#to “she killed her own child” and nothing more.

[faithshouseofchaos]

But I love them — Charles Leclerc x Fem!reader

Word count — 985

Fluff

Warnings — slightly suggestive towards the end this is mainly for a my girlies who are apart of the big boobs community

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon in Charles’ apartment, the kind of day that begged for nothing more than lounging on the couch and ignoring the world. He was half-watching a football match, the sound of commentators filling the space as he absentmindedly scrolled on his phone. Beside him, Y/N was curled up, legs tucked beneath her, scrolling through her phone with a focused look on her face.

Out of nowhere, she sighed, set her phone down, and said casually, “I think I’m finally going to do it.”

Charles looked up, brow furrowing. “Do what?”

She didn’t even glance at him. “Get a breast reduction.”

It took him a moment to process the words. He blinked, sat up straighter, and turned to her with wide eyes. “Hold on. What now?”

Y/N finally looked at him, her expression calm but resolute. “I’ve been thinking about it for years, and I think it’s time. My back can’t take it anymore.”

Charles stared at her like she’d just suggested selling their firstborn child. “Your back? When did this become about your back?”

“Always,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Charles, you know this. I’ve been complaining for ages.”

He leaned back, waving a hand dismissively. “You’ve complained, sure, but I just thought it was, like, normal life complaining. Not surgery-level complaining!”

“Charles,” she said firmly, her tone laced with both patience and warning.

He sat up, his full attention now on her. “You’re seriously thinking about just… getting rid of them? Like, just like that?”

“Yes.”

“But…” He gestured dramatically at her chest. “You can’t just get rid of them! They’re—” He paused, grasping for the right word. “They’re iconic!”

Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose, already regretting bringing this up while he was awake. “Charles. I’m in pain all the time. My shoulders have permanent dents from my bra straps, I can’t go running without strapping myself in like a gladiator, and every button-up shirt I own gapes open like it’s crying for help.”

“Okay,” he said, raising a hand to stop her. “But—”

“And bras?” she interrupted. “Do you know how much I spend on bras? A hundred bucks each, minimum. And they’re not even cute. They’re functional. Like, ‘industrial scaffolding’ functional.”

Charles blinked at her, his lips parting like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he said weakly, “But… you look great in them.”

“Oh my god.” She threw her hands up, exasperated. “This is not about how I look, Charles. It’s about how I feel. And I feel like I’m carrying around a couple of bowling balls every day of my life.”

He frowned, leaning forward as if he could reason his way out of this. “But what about us?”

“What about us?”

“Our dynamic! The… the whole…” He gestured at her chest again, like it was a key player in their relationship. “You know, vibe.”

“Charles,” she said flatly. “They’re boobs.”

“Not just boobs,” he argued. “They’re your boobs. They’re a part of you. A part of us!”

She stared at him, deadpan. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious!” He stood up, pacing in front of the couch now. “Do you know how many people would kill for what you’ve got? And you’re just gonna… throw them away like an old sweater?”

“Okay, first of all, ew. And second of all, you’re being dramatic.”

He stopped pacing to point at her. “I’m not being dramatic. I’m being honest. You’re about to break the hearts of an entire fanbase—”

“Your fanbase,” she corrected, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly!”

Y/N let out a disbelieving laugh. “Charles, I’ve made up my mind. This isn’t about you, or your ‘fanbase,’ or even how I look. It’s about me being able to live my life without constant pain and discomfort.”

He deflated a little at that, sinking back onto the couch. “But what if you regret it?”

“I won’t.”

“But what if you do?” he pressed. “What if one day you wake up and think, ‘Wow, my life was so much better when Charles was worshiping the temple of—’”

She picked up a throw pillow and smacked him in the face with it. He caught it with a grin, but his eyes were still slightly pleading.

“Charles,” she said, softer now. “I appreciate that you love me exactly as I am. But this isn’t about you.”

He sighed dramatically, flopping backward on the couch. “Fine. But just so you know, I’m going to miss them. Like… a lot.”

“Noted,” she said dryly.

“Maybe I’ll throw a farewell party,” he added. “You know, invite some friends over. We’ll say our goodbyes properly.”

Y/N laughed despite herself, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me,” he said smugly, pulling her back onto the couch and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Unfortunately.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Y/N got up to grab a glass of water. Charles pulled out his phone and began typing into the search bar: “Can boobs grow back after surgery?”

She glanced back at him from the kitchen, catching the guilty look on his face.

“Charles!”

“What? I’m just… curious!”

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, but there was a smile tugging at her lips, drinking the water and setting the glass down on the counter as she walked back over to Charles.

“Hey!” Charles says as y/n snatches the phone out of Charles's hands her own hands cupped his face “It’ll be okay Charles. It’s not the end of the world baby, you know that right?” You ask.

“Of course I know that but I just love them so much,” Charles says, reaching up to cup her breast feeling the weight of them.

“Can I fuck them?” Charles asked out of nowhere.

“Charles!”

“What can’t blame me for asking” he says smiling holding his hands up defensively.

“You no what I don’t see why not”

[ianwaite]

How sweet, yes I indirectly do, so what? IF your best was ever a Snafender and became after reading the original hp books properly a Snater, then your best friend shall prove it. Otherwise I don't believe your friend.

Cause both blocked me now:

Your answer (the indented text) has shown me that you have never dealt intensively with "snafending", if at all.

Yknow-you can hate someone and still find them interesting at the same time

I do not hate. Hate is very strong, childish emotion. I dislike, f.e. Dumbledore to leave Harry blind for a whole year and forced Sev to kill him.

I am aware of what they bring to the story, they're very interesting and I'm glad they add what they do to the story-and I still hate em.

If ya hate them, you should hate Lupin, Black, Voldemort etc even more.

Snape bullied children.

You didn't read the link, sad.

He bullied Neville so much he became the kid's Boggart. Boggarts show a persons worst fear.

Then Hermione fears McGonagall.. you don't hate her, no? The boggart argument is no argument to allow yourself to hate Sev. If you use it, you should hate ALL the things/livings that became boggarts to the children in HP/that scene.

At the time a infamous killer was supposedly on the lose, and his worst fear was his teacher.

And Hermione's was McGonagall and Ron's was a spider and ...

He didn't care about anything else except for Lily-He called her a slur though. And people wonder why she ditched him.

I do not wonder about it. I dislike her, cause she was no true friend. She wanted to get rid of Sev after she no longer had any use for him.

He told Voldemort to kill James and Harry but not Lily. He told Voldemort to kill a newborn.

What? He didn't told Voldy this. Voldy told him, he will kill them all! You switch POVs here. How could Sev in his position beg for the child that is THE enemy of his Master? Voldy would have Avadad him immediately, the Potters after that and what story would we have had then? You never were a Snafender - otherwise you would not have come to such unlogical conclusion.

You're saying this like I don't acknowledge the good things he's done. Again since they were influential to the series I kinda have to. But to overlook all the bad? Yeah not happening. I've dealt with my fair share of emotionally abusive teachers for that to happen. I've dealt with my share of emotional abuse.

And to copy your own experience on Sev is correct? He is not your teacher and he never will! If he reminds you of your teacher, he helped you to see their abusive behavior and that helped you - I bet - to think it over. Their abusive behavior was their fault, never yours and I bet, they had their personal reasons too and those had nothing to do with you personally ... like Sev had - no trauma help, no education how to teach, no supportive love of his parents (as far as we know) and the wrong peer group (DE) - he had to fit in to stay a spy.

Harry did think it over and named his kid after Sev, and you think his parents wouldn't have allowed that? Why do you think Harry named his kid after Sev?

Cause all his "emotional abuse" was only Harry's POV. Seeing Sev's memories opened his eyes, seeing Sevs POV made it clear to Harry that Sev only had to be this way and could not become differently - he had to be the spy, to fulfill his promise, to keep Harry protected. If Sev would had been kind to Harry (THE enemy of DEs) - not emotional abusive - would he had been an accepted DE? No.

You're assuming quite a bit about me. I've read the Harry Potter books a dozen times over. There what got me into reading in the first place.

Read them again in 5 years and the link completely, please.

I am not a senseless hater. I am not senseless. I need reasons for my hate. I need proof. And I have it.

That's why I changed my outlook on him. You have proof to 'love', I have to 'hate'.

Your proof is no proof to me, cause it his based on Snaters POV not on neutral human POV.

Let's go on our separate ways. Where either you block me or I block you. Or you just get off my blog. Love with the people who love with you. Leave me be.

Ok. Sadly you decided over my head. I use an old trick now ... I am sorry, but I feel the need to do so.

I will use the anti snape tag. I'll still get interaction. I already have by fellow 'Snaters' I mean have you seen the likes and reblogs?

Oh really? No, didn't see it. I am sorry. Yeah some of us Snovers can be very ... rude.

I still don't believe you were once a Snafender and became a Snater after reading the books properly ... properly reading btw means that you read sth from a neutral -meta- POV. You have to accept ALL in the text at first without judging it (morally) and find out why it's written this way and not the other way. Most readers read a text from their personal POV. That's why we have many -mostly young- Snaters and still some Snafenders.

I hope you are alright and are old enough to not take this and the internet in common too personal.

I wish you all you need.

RIP James and Lily Potter you would've never let Harry name his kid 'Albus Severus' Potter

[sol-iscus]

Ambessa.......that's another one that felt personal. Probably because my own mom is kinda like Ambessa in her own right (that rigidity and inability to see past the ultimate endgame). But I really wanted her and Mel to.........not necessarily reconcile, but come to an understanding of each other. They kinda started that a bit in season 1 when Mel confronted her, but then it just fizzled out.

Also,you mean to tell me that Ambessa never actually went looking for Mel herself at any point during her disappearance? She couldn't send someone to find her if she couldn't do it herself? The same Ambessa that said she would set the world ablaze to protect her family? Her son got killed. I would hope she would be a bit more concerned about her last and only child being missing without an explanation or trace.

Then Mel comes back and Ambessa doesn't seem particularly phased by that either. If my kid rolled up mid-battle, after being missing for how long, with powers that I know she didn't have before, I would have the world of questions to ask. Especially if I knew she was more or less an active target for kidnapping because of my own fuckery.

Then the way she went out.........I'm shaking,I'm so mad. It felt like such a cop-out. If she was a casualty of the war she started, it would be ironic but poetic. Or if she and Mel had an actual one vs one fight, it could be very master vs student teas. But the fact that she was essentially lobotomized by LeBlanc before her death.......😬. Don't love the real life implications of that either.

(Something,something, mothers and daughters as wretched mirrors of each other.)

I wholeheartedly agree. I’m also extremely dissatisfied with the way Mel’s arc was handled and everything that you described between Mel and Ambessa, so ima complain about it again.

They gave her a man who was hardly ever there for her. His first reaction to see Mel again was not relief that she was still alive and (relatively) okay. No, it was anger and accusations thrown at her under the assumption she could have saved Viktor when nobody knew Jinx was going to blow up the council. Comforting Mel was a second thought in Jayce’s mind, never first.

Her friend Elora is dead, and seemed to be her only friend as well.

Her mom is now dead, and being killed by her daughter was an absolutely foul way for Ambessa to go out.

When is Mel allowed to have a full breakdown and cry after all she went through? Not just shed a few tears, but fully unleash everything she has felt. Jayce had Mel’s lap to lay on whenever he needed her, but who does Mel have at the end of the day? Absolutely nobody. Nothing but painful memories.

A strong, gorgeous black woman cleaning up everyone else’s mess, being moral support, and helping lead Piltover. She deserved more than a few minutes of shedding tears, she deserved to rage.

[axstoria]

Bruce Wayne realizes that in all his intelligence, in all the warps and twists of the natural world, the one thing he cannot stop is time. He can't stop his little ones from slipping through his fingers like sand.

He respects Dick for who he has grown to become. He's a young man with his own city to protect, the founder of several teams, the "big brother" of young heroes, and an inspiration to all.

However, Bruce still sees the little boy who clung to his legs and hid under his cape. The one who did backflips off banisters and handstands while on the roof talking with Gordon. The one who assured him Barbara wasn't a threat, but an ally when she appeared as Batgirl. The one with stars in his eyes and a vengeance nothing could quell.

His boy's grown up. His first son has left the nest. He doesn't know how to cope with it.

Jason is still his baby in his eyes. He still sees the boy fascinated with everything, reading and learning as much as he could cram into his schedule. The boy who, if given the chance, would drop everything to help someone else. The one who baked with Alfred and would fall asleep in front of the Batcomputer. The one who didn't do patrols on school nights. The one who could have been anything.

He still sees his baby in the tall, wide figure that haunts the streets, securing Crime Alley. He sees the kind spirit and loving heart, even if it is buried under mounds of muscle and fury.

Bruce wishes he could go back and fix his early days with Tim.

He regrets the yelling and screaming, the constant attachment. He hates the way he acted back then, Tim standing in as a parental figure, even though both of them never referred to it as that. He was young, he shouldn't have had to take care of a grown adult.

He wishes he could have nurtured that brilliant mind of his from an early age, aiding the boy instead of allowing him to do it all by himself. He wants to go back and make little Tim feel loved and wanted, wants to adopt him from an earlier age—and, yes, he'd fight the Drakes on it. He loves this boy.

Steph was a mistake that could have easily been avoided.

Had he not been so harsh, and she a little more obedient, then everything could have worked out. She would have stayed Robin for more than 2 months, and everything would have been fine.

He wishes he could go back and tell her, "I'm proud of you," after long patrols. And maybe he wishes he could have adopted her, but to this day, she refuses.

He doesn't push.

Damian hurts his heart.

His own flesh and blood that he didn't even know existed until he was 10. Bruce yearns to turn back the clock and hold the infant his son once was in his arms, wants to hear soft coos and harsh cries, aches to watch his little face relax with sleep.

It kills Bruce to know that this is the one child he could have had that he could have seen grow up from stage 1. He could have seen first steps, first words, first laugh—instead, he was forced to retrain his boy to live a normal life. He had to make sure his baby wasn't forever scarred by what he had left him to go through.

The greatest shock of all to him is that he won't live forever.

One day, there will be no more Batman, no more Bruce Wayne. Some day, people will forget his name and his parents and the work he did. The League's members with a longer lifespan will find someone else to fill the space he leaves behind.

His kids will grow up and have children of their own, and his name will get lost in translation. Some day, people will only know his name by the bricks on buildings with Funded by Bruce Wayne etched on them.

Bruce Wayne—in all his intellectual capability and physical prowess, all his resilience and compassion— cannot stand forever, and he thinks that is the thing that haunts him the most.

So, he forces himself to love life as it is now. He'll call Dick and ask how life is, and bump into Jason at the library, and help Tim with cases, and take Steph shopping, and learn Arabic for Damian.

He'll do everything in his power to make the life he has last.

[spacerockfloater]

I am Caitlyn’s biggest hater. This is a safe space for Caitlyn antis. Thank fuck her in-game persona looks and is nothing like Caitler from Arcane. I would have to ban her in every game out of spite.

Caitlyn Kiramman is, to me, the most disgusting and vile character in Arcane.

Actively supporting a fascist regime and enforcing martial law the moment her city suffered a terrorist attack, even if it wasn’t the people of Zaun who caused this, but one specific person?

Inflicting police brutality on the oppressed people of Zaun?

Waging chemical warfare on civilians who are already fighting for their lives and whose health is attacked on the daily?

Going after Jinx’s life when they had her cornered either way, even if it meant she might kill a child?

Hitting Vi in the gut with her rifle, police-brutality-style?

That psychotic, privileged, audacious criminal. She should have been behind those bars along with Jinx. It amazes me how people find it within themselves to defend her after she experienced a personal loss and decided to punish a whole city for it, even if the suffering its citizens were already experiencing was the very reason which led to her mother’s murder. Her defence towards the Zaunites ceased to exist the moment they stopped being perfect little victims. She switched to being a fascist and an oppressor the moment her own circle was endangered.

I screamed with excitement when Maddie fired that gun. Wish she had lost more than eye, but that will do I guess… even if she doesn’t deserve the cool eyepatch.

[isagrimorie]

The sad thing about Agatha's issues with Evanora is that Agatha loved her mother. And she must have hoped against hope that her mother would, at least, forgive her.

“Why do you hate me still?”

I wonder if part of Evanora’s whole thing is… she didn’t feel the bond between mother and child. Agatha claimed that the only time she ever felt close to Evanora was when she possessed Agatha.

Jac Schaeffer even said that Agatha didn’t receive any kind of parental love.

What does it do to someone like Evanora, who prided herself on being a noble community leader, and felt nothing for her child?

Evanora must have realized that Agatha’s magic must be different somehow?

But also, the look on Agatha's face when Evanora joined in the chanting that would kill her: Mors Monstrum Innaturale.

"Death to the unnatural monster."

That's what Evanora called Agatha. An unnatural monster.

Knowing more about Agatha and returning to this moment after she killed Evanora.

In the script, it states this moment:

The interesting part for me is this: "Killed by her own daughter's unchecked power."

It's interesting how Kathryn Hahn acted the scene from paper to screen. Agatha’s blank, tired stare down at her mother’s corpse is such a fascinating contrast to how Agatha regarded Alice after accidentally killing her.

I hope we get to see more of Agatha's past: from her childhood to the moment when she's executed, and then meets Rio. There’s so much to mine from Agatha’s story.

[arliedraws]

6, 9 and 25 for the Hater Asks pls 🦥

Hater asks 😂

6. Which ship fans are most annoying? Fanon Wolfstar. I am honestly so annoyed by the Prongsfoot bashing and the weird comments I’m always getting on art about Wolfstar. Sometimes I’ll post a Sirius/James work and I’ll get comments like, “Please tell me you don’t ship them 🤢” and it’s like…I would never do that on a WS post? It’s nothing new, of course—ship wars have always been a thing…but must they?

9. Worst part of canon? Did this one here but I can complain about something else. This is not the worst part of canon and not even that problematic, but I think Rowling was scared to kill off Sirius and gave herself an out. I’ve chatted with @impishtubist about this, but I think his death was ambiguous because she wanted to give herself a chance to bring him back. I think if she had been really be sure of her decision, he would have died by the Killing Curse 🤷‍♀️

25. Common fandom complaint you’re sick of hearing. I’m honestly sick of people complaining about Molly Weasley because of how she treated our blorbo Sirius. First of all, she DOES see Harry as her own, but to a certain extent, I think she also sees Sirius as her child too. But Sirius is a grown-ass man! He doesn’t like being told what to do, and he’s done just fine on his own for the last two years thankyouverymuch. But Molly is worried about him, and she can’t understand why he’s so sullen—he’s safe, and isn’t that what matters most? Why would he put himself in danger? Why would he put Harry in danger? I think this is a really interesting thing about Molly who’s lost both of her brothers. It’s annoying, and damn, she’s certainly not right, but I think she carries a LOT of trauma, and she puts that on people who she believes she can control. In a world that is spinning entirely out of her control, she’s hanging on to the last few things over which she can exert her influence. She’s so much more complicated than “bitchy mother who makes life annoying for our faves.”

Thank you for asking!

Choose Violence Ask Game

[improvinghorde]

Hey i got a few [10+] tzimiscies. fuckin Love them. My Main ones are Cathal, Katar, Horatio, Gol, and Äkä/The Entangled! Theyre all related besides Äkä who has her own childe Vetr. Please ask me about my tzims im so normal about this clan.

Cathal is whom im playing atm, theyre a bodymoder by trade and Warden by social role. basically a sheriff but More Containment focused rather hitman focused lol

Katar tries to make Cathal's unlife a living hell as their older sabbat sibling and thinks killing mages is easy and funny to do.

Horatio is in the hyperfuture where the vampires [sabbat] won and are kicking it scifi roman style. Xeyre a General by force and Would Very Much Like To Stop Being Important (but cant because everyone else vying for the role is Dumb As Shit)

Gol, or The Collection of Gol is a Vodzht that has gained enough sentience to become a Vampire and is very curious on what that means. Course made from the Legion of men- it inherited next to nothing besides their collective curiosity and bloodlust (is a Childe of Cathal in the hyperfuture game with Horatio)

Äkä "The Entangled" was a conjoined twin with her brother Ragnvaldr and is an oldworld elder that moved to america to help rise tiamat in the new world. Course tiamat didnt like that very much and made Äkä realize that Ragnvaldr wasnt her brother- but her Beast that dominated most of her unlife. With that realization she was able to take full advantage of the koldunic sorcery she was entitled to. [course i dont have much art of her alone bc that was like Part OF The End lol]

Vetr is a former revenant szhlachta that The Entangled curated over the centuries. Also is an Abomination? [garou and a vampire] He was fused together with his brothers to make him more resilient for the days of endless sun. Next game is gonna focus in on That Whole Deal a la Terrible Twos

attention vtm community I require your cool tzimisces. please show me them please please please pl

[stuffyflowers]

undertale yellow fans when a character makes a morally grey/imperfect decision or has a reasonable outburst based on their current emotional state

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

god tywin lannister deserved worse

just remembering elias death and i wanna puke and the way tywin talks about elia and what happened is so damn gross

but rip tommen and myrcella we all know what’s about to happen in the next book :/

the cycle of violence just keeps spinning and damn you tywin for beginning it

(i got a bit crazy in the tags 💀)

[p2ii]

I feel like there's something to be said about the way fandom will treat characters who's trauma they can personally relate to Vs characters who they cant

[acourtofquestions]

Hearth to hearth, the Flame of War went.

Over snow-blasted mountains and amongst the trees of tangled forests, hiding from the enemies that prowled the skies. Through long, bitterly cold nights where the wind howled as it tried to wipe out any trace of that flame.

But the wind did not succeed, not against the flame of the queen.

So hearth to hearth, it went.

To remote villages where people screamed and scattered as a young-faced woman descended from the skies on a broom, waving her torch high.

Not to signal them, but the few women who did not run. Who walked toward the flame, the rider, as she called out, "Your queen summons you to war. Will you fly?"

Trunks hidden in attics were thrown open. Folded swaths of red cloth pulled from within. Brooms left in closets, beside doorways, tucked under beds, were brought out, bound in gold or silver or twine. And swords-ancient and beautiful—were drawn from beneath floorboards, or hauled down from haylofts, their metal shining as bright and fresh as the day they had been forged in a city now lying in ruin.

Witches, the townsfolk whispered, husbands wide-eyed and disbelieving as the women took to the skies, red cloaks billowing. Witches amongst us all this time.

Village to village, where hearths that had never once gone fully dark blazed in answer.

Always one rider going out, to find the next hearth, the next bastion of their people.

Witches, here amongst us. Witches, now going to war.

A rising tide of witches, who took to the skies in their red cloaks, swords strapped to their backs, brooms shedding years of dust with each mile northward.

Witches who bade their families farewell, offering no explanation before they kissed their sleeping babes and vanished into the starry night.

Mile after mile, across the darkening world, the call went out, ceaseless and unending as the eternal flame that passed from hearth to hearth.

"Fly, fly, fly!" they shouted. "To the queen! To war!"

Far and wide, through snow and storm and peril, the Crochans flew.

[supermarine-silvally]

Yara, what would your storyline in Wano be?

"There's so much I don't know about my mother and her side of the family. Where they lived, what their lives were like... So for me, going to Wano is a journey of self-discovery as well; learning about my own personal history and reconnecting with the land of my birth. Of course, getting rid of Kaido is still the most important task. Only then will my mother and grandfather be able to rest in peace."

Ask Yara (or any of my OCs) anything!

[thebleedingeffect]

.

[sluttysnowangel666]

His Second Wife - cregan stark x reader (request)

summary: two years following the death of cregan’s first wife, he accepts an undesired marriage proposal to rhaenyra targaryen’s daughter. rhaenyra’s daughter, who had loved cregan the moment she first met him as a young girl, immediately loves and accepts cregan’s first child as her own. yet it is still not enough for cregan to find his own love for his new wife.

cw: mean cregan😓, widow!cregan, targ!reader, loss of virginity(reader), rhaenyra’s daughter, angst to fluff, unrequited love, sex, happy ending

do yall notice i always post a long ass story usually around midnight or later ( i’m unwell)also this is long af soz it was a detailed request and I wanted it to be to a T. this is SOO long. i prolly should have done two parts… oh well @lillithsalvatore hope you enjoy it love ❤️

“How do you feel, my love?” Your mother asked, placing a warm and comforting hand on yours.

You sighed. “Nervous.”

She gave you that warm and sweet smile of hers. “I know. I hope you know this choice was not easy for me to make, as I know this was a hard task for me to place upon you.”

“I know, mother.” You say with forgiveness, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Had it been any other lord I would have surely declined but… Starks are the most honorable among men. I know your union will be blessed by the gods.”

You give her a smile, blindly trusting her words. You had met him once, and you knew he was kind. In fact, he had left a paw shaped imprint on your heart. You thought to yourself no union could be more suitable. You knew he had married once before out of a prior marital alliance, but the marriage had been short lived, lasting only a year before his first wife died in her birthing chambers.

It took more than four moons before you arrived at Winterfell, as if every power in the world was set on preventing it. You were not a superstitious person, so you simply thought all the bad things that happened prior to your marriage was coincidence.

Each time you went to leave, something prevented you. Your mother miscarried your baby sister, Lucerys was killed by Aemond, Daemon went silent at Harrenhall, Rhaena ran away and was lost in the eyrie before revealing she claimed Sheep-stealer.

You arrived in the dead of winter, and the journey had not been kind to you. You got a chill on the way up, causing you to stop at an inn for a few nights, you had came across raiders who killed one of the many men escorting you, and your clothes were ill suited for the weather.

You did eventually arrive at Winterfell thankfully, all in one piece.

You stepped out of the carriage cautiously, eyeing the snowy landscape surrounding you. It went as far as the eye could see. You held your hand out, letting the thick snowflakes fall and melt in your hand.

“My princess.” You turn to see Cregan, walking towards you. He bows, forcing a politeness. “Winterfell is yours.”

You bow in return, “No need for such formalities, Lord Stark. This is your home, and I am honored to have you welcome me here.”

He nods, choosing to say nothing else to you.

“Please show the princess to her chambers.” He says to one of the servants, then immediately turning on his heels to leave. Your jaw falls slightly, surprised at his curt demeanor.

You compose yourself, trying to hide the slight hurt in your features before making your way to your private chambers.

You bathed immediately, welcoming the hot water against your skin. No water could be hot enough for your dragon blood, but what they had drawn up for you would do nicely.

Your wedding was a week after your arrival, the lord having given you time to settle in. You had not seen him much during that week so you chose not to bother him, assuming he was busy with duties.

When you walked down that snowy path to the red weirwood, Cregan stole a glance at you. You looked beautiful, and he felt horribly guilty for thinking it. He felt like what he was doing was betraying her.

You said your vows, swearing your love before the old gods. You smiled at Cregan and he gave you a forced one in return. Guilt wracked his whole body. He felt guilty for you, knowing he wouldn’t be able to give you a union where you were loved, he felt guilty for liking your smile, he felt guilty for forgetting hers.

There was a feast following the ceremony, nothing large due to the pains of winter, but it didn’t bother you. The small gathering felt intimate, compared to southern weddings where lords and ladies travelled from all over the realm to witness it.

It was here you met Cregan’s son, Rickon.

“Hi, little one.” You said. He was only two, a fat little babe who looked just like Cregan.

“Rickon, this is my new wife.” Cregan said. The way he worded it made you twitch, it had sounded so strained. He didn’t even use your name. You told the boy the name he could call you, but he said nothing as he hid behind his father’s leg.

“I apologize.” Cregan said, his voice showing no sign that he actually was sorry.

“It is alright, my lord. He is just a babe. He and I will have time to get to know each other.” You said. Cregan tensed up, suddenly remembering again this union was forever.

��Excuse me, princess.” He said, turning and walking away with Rickon. Your heart sunk a bit. You could start to sense it now, Cregan was not in the slightest invested in your union together. You felt lost, out of place suddenly.

You sat back down at the high table, overwhelmed with nervousness. You bit at your nails and the skin around them, biting until they bled. You missed your mother dearly. Being here, in this room among strangers who didn’t care much for southerners to begin with, made you feel small.

You had sat there for an hour or two, not moving or eating once, save for your cuticles.

Cregan came to you, not noticing your nervous state. If he had noticed, he chose to ignore it. “I’ve put Rickon down… Would you please accompany me to my chambers?”

You looked at him, the nail bed of your thumb resting between your teeth. You nodded, standing and staring at the hall one last time. You locked eyes with a man, who noticed you both about to take your leave.

“Is it time for the bedding ceremony, Lord Stark?” The man asked, erupting a few cheers from the men mostly.

“No!” Cregan nearly barked the order. “There will be no bedding ceremony.”

The men in the crowd shuffled awkwardly at his outburst but accepted.

“Princess.” Cregan said, walking away and not waiting to see if you were following.

You did anyway, struggling to keep up with his quick pace. You had the sense he wanted this to be over with quickly.

He held the door as you both entered his chambers. You took in your surroundings. It was a clean and large kept room with a lit hearth and a large bed. A thought passed your mind, even though you tried to push it down.

Did he share these chambers with her?

Cregan began to take off his armor and furs, again not watching to see if you did the same, only assuming you were. If you weren’t, he didn’t care.

“Um, could you help, my lord?” You asked, referring to the laces of your white wedding dress.

He sighed, walking over to you as you turned your back to him. Your eyes welled with tears, but you tried to hide it.

His hands were gentle with the laces, not tugging at them as you expected him to. He obviously had experience doing this before.

He grew emotional as he undid your dress, but he hid it well. It was a weird sense of deja vu. Your hair looked like hers from the back and he felt like he was back at his first wedding.

You pushed the dress off, revealing the sheer linen soft dress underneath. He hadn’t moved from behind you, trying to maintain his composure. You walked away from him, lying on the bed and biting your nails again.

He finished disrobing besides his briefs, and you stole a glance at his back. It was huge, muscular and scarred.

He walked over to the bed, getting between your legs and pushing up your shift.

“Is this alright with you, princess?” He asks. “We need not consummate this if you are not ready.”

For the first time it seemed like he kinda cared about how you felt. His hand still had a hold of your shift, which was resting on your pelvic bone.

You nodded, “Is it alright with you, Lord Stark?”

He nodded, pushing your shift up the rest of the way to reveal your chest. He wanted to fall on his sword for the way he kept stealing glances at your breasts.

He pushed his briefs down, and you choked on your breath at the reveal of his length.

“Oh, gods.” You mumbled under your breath.

He rubbed himself against your slit, and your heart stilled for a minute. The feeling was foreign and intense.

He gently grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from your mouth. You hadn’t even realized you were still doing it, it was starting to become like breathing. A natural, unintentional habit.

Your hands fell to his biceps to steady yourself. You looked at him, but he did not meet your gaze. He instead bowed his head, watching himself enter inside you.

You dug your nails into his arm, gasping in shock. He gently shushed you, telling you it was okay.

“Please, please.” You said, not knowing what you were even pleading for.

“What?” He asked gently, his voice low and almost mimicking of your whining. It sent a shiver up your spine.

He was slow and gentle with you, not in it for any pleasure himself.

You touched his chest and his hair and his arms, and while he didn’t stop you he made no effort to touch you himself. His hands rested beside your head, holding up his weight.

Your hands found his arms again and you moaned softly, feeling your peak building in your stomach. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead to his head, moaning as you spilled onto him. He closed his eyes as he felt it, and guilt wracked him again.

He gently pulled out of you and stood up, immediately dressing himself into his nightwear. You pushed your shift back down and pulled the linen covers over you, immediately going back to biting your nails at his reaction.

He laid beside you, not facing you and not saying anything.

You said nothing, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed how he intentionally avoided spilling himself into you.

———

It had been 3 months since your arrival to Winterfell, and you had adjusted as well as you could given the circumstances.

You did not often see your lord husband, but you were used to it. He spent a lot of his free time in the crypt where she was. It hurt, but you gave him his peace and he appreciated that you didn’t hover.

“Mummy!”

“Sh, sh, love.” You say as Rickon runs into your chambers.

Cregan did not like when Rickon called you his mother. He’d gotten upset with you a few times over it, and you assured him you would correct Rickon when it happened.

“Mummy.” He repeated. You giggled. pulling him into your lap. You shook your head and tapped his nose, saying, “Nooo. Not mummy.”

“Mummy.” He laughed, and you ran your fingers through his thick brown curls.

“What ever will we do with this mop on your head, my son?”

“He is not your son.” You turned to see Cregan standing in the door way. “And his hair is fine.”

“Apologies, my lord.” You said, curtly. He ignored your attitude.

“Come, Rickon.” He said, beckoning his son.

“No, mummy.” Rickon whined, holding you.

“Go see papa.” You told him, and with your blessing Rickon ran to Cregan.

Cregan gave you a cold stare as he left, and you returned the favor.

You were growing ever so agitated with your husband. He had welcomed you into Winterfell, but not his heart. The only time you both had shared a bed was the night of your wedding, to which Cregan had made sure not to give you an heir.

You had no one. Rickon had you, Cregan had you even if he did not want you, yet you were alone here in Winterfell.

You decided to write to your mother on Dragonstone, requesting for Jacaerys to pick you up on dragon back so you could visit your family and hopefully receive advice. You had left your dragon, Silverwing, at home. You did not want to disrespect the already hesitant northern people, and you did not want Silverwing to be cold or hungry.

That night when you were brushing your hair before bed, there was a knock on your door.

“Come in.” You looked in the mirror and saw Cregan’s half sister, Sara, enter.

“Hi, Sara.” You said. She came up behind you, taking the brush from your hand and slowly combing it through your hair. You two had formed a unique bond, given you were both considered outcasts in Winterfell. You were a southerner, she was a bastard. They were two sides of the same coin here in Winterfell.

“I heard what happened today.” She said, and you hummed mindlessly. “My brother can be a bastard.”

You smiled at her in the mirror. “Is that so?”

She nods. “I wish I knew what to do, Sara.”

“We northerners love hard, princess. We are unwaveringly loyal. The wound of losing Aly is still fresh in my brother’s heart. Give him time. He knows you love Rickon, and that scares him. I don’t know why.”

“Was Aly pretty?” You ask.

“You have a southern beauty we do not see often in the North. Aly was not a beautiful woman, but she was a fierce fighter. That is how history will remember her. She was born fighting, and she died fighting. I know you are a fierce fighter as well, princess. You are the blood of the dragon. Do not let the grief my brother holds make you feel small.” She kisses the back of your head. “Throw a fucking book at his head if he acts like that again.”

You laugh, her joke comforting you. She turns and leaves you alone, your head clouded with thoughts of Aly.

You heard back from Jacaerys within a few days that he would arrive shortly to bring you home. You had not yet told Cregan, as you knew he wouldn’t care anyway.

A few days following the letter from the raven, it was Sara’s name day. Cregan had decided to celebrate with a feast, one bigger than your wedding.

You all sat at the high table, your husband and sister in law drinking heavily. Although Cregan was a big man, the amount of ale he consumed that night seemed enough to kill a horse.

“My princess.” A servant rested her hand on your shoulder. You and Cregan both turned to look at her, and she grew nervous, not expecting Cregan to pay any attention or perhaps she would not have asked the princess the request. “Rickon has had a nightmare and wants no comfort of the maids. He is requesting you by name specifically, princess.”

You turn to look at Cregan for his approval. He gives a quick nod, which you hadn’t expected. Perhaps he only obliged since Rickon had requested you by your name, rather than requesting his “mother.”

You walked with the maid to his chambers, opening the door.

“Mummy.” He said through sniffles. You turned to face the maid.

“I thought he requested me by my name.” You said.

“That is your name, princess… to him.” The maid closed the door.

You turn to face Rickon with a gentle sigh. “You know papa doesn’t like that word.”

“Mummy.” He just says again. You walk to his bed, fitting yourself in to lay with him. He cuddles into your chest, and you play with his hair to help him sleep.

“Say it okay.” He says.

“Hm? What do you mean, child?” You ask.

“She say it okay to call you mummy.”

“Who?”

“Mummy did.”

“No, you have to call me my name, sweet boy.”

“Not you, mummy. My other mummy said it okay.”

“You confuse me, Rickon.”

“Mummy says ignore papa.” You chuckle softly.

“Sleep now, my love.” You say, and he slowly falls asleep while you hum him a soft song.

You rise, tucking him in and giving his head a kiss.

You open his door to return to the feast, and Cregan is there waiting.

You gasp, covering your mouth quickly to not wake Rickon.

“Gods, you scared me!” You whisper/yell at him. He says nothing, his eyes in a glossy and drunken haze.

You close the door, nearly standing chest to chest with him.

“I heard you sing to him.” He says softly. “Where did you learn that song?”

“He taught me it.” You say, as you go to step past him when he stops you.

“Cregan?” You say confused, turning to look up at him.

He takes your cheeks in your hands and slams his lips on yours. You freeze for a second in shock, before immediately returning the kiss. He presses you against the door, and you moan into him as you quickly grow wet with Cregan’s sudden change of behavior.

He moves to press gentle kisses on your neck, biting softly here and there. His fingers dig into your hips, grinding himself into you. You moan softly, trying not to cause too much noise against the door.

“Not here.” You moan. He avoids your eyes, taking your hand and pulling you further down the hall to his chambers. It was only your second time in his room. He lifted you into his strong arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing you against the wall.

You both hadn’t even undressed, but you loved the thrill. Your husband finally wanted you after three long grueling months. He pushed your dress up to your waist as you unlaced his breeches.

He took you there against the wall of his chambers, fucking you so sweetly, fucking you in a way that would surely produce an heir.

Your moans filled the halls, and the servants began to spread word that the lord had finally moved on from his first wife.

He carried you to the bed, placing you along the edge as he stood, fucking you with sloppy and drunken thrusts.

You moaned his name, both of you drawing so close to your peak as your hands rested against his stomach. He leaned closed to you as hand moved beside your head to hold his weight, and the other moved under your lower back to lift you slightly off the bed and pull you more into him. The angle sent you over the edge, crying and moaning his name.

Your moans pushed him over, but his next words made you sick.

“Fuck, Alysanne.” He groaned, burying his head in your neck and spilling his seed into you.

You gasped, not even sure you heard him right.

He kissed your neck a few times and then rolled off you, not noticing the look on your face.

You laid there unmoving, still in your dress which was now damp with sweat, and your thighs now sticky with Cregan.

He fell asleep the second his head hit his pillow, still in his clothes.

You choked back a sob, moving your hand to your mouth so he wouldn’t waken. In reality, you could’ve started screaming and he wouldn’t have woke, or even shuffled.

You exited his chambers, trying not to be sick on the way to yours.

“My sister!” Sara drunkenly yelled as she seen you in the hallway. She took notice of your disheveled dress and hair. “Oh my gods, did you and Cregan just…?”

You ignored her, but she noticed the tears on your face. “Wait, sister what is wrong? What happened?”

You slammed the door in her face, throwing yourself into your pillow and screaming.

—

“Mother would be furious if she knew you were sleeping this well past sunrise.”

You groaned, lifting your head from the pillow to find the voice in the room.

“Jacaerys?” You said, when your eyes landed on him.

“I take it the feast for Sara Snow was a success.” He says, making fun of you. Your hair was sticking to your face, wet with a mixture of tears and drool.

“I guess you could say that.” You said, wiping your hair to the side.

“You’re disgusting.” He says.

“Gods, five minutes you’ve been here and you already frustrate me! Get out!” You say, both of you immediately teasing and arguing like you had never left home.

You push him out of your room.

“Don’t touch me, wench!” He whines, smacking your arms.

“Piss off! Go harass the bloody Lord of Winterfell.”

“I’d rather harass the Lady.” You push him out of your doors, turning and pressing your back to slide down the wall.

You hear him knock again and you rise to your feet, angry. “Jace, I said-“

You don’t finish your sentence, since as you open the door it’s Sara.

“I wanna talk about last night.”

“I don’t.” You say, going to close the door on her before she pushes it back open.

“What happened?” She asks, angry. She closes the door behind her and follows you to the bed. You sit on the edge and rest your elbows on your thighs, burying your face in your hands.

“Did my brother hurt you?” She asks, worried.

“No, no.”

She rests on her knees in front of you, placing her hands on your knees. “Tell me what happened.”

You sigh, trying to hold back your tears, but you cannot. “We had sex.”

“Isn’t that good? What went wrong?”

“He called me Alysanne.” You sob out.

“Oh, no.” She says, moving to sit beside you and wrap her arms around you.

“I cannot stay here no longer, Sara. I am being haunted by Alysanne. I find letters she wrote to Cregan, her clothes, her weapons. Rickon thinks I am her and Cregan wishes I was.”

“I am sorry, princess.” She says, sadly. “I thought I knew my brother better than that… Perhaps, if you talk to him about these past few months things can be different. Just give it a try, yes? You have your brother here now. You can leave if things do not work and the marriage can be annulled.”

You did not even wish to think of that possibility. It would be so shameful for both of your houses. You would do everything in your power to make it work.

You cleaned yourself up and went to Cregan’s chambers, knowing he would be hungover.

And you were right.

You entered his room without knocking, finding him in a bath with a warm rag over his eyes. Three times now you’ve been in his chambers.

“You can set it on the table.” He says, not moving the rag.

“What?”

“Oh.” He says, his voice changing in tone. “I thought you were the maid.”

You say nothing, unsure of where to even begin.

“Can whatever you’ve barged into my chambers for wait until I am done.” He asks, only the question is more of a statement.

“No.” You say, angry. You walk over to him and pull the rag off his eyes. He squints at the brightness, then gagging on the air as if he might be sick. “We’re going to talk, Cregan. We’ve been married for months and I don’t think we’ve ever truly had a conversation once. It is all I am asking. You could at least give me that. You’ve given me the cold shoulder for three months, and I’m tired of it. I’ve helped raise your son, I’ve loved you and I’ve cared for you even when you didn’t want it. You owe this to me.”

He sighs, defeated. “You are right in that, my princess. I apologize. We can talk later, alright?”

“No, Cregan. We will talk now.”

“You wouldn’t rather talk when I am of a clear headspace?”

“No. Now.” You say. He sighs again.

“Say your piece.”

The words left your mind the second he said that. You had this conversation in your head many times before, but now it was here and you could not handle the heat of the moment.

He raised his eyebrow at you, as if you were dumb.

“Oh, do not do that. I thought you Starks were supposed to be the most honorable among men. This whole marriage I have been treated with everything but. You are a disrespectful man, Stark. I am truly sorry about Alysanne-“

“Do not speak to me about my wife, ever!” He yells, pointing at you.

“I am your wife!” You cry out. “You chose me, whether you were ready for another marriage or not! I left my home, my family, my dragon to be with you! If I cannot have your love, is it too much to ask for your fucking respect?!”

He goes quiet for a few moments, “You have always had my respect, princess… and I know I have erred in the way I’ve treated you these past moons. But this marriage is just a duty. Nothing more, nothing less. This marriage is not out of love… so do not expect me to love you back.”

You laugh, dryly. “You called me Alysanne last night… Do you remember that? No… I suppose you were too drunk. You never would have touched or cared for me like that sober.”

He says nothing, but his hands grip the side of the tub and his face is contorted with anger. You rise, hiding any sort of emotion on your face.

“The dead don’t need lovers. Only the living.” You said. He threw his rag at the door as you walked out, not even granting him a second glance.

The memories of last night flooded back to him, and he rested his face in his hands, crying at his behavior. He had let down Aly, his son, and you.

He did care about you, he did love you in his own way. He just didn’t know how to show it. He didn’t want to show it. If he had shown it, he only would have betrayed Aly even more.

You went down to the crypt, somewhere you had never gone before. You had no reason originally, no people to mourn.

You stood in front of her plot, staring at the statue of her. She had been a skinny girl, with long dark hair and ‘plain’ features. You thought she was a beauty in her own way. You saw why Cregan loved her.

You cried. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help him.”

Your hand touched her statue, then you stood and left the crypt.

You said goodbye to Rickon, Sara, and then you left with your brother on dragon back, ready to be home with your true family.

———

“You’re a fucking fool, brother.”

“You think I don’t know that? Gods.” Cregan rested his head in his hands. He had sent every raven in Winterfell to Dragonstone, yet not one had responded in the weeks since you’d left.

“We’ll be lucky if the bloody queen doesn’t declare war on us for you scorning her daughter.”

“I am trying here, Sara! I’ve sent my ravens, I’ve sent men to retrieve her. There is nothing more I can do!”

Sara slammed her hands on the table. “Go and get her your bloody self, Cregan. The trip to Dragonstone will give you plenty of time for reflection.”

Sara turned to leave, and Cregan knew it was his only option of getting you back here. He would go and get you and make things right. He had to.

You had your own time for reflection, riding home with Jacaerys made you realize how much you missed being on dragon back.

Your mother of course welcomed you with open arms, but was wracked with guilt that you and Cregan’s union was not working. You paid it no mind however, spending your days patrolling Dragonstone on Silverwing.

Cregan had taken his horse and a few men to retrieve you from Dragonstone. The trip by horse was long, more than several weeks.

The entire time he rode in silence he thought of you. He thought of your last conversation and the final words you had said to him. The dead don’t need lovers. And you were right. Alysanne would not have wished to see him treat you how he had, she would not have wanted Cregan to spend his time sulking or being angry. He only wished he had realized it before he left.

He loved you. If only it hadn’t taken you leaving for him to realize. You were kind, gentle, beautiful. Traits Alysanne didn’t have but it was what seperated you from her. It had been how he was able to find his own kind of love for you, even when he didn’t consciously realize it yet. His own bitterness from losing Aly had made forget his honor.

Cregan arrived about two moons after you had left. He was aching, frustrated, and desperate by the time he reached Dragonstone.

It was dark, pouring rain, and you were playing with your brothers Viserys and Aegon when he arrived.

“Your Grace!” A knight came into the room shouting. Your mother looked up from her book. “Cregan Stark of Winterfell has arrived and requests an immediate audience with you and the princess.”

Your mother looked at you, and you looked like you’d seen a ghost. Your heart sank and your face went pale, but you nodded.

You met him inside the council chambers with your mother and his men. He was soaked, shivering. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, that was how nervous you were.

“Cregan.” You said, walking towards him and pushing him by his arms to the hearth to warm him up. It was another thing he loved about you, your protective nature, so he said it.

“I love you.”

“Cregan…”

“Love her?” You both looked at your mother, whose face was angry. “You love my daughter?”

“Your Grace.” Cregan said, removing his sword and bending his knee. “I’ve come to beg your forgiveness.”

She walked towards you both. “It is not mine you need to beg for… I sent my only daughter to you, and you spurn her for your dead wife?!”

“Mother!”

“You will not interrupt the Queen when she is speaking.” She commands you. “What do you have to say for yourself, Lord Stark?”

He stands. “I have nothing to say, Your Grace. You are right. My behavior was unacceptable. The princess deserved none of it.”

“Why are you here?” Your mother asks him.

“I’ve come to ask the princess to return home.” Your mother scoffs at him.

She looks at you, then back to him. “You are lucky it is not my decision to make.”

She turns and exits, leaving and commanding his men to wait outside the doors so you both could be alone.

You were even more nervous with just the two of you in there. It is silent for a few moments before you speak.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” You ask Cregan.

“It took you leaving for me to realize I love you.” He says, taking your hands in his. You roll your eyes, taking your hands back and stepping away.

“I can’t believe you.” You say, starting to sob.

“I know, I know.” He steps closer to you again, taking you in his arms as you cry into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“I loved you, Cregan.” You say, crying. “Since I was a girl I loved you. I thought you were different from other men. But, you’re just like the rest.”

Cregan cries into your hair. “I’m so sorry, my princess. I’m so, so sorry.”

You both stand there, holding each other and crying.

“Please come home.” He says. “Let me take you home.”

“Rickon misses his mother, Sara misses her sister… I miss you, you my wife.”

You pull away to look at him, trying to read his normally stoic features. You can see he means it.

“Okay.”

———

You returned to Winterfell on Silverwing, no longer having the strength to remain apart from your dragon.

Cregan had to endure another long and grueling trip back to Winterfell, which you enjoyed knowing he was suffering while you road through the skies.

Rickon had cried tears of joy when you returned, and a week later when Cregan arrived Rickon cried again.

You and Cregan had remained in seperated chambers while you still navigated your marriage, but Cregan made a point to spend every moment of his free time with you.

But you had been keeping a secret from him.

After you returned home to Dragonstone originally, your blood never arrived. The maester determined you were with a babe, which would arrive several moons away in the dead of winter.

Your thick furs and dresses made it easier to hide from Cregan, as you were not ready to tell him.

The babe had complicated things. If you had not been pregnant, you might not have returned to Winterfell when Cregan came for you. But you knew you had a duty, and you believed if Cregan could love you then you could fix your union.

Cregan had indeed put the work in the second he arrived home. He attended to you, conversed with you, ate with you, laughed with you, but gave you the space you needed and gave you the option to be intimate with him when you were ready.

It was strangely like falling in love all over again. You blushed around each other, got nervous and flushed, made each other’s hearts race, shared a first kiss when you were both ready.

Cregan had undoubtedly fallen madly in love with you, and he regretted not taking the time to do it sooner. He couldn’t make up the time he lost being afraid. All he could do now was love you without guilt, love you without fear, love you without shame.

Normally Cregan always knocked on your chamber doors before entering, but for some reason this time he hadn’t. He didn’t know why he didn’t knock, he didn’t know if it happened unconsciously or if he was too busy wrapped up with his thoughts.

Either way, he entered without knocking and by that point the cat was out of the bag.

He said your name, greeting you with a smile, only for it to fall off his face as if it had never been there.

You were in the bath, relaxing in the burning water, but that wasn’t the problem. He’d seen you naked, although it hadn’t been for a few months by this point, but him accidentally invading your privacy wasn’t the problem either.

It was the bump in your belly that was a problem.

Your head turned sharply, covering your chest quickly. “Cregan!”

“Sorry.” He said quickly, turning around to avoid disrespecting you.

“It’s fine.” You said, dropping your arm from your chest. “You just gave me a fright.”

He said nothing for a moment, only continuing to face the wall.

“What is that?” He finally asked. You sighed, stepping out of the tub and into your robe.

You walked up behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to face you now, and his eyes fell down to your other hand resting on the small bump in your stomach.

“Perhaps it’s time we talk.”

“You think?” He spits at you, immediately apologizing after. “I’m sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to be cross with you.”

You said nothing, walking over to the seats by the hearth hoping he would follow.

He did, and he sat next to you, his eyes never leaving your belly.

“Can I?” He asked, gesturing to your stomach. You nodded, untying your robe so that you were bare. You grabbed his hand, bringing it to the small bump.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have accommodated for you, made sure you were comfortable.”

“Truth be told it’s been hard for me to accept I’m truly with a child.” You say, “The reality had not set in until… well until you just now found out... I am sorry, Cregan. I should not have kept it from you.”

He chokes back a sob. “Feels like just yesterday Alysanne had Rickon.”

“He will be overjoyed to know he will have a little brother or sister.” You tell him. He looks at you, his face full of emotion.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks and before you can even finish nodding your head, you’re already leaning in to kiss him.

“I love you. I love you so much, my wife.” He says in between kisses.

His hand did not move once from your stomach the whole night.

[stackslip]

fujimoto is the absolute king of creating a world where mass death is a regular occurrence and yet every single time it feels singularly devastating. i've seen people say his work is nihilistic, that people die over nothing--i profoundly disagree! again and again, it is made clear that the deaths and horrors in chainsaw man aren't random acts of god, and that the people who die aren't random faces in a crowd but people who are willingly sacrificed in the name of social cohesion and the comfort of a few. the people killed by the gun devil all had names, lives, ages that were inescapable and their deaths are just as bad of a tragedy's as aki's. asa's mom's death might have been forgotten by all, and yet it has a profound impact on asa's own life and outlook. the people convinced to commit suicide by falling had long discussions about their everyday life before they fell off their balcony. it is power and nayuta's deaths--people who mattered little to makima and to barem, who were simply seen as tools for an end--that utterly crush denji and awaken pochita. himeno lost her partners, one by one, and every time she got more and more depressed. these are real people, all of them! their lives mattered! death is a normal occurence in chainsaw man, but the loss of a life is a tragedy every time

most importantly; most of these mass death events, as normalized as they are, are not random or natural. they're the result of devils being used as tools, of the powerful using those that they consider belong to them as payment for their comfort or to further their goals. in chapter one, denji got murdered after a lifetime of abuse as payment for his abuser's eagerness for power. the president of the united states pays for the gun devil to fight makima with one year from each american's life. the japanese government pays for makima's every death with the death of a citizen. public safety regularly sends its employees to cut their throats for a devil to wipe out a building. the german government contracted santa claus and gave her children in return. the chainsaw man cult used its desperate, scared child members to gain an army.

and now, foreign children are given citizenship simply so they can be gunned down coldly and used as blood and payment to use chainsaw man and make scared, rich old men live longer. idk how much more explicit you can be here. look at these kids! do their lives mean nothing? they're drawn in loving detail. they're real people being sent to be butchered!

death in chainsaw man isn't meaningless. far from it! this isn't saying "this world is absurd and has no meaning". this is about exploitation. chainsaw man has always been about exploitation and abuse, at its very core. these people mean something. these are real human beings, being fed to the grinder, again and again. they're being fed to it BY the rich and powerful, by their governments, by their employers, by their abusers. hell, yoru has fed her own children to this grinder, just to get a little more. ownership and greed, this is the core of what's happening. this is murder, not random acts of violence!