#she also had 3 miscarriages

[rabbigfirlee]

.

#I saw a patient today with a traumatic brain injury after falling from 40 ft face first onto concrete #she also had 3 miscarriages #and on top of that one of her babies died in her arms #now she has cancer #and despite having so many reasons to be depressed or complain the only thing she said was #‘ God is on my side’ #all I can say is AstaghfirAllah for all the times I have complained #personal

[daisywords]

started rereading a book that I had mixed feelings about but have also thought about a lot since (and I do like to revisit works that had a particular resonance with me to try and figure out what that captivating something was) and anyway I did read this book the first time when I was probably too young for it (I think my mom was reading it for a book club and I saw it on her nightstand and read the blurb and she told me I probably should wait until I was older to read it) and I remember that sneaking into her room to read it in little snatches. Sitting on the floor of her bathroom in secret with that book. But ANYWAY what I'm trying to say is I remembered being vaguely annoyed with the narrator and I was wondering if that would still be the case reading it as an adult. And the answer is yes. I am finding her insufferable, in fact.

#it's The Thirteenth Tale in case you were wondering #and this gal is annoying for multiple reasons #but to get specific. She was born with a conjoined twin but her twin died and she didn't find out about this until she was ten #and weirdly defines like her whole identity on that #haven't got far enough yet but I remember later in the book they like wax poetic about this inherent sense of ''twin-ness'' #and like her always feeling the shadow of her dead twin and stuff #which. ok. vibes I guess. #but hear me out. I was also actually a twin (we think) bc my mom literally had a miscarriage but then was still pregnant with me #which. (1) was not a defining moment to find out about bc I do not even remember her first telling me that #(2) maybe has caused me to wonder more about what it would have been like to grow up as a twin than your average person #but I also think that's probably normal to wonder about a little #and (3) is definitely not something I would base my identity around at all?? #granted. being born connected is more dramatic and also this is literally gothic fiction #but still idk she's all like ''oh woe is me I'm half of a whole and I've been lonely forever bc I'm missing my other half'' #like. girl me too? but idk I'm normal about it #also the whole ''I only read books all day and I don't talk to anyone and I just work at my dad's bookstore #where I don't actually have to do that much work I just get to read whatever I want and also write when I feel like it'' #I HATE YOU #she's just like me if my main character syndrome was indulged and if I was ANNOYING and self-obsessed #what growing up an only child will do to you ig lol #if you've reached the end of my very petty and specific rant. hello.

[hoe4sports]

The world is growing

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: After a miscarriage, you are pregnant again hopeful that this time will be it. But this time, things are not what you hoped they would be.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Something is wrong. The midwife is taking an extra second look at the ultrasound. She’s stopped talking. She’s stopped smiling. She’s stopped everything. She’s just looking. Her eyes glued to the screen without as much as an emotion on her face. She’s moving the probe. And looking some more. Oh no. Not again. Your heartbeat was increasing. It felt like it was about to beat through your chest. You had miscarried once already. The first IVF attempt had surprisingly worked. Only to be ripped away from you after 2 months. No heartbeat. No baby. No future. You had decided that you were ready to try again just shy of Christmas. It was now May, and summer was fast approaching. Alexia had been stuck in traffic as practice had been running late, and she was just around the corner. You couldn’t even imagine having to tell her that once again; your body had killed her egg, her baby. The first time it happened, she didn’t say much. She was so supportive that I t hurt. But when she thought you were sleeping, she let her tears flow. How was she gonna react to this again? What was a third try gonna look like? Would she even want to go for a third try? You didn’t know if that was a possibility. Due to the poor state of her eggs, you didn���t get many good eggs from her, and very few of them had matured into good quality embryos ready for transfer. It had all happened in a short amount of time: from kissing her for the first time to buying a house and trying for a baby all in the span of 3 years. What if she couldn’t handle this? You got nauseous by the thought of it.

“Sorry, I’m just gonna go and get the doctor. Just wait here mrs.Putellas.” The midwife said as she stood up and walked out. You reached for your phone as you pulled your sweater down causing the gel to stick to the inside of your sweater. You didn’t care. You didn’t want to see the tiny bump. You didn’t want to let the doctor see the bumb. You didn’t want the doctor to tell you that your baby was dead. You wanted to hide the bump, and to run away so you didn’t have to deal with reality just yet. You had to once again tell Alexia that you fucked up. It couldn’t have been anyone else’s mistake. It had to be yours. You had been so careful, but you had that one piece of shrimp you shouldn’t have had a few weeks ago and you had a stomachache a few days ago without connecting in to the pregnancy. Alexia had insisted on seeing a doctor, but you insisted that you were perfectly fine. And now you were paying the consequences for it.

“Hola, mi amor, lo siento mucho. The traffic was horrible, so I parked upfront. Don’t expect anything but a fine” the Spaniard sang as she walked into the room, a little out if breath. Her smile quickly faded as she saw your serious grin. “Preciousa, are you okay, no?” She asked with a shaky voice as she pulled a chair out to sit close to you while she grabbed your hand. You shook your head as tears formed in your eyes. “Ale, she said that she was gonna get the doctor to come look” you mumbled as your head hang down. “Oh” alexia said as her good energy died out. “I’mo sorry” you said as you buried your face in your hands. “I’m so sorry, ale. I’ll do better next time, I promise” you said as a tear escaped your eye. “Amor, let’s wait for the doctor. It will be okay. I can get some time off and we can travel, just stay at a resort and relax in the heat, si?” She said as her hand touched your belly as if it was purely routine. “But for now, let’s wait for the doctor” she said as she kissed the side of your tiny belly that were still covered by your sweater. You nodded as you tried to distract yourself with the thought of going on vacation. Thailand would be nice, or Bali. Or south-Africa. Greece was also nice, but you had already been there. Cap verde was close and had lots of beautiful beaches. You sat in silence for a while until the door swung open again. “Sorry again, Mrs.Putellas, let’s take a look now shall we” the older woman said as she gestured for the doctor to sit down on the chair to look at the ultrasound. You unwillingly leaned backwards and pulled up your sweater awaiting your penalty. The midwife pointed on the screen and the doctor nodded. “Mhm, I see” she said as she moved the probe around on your belly. You held your breath terrified of the words that were about to come out of her mouth. You didn’t wanna hear it. You gripped Alexia’s hand hard and got a second of reassurance when she squeezed back.

“So, the results. Two things.” The doctor started as your heart-rate skyrocketed. Alexia gripped tighter in your hand and you felt her skin becoming somewhat damp. “First: Your little girl is perfectly fine, she’s small for her age, but she’s getting there” the doctor said as you gasped. Your little girl. A girl. A girl with long blonde hair and blue eyes looking like her mami. “A girl?” Alexia said as her eyes teared up. The doctor nodded as she smiled. “A girl, a princesa” she said as she smiled. She turned around the screen of the ultrasound so you could see your daughter. She was moving her legs slightly, but she still wasn’t big enough that you could feel it. “The second thing i wanted to tell you is, well, exactly that. Second. The second baby is also a girl. Twins. Most likely identical.” She said. Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped. “Que? There’s-there’s two?” alexia said as she scooted closer to the screen as the doctor pointed out the second twin. “Si, dos, correct. She was just hiding behind her sister, which is why she hasn’t shown herself yet” the doctor explained as she gave tons of information about how check ups were gonna have to happen more often than before. You didn’t catch any of it, as you were just releaved that the baby was alive. Your eyes were glued to the baby on the screen. Well, the babies. The girls. Your two girls. They were fine, healthy and growing. You were snapped out of your thoughts when the doctor and the midwife left the room to allow you to breathe. None of you said a word. The room was dead quiet.

“I-I guess we need to go shopping again” she stuttered while looking it you. You nodded. “Two cribs, two strollers, two carseats for both of the cars, oh my god! Do we need a new car to fit the girls??” She panicked as her eyes widened kicking your brain into action. “Babe, it’s okay. There is two girls. They are both healthy. Everything is good. We are all good.” You said as you stood up and embraced her. She held you tight. “God, I just can’t believe it. There are gonna be little girls running around soon. Not just any little girls, our little girls” she said as she wrapped her arms around you kissing the top of your head. “Yea, our little girls. And twice the love” You said as you breathed in her scent instantly calming you. “Our perfect little girls” she said as she placed a hand on your belly. «Our perfect little girls» you repeated as she kissed you.

#woso imagine #alexia putellas #alexia x reader #alexia Putellas x reader #woso x reader

[youreobsessedwithtoomanyfandoms]

Love Thorns All Over This Rose

Words: 2577

Warnings: angst, talks of a miscarriage, body image, talks of difficulty staying pregnant, mention of what is technically a still-birth, depression, suicidal thoughts, self-medicating, accidental suicide attempt (this is will make sense if you read it), probably poor writing and OOC characters but whatever

DC Masterlist Main Masterlist Join My Taglist

IF THERE IS A WANT FOR A PART 2, I WILL DO ONE, IF NOT, THEN THIS STAYS AS A ONE-SHOT!

I mention Y/N goes to a church to pray, it is described more as a Christian or Catholic one (I really don't know the difference and I apologize) as she lights a candle before she prays. If you wish to skip that part, it starts with "Y/N hurried up the steps of the Cathedral." and ends with "Y/N nodded silently before turning and walking out.". I do also mention that the reader themselves aren't very religious (but grew up with it so reverted back to old practices to see if it helped)

Alfred is also dead in this (don't ask why he just is) so that's why he isn't here!

The POV here isn't really consistent. It jumps between being with the Batkids, Bruce, and Y/N's. I tried to make it flow though so hopefully that works!

 I feel like I should mention:

Bruce and Y/N's ages don't matter (I'm not in the mood to deal with that) but; Dick is 31 (and married to Kori but that's not too important), Jason is 25, Tim is 22, Damian is 15, Cass is 24, and Steph is 23

I also am not too familiar with Duke, so that is why he isn't there much. Mostly just mentioned

Anywho, enjoy

Love Z <3

7:25 AM

The kids watched as Y/N was silent as she put the plate down in front of Bruce's empty seat. They all noted how fake her smile looked as she looked up at them. "Alright, I will see you kids later!"

They all watched as she walked out of the dining room and once they knew she was out of earshot, they started talking.

"Did she eat anything?"

It was Jason, he had been the last down (well...outside of Tim) so he only saw her putting the plates down and ushering them to eat.

Dick shook his head, he had seen her the entire time she made breakfast. Fully clothed, which was unusual as she usually just made breakfast in her pajamas with her hair occasionally brushed. But not today. Today her hair was done, makeup was on, she was dressed as if she was working.

But everyone in that house knew she was still off after what happened, even though it had been 3 months since the incident.

Damian flicked at his food, "Ummi was supposed to take me to school today."

Dick smiled at Damian, "I can, Dami. Mom is just...preoccupied."

Damian hmphed and continued to play with his food. Dick was concerned for his younger brother. He knew that while he himself was close with the woman he had allowed to become his mother, Damian was so much more as she was really the only person who never got mad at him or made fun of him when he didn't understand something.

Jason abruptly stood, "Since mom isn't here, I'm just gonna go."

Dick raised a brow, "Really Jason? You're just gonna leave after--"

"Hey, we've been over this before Dick. I come because mom asks me to." He shrugged as he put his jacket on, "Plus, I'm going to follow her."

Stephanie snorted, "She'll kill you when she catches you."

"If she catches me. If."

Steph hummed, "My bets are on she will. Y/N is always on the lookout, especially after..." She faded and looked down, regret piling up inside her as she thought of what she was about to say.

"Either way, tell us what you find Jason."

He nodded to Dick's request before heading out the side door in the kitchen. Dick tapped his hand on the table for a minute before speaking; "I'm gonna go check on dad, Damian go get everything ready and I'll meet you at the entryway, alright?"

The eldest stood, placing a gentle hand on the youngest shoulder before heading to the stairs. Dick was concerned. He had never seen his mother so...shut off. Pretending like everything was alright even though everyone who saw her could tell that she was so close to jumping off of a bridge.

The closest that he had seen her to this was back when Jason died and she broke up with Bruce. But even then, she didn't avoid things that she had already planned. Even then, she stayed committed to things.

Plus, Dick knew she had no plans today. Well...no plans except for the fact that beforehand this would have been her due date. And he knew that that was most likely what had off-set her so badly.

Dick didn't even knock before opening the door to Bruce's study. He was even speaking before his father even looked up from his computer. "Have you talked to mom?"

Bruce raised a brow, "What?"

"Mom." Dick crossed his arms, "When was the last time you and her had a real conversation?"

Bruce shrugged, "I'm not sure." He looked at Dick oddly, "What are you going on about?"

Dick let out a hard sigh, "You two are married, it is your job to take care of her. Goddammit Bruce!" He threw his hands up in anger, "You know what? Nevermind, I'm not...I'm not even going to try."

He angrily turned and walked out of the room. He didn't even understand why he even thought that talking to Bruce would help. He just walked down the stairs and remembered his promise to get Damian to school. Trying to hide the anxiety he had that he didn't know what exactly his mom was doing.

--------

9:09 AM

Jason watched Y/N walk out of the convenience store all the way in Blüdhaven. From where he was, he couldn't see what she had bought, but the moment he saw her go into the store, he had messaged Tim to watch her bank account. To watch what she was purchasing. Something felt...off as he watched her.

Jason knew that after the...accident, Y/N had been hard to reach. To talk to. He knew that she and Bruce hadn't been sleeping in the same bed since that argument he had accidently heard them having around 3 weeks after everything happened. So 4 weeks ago.

Granted...from what he had heard, it wasn't even a fight that they had had. Mostly just words being thrown at the other. Words that Jason never thought that he would hear either one say to the other. Words that he never told any of his siblings that he heard. All out of fear that one of them would panic. And while sure, he had a disdain for Tim and Damian, that didn't mean he would ever let either of them know what he had heard.

Jason wasn't sure how long he had been watching her just sit in the car before Tim finally texted him a list of what Y/N had bought in the past week. And considering Jason had seen her previous bank records for a week, it was a sure red mark with how short it was.

Tim

In the past week she's gotten a lot of sleeping pills. That's basically all that she has gotten. That plus energy and pain pills. Duke is thinking she's self-medicating again

Jason sighed as he pocketed his phone when he saw his mom driving out of the parking lot. He kept a safe distance behind her as he followed her on her drive back to Gotham.

--------

12:15 PM

Y/N hurried up the steps of the Cathedral. Trying not to make a misstep and fall as well as trying not to draw attention to herself. She closed the umbrella over her head as she walked in. Placing it in the small holder, she brushed the front of her outfit as her heels clicked on the ground when she walked down the long hall.

Last time she was there was for her mothers funeral last year. Last time she had walked up and grabbed the larger candle to dip down and light the smaller one. Her heart pounded in her chest as she kneeled, words swimming through her head and mumbling off her lips.

She herself was never very religious, but having grown up that way, she wondered if praying like she did as a child would work. Praying that things would get better and that she would get better.

She shakily did the cross on her before standing and wiping the tears that had silently fallen away from her cheeks. She turned and started to make her way out of the church when she heard a voice call out her name:

"Mrs. Wayne! We were not expecting you here today, is everything alright?"

Y/N slowly turned to face one of the Nuns, a small, fake, smile on her face. "Oh yes, everything is alright Sister. Just came here to pray for a moment. I haven't in such a long time."

The nun nodded, "Very well, I hope the Good Lord hears your prayer and makes it happen."

Y/N nodded silently before turning and walking out. She grabbed her umbrella before opening the door and walking out. She practically ran back to her car, wanting to get in before anyone saw her out.

But Cass and Steph did. They watched her speed back to her car as they sat in the cafe across the way. Stephanie shook her head, "She never goes there. Especially not since her mothers deaths."

Cass nodded as Steph continued; "Something is seriously going on with Y/N. Maybe something else has happened that we don't know."

"She's been deteriorating for the past 4 weeks."

Steph raised a bow and inquired, "4 weeks?" Cass nodded, "Huh...weird, that's around a week after she came home from the hospital." She grabbed her phone and started typing in the groupchat that only held the kids (Damian not included):

Steph

when did Bruce disappear for a few days after Y/N came home?"

It didn't take long for Tim to respond

logs say he left 35 hours after she got home and came back 83 hours later why?

Cass

She's been slowly getting worse sense then

Jason

I overheard them arguing around 3 weeks after everything happened and I know they haven't been sleeping in the same room since then. And I'm not sure how important this is; but Tim checked her bank account and she bought different pills so me, him, and Duke think she's medicating again. Or that she's going to start again.

Cass and Steph looked at each other, concern and worry was on their faces as they read Jason's last message. Something started unnerving them as they thought of the things she could possibly do if she was going to start medicating again.

----

3:25 PM

Y/N looked at her body in the mirror. Her hands came to lay on her stomach. Just like she did before. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she stared at her flatter stomach. She breathed shakily as her hands fell down to her sides.

Why?

Was all she ever asked.

Why me? Why did this happen to me?

She was so confused. She had always been good. Done everything to be a good person. But yet she still had that happen to her. Was she just not meant to be a mother?

Of course...she was one. She was a mother to 4 amazing boys and 1 beautiful girl. But still...it was different. Yes, those 5 children were hers, but that one. That singular one that she had carried for nearly 7 months had meant so much to her. Especially after being told time and time again it wouldn't happen.

It wasn't even the first time it had happened. She had had miscarriages before...but that wasn't what it was this time. The kidnapping. Bruce and the kids had found her after 2 days. The emergency c-section to save the baby.

But she knew. Of course she knew. She knew it had died.

Her baby girl. She had died before she even got the chance to live.

Y/N shakily breathed as she grabbed one of the bottles from the counter. She had thought it was the pain medication. But it hadn't been.

Sleeping meds.

Ever since it happened she had hardly been able to sleep. Nightmares of what happened still plagued her mind. Bruce yelling at her still echoed in her brain. Those...twisted words he said echoed inside of her.

She had popped a few in her mouth before dry-swallowing them and getting into the bath she had started earlier. The hot water felt like it was searing her skin, but she didn't care. She wondered if maybe she did this enough, whoever was above would forgive her of her sins and let her keep a pregnancy.

She wasn't sure how long she had stayed in the water before it became difficult to keep her head above water. Her body just felt so heavy. She wondered what pain meds she had grabbed at the store. She couldn’t remember them making her feel this way before. After a few moments of struggling to keep her head up, she felt her body sink down and under the water. But even as she felt water rush into her nose and fill her lungs, she couldn't bring herself to move and get out.

She just accepted her fate.

----

3:30 PM

Bruce sat in his office, a bad feeling settling in his stomach. Something was telling him to check on Y/N. See if she was alright. He knew she had returned around 20 minutes ago, the security cameras had caught her walking in.

He carefully stood from his desk and walked out of his office. He walked down the oddly quiet halls of the manor. A small feeling of pain and guilt started to eat at him as he got closer to the guest room she had been staying in. He knew she was struggling. He knew that she needed him today. But he just...couldn't.

He was selfish. He knew this.

He knew he was so goddamn selfish. Caring about his own feelings rather than helping his wife. She had been the one to physically go through everything. She had been the one to bear that trauma.

He had been so incredibly selfish since she had come home from the hospital. He had even begun to wonder why she even stayed in the manor.

But as he opened the door to the guest room, unrest settled inside him as he saw she wasn't there but the bathroom door was open. It was silent. He had known his wife long enough to know she never was silent in the bathroom. She almost always had music playing.

He pushed the bedroom door further open as he walked further in. Anxiety started to reach a breaking point as he walked into the bathroom.

And time felt like it moved in slow-motion as he saw her state. Her knees bent out of the water, her head under. He saw the three bottles of pills on the counter. He saw the open one read sleep on them. He ran over to the tub, grabbing under her arms and pulling her out.

He bent down, trying to listen for a heartbeat. He felt like his own heart stopped as he heard nothing. Not even a faint thump of one. He quickly moved to her side and started CPR.

Everything still felt like it was moving slower than it was as he pushed down on her sternum. Tears gathered in his eyes as he repeatedly slammed down onto her. As he breathed into her mouth. He didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

It felt like an eternity had passed by the time he finally had gotten the CPR to work. She began to cough profusely, water spluttering everywhere. He sobbed as he heard her shallow breaths break through the air.

He heard the noise of Dick's voice breaking. "Mom?"

He looked at him, seeing both him and Damian staring at the scene in front of them. Staring as their father held their mother in his arms. As tears fell from his eyes, he pleaded for them to call 911.

It was with shaky hands that Dick did it. His words sounded choked back, he kept stuttering. Trying to say what he was supposed to but his mind was running at a million miles and and half a mile a second at the same time. Everything felt fuzzy and he had no idea what he was supposed to do. All that he knew was that he walked in on his dad doing CPR on his mom.

That was all he knew.

That was all Dick knew.

#dc #dc x reader #dc imagine #batfam #batfam x reader #batfam imagine #batmom #x reader #imagine #dc angst #batfam angst #angst #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson angst #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne angst #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd angst #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne angst

[just-some-random-blogger]

Safe Keeping | 4

Part 1 2 3 4 5

"What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 8k+ | cw: fem!reader, DEATH of characters/animals/monsters, POV shifts, mentions/depictions of violence, forced marriage, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional constipation, miscommunication, The Hound being abrasive, canon typical casual misogyny/violence, themes/mentions of menstruation/pregnancy/miscarriage, baby fever, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ❗❗please proceed this chapter with caution. i killed a bunch of characters/animals (well and monsters but i think deserve lmao)!!! ALSO POV SHIFTSS!!!! originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here. also fyi i post this story on ao3 first

Tagging: @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds @the-queen-of-sorrows @j3nn-1

The Hound found himself wrong about the thieving, wrong about the missing livestock. He was so wrong it nearly cost him lives, including his own.

He was so sure about himself when he went into the woods, so sure that he was going to find at least two men, at most five, luring sheep there. It was the men he was prepared for. Fuck the livestock, the farmers can get them back after he killed the fucks stealing them.

Ah, the farmers, barging into his wife's estate... into their house, into house Clegane. 

Fuck 'em, fuck the lot of them, complaining again, complaining about their sheep and their cows. He had enough of their yapping, now was the time to act.

Fuck 'em twice for being shocked when he said he'd go into the forest to kill the fucker causing all of them trouble.

The superstitious peasants warned him. The Hound heard; he even humored them by letting a few spring chickens, boy-soldiers in the making, 'aid' him as he went to the forest.

Between the young farmer's lad, Andrew, and the man-boy, Carter, who he had been training be a soldier, it was actually the Hound who was the one most frightened by that thing that stared back at them.

It looked as though it was twice his damn size. It was darker than tar, and stinkier than shit. It made an unholy sound before attacking them.

He doesn't remember what happened after that in all honesty. His instincts kicked in and he can't recall what he had done. All he knew was, in the end, the two boys were cheering and dragging a black corpse all the way back out of the woods.

The villagers looked at him. They walked towards him and shouted. It was not an unfamiliar greeting-- being pursued by villagers, and yet, it shakes him; it takes him off-guard. They come upon him and begin to weep at his feet. They thank him. They thank them as they hug each other. The thank him as they wave at him. They thank him as they touch his armor like a devout would touch an idol.

The Hound is perturbed.

"Thank you, milord! You killed the beast!"

"You saved our sheep!"

"You saved our families!"

"You saved our lives!"

The Hound was never one to back down, but Sandor found himself taking steps back when a group of children ran up to him and began to ask him how he killed it. Their little hands and big eyes demanded answers from him. His insides rise up to his mouth.

The children begin to talk about how they can go to the woods now.

"Oi!" Carter calls to the ones in front the Sandor, "you do know there's more than one woodland monsters, aye?!"

"But now milord Cligay killed one! He'll teach us how to kill the o'vers."

"It's Clegane. Lord Clegane! And even then, you buggers can't just play in the forest. The brown bears still live here."

"I haven't seen a brown bear!" a little girl cries out. She looks to the Hound, walking up to him, grabbing his hand, "there aren't any brown bears in the woods, right, milord?"

Sandor looks at the small thing. His hand burns at her touch. Her hand was not even hot, not even big enough to grasp half his palm and yet he feels lightheaded. He feels like he's going to pass out.

The Hound finds their sentiment to be all too much at one point. He grumbles he's going home; he's got much work to do. The villagers thank him as he leaves.

When he gets home, just as he gets near the gate, he beholds Lady Clegane, the people's champion, his poor bride. She is outside, speaking to some peasants; it was all she did as of late.

A breeze blows and her dress dances with the wind. Her hair follows as well, and along goes the air from his lungs.

She is the sun. He is a mountain trying to reach her.

Sandor, who hadn't realized that he stopped in his place to gawk, is shaken out of his trance when the stable boy opened the gates for him. The small child named Polly, about as old as his wife when she fled this place, nods at him and motions, "pardon, milord," he says nervously, "I didn't know you were waiting for me to open the gates."

The Hound looks at the boy as he walks in, "I wasn't," he gruffs, eyeing him as he passed, "don't worry about it, laddie."

Lord Clegane looks away from the stable boy when he hears the shrill cry of a babe. He spots the maester walking over to his wife with a wailing child in his arms.

He thinks about the letter he had to write to the Citadel, requesting a maester come to Brown Wood.

Lady Clegane thinks her husband's initiative for it stems from his sense of duty as a Lord, but she'll never know he did it for her, for her to know if she really did have a late blood cycle, or if she lost a baby. Maester Yannick told him it was, regretfully, the latter.

The Hound waited for his lady wife to tell him about it, to ask him to hold a mourning ceremony for the unborn child. She never did.

Sandor watches Lady Clegane willingly embraces the woman who thanked her up and down, over and under, for saving her baby. She tells the weeping woman that it was not her work but maester Yannick that saved the babe. Maester Yannick says it was not his work but the gods.

Sandor tastes something putrid in his mouth when his wife coos at the child, who immediately calmed when the maester reunited the small thing to mama. His insides tingle at the sound of his lady's laugh.

He curses under his breath when she turns to him. He realizes then he had stopped in his tracks again.

The Hound begins his march.

Lady Clegane greets him, but he is not strong enough to reply with a greeting himself. He doesn't know why he stops to tell her that he killed a woodland monsters though. She looked very shocked after hearing that.

He wonders if she was disappointed. He wonders if she wanted him dead.

She touches him and questions if he was injured. Sandor flinches and steps back. She recoils her hand quickly and wipes it on her skirt-- disgusted.

The Hound says she shouldn't worry her pretty squirrel head, then walks away.

His footsteps are heavy as he heads to his office. He didn't want to go through the fucking endless piles of paperwork, but the apprentice he had couldn't grasp basic mathematics quite yet, so, there he went, to go through paperwork in a musty office.

He wonders if doing this shit made a difference to her, or if she'd always see him for what he was: a groom, forced upon her as a joke from a stupid blonde boy; a beast with ill features and temper; a Hound.

He is almost tempted to look over his shoulder at the loud sound of baby's laughter. He doesn't, cause he wouldn't see anything but a wall of he did anyway.

He wonders when she'd ask him again, when she'd ask for a child from him.

He promises he'd be gentler this time, gentler.

He doesn't mean to be so rabid with her.

She just had such an ablaze spirit, she was so fierce, and so vivid that he found himself wanting to devour her whole-- a true predator.

He wishes he could be more than that. He could be more than that to her, but it's so hard to fill in to be someone you're not. The Hound was not a proper lord, he was not that pretty boy Alistair. He can only do so much.

Sandor would do much and more for her than that scrawny, faerie pretty-boy ever could.

She might not like it, but he'll do his best to give her what she wants, to give her a family in stead of the one she lost. She will never love him, but he knows she'll love all the children he could give her, and that was more than enough, more than he could ever hope for or deserve. 

I carefully walk up to the office, clutching my hands together as I prepare myself to knock on the door.

I clear my throat and retell myself what I mean to tell my husband. My palms begin to gush like geyser. I dread the fight I know will be had because of this topic.

I let out a soft gasp when someone calls me from behind.

It was the stable boy, Polly. He had run up to bow and greet me good morning. I smile at him and reach out to him. I brush his hair back, "good morrow, Polly, dear."

The boy grins and bows again, "I'll be learning how to ride a horse soon, milady!"

I link my hands together as I chuckle, "my! Will you now? How awfully courageous of you."

The boy pushes his shoulders back, "it's no'ffin, milady. Just what a man ought to do. I would go to war for you, milady, I would!"

"My boy," shake my head, "I pray you never need to do such a thing. I hope you enjoy riding though. I find that I do not."

"Do you find riding scary? I wouldn't! I'll let you ride with me once I know how, promise," the boy nods as he places a hand on his chest.

"You are very kind," I smile, "I thank you for it, Polly."

The boy puffs his chest out and bows, "I'll be goin' then, milady!"

I chuckle as I watch Polly run off as quick as a rabbit.

My soul nearly leaves me when I turn around and see the Hound looming over me.

I gasp and step back. He reaches out to me and grabs my arm. He keeps me upright and leans down, "you better stop calling the boy dear." He releases me and begins to walk off, "he's already in love with you as is."

I blink rapidly at his words. I turn to him and watch him march away before scurrying after, "he's a child."

"Aye," says Sandor, "all the children adore you."

My stomach curdles at his words; I am unsure why. I rub my hands together, not sure what to make of myself, or what to reply.

"What were you doing outside my office?" he asks.

I run up in front of him and grab his arm, "there is something I needed to discuss with you."

Sandor stops. He looks at my hand on his arm, "can't it wait?"

I pull my hand away and shake my head, "I understand that you are very busy, my lord, but I-"

"Fine," he mutters, "I'll lay with you tonight."

My eyes widen and I topple back at his words, "what?"

The Hound steps forward, keeping me upright again, "that's why you're here, aren't you?" He releases me, "your bloods have waned."

I feel my face burn. I gulp and force a smile, "I-" I chuckle nervously and straighten up, "y-yes. My bloods have waned."

Sandor watches me closely.

I rub my neck and blink rapidly, "I thank you for your thoughtfulness," I dig my thumb nail into my pointer finger. I turn from my feet then to Sandor, "but that is not what I wished to speak about."

His face falls. It's not anything noticeable but I have become quite good at it, reading his face. He purses his lips then says, "be done with it then, I've got work to do, pretty squirrel."

I feel my face burn even more at his horrible nickname.

A group of women had been complimenting my dress when the Hound passed. I knew they did not know he would react that way, but it did not help the embarrassment I felt when the women asked my husband if he thought my dress suited me and he replied 'pretty for a squirrel'.

"I wanted to tell you that I... I still very much wish to be the one to speak to the people about their concerns," I am unable to look at him when I say this, "it is not because I think you are unfit for the task, my lord, but I have seen the way you act around them."

"Like a dog?"

I knit my brows deeply and look to him, "Daisy is a dog. And I love her very much."

"That makes one of us."

We stare at each other for a long, blistering moment. My throat constricts at his words, "... Sandor."

His face contorts. He scoffs and averts his gaze, "don't say my name like that."

My heart begins to race, it twists and clenches. I step forward and reach out to him, "I see how you try to listen, how you try to help, but it scares you-"

I gasp when he rips his arm away before I can even touch him. He grabs me instead though, ripping me close as he leans down, "I'm not scared of peasants."

My eyes water. It's not even because his grip hurt, but because it was as painfully clear as it could get that this man did not like me at all, no matter what I did.

The Hound mutters softly, "do what you wish," he releases my arm, "you want to do my work so badly then? Fine. I didn't want ya to do anything you're not meant to, but have it your way."

I scratch my eyes before my tears could fall. I try to look at him as I speak, but the tears threaten to fall when I do. Instead, I fix my eyes on the floor, "I do not do this to upset you, Hound. I do this because I mean to help you. I swear it."

He is deeply disturbed by the softness in which these words are spoken. Hearing himself be called Hound was unreasonably heart piercing.

"I do not like it when you are angry," I whisper, "it would have been fine if it was only directed at me, but you spur everyone around you."

I flinch when he calls my name.

I shake my head, "if it pleases you, lord, I will do as you said the other day. I will no longer speak to you. I will not bother you. I will not stand in your way." I step back and pick at my fingernails.

Sandor holds back from stepping forward.

"Maester Yannick has been giving me herbs to help with conception, but he said that I should be in good spirits when... consummating... I do not think we should do anything tonight--" I look to him through my wet lashes, "unless you want to--"

"No, I do not," he says coldly.

I gulp. Tears begin to stream down my face. My lips quiver. I shudder. Of course he doesn't want me.

I curtsy and walk off. I break into a sprint after a few steps, as I am no longer able to hold in my sobs.

Sandor watches this. He furrows his brows, unnerved by the interaction, gutted by the fact it ended in tears yet again. He replays the conversation. Was his touch truly that hard? He looks at his hand. He curses loudly and storms off to fuck all.

Sandor wakes before the sky does. He opens his heavy lids and sighs. He turns to his right on instinct; he watches his wife stretch out her arms in the expanse of nothingness between them. He likes to think that she is reaching out to him. He likes to think that if he reaches back, it'll make everything fine between them.

But then again, it had never been fine between them in the first place.

He makes sure not to touch or move her. Last time he did, she woke up. She truly was a light sleeper.

He slowly gets up. He quickly gets dressed. The moment he gets out of the room, he heads to his office.

He's finished his work by the time he hears a dog barking. He looks to the window, the sun looks back at him. He stands, stretches, and walks over to the sill, pushing the curtains open. He sees her, Lady Clegane, cuddling the mutt she named Daisy. Fucking Daisy. Polly, the stable boy was waving a stick, but the bitch could not care less about it, too preoccupied by her master.

He watches Daisy lick her neck. He watches how she scolds the dog for it but giggles anyway. Sandor sniffles. His mind wanders to the one time he had his face pressed on her neck like that. Fucking dog.

He watches the pair go inside. The Hound heads to the dining room promptly after.

He mutters to himself, trying to decide how to start, "I don't meant to make you cry-- I keep making you cry-- Fuck-- .... I know you don't like me," he stops in his tracks before he can get to his destination. He mutters to himself some more.

Fuck it.

He hears the telltale patter of Daisy's paws. It makes his fingers tingle.

When he gets to the dining room, he furrows his brows at the emptiness.

Lucy gasps at the sight of him. She topples back then regains her composure. She puts the plate of food she was holding down on the table with a bang. She looks at him and curtsies, "your food, milord."

"Where is she?"

Lucy's glare darkens, "she is dining with the servants."

He chuckles drily. He feels disappointment. He feels hurt. He immediately plays it off, "pretty squirrel's finally had enough of me."

"WILL YOU STOP CALLING 'ER THAT!" Lucy bursts, taking the Hound off-guard.

They both stare at each other, as if equally as shocked by the outburst.

Lucy fumes. Sandor freezes. The former decides she's already spoken, so she might as well continue, "she is a lady! You took her for this," she motions vaguely. "You need her," she speaks firmly, "just as much as she needs you."

The Hound scoffs. His insides burn and curdle at the idea of the little girl needing a beast to keep her safe. He snaps, "well, go ahead and tell her I will gladly be her hound and breed her little monsters as thanks for her nice, warm castle!"

Lucy makes no attempt to hide the revulsion she feels at the sound of the hound's words.

"You know what," he snarls, "why don't I breed her right now as a thank you?"

Lucy's face drops. She runs up to the Hound when he begins to storm off. She crumples like paper when he shoves her away. He doesn't do it hard enough that she shoots off to the table, but it's enough for her to get the message: he was deadly strong.

Lucy does her best to stop him. She cries and begs and screams. She digs her heels into floor and yanks him back but it doesn't do much, it doesn't do anything.

The Hound only stops when he finally sees her.

Lady Clegane is laughing with the servants as they watch Daisy roll on her belly for food. She feeds the dog just as Lucy runs up in front of him, severely distraught and tear stained. Lucy pushes her hands on his chest and begs him to punish her instead.

The Hound is sickened when Daisy runs up to him and whines. He recoils his hand when the bitch licks it.

"Lucy?"

Sandor flinches at the sound of his wife's voice and turns the other way.

I was in the middle of playing fetch with Daisy when she caught wind of something and ran off to the gate. Usually, this meant Sandor was home. Lo and behold, this moment was not any different.

I turn away immediately when we lock gazes.

The Hound had a large cut of meat on his shoulder. He grunts as Daisy barks and runs up to him, "fuck off, bitch."

He does his best to avoid the dog, nudging her away firmly with his leg as he walks up to a wagon and plops the hind of a cow on there. He hisses at Daisy when she gets on her two back legs and rests one good leg and bad one on his hips.

"Daisy!" I call.

She ignores me.

Sandor looks over his shoulder, "your mam's calling you, dog. Go on!"

Daisy clearly doesn't understand, or doesn't care, and barks at Sandor when he shoves her away. 

"Daisy!" I call and jog up to her when she follows Sandor out of the estate. I run up to the gate and watch as she is chased by the Hound. She runs as fast as her three paws will allow, clearly enjoying what she thought to be a game.

"Come here, you stupid bitch!" the Hound screams.

I turn to one of the men near me. I call Arron over and tell him to tell the Hound not to chase after her. He does just that, "milord! She will stop running if you stop chasing!"

I make a face as Lord Clegane curses and does his final attempt at catching the dog.

"Shall I bait Daisy with some meat, milady?" Arron asks.

I am about to respond but then there is a loud shriek from afar. It makes my blood go still.

The Hound immediately stops, straightens up, and looks at the distance.

I turn to Arron in a panic and tell him to get bait for Daisy. He quickly does that and calls for the dog to come back.

A bunch of peasants run and scream towards the estate; they scream milord.

Sandor goes to them.

When he reaches the panicked townspeople, he tells them all to shut the fuck up and explain what's happening. The old one clamours out that her daughter's been taken, says she was herding the cows then she was suddenly screaming, and he tried to reach her but it was too late. He says his son went to the woods to try and save her sister.

The Hound nods. He easily decides to go into the woods. The man's other son to leads the way.

In truth, the boy didn't have to go with him, he could just head to where the animals were fleeing, but he allowed it because he recognized the boy to be one of the ones in training. He has no idea what his name was though.

He was glad to hear the screams when he did, at least the ones that sounded human.

The Hound sees a lad and a lass running up to him, "RUN WHILE IT'S DISTRACTED!"

The boy by his side screams back, "the Hound is here! He's going to kill it!"

Well, Sandor was only meant to save the girl, and now that the girl was about to run past him, he didn't have to do anything, really. For some reason, he felt compelled to press on. Maybe it was the lack of his sense of self-preservation as of late, or no, don't call it that; it was his need for a distraction, his need prove something.

He sees it, the monster and its fresh kill. It must have been one of the girl's cows, or at least what was left of it. Gods, the abomination was a messy eater. He was glad, at least, it seemed to be starved and solely focused on eating.

His boots stomp into a puddle of blood when he charges at the thing and cuts its head off. That's was quick... and simple...

He's shocked when he hears a hellish scream behind him and gets knocked into a tree.

The Hound is dazed. He hears the battle cry of two voices. He watches the brothers do their best to stab at the thing that towers and claws at them. He promptly gets on his feet and charges at the disgusting fuck, managing to chop off its arm before it chops off the boy's head.

Just as he thinks he's about to get the upper hand, another vile beast pops up from the shadows. He fixes his footing and slashes his sword for his life.

One of the boys get injured. The boy's scream attract the monsters towards him, allowing the Hound to stab through one of them when it's attention is averted.

By the time one of the two vile cretins drop to the ground, the two boys are running for their lives with one monster on their tail. The Hound is forced to chase after them and curses the boys for running. He's not as quick as he was before.

He screams and grabs a rock, chucking it at the slimy tar creature. He throws and shouts some more until the monster is turned back and running towards him.

He slashes the stupid fuck with his sword when its close enough. It still picks a fight though.

He's losing his breath.

The next thing he knows, there's another monster screaming from behind him. The Hound prepares for the one behind him, but it doesn't reach him because its busy ripping something off it with a growl. It chucks something to the side. There is a separate whine that hisses with the wind.

The Hound finally kills the first monster that attacked him. It doesn't take much for him to kill the other as its belly was already gushing with viscous blood.

Once he's the only thing alive and standing, catches his breath and curses. He looks upon the fallen black creatures before him and reckons he ought to get out there before more come out.

But then he hears a rustle to his side. He immediately goes on the defensive and readies for another fight.

He follows the sound of heavy breathing.

His face drops when he hears the way the dog whines when he's spotted.

The Hound sheathes his sword and drops to his knees. He looks at Daisy, her one front paw bent, the other one not. Her hind legs were twisted unnaturally, her side was clawed. She was soaking in red, both hers and otherwise. She was panting and quickly losing blood.

Sandor reaches out to her. Her eyes were wide and teary. She leans into Sandor's touch and licks her nose in a panic.

He begins to feel a rage burn in him. He begins to feel loathe. He whisper-yells, "you stupid dog. You should have stayed home."

Daisy's breath quickens. He realizes see that she is trying not to whine. Gods, the pain she must be in.

He is about to tell her she was stupid for doing that, he is about to tell her she didn't need her help, he is about to tell her she was so fearless for no reason, but then Daisy whines. It was the most horrible thing he's ever heard.

Sandor huffs like he had been stabbed. He grips his hilt tightly, "thank you for saving me, Daisy."

Sandor screws his eyes shut and decides on what he has to do.

He draws his sword. Daisy does not flinch when he presses the sword onto her neck. He thinks about the day they'd first met. 

Fearless.

He strokes her face with his hand once. He screws his eyes shut when he feels her shiver. 

So afraid.

"You're a good dog."

His next stroke pulls Daisy's final breath.

The Hound stands. He looks upon his dog.

He screams.

He screams.

He screams, hell-bent on summoning more monsters. He kills three more stupid fuck, particularly enjoying how he butchered killing a young one.

He takes Daisy's body after. She is rigid against his chest when he reaches the village. He barks out an order to the villagers: burn those fucking monsters he killed. They were more than happy to oblige.

He passes the family he had helped. They are about to come up to thank him but they don't when they see what was in his arms.

He is swarmed with dread with what he is faced with when he reaches the estate. It was very clearly as search party for Daisy.

"SANDOR!" I cry out when I spot him from the distance. "DID YOU SEE DAISY WHEN-" I stop myself when I realize he is covered in blood. Suddenly, I feel awful for not asking him if he was injured before anything else.

His form becomes clearer as I jog up to him and call, "ARE YOU AL-"

I stop in my tracks when I see him adjust something in his arms. I knit my brows and continue walking towards him. Was it a head of a monster? Why was it brownish and not black?

The Hound gives me a solemn look as he inches closer. I furrow my brows at his expression.

It takes a second then suddenly, it clicks.

I let out a horrified cry.

The Hound buries Daisy in the garden himself. Everyone in Brown Wood watches. I force a glance at my poor dog, even though I wanted to do nothing but turn away. Her injuries chill me to the bone. Lucy stands beside me, clutching my arm as she weeps, but does not look at Daisy once.

Maester Yannick speaks some words for her, as per my request, before Sandor covers the grave.

Once it was done, maester Yannick comes to me and says he will plant daisies at her grave come morrow. I cannot find solace, I cannot find myself to care.

"Did you have to slit her throat?!" I demand lowly, voice aching and angry. I eye the Hound with hot contempt and cynicism, "was there REALLY no saving her?!"

"My lady," the maester holds me back, "I saw her body. Lord Clegane showed her mercy."

"Did you enjoy executing your mercy?!" I wail, ripping my arms away from Lucy and Yannick. My gaze does not trail to them at all, as I am intent on getting answers from my dog's executioner.

The Hound's face is blank, it enrages me.

I snarl through tears, "gods, I hope you did! I hope you savored finally being free of your bitch!"

Lucy calls after me as when I storm away. She means to run after me but shoots a glare at the Hound before doing so. She is momentarily stunned when he sees how distraught he looks at the moment. 

Sandor marches out of the estate.

I jolt awake when I hear the front door opening. I wipe my face and quickly stand from the chair in the middle of the living space. The fireplace near me had already burned out.

After the sound of locks disappear in the darkness, I take the unlit candle on the table beside me and walk up to the burning candelabra to light it.

I hear heavy footsteps draw closer.

Boots skid, "fuck."

I look up after lighting my candle. The Hound looks back at me.

"What are you doing?"

I purse my lips and turn to my feet. I clutch my candle, finding it hard to speak. 

"Lucy kick you out of her bed?" he mutters then begins to walk off.

I look up and follow after him. I finally muster out, "you arrive later and later."

He scoffs.

"It's been five days. I fear you'll not return by the tenth."

I pull my head back and stop in my tracks just as the Hound turns and chuckles, "don't worry, little girl. I like the wages of a Lord. Your hound isn't running."

"I know you're not running!" I snap, "I wonder why you think so poorly of yourself!"

"I think poorly of myself?" he hisses and points to his chest.

"Yes!" I bark and push myself up on my tiptoes to prove a point, "and since you are so keen to put words in my mouth, I hope you shove all the fucking pie the unwitting peasants gave you down your blasted throat!"

The Hound is shocked by my profanity. His face slips into confusion.

I heave and pull back, intent on walking away. And I do. I should have never waited for him.

"What fucking pie?"

I snap and turn back at him, "the one you could have eaten fresh had you spared a moment this morning before leaving for a monster hunt!"

Sandor is wholeheartedly confused.

I am aggravated by his expression. I wave my hands, unintentionally putting out the flame of my candle, "they love you, Hound! They're thankful and grateful!"

Though it was darker now, I see his face pinch in to a sort of disgusted disbelief. The sight infuriates me, it squeezes my heart, it pricks me frustration. I wipe my face and repeat the words that were spoken to me, "tell Lord Clegane that without him my children would be dead. Tell Lord Clegane that he has saved me family from hunger. Tell Lord Clegane that me, and my sons, and my sheep are happy to-"

"I didn't do it for them," Sandor cuts me off with a hand raise.

I purse my lips and slowly pull my head back at his words.

He lowers his hand and eyes me for a moment. I see how his gaze drinks my figure. He clenches his jaw and looks away, "you should be asleep."

My jaw slacks.

I wait for him to look at me. I wait for him to ask if I was going to sleep with Lucy again. I wait for him to apologize for keeping me up worrying. I wait for him to bring up Daisy. I wait him to do something, but he doesn't.

My eyes water, "my lo-"

"Good night," he dismisses and turns around to walk away.

"Aren't you-" my voice cracks, "-going to ask me to go to bed with you?"

He stops in his tracks. He does not look back, "do you want me to?"

I furrow my brows deeply. I feel like I was drowning. I let out a shaky breath and wrap my arms around myself. I shake my head and turn away. I chuckle dryly, "forgive me for even asking."

Sandor turns back, jaw hanging, hands clenched. He does nothing but watch.

"Do you know what's going to happen now, little girl?"

"Yes."

"What's going to happen?"

"You're going to fuck me."

Sandor laughs lowly, placing his hands on my cheeks. He swipes his thumb on my lips, "filthy mouth."

He kisses me deeply.

"Tell me honest," he mutters through kisses, "have you ever done this before?" he speaks as his hands paw at my sides, "I would not judge you if you did."

I squeak when he touches me between my thighs.

He draws out a deep breath, "no, of course you haven't; you're a good girl."

I gasp at the sound of thunder. I jolt up from my bed-- I turn to my side, seeing a sleeping Lucy's form-- or I mean, Lucy's bed. I look for Daisy in the room as I slowly push the blankets off me. I still when I realize she wasn't here.

I huff and wipe my face. I try to push away the thoughts of Daisy out of my head. I try not to think of her so much because I end up melancholy and furious. I, instead, find myself drifting to the dream I just had-- been having.

The mind can be so treacherous. I nibble my lower lip and rub my belly.

I tried, you know. I went to the Hound the morning after we fought about his coming home late. I tried to make peace with him. I tried to persuade him. I tried to kiss him.

I gasp again when another crack of thunder echoes through the room.

He wasn't having it though. He pushed me away and told me it was wrong, that we shouldn't be doing that. He left the estate shortly after. He hasn't been home since.

I get out of bed and light a candle for myself. I walk to my bedroom and light any of the candles that went off on my way. I wrap my arms around myself and rub my skin. I open the door to room as softly as possible, though it didn't really matter in the end because it was pouring outside and the noise wouldn't be loud.

With a barely audible creak, the door opens.

And it was also empty.

I sigh at the made bed. I walk towards it and smoothen out the already smooth sheets. I decide to get dressed for the day.

I head to the office, which as empty as the bedroom. I light the candles there.

I sit down on the desk and go through the papers, the letters of requests, the list of complaints, the finances, the works. I rub my eyes, willing my sleep away. I look out my window, seeing barely any hint of sun through the dark clouds.

I don't know how exactly how much time passed between then and when Arron burst in, but it must have been a while, considering how nice it felt to stand after hearing him shout, "HE'S HOME, MILADY!"

I immediately blow out the candles as Arron tells me the Hound was in the living area. I thank him for telling me, gather my skirts, and jog out of the room.

I cannot hear the click of my heels over the sound of the persisting rain-- the persisting storm.

I stop in my tracks when I see a trail of water in the corridor that led to my bedroom.

A crack of lightning bolts through the sky when I walk in and ask "where have you been?!"

The Hound is dripping in rain water. He has his back turned to me. He is undoing his armor.

I clench my fists and storm up to him. I circle in front of him the same time he walks towards the closet. He stops there, still undoing his armor, back turned to me again.

I scowl, "Hound! I'm speaking to you!"

He looks over his shoulder, the one he was trying to undo, "what? I can't hear you over the rain."

I burn hot with anger and march up to him, "I asked where you've been!"

The Hound looks down at me. He releases the grip on his shoulder, "does it matter where I've been?"

"Yes!" I snap, "you haven't come home in 7 days."

He scoffs, "thrilling to know you've been counting," he points to the window, "well, as you can see, it's fucking storming."

"It wasn't storming the day you left," I hiss.

"Well, it was when I decided to come to my beautiful wife," he leans down and jeers.

I knit my brows at him and pull back when I smell the alcohol in his breath.

He takes my chin between his fingers, "come on give us a smile."

I pull away from him, heart racing, chin burning, even though his touch got my skin damp with rain water.

The Hound straightens up and undoes his armor again.

I step away from him, "Job said he saw you in the next town over."

"Who the fuck is Job?" he asks, not bothering to look at me.

"Polly's father."

"The stable boy?" he turns to me.

"Yes," I hiss and I feel anger build up in me.

He says nothing.

I nearly choke when I say the next words, "he said he saw you coming out of brothel."

The Hound stills. He drops his hands to the side.

Both of us just stand there for a moment. The rain seems to intensify, and so does the tension between us.

"Tell me the truth," I mutter, "do you-"

"It was the town with the fucking unavailable inn," he shifts in his spot to turn to me, "I went to the brothel instead and paid for lodging there."

I purse my lips at his words. That was not what I was going to ask him. I battle with myself, trying to find the words I want to say. I revise my words over and over again in my head. There were so many things I wanted to say, yet so little ways to make it easy to speak out.

I shake my head, "am I very hard to want?"

Sandor feels rain water drip from his fingers.

I don't know how I feel about the bewildered and perplexed expression that spreads across his face. I do know one thing at least, I feel too exhausted to cry.

I sigh and shrug, "I am no fool, Hound. I learned through the gossip of my maids and my aunts growing up that men are simply like... this. It is their nature to stray. Of course, I hoped different for myself, but we cannot have it all, can we?"

"But I didn't do anything," he snaps. He deflates, "I swear by the gods, old and new."

I press my lips into a tight smile. I slowly walk up to him. He watches me intently. I hear his breath hitch when I begin to undo his armor for him. I half expect him to make me stop. He doesn't.

Sandor steps forward. There's barely any space between us anymore. His heart is racing. His hands itch to touch. He releases a breath when his hand comes to my side.

My stomach swirls at the feel of his palm but I do nothing. Neither do I look at him when I mutter, "maybe you should."

Sandor watches me remove his armor. He furrow his brows and whispers, "what?"

I drop the steel plate to the ground with a clank. It is loud even with the sound of pouring rain.

He doesn't like it when he receives no reply. He takes my wrist. I stop my task. His hand is warm albeit the dampness, and so very gentle. 

I finally look up at him.

He leans closer and speaks louder. He shakes his head and furrows his brows, "what did you say, pretty squirrel?"

I raise my brows, "maybe you should."

"Should what?"

"Do something in the brothels."

His face falls. We stare at each other for a moment. He is clearly in disbelief.

I pull my hand out of his grip. He almost doesn't let me.

"It's not a trick, I swear it."

"What are you saying?" he shakes his head faster and finds himself playing on the offensive, "you want me to be with someone else?!"

"I want a baby," I mutter.

Sandor's face falls again, but then it twists. It is unbearable to look at.

"Find a woman you desire," I turn away from him, "and give her your seed. You may keep her here if you like, and I will let her take care of the babe, but the babe will be mine."

His lips part.

"You're right. I don't want the memory of my family to be tainted by monstrosity-"

He shakes his head once more.

"-and I am the last of my line. My line lives on with House Clegane. People remember names, not blood."

He takes my hand, "I desire you."

I cannot help it. I begin to cry because of that. I break into both tears and laughter, "you needn't shield my heart, Sandor."

Sandor's stomach drops, both at the fact his own words have been used against him and with how his name was spoken.

I place a hand on his cheek.

His knees go weak.

"We've both hurt enough," I smile, "I know you think otherwise, but I'm not a little girl. I know sometimes winning means admitting defeat when the loss is great."

He grabs both my wrists when I try to pull away. I gasp when he does so. He holds me for a second then releases my wrists to capture my cheeks instead. He wipes my tears with his thumbs. He swipes my lips, "I love you."

I screw my eyes shut and cling onto his forearm. I let out another laugh, "I don't think you hurt people that you love, my lord."

The Hound is pierced through his armor.

He doesn't put up a fight when I pull his hands off me.

I continue to undo his armor. He doesn't move an inch.

"Will you sleep with me tonight?" he whispers. The sound of the rain is too loud that only him and the gods heard it.

Sandor had been out of it ever since his pretty squirrel ate his insides. He was thick faced, literally and figuratively; he's learned to take pride in it, to find solace in the fact all the years of flesh ripping torture-- figuratively and literally, had made him indifferent to what people think, made him apathetic, numb.

And yet her smile that day was worse than a sword through the spleen. Her disbelief in his words-- because she was right, you don't hurt people you love-- was heart wrenching, blood draining.

What do you say to that? How do you fix that?

You don't.

He knows you don't. You can't fix something like that.

And since this truth has dawned on him, since this truth has slit his throat, he's been a headless, mindless fucker. He was a dead man walking, and one more unwitting monster attack away from making it real.

"MILORD!" Carter cries, raising his sword to hack at the monster who managed to swipe his lately-been-aloof Lord Clegane.

The boy is fired up; his blood is pumping enough to enable him to cut the black demon's arm off and sequentially pierce it through its heart. Carter does it with a scream and regrets it a moment later; after all, they were in the middle of the woods.

They have to get out of here.

Sandor makes a pained noise. He feels heat surge down his arm and cold shiver up his spine.

"YOU'RE BLEEDING!" Carter gasps, mortified that his lord's armor was scraped off his back. The boy realizes suddenly that his Lord, the fearsome Hound, was not invincible. This newfound truth rips into his ribs the way, he thinks, the monsters would.

The boy immediately takes the Hound in his arms, though it wasn't like he could actually carry him if he wanted. Sandor steadies himself on the boy; Carter struggles even with that task. 

Still, the smaller manages to support his Lord out of the woods.

The next thing Sandor knows, he's screaming and thrashing. He vaguely hears the sound of footsteps skidding away from him.

"What's happening, Maester Yannick?!"

A deep sigh, "he probably feels the pain now."

Sandor realizes he's sat down on a stool, leaned against a table, or at least he was before he started flailing his arms around. He lets out a guttural cry as he pushes himself up. He realizes he's in the ward, being attended by the maester, and his wife was present and very troubled.

"My lord!" Yannick exclaims, raising his hands in both surrender and an attempt to soothe, "it's alright. I have stitched your wounds closed. Do not tear them open "

Sandor huffs through his nostrils. He turns to his side when he hears the soft way his name was spoken. Lady Clegane walks closer, hand wanting to reach out to him. He almost reaches back but then she digs her nails into her palms.

He sinks into the stool and watches her look at him. Her eyes are glassy. Why are they always glassy?

"My lord," Yannick walks towards him, "I'm going to wrap your wounds now."

Sandor huffs in agreement, or more accurately, acknowledgement. His eyes are still fixed on her though. He watches her hover around him, evidently unsure about approaching him.

He wants to reach out to her. He wants to touch her, to soothe her so, so badly.

He's shocked when she decides to take his hand and whispers, "shall I get you milk of the poppy?" 

Sandor looks up at her. Her voice was shaky and he hates how worried it sounded, how desperate. He hates how her eyes were constantly red. He knits his brows, "no."

She hisses, "are you certain? Your gashes are deep. No one in the world would fault you for wanting something to relieve the pain."

"I want to feel it," he mutters, "I want to feel."

She looks between the two of them in a panic, "but you've lost so much blood--"

"Perhaps," Yannick interrupts firmly. He starts binding his wounds, "he wants to feel precisely because he's light headed after losing blood."

Sandor straightens up slowly as he is instructed to. His attention is solely focused on the sensation on his hand though, on how the jittery squirrel was rubbing her soft fingers on his calloused skin.

She persists with this action until his chest and back is bound, she persists until Maester Yannick leaves the room, she persists until, next moment, she drops on her knees beside him. The Hound reacts in an instant.

He gets on the floor beside her, uncaring how it hurt his back, and clutches her face. He calls her name in horror.

"Are you punishing me?" she whispers as water in her eyes threaten to spill.

Sandor knits his brows deeply. He can't speak. He's too afraid to. Everything he's said up until that point has done nothing but rip them both apart. He was a hound after all.

"Are you trying to kill yourself to get back at me?" she mutters, distressed, pained, and defeated.

His face contorts even more. He hesitates but then shakes his head, "no."

"The boy said you've been acting differently as of late!" she grabs his wrists, "ever since I told you what I wanted from you."

His lips twitch. He looks away.

She tightens her grip, "please."

He is suddenly so acutely aware of his injuries. The pain throbs all the way through his heart.

"Please," she begs softly, "just tell me what you want from me-"

"Everything."

The way he responded was quick, as if it was practiced, as if it was reflex.

He avoids her gaze. He takes a deep breath. He waits for a response he somehow knows will never come.

When he turns to her, he notices how her face dropped. Gods, Sandor. Get it together.

"I want-" he starts but cannot continue because of how guilty he feels over the sight of her wobbling lip.

Sandor's hands loosen. They melt from her cheeks, down her shoulders. He grips the area, as if she was water about to slip through his fingers. He releases a breath, and with it, it seems, his thoughts escape. He mutters somethings that mean nothing. She doesn't understand anything.

She whimpers, "I have nothing left to give; you already have it all."

The Hound freezes when his cheek is touched, when his scar is touched. It's like it's being burned all over again.

"Is there something I can give you now?" she huffs uneasily.

He sighs. He feels the wounds throbbing; he feels his head pounding, "no."

"Then will you let me go now?" 

No. No, no, no, no-

"Or, please, at least loosen your grip."

Immediately, Sandor releases her shoulders. She sequentially lets out a breath and rubs the area. There is an imprint on the area of her exposed skin.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck-

"Do you want me to stay?"

Yes. "Do you want to stay?"

"I had planned to finish some errands before going to bed."

Sandor averts his gaze then slowly crawls back to his stool, "then leave."

It almost hurts as much as his cuts how quickly she stands. She looks down at him, "I will leave you to your solidarity."

Please don't go.

"I will tell Maester Yannick to come back to attend to you, Hound."

Hound. It sounds like shattering glass.

Sandor listens to the click of her heels as she leaves him.

#sandor clegane #sandor clegane fanfic #the hound #the hound fanfic #sandor clegane x reader #sandor the hound clegane #sandor fluff #sandor x reader #sandor fanfic #sandor clegane smut #sandor clegane fic #sandor clegane x you #sandor clegane fluff #sandor fic #game of thrones #game of thrones fic #game of thrones fanfic #sandor clegane angst #sandor angst #sandor smut

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 1: Sunrise

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Queen Aemma brings a new child into the world—you. As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon.

Hello, everyone! Welcome to the very first instalment of this series, featuring baby!Babey and teen-uncle!Daemon! This prologue will be the only Daemon POV of this instalment (or at least that is my current plan), and there will be several time jumps in keeping with canon. Please keep in mind that, as canon diverges around Episode 5/6 in this series, much of what occurs in the show will also occur as-is here, so don’t expect anything particularly innovative in terms of plot, lol. I’m hoping this will be an opportunity to establish Babey as a firm part of the storyline in a manner that is a little less ambiguous, and will also serve to provide more wholesome Babey/Daemon interactions to foreground their later shift. A couple things: there will be NO ROMANCE in this fic, because Babey is a child. Ew. There may be mentions of romance between other characters, but this story will be told firmly through Babey’s eyes and thus events are limited to her own interpretations.

Anyway! Enough from me - on with the show!

TRIGGERS: mentions of miscarriage/stillbirth, mentions of childbirth trauma, blood.

“And so it was that, in the summer of 109 AC, Queen Aemma took once again to her childbed, remaining there for near two days for what would be a difficult and taxing labour. In the early hours of the morning, King Viserys and his lady wife welcomed a living babe—but not the babe they expected. The arrival of a second daughter took both by surprise, for they had come to believe the child in the Queen’s belly had been their longed-for son. It was nonetheless announced that the Queen had been delivered of a healthy girl, and a great relief was struck up across the Realm, the bells of King’s Landing being rung from dawn to dusk and the people gathering on the streets in praise of their new Princess.”

- ‘Fire and Blood: Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros’ by Archmaester Gyldayn

It's quiet this time, he thinks. No snivelling midwives, no wailing… A good thing, surely.

Still. The silence, in all of its peculiarity, is unnerving. After the last occasion—the frenetic activity bustling up and down the halls, the yelling, the sound of Aemma’s screams, the stench of blood thickening in his nostrils as he stepped forth to take his first and last view of the purple, unmoving babe in the cradle he would never outgrow—the absence of sound seems almost foreboding. Should he not hear the child cry? Should he not be within by now? He would venture to knock on the door, but he dare not risk disturbing this fragile peace—especially if it is not fated to remain so.

Thus, Daemon Targaryen, eighteen summers of age and the King’s very own brother, waits in his seat opposite the entry to the Queen’s chambers as he has done for hours. And, as he sits, he prays.

Well—not pray, exactly. He’d have to believe in gods to do that. But, should a higher power exist, it cannot hurt to lend his own voice to the masses that even now attempt to muster enough mercy to grant the survival of his cousin and the child she has worked so hard to bring forth these past moons. Let them live, he urges, pressing the thought out into the air around him, into the sky far above the Keep. Let them both live.

“Any news?”

Daemon snaps to attention, head tilting automatically to the intruder. He suppresses a sneer. Now is not the time.

“Nothing,” he says, taking care to keep his tone even.

Otto Hightower sighs. “Well”—the Hand of the King moves closer, towering over Daemon with his hands clasped behind his back—“no news is good news, I hope.”

“Hm.” He’ll not dignify that with a response.

Hightower’s eyes narrow in on him. “There is no need to sound quite so downtrodden, Prince Daemon. I am sure the King will find some use for you… now that you are no longer his heir.”

He knows what the man is after. A display of anger, perhaps—maybe even hot-headed insistence on his part that his position stands as it has since Viserys won the throne, that the child is dead, that the Lord has every reason to fear him still. He won’t give him the satisfaction, though. If his brother ventures out to see Daemon once again railing at his most trusted advisor…

Daemon’s desire to meet his nephew outweighs his need to put this upstart in his place.

“Never fear, Otto.” He smiles, lips stretched wide with too much teeth, threatening more than welcoming. “I’ll always have a place by Viserys’s side. I am his brother. And you…” He looks the man up and down. Even now, the pin of the Hand is attached to the cunt’s lapel like a sycophantic badge of honour, gleaming in the golden torchlight. “What are you, exactly?”

Hightower’s jaw clenches. “I am the Hand of the Ki—”

“For now,” Daemon says, a smug half-smirk playing at the very corners of his mouth. “Don’t forget that. For now.”

What he doesn’t say is plain to read upon his face. One day, he’ll understand. One day, he’ll see you for what you really are. A leech, one who latches onto power and drains those who truly wield it dry.

The reminder makes Otto pale. “I—”

The door creaks open, the flushed face of one Viserys Targaryen appearing in the space between wood and frame. “Daemon.”

Daemon rises. “Is—how is—” He cannot get the fucking words out.

His brother grins. “Aemma is well, and the babe is healthy.”

He lets out a relieved breath, surprised to discover exactly how tense he had been since the messenger had roused him from sleep at the hour of the owl. That tension releases itself with the air he pushes from his lungs, his shoulders sagging from the freedom of it. Suddenly, his eyes no longer feel so wide, so fear-bright, and fatigue sets in. He is tired. But first—

“May I see him?” he asks.

At that, Viserys pauses, whatever he had intended to say to Otto left unfinished. He clears his throat, all joy fleeing his face. “Ah… About that.”

“Is the boy… crippled?” The Hand’s voice is hushed, apprehensive.

“No, no!” Viserys insists, shaking his head. “Only… she is small, quiet. Nothing at all like Rhaenyra was.”

“A girl? But Runciter was so certain!” Otto says, mouth parted in shock.

Runciter’s a fucking fool. Anyone who sets stock by his theories ought to be burned alive, Daemon thinks, rolling his eyes. He’d never liked maesters—any of them, least of all the doddering fuckwits appointed to the vaunted station of Grand Maester. That Runciter had gotten this wrong is hardly surprising. None of them seem to know what they are doing.

He pushes around his brother and leaves him to his latest inanity, moving onward to where his newest niece lay.

The Queen’s chambers are stifling, unbearably hot, the windows closed tight and the fires blazing in spite of the warmth already pervading the early hours of the morn. Another ridiculous notion, he suspects, though whether it be Westerosi custom or Targaryen superstition, he knows not. Perhaps dragonbabes can only be born into the fire they are made from.

Last time he was here, Aemma had been gaunt, eyes red-rimmed and near hysterical from the passing of her first, her only son. She’d laid weeping in her bloodied shift still, bedraggled hair sticking to slick skin as she’d mourned the child, insensate to kind words or reason from any who had approached her. Eventually, Viserys had demanded all who were not the blood of the dragon to remove themselves from the room. Together, he and Daemon had borne Aemma from her childbed, had taken her to the bath still waiting, had disposed of the last markers of gloom and tragedy marring the space.

Only those of Valyrian blood should ever bear witness to weakness from one of their own. Only those of Valyrian blood could ever understand the magnitude of such a loss. Their line had been dying out since the Doom—every death since only ever added salt to the wound.

What Daemon walks into this time is different. So very, very different.

Aemma is gaunt still, overcome by weariness, no doubt sapped greatly by the trials of such long labour. Shadows carve deep hollows beneath her eyes, skeletal, made almost sinister by the flicker of dim light, and her mouth is pale and cracked. Yet, there is naught but a buoyant sort of lightness adorning her face, shining more brilliantly than a crown ever could.

The chamber bears none of that ominous atmosphere that pervaded that night, instead filled with the heady scent of frankincense clogging each breath he draws, earthy smoke settling warm in his gut. The sheets are clean. The midwives calm. The Grand Maester, asleep in the chair by the fire.

And, in the Queen’s arms, the smallest wrapped bundle he has ever seen.

“Is that…” He swallows, dazed and speechless.

His cousin beams. “Come,” she says. “Come and meet her.”

Wordlessly, he approaches, taking care to make his footfalls light so as not to disturb the delicate creature enshrined in a mother’s embrace. As he draws close, he sees that the babe is not asleep as he had thought. Instead, open eyes look upward, deep dark indigo with the merest hint of lilac-violet-amethyst, the promise of Old Valyria in that muzzy, unfocused gaze.

This is the moment he meets you.

Aemma graciously accepts his silent question, relinquishing you to your uncle with naught but a gentle sigh and a stroke to the cheek. So little are you that you settle easily into the line of his arm, head to the crook of his elbow and rump to his cupped hand, light enough that it would be easy to forget you are even there. You let out a soft bleat, feet kicking beneath your swaddling—but that is all. For when that blue-nearly-purple stare shifts, locking with his, you fall silent, still. And so does he.

You are beautiful.

Of course you are. Viserys is hardly the handsomest of men, and Aemma comely enough though of no great noteworthiness, but their firstborn is about as lovely as any girl of nine summers can be. Your sister.

Gods, he thinks. Rhaenyra, an elder sister. The very notion of his spoiled little niece playing such a part seems unwittingly hilarious in this moment. She will not like being made to share her mama and papa—her uncle—with you.

Right now, that is irrelevant. His attention returns to the slope of your nose, the rosebud bloom of your lips, the blush of your rounded cheeks, tracking the near ethereal features of your face with a delicate fingertip. Newborns are dreadful looking things, usually, squished and red and misshapen. You look like a painting, or a doll made by the finest artisans, a sculpture rendered by magic rather than mortal hands. He wonders if it is love for you—and it is love, he has no doubt of that, for his love of family is perhaps the one true redeeming quality he possesses—that blinds him to any imperfection, or if you really are as lovely as you seem.

“What will you name her?” he asks, smoothing the cloths off your fragile little head to take the briefest peek at your scalp. Ah—there it is. Targaryen silver. With an Arryn for a mother, one could never be certain.

“Rhaenyra’s insisted on naming her sister Visenya.”

Daemon glances toward the foot of the bed. Viserys has returned, absent of his loyal hound, drawing near without his notice.

He snorts. “How very like her.” ‘Tis true; Rhaenyra has always been fixated on stories of the Conqueror and his wives, in particular forming a fascination for the elder of Aegon’s Queens. It is a powerful name. A warrior’s name. He frowns. “A fine name—but not for this little thing.”

Visenya is anger and retribution; violence and chaos; death and destruction. Daemon can find nothing of the sort in you. Every part of you—from the tips of your fuzzed palewhite hair to the petite softness of your wiggly little feet—seems fit for a destiny of another kind. One of peace, of calm, of joy and goodness.

Aemma hums an agreement, wholly preoccupied with gazing at her newest child. “If she were a son, her name would be Baelon.”

“Hm.” Viserys steps forward, palm brushing featherlight across your side as he passes to sit by his wife. “Baelon and Visenya. Those are the names we had prepared. But alas, Baelon was not to be. And Visenya is not… right.”

Daemon stands, bringing you a scant few steps toward the window. Dawn is approaching. The sky has relinquished the darkness of night, and there, on the horizon, the faintest of ambers illuminates the locus where the heavens and the earth meet, silhouetting the city below. As he watches the sun rise, he just barely hears the staff behind him make their final exits, awash in a rustle of equipment and a hush of words offered to their mistress and exultant ruler.

A tiny noise below draws his interest. Your eyelids have drooped, soft lashes framing lavender lids that sweep across the skin of your cheeks. When he dips his finger into the parting of your mouth, you begin to suckle at him, reflex rather than need.

“What would you call her?” Aemma asks after seconds, minutes, hours. He turns, brow arched in surprise. She seems genuinely curious, though she is admittedly not one for mean-spirited japes as it is. His cousin has always valued his opinion more than his brother ever had, even if was she who had forced his bitch of a wife upon him. “If you could,” she adds, “what name would you give her?”

He looks to Viserys, wordlessly asking for permission. A dip of the chin is his response. Letting loose a soft grunt, he peers down at his small charge.

Visenya is too fierce. Gael too glum. Too many fucking ‘Rhae’ names, so no Rhaenys. Daella too bland, Saera too provocative, Alysanne too common.

And then, he thinks upon it. The perfect name. Your name. When he says it aloud, he is met with a shine in Aemma’s eyes, a gleam in Viserys’s grin.

“That is it,” the King says, nodding decisively. “That is what we shall call her.” Rising, he comes forward to clap Daemon on the shoulder lightly, hand warm even through the layers of his shirt and coat. “Thank you, brother.”

“Your Grace,” he murmurs, tipping his head.

There is a tightening in his chest, the sort of feeling that threatens to stop his heart from the depth of his own enduring emotion. As Viserys makes his way to the door to deliver the announcement—to proclaim your birth, to order the ringing of the bells, to declare your name for the entire world to hear and know—Daemon gazes down at you.

“What do you think, sweetling?” He says your name again.

This time, he swears that you smile back at him.

Read on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48798151/chapters/123097897

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#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #asoiaf fanfiction #matt smith #house targaryen #targaryen #fire and blood #dance of dragons

[vivacissimx]

The puzzle piece about Rhaegar that is really interesting but unfortunately often overlooked is that he was relieved when he realized he was not TPTWP. Yes, relieved. Conflicted too which I will get into. And I believe it is obvious that when Rhaegar first read about Aegon's prophecy, he was not enthused— It seems I must be a warrior is trotted out to talk about Rhaegar's gender expression, his disconnect with capital m Masculinity that is purposely contrasted to Robert Baratheon reveling in it (indeed only making sense within the context of violence, battle, war) but there is more to the compulsion involved in the words It seems and I must than just It seems I must become an archetype. Socially becoming a fighter was already expected of him but he was not, presumably, in compliance with this expectation. The prophecy motivated him in a different way than you will be socially rewarded for acting as a man does.

Which brings me to another point i.e. how Rhaegar perceived himself prior to reading what he read; his connection to the tragedy of his birth and the grief, the resentment, the awkward dynamics between members of his family. "Oh he was a child" yes but we're told that Rhaegar did not act like, think like, or even particularly get along with others his age. So it's safe to say he was aware of Summerhall and felt it's shadow surrounding him from a young age. And Aegon's prophecy, combined with the Ghost of High Heart's prophecy, the events of Summerhall, put this weight on his shoulders completely into context. It was not that Rhaegar desired to be TPTWP because he took to it with determination but no particular joy. Every indicator just seemed to demand he give himself over to fulfilling this role. TPTWP was coming from Aerys and Rhaella's line? Well, he was their only child. Consult Maester Aemon on the matter? Yeah kid it's you. Ancient scrolls? Dusty, but they agree. Dead ancestors? Oh wait, they died so YOU could live. Woah.

This understanding basically necessitates us looking to ASOS Daenerys who also has some knowledge of TPTWP prophecy, and thanks to the Rhaegar-Daenerys pipeline, we can imagine that Rhaegar had similar thoughts to Daenerys, such as when she asks herself: The dragon has three heads. There are two men in the world who I can trust, if I can find them. I will not be alone then. We will be three against the world, like Aegon and his sisters. Who are Rhaegar's fellow two heads? Daenerys wonders at this, telling Jorah that her brothers are dead. Well Rhaegar's brothers die too, right in front of him. Rhaella suffers miscarriage after stillbirth after crib death. She is punished for this by Aerys via isolation and presumably Rhaegar is also kept separate from her— textually we know that Rhaegar was expected to take a sister to bride, i.e. further targcest was going to be enforced by Aerys, and to Rhaegar the loss would have also been of the other two people who would have fulfilled the requirements of the prophecy. Yes that's true. However, it was also the loss of his mother.

Rhaella was 13 when she had Rhaegar so it would be ridiculous to even think that she, a child, a Queen from when Rhaegar was 3, was this grand maternal figure to him. Of course she wasn't. There was too much on her shoulders. Too much on Aerys's shoulders as well, to be any sort of father except the kind who trotted Rhaegar out as an impressive little heir from time to time. Rhaegar was Aerys's success (it's the duty of the patriarch to sire sons who will continue the line) but as Rhaegar's siblings failed to survive, that success became a dicey thing. So when Viserys was born & survived, there is a thought that Rhaegar would latch onto such a sibling. This isn't the case— in fact, Viserys is Rhaella's. She coddles him. Keeps him close. Safe from Aerys (who already has Rhaegar). Viserys tells Dany stories about Rhaegar but this is done in the sense that he does not truly know Rhaegar. Why wouldn't Rhaegar have spent more time with Viserys, if he was motivated by fulfillment of the prophecy?

Because Viserys was Rhaella's, perhaps. Rhaegar never truly got to be his mother's son. To leech Viserys away from her... there's something in that. When Rhaella warmly welcomed Rhaegar's daughter, too. Rhaella's was Aerys's wife and property, which Rhaegar knew because he was also Aerys's property. Rhaella was mother to his brother. Rhaella was a grandmother to his daughter. She was everything but the woman who raised him.

"Rhaegar was a lonely man anyway due to his depression" yes that's true. There is an asceticism to Rhaegar Targaryen. The places he enjoys are bare and stripped, places he can keep his own company: Summerhall, the place of his birth, haunted, full of magic. Dragonstone where he retreats after his marriage, a place where the last embers of Valyria's magic died. Later the Tower of Joy is in a barren desert. But he finds a beauty in these places. He writes music that pushes him back into the shared world, songs he shares with people, about people, about lovers and those who sacrificed and who he is deeply moved by— almost like he's motivating himself. People are drawn to him.

Despite his lack of connection to Rhaella and Viserys he does bond with people. Arthur Dayne, who for all we can try and complicate, apply horseshoe theory to, is meant as the juxtaposition to characters such as the Smiling Knight. Brave as brass Myles Mooton whose memory his people still call upon. Richard Lonmouth and Jon Connington, both technically vassals to Robert Baratheon, funny little irony there. Princess Elia his wife who he is fond of along with the Dornishmen she comes to court with, "particularly" Prince Lewyn of the Kingsguard, who is in Rhaegar's confidence (per AWOIAF). These bonds seem strong because not a whiff of possible disloyalty on Rhaegar's part ever reaches Aerys despite it definitely existing and Aerys actively looking for it (again per AWOIAF). Do these confidantes know about Aegon's prophecy? IDK. At least in JonCon's case the answer seems to be no. However we also know JonCon wasn't actually the closest to Rhaegar. Nonetheless, I think we can assume that outside of Arthur Myles and Richard most of these were political relationships which Rhaegar pursued and all were concerned about Aerys's instability— there is also Tywin who Rhaegar performs certain overtures towards (such as knighting Gregor, Tywin's man, at a time when the Aerys-Tywin relationship had just grown particularly sour) indicating he'd like him as an ally. This is all straying away from TPTWP but I think it's important, it shows that even imbued with purpose, Rhaegar was in a position that did not lend itself towards him being able to take much action...

Then winter breaks. Spring comes. Nobody knows it's false yet. Rhaegar's whole deal is this coming Long Night. Everyone takes, quite literally, a breath of fresh air, and the tourney of Harrenhal commences, with Rhaegar as a shadow sponsor, thinking to call an informal Great Council which will begin to deal with Aerys (step 1)(step 1 failed).

This is where matters of prophecy come back into focus. I've covered Rhaegar's various relationships, the shallowness of them, the stagnancy in Developments due to Aerys's paranoia, etc. Harrenhal is not a solitary place but it is flush with magic in a way similar to Summerhall and Dragonstone— all places where dragons have died Harrenhal is thematically the cannibal dragon let's not get into that. And this is important to Rhaegar's characterization because of how things unfold with Lyanna Stark in several ways: 1) Lyanna cries to his song. Before they formally meet Lyanna is touched by the magic and purpose and sacrifice and yes, love, of which Rhaegar sings. It speaks to her. Of course, many others likely cried too. Common occurrence, see: A song of love and doom, Jon Connington recalled, and every woman in the hall was weeping when he put down the harp. Not the men, of course. Rhaegar gender moment but I digress. 2) Rhaegar's discovery of her as the KOTLT despite Robert & Richard Lonmouth both vowing to do so, those raucous manly men, both of whom failed; Rhaegar's subsequent hiding of her identity to unknown consequence for himself if any. All he produces is her shield which is painted with a tree on it, a purposeful callback to Duncan the Tall's shield, both Lyanna and Dunk being 'false knights' yet, in their actions, true ones. Sorry I love Lyanna so much I can't resist plugging her greatest hits 3) Rhaegar winning the tourney, the only tourney he's ever won... and immediately tainting his victory by awarding it to Lyanna instead.

I bring this all up and frame it because here we see that Rhaegar is not really invested in his own victory or legacy or even really his honor. His wife Princess Elia is there and she is pregnant with his son, something he could commemorate in the same vein that Aerys "honored" Rhaegar by showcasing him at various tourneys, an ode to a future warrior king, but Rhaegar doesn't do that. It's not his victory as a Man. It's never been about his victory as a Man. It doesn't even need to be his victory.

Neither does Aegon's prophecy. Rhaegar rapidly realizes that on two fronts: second, the false spring ends. It wasn't real! Rhaegar's spring isn't the lasting one. First, though, is that Rhaegar and Elia's son Aegon is born, a difficult birth in which Elia is rendered infertile. Who does this remind you of? Oh right, Aerys with Rhaella— only Rhaegar does not go about trying to impregnate Elia again. Rhaegar becomes convinced Aegon is TPTWP— something he was already thinking, prior. Rhaegar was never so invested in himself being TPTWP that he could not be convinced otherwise. Maester Aemon: Rhaegar, I thought... the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King's Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. Rhaegar agreeing "when he was young" and being "certain the bleeding star had to be a comet" all indicate that he had been looking into the possibility that TPTWP was Not Him for a while. The visits to Summerhall— maybe they were a search for proof by encasing himself in the lingering magic of the place? He still messed up the prince/princess translation presumably because baby Rhaenys never seemed to be in the conversation. (The bleeding star was in fact a comet, funnily enough, a little consolation prize for the pretty boy.) Here's what we know: in Daenerys's vision, Elia asks if Rhaegar will write Aegon a son, we can assume because he wrote their firstborn Rhaenys a song, but Rhaegar says no, he already has one. The song of ice and fire. Aegon doesn't get a song. Why? Rhaegar believes he must be a warrior.

Yet, he sings for him anyway.

Rhaegar's "it seems" and "I must" and distance from Viserys and inner conflict about Aerys and doubt about his own place in the grand scheme of things all come to fruition with Aegon's birth. Rhaegar isn't TPTWP— and it spurs him into action. A weight is off his shoulders so now he can act. As in the case of crowning Lyanna, when the purpose of a task is not to honor or elevate him, we see Rhaegar able to perform in ways he could not before.

Namely there are two veins: acting against Aerys and seeking out information of the prophecy, but Rhaegar's general direction (through the Riverlands past Harrenhal) seems to indicate that he was headed towards the Ghost of High Heart. Not Summerhall, a place of mysticism meant to soothe Rhaegar. Rather a place of pain. The Ghost of High Heart who gorged on grief at Summerhall, who only ever demands Jenny's song (which Rhaegar seems to have wrote), who sees in Arya who looks like Lyanna, who looks like Jon, death. But instead of ever making it there... Rhaegar meets Lyanna.

And then they disappear. There are the Rhaegarwars to consider so I'm just going to say that, at the least, Lyanna did not want to marry Robert though society dictated that she must, and in removing her, she was removed from this. From there she came to be in Dorne in a place that was desolate desert, but similar to Summerhall, which was also abandoned, held something of magic in that it was near where Those Who Sing The Song of the Earth had split the Arm of Dorne. We can say a lot more about this but that's not the point of the post. I have explained Rhaegar as a person disconnected from his mother, later a person who in several manners refuses to act as Aerys did towards Rhaella, indicating that disconnect troubled him — Rhaegar's limited amount of close relationships with people he admired and the deep loyalty shown to him, presumably for a reason — Rhaegar's willingness to interrogate himself & his assumptions about the world.

So when I say Rhaegar was relieved what I mean is that upon suspecting and, to his mind, confirming that he was not the fulfillment of Aegon's prophecy, Rhaegar became proactive in ways he had yearned for but not been able to before. The Rhaegar that died with Lyanna's name as his last word was not a Rhaegar who died thinking the world was doomed without him. I think the Rhaegar that died on the Trident was a Rhaegar who had escaped the shadow of fate only to meet it, face to face.

#rhaegar targaryen #asoiaf #valyrian scrolls #text #lyanna stark #gender in asoiaf #daenerys targaryen #rhaella targaryen #aerys targaryen #once again the tags are for my ownnn organization #rhaegarposting

[anonymouscheeses]

Hazbin hotel theory (not circus related 🙄)

So we all know Charlie and Vaggie resemble alot of Lucifer and Lillith right?

Lucifer is a fallen angel and Vaggie is a fallen angel. Both sacrificing so much for their lovers. Both having different ideals and beliefs aside from the majority of heaven, because of that they both end up in hell. Also literal head over heels for their wives. Lucifer still wears his ring and Vaggie has very few scenes outside of Charlie.

Charlie and Lillith are both demons, although I guess Lillith is more human I think. But, they both fit in the other category. They both have fallen angel lovers. It's said in the opening cutscene that Lillith was an activist who sang as a way to influence. Charlie is an activist who sings in "ready for this" to persuade the cannibals to join her fight against heaven.

Personality and design wise though, Charlie and Lucifer are the most similar. Lillith and Vaggie? From what we've seen Lillith seemed loving in her pictures but calm and serious at the majority, if that doesn't describe Vaggie I don't know what does. Also Lillith wears purple and Vaggie is at this point purple coded 💀

It's implied that Lucifer had romantic or at the least smeggsual 🤭 relations to Eve. Sure it could have been a joke/lie, but clearly Adam gets pissed and doesn't say that he's wrong. I'd like to think Lillith and Eve also had romantic ties but there's not enough shown of them to make even an evidential guess. It's obvious tho that Lucifer at least was with the both of them at some point. (Maybe even Eve gave birth to Charlie since Lillith was cursed with miscarriages. At least if Viv still wants to keep that. No. No... Lucifer did NOT give birth to Charlie... youre jst weird... /j)

So... if Lucifer, Lillith, and Eve were once all in a polycule or at least a vee(two date one)....

who would be the one that stands in as Eve since Charlie and Vaggie are Lillith and Lucifer?

Plot twist. I'm a two and half halo shipper. It's Emily yall... 😨

HEAR MEE OUTTT!!!

In this image below, Vaggie is jealous that Charlie is holding Emily's hands(YES. CHARLIE IS HOLDING HER HANDS, NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND. Charlie is very touchy sshh) which is kind of weird they would include that tiny scene. Sure, it could just be comedic but what's comedy except a person who looks too much into a small 1 millisecond scene. It still puts in a dynamic that at first isn't implied to be romantic but! But, having this one scene still creates a slightly romantic undertone dynamic. Even if it's not heavily implied, Vaggie sees Emily as someone who's taking moves on her girlfriend. (Which could also imply Lillith and Eve's first impression before they got in a polycule.)

What I'm about to say is pure speculation, there still isn't much to go off of in the show at the moment with these six. But I think I have some points that maayyy just be smart for an idiot like me :3. Emily is an angel yes, but we aren't sure what Eve's fate was, where she went or what happened to her after. Maybe she stayed with Adam(after the creation of sin), and if Adam could go to heaven, a man who also ate the apple, then I believe Eve could too, it doesn't matter who started(assuming Adam did eat the apple in the show. Most likely.) What I like to speculate is that Eve went to heaven with Adam, although she didn't feel happy in their marriage and decided to make herself a fallen angel to be with Lucifer and Lillith, her true lovers.

Now the similarities with Eve and Emily? They both are against the ideas of those higher than them in heaven. Emily is against the idea of extermination in hell because she feels its unnecessary genocide. Eve went against heavens orders and ate the apple from Lucifer for knowledge. Oh also look haha their hair is kinda similar in the images below(not actual evidence but still its kinda cool) That's where the current canon similarities end. But ofc the big well known theory is that Emily will become a fallen angel because she goes against Sera's wishes. I HOPE she doesn't but in this show? Yeah, most likely. Currently Emily hasn't taken action, but maybe one day she will, which is the most likely situation. And if I'm right that Eve was a fallen angel then that would also be ANOTHER similarity. (Also. Ya'll.... the woman who picked up baby Charlie in "more than anything" was NOT Lillith. Like okay, maybe she is, but that didn't look like her AT ALL. She didn't have the same slick back mullet. But, in the image below, Eve and the woman who picked up baby Charlie have the exact same hair. Jst another thing I wanted to throw in to further evident that Lucifer Lillith and Eve were in a polycule/vee)

I LOVE TWO AND A HALF HALOS SO MUCH GUYSS. PLEASE FEED INTO MY NAIVETY. LUCIFER'S STOLEN WIVES AND CHARLIE'S ANGELS ARE LITERALLY CANON AND NO ONE CAN SAY OTHERWISE TO ME 😭😭

BONUS!! Adam is Lillith's ex rightt??? Well Lute is basically Vaggie's ex. Sure, you could argue that- no. No girl, they was exes, I know, Viv told me herself smhhh..... not only are both Lucifer and Vaggie fallen angels because they had different ideals from heaven, Lillith and Charlie are both activists who use their voice as powers, Eve and Emily go against heaven, BUT LILLITH AND VAGGIE BOTH HAVE EXES??

Bro, Adam and Lute are also besties like? The polycules kicked them out and then they were like, "nuh uh, now we're gonna date eachother since yall don't want us" 😭

Basically what I'm saying is that Lucifer's stolen wives and Charlie's angels are Canon and no one can say otherwise because I'm so smart. If anyone says they aren't just link them to here and BOOM we got another one added to the small ship. Also. This is so underrated. Ya'll.. the potential is so crazy. And since Charlie and Vaggie are already established it would be so intense and adorable to watch Emily try to impress and date them both. Uggghh so.... hyperfixated..... I hope this isn't my special interest now 😭

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel lilith #hazbin hotel eve #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel emily #lucifer morningstar #lillith morningstar #eve morningstar #because atp thats her name bro 🙄 #charlie morningstar #vaggie #two and a half halos #unholy trinity #what are the ship names again #lucifers stolen wives #I DONT KNOW IF THERES A SHIP NAME FOR THEM I HAVENT CHECKED AT ALL #chaggie #rainbowmoth #varlie #angelicmoth #royalhalo #lucilith #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin theory #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lute #ALSO. SINCE EMILYS BLOOD IS GOLD LIKE THE POOL IN MORE THAN ANYTHING WHEN CHARLIE TOUCHED THE URINE IN ALASTORS CIRCUS #DOES THAT MEAN EMILY KNOWS THAT ALASYOR IS SECRETLY A CIRCUS THAY LURES PPL INTO HIS TENT TO TOUCH HIS URINE??!?!?!

[bella-goths-wife]

Hi :3, i am new in here and i'm a bit lose, ¿Why does Vox sees their pet like a substitute daughter 🥲?

Sorry if the question it's a bit dumb, but i genuinely don't understand that 🥲

Anyways, i hope you have a great and lovely day (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ (and sorry if i said something wrong, english it's not my first language)

No it’s okay, I’d love to explain it :D

Why does Vox see pet as a daughter

Warnings: mentions of miscarriage and pregnancy, obsessive behaviour, forced affection, forced paternal behaviour, just overall a complicated and sick dynamic, abuse mentions

This is just my story’s backstory for Vox since i can’t find a canon backstory

So we all know that vox is from the 1950s

And we know that most men from the 1950s had it built into them that it was their duty to continue the family name and legacy by marrying a nice girl and having a few kids

And I believe Vox would be a very big believer in legacy and having an heir to pass down his legacy to, since he was probably a big celebrity and quite wealthy

But during his time of being alive, he never had any children

He had an arranged marriage that was set up by his father, in which he married a woman he had never or would never love

But Vox wanted one thing from this marriage, one simple thing that he craved so heavily

A child

At first he was convinced he wanted a boy, someone who he could mold into being someone worthy of carrying on his last name

But then he realised something, having a son would only challenge Vox as the man of the house

What if his son became more than Vox or overpassed him?

Most fathers would be proud of their son achieved great things but the thought only made Vox seethe in jealousy that one day his legacy would be surpassed by something he created

But a daughter, she would be his to protect without the worry that she would ever overpass him

He wanted something he could own and protect, something to be part of his legacy but always staying below him

A daughter is what Vox wanted more than anything, a daughter that was strong enough to be given his last name but weak enough to need his protection

Of course he’d want a son or two to continue his last name, but a daughter is the only child he’d ever love

Sadly, he and his wife were unable to have children with his wife only being able to conceive and lose pregnancies

The furthest pregnancy that they got to was when his wife was six months pregnant before losing the baby

During the six months Vox fantasised about his child, his perfect girl who he would love more than anything

So when his wife lost the baby, he felt a part of himself lock away forever

The softer part of himself was pushed away to die

He threw himself into his work to distract himself from the loss of his child

He also threw himself into many criminal situations and made very bad decisions which would later land him a place in hell

Vox had already given up on the thought of having children during the living and finding out that sinners couldn’t conceive only pushed him further into the belief that having a daughter wasn’t in the cards for him

And then he met you

Granted when he met you he just assumed you were another scrawny sewer rat who had to steal and cheat just to afford some food

But you quickly changed his mind once you started working for him

Seeing your abilities progress and grow stronger was a magnificent sight for Vox, it was an achievement that he had coined for himself as your mentor

Combining your abilities was also an amazing feeling, to know that there was someone in hell who could only enhance his power made him feel like he could rule the underworld

You unlocked parts of him that he had long forgotten, a more forgiving and softer side

You were strong enough to protect yourself but also weak enough to need his protection

You were smart enough to keep up with Voxs conversations but also naive enough to manipulate to his wishes

You had a strong ability but not strong enough to survive outside of his providing, at least in his mind

You were young enough for him to be able to see as a child at 18, but also old enough for him to be able to exploit you and profit off of you

You were the perfect heir in his mind, the daughter he had always craved

So Vox would find himself being fatherly towards you and showing you fatherly affection, even if he ignored the way you tensed up at his touch

But parts of Vox hated this and denied his attachment to you

He wanted to smack himself for being weak and bending to his own obsessive cravings, but instead he smacks you instead to rid himself of feelings that could soften the sharp image he had created of himself

He craves your presence but despises the thought of you

But because he suppressed his fatherly feelings for you, they manifested into an abusive and obsessive addiction

He obsesses over every minuscule part of you and exposes it because he wants to know you but doesn’t want to get close enough for you to become a weakness to himself

Vox abuses you because he fears you most of all, he fears that the mere thought of you dating sends him into a blind rage or the thought of you getting hurt sends him into a deep panic

He wants to hold you close but parts of him want to smother you in his arms to make it so he doesn’t care for anyone anymore

So vox will always see you as a daughter in his mind no matter how much he tries to deny and suppress it

The only thing his denial does is make his feelings manifest into an abusive and obsessive relationship with you

He sees you as his daughter that he has always craved, and you see him as your abuser who will always be watching you

@hazbinhotelxreader @idontreallyexistyet @perkypeony @sparkleyfishies @buttercupfangirl @repostingmyfavs @lilyalone @the-faceless-bride @fandomaddict505 @corvid007 @rerarlo

#hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin vaggie #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #hazbin alastor #hazbin husk #yandere hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #hazbin vox #hazbin adam #yandere vox x reader #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #vox #yandere velvette x reader #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin velvette #velvette x reader #vs pet #yandere valentino #hazbin valentino #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #yandere alastor x reader #alastor x reader #alastor x you #charlie morningstar

[viaoverthemoon]

I have a small request here too✋ I was thinking about Leon (damnation maybe) x fem!reader with reader being his daughter's kindergarten teacher, and the little one falls in love with her and wants to spend more time with reader, and Leon he finds himself forced to accept this, so he falls in love with the reader. It can be with smut at the end or just something romantic, it doesn't matter.

I hope I explained it ok, I've had this idea in my head for some time but I don't know how to express it 😂❤️❤️

Oooo this sounds so cute stawpppp.

Since I have another fic in the works that's drenched in smut, I'll keep this one fluffy. ;)

Damnation!Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're a kindergarten teacher for Leon Kennedy's daughter and she wants to keep you forever!

Tw: Fluff, Mention of deceased relative, Mention of past miscarriage

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!

Enjoy! <3

To Belong

❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁

"Congratulations, Arabella! It looks like you're our student of the week!"

You gently place the pin on Arabella's shirt, smiling widely at her proud expression.

Being a kindergarten teacher definitely has its downs. But also has its ups as well. One of those ups being the honor of teaching these innocent children. Every day is something new, a new experience that makes you realize the importance of raising the next generation.

Arabella turns towards you, smiling so wide her cheeks must hurt. She grabs onto your leg. "Thank you, Miss (L/N)! This means so much to me!"

You smile down at her, proud of her for using the feelings lesson you'd taught her, and crouch to her level to give her a hug. "You're welcome, Arabella! I'm so proud of you. Thank you for being such a kind student!"

She seems to take your praise very seriously, being super kind to her classmates and staying by you side, asking if you need help or service in any kind of way.

❁

At the end of the day when everyone has left, you sit alone at your desk.

Whilst flipping from one graded paper to another, the door to your classroom creaks open.

You raise your head just in time to see Arabella run into the room, screaming with her arms in the air. "MISS (L/N)!!!!"

You laugh as she runs around your desk and hugs you, babbling nonsense excitedly. "Oh my goodness! Back so soon, Arabella?"

She gives a hyper nod. "Yes!"

"'Yes ma'am', Bella."

Your eyes snap up, locking with a pair of bright blues.

You look at him, surprised.

The man held a strong resemblance to Arabella, minus the straight blonde hair Arabella carried. They shared blue eyes and a soft face. If anything, his rough exterior yet light features suited him. Gave him a mysterious and alluring air that draws people to him, searching to learn more about him.

"Oh- yes ma'am- Daddy look, look! This is the nice teacher I was telling you about!"

You rise from your chair and hold out a hand with a smile. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Kennedy."

He shakes your hand and offers a nod. "Pleasure to meet you too, Miss (L/N). As you can see, I've heard quite a lot about you."

He gives his daughter a pointed look that makes you laugh. You gesture to the seat across from your desk, offering him a seat as you settle back into your chair. "I assume there's a reason you're here that I could help you with?"

Mr. Kennedy sits in the chair, seemingly tired as he falls into the seat and instinctively spreads his legs.

You try your hardest not to acknowledge the action, but your eyes fail you, flickering down his frame for half a second before returning to his face.

You instantly regret your mistake when he smirks at you, straightening up just a bit and resting his arms on his legs. "Actually, I was hoping to discuss what Arabella's behaviors are like while she's at school, as well as how she's learning." He pauses. "I mean, obviously if she's getting student of the month for the 2nd time, she's doing pretty good."

He smiles and playfully ruffles Arabella's hair, earning a laugh from the 5-year-old. "But still. It would be nice to hear from her teacher, not her."

You clear your throat and nod, turning away to escape the burn of his gaze and pulling out a folder labeled A.K., Arabella Kennedy's character chart.

"Of course, I understand. Let's start with how she handles assignments."

❁

After about 45 minutes of talking, Leon seems satisfied with his daughter's school life and begins to pack up his things to leave. But Arabella becomes upset, running to you and refusing to let go of your leg.

"No! I'm not ready to say bye to Miss (L/N) yet!"

She throws the standard child tantrum, small tears streaming down her reddened puffed out cheeks as you gently try to coax her into letting go.

"Arabella... Don't be upset. You'll see me again on Monday-"

But she's relentless, shaking her head and kicking away Mr. Kennedy's hands as he tries to reach for her.

Eventually, he sighs and looks at you embarrassingly. "I'm so sorry Miss (L/N). She's hardly ever like this."

Seeing as this is something you deal with all the time, you just shake your head, offering a small smile. "Don't worry about it. I'm used to this behavior... I'm about to leave for the day. If you guys want, we could go out for a quick dinner? This way, we won't have to part so soon."

This gets the crying 5-year-old to quiet down almost immediately. She looks up from your leg, tears and snot smeared all over your pant leg. "Really? Can we?"

You look up at Mr. Kennedy, raising a brow for conformation. And, seeing as there was no way around it, he gives in.

❁

And from that moment forward, you and the Kennedy family became quite close.

You shared a few dinners and spent time together at amusement parks and entertainment events, eventually becoming so close that you'd even watch Arabella when Leon had to leave for reasons of his job.

You listen to his stories, and he listens to yours.

He shares how he and Arabella have no one else to depend on. Her mother, although she and Leon didn't have a good relationship, had died during childbirth. And how he'd lost his own parents long ago, growing up an orphan and not having much.

And you share only having your parents. You could have had a little one yourself, but unfortunately grieved a harsh miscarriage and the father of the child leaving soon after didn't help.

You both end up having more in common than you'd originally thought.

And now, you share more than just experiences and memories. Now, you share shy looks and ghostly touches.

Somedays his hand will graze yours and you both will avoid each other's gaze, ignoring the sudden spark that comes when you make contact.

That is until, one night Leon returns from a particularly long job to find you curled up on his living room couch with a book in hand, reading glasses perched on the bridge of your nose.

"Hey, sorry for the long night. Never meant to be gone that long." He shrugs off his leather jacket and throws it over the arm of his second couch.

You eye his fatigued figure for a moment before removing your glasses and putting down your book. "No, it's alright. You know I don't mind, Leon."

Sitting up, you pat the spot next to you on the couch, offering him a seat. "Arabella's upstairs asleep in her room..." He gives a soft grunt and falls on the couch, rubbing the back of his neck while nodding and muttering a 'Good. Thank you.'

Eyes skillfully assessing his behavior, you decide to ask him the question that's been on your mind. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

He glances at you through his peripheral but instantly looks away. "Yes. I'm fine. You can go now."

In all honesty, the way he suggested you leaving hurt your feelings. But you didn't relent. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to stay..."

Reaching a hand out, you place it on top of his on his lap. He flinches slightly, but doesn't push you away. He pauses for a second...

And then he relaxes, flipping his hand over to wrap it around yours.

Your heart is in your throat and the palms of your hands begin to sweat. But you don't show it, smiling shyly at Leon and holding his hand.

He doesn't look at you. Doesn't show any signs that he acknowledges you besides the fact that he isn't letting go of your hand. "Why do you stay? Why do you want to stay?"

The monotone question catches you off guard. You momentarily freeze as his eyes find you.

Blue frozen glaciers filled with oceans and rivers of pure sadness and regret. The emotion in his eyes makes you briefly wonder where he finds the space for the happiness he feels with Arabella.

Or if he'll have the space for happiness with you.

You take a moment to think, looking down at your linked hands and gliding a thumb over the warmth of his skin. "I feel happiest when I'm here with the two of you. As you know, I don't have much. All I've had to look forward to has been my students... but now... I have the both of you."

You look him in the eyes, trying to convey your emotions through the look in yours. "These past few weeks have been the best I've lived through in years... I'm tired of living alone, Leon. Life is worth so much more when you spend it with somebody else."

He looks at you in shock, not sure what to say about your sudden confession. His mouth opens and closes like a fish, trying to choose the right words to say.

You look away bashfully. "Er- What I'm trying to say is... I'd like it if we could spend... more time together. And see each other more often. But-! It's completely up to you, of course."

For a moment, the silence is nerve wracking. You try not to fidget too much or show that you're anxious in awaiting his answer.

You're beginning to lose hope when Leon's hands are suddenly on your hips.

You're so surprised by his actions that you hardly notice him gently coaxing you into sitting on his lap.

Your legs straddle his thighs, backside rested on his knees when you suddenly notice your position. Your face burns hot, and you rest your hands on his shoulders.

His hands find purchase on your waist. "If I'm being honest, I expected you to leave us a long time ago... I didn't mean to be rude. I just didn't think you'd stay."

He caresses your sides, warm hands heating through the fabric of your clothes. "And... I would like it- a lot if you stayed with us. Not only would you make me happy, but you'd make Arabella happy too. And that matters more than anything."

You pretend to ponder on your decision, looking away with a small smile on your face before turning back to Leon. "Well... I guess I can stick around-"

The sentence barely leaves your lips before Leon pulls you in, kissing you with so much relieved passion that you momentarily feel dizzy.

And for once, you feel like you truly belong somewhere.

Yes. This feeling is definitely one you can get used to.

❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁❁´◡`❁

Nobody: My inbox screaming and crying for help: 😓😭😭☠️ Me with 0 internet or data: 🧍🏾‍♀️💃📖

Hope you enjoyed!

More requests coming soon!

Requests are open!! <3

#viaoverthemoon #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon x reader #resident evil #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #re4 leon #re4 #smut #leon s kennedy #resident evil leon #leon re4 #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy smut #leon scott kennedy #re4 remake #leon kennedy x y/n

[whencyclopedia]

Childbirth in Ancient Rome

Childbirth in ancient Rome was considered the main purpose of marriage. Roman girls married in their early teens, and in elite society, some married before they reached puberty. The legal age for marriage was 12 for a girl; 15 was accepted as being an age fit for conception.

The ability to produce a family was also an explicit political concern in Roman society. Emperor Augustus (r. 27 BCE to 14CE) was particularly troubled by the declining birth rate, especially amongst the upper classes, when he promoted legislation, the Julian Laws in 18 BCE and the Papia-Poppaean Laws in 9 CE, which included measures to promote marriage and reward freeborn women who had more than three children.

Risks & Mortality

There were many risks involved during pregnancy both for mother and child; Pliny the Younger (61 to c. 113 CE) in his Epistulae highlights those risks when he writes of his own young wife, who did not realise that she was pregnant and failed to take certain precautions resulting in her suffering a miscarriage and being gravely ill (8.10). He also writes of the tragedy of two young sisters whom he knew, who both died giving birth (Epist. 4.21.1-3). For any pregnant young girl in labour, physical immaturity could have an adverse effect on the possibility of a normal birth; the remains of a 16-year-old pregnant female discovered in Herculaneum, buried by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, indicates that this girl may have died anyway struggling to give birth because her immature pelvis was too narrow.

The rates of child mortality at birth or in the first five years of life were high with one in three children dying in their first year, many within the first few weeks. Fronto (95-166 CE), the tutor of Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius (r. 161-180 CE), tells of his own personal experience of having lost five children, losing each one separately, each one being born at a time when he bereaved another (1.2 Fronto, To Antoninus Augustus ii. 1-2). To counteract mortality rates, fertility rates needed to be high, a woman in antiquity on average gave birth five or six times as some of those children would not survive. Certainly, the cases of maternal and infant mortality would have varied with the socio-economic classes in Roman society; families in the lower classes had to cope with hardship and poverty, and for the newborn, the risks of infant mortality were compounded by poor diet, poor sanitation, and poor medical knowledge.

Continue reading...

#History #RomanRepublic #RomanMedicine #RomanEmpire

[shotmrmiller]

09 Wife pregnancy HC with 22 Simon (some nsfw) @nunezr29

Simon is the one with the babycenter app that tells him how far along you are and what size of veggie or fruit is the baby.

He reads up on all foods you can and cannot eat. Unpasteurized cheeses? In your dreams. Uncooked sushi? Forget about it.

Simon also harps on you eating a complete meal. "Meaning it's got to have protein, carbs, and greens, love. No, iced coffee and bread is not the same."

Speaking of coffee, only one cup. He prefers if you switched to tea, but it's whatever you want.

The fridge always has apple juice. It's tart enough for you to get rid of the taste of bile once you're done throwing up in the morning.

No eggs, you hate the smell of them. Got it.

Simon hears you complain once about how your pants don't fit, so now your closet is full of maternity clothing. You're 14 weeks along.

At 15 weeks, the chances of a miscarriage have gone drastically lower, and Simon can say that he sleeps a little easier at night.

Your belly is getting bigger, and it's finally starting to sink in for Simon. He's going to be a father— you're going to birth his baby. He showers you with praise when you finally have the energy to have sex with him. (He comes way too fast because it's been weeks since he last had you)

He isn't afraid of 'hurting the baby' during sex. He's afraid of hurting you. Are you okay like this? Can you breathe okay? Are you too sensitive? Does this hurt?

Now you're in the second trimester. Your skin is glowing, your energy is back, and your belly is larger. Beautiful.

Simon takes you in front of a mirror so he can tell you what he sees. Hips that are getting wider to accommodate his baby. Stretch marks that he traces with his fingertips because if you aren't repulsed by his scars, how could he ever dream of not loving yours. Your body is softer and fuller, and he only sees it as him doing a damn good job at providing for you.

then the 20th week comes along. Time to find out the gender of the baby! When the midwife points at the screen to tell him what it is, he cries. Full-on weeps because "I'm gonna have a little girl."

When the midwife asks if he wants to do the screening test for any genetic disorders, he firmly says no. "Only thing tha' matters to me is tha' she's born healthy."

Your libido is through the roof. Which is great for him, make no mistake, but sometimes you wring him dry. Also, the extra slick from the hormones is something that drives him absolutely crazy.

Simon takes all of your mood swings like a champ. He lets you get angry at him without fighting back, he holds you when you cry over a picture of a cute turtle.

Your belly is large now, in your 3rd trimester and Simon calls the guys over one day to help set up all of the baby furniture, and the nursery.

The midwife visits turn bi-weekly instead of monthly, so you think it's a good idea to have a baby shower. Simon doesn't let anyone in apart from the 141 and their wives, and he thoroughly inspects any gifts he gets at work from anyone. If he so much as comes across something that could be potentially harmful to you or his baby, he'll have their head.

Then the visits turn weekly until you wake him up at 3 am one night and inform him that it's time. He immediately calls the midwife, and she tells him to blow up the small pool and that she'll be there soon.

He calls all of the guys and tells them that his baby is about to make her grand entrance.

#multiverse cod

[maximumkillshot]

"I Can't Lose You" Part 5

Warnings: Aftermath of a miscarriage, some fluff, descriptions of grief due to losing a baby, Crying LeeKnow, There are flashes of death. Shock, Grief, There is anger... and yes that's a warning.

Pairing: Bangchan x Reader

Characters:  Stray Kids, Reader

A/N: Ok if you read the above, you'll notice that anger is in the warnings... We are going to see a lot here. Hold on, okay? I LOVE YOU GUYS AND I AM SORRY IN ADVANCE.

ALL WORK IS UNDER ME AND MY BLOG. DO NOT TRY TO REPUBLISH OR STEAL MY WORK, AS THAT IS COPYRIGHTED UNDER ME AND IS CONSIDERED COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WHICH IS A PUNISHABLE OFFENSE. 

ANY WORK THAT YOU SEE ON OTHER SITES THAT ARE MY WORKS PLEASE NOTIFY ME IMMEDIATELY.

Also remember, this is a fan fic. All of the boys are so sweet IRL.

Stray Kids! Masterlist

Overall Masterlist

Previously:

That half an hour never went by quicker. They stood on the phone as they waited, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. As soon as the clock hit 8:30 am all I could hear was wind… 

"We are running to you right now!" Minho said. 

I could hear the occasional shove and giggle. A few minutes later there was a stampede of sneakers on the floor and as they walked in Minho said "In 3..2..1.." then he pulled the curtain back and hung up. 

Now:

Everyone gave Minho a little room. He wouldn't admit it, but he has a soft spot for you, he always did. From the minute you came into their lives, Minho always treated you like a sister. 

He held and still holds the utmost respect for you. He trusted you so much. He would fall asleep on you during long drives, give you the keys to his place to play with the cats, he also would talk to you about any and everything. 

You still looked pale, frail, and exhausted. Your face sunken in, every move causing a slight wince. You were a shell of who you normally are. He could sense it. That is what made him want to break. Where is his bubbly, eccentric, and lively sister? Where is the sparkle in your eyes? The immediate hearty laugh that he came to know and love.

Some of his best memories with you were full of smiles and laughs. Like when you tried to learn how to cook beef Wellington and you almost burned the kitchen down and all you did was laugh and say "it's the Wellington's fault! I did what I was told to do and it decided to burn." Your smile was ear to ear and your cheeks had the cutest blush to them.

Now when he saw you, you did smirk… but not smile. It didn't reach your eyes. He could feel the hole in your heart. Fresh and still bleeding. He wanted to find where that chunk of your heart went, put it back, and stitch you back together again, even though, deep down, he knew you wouldn't get that piece back.

Minho wanted to put you back together, like what you've done for him thousands of times. He wanted to hold you and protect you, to shelter you, he wanted to take it away. All of it. As the oldest he didn't want to let it show, but he felt responsible.

How did he not see the signs? They were all right in his face. Leaving practice last minute, chuckling and giggling at his phone but refusing to show it to him, even some as blatant as he's going to meet up with a "friend". Minho still replays it in his head. Seeing Soo walk down that hallway only took the knife already in every single one of the boys' hearts and twisted it more. She was mortified when she saw the boys staring at her. Her face looked like it was already white, the blush of embarrassment was clear. He remembered everyone's faces and reactions. 

Felix looked disgusted to be in the same room as her. Seungmin was glaring at her, clear that all he wanted to do was scream at her, shame her. Han almost screamed at her as well as Hyunjin. Minho had to cover Han’s mouth while Innah covered Hyunjin’s. Minho knew that they had to listen to what was happening down the hall. They had to make sure that you were okay, that’s why it was imperative for everyone to be quiet. Minho knows it takes two people to cheat, and that fact alone made all of this even worse. How could anyone do this to their best friend? She let herself out with a small ‘I’m sorry’.

But by far the worst expression was Changbin’s. Bin’s eyes still haunt Minho. He was the first to see her walking down, as he was the most on edge in the room. Seeing Soo? That shocked his system, he slowly backed up until he hit the wall farthest from the hall, clearly not his conscious being doing it. Minho could see the fact that Bin was not completely registering he was seeing her. When it finally did hit, Minho saw Bin’s being shatter for you. Minho saw as his eyes snapped from Soo to the hallway. His feet were frozen, he was trying to move closer to the hall again, wanting to move. Minho knew why he couldn’t move, he was broken for you. How do you comfort someone that was betrayed by their spouse and their best friend? He was so shocked, he let his body slide down the wall, hands in his hair. He kept looking down the hall, hearing intently, just in case he was needed but still in a crouch.

He felt a rage building at the memory, he saw himself going back to the house and dragging him here. Watching as he sees his whole life crumble in front of him. Even that wouldn't be enough payment for what he's done. 

Then he looked into your eyes, kindness and strength were all he could find. After all of this shit how are you still kind? How are you strong? He thought to himself. If he was in your shoes he would’ve dropped everyone and everything. Yet here you were. Welcoming Minho in. Your broken pieces in your hands, heart still bleeding, your life crumbling in one night, Why are you looking at me like that? He thought. 

A look of comforting silence, the want to help, why do you always want to help? Your hands open, showing the pieces, offering them to him…Everything is gone and you still want to give? His chest was getting tight and he didn’t know it but he started shaking slightly.

 Your voice mere minutes ago playing, ‘I can’t lose you MinMin. I can’t lose my boys, m’not strong enough,’He felt his being deflate, his soul cracking. Oh… we’re all you have. You are kind, loving,giving, strong, resilient, graceful, funny, and a million other things. Why? Why did he do that to her, why I don’t understand. She didn’t do anything. She only gave, time, affection, love to everyone she meets so why? Why did he do that to her? Why did they do that to her? It makes no sense. He was subconsciously bargaining. Wishing he fell asleep in the car, or he was in some elaborate nightmare… then why isn’t the nightmare ending, he feels his heart breaking, it should be over. He’s scared, not for himself but for you. The scream was real. Bin’s reaction was real… this isn’t a nightmare I WANT TO WAKE UP!.. He already was awake. 

Minho was so in his head that he didn't realize that he was crying, he was brought back by Changbin…

"Would you like to touch her? You can, Hyung." He said gently. His touch was equally as gentle, nudging Minho to the bed. Changbin loves you, a lot. A close second is Minho. No one, not even Minho could pin the type of love it is. All he knows that if you so much as get cut he is physically restraining himself not to coddle you. Which has never happened in his life, even with his exes. That’s why Bin is taking such a soft approach to this. 

Changbin’s aware that he had no choice but to accept what has happened. He was there when it happened. He saw all of it. Minho didn’t. The most he heard was your scream. Which, given, is enough to understand the severity. Believing and understanding are two things. Believing is the heart. Understanding is the mind. Understanding why a door opens is completely different from believing the door can open. He understood you screamed but his mind didn’t believe that what happened actually happened.

You patted the open space you made for him to lay as you said "C'mere MinMin… you wanted a hug, yeah? I promise I won't break." 

You noticed that Minho looked scared. He looked like you had asked him to throw porcelain at a wall. So you said, "I know it's a shock, but I'm here… I'm going to be okay. Can I have a hug or a cuddle please?" 

He walked to you and laid down. The minute you touched his skin he started crying harder. He’s a visual person. He can imagine a move before he makes it. That same gift is why he cried harder. He knew how close it was to him visiting a corpse at a funeral home. The milisecond you touched him, he imagined himself touching you for the last time, cold, in a coffin. That sent searing pain through his heart. He had no other choice but to sob. All you did was hold him and put his head right to your chest so he could hear your heartbeat. Letting him know in your own way, that you'll be okay. That you are alive. That there's nothing for him to feel bad or responsible for. 

He has been through a lot, and because of his outward nature he isn’t seen as a super touchy feely person, but he can never explain to you how happy he was that you put his head where you did. He had confirmation that you’re alive. It was beating right by his ear. Your heart is strong, you are here. He looked to Bin; whose face looked so empathetic then, as if to say to him I understand. It’s okay. 

He held your waist so gently, you could barely feel it. It ghosted over your frame like the sadness rolling off of Minho himself. As he laid there, crying he noticed how close he was to your belly too. That added on yet another level of sadness and pain. He knew you would've made a great mom. You're caring, compassionate, and to top it all off you carry yourself with such strength and grace. He would've loved to see it. 

Han came up to Minho and rubbed his leg as he directed the rest of the members except for Bin to hang back. Bin closed the curtain a little more.

Bin told him, "She's going to get better. She's seeing another doctor today a little before lunch and then after lunch, they're doing more tests for her iron count. But she's already feeling better." 

Han said, "I know she looks really sick, but she is going to be out of the woods soon." 

You said "Just having you here makes me feel so much better," and you kissed the back of his head. 

Minho said, "I'm sorry. I should've seen it."

You looked at him and said "It was something no one would have dreamed of him doing. I saw odd occurrences but I just said 'he'd never do that' and here we are. You are not responsible for another man's actions, okay?" 

You wiped his tears as he looked up at you, "Are you okay?" He asked with the most broken look on his face.

"I am now," you smiled at him and he just stood there for a bit. Lying on your chest while you combed through his hair with your hand while he calmed down. 

After a few minutes, the curtain was opened back up and you were swarmed by hugs, kisses, and everything in between. When everything settled down you asked a question that no one expected you to.

"How is Chris doing?" You even surprised yourself with that one but you couldn't help but wonder how he was.

Minho said, "he collapsed after Bin told us the news." 

I.N. continued "Everything from ‘I want to take it back’, to ‘Please God let her get through this." It was clear that he was over even giving Chan another iota of his time and breath. He didn’t tell you or anyone else about his feelings often. That’s because I.N. can come off as unfeeling, very blunt in many ways. He knew that if he were to say what he actually wanted to, it's not only going to do no good to the situation, but it’d also cause more grief for everyone involved. He just wanted the storm to be over already, the more he looks at you, though, the more he can tell that the storm just began. 

None of the boys would tell you, but I.N. was very close to killing Chan last night, you see he was the only one in the same room as Minho when he called Changbin. Chris was pacing so much right next to Minho that after he yelled at him to shut the fuck up, he ducked into Han’s room, to talk to him, I.N went with him. He just wanted to hear you were okay. That was all he wanted. He heard your screams, and Hannies stunned silence for what felt like years, only to hear “I’ve gotta go.” Right after that happened I.N stormed out, looking for Chan to kill him, if it wasn’t for Seungmin heading him off, I.N. would probably be in prison right now.

Seungmin said "Oh you forgot about my favorite, ‘I promise I'll make it right’. Like he ever could." His face turned hard at that moment. Understanding that no one can bring that baby back, take that trauma away. As if  a baby could so easily be forgotten, to ‘make it right’. 

You didn’t know but Seungmin felt nauseous at that sentence. Knowing Chan like he does, he’d probably try to not only convince you to get back together but to try again too fast. That thought is what made bile rise in his throat as he knows that Chan is the type to try to fix things quickly before anything sets in. Just recounting those thoughts made him debate running to the bathroom to puke. 

He couldn’t understand how someone could see all of the blood on Changbin, narrowly avoiding death via Changbin’s hands, and seeing the proof that a baby once was thriving in his wife and now that is not the case. Literally because of the shock that he caused. If he knew what he did he wouldn’t have said, “I’ll make it right.” He can’t raise the dead, erase your memory, hell he can’t even keep his dick in his pants, apparently; so how pray tell would he do the impossible… He can’t. 

Hyunjin said, "To be honest, none of us care what it does to him because he was the cause of it. He did this to you. To all three of you. We left before we beat him within an inch of his life. We have been waiting in the parking lot since."

There are so many emotions in the room, from disgust, all the way to enraged. One of the people who was enraged was Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin was the type of person to be closed off. A lot of people see him as just a pretty face but he is so much more than that. He’s a fantastic vocalist, rapper, and dancer. However, he is also an amazing artist, painting and drawing being his favorite mediums. So when you came around, Hyunjin was very hands off. You didn’t give up though, seeing his studio and complimenting him endlessly on his talents. 

It took a few months for him to really warm up to you, but once he did, you couldn’t get rid of him. Honestly you wouldn’t have it any other way. He was very warm and loved to make paintings for you, especially loved studying and drawing your face. He loved the angles and the emotions your face conveys, so some days he’d just walk into whatever room you’re in and he’d start snapping photos. Then he’d disappear into his studio, then the next week he’d bring you the oil painting of your face. Every single one was so pretty and you told him that you aren’t that pretty and every time he’d say, “You aren’t pretty… You’re gorgeous and don’t you ever forget it, My Queen.” His nickname for you was “Queen”. There’s no one as beautiful and regal as a queen, which is why it fits you perfectly. 

The first time he called you that nickname you giggled and said, “Hyunjin, you’re the royalty… not me.” He just told you, “Sure Prince’s are royal and handsome. But there is no one as beautiful, noble, wise, and royal as a Queen on her throne. If that isn’t you I don’t know what is.” Him being his dramatic self, kneeled down and kissed you hand, making you blush and giggle.  

When he looks at you now he is enraged that Chan did something so abhorrent to the person that he considers to be the most beautiful person inside and out, to the Queen. When he sees you now, your eyes lost their spark, lost their brightness. Your gorgeous skin, pale, dull, lacking iron. Your body, weaker than he’s ever seen it be. Your laugh, half hearted. Your smile, his favorite feature, can’t even reach your eyes… All of this and more made him want to tear Chan apart. 

Saying and doing the things that he did and said about you stunned everyone. Especially since you love each and every member and would walk through fire for them. All of the members could see in their heads the analogy ‘stabbed in the back’, coming to life. Both of them took a knife and stabbed you, their sister, their Queen, their best friend. In their eyes, he stabbed all of them, ripping apart the family he spent years creating, gone. 

Just hearing what Chan said after he left, Felix got thrown into the memory of barely 9 hours ago, at the 3 Racha house:

Felix asked Chris to join him on the couch right after Minho and I.N. left the room to talk to Bin. Chris was still waiting outside the room and Felix called him into the living room, once more. As soon as Chris sat down Felix grilled him, “Why Chris? She would do anything for you. Walk through Hell and back, face any and every threat for you… And this is what you do? Why did you even ask her out if you knew Bin-” he got cut off.

“Don’t finish that sentence Felix.” Chan looked at him through lidded eyes, rubbing his face. 

Felix could still see the marks on him, the hickeys, the light scratches on his back. If he got close enough he could still smell her on him. It made Felix sick to his stomach. Felix got angry at that, “THEN FUCKING ANSWER ME CHRIS! WHAT WAS THE POINT? WHY DID YOU HURT HER LIKE THIS?!” 

“She was never supposed to know.” Chris said in a detached manner, “It was just harmless fun! I needed a release Felix, something you wouldn’t know about.” 

Felix’s face broke, throwing his hands up, “Oh really? That’s disgusting. YOU are disgusting. You needed a release? How about going to your gorgeous wife and making love to her? Or y’know, go to the gym, watch some anime… LITERALLY ANYTHING OTHER THAN CHEATING!”

Chris said, “I tried all of that, Felix. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

Felix’s jaw dropped, “ You’re right, you don’t need to explain yourself to me. I don’t know how we didn’t see you before. This,” he motioned to Chris’ body, “Is the real you… and it’s vile. How dare you do that to her! How dare you make her feel inferior, degrade her in her own home, in her own bed.” 

Then Felix said something that he will never regret in his life, “You never deserved her. Bin should’ve been with her from DAY ONE! You are pathetic.” He glared at Chan, who got up to size up to Felix.  Felix got up and matched him, unphased as he said, “I hope she leaves you. As a matter of fact, I pray that she leaves you because she doesn’t deserve to wonder what her husband is doing behind her back. She deserves to be pampered. She deserves to be with someone who actually wants to spend time with her and love her. She deserves to be taken care of. Because all she has EVER done for us, is take care of us.”

He then got in Chris’ face as he said, “I hope to GOD that she leaves you for Changbin. That way she’ll know what real love is. And if anything happens to Y/N or my niece or nephew… God help you. God help you and your whore. You both ruined two lives today and I will NEVER let you forget it. I promise you that.” 

Chris didnt say anything as Felix growled with all of the base in his voice, “Now…Sit… the fuck… down.” 

It was only when Han changed the subject that Felix was ripped from the memory.

Han could sense where the conversation was going and he immediately changed the subject, he started to crack jokes and mess with the other members. After a bit you yawned and reached for Bin, “Binnie…” 

He looked at you, saw you yawn again, and he laid down with you, “ok come here.” He said as he gently cradled you. He petted your hair back as you wiggled yourself closer, finally sighing when you deemed Binnie close enough to let the heat seep into your bones.

Han looked and said, “Oh I get it. I am right here, perfect for cuddling and you pick him I get it.” he started smirking at you but leaned over to kiss your forehead on Bin’s chest. 

Despite the noise in the room, you were out in minutes. Hyunjin was the first to notice, who nudged Felix, who then set off a chain reaction until everyone was smirking at you and Bin cuddling. 

He wasn’t focused on them though, he was running his fingers through your hair, drawing random patterns on your back as he watched you sleep. It was only when he saw a faint flash that he looked up to see Hyunjin with his phone up. He looked at them and mouthed, “don’t make me laugh she just got to sleep.”

But no one was laughing. They always could tell the fondness he had for you. It was so obvious Minho would tell him to stop following you around like a puppy. It was their way of saying that they knew.

That whole thought made his face drop. In his head, he should’ve never let Chan within 100 feet of you. He went to Chan about the crush he had on you first, being one of his closest friends. He was asking for advice on how to get over his nerves and just ask you out.

  Chris has psyched him out, though, saying things like, "I don't think she's into you, man. She seems a bit more interested in me. But don't worry, I'll take care of her." And "I don't know man. I mean you can try but if she rejects you, you have to be prepared for that. I wouldn't if I were you though. You seem like the friend type for her. Not the boyfriend type." 

He was thinking about how he should've followed his own heart and gut, which are rarely on the same page. Both of you love working out, music, food, nutrition, the list goes on and on. One of his favorite memories with you is before anyone asked you out. 

You had invited him to the Han River. He didn't know why but it was a picnic you set up for him especially. He had gotten very stressed out during a meeting with the execs in the company he works for. They had told him to lose weight… yet again. He doesn't feel comfortable at a lower weight. He feels physically weaker, his mind not as sharp. 

You yourself had tried to explain to Chan what Bin was feeling. That’s largely because you have always struggled with feeling good at the weight you were at but everyone told you, you were just too big. When you had gone through similar diets you felt like a walking zombie. You couldn’t even think of going to the gym, because your brain just didn’t work with no fuel.

The societal pressure onto that only added to the chaos, and you couldn’t imagine how lonely it felt to be told by employers that you need to cut down, as well as go to the hectic schedules that Bin had to, and worry about making content, and trying to keep at least some of your life private. You couldn’t see him go through that alone. 

That was when you had the picnic. He had no idea that you knew about that meeting, but it was actually Felix that tipped you off to it. If there’s anyone in the world who would get what Bin was going through it was you. As always, you knew how to make Bin smile. You set up at his favorite spot, making healthy foods and also packing some of his favorite shakes. When he walked up to it, his face lit up, and so did yours. He ended up playing hooky that day, and spent the whole day with you. It’s one of his favorite memories. Now it's bittersweet.

He was mad at himself at those thoughts, Chris was so clearly into you so he used Bin’s insecurities against him… and it had worked. He thought about how all of this wouldn’t have happened and you and him would be happy together. That’s all he ever wanted for you. That was why he let you go in the first place. He wanted you to be happy.

After about a half an hour of hushed talking while Bin kept you relaxed, a set of footsteps walked down the hall. Just hearing them, Bin’s ears perked up. They had an authority to them, almost pompous in nature. Commanding… he knows those steps.

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[sayafics]

Dragon of Dorne - Chapter IV

This is quite a long chapter (which hopefully makes up for the long wait <3) with lots of fluff and some inappropriate thoughts - I promise so much more Daemon&Alaynha moments in Chapter V, I just wanted to give them something to build a relationship from.

A small change in this is that Viserys doesn't die - at least not yet. Another change is that Rhaenyra also doesn't have a miscarriage yet.

I still plan to stick to the plot-line, but just add in a few extra weeks for some Daemon-Alaynha moments <3 (which I feel so guilty saying but like oops).

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Daemon had bargained plenty that night - the children did not have to stay. Rhaenyra did not have to stay.

But he would.

For Viserys. For his brother.

Of course, such a tale was not far from the truth. His brother was frail - dying, even. The quicker the hours pass, the closer the Reaper drew upon Viserys, awaiting for him to take his last breath.

Daemon had spent years at Rhaenyra's side, he had neglected his duties as a brother and cast Viserys aside. So his words were not all lies and some truth remained.

He would stay in King's Landing until Viserys had recovered or passed. The children could stay at Dragonstone and continue with their lives, and Rhaenyra with them to rear their youngest.

Of course, Rhaenyra was never one to listen and promised to join him after spending a fortnight at Dragonstone and remain by his side until the birth of their child, during which if all went well, their blended family would return to the Keep and claim it as their home once more.

Daemon gritted him teeth at that, frustration swelling within him at the possibility of navigating his countless schemes whilst being interceded by wailing babes and an angered wife.

There was a quiet ache of guilt present, too - knowing how long Rhaenyra had been pining for him because of his deviances as a terrible and power-hungry man all those years ago. For her to finally have all of which she desires, simply for it to be threatened by a kin she did not want - Daemon could sympathise.

But this was not affection he felt, nor lust. Surely it was much simpler. Much easier.

Daemon was curious.

Daemon is a shrewd man - calculating and manipulative, violent and mean. A rogue prince through and through, where all could see his qualities and hold it to the light with assuredness.

But this girl- this princess. So bright and kind and loving. A mask so thick and well-crafted even Daemon had struggled to see the beast that lurked beneath.

It was the darkness that welled up in those pretty eyes of hers, the spark that ached to turn into a raging fire.

It was curiosity, nothing more.

***

When Rhaenyra and the children had left the following morning, he urged them to return to Dragonstone by sea - it was safer with him absent. A worthy excuse for more time.

Rhaenyra had accepted with a quaint smile, a pretentious act at playing a blushing bride - to which he merely mustered a peck upon the cheek in return.

He could see the confusion in her eyes, could see her wonder why her Daemon was changing so quick.

But the truth was his previous marriages had broken him - kept him confined and chained. He allowed himself to become a tamed dragon, and freely handed his reigns over to Rhaenyra for her to wave proudly in show.

He loved her. Of course he did. He loved the girl who rode upon dragon-back to claim a stolen dragon egg, threats of fire and violence spewing from her lips - but even that girl he did not marry.

And yet, before him stood a swollen bride that was a mere echo of the girl he knew all those years ago. A realisation that had haunted him for far too long.

He thought the children would help - hoped they would ignite the dragon fire within him, would give him purpose and life.

Or perhaps they would ignite the fire that had become smothered within Rhaenyra and an ounce of the girl he knew then would return, and he would settle. He would revere and concede and accept.

Daemon felt weightless. Purposeless. Useless.

Pathetic.

***

Daemon suppressed the smirk itching at his lips as he sauntered his way back to his chambers.

His chambers.

The very ones he'd lounged in so many years ago with his wine and his whores, and not the one he had been made to sleep in the last few days.

The Keep was buzzing with life - Lords and Ladies of the Court watched him with sharp gazes, maids and guards were either hesitant to meet his gaze or watched over him with rousing suspicion.

Daemon could barely suppress his grin as he met their stares head-on with raised brows and dark eyes.

There was one thing he had to remember during his stay at the Keep - with Viserys bound to his bed and milk of the poppy poured down his throat in rivulets, he was without any allies in the Keep.

After Strong had burnt to ashes, Daemon was unsure of who led his Gold Cloaks now and was curious as to whether their loyalties had shifted alongside their leadership.

His mongrels were perhaps wastrels instead, eyes begging and hands postulated for any alms in the shape of golden coins.

Although there should be a few loyalists scattered around the Keep - he may not have been well liked, but he was brash and powerful, something that drew people in.

When Daemon returned to his chambers, he searched through his old belongings with renewed vigour. His muscles almost trembled as he pulled out clothing he hadn't seen in so long - too long has he spent in ornate robes and simple tunics. Too long has he gone without the needed release he found in the wiles of a well-earned fight.

Too long.

He stripped with ease, a sense of relief washing over him as the waning material of the tunics Rhaenyra loved so much fell from his scarred skin and he slipped on his leather armour with ease.

With his sword attached at his side, Daemon left his room feeling more like the depraved and nefarious prince he had been all those years ago.

This time he could not help his grin - big and broad and terrifying to all who glanced his way.

This was the rogue prince - no longer was he an ornament for the Heir to parade, no longer was he a dysfunctional and futile man.

No. He was a dragon.

And it was time he returned to the sky and wreaked havoc upon all those who would dare look down on him.

***

Daemon stood under an archway, arms folded across his chest as he watched the scene unfold with amusement.

Upon the training grounds, engaged in a vicious bout of training, was none other than his harrowing nephew and sultry niece.

Aegon watched his brother and sister in amusement, an array of cakes and fruits and wines laid upon a table near him as though he had beckoned them solely for the purpose of watching his siblings fight as a form of entertainment. He seated himself at the edge of the training grounds, unable to control his laughter or his brutal glee.

He would jeer when Aemond aimed too close to Alaynha's delicate face, cackle with glee when she would trip the boy and throw food at the pair when they would become so distracted in passing taunts they forgot to exchange blows instead.

Daemon was impressed by the skill of the girl - out-manouvering her brother with ease. She met blow for blow, with just as much force behind her own hits as him. She doged every cut and met every slash with a brutal one of her own.

Not once did an ounce of blood drip to the ground in failure - she was skilled.

But he could not ignore the possibility Aemond had taken it easy upon her - with the weight of his glares from the previous night, the chances of Aemond willingly hurting his younger sister was close to naught.

Still, Daemon could not help but draw comparisons.

His first wife had been handy with a sword, but he had only ever heard rumours. And those rumours did nothing to gain her his favour, as although she was a fine swordswoman, she was dragonless and, therefore, useless in all the ways a Targaryen would require.

His second wife and third were fierce dragon-riders. Unafraid of the fire of a dragon and the heights they could scale.

But even they could not tell apart the hilt of a sword from the scales of a beast.

But here, before him, stood a challenge and a promise. A swordswoman and a dragon-rider.

Daemon could feel himself stiffen within his breeches at the sight of her panting form, the sweat upon her brow as she dodged every deathly blow and sweeped her brother's feet from beneath him.

As Aemond fell to the ground, she kicked his arm with vicious glee and the sword he held flew from his grasp. She aimed her sword at his throat, her own rising and falling with hurried pants as a gasping laugh escaped her in glee.

Aegon leapt up from his chair, loud claps and a boisterous laugh at his brother's fall.

Daemon had expected Aemond to grow angered at the humiliation - to spit insulting words and perhaps even show her just how placative he had been.

Instead, he smiled - and for once he looked like a young boy again, a shadow of the child who had half his sight stolen from him.

Aemond stood up with a proud smirk when she had relinquished her sword, a conceding nod as he praised her, "a fine swordswoman indeed. I see Cole has taught you well, jorrāelagon mandia (dear sister)."

"Criston has taught me very well indeed, lēkia (brother). I believe if I continue under his wing, kepa will have no choice but to let me join the Gold Cloaks."

Daemon straightened at the mention of the army he had trained as his own, and his body flushed with a pleasant warmth at the idea of Alaynha - so mischievous and small - killing and maiming vile men under the uniform he designed.

It was almost a sign of ownership.

As though she was his - his violent, little dragon.

Almost.

He entertained the prospect of taking over his Gold Cloaks once more - Viserys would accept in a heartbeat.

And if he did, Daemon would pick Alaynha as his protégée in an instant - perhaps he would give her private lessons on the art of mastering the sword, teach her to command the army in High Valyrian simply because such a sight would flood his body in arousal and have her torture men in his name so he could watch her covered in blood, gazing at him with those pleading eyes, begging for his approval.

Fuck.

But he held himself back from his spiralling thoughts - curiosity. This was simply curiosity, he admonished his traiterous thoughts.

He stood straighter, hand reaching down to adjust his hardened cock.

He cleared his throat before stepping away from his hiding space - although it was quite out in the open, he almost grinned when he saw his nephews stiffen at the sight of his approach.

"Kepus," her voice was light and airy, just as surprised as her brothers to see the man still in the Keep when his wife and children had already sailed away.

"You're still here."

"Ah, I am. Although, dare I say Zaldrītsos (little dragon), you almost seem disappointed."

Alaynha rolled her eyes, a faint smile tugging at her lips, "of course not. I simply thought you would have sailed to Dragonstone with your wife and children."

"They must miss you dearly," Aemond drew closer as he spoke, "perhaps it is not too late to join them. I am sure your dragon will carry you fast and far."

"Ah, but why would I leave such great company for that of whom I've endured for years already." Daemon raised his brow in challenge, daring Aemond to suggest he leave his homeland once more.

He watched as Alaynha gazed between the two of them, her eyes then turning towards Aegon as she sighed in exasperation.

"Come, sister." Aegon consoled from his place, lounging upon a chair with a cup of wine filled to the brim, "let us flee before they bore us with their barbs and insults instead."

Alaynha snorted quietly, an amused grin upon her face as she rolled her eyes at her brother's antics - "might I suggest a better alternative?"

The brothers and Daemon stared at her in curiosity, "well, it seems our dear uncle is prepared for a fight. What better way to bond with the kin he refused to acknowledge than by sparring with them? Do you not agree, kepus?"

Daemon recalled the girl's words from yesterday, the spite that tainted her words as she rightly accused him of despising her family for their Hightower blood.

They were half-blooded Targaryens, barely dragons in his eyes.

But such things could not be true if he saw such a raging beast exist within her, as she was just as half-blooded as the rest of them.

Just as half-blooded as Rhaenyra's children.

But her birth, alongside that of her brothers and sister, had not been tainted by lies and an unsanctimonious vow.

"Mayhaps you are too scared, nuncle," it was Aegon who spoke with a broad grin, "my brother was trained by Ser Cole himself. You must remember the man - he told us the tale of how he knocked you off your horse. And your feet."

"Aegon," Alaynha lightly scolded the boy but could not hold back her own amused smile at his words - even Aemond had cracked a smirk.

Alaynha's eyes widened at the sound of a deep and rich laugh. She feared they had angered their uncle with their taunts and tales, but it only took a glance into the violent hues of Daemon Targaryen to see them swallowed whole by challenge and delight.

So long it had been since he had experienced such provocation, such defiance. A call of like to like as his blood sang with the call of a dragon.

Perhaps there was a kinship here, long denied by tainted blood and half-whispered promises.

"If my nephew is up for the challenge, I will not be the one to shy away."

Daemon tilted his head towards Aemond in recognition, hand placed upon the hilt of his sword as he awaited his answer.

Aemond, never one to turn down a challenge, agreed swiftly by turning his back to his uncle and making his way to the centre of the training grounds once more.

Daemon smirked at the show of confidence that rolled off the boy in tumultuous waves, but even he could not help the ounce of admiration echoing in his mind - had this been Jace or even Luke, they would have quaked and trembled at his presence.

And yet, here was his brother's child - a second born son, a turbulent fire. Seething and wrathful.

The irony of such a thing did not beget him.

Daemon made his way towards Aemond, but a hand upon his wrist stopped him in his place. He glanced down to the delicate hand anchoring him, eyes travelling up the soft skin glowing with a sheen of sweat from a harrowing sword fight, to meet the gentle eyes of a girl much too complex and secretive for him to decipher her with ease.

"Do take it easy upon him."

Her words were spoken pleadingly, as though this was not her idea. It seemed she could hear the words ringing in his head, and she sighed quietly as she continued, "although he may not admit it, he admires you. Truly so. You told me you wanted to know me. Well, know I love my brothers, and I cannot see them hurt - even in jest."

Now, here was a thing Daemon could empathise with. Here was a thing Daemon saw in himself.

He loved his brother, wholly and true. He would conquer worlds in his brother's name, and cut himself upon his own sword if Viserys had asked.

He knew the love one had for their brother, and he could see it shining in her eyes.

Still, Daemon was never one to let an opportunity to tease and test pass without falter - "and what will you give me in return for such a favour?"

She raised her brow in surprise, as though she couldn't believe he was asking such a thing in exchange for a measly request. Still she rolled her eyes and conceeded, "anything."

And such words were the truth.

"Do not spill a drop of blood, and you shall have anything you ask of me, Daemon."

Daemon.

Daemon.

Fuck, she had called him Daemon.

A descending warmth filled Daemon's body at the sound of his name rolling off of her tongue - so familiar, so tempting, so erotic.

Call me Daemon. Say it again.

He was tempted to speak aloud and beg for it.

But he could see Aemond's impatient form and Aegon's restless agitation - "anything, you say? It seems we have ourselves a bargain, zaldrītsos."

***

If this was what he believed was taking it easy, Daemon would be sorely disappointed when it came to asking for Alaynha's favour.

Although, she did have to say - her brother held his own quite well against the battle-worn soldier they knew Daemon to be. She swore upon the Seven she even heard the boy allow a careless laugh to escape his lips as he lost himself in the flurry of lunges and blows they exchanged.

Alaynha couldn't help the soft smile that stretched upon her lips as she watched the pair. Still, she was on edge - whether it was from distrust, enjoyment, or fervent kinship, their fight grew more brutal.

Less and less were there moments of deflecting and blocking and feinting. Every stab and every slash was made to leave a mark.

And still, in place of tension and worry upon the training grounds, there was a growing fever of gratification bubbling in the air - as though this was the challenge they had been waiting for all this time, pushing themselves to the brink of exhaustion to relieve themselves of anger and worry and misery.

This is what they had been missing.

And the realisation only made them fight harder.

"Do try and beat him, little brother," called out Aegon from the sidelines. He stood now, leaning against the back of the chair as he spoke out words of encouragement disguised as mocking jeers.

Alaynha sat upon the chair, reaching back to slap Aegon lightly upon the shoulder. He only huffed in her ear instead, "what? I am being encouraging."

"You are being a nuisance."

"Ah," he grinned blearily, "when am I ever not."

She snorted, "when you a too drunk to raise your head and bat your eyes rōva lēkia (big brother)."

"Oh, but a day in the shoes of a forgotten Prince would have you do the same byka rūklon (little flower)."

She smiled sadly, leaning back so her head rested against his arms - "at least you have your wine," she jested.

"And my whores."

His voice lowered an octave, whispering so dramatically in her ears that she couldn't help the laughter that escaped her in a bubbling concession.

Her laugh was bright and loud and echoed across the grounds. So captivating Daemon felt his heart almost stutter to a pause as he raised his sword, ready to meet a vicious blow from his newphew.

His head turned, as though his body had a mind of its own and his mind clouded with thoughts. Thoughts and ideas and wishes and curiosity.

Just a glimpse.

Just a second.

Instead, he felt his face burn as his sword missed Aemond's by inches, and his hardened slash met Daemon's cheek with vigour.

Daemon hissed, head twisting to the side as blood dribbled from the wound and pooled at the corner of his mouth as a surprised laugh escaped him.

"Aemond!" Alaynha spoke out in admonishment, even Aegon had held his breath for a second.

Daemon tutted, "my mistake, I believe. One should never let their gaze stray from their opponent."

Aemond stared at the man with a gaze so similar to the young boy who had his sight taken from him, almost hesitant to breathe in his presence now.

"Do not tell me you give up now?" Daemon grinned at the boy, eyes simmering with the fire of a dragon, heart beating as adrenaline pumped through him and excitement singed his veins, "come on, nephew. I thought you were better than this."

His words caused a spark to glimmer in Aemond's eyes before a roaring fire was set alight, he raised his sword for another hit, which Daemon met with a fierce one of his own.

Where Aemond parried Daemon's every strike with rigid eloquence, Daemon would meet his with vicious victory - steel clashing against each other as neither was willing to submit.

Alaynha sat straight upon her chair, spine stiffened as her fingers twisted in the material of her own leathers. Aegon's hand came to rest at her shoulder, squeezing in comfort as they watched the two battle out years of anguish and anger upon one another.

Daemon continued thrusting his sword forward, Aemond dancing around him and evading every lunge and throwing back fierce blows as his own sword sliced through the air.

It only took a single second- a breath.

Their swords clashed against one another, and all kindness and civility washed away in face of pure rage and animosity.

Daemon was still Rhaenyra's husband. He still hated the Hightowers. He would rather see Otto and Alicent dead than near the King.

Aemond was a Hightower bastard. A second son only by Otto's manipulations and ploys. He would rather see Rhaenyra dead and sit upon the throne himself.

Teeth gritted and growls escaped their lips as they waited for the other to yield - but neither dared.

A glint of light caught Daemon's attention, and he watched over Aemond's shoulder as Alaynha drew closer in distress.

It seemed Aemond could also hear her approaching footsteps, and the sound caused his eyes to flash and simmer with recognition before the anger, which rolled off of him in flames, settled to a kindling fire as he nodded in ascent.

Almost a show of acknowledgement, a performance of respect.

Daemon smirked, his own head nodding as he reluctantly relieved his sword of the force placed upon it.

They each stood back, shoulders rolling and necks twisting as they came to a stalemate.

Aemond had gotten a blow, had hurt Daemon, and made him bleed. But Daemon had promised to take it easy upon the boy, so truly by what means did the boy succeed.

"You idiots. The lot of you," Alaynha scolded as she reached their side, "what if you had hurt each other? More than you already have."

She glanced between them worried, her eyes falling upon the gash across Daemon's cheek that had crusted and dried but still twinged with pain when his lips stretched into a placating grin - "last I recall, this had been your suggestion."

"Mm, he is right, sister. You cannot fault us for adhering to your orders."

Alaynha's lips parted in disbelief at Aemond's words as she turned to his in faux betrayal, "are you taking his side over mine?"

Aemond smirked at the pout upon her lips, "try as I might, I fear no one holds my loyalties more than you, jorrāelagon mandia."

She hummed, eyeing him in exaggerated suspicion before a grin broke out on her face, "good."

Aegon drew closer upon Aemond's seeing side, clapping his brother on the shoulder and shaking him for good measure, "I believe the Hightowers have won this battle. Do not fret, nuncle. I am sure you will win something, some day."

"Aegon!" She could drag her hands down in exasperation, wondering why her brothers were so desperate to test and mock their uncle until he had enough and unleashed his wrath.

Before she could correct Aegon any further, Daemon drew closer and it did not go unnoticed by anyone how Aegon seemed to shrink behind Aemond, as the younger brother inched in front of the older.

Despite being the younger, one thing was certain - Aemond did not see an heir in Rhaenyra but in his brother and in himself. He may never get the crown, but Aegon could - and Aemond would do all he could to protect the Heir. To protect his brother.

Daemon simply tutted at the action, reaching over Aemond's shoulder to ruffle the shorter boy's hair as he squawked with indignation.

"Do not fault the boy, Zaldrītsos. He only defends his brother's honour - it is what Viserys would have done for me."

Aegon's face heated up at the words, flushing warm as he almost preened under his nuncle's praise, like a child. Perhaps he had already drank too much wine - yes, that must be why.

He escaped his nuncle's petting at the sound of Alaynha's quiet laugh and Aemond's shaking shoulders. He blew a huff of breath so the strands of hair that fell over his face would leave his vision free.

"I am not. I'm just mocking you."

"Ah, of course." Daemon consoled with a teasing grin, words much too enunciated to be well and true, "do forgive me, my Prince."

Aegon rolled his eyes, easily catching on to Daemon's own mocking tone and mumbled under his breath as he stepped away.

Aemond stepped back to follow him, "come sister, we promised mother we would dine with her for supper."

Alaynha hesitated for a moment, a soft frown upon her lips as she gazed at her uncle with gentle eyes. She bit her lip in contemplation, and Daemon found he could not tear his gaze away.

"I shall see you there, I fear Daemon's wound may need some tending."

There it was again, his name - so tantalising, the sound, as it dripped from her tongue.

"Then let the maester deal with him," Aemond spoke in annoyance.

"The maester has much more urgent dealings. It is a simple wound, I shall treat him and join you."

Aemond opened his mouth, ready to protest that if it truly was such a simple wound, Daemon should be able to treat it well himself. But his sister looked at him pleadingly, and he simply pursed his lips and nodded in ascent.

As he turned away, Alaynha hesitated for a second longer before stepping forward and calling out to him - "please let muña know Daemon will be joining us."

She watched Aemond's shoulders stiffen at the order, but knew her brother would never argue with her over such a small and measly thing. He once again nodded his head, waiting for Aegon to swipe his jug of wine before they made their way to their mother's chambers.

Alaynha turned in the opposite direction, only passing a glance over her shoulder to meet Daemon's intense gaze - "come."

***

Daemon sat upon the Princess' bed, his body rigid and tense as he watched her move and gather items scattered across the room.

Whilst Daemon remained in his leathers, she had changed into something much more akin to that of a princess.

Daemon had almost prayed to the Seven to stop his aching thoughts and traiterous body, the temptation to walk behind the dressing screen and see her bare body tremble beneath his gaze.

He had held off long enough, growing hard and stiff beneath his breeches as the dressing screen was almost transparent and gave way to the very shape of the girl hidden behind mounds of fabric.

The gown she wore now was simple, but the material itself was still expensive - a soft satin, perhaps even silk.

As she drew towards him, Daemon couldn't help but part his legs open, ready for her to slot herself between them. She cleared her throat quietly as she stepped in the gap he had made, placing her gathered items next to him upon the bed.

He looked up at her, unable to stop himself from admiring the soft planes of her face, her sharp jaw, her full cheeks, the blush that stained her lips, the eyes that almost gleamed in the light of a setting sun.

When Alaynha peered down to meet his gaze, a damp cloth held in her hand, her breath caught in her throat at the intensity of it, eyes welling with infatuation.

Curiosity, he corrected.

She blinked vigorously, eyelashes fluttering furiously as her hand almost trembled when she took a hold of his face. Her skin felt soft against his flesh, dragging from his hollowed cheeks to rest upon his angled jaw and tilt his fierce gaze away from her own that was growing timid and shy.

The one holding the damp cloth dipped the fabric in a small bowl of warm water, reaching up to brush softly against his gash. Daemon held back a wince, but she could feel the way his jaw flexed in her grasp as he clenched his teeth in pain.

"Sorry," she whispered into the quiet between them.

"You should be." Daemon had meant to mumble the words quietly, but she had heard them all the same.

She frowned at the silent accusation, "excuse me? I do not need to help you. I could always call the maester if you prefer."

Daemon sighed, eyes closing as he realised he had spoken his words much too loud, "I only meant, I would not have gotten this injury was it not for you."

Her head twisted in confusion, stopping her ministrations of cleaning Daemon's gash so she could tap him lightly upon the cheek to gain his attention.

His eyes opened immediately, meeting her questioning gaze as he let out a breath in a huff of amusement, "if it wasn't for that pretty laugh of yours, perhaps I wouldn't have gotten distracted enough to allow my tempered nephew to land a blow."

Her face flushed deeply at his words, eyes rolling as a scoff spilt past her lips, "all I hear are some silly excuses, kepus."

"If it were up to me, I would lock you in my chambers and leave you there, needy and willing, so you never laugh alongside another man again."

He couldn't help the jealousy that tainted his words, couldn't help but tease and test her boundaries once more.

Her hands trembled in truth now as she picked up a small bowl of ointment, dotting it over the gash with a soft touch.

"You speak out of turn, uncle," but her voice still shook under his burning gaze.

"And you do not speak enough. Perhaps you worry of all the others who have been in my chambers, locked away just as I wish you were."

"Perhaps you grow too confident in your own charms and wiles," she sniped as she rubbed the ointment in with care.

"Perhaps."

There was a beat of silence, but his eyes never left hers. Even as she collected her balms and ointments, holding them close to her chest, he watched her.

And when she was ready to step away, he held her waist and pulled her close. Her breath caught in her throat and he simply waited.

Alaynha knew what he waited for, knew what he sought.

She also knew she could not give him such a thing, not when he was wed to her sister - not when he already had a child on the way.

"I am not one of your whores."

"I would never wish you to be."

His voice was earnest, stubborn.

Curiosity, he justified.

She sighed, her hand resting upon his injured cheek and gently rubbing circles upon his skin as his eyes closed as the sensation, her voice was almost a whisper, "my mother must be waiting for us."

And with that she stepped away, and Daemon's hands fell into his lap.

In that moment, Daemon truly did send a prayer to the Seven and begged them to bless him with morals and strength for even he knew his curiosity was giving way to darker desires he would soon be unable to ignore.

An infatuation grew within him. A simmering and burning and aching infatuation- obsession.

If you guys made it to the end, I hope you enjoyed the long read! Thank you to everyone who has engaged with this story by liking, reblogging, and commenting!! I promise to try and update this series more regularly <3

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#daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen fluff #daemon targaryen fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd smut #hotd fandom #hotd fanfic #hotd #house of the dragon #dragon of dorne #hotd x oc #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #fluff

[youreobsessedwithtoomanyfandoms]

know its for the better

Words: 2733

Warnings: angst, talks of a miscarriage, body image, talks of difficulty staying pregnant, mention of what is technically a still-birth, depression, suicidal thoughts, self-medicating, accidental suicide attempt, probably poor writing and OOC characters but whatever

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Part 2 for "Love Thorns All Over This Rose"

I decided to make this be longer than just two part, so this'll be a sort of mini-series

I just want to leave another TW here: if you have ever suffered through a miscarriage or any type of child loss, please proceed with caution. I do heavily talk about how Y/N feels after suffering through that and do talk about her feeling like a failure of a woman and other things. I just want everyone to know that if you feel triggered by that, I apologize and I don't want anyone to be upset over what I wrote

I also want to say that I personally have never gone through. What I write in this, is purely based off of what I have read in other fics or stories as well as seen people talk online. I am trying not to offend anyone and if I do in any of the part that I talk about those things; I severely apologize.

Reminder that Alfred is dead in this so that's why he isn't here!

The POV here still isn't really consistent. It jumps between being with the Batkids, Bruce, and Y/N's. I tried to make it flow though so hopefully that works!

Reminder that Bruce and Y/N's ages don't matter (I'm not in the mood to deal with that) but; Dick is 31 (and married to Kori but that's not too important), Jason is 25, Tim is 22, Damian is 15, Cass is 24, and Steph is 23

Also a reminder that I also am not too familiar with Duke, so that is why he isn't there much. Mostly just mentioned

Anywho, enjoy

Love Z <3

All that he knew was that he walked in on his dad doing CPR on his mom.

That was all he knew.

That was all Dick knew.

3 Months Ago

Y/N tightened her grip around her purse, the people were following her too closely. She knew this. The light was still out, she kept reminding her that. Kept telling herself that no one would try to kidnap her in broad daylight.

But oh how wrong she was.

She should have known better. She grew up in Gotham. She should have known better.

----

Now

Three days had passed since everything happened. Bruce had refused to leave the hospital. He wondered if it was from guilt of not being there for her other times. Or if he was just filling in his obligation as a husband. Or maybe...maybe Dick was right and he was just doing all he could to preserve his image.

But none of that mattered. Bruce was staying until she woke up. Because she had to wake up. He had to show her that he still cared. That he still loved her. That he knows...he knows how much of a horrible person he has been to her for the past month.

He had to make sure she knew that he regretted it. Every word he said to her that night.

But every sign scared him. They had already had to resuscitate her since getting here. The tube was stuck down her throat, helping her to breathe. Nurses looking at him with pity, making him feel foolish for holding out hope that she would be okay. With every look that they gave him, there was a sort of emptiness and despair settling into his stomach.

Almost as if he agreed with them.

But he couldn't. He couldn't be agreeing with them. It wouldn't be useless holding out hope that she would be okay.

He ran his thumb over her palm, his eyes glancing up her arm and body until they landed on the raised skin on her collarbone. His hand that wasn't holding hers, come up to run over it. One of the many reminders of what happened 3 months ago.

----

3 Months Ago

Y/N woke up groggily. Her head was pounding and she felt like she had been dropped from a tall building. She blinked, trying to see something, anything, but as her eyes opened, she wished she could go back to seeing nothing.

She was sure that she was in the sewers. The damp and musky smell with the sound of water dripping down the old stone walls and floors around her made her all too aware of where she was. She tried swallowed any saliva, but her mouth was dry. Tears pricked her eyes from pain as she carefully pushed herself up.

Her heart was pounding in her chest as she gingerly touched her stomach. Involuntarily, her own body flinched back from her touch. She felt her air catch in her throat as she felt nothing moving. In the past month or so, her baby had been moving all the time, leading her on to many sleepless nights.

Deep down, she knew. She knew that her baby was dead. And she knew that there was nothing to be done about it.

She jumped back as she heard the sound of shoes pounding against the damp stones. She tried to move away from the only place that someone could come from, but with her hands and legs being tied together, it was harder than expected. She slipped slightly, her side hitting the stone hard.

Three men, with honestly average builds, stalked into the area. She breathed raggedly as she watched them continue towards her. She tried to push away as one grabbed her arm and forcibly pulled her up, a yelp of surprise and pain left her mouth as she was pulled to her feet.

These three men were normal. They weren't some goons or some chemically induced maniacs. They were normal.

And maybe that scared her more.

One of the men, who she assumed was the leader, walked up to her, knife raised. Her eyes darted between him, his associates, and the knife. Any self-defense training that Bruce had taught her, flew out the window as she stood before these men.

"When the situation arises, you'll remember what to do."

That was what Bruce had always told her. But here she was. In the situation and nothing was showing up in her mind as what she was supposed to do.

She leaned back as the guy leaned in but the one with the grip on her arm moved one of his hands to hold her head and make her look at him. She shook as she felt the knife against her collarbone.

A small whimper of pain left her mouth as she felt the knife push deeper, deep enough that it would scar over, before she was pushed back to the ground. The one with the knife gave her a sadistic smile before hoarsely whispering, "We're going to make sure Bruce Wayne finds you dead."

She stared in near terror as she held her hand over where they had sliced and watched as they left just as quickly as they had came.

----

Now

Jason stood in a corner away from Y/N's body. Even with the tube gone, she still didn't wake up. Although she had made some developments...some in the past 8 days that she had been in here and everyone had convinced Bruce to go home and get some proper sleep. So now here Jason was, standing in a room where the woman he had allowed to become his mom was laying still.

But he stayed away from her body.

Something he didn't say often was just how scared he can get. He remembers each time he's been absolutely terrified. When Bruce, well Batman, caught him stealing the wheels to the Batmobile. When he was stuck in that warehouse and Bruce didn't make it in time. When he saw Y/N again for the first time since his "death" and he thought that she would hate him for what he had done. When she was taken. Those words he heard Bruce hurling at Y/N.

And right now.

Jason was keeping his composure, but inside, he was a trembling and terrified child. A kid who just needed to know his mom was going to be alright.

Inside, he knew exactly how Damian was feeling.

But as he stared at her body, his mind couldn't stop drifting, remembering what he had heard that night 4 weeks ago. All he could do was wonder what would have happened if maybe, just maybe, he had gotten angry at Bruce for what he heard.

----

4 Weeks Ago

It was nearly 2 AM when Jason was going to sneak out of the Manor. Technically, it was easy to do, well...it was once he got passed Bruce and Y/N's room. So, he was as silent as he could be as he passed by. But he stopped in his tracks as he heard the voices from behind the cracked door.

Now, Jason wouldn't say he was noisy. But don't all kids stop and listen whenever they hear their parents arguing?

But they weren't arguing. No. He had heard that before. This wasn't it. This was different.

And it scared him.

He stood by the door as Bruce's voice got louder: "--Well I'm sorry that I'm not here anymore Y/N! But can you fucking blame me?"

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Her voice was low, warning him to think before he spoke.

"You didn't pay attention and got taken. You and your inability to pay attention to your surroundings got our baby killed."

She sucked in a breath, "You think I don't blame myself already, Bruce? Do you think that I don't wonder what would have happened if I just hadn't gone out that day?"

"Please, this doesn't affect you. You're perfectly fucking fine."

"Because I have to be!" She nearly screamed, "One of us has to be a parent to everyone else in this home and we both know it won't be you!"

"They aren't even your kids, Y/N, why do you--"

A loud slap echoed and Jason's hand went over his mouth as he continued to listen.

"Those kids are mine. I am the one who helped raise them. I am the one who has made sacrifices for them! You haven't done shit for them, ever." She let out a choked back laugh, "All I did was ask for you to be here with me, to understand what I am feeling and going through. But of course, you don't understand anything."

"I understand that you killed our baby."

"No Bruce. Those men came after me to hurt you. You are the reason I was taken and lost our baby. But sure," Her voice started to break, "Go on. Blame me. I'm used to you doing that anyways.

----

Now

Jason breathed shakily as he grabbed his helmet and stormed out of the room. He knew Dick would be there soon with Damian anyways and he had to get out of there.

--------

Dick watched as Damian laid curled into Y/N's side. Bruce was, miraculously, still sleeping as he and Damian snuck out to the hospital. He didn't do it much for himself as he did it for Damian, he knew that the kid had a sort of...guilt that he could have done something.

Not that Dick could say anything against that. He felt guilty as well.

Y/N was his mom. He was the oldest son. He should have protected her, that was his job. Dick was the protector. He was always supposed to protect everyone. Y/N and even Bruce included. He already had been in this situation before. The immense guilt of failing to protect Y/N.

He remembers what he thought that first time he was here. Remembers the guilt of already failing to keep Alfred alive and not wanting to fail Y/N.

----

3 Months Ago

Dick ran through the sewers, trying to find Y/N. Two days had passed since she had gone missing. All of them had lost sleep trying to find her and now they were searching the sewers for where she could be. He felt like a failure, a bad kid, all because he didn't

He stopped in his tracks as he heard her labored breathing. He turned in the direction that he heard the breathing, his own getting caught in his throat when he saw her laying in the fetal position.

"Mom." He breathed out, rushing to kneel by her side. He gently grabbed her face and looked at her, tears pooling in his eyes. "Mom, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He failed. Guilt filling with him. Guilt of failing Alfred and now her.

He was a failure and he knew that.

"You-you're not a--"

----

Now

"--A failure."

He stopped and looked at Y/N, his eyes wide. "Mom?"

Her head was turned to the side, a small look of gentle concern on her face. "You're not a failure Dick." She whispered through a hoarse voice, "You didn't fail anyone. Especially not me."

But he shook his head. He did. Not once. But twice. First being after she was taken and now this.

"Dick, stop that. The only person here that failed was me."

He got up and angrily wiped the tears from his eyes, "But I-I just...you never--"

Her hand shakily came up to touch his face, "I'm the one who failed sugar. I should've..."

She stopped, hand leaving his to rub her neck. Out of instinct of all the times waking up from injuries, he grabbed her the bottle of water he had grabbed earlier. Unscrewing the lid, he gently brought it to her lips and she quickly took a gulp of it.

After a moment, she gently held his wrist. "Dick, look at me and believe me when I tell you that it's not your fault. You did nothing wrong." Her grip tighten on his wrist for a moment, "You or your siblings." She glanced over at Damian, her arm wrapped around the kid who was now sleeping. "You all had nothing that you could do." She looked back at him, "Everything that happened, that I did, was nothing to do with you kids. It um...it--"

"Has to do with dad?"

She nodded silently before breathing shakily, "I know Jason heard what Bruce and I said. Ahd I um...I assume that--"

He stopped her, his head shaking. "He didn't tell us anything."

"Oh." She sucked in a breath, "Let's just say, both your father and I say things that we shouldn't have. Not saying they weren't truthful...that deep down we didn't mean each and every word that passed our lips...but you kids aren't to blame."

Dick swallowed hard, "Why did you do it mom?"

Her hand fell from his wrist and she looked away, out to the window. "You don't understand how I felt after everything--"

----

6 Weeks Ago

Y/N silently stared out the window. Her hands mindlessly moving up and down her now flatter stomach. She felt disgusting and like a failure. A failure as a wife and as a mother and...as a woman. She was hurting. Not physically, sure her entire body was in pain, but mentally, she was in much more pain.

Her head snapped as she heard the door open. She saw Bruce standing at the door, an almost uncomfortable look on his face. She shakily looked away, ashamed to even look at him.

She heard his almost scoff, "Y/N, come on. You need to talk about it."

She looked at him slightly before whispering with a strained voice, "So do you."

"Y/N, I didn't...nevermind." She looked away again as he walked further in, "Doctors said that you'll be able to leave soon. By the end of the week at most."

She nodded, "Alright." Her voice nearly numb and void of emotion. She turned her head to him, "You always gonna hate me now?"

Bruce sighed, "I don't...I don't hate you."

"Why not?" Her words started to lace with their own venom, "I lost our baby. Because I'm such a..."

He shook his head, "Don't finish that sentence. You are not a failure baby. It wasn't your fault. None of what happened was your fault. You weren't gonna know that someone was going to come after you.

----

Now

"Y/N?" She felt herself freeze when she heard the voice. She kept her eyes everywhere but at the door. She didn't want to see him. Not here. Not now. "Dick can you--"

"Mom doesn't want to see you."

"Dick you don't--"

"Dick it's okay." She whispered, looking at her oldest. "Take Damian down to the food court, force him to eat some junk."

"Mom--"

"Go." She whispered before he silently nodded and grabbed the younger boy, starting to carry him out of the room. She weakly gripped the blanket, "Why are you here?"

"Can I not visit my wife."

She shook her head, "I am not your wife, Bruce." She looked at him angrily, "You're the one who served the fucking papers."

"And I can't--"

"Bruce, you told me that the only reason you were letting me stay in the manor was for the kids. Was so that Damian didn't have to losing another person." She breathed angrily, "You stopped loving me, not the other way around. You're only here to keep up appearances that you are a loving and devoted husband." She leaned forward in his direction, "But I know exactly what you are."

"And what's that?" He challenged.

"A selfish coward who only cares for himself and his image."

He shook his head, "I'm sorry that I made you think so lowly of me."

Tears burned her eyes, "Get out."

"Y/N--"

"Get out, Bruce. Now."

He stood and started for the door, momentarily stopping to look at her. "I still love you, I know what I did and what I said shows otherwise, but all I ask for is one more chance and I'll prove it to you."

Her lip quivered for a moment before she whispered out, "Tell the nurses I woke up."

#dc #dc x reader #dc imagine #batfam #batfam x reader #batfam imagine #batmom #x reader #imagine #dc angst #batfam angst #batmom angst #angst #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson angst #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd angst #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne angst #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne angst

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings.

Additionally, I've been getting a lot of (understandable) messages concerned about the wellbeing of our lovely reader and Law, so I made a helpful little graph just to document the overall progression of the story and where you are so far as of this chapter :)

Do with this what you will <3

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock

Chapter 8

[Prev] [Next]

Law’s entire world was curled up on a hospital bed, an IV fluid drip in her hand and her eyes closed tightly shut, afraid that if they opened they’d have to relive the reality of the situation all over again.

You had continued bleeding throughout the car ride to the hospital, rendering the impromptu toilet paper pad completely ineffective.  Both what was left of that and your underwear were placed in a biohazard container, and you were placed in a fresh pair of hospital garments with a maxi pad that really operated similar to a diaper.  The bleeding also made you incredibly weak and lightheaded, leaving Law to sprint into the emergency room, grab a wheelchair, and bring you inside that way.

When he woke up this morning, he never would’ve guessed he would be seeing you in a hospital bed in the small emergency patient room.  You had showered and eaten breakfast, kissed him and pet Bepo.  Now you were actively expelling what was most definitely a miscarriage.

A gentle knock resounded outside the shut door.  You didn’t even move in reaction, staying inhumanly still with your eyes closed.  The door opened regardless however, and Law was met with the friendly, yet somber, face of your gynecologist.  Robin entered the room with a clipboard in her hand.  Law recognized her instantly, not as his wife’s gynecologist, but as a former classmate in medical school.  He never thought that she’d be the one taking care of this entire situation, and part of him was regretful that she had to see this side of him.

“Small world, huh?” Law asked, though his voice lacked any enthusiasm.

“Indeed it is, I was just reading the latest paper you published.  I was wondering how you were doing after residency,” the woman responded.

Law huffed with a minimal bounce of his shoulders.  “You could probably guess how I’m doing.  But, thank you for taking the time to drive here from downtown.”

“Of course, it was oddly good timing.  I have no patients at the clinic for the rest of the day.”  Robin’s lips pursed all of a sudden however, as she got down to business.  “I would like to talk to you privately, if that’s alright with you.”

The man’s eyes narrowed in concern.  “Why privately?”

Her voice lowered to a whisper.  “I’m not sure your wife is in a stable emotional state to hear what I have to say.”

With the way you hadn’t moved since you arrived, your IV drip slowly administering your fluids and a clip on your finger monitoring your pulse and oxygen levels, Law was starting to wonder if you had stressed yourself into a deep sleep.  He didn’t want to wake you to find out.  Instead, he quietly followed Robin out into the hallway, asking a nurse at the front desk to monitor your room for him.  He followed his former colleague into a small meeting room, where she shut the door behind the two of them for complete privacy.

“Law, I know you can handle the more… gritty side of things, so I’m going to be completely blunt with you,” she began, covering her clipboard of papers with her hands.  “I’m sure you’re already very aware, but your wife is currently undergoing an eight week miscarriage.  Her follow-up appointment from last week was supposed to be in two days, but clearly, we were correct in the possibility that she was seven weeks along when we couldn’t detect a heartbeat.”  It was then that she moved her hands, shuffling through the papers in her clipboard before producing a copy of your patient assessment and a small, enclosed envelope.  “Before I begin, I would like to ask you a few questions.  I was informed that you had blood work and a semen analysis done to confirm your fertility, correct?”

The non-professional side of Law felt slightly uncomfortable discussing the results of his semen analysis with his former residency colleague, but he knew this was crucial information.  He nodded, folding his tattooed hands above the table.  “Yes I did.  My hormone panel from the blood test came back completely normal without any anomalies, and the semen analysis showed a completely normal sperm count.”

Robin nodded, opening the envelope as she listened to him speak.  “Understood, so it’s safe to say you are fertile.”

“I would assume so,” he confirmed.

The black-haired woman produced a small set of photographs from the envelope.  “With that confirmed for me, I would like to show you these photos from your wife’s ultrasound last week.”  She laid out the small assortment of photographs, but held one down with her hand and used her pen to point out the barely-identifiable contents of the image.  (Which Law was grateful for, as he admittedly had no idea what he was looking at.  His brief rotation in gynecology did very little to cement the process of a uterine ultrasound.)

“This large black space is the amniotic fluid surrounding the embryo,” she described, moving the capped end of her pen around the space.  “This white blotch here is the embryo at around six weeks gestation, which I theorize is when it ceased development.  As you can see, it’s still attached to the wall of her uterus.”  Two taps of the pen against the image punctuated her statement.  “This area surrounding the amniotic fluid is the uterine tissue.”  Robin looked up at Law.  “Understood?”

It took a brief moment, but Law finally nodded his head.  “Yes.”

Silently, she moved the first image out of the way and replaced it with another one.  “Now I would like to draw your attention to this one.”

Law leaned forward in his seat, assessing the new image.  It looked completely different than the first, and he quietly waited for Robin to begin to describe what exactly he was supposed to be focusing on.

“This was taken at the beginning of the ultrasound.  My technician placed the transmitter on the left side of her abdomen before moving it toward the approximate location of the uterus to detect the fetus.  We were able to see a glimpse of her left ovary during this time.”  Once again, the pen tapped a specific area of the image.

Law’s heart rate increased.  “Please don’t tell me what I think you’re about to tell me.”

Robin shook her head.  “Not cancer,” she confirmed.  “However, do you see this patch of tissue right here?”  She circled the area.

He didn’t, really, but he nodded his head to urge her to continue.  

“It can’t be confirmed without surgery, but I have a strong suspicion that this is endometrial tissue.  I reviewed some of her patient notes and recalled certain appointments where she would inform me of abnormally heavy periods, but she never mentioned anything more specific, such as intense pain during menstruation, so it never seemed to affect her life outside of that.  But looking at her ultrasound images, I’m highly suspicious that she may have endometriosis, which can greatly negatively impact fertility.”

Law clenched his jaw.  “What kind of surgery is done to diagnose that?”

“We would confirm the diagnosis with a laparoscopy.  A small cut is made in the naval, and a thin instrument, similar to a camera, is inserted into the incision to scope out potential endometrial tissue.  In many circumstances, a similar laparoscopic method is used to surgically remove this endometrial tissue, however we would need a definitive diagnosis in order to perform this with confidence.”  Robin was stone-faced as she explained.

Law had a million questions racing through his mind.  He wished he could sit and ask all of them, but the most pressing one forced its way out of his mouth first.  “Will she ever be able to have children?”

“After a successful recovery from this miscarriage, and a successful recovery from laparoscopic surgery to remove endometrial tissue, if that is the case, then yes, her chances of becoming pregnant will remain.  However, women who experience at least one miscarriage have a higher likelihood of experiencing more, so you must take this into account if you decide to try for conception again.”

He nodded.  “I understand.”

Robin collected her paperwork, reviewing your patient chart once more.  “Other than the potential for endometriosis, her physical health is perfect.  There would be no other reason to me why she wouldn’t be able to have children, other than this one big issue.”

Law stayed silent as she explained.  He stood up as she did and followed her to the door, blindly keeping pace behind her as he was led back to your room.  The door was pushed open slowly so as to not potentially disturb you.  The nurse from prior stood from her seat, entering the hallway and quietly whispering to Law.

“She fell asleep, her vitals are good, however she should remain on fluids for a while longer.  Her blood pressure was lower than normal and her iron levels were reduced,” explained the nurse, who’s own eyes were creased with a sympathetic concern.

Law gave a curt nod.  “Thank you very much for staying there.”

“Of course, it’s my pleasure.  Come back to our desk if you need anything,” she replied before leaving to continue her work.

Robin held her clipboard under her arm.  “I’m going to return to my office and write a referral for a diagnostic laparoscopy, but I won’t make the official call until she gives me her full permission.  Does that sound good?”

Law nodded, rendered completely mute.

“Call my clinic if you need anything at all.  Tell them who you are, and I’ll make sure your calls get sent right to me.”  Robin was about to turn on her heel, but she looked back once more at the forlorn man.  “I don’t usually do that for my patients, but I know you, Law.  I know how genuine you are.  I can see how much you love your wife and how the both of you are eager for a successful pregnancy.  I want to do everything in my power to help you achieve that.”

Law inhaled a shuddering breath.  “Thank you, Robin, I… I appreciate that.”

She nodded her head, finally turning and pacing down the hallway.  Law entered your room once more and closed the door behind him.  He stood at the foot of your bed, following the hose from the IV bag down to where it was connected into the skin of your hand, taped in place to prevent its movement.  Your face was tucked into your arms, shielding your grief from the world.  The pulse monitor was moved from your index finger to your middle finger, constantly giving readings of your blood oxygen and iron count.

Law took his seat again, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands.  He only picked his head up to look at the digital clock on the wall.  It was already almost 5:00 PM.  He shoved his hand in his pants pocket and took out his phone, opening his text messages.

Hey, Shachi, can you or Penguin go to my apartment and feed Bepo?  If you could take him for a walk, too, that’d be really appreciated.

It didn’t take long for his phone to buzz with a response.

Dumb Orca

Yea of course. everything good????

Law sighed.

I’ll explain everything later, but we won’t be home for a little while.

Dumb Orca

Ight, bet. hope youre good

Law did really not want to explain the events of the day over text.  He placed his phone back in his pocket before eyeing your bag that was laying against the leg of his chair.  He reached down and fumbled quietly for your own phone, lifting it from your bag and illuminating your screen.  He input your passcode and glanced through your own texts.

Ika-chan

Hey girlie is everything alright???  Law came in to grab your bag

Ika-chan

Text me back as soon as you get this, i’m really worried!!!!!

Ika-chan

I love you boo xoxo

Nami Swan

Hey babes u left ur lunch in the kitchen fridge

Nami Swan

Where did u go???

Nami Swan

I’ll protect ur tupperware for 2day, but if u dont come back by 5 im letting usopp eat ur lunch

Nami Swan

U know how sanji feels abt wasting food

God Usopp

Hey can i have ur lunch

Boss-y

(2 Missed Calls)

Boss-y

(1 Voicemail)

Boss-y

Hey, your husband came in and picked up your bag.  He informed reception that he was taking you home, I hope everything’s alright.  Please call me back when you can, just so I know you’re alright.  If you need some time off, just feel free to let me know that as well so we can work around the project.  Don’t stress yourself out about coming back in too quickly, if something happened I want you to recover first and foremost.  Best wishes.

Law pressed the button on the side of your phone to set it to sleep mode before slipping it back into your bag.  He leaned back in his chair and stared blankly at your backside, curled away from him.

#fem reader #law x reader #reader insert #trafalgar law x reader #x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #op x reader #one piece x reader #im losing you