered with a blanket while you're still heaving with breath. And in your arms, flushed and cradled gently, is a gurgling little bundle of tiny features and your beautiful skin tone that Zagreus could never believe he helped make.

Your eyes soften so much at the sight of him, the sweetest "My love!" croaked out of your throat that draws him to move closer to your bedside. Joining you in the room besides the two of them is another woman, a stranger that seems to be a midwife from the local temple, and quite surprisingly three of his relatives; Aphrodite, Dionysus, and Zeus. While he himself is preoccupied with kissing you and taking his baby into his arms for the first time, and his cousins are joyously encouraging a wine-soaked feast and a celebration of your eternal love respectively, his uncle stands still and uncharacteristically quiet at your side, though a smile breaches his lips as he watches the two of you share tears and a sweet embrace as you're reunited once again.

"Is this..?" He whispers, voice cool though his touch is so warm--and fading, ever so slightly, as he sits on the edge of your bed with your child wrapped up in his arms.

"Isn't she beautiful, my love?"

She. A daughter. He couldn't be happier, couldn't be more proud of the little life in his hands, even though she's barely taken her first breaths and nothing else. To see her alive is victory enough, but the high isn't lasting as long as he'd like, and he's forced to pass the baby back to you as he starts shuddering and falling into that terrible feeling of dread in the pit of his chest. He's barely been able to hold her, barely been able to get to know her, to bask in her sweet, gurgling whisper of a voice and the feel of her tiny fingers gripping around one of his. It isn't enough, and it dawns on him now that it will never be enough.

"I...I must leave you waiting, once again..." His cousins are at his side in a moment, Aphrodite holding him up by one arm while Dionysus grabs the other, the two unusually sobered by the moment as your newborn starts to cry, and so do you. "I won't be long this time, my love...I...swear, I won't abandon you...or my little Melea..."

It's such a long time to wait, and the days grow more agonizing as each one passes, even with the shocking amount of information his cousins offer--it's surprising even for a relative for a god to spend so much of their time visiting you in the mortal realm, which may also be the reason why he hasn't seen hide nor hair of Zeus since that fated day. Perhaps he's quite busy stepping in for him in his absence, which Zagreus can only hope is a good thing.

When the dark, ill feeling finally overtakes him, and the voice of Zeus bellows something he isn't able to catch, Zagreus burns the image of you and his daughter in his mind as you hold his hand before he feels the warmth of Styx surround him entirely. The world above falls away, and even before he reawakens in the House after being carried by Thanatos, he braces himself with the knowledge that it may very well be a long, long time until he fulfills that oath to you two. It's despairing, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that his father will make it nigh impossible for him to get out again, and surely enough Zagreus suffers a great many deaths very close to the surface, almost in reach of you two--but each time he's thwarted more aggravatingly than the last. The only comfort he's allowed is to hear news of you and his daughter from the gods that were present for your daughter's birth, the two that more or less insisted on being the literal godparents of your baby girl. They regale him with tales of her exploits, of how she's fussy with peas but she can't get enough of mush carrots, how she once nearly rolled out of her cradle in the night, and how she even said her first word. And it stings Zagreus right in his heart when he's told what it is. Papa. You must be working in a frenzy to care for her alone, and yet you haven't let her forget the presence of her father even when he can't seem to get up to the surface to see her. It makes his clashes with his own father more violent, even though the two of them are no longer on speaking terms.

That all changes on a day like any other, however. When he jumps down into the lowest level of Tartarus, eager and ready for another try despite how weary it makes him, the potential boon waiting for him is unlike any of the ones he's encountered before. The handful of gods he's never really interacted with might have news for him, he thinks, or maybe had their curiosity piqued at their counterparts investing so much time in the mortal wife of a bastard demigod. But when he touches it, and the distinct sound of ticking fades in and out of his mind, he's confused more than curious as the image of the god slowly comes into view, like water rippling back into stillness once a stone has been thrown into it. Something else stirs up in him as well--the sounds of laughter, but smaller, sweeter, as if the voice of that jubilant person hasn't fully formed yet. And it's familiar. It dawns on him just in time of how familiar it is, when he hears that darling voice soothing him with a reassurance he hasn't felt in ages.

"Hello again, my love. It seems as though our wait is finally over, isn't it?"

[rose-petal123]

Super curious about the one armed siffrin you keep drawing 👀 what’s that au about if you don’t mind sharing?

OH GOOD LORD. That au happened because I was listening to epic the musical just a man. And then I had a vision. I already wrote a whole description of au shenanigans for this because a friend asked for it and also au rp shenanigans soooo!! I'll just copy and paste that. It's probably one of my favorite aus I've made tbh. I think about it A LOT!!!

CW/TW: Various deaths, War, idk what else. Um. OH YEAH LOSS OF LIMB. Let me know if I'm forgetting anything

War au(?) idk to be named technically

Basic premise is Northern country and Vaugarde are at war. Over what? Idk I haven't really decided. Probably something stupid like land or religion.

Mirabelle/Nebula

A knight that is part of the Vaugarde army. She's more of an on field medic, extremely skilled in healing craft. During an attack on the northern country's castle, she killed the king who was the baby brother of Sirius(Loop) and Altair(Siffrin/North). The reason for this was because she got a vision from the universe telling her she needed to kill the king or else he'd later grow up to destroy Vaugarde as an act of revenge.

Altair/North/Siffrin

Middle child of the royal family! Growing up they were pretty rebellious! Still kinda is tbh. They'd often sneak out without permission and steal random shit. Talk with people in town etc. When the war started a few years back, they ran away from home, not wanting much to do with it. In the past year, they met Mirabelle who had been stranded by her allies. They befriended her (unaware of what she had done), and showed her around the northern country. They grew really close (QPR BLAST!!!) and Mira eventually confessed what she did to the king. North hesitantly forgives her, understanding why she had to do it.

Sirius/Loop (only goes by Sirius)

Eldest child of the royal family. They were put in charge of the country due to their mother dying in childbirth and their father disappearing. They were very quickly pissed off by Mirabelle killing their youngest brother. Even more so when they ran into North and Mirabelle during an attack on the coast. They attempted to attack Mirabelle, who was shielded by North. In the process, Sirius accidentally took off North's right arm. They labeled their brother a traitor for defending the enemy and killing a few royal guards (out of self defense.)

Misc but still important info

- Mirabelle and North stowed away on a Vaugardian boat to get back to Vaugarde.

- Mirabelle and Isabeau are best friends! She introduces North to Isabeau when they visit Jouvente

- Siffrin is the name North uses while in Vaugarde

- Mirabelle shows North around Vaugarde like they did for her while they were in the northern country

- Mirabelle and North want to attempt to convince both countries to make peace.

- Altair is North's real name

[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird & The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 19 ✿:+ Brown Eyes

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 

CW: MDNI, graphic descriptions of childbirth, pregnancy, mention of forced abortion, NSFW themes, Sandor “my wife” Clegane, misogyny, protectiveness, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, mention of death, blood, threats of violence, 

Word Count: 6.1K

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Tyrion, Sansa, a maester, and five midwives watched you pace the birthing chambers in the high tower back and forth, rubbing your back in pain. “Hmmmmmmmm…” You groaned, “Fuck!” You shouted as you hunched forward. The cramping in your back was like the ones you had when you had your blood, but this was worse. Far, far, far worse. 

“You can push through it.” The old maester said, “Women have beared children since the beginning of time.” He said in a condescendingly calm tone as you rived in pain. 

“Oh shut the fuck up!” You barked at the old man, he knew nothing of the pain you felt. No matter how many women he observed in pain he’d never know the true suffering of it. “The pain, please, please give me something for the pain!” You pleaded, 

The maester shook his head, “It is too early. Taking anything now could slow your progression.”

You let go as you continued to pace the room, holding onto your stomach as you groaned, “Hnghhhh..” You felt a thick layer of sweat over your skin, your body was hot and burning from the pain. You began to remove your gown, but your hands were too shaky and weak to unbutton or unlace anything, “Take this off of me-Open the fucking windows.” As you commanded it, three midwives opened the windows whilst two others as well as Sansa assisted you with your dress.

As your gown fell, and you were left in a bloody shift, Tyrion averted his eyes from you. Walking towards the maester Tyrion began, “Are you certain nothing can be given?” 

“My Lord, her body must be ready to deliver-” The maester tried to explain, however his words were interrupted by your wailing. 

“Aaah!” Tyrion turned around as you groaned loudly,

He turned back to the Maester, “Does that not seem ready?” he questioned. 

“Boil the water- Ready her bed-“ You overheard the midwives speaking amongst one another. As you did, you realized they were beginning preparations for your delivery. 

You felt a rush of irrational panic, shaking your head, you began to plead, “I cannot, I cannot deliver here.” You said holding onto Sansa, “I want to be in my mothers home, I want my husband.”

“I don’t think you have much say.” Sansa said, unsure of how to calm you.

The maester took Tyrion aside, leaning in closer to him, “It’s too soon, she should be carrying for another seven and ten days-“ 

“I want my Husband!” You cried out, rarely were you ever frightened. 

Ripping his eyes away from you and back to the maester, “Well clearly it is happening.” Tyrion practically hissed. 

You overheard this, you pushed away Sansa as you stumbled towards the maester. You grabbed the old man by the collar, pulling him in close  “Is there any doubt? It is fucking happening!” You practically growled at the man, feeling the sweat accumulating on your brow. You felt as though you were becoming Sandor in that moment, taking that bit of him you needed. 

Sansa was overwhelmed by the sight of you, by the screams, the blood and sweat. She muttered an apology before leaving you. 

Suddenly you felt a gentle, and cool touch. You looked over and saw a young plain faced common girl with dirty hair. “M’lady,” She said sweetly as she placed her hands on your arms pulling you away from the man. Though her face was plain, her sweet voice and cold hands against your hot skin made her look and feel like an angel. “Breathe with me,” She said as she led you away from the maester. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, she did it with you again and again. She took your hand as she led you to your bed, “Squeeze my hand with every pain.” You laid onto your bed, “That pain is your babe making their way to us. Closer they get, the closer the babe is.” 

“Well can they fucking get on with it?” You groaned between labored breaths, 

“Breathe, m’lady, breathe.” The girl spoke sweetly, “M’lady, may I look at your progress?” She asked, never letting go of your hand. You couldn’t care less, you just wanted this babe out. You nodded exhaustedly. The girl never let go of your hand, but with her free hand she rose your shift to see. 

Tyrion looked away swiftly. Just as he did the old maester placed a hand on the Lord's shoulder, “My Lord, a word.” The maester said in a hushed tone. 

Tyrion contemplated leaving the room, but ultimately did. 

Once the two men stepped into the hall, Tyrion felt irritation rise as he could hear your yelps inside the room where this maester should be.

“What is it?” Tyrion asked with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. 

The maester looked somewhat flustered as he spoke, “The Lady’s Lord Husband Clegane has arrived.” He spoke in a hushed tone. 

Tyrion's frustration grew, “Why are you telling me? She’d want to know, she’s been asking for him-“ 

Tyrion turned to re enter your chambers, to inform you of your husband's arrival, news that would bring great relief to you. 

However the maester stopped Tyrion, grabbing his wrist. “The father is not permitted to witness the birth. It is not done unless the woman is dying. Frankly you shouldn’t have been allowed for as long as you were.” 

Tyrion felt uncomfortable, knowing that if Sandor was denied access to you it would result in nothing but a bloody fight. “He will not allow a barrier between him and his wife. And she will not either.”

“That is why we have told Clegane that she is still being prepared for laboring. And why have we not told the Lady that he has arrived.” 

Tyrion's face contorted in confusion, “Of what concern is it of yours if he is in the room or not?”

“Tradition. It is not done.” He said exasperated, “Besides the Lord Clegane may prove to be an intimidating figure for the midwives in the room. He would frighten them-” 

“And yourself.” Tyrion interrupted, making the Maester’s expression drop. “Allow me to see him.” He said with a confident nod.

“Are you friendly with him? He is quite agitated, perhaps you could calm him.” The maester asked, wanting any assistance in calming the hound.

Tyrion rolled his eyes in frustration, “Just tell me where he is.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

Sandor waited in the library of Winterfell in agony for someone to tell him what was happening. 

He paced the room restlessly. His anger grew and grew with each passing minute of silence. As he paced the room his anger slipped from his grasp for a moment as he kicked over a table in the room. And with the table its papers and letters flew about the room. But one paper in particular caught his eyes.

A drawing, a drawing of you. A rendering of your likeness.  

A maester had one created to be sent to each of the seven kingdoms, to tell them of your victory. A marker of history. 

He took the drawing in his hands, looked at it closely.

As he looked upon your likeness he came upon a horrifying thought that he was attempting to push out of his mind, but just couldn’t. What if after tonight, this likeness is the only thing he’ll have left of you. 

If you couldn’t handle bearing a child, if you suffered the same fate as your mother, or his own. 

He’d spend sleepless nights staring at it. Spend years staring at your child, hoping he’d see a glimpse of you in them. And if the child did not live past this night either, then neither would he. 

He was pulled from his horrid thoughts as the door opened. He turned around and saw Tyrion in the doorway, looking upon the scene with an awkward demeanor. 

“Where the fuck is she?” Sandor barked as he stepped towards Tyrion, “No one will tell me anything!” He shouted. 

Tyrion raised the palm of his hand as he spoke softly, “They mean to keep you away from the birth.” Tyrion knew that keeping the two of you would only cause distress. Fuck tradition. 

Sandor huffed, “You think I don’t know that? I’ll cut that Maesters throat-“ He said about to charge out of the room before Tyrion began again. 

“Do you want bloodshed on such a day? Deprive your laboring wife of the only Maester in Winterfell?” Tyrion said rationally. Sandor hated to admit it, but he was right. Though it did not calm him any.

“The King was never there when your sister labored.” Sandors words were dripping with contempt. He remembered those days in King's Landing. When the King would leave whilst his wife labored. Before Sandor did not care, he did not care about the on goings of the royals lives. All he was concerned about was their safety and his duty. But now, he thought of those days and found himself disgusted. The King hunted, presenting his Queen with pelts whilst she presented a child. He did not wish for you to feel abandoned in that way.

“I think she was thankful for that.” Tyrion attempted to jest.

Sandor did not find it amusing however. “You know what happened to her mother?” His words were dark and his eyes were hard, “She is scared.” His voice wavered slightly, “I won’t have her be scared.” He shook his head. 

Tyrion looked at the Hound, but he did not see the Hound. He saw Sandor. He felt a deep sympathy for this tortured man, he understood his love for you. He also understood your love for him. With a sigh he admitted, “She’s in the high tower.” 

Sandor pushed past Tyrion without challenge as he marched up the halls of Winterfell. He didn’t need to know what room specifically, he’d figure that out soon enough.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

As he got closer and closer to the chambers you were held in, he could hear cries of pain muffled through the stone walls. But he knew your voice well enough to know it was yours. 

As he approached the very room that he knew you were in, he noticed a guard positioned outside its door. 

Sandor marched up to the guard, “Open the fucking door.” He ordered in a low voice, it rumbled in his chest. 

The guard’s stoic expression faltered and was now replaced by an expression of fear. 

Before the craven guard could move aside, the door to the chamber opened. Giving Sandor a small glimpse inside. 

He saw you holding your legs apart wearing nothing but your shift that was now covered in sweat and blood. You were on the floor, with your back pressed against the wooden frame of the bed. You groaned through gritted teeth and shut eyes as a midwife held your hand.

He’d never seen you in such a state, in such pain.

However as the door opened the maester stepped in front of Sandor, closing the door. 

Sandor looked at the maester with wide and violent eyes. He nearly tore the old cunts arm off when he extended a hand, pressing against Sandors chest. “My Lord, the father mustn’t be present. You may find you are glad for it. I find that lady is glad for it as well, not wishing for their husband to see them in such a state.” The old man's voice wavered from age.

Sandor swatted the maester’s hand away from him. “She say she doesn’t want me there?” He barked, If you didn’t wish him there he’d obey your command, but he knew better. He knew you did not want to be surrounded by people you didn’t know.

“There’s no need to fear for her. The child is in a good position.” The maester attempted to alleviate Sandor’s agitation. However it only grew as he heard another wail come from behind the door.  

Sandor scoffed, “That doesn’t sound like it!” He barked, grasping a hold of the maester’s smock.  

“Child bearing is not a pleasurable experience, my Lord.” The maester stammered. 

“I know that.” He said in a gruff tone, “Let me the fuck in there.” He said as he heard another cry, his grip tightened. “If you don’t move, I’ll pull your guts from your fucking throat.” He rasped pulling the maester closer, nearly inches away from his face. 

You were so tired from the pain, the energy it took with each push, and the milk of the poppy only made it worse. You struggled to keep your eyes open as you panted from exhaustion. You threw your head back, “I want my husband, I want to see his eyes.” you whined.

A more high born midwife in the corner of the room spoke up, “It is not done, my Lady-“

“If it would bring m’lady comfort,” your angel attempted to defend your wishes properly, but her temper got the better of her, “Fuck traditions, just let the man in!” she whispered in a hiss towards the other midwife making her gasp. 

After she did, you heard the booming sound of your husband's voice, demanding to be let in on the other side of the door. Your eyes widened despite your exhaustion. “Is that him? He’s here? I want my husband-Sandor!” You called out frantically, knowing he’d hear it. 

“Fuck out my way.” Sandor rasped one last time before pushing the maester away by placing a large palm on the man’s face. 

As he burst into the chamber, your tired and weary eyes fell on him, but through your exhaustion and tears you could hardly make him out. But the sound of his footsteps and the way his armor clanked as he stomped around the room, you knew it was him.  

“Sandor?” You asked weakly, reaching a hand out to him. 

Sandor dropped to his knees, grabbing hold of your hand firmly. “I’m here.” His voice wavered slightly. Something that rarely happened. He took your face into his other hand. “I’m here.”

“I’m scared.” You said grasping at Sandors arm.

He didn’t know how to comfort you, but he wanted to badly. He rubbed your dewy cheek with his large thumb, “I know, I know. I know, my brave girl.” He whispered to you as he leaned in closer to you. 

“Fuck-“ You cried out, throwing your head back again against the wooden bed frame. Feeling the pain wash over you. Practically paralyzing your legs. You shook your head, “It’s not coming is it?” You whimpered. 

The common girl rubbed your knee as she looked under your shift, “It is coming, m’lady.” She was confident. 

Though her confidence didn’t help you much. 

As you continued to cry out from the pain,  Sandor looked to the midwife who tended to you so tenderly. “What can I do?” He asked, strangely gentle. 

“Nothing to be done.” The maester said, as he stood uselessly in the corner. “I know that is not what you’d like to hear. I know you wish to ease her pain but I can assure you I have done all I can to ease it-” His pathetic words were interrupted by your scream of pain. 

“That doesn’t sound like easing fucking pain!” Sandor shouted at the Maester as he held on tighter to your hand. 

“While Lord Tyrion sought you out, I gave the Lady Arryn as much milk of the poppy I could without killing her.” ’Killing her’ the words made Sandor stand, and stomp over to the maester. 

“She cannot die.” He growled through gritted teeth. 

“We are doing all we can-” The maester said flustered. 

“She will not die.” He leaned in towards the old man. Inches from his face once again. “You fucking hear me?” He threatened. 

“Y-yes.” The maester stammered. 

“Then stop flapping your fucking lips at me and go see to my wife.”

The girl who attended to you called out, “M’Lord, hold the lady.” Sandor obeyed, but not before staring daggers at the old man. Once he turned from him, he got back on his knees. You kneeled on your knees, resting your head against his chest, as you held onto his shoulders. The new position alleviated some of the pain from your back, but certainly did not resolve it completely. “Is that better m’lady?” The girl asked, and you nodded with closed eyes, attempting to relish in the feeling of your husband's hands holding you up. 

The young midwife positioned herself on her knees behind you, pushing up your shift, “It is time M’lady.” She said with a sympathetic tone, knowing the next bit was not going to be any more pleasant. “Push!” 

And so you did, you dug your nails into his armored shoulders as you strained. “You can do this,” Sandor murmured in your ear, “You can.” He asserted again and again. 

Pushing with all of your might. Pushing and pausing to breathe. The pain made your legs tremble and if it were not for Sandor’s tight hold on you, you would’ve buckled onto the floor. 

As you pushed you couldn’t breathe, you strained so hard you feared you’d burst. You felt your face turn red and the sweat drip from your brow. 

You tried your hardest to push, not letting a single scream escape you from the strain. The room fell silent for the first time since your labors began. Until you could no longer hold in your scream as it escaped through your gritted teeth. 

And finally, relief. 

Relief that carried sound, a cry.

You could hear the babe’s cry. Even their squeals were beautiful and sweet. 

“A girl! A girl!” The girl said with delight as she wrapped the babe in a blanket. 

You were still too weak to move, but with all your strength you raised your head from Sandor’s chest, attempting to look at the babe but could not see her with the crowd of midwives in the way. “How is she?” you asked with half lidded eyes. 

“She’s small, quite small. But she’s ten fingers, ten toes, and kicking like a goat, m’lady.” You could practically hear the girl's smile as she tended to cleaning the babe and removing her umbilical cord. 

You smiled and could do nothing but allow tears to fall from your cheeks as the sounds of her cry met your ears. The first sound of the little thing you’d been growing within you for 8 long months. She’d come to you early, in your time of need. You couldn’t wait to see her face for the first time. 

Sandor looked over at the babe, so small. He couldn’t believe someone as large and as brutal as he could create such a delicate and beautiful thing. He held back a smile as he looked at her, he’d never felt such a love before. He’d burn the world for that fragile bird and do it gladly. He held you tighter, proud of your accomplishment, grateful of what you’d given him, and beyond relieved you were alive. 

“Ah!” You wailed in discomfort as you felt something moving its way out of you. Sandor gripped onto you tighter. 

“The afterbirth-“ She said, grabbing a chamberpot to catch it, “You’ll need to push just a bit more m’lady.” She said rubbing your lower back, attempting to comfort you. 

It was much easier to pass then the babe, you pushed it part the way until it slipped out of you. You hardly felt it other than the uncomfortable sensation of it slipping from between your thighs. 

The girl collected it swiftly and cleaned your thighs. Only the cramping did not stop. 

“Mmmm-“ You continued to groan in discomfort, you shoved your face into Sandor’s chest.

He placed a hand over your head, “Something’s not right.” Sandor said, looking towards the maester.

“Time after birth can be uncomfortable.” The maester said dismissively. 

Sandor had no time to beat the man into submission. Rather he looked towards the common girl, the only midwife that seemed to understand how to help you. “Girl!” He shouted and the girl looked back towards you and he said, “Something’s not right with her!” 

The girl pushed the chamberpot and rags she used to clean you onto another midwife, and rushed over towards you. She lifted your skirts, “Another,” She said with a gasp, “A blessing from the Gods!” She said with glee. 

“Another child?” Sandor asked, he was rarely ever surprised but he was now. His feelings battled one another. He felt an overwhelming joy to know that he not only had one child by you but two, he also felt ill-equipped and frightened, but mostly he was concerned once again by your health. He did not know if you could handle another child in your state of exhaustion. 

“Again? Fuck-I can’t-“ You shook your head frantically, you were frightened by the prospect of having to strain like that again.  

The girl placed a cool hand on your back and shook her head, “No choice M’lady, the babe is coming.” She said with a softness. 

“Sandor, my only love.” You spoke as if you were recalling him, not speaking to him. Though your voice was weak your words were heavy. “If I die,” You began,

“Stop.” He commanded you as he caressed your head against his chest. 

You continued as if you did not hear him, “If I die, care for our children. It’s not their fault.” You said weary, through labored breaths. The pain became hardly noticeable as you felt yourself slipping out of consciousness. Perhaps it was the milk of the poppy, perhaps it was death. You did not know, and were too tired to care. 

“You will not die,” He said sternly. He could feel emotion rise in his chest, and his nose slash with heat. He held back tears as he barked, “You’re not going to fucking die!” 

You were used to your husband's harsh tone, it did not bother you. “Tell me what she looks like-“ You asked between groans of pain as you continued to push the best you could. You knew one thing for certain and that was that your child would be born, even if it killed you. 

“You’ll see her soon.” Sandor said, unwilling to entertain any notion that would suggest you wouldn’t. 

“Tell me.” You asked again, your weary voice wavered and your body shook from the pain. 

Sandor looked over to the babe, the midwives were busy cleaning, and the babe continued to cry. No doubt misliking the hands of strangers, wanting for her mother. “Small. She looks like you-“ He shook his head and looked back down to you, “You’ll see soon.” He asserted again. 

“You must push, M’lady, the babe is nearly here!” The girl encouraged you.

You groaned and whined as you dug your nails back into Sandors shoulders. He held you tightly, and ran his hands up and down your back as you pushed. Only this time, you could not push so easily. You got winded quicker, and were screaming more. You cried out and sweat dripped from your brow as you shook your head, “I can’t, I can’t.” You whimpered into Sandor’s chest. 

“Push, girl, push!” Sandor almost pleaded with you. 

With a final push, one that took all your might,

You felt that relief once more, and the sounds of other babes cry.

“A boy!” She said with joy, “Strong and healthy, M’Lady. Much bigger than his sister.” 

“You did it, you see?” Sandor said whispering as he kissed the crown of your head.

“I’m so tired.” You whined, your eyes nearly closed. 

“No more in her is there?” Sandor asked with a raised brow.

“No, M’Lord.” The girl shook her head, and snipped the babes umbilical cord. 

With that, Sandor picked you up gently. He carried you to the bed in the chambers. He laid you on the bed with the utmost care, sitting beside you.

You could hear your children cry in the room. Despite your exhaustion you needed them in your arms. “I want my children.” You pleaded. As the midwives made sure that your body was not in need of any immediate attention, the common girl brought you your first born. The girl, a small and delicate babe.  

With a wide smile, You kissed her forehead, and smiled as tears of joy fell from your eyes. Her cries ceased as soon as her skin met yours. Through the reflection of the babe’s big brown eyes, you saw your own smile that she brought to you. 

Then she handed you your son, a much larger, and longer babe than his sister. He rested on your chest as you kissed his head. The babes were soft and calm as you held them. You let out a breath of relief and smiled so widely you didn’t remember the last time you were so happy.

The scene was enough to make even your stone hearted husband smile, nearly in tears himself though he’d never show it. He held your head and kissed your temple. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

You could hardly sleep that night despite your exhaustion. You spent it staring at your babes.

What bliss, a bliss, a peace, a love that you’d never felt before. Not for anyone or anything. Even Sandor. 

A love so pure, unconditional, and fierce, no force alive could shift it. 

A love you could not live without. You held in your hands now your greatest strength, as well as your greatest weakness. 

You shall be the cruelest woman alive if it ensured these little things safety. You shall be the gentlest woman alive if it ensured their happiness. 

You intended to do both. 

You looked up to see Tyrion, quietly entering your chamber. You smiled, too content to question what he was doing here so late, “Am I mad, or are these babes the most beautiful babes in all of histories?” You said looking at the sleeping babes in the cradles by your bedside. “Or perhaps all mothers feel this way.”

Tyrion approached, looking at the two babes with a soft smile, “Both could be true.” He looked at you with concern. “I wanted to see how you were, two children in one night is quite the accomplishment.” He said with a smile. 

You looked over to your husband, dead asleep beside you, snoring loudly. “I fear the births tired him more than I.” You said, not being able to remember the pain you suffered, blinded by the happiness you felt in that moment. 

Tyrion looked at the babes in the cradle, “A name?”

You shrugged, “We never discussed it. Feels unthinkable now, to overlook such a thing. To hells with the war, it should have been them I thought of.” You said, shaking your head. “I simply keep calling them, my girl, and my boy.” You said with a gentle smile, and placed your hand on top of your girl's belly, just to feel her breathing. 

He smiled at your happiness, “I told you so.” he said in a whisper. Remembering how he once told you that you would one day have a child, and marry, and how you denied it. 

“I’m sorry, Tyrion.” You said earnestly. 

“Don’t be.” He said with a smile shaking his head. He looked at the babes once more, “She looks like you, thank the Gods.” It was partially a jest. 

“She has his eyes.” You said proudly. 

“He’s big for a babe born so early. No doubt he will be as big as his father. Though let us hope he will be much more handsome.” He said, again jesting, though half serious. He looked at you softly, “Many people wish to see you, and them.” 

You shook your head. “They can wait til the morning. They must sleep, as must I.” Tyrion nodded and began to leave your chamber, but not before you said, “Thank you, Tyrion.” He smiled at you and nodded once more before leaving. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

The next morning, it was quite early, the sun barely touching the sky. But you and Sandor were awake. Midwives still scurried around the room and made sure you were well. Bringing you and your husband food. Sandor gorged after such a long trip back to Winterfell. 

Though you were bound to your bed you insisted on attending to your children as much as you could. 

An old maid came to take your boy from your arms, to take him to the wet nurse. An idea that disagreed with you terribly. 

“I’ll feed them myself.” You said as you pulled your son closer to you and away from the old maid. 

The old maid did not understand it, “My lady that is what the wet nurse is for.” She said with furrowed brows.

“Not for my children.” You said not leaving any room for question. 

“My lady-“ She began, 

“You heard her.” Your husband barked as he scarfed down the plate of food in front of him. 

The old maid left, frustrated and confused. 

“M’lady wishes to do this the common way.” The common girl said with a smile as she approached you. “May I show you?” She asked softly, 

You nodded humbly, clueless as to what to do. The common girl approached you and gently began helping you position the boy in your arms to feed. 

“What is your name?” You asked, looking at the common girl's face. 

“Eira, m’lady.” She said as softly as she helped your son latch onto you. 

“Eye-raaa,” You said drawing out the pronunciation of her name, it was a name you’d never heard before. “Beautiful name.” It was, especially for a common born girl, “Have you aided in the births of many babes?” You asked, adjusting your hold on the boy. 

“Only a few.” She said, it surprised you. She seemed to be the most capable and knowledgeable in the room, “And my own.” She finished. 

You looked at her with concern, the girl could not be more than ten and five, “You’re only a girl.” 

“Men hardly see it that way.” She said with a shake of her head, and a somber smile. 

As your son began to drink from you, you caressed his head. Already he had a full head of hair, the same color as your own. “You’ve a talent, Eira.” You said softly. 

“Thank you, M’lady.” She with a smile said as she readied her things to leave you. 

“I Thank you, I do not think I would have been able to get through my labors without your help.” You said with true gratitude. 

Eira smiled and bowed her head to you before leaving you and your new family to share a moment alone. 

As you fed your boy, you looked over to the cradle that held your little girl. Then you looked at your husband, who was looking at the small babe in the cradle as he ate. Like a watchful guard dog, or a good father. 

“You’ve not held her.” You said, gently.

He shook his head, “She’s too small.” he rasped. 

“Hold her.” You asserted, gently again. You knew he was scared but you also knew he wanted to hold her dearly. 

“I’ll hurt her.” He said vulnerably. 

“You won’t hurt her.” He looked at you, “I know you won’t.” You said softly. 

With a sigh, Sandor stood and approached the cradle. He hesitated before reaching in and gently cradling the babe in his hands. She was so small he could have held her in one hand, but dare not try. 

He was half expecting the babe to cry as soon as he held her. But she did not, comforted by the presence of her father as he walked her over to the bedside where her mother said. “You have a daughter, and a son.” You said as Sandor sat beside you.

“We have a daughter, and a son.” He said softly, you stared at him with a blissful smile. You could not think of a place in the world you would rather be. He looked at you, and furrowed his brow, “What?” he rasped.

“She inherited your eyes.” You said gently looking over at the brown eyed babe. You then caressed the crown of the boy in your arms as you said “And he’s got your nose. Small but you can tell.”

Sandor scoffed, “Let’s hope that’s all they got from me.” he groaned. 

“Stop it.” You said more sternly, “You’re the most handsome man I know.” It was true, scar or no. 

He looked at you as if you’d told the most egregious lie, “Fuck off-“

“Don’t.” You interupted him, “I’m not well enough to fuck some sense into you just yet.” You said leaning over slightly to kiss his cheek.

Sandor snorted a laugh, “He has your eyes.” Sandor said more gently, looking at the babe you fed. 

“Do you think?” You asked, looking down to the boy at your breast. 

“I know.” He said gruffly. 

“I’m glad it was two. I won’t be baring any more children, do you understand?” You said with a raised brow, “The Eyrie will be thoroughly stocked with moontea.” 

“Or I could stop finishing in you.” He rasped. 

“Let’s not be irrational.” You said as if he had suggested the most ridiculous idea. It made him chuckle lowly. As you looked at your children, you placed a hand on Sandors shoulder, “We should decide names.” 

“You can manage that.” He murmured. It was not something a man like he would give much thought or care to. 

“You don’t have a family name you’d like?” You asked, wishing to honor his family as your own. 

Sandor shook his head, “Fuck my brother, and fuck my father. I can’t remember my sister's name… Can’t even remember my own mothers name.” He grumbled. 

As your boy finished feeding, you held him towards Sandor, making him hold both your children. You rested your chin on his shoulder as ran your hand up and down his back. Wanting to comfort him. 

You thought deeply for a moment of a name. “Loras? For our boy?” To you, it would honor a dear friend of yours who you lost. 

To Sandor it would remind him of the man who you were first intended to marry, “Loras?” He asked with a furrowed brow. 

“Alright…” You said with a sigh, understanding his hesitation, “Jon.” You said with a nod, “The name of my father, and my cousin.”

“Jon Clegane.” He said almost proudly as he looked at the boy in his arm, “Let’s hope he does not bring any more filth to the name.” He said half seriously. 

“He won’t!” You said with a gentle slap to his arm, “He is a sweet boy, you can tell.” You said with a smile. 

“Aye, with you for a mother he’ll have to be.” He said as he admired the boy. His eyes then wandered towards the tiny babe in his other arm, “The girl?” He asked. 

“First born. My heir.” You said with a warm smile, reaching out to her. Sandor gently placed her in your arms. “She should be given a name no one in either our lines have been given.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

Once the names were given and decided, a raven was sent to the Vale where Jon and Lord Royce held control over the East and made sure Baelish remained in his sky cell whilst you labored. 

Lord Royce was first to read the letter. Then he gave it to Jon.

Jon elated that you were safe, and so were your babes. He stepped out of the Eyrie seeing the sea of men who had fought for the siege of the Eyrie. 

He shouted, “Your Lady has birthed an heir! A healthy daughter! Eira Arryn, first of her name!” The men cheered, raising their swords in the air. Not only was the Eyrie now back in the possession of the Arryns, the line was secured. “That is not all!" Jon shouted, "It is twins! The Lady has given the vale a healthy son! Jon Clegane!”

The men again, cheered and celebrated your successful delivery. It was a joyous day. An extravagant celebration was no doubt on the way for your children. And a trial was on the way for Baelish.

But it all could wait, you had at last found peace.

NOTE: It makes me sad to say… but the next chapter is the finale…

K love you, xoxo

Bambi

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[s-4pphics]

let the rain sing. interlude (a.a)

wc;cw: 6k, dadsbestfriend!abby, lawstudent!oc, large age gap (oc is 25, abby is mid 40s), abby is bi<3, fluff, HEAVY ANGST ANGST ANGST!!, childbirth, vomiting, blood, brief mentions of abortion, descriptions of insomnia, alcoholism, familial death, heavy descriptions of grief (depression, dissociation, anger), suicidal ideation, funerals & hospitals

Abby was conflicted when she found out she was pregnant. 

She was ecstatic to start her term at Harvard Law due to some internship offers she received, but her excitement swiftly dissipated when waves of nausea started to overtake her. 

She wasn’t concerned with the feeling at first. The fall term was always the most unpredictable for weather, and she assumed it was just the flu that often went around. Humiliation rushed through her when another wave hit during her sociology course, rushing out into the hallway to bend over the nearest trash, vomiting up her favorite brown sugar oatmeal from that morning. 

She decided to see a doctor three days later when the sickness continued. She couldn’t get her test results the same day due to her hectic schedule and exhaustion from studying, so she opted to request them in the mail, despite her gynecologist’s urgency. 

When she received her results two days later, her heart sank. 

She paced around the small living room of her boyfriend’s apartment with anxiety in her gut and love in her heart. She’d been in complete disbelief, crumpling the urine test in her hands and throwing them onto the coffee table. 

Her mind was racing a million miles per minute: How was she going to explain to her boyfriend—her parents— that she would be keeping her child no matter what? Her parents promised to be supportive of her if she stayed in school, but she was almost positive that they would disapprove of her baby. She didn’t care if they supported her or not, but she didn’t want to raise her children in an unstable environment. She wanted to give them the best of everything, of herself, but she couldn’t do that then. Her boyfriend had already been working like a dog to keep this place afloat, and a baby would be a burden for both of them.

But she knew she wanted to be a mother when she was young. She had a large family, but she always gravitated towards her younger relatives due to their liveliness. They made her feel joy that she knew she missed out on growing up, so she lived through them. They revived her in a sense. The circumstances were different in her mind when she envisioned herself as a parent: she was older, successful, married to the love of her life, and not regretting any of her decisions. She would’ve been happy. Excited and thankful for the blessing she believed kids to be. 

Seeing the news terrified her and almost sent her spiraling into panic; She was only twenty-three! 

She loved children. They always flocked to her when she was growing up, whether it be her younger siblings, cousins, nieces and nephews, or random people’s toddlers in grocery stores garbling at her from their cart seat. She never felt annoyed towards her younger family members. She always held them tight so they knew how much she loved them, no matter how much they got on her fucking nerves sometimes. 

What teenager volunteers to babysit her big sister’s toddlers on the weekends? 

… Abigail. 

She was a nervous wreck while she waited for her boyfriend to come home from work. She’d been sobbing for hours, but she managed to calm herself down by staring at her frantic form in the bathroom mirror. 

She couldn’t think straight with the pounding in her head, nervously bouncing her leg as she sat on the couch as she bit her nails.

And then their front door unlocked. 

Abby… oh my god… I’m—

We’re pregnant? Oh my fucking god, we’re pregnant! 

We’re having a baby?! I’m gonna be a dad! 

Abby was not expecting her boyfriend to drop the wrinkly papers and lift her into the air in a heap of excitement, drowning her in tight grasps and kisses to her mouth and cheek. She cried harder; His joy was so comforting. 

She wasn’t going to be alone during her pregnancy, and she was grateful. 

Abby dropped out of Harvard three months into her pregnancy. 

Her and her newfound husband eloped at their town’s small lake at the end of his third year at law school, and they moved in together shortly after so she didn’t have to move around as much. She knew carrying was difficult, but her hair was falling out and she sobbed whenever her husband asked her what she wanted for dinner. 

You’re so sweet! I can’t help it, okay?! Leave me alone!

She and her husband were left to fend for themselves during her first trimester. 

Her parents did not take kindly to her pregnancy announcement. She was always super close with her parents growing up despite their overprotective nature, and she hardly ever fought with them. Whenever they expressed their disapproval of her decisions, she bowed her head and left without rebuttal. 

She expected the worst when she and her husband invited them over for dinner to announce it to them properly, and that’s exactly what she got. 

Abigail… Are you fucking kidding me!

What the hell is a child going to do for you right now?

Do you understand how much you’re giving up? You have so much to lose!

You’re cut off unless you… handle that!

Her husband took over the conversation with a sharp, defensive tongue since the pounding of her head made her shut down. She was so fucking nauseas at their suggestions. She did consider an abortion a couple of weeks into her pregnancy, but the way her parents talked down about her future baby broke her heart and pissed her off. 

Her husband's booming shouts at her parents would have triggered her defense for them under any other circumstances, but she only felt protected as he told them to fuck off! She knew she was loved by him to an infinite degree. Appreciation for her husband bloomed inside of her like roses.

Her parents left with a loud slam of their front door, and her husband held her as she sobbed at the table. 

The food he prepared for everyone ran cold. Neither of them could stomach anything for the next few days. 

Abby’s third trimester was the most difficult, for both her and her husband. 

She never experienced this much pain in her life. 

She was six months along, and it really took a toll on her body. Her ankles were swollen, her ligaments were aching, and her joints would not stop popping whenever she moved around the tiny one-bedroom apartment. Her hair loss made her too anxious to leave the house, and she hated how superficial she felt whenever she would weep because of it when her husband was at work. At least her nausea subsided. 

She hated looking at herself in the mirror: her under eyes were dark and droopy, small bald spots littered behind her hairline, dark patches littered her skin. She looked fifty years older, and she hated it. 

But her husband never failed to kiss away her insecurities. Appreciate them. Drown them in affection no matter how much she cried about hating herself. 

He worked so hard for them to stay afloat: two jobs while keeping up with his course and nearly drowning in his studies. He suffered some pushback due to the transition from a full to part-time student, but he was doing his best to finish as quickly as possible. 

Abby cried every night as his exhausted form slept next to her. 

She felt so… useless. She watched her husband bust his ass, get fired from previous jobs, get turned down from decent-paying jobs, and she couldn’t help but feel responsible for his weariness. He looked just as worn as she did, and she loathed herself for putting all of this responsibility on him. 

He never complained, though. He would come home with takeout, kiss her head, tell her how much he loved her and how all of this would be worth it. 

Was the decision to keep her baby selfish? 

She didn’t know at that time. 

Abby had a premature birth. 

She’d finally gathered the courage to go shopping with her husband for decorations for the nursery, but the trip was cut short when she began having contractions in the middle of the toy aisle. 

They awoke her earlier that day: the cramps always brought her discomfort, but she noticed that the intensity was different. They shot through her much more harshly than they should’ve, but they eventually stopped, so she paid them no mind. 

Until she was hunched over the stocked shelves as her husband tried to get her into the nearest empty seat. 

She breathed out harsh cries of the baby, my baby as her husband frantically dialed for an ambulance despite her protests. The pain she felt burned whenever it flashed through her lower body, a constant push downward, and she knew something was wrong.

Her mind was racing as anxiety rushed through her body; she thought back to her frequent hospital visit. She knew a premature birth would be a possibility due to some complications with her cervix, but it was still early. She’d just reached the seven-month period, for fucks sake!

She could barely make it outside when the ambulance arrived, her vision foggy and she couldn’t stop sobbing, the paramedics’ voices sounding like bleating alarms in her ears whenever they attempted to calm her. She couldn’t bring herself to care about anything as she came in and out of consciousness, the only thing on her mind being the image of her happily crying husband holding their newborn for the first time. 

Please let my baby be okay, please, please, please—

Abby couldn’t stop sobbing. She never thought that conceiving would cause a stabbing pain in her heart. 

She went hysterical when she overheard that her baby wasn’t breathing, her heart rate monitor going out of whack as her lungs burned from her ragged breaths. Her husband tried to calm her down with his soft touches and words, but it only made her cry harder. She needed to hold her baby!

Her labor had already been nerve-racking, full of uncertainty and left her and her husband panic stricken for hours despite the doctors’ instructions to keep calm. When her infant was rushed into another room, her husband, and other doctors had to pin her down to keep her from thrashing from panic in her hospital bed. 

She didn’t stop until another doctor returned and told her husband that their daughter would be closely monitored while on ventilation for the rest of the week.

Please, can I see my baby? Please, please?—

But her cries were gently denied due to their infant’s extremely fragile state. They tried to comfort her as much as they could, but none of their soft words, husband’s cuddles and meals, or warm, fuzzy socks soothed her. 

She and her husband were released days later with an empty car-seat filled with stuffed animals and a pacifier. 

Their hearts were vacant. 

Their home was soulless for two weeks. 

No baby crying, no diaper changing, no breastfeeding. They didn’t even have the heart to finish decorating for the nursery. 

Abby watched her husband move on autopilot, waking up, going to work, going to class, and struggling to sleep. His insomnia had increased drastically ever since she gave birth, heavy bags forming under his eyes as he launched himself into his notetaking in the middle of the night. His desk was swamped with hefty books and sloppily stacked paper, murmuring to himself so he could memorize the necessary vocabulary. 

She was overcome with failure and nearly drowned in self-loathing. Failure as a wife, as a parent. She couldn’t protect and care for her baby how she wanted, and guilt rested heavily with intent to crush her. 

They both couldn’t speak, only whispering soft I love you so much before she slipped off into dreamland, her subconscious terrorized with images of her smiling baby girl who she prayed to see soon. 

When Abby’s husband got the call from their daughter’s doctor, they both rushed to the hospital. 

Abby’s raging nausea was quickly soothed by the doctor’s delighted face upon their arrival before ushering them to his office. 

I’m excited to tell you two that your daughter’s stable! She’s quite small, but she’s healthy! We do have some extra caretaking rules—

They could barely understand the doctor’s rambling due to their excitement of seeing their newborn for the first time. The doctor handed her husband paperwork before leading them down the long hallway. They nearly toppled over each other as they followed the doctor, bursting into the room that held newborns and other premature infants. 

They followed the doctor to their child’s incubator, and immediately burst into tears at the sight of their little—very little—angel. 

She was wrapped in an oversized onesie and booties that nearly slipped off her tiny feet. That was the first time they both saw her eyes open, and they couldn’t control their emotions as they sobbed from pure joy. 

They were so eager to hear the news from the doctor that Abby’s husband left the car seat in the vehicle. He probably looked crazy as he sobbingly retreated to the car with a strong love in his heart. 

Abby was first to hold their baby. She took note of the pediatrician’s instructions when wrapping her in blankets whenever her feet felt cold. 

When she felt the light weight of her child in her arms, she felt the purest form of love explode in her chest. She didn’t know how long she’d been crying and cooing at the bundle of joy, inhaling her scent in the crook of her neck, but she never wanted that feeling to dissipate. 

When her husband returned with the car seat and small bag, he kissed his daughter’s head so lightly. She cooed at him, and he and Abby squealed as the doctors giggled. 

They finally had their baby Mya in their grasp, and they left with light searing in their hearts. 

Their first few months with a newborn were rough. 

Loud crying. Dirty diapers. Frantic schedules. No fucking rest for either of them. But they both knew they wouldn’t trade the chaos of their small home for anything. It was all worth it when Mya kicked her feet when she looked at the twinkly star stickers on the ceiling before bed and garbled at the two of them. 

Abby never thought breastfeeding would be as taxing as it was. She woke up to her breasts feeling like rocks, their child’s cries wracking through the nursery. At least her hair started to grow back. 

Her husband was always awake in the wee hours of the morning, dragging himself into Mya’s small nursery like a zombie to feed and nuzzle her. Abby loved walking in on the two of them sleeping whenever she finished pumping, Mya pulled close to her father’s chest. 

The sight of their synced breaths always calmed her; She fell asleep with ease knowing they were together.

Toddlers were… interesting. 

Abby, in all her years of being surrounded by children, never witnessed a toddler reenact fish… noises? Since when did fish make noise?

Abby’s husband mistakenly left Animal Plant playing on their television while he snored on the couch with books on his chest and lap, and Abby drowsily entered the living room to shut off the loud narrations about extinction. 

Only to catch their baby girl bouncing up and down on the cushion next to her slumped dad, puffing her cheeks together and making quiet blubblubblub noises, just like the intensified audio from the television. 

She tried to regret teaching her baby how to take her first steps and get out of her crib on her own, but the sight made her heart brighten as she smiled to herself. 

She eased towards the couch, taking a seat next to an excited Mya as she watched the aquatic life interact with each other. Her smile widened at the sight of her mom, her tiny, stubby finger coming up towards her lips while she pointed towards her dad. Abby grinned and nodded with her, filling her cheeks with air like she saw her child do before she interrupted. Mya laughed quietly and copied her mom. 

She promised to scold her for being up way past her bedtime later. 

Mya fell asleep on Abby’s chest as she listened to the sound of the ocean. 

Mya had just turned four when Abby received a call from her mother. 

She hadn’t heard from her parents in years, and frankly, she didn’t want to. She could tell that her husband was a bit hurt that they didn’t congratulate him for receiving his law degree, but he was able to let it go, especially since his baby girl gave him the fattest kiss on the cheek in a small celebration.  

… Hi, honey. I know it’s been a while since, uh… since we’ve talked but… I just wanted to say I love you… and tell my granddaughter I said happy birthday… We love you all very much. I hope we can all meet again soon. Bye.

The voicemail made her eyes burn with sadness. Then anger, then love. She missed her parents immensely, but she would never be able to forget how they reacted to her pregnancy. Mya quickly became her source of happiness the second she was born, and she couldn’t imagine what her life would be if she never had her baby. 

She knew she would have to reconnect with her family at some point, but Mya would always come first. If her parents were to ever make Mya feel like her future was ruined because of her, Abby would be fine with never speaking to them again, no matter how much it would hurt. 

Abby jumped when she felt two small hands grab the fat on her wet cheeks, pressing slobbery kisses to both. 

Don’t cry, mommy! S’gonna be okay! I love you!

Abby shouldn’t have cried harder, but she did, choking out a sob as she tried to smile for her daughter. 

I know, baby. I love you so much. Everything’s gonna be fine. 

She hoped—prayed her daughter was right.

Abby and her small family’s lives changed so much in just a few months. 

Her husband found a stable job as a document clerk at a law firm, and they were able to move out of his dingy apartment into a decent one story after some months. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but they were happy. 

The bags under her husband's eyes have lessened in shade ever since his graduation. He also gathered time to eat with her at their small dining table instead of eating at his computer desk alone. They were finally comfortable. 

They bought Mya anything she wanted to make up for her disappointing birthday parties. 

Abby took note of her daughter's love for water. 

She always used to play various audios of rainfall and ocean waves for a sleepy Mya until she was two, but she didn’t expect the soothing technique to explode into her four-year-old playing in puddles and obsessively watching the rain through the glass backdoor. 

She watched Mya sit and stare out the wet windows, quietly humming lullabies to herself until she slipped into rest, gently snoring against the couch cushions. Abby never took kindly to Spring due to her allergies, but she was happy her baby found comfort in it. 

She told her husband about their daughter’s new habit when he returned from work one day, and he thought it was the most precious thing in the world. He wished he could’ve been present to see it. 

Maybe she wants to be a fish! We should take her to the lake one day. 

Abby scheduled swimming lessons for Mya that very next week. 

It was confirmed. Mya was a mermaid in her past life. 

She was a bit intimidated by the large pool when they arrived for her first lesson, but after a few sessions with her swim teacher, she stubbornly protested wearing her purple and blue floaties. 

C’mon, honey! Put your arm through so we can go swimming! 

No, mommy, no! 

She felt a bit of jealousy build in her gut when her daughter’s swim teacher gently pulled her stubby arms and legs into the little floaties without fail. She could hear Mya’s joyous giggle as she slapped the water around, practicing her paddling with her instructor’s support. 

Abby begrudgingly ate her Cheetos with a pout on her face from the poolside chair. 

Mya was five when she met her extended family for the first time. 

Her birthday had just passed, and Abby’s mom rang her line, inviting her family over for a small dinner. C’mon, sweetie! I just wanna see my granddaughter! 

Abby was not surprised when the “small dinner” turned out to be a full-fledged surprise party for Mya: balloons everywhere, a large cake with a Barbie doll in the middle, all her cousins, aunts, and uncles jumping with party hats. 

Mya was more than giddy at the sight, squealing and running over to the only auntie she knew, but Abby and her husband were a bit skeptical. It’d been a long while since they’d been in this environment, and they were very uneasy. But their little angel was so happy, so they pushed their edginess to the side. For her. 

The party went smoothly for the most part, despite their initial feelings, but Abby and her parents did get into a small scuffle in the backyard. It took everything not to snatch the icing-littered fork from Mya’s hand and make their exit. 

You have to understand where I’m coming from! Imagine if someone you loved told you to get rid of your kids when you were pregnant! Would you not feel disappointed?

I wouldn’t! I would understand that they had my best interest in mind, regardless of the situation! 

… I can’t believe the both of you. You’re really gonna stand by that? On her fucking birthday?

Abby’s husband politely thanked everyone for the gifts and food, but he knew it was time to go by the tense expression on his wife’s face. She thanked him for his intuition every day; She was about to cause a wreckage on that patio. 

He picked up his tired baby girl from her resting spot on the couch, grabbed his keys, and ushered his wife out the door without another word. 

Abby silently cried the entire ride home, her husband's hand enclosed tightly around hers, resting in her lap. 

Abby and her husband decided to take Mya to the lake where they got married for her seventh birthday. 

She could finally swim without assistance, and they wanted her to live out her mermaid fantasy. 

They made an entire weekend out of it: kayaking, fishing, wakeboarding. Mya looked so happy the entire time, completely engulfed with her love for nature. They'd never seen her so explorative; She wanted to see everything the trip had to offer. Including the sunset at the highest point of the hiking trail. 

Honey, we’re getting old! We can’t run that fast anymore! 

Hurry up, lugs! We have to make it to the top before the sun sets! C’mon!

Before they left the campgrounds, Abby shoved her camera into her husband’s hands, tossing all her bags to the floor and pulling her daughter up onto her back, listening to her laugh as she yelled at her husband to take a picture of them in front of her favorite place. 

How the hell do you use this, Abby?!

Just take the damn picture before I fall!

The swear jar is gonna be filled before we leave! Stop cursing, old heads! 

Okay, 1, 2, 3! Say cheese!

Abby and her daughter squealed as the camera flashed in front of them, the grounds filled with the family’s joyous laughter. 

Abby noticed changes in her husband’s behavior. 

He came home from work smelling of liquor, and their cabinets were becoming stocked with tequila and aged bottles of wine. At first, she assumed he was just going out with his work friends after his shift, but when he jokingly expressed to her that he needed liquor to sleep one morning, she grew concerned. Her husband developed sleeping problems years ago, but he never went into detail about it. She felt so guilty. 

When Abby gently expressed her worries to him one night before bed, he blew up on her. It was the first time they ever fought. Ever. 

I’m fucking stressed, Abigail! I have so much to take care of and I’m not getting any fucking help from you! I can’t fucking sleep anymore! 

Do you know how many times I begged you to let me fucking work! You always said no because of Mya! And keep your fucking voice down, my daughter’s sleeping!

Oh, now she’s your daughter?! Really? 

Her husband went to sleep on the couch that night while Abby quietly sobbed as she checked on her daughter, relieved at her snoring, unmoving form. She didn’t need to hear any of that. 

She cried herself to sleep. 

She woke up to the smell of sweetness and coffee. She drowsily rubbed her eyes and entered the kitchen, her husband already sat and sipping his coffee, looking just as exhausted as she felt. 

They ate their breakfast in silence before her husband broke it, tearfully mumbling out his apologies. 

You and Mya are my life. I love you both so much. I’m gonna get help, I swear. I hate feeling like this. 

Abby trusted him; He had her full support. 

Mya loved riding her new, pink bike in the rain. 

The streets were empty and quiet when it poured heavily, and the vacant roads made for a great practice track. Her father gifted her a tricycle for her eighth birthday, and she couldn’t separate from it. She rode it up and down the street for hours, only to run inside with her clothes completely drenched, change into dry ones, and run back outside and hop onto her new ride. 

She begged her mom to buy her an actual bicycle because she felt like she was ready for one, and she gave in to her daughter’s pouty face. She couldn’t deny her; she was too cute! 

After many scraped knees and elbows, she was gliding through the streets on her two-wheeler with ease through the rain. She was happy, so Abby was too. 

Her husband returned to his normal behavior a year later. 

The cabinets and garbage cans were no longer stocked with bottles, and he didn’t smell of Tequila anymore. It was relieving, and she was so proud. 

When Abby’s husband asked her on a date, her heart pounded against her chest like she was about to have her first kiss again. 

She came home from shopping, dripping wet from the heavy rain, to a bouquet of flowers and a sloppily written note, dotted with hearts and little sparkles. 

Taking Mya to see Ross’s daughter. Picking you up at 7:30. I love you. 

Hubby. 

Abby rang her sister as she bolted up the stairs with a wide grin on her face. 

She finally had an excuse to wear her fancy, rosy-red dress!

Abby grew nervous when her husband hadn’t answered the phone. Four times in a fucking row. 

They were already a half hour late for their reservation, and Abby’s sister and youngest nephew were patiently waiting for her husband and Mya to walk through the front door. 

She bit and picked the rosy polish off her nails despite her sister’s protests. 

Girl, they’re fine! Probably just traffic, it’s pouring! Be patient for once before you sweat your make-up off. 

Abby knew her sister was right, but she couldn’t ignore the feeling of unease in her gut. Her husband was a lot of things, but he was never late, especially without warning. Something didn’t feel right. 

She never considered herself superstitious, but she felt the loud rumbles of thunder were confirmations of her suspicions.

An hour passed, and Abby couldn’t breathe. 

When her husband’s bone-shattering, slurry cries rang through her speaker, terror shook through her body like the lightning bolts that shone behind the clouds. She was instantly panic-stricken, trying to make out the words that vibrated her ears. 

She looked at her sister with fear and confusion before the words Mya… hit… car… bike tore through the line like a knife, piercing her in her chest with intent to kill. 

She couldn’t breathe or think, and her phone dropped from her hands before the world around her went dark. 

Abby looked down at her drunk husband as he crouched on the slippery, black pavement, grabbing at her ankles, and sounding like he would cough his lungs up as he cried her name, wailing out apologies. 

She doesn’t know how she got to her mutual friend’s neighborhood, or why her husband's cries were gut-wrenching, or why she was sitting in the back of an ambulance with the oxygen mask still strapped around her head. 

… Why wasn’t Mya sitting next to her, holding her hand, and telling her everything was going to be okay? 

Her sister and nephew were sobbing as a police officer explained the events of the scene, but Abby couldn’t hear anything. She refused to hear the poisonous words they spewed at her about their child. All she had to do was wait for her baby girl to run up and whine about how much she missed her. 

She would come. She thought. She would. She would. She would. 

… Hit and run… We’re so sorry… loss. 

Abby shook her head and her nails dug into her palms.

She would come. Her baby would come. She loved the rain too much; She would never miss a thunder show. She would come. 

The blaring rumbles that rang through the sky confirmed it. Her baby would come. The universe believed it, so she had to. 

Abby looked up from the broken man in front of her and caught a glimpse of the mangled, pink bicycle and stretcher that was draped in a white sheet, surrounded by people dressed in black coats and badges with their heads bowed. The outline of the body underneath the pale, red-speckled covering was small, unmoving… Looked too much like—

Her head dropped right back to her choking husband. 

No, no, no! She would come, she would come, she would come—

An hour passed, and the rain stopped. 

Mya never came. Abby couldn’t stop screaming. 

Abby hated hospitals. 

The paramedics were fearful of leaving her and her husband alone in their hysteria, suggesting to detectives that they should return to the hospital until they were stable. 

She never thought she would distance herself from her husband; She even shocked herself when she harshly shoved him away from her when he reached for a hug. His devastated expression tore her heart to shreds, but she couldn’t look at him, hold him, bear to smell the alcohol that masked the formerly comforting scent of his cologne. Not at that moment. 

They were placed in separate rooms for the night, and Abby wanted to die. 

She heard the broken hollers and whimpers of her parents and siblings out in the hallway as the doctors explained the situation. She felt like she would suffocate if she stayed trapped in this bed any longer. 

Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine, everything’s fine—

Her brain’s chants were paused by her screeching sobs as her eyes squeezed shut, bile creeping up her throat despite her attempts to swallow. Her throat was dry, and each choking gulp felt like shards of glass that sliced through her esophagus, all the way down to her stomach. She couldn’t fucking breathe. 

She heard the heart rate monitor increase in beeps beside her as she wailed, a few nurses urgently reentering the room to try and calm her down. She felt like her throat was bleeding with each shout of her daughter’s name. 

Mya was dead, and she desperately wanted to join her, souls entangled for eternity. 

Three days passed. Abby hated the world. 

Her and her husband sat in his parked car in front of their home, staring straight ahead as rain poured from the sky. 

They said nothing to each other; they hadn’t even looked in each other’s direction since they left the hospital. 

Abby felt tears jerk in her dry, lifeless eyes, allowing them to stream down her face, matching the pace of the heavy droplets that hit the window. She thought that she was hallucinating; She could almost hear her daughter’s cheerful laugh coming from outside.

She slowly turned her head towards their home, and bile rose her throat at the sight of her daughter’s discarded, pink tricycle that lay flat on the porch. She hadn’t touched it in a while, thanks to her new bike. 

She opened the passenger door and threw up on the side of the road as her husband sobbed next to her. 

She wanted to die and, deep in her empty gut, she knew he desired the same. 

Abby looked in the mirror of her parent’s guest room, completely still.

She was draped in all black from head to toe, wearing her daughter’s black bow at the end of her braid. She regretted putting on makeup; her mascara was already streaming down her face in wet, black lines. 

Her under eyes were dark and her vessels were busted from crying for a week and a half straight. She doesn’t remember the last time she slept or eaten, and she didn’t want to. Every dream she had was filled with her daughter’s laughter, and she couldn’t stomach anything thinking about the angelic sound. 

Her husband stood in the doorframe, just as visibly destroyed as she was. Just as lifeless. 

They exchanged looks, but neither said a word. They hadn’t spoken to each other in days. Abby had nothing to say to him. 

He was the reason they were burying their daughter, and she despised him for it. The mourning she felt for her child was stronger than her love for him, and she didn’t care how selfish it was. 

The rain was beating down on the black umbrella that draped over Abby’s sobbing, hunched form, her nails digging into the sopping dirt and tearing at the grass. Her mother’s dress was covered in wet stains. 

Her wails and pleas for her child back were painful and loud: she felt caressing hands on her back, and it took everything not to slap them away. 

She didn’t need fucking comfort! She needed her daughter! Her precious, innocent, darling daughter, Mya. She would’ve given anything—given her life up for her baby. She deserved to live, to see the ocean, to become the mermaid she always wanted to be. She hated her fucking husband. 

The sight of her daughter’s casket being lowered into the ground felt like a sharp blade in her chest. Her father and husband had to drag her from the ground and to her feet despite her desperate shouts to join Mya in the dirt. 

When she was placed in her parent’s backseat, she clutched the passenger headrest in front of her to center herself. Her nails tore through the leather as she hyperventilated, small whimpers of her daughter’s name leaving her mouth. She felt like she would vomit again. 

The car was filled with her family’s cries as the clouds poured their sorrow onto the car. 

Abby quietly prayed to herself as her distraught mother drove them all back home, hoping that her daughter’s spirit would grow to be as large as the sea. 

Just like she always wanted. 

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grief fucking sucks lol

this was heavy 4 me. i love yall

taggie waggies :3 @ohlawdthebirds @fibrogirlie @unangelic-thoughts @chrry1ovr @uraesthete @gravygranules @digit4lslut @machetegirl109 @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @macaroni676 @sillygooselit @nil-eena @elliesgirlll @hi2647 @fr0thycoffee @mai5mai @sweet-lover-girl

prologue. part one. part two. part three. part four.

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[cloudygreece]

With the time we have left together

Pairings| mute!Fem!readerxpostwar!Giyuu

READING TYPE| ANGST~some fluff (no happy ending) POV: 3rd person Fem!reader

SYNOPSIS| You finally get the life that you had always deserved. Unfortunately it will only last for 4 years. The mark of thr slayer slowly draining the life from your soul and body as you draw nearer to your impending doom, however you get to spend what little time you have left with the people you love.

CW! Themes of pregnancy, childbirth and death are present in this writing! (Its also pretty cringy, I wrote this at 2am)

A/N: just to clarify, y/n became mute due to an injury that was inflicted on her during the fight with muzan, one of her two vocal strips were severely damaged causing her to lose her ability to speak. Yes she did learn sign language after healing. (Italicized texts means y/n is signing) Y/N was a Hashira, there are also mentions of a Tsuguko (an apprentice of a Hashira) she will be present throughout the whole story (please give them a name if you haven't made one. You can use mine if u can't figure one out :D ~ Hanami Ito <3). Giyuu is a bit older than you! However the time of death due to the slayer mark never specified how long after turning 25 until they die.

Word count 1.5k

Key

(Y/n)-Your name

(T/n)-Tsuguko name

(B/s)-Breathing Style

⋆｡°·☁︎Hope you enjoy☁︎·°｡⋆

It was unfortunate. Her romance with her one true love started off so much later than she expected. By the time they were married, they both had only a year or two left; that was the price of the mark. The mark that both of them used to defeat the demon lord four years ago...

Two months have passed... ...and the former (B/s) Hashira is still healing. However, with her vocal cords and her breathing being weak, she could never explore the world outside of Japan. All she could do was stay at her shared home with her former Tsuguko (T/n) and Giyuu Tomioka, the former water Hashira that she once fought the demon lord head-to-head with. 

It was difficult at first for all of them. None of them were able to communicate with (Y/n) about her thoughts, wants, and needs. Any noise she could make sounded like gurgled croaks and strained whispers, too soft or incoherent for anyone to understand. She had to learn sign language, and so did the others if they wanted to know what she was saying. Tirelessly, they all learned together; it was a good thing she didn't lose her hearing as well. Tomioka, with only one hand, felt relieved that (Y/n) didn't get injured even more. As time grew on, they became fluent in sign language, being able to interpret her words to others through the flow and movement of her hands. 

Five months passed after the war ended... ...(Y/n), with nothing else to do, started to take an interest in baking. She would always find herself giving the sweets that she made to the last remaining slayers, who were finishing up their final recoveries. The three of them realized that the former (B/s) Hashira had a talent for cooking and baking.

With the money she and the other two had saved, they all opened up a bakery. They produce delicious breads and desserts. The trio had to spend countless nights trying to find the perfect recipes for them to sell, even though it caused some sleepless nights. It was the perfect life compared to what they endured in the earlier years of their lives for the two who formed the mark. As time grew on, their bonds grew ever closer, making it seem as if they were a family. However, the two slayers who formed the mark were becoming a bit fonder of each other. 

1 year and 8 months had passed after the war had ended...  ...when (T/n) noticed that the two started to catch feelings for one another. (T/n) would find ways to excuse themselves from the presence of their master and her unrequited lover, always leaving them alone as they held somewhat silent conversations with each other about the most mundane things.

2 years and 6 months had passed after the war had ended... ...and they finally tied the knot.

"Finally! Took you guys long enough! When's the wedding?"

(Y/n)'s hands flew around excitedly as she signed

"Oh, probably in 5 months! We'll make the cake, and we know where we're going to do our wedding and who we're inviting. We just need to figure out the flowers, catering, and our attire."

(T/n) has never seen their master this happy before. They could almost hear the excitement bubbling from her throat as she tried to speak. The burn and slash marks on her neck, covered loosely by her scarf, reminded the apprentice of how little time the couple had left. They cast their eyes down to avoid eye contact between the two; they knew it was inevitable, and yet they were able to find love with one another. 

Suddenly Tomiokas voice broke the silence

"(T/n) We both understand your concerns about our health, and we are very aware of how much time we have left. Don't stress yourself out too much."

His tone was very dull, but his eyes weren't. His dark blue eyes showed kindness and reassurance toward the young apprentice. As Giyuu spoke, his one arm wrapped around her (Y/n) side, pulling her body closer to him. They both starred at each other lovingly, before walking over to (T/n) to give them a nice, warm, reassuring hug.

2 years and 11 months had passed since the war had ended... ...The cherry blossoms fell as (Y/n) walked down the pathway towards Tomioka. Her eyes darted across the aisle as she saw those in the corps who she had fought together with to finally bring peace to their homes. All of them were smiling as they watched her with the man she always dreamed of, officially joining together as man and wife. Words (and signs) of joy, affermation, sadness, and hope were given to one another. Finally, they slowly approach each other to signify their unity with a kiss. As flower petals coated the air with a flurry of pinks, blues, and whites, everyone cheered as the pair finally had one another.

3 years and 6 months had passed since the war had ended... ...The couple both started to show signs of weakening. (Y/n) began to cough and wheeze if she did too much work, while Giyuu became much more lethargic and weaker. However, the small family was blessed, with another member soon joining them. 

"(T/n), I'm pregnant!"

(T/n)'s jaws hung low in shock as they dropped the pan full of freshly baked bread. (Y/n) quickly scampered towards her to help pick up the food. She signed slowly as she tried to calm her apprentice down.

"I haven't told Giyuu yet. Let's surprise him!"

The woman's face brightened the whole room as the two of them baked a small cake with the Kanji saying 'omedetou'. After closing down the shop, (T/n) called over Giyuu as the two showed him the cake.

"Huh? Why are you guys saying congratulations? Who are we Congratulating..??"

He looked at the cake bewildered, before he slowly looked up at (Y/n).

"Are you.."

She nodded eagerly before she was swooped up by her husband. Even with one arm and his strength weakening, he was still able to pick her up so easily. Happy giggles erupted from the mute woman. It was hoarse, but...she hasn't laughed in such a long time. It still sounded like how it used to. The sight of hearing her laugh after 3 years couldn't help but draw out tears in (T/n) and Giyuu. After a few minutes, everyone was bawling their eyes out. 

I wish this happiness could last forever..

It's been 4 years and 3 month since the war ended..

A hoarse wail could be heard from the couple's room. (T/n) rushed ahead of Giyuu, who was struggling to walk in the direction of the cries of his wife. As they entered the room, (T/n) could see (Y/n) clutching the sheets of her bed, her knuckles turning white, and her hair disheveled as strands fell from her loose ponytail. The midwife next to her was coaching her through every step, calling over (T/n) to bring the towels that they had brought. Fear clouds the apprentice's eyes as they see their mentor's head fall back onto her pillow, her breathing shallow as she looks at her apprentice with tearful eyes. Her mouth slowly opened through hastened breaths.

"Today's.. my....birthday...."

She croaked out. Suddenly, Giyuu weakly enters the room. His footsteps were heavy as his knees fell onto the tatami mats next to his wife's mattress. Her hands fiercely wrap around his as she screams, pushing one final time before a small cry could be heard from around the room. 

(T/n) just stood there. The realization hits them as they watch the baby being treated by one of the midwives. 'birthday..? Well, then that means she's...'

Their gaze reverts back to their mentor's body, her breath becoming more labored as the light in her eyes slowly starts to fade. Her hands gingerly passed by Giyuu's cheek as she smiled at him weakly. She mouthed something; (T/n) couldn't quite see it from where they were standing; in fact, they couldn't move at all; all they could do was watch as (Y/n) passed. Giyuu, now realizing what's happening, called one of the midwives frantically as they tried their best to resuscitate her. 

'She turns 25 today..'

(T/n) already knew it was useless.

It's been 3 months.

There (T/n) stands in the rain, a baby strapped tightly against their body with a white cloth. The soft snore coming from the child brought warmth throughout their whole body as they stood in front of two graves.

A soft voice could be heard from behind.

"I'm sure Giyuu-san and (y/n)-san would be happy to see you taking care of their child."

Four other people slowly approached the apprentice and the baby. Tears streak down their faces as they place flowers on the graves. (T/n) sniffled and nodded as they turned towards them, their own eyes full of sadness as they watched the last remaining bloodline of the two former Hashira's being swaddled in the former tsuguko's arms.

"Thank you Tanjirou. I'm sure they both enjoyed what time they had left. Together."

Closing notes~ this kinda cringy :)

⋆｡°·☁︎requests are open☁︎·°｡⋆ ~Sincerely, Greece