#tea cures death?

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

Sometimes all one needs is a good cuppa.

Tea somehow cures people of anything from simply being a bit moody to death.

[its-tea-time-darling]

hello good evening i am here to enlighten you and increase your viewership of tdc manifold: when newt goes on his "is this about your little girlfriend" "don't lie to me" spree, consider the following...

newt isn't just jealous of thomas' potentially lingering affection for teresa (although he definitely is jealous of that), he's also flippin losing it because he has felt the same draw towards wicked ever since they started plotting out how to get minho back, the draw to get teresa back or at least the draw to get to scream at her and shake her for betraying them so badly.

and newt is as angry as he is at thomas for still caring about teresa, because he does, too.

and imagine, that's even rougher for newt to feel bc he owes minho his life, so having a part of him that still wants to talk to teresa, that still wants her (back) has got to be killing him. because he should unambiguously hate her for taking minho. but he doesn't.

[the-californicationist]

he opens the mail

Captain Price opens a package, thinking it’s intel, but it’s a sex pollen. The only cure? Your pussy, apparently.

Warning: sex pollen tropes, extremely dubious consent, attempt at satire?, angry john price

“We’re never going to make this deadline. Laswell’s gonna kill me,” you complained, burying your head in the pile of envelopes and packages strewn over your desk. 

“Did this to yourself, lass. Shoulda been keepin’ up with intel duty. Wee bit at a time, ‘s what I say,” Soap patted you on the shoulder, feigning pity. 

You spent hours combing through the documents, and by the time everyone had gone to bed, your fingers were covered in paper cuts, and your vision was blurry from squinting at the poorly scrawled Cyrillic words. 

You thought you were alone, and as you stood up to stretch and refill your coffee mug, Captain Price opened up the office door, scaring you half to death. 

“Oh, hey Corporal,” he smiled and then furrowed his brow, “What are you still doing here?”

You sighed, pointing to the piles of documents,

“Laswell’s intel backlog. I’m the only one with a Level 3 linguistics cert for Russian, so here I am. Gonna be an all-nighter.”

He closed the door and sat down across from your seat, digging into the pile, 

“I’m Level 3. Let’s finish it.”

“Captain, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure you’ve got more important things…”

Price shook his head, taking off his hat and hanging it on the chair back,

“Nah, tha’s alright, love. I’ll help ya. Get us a tea, yeah?”

You knew how he took his tea, and you hated that you did. Secretly, you were obsessed with him. He was always around, smelling like balsam wood and tobacco, looking like a gladiator, huge and capable in the most masculine way. It was hard to concentrate when he was nearby. Now that he had offered to help, you had to grin and bear it. 

You worked together for a while, chatting, even laughing. It was nice. You had so much in common, the conversation flowed easily, and you found yourself much more at ease. Finally, three packages remained. You opened the first one and found little more than phone records for a local library. Unhelpful to say the least. Price opened a water bill, and he recognized the address of a recent Konni base location. Any intel at this point felt like a celebration. Then, the final box. 

“Go on then. Show us the ending,” he smiled, handing it to you. 

“Couldn’t take the joy of ripping up the last letter, Captain. Be my guest,” you smiled. 

He chuckled, tearing into the envelope. In a flash, bright pink powder sprayed him directly in the eyes, and he writhed in pain, pinching them shut, his whole body going stiff. 

“Fuck me!” He shouted. 

“Hang on,” you ran over to the sink in the kitchenette, “Here’s some water. Get that shit out of your eyes.”

“Don’t,” he moved away from you like you were on fire, “Don’t touch me. Might be contagious.”

Your chest was rising and falling with your labored breathing, and you were immediately worried. You reached for your phone and called Laswell.

“Laswell, Price got anthraxed by one of the intel letters. What do you want us to do?”

She gasped, 

“What? Shit. I’m on my way.”

She hung up on you. You watched Price slowly try to open his eyes. They were stained hot pink from the powder. 

“You alright?” You asked him. 

“Yeah, love,” he sighed, “Doesn’t hurt anymore. Feeling strange though. Laswell said she’s coming?”

You nodded,

“Yeah, just in case.”

He nodded, running his hand along the inside of his collar. The captain was sweaty and a little pale. 

“Captain, are you okay?”

“Mmm, no,” he shook his head, “Something’s not right, love.”

He stood and went to the sink, washing as much of the powder off as he could. You moved away from him and stationed yourself across the room, praying for Laswell to hurry. 

Price was in a bad way. He took off his shirt, and he was still dripping with beads of sweat. You tried not to stare, but his temperature wasn’t the only thing heating up. His huge cock was making a prominent tent in his pants, but he was in too much pain to bother hiding it. You felt yourself blushing, and you willed yourself to pull it together. 

“…fuckin’ hell,” his hand went to his crotch to squeeze his length, trying to find some relief, “Sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” you said politely, trying to breathe normally, but feeling the slick rush melt between your legs. 

“It’s makin’ me…feel…bloody hell. I can’t hold it off. Can…can you…? No! No, what the fuck am I sayin’? No,” he shook his head, rubbing his hands down his face, hot and very bothered. 

You inched closer to him,

“If I haven’t been affected yet, I’m sure it’s okay. How should I help you?”

“No! No, stay back. I’m not…I can’t think straight. My mind’s got one thing on it,” he shoved his hands beyond his zipper and began to jerk himself off, his dick making lurid noises with his hand. 

You hated seeing him so helpless. You moved to his side,

“Cap, it’s okay. Let me help you.”

His hand was around your throat in milliseconds. Price shoved you against the wall and began to kiss your mouth, furiously laving his tongue against yours. 

“No, no, no,” he whispered through his kisses, not bothering to pull away as he spoke his lamentations. 

You made the mistake of putting your hands on his chest to steady yourself. He moaned, trembling beneath your touch,

“Ahh, careful.”

“Sorry,” you pulled your hands away, still trapped in his firm grip around your neck, “did I hurt you?”

“No, doesn’t hurt.”

He said it in a way that darkly implied your touch was igniting a different kind of fire. You put your hands back where they were, and his eyes shot open, piercing through yours with a lustful rage. Unexpectedly, he ripped off your shirt and lay you down on the black leather couch in the corner of the office. He crushed you with his weight, kissing you deeply. 

Then, your phone rang. He didn’t allow you to pause, so it went to voicemail. It rang again. You were getting just as hot as he was, and you weren’t that interested in who was looking for you in the middle of the night. Until, however, the door to the office burst wide open and Laswell and Gaz burst through it. 

Price snarled. You’d never heard a man make that noise before. Laswell put her hands on her hips while Gaz tried to shield his face in shock. Laswell rubbed her forehead, frustrated,

“Are his eyes pink, Corporal?”

You escaped his jaws for a moment, 

“Yeah, why?”

“It’s a sex drug. Forces the user to fornicate as it is only passed through the body in seminal fluid, dissolving in the heat of another person’s body. Are you volunteering here? What happened?”

Her tone was so matter of fact, it was a little humorous, if Price’s length wasn’t rutting against you in earnest, you might've laughed. You tried to explain as much as he would allow,

“Got too close… just… happened. How…” you moaned as Price pulled down the strap of your bra and helped himself to your nipple, “How did you know?”

She sighed, typing something into her datapad,

“Checked the incident log from this afternoon. Four more cases of this have popped up in intel collections. Gonna have to screen for it next time.”

She turned to walk out of the office with Gaz, and you called after her,

“Hey, wait! How long does it - oh, fuck… how long does it last?”

Laswell had the audacity to smirk at you, raising her eyebrows and cutting her eyes at Price’s swollen cock, lolling out of his pants, scraping itself against you. 

“Eight hours. Looks like you’re in for a rough night, Corporal. Maybe next time you’ll be more careful.”

Part 2

[korinthiakos]

I'm here, I'm tired, the painkillers are not kicking in, and I got a slushie

[feyascorner]

Ok but what if tav is the hero of baldurs gate right, the god killer, slayer of the chosen three, savior of the emerald grove etc etc and after all that is told they had this incurable illness that the parasite had only slowed down. Now, with it gone, it’s progressing again and Tav can’t help but feel so stupid, weak even, that such a mighty hero could be struck by the weaknesses of their own body

Maybe pushes everyone away when they find out, too afraid to tell them that after everything they’ve been through after surviving all of that that they were going to die anyways

AND THEN ASTARIONS REACTION!!! Because surely he would not take that news sitting down (if he found out at all)

a/n. anon how did you know this type of prompt is exactly my cup of tea <33

It's not fair.

You did everything right. You saved the grove, the Tieflings, the Druids, the gnomes, the city, and even those who did not deserve saving, you always came to their aid. You've slayed gods, mind flayers, githyanki, even a bloody elder brain. And now, finally, after so long, with the brain having been defeated, and nothing but pure bliss occupying your headspace, you think you finally have time to relax.

Instead, you're reeled over the bathroom sink, eyes blurry from how much your body seems hellbent on making you miserable.

Ah, you remember. No matter what you've done for others, no matter what you've sacrificed, you're reduced to nothing but a sick patient. One that has no hope for a cure.

The months spent with little to do with your illness has left it to come back tenfold, and now all you can do is grovel on the bathroom floor, head in your hands as you understand that this is all you were meant to amount to. In the end, you were always destined to rot away by yourself and succumb to this gods forsaken disease. You are no hero. This is what you truly are---the pitiful remains of someone who longed for more.

The weeks following the defeat of the elder brain are filled with mournful streets for those who lost their lives and the joyous laughter of those who live on for them. Celebration--though it's difficult with half the taverns having collapsed in the battle--is not out of the ordinary. Strangers and friends alike come together every night, singing praises to whichever gods they worship. Your companions are no exception.

But each and every time, you deny their offers. You've become quite skilled at making up excuses about feeling tired, about having errands to run, or having loose ends to tie up. In reality, you're a coward. Despite the trust they put in you, you cannot provide it back--not in matters like this. Not when you've all been through so much, just for your own journey to amount to nothing.

It's not like you haven't known about this disease. You knew your death was imminent. But now, after experiencing just a fraction of what life has to offer, you no longer want to let go.

It's just not fair.

For what seems to be the millionth time this week, you hear someone knock at your door. Whichever one of your companions it is, you don't bother taking a step from your bed, face still planted into your sheets. You don't have the energy to move, and the useless healing herbs scattered across the room don't exactly hide your secret. So instead of standing, you bury your face deeper into your bed.

"You can't stay in there forever."

You flinch as you realize it's a voice you've dreaded hearing. One that invokes so much love yet fear as you remember that if you see him right now, it might be your last. And you don't want that. Not at all.

"I don't know what we've done to make you push us away like this," he says through the door, and your fist tightens in front of your chest. "But this is getting ridiculous, darling. You have to come out eventually."

You remain silent.

"Gods, just--" he stops, and you can hear the hesitance in his voice. You swear it almost cracks a little. "--Have I done something wrong?"

At this, you're suddenly on your feet, rushing to push yourself against the door, but unwilling to open in. "No, Astarion, you haven't done anything wrong. Don't you dare think that way."

You can hear him shift. "Then why do you avoid me? The others, I can understand, but me?...I mean, I thought we were more than that..."

"We are, it's just..."

"Just what?"

The final thread of your resolve snaps, and you reach toward your lock. Your hand falters for a moment, but you eventually open the door slowly. And if the way his face falls tells you anything, you must look absolutely dreadful.

"Oh, my sweet, what's happened to you?" he whispers, his eyes widening even more when he sees the mess of your home behind you. The clothes all over the floor, the blinds shut despite there being no sunlight to shield from, the healing potions and herbs messily tossed around...you'd feel ashamed if you weren't so tired already.

"...Are you sick?" he steps inside, taking his time to take in the state of what you call home. When you don't answer, he whips around to you, alarmed. "You're sick. Is it a cold? Flu?"

You shake your head, sick of having to lie to the one person you don't want to deceive. "It's a long story."

"I'm undead, darling. I have all the time in the world."

"It's not a very nice story."

"If I wanted a nice story, I'd be listening to a bard someplace else," he says, and you feel your eyes bubble with tears as he steps closer. "What's happened?"

The words spill out like vomit, and you're soon telling him what's been weighing on you for so long. You find yourself sliding down to the ground, and he goes with you, letting you grasp desperately at the sleeves of his shirt while you tell him everything. You can barely breathe with how fast your talking but you're afraid you won't say everything if you get any slower. The entire time, he just stares at you, his arms circled around you, and only when you're done does his gaze finally flicker.

"...Surely, there must be a cure." He's suddenly glancing around the entire room, at pieces of herbs. "Surely, at least one of these would--"

"None of them work, Astarion."

"Then we can find the finest healers in the city--we can even go back to that damn druid, and ask him."

"I've tried."

"Well, you haven't tried hard enough, obviously, if you haven't found a bloody cure!"

You give him one hard look--one with dark bags under your eyes and a weariness that stretches on for weeks--and his temper seems to cool. His shoulders slump, but he reaches for your hand, rubbing his thumb against your skin. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just felt so weak," you whisper. "I didn't want you to think that too."

Immediately, his eyes harden, and he takes both sides of your face in his hands. "No. I don't think you're weak, and that's not going to change. You've proven yourself more than I can count, and I know you enough to know that you can't let it end like this, love. You can't leave like this."

"Astarion..."

He shakes his head. "I won't let this take you from me. There have been too many opportunities for us to lose each other, and we've overcome them all. We'll just do it again. We'll go to the most skilled healers in Faerun. We'll go to all of them if we have to, and we'll start tomorrow."

You can feel yourself tear up again, and he kisses your tears away while you sob in his arms.

"I'll save you," he mumbles against your temple. "Even if it's the last thing I do."

[icarryitin]

Trade Deal

spencer reid/gn!reader

i started this bc i was ill and feeling sorry for myself and it turned into a very not to me not if it’s you kind of vibe, mostly bc i frankensteined a couple of my favourite translations of That Scene so they could have their own version🥰🥰

series masterlist

word count: 1.5k // warnings: reader has a cold and all the grossness that comes with it, spencer is so Cute™️ it causes me physical pain

summary: In which Spencer Reid, known germaphobe, pretends he doesn’t know exactly how many pathogens have made their home in your sinuses.

It starts with a scratchy throat on a Tuesday morning.

You don’t think much of it, blame it on seasonal allergies, knock back a multivitamin - you’re not about to be bested by a cough of all things. That is, until it gets to Friday afternoon. You’re trying, you really are. Your immune system has other plans.

“You stay right there, Patient Zero.”

Rossi’s comment would be funny if you didn’t think that laughing might trigger a coughing fit that could very well be the end of you, right there in the doorway of Hotch’s office. That’d be one hell of an epitaph - too stubborn to take a sick day, choked to death in boss’s office. Hotch, at least, already seems to know why you’re hovering.

“I’m-“

“Going home, I hope.” He interrupts you with all the fondness of a concerned father. You don’t have the energy to argue, or to hold up an unaffected front. The men standing by the window soften a little as they watch you visibly deflate. Dave promises to send you his Nonna’s minestrone recipe, there’s nothing it can’t cure; right now, though, you’re only thinking about your bed.

The well wishes follow you through the bullpen, old wives tales and family cures that have never failed. JJ tells you to sweeten your tea with honey, Derek swears that a hot water bottle on your back will work magic. Even Emily pipes up from behind her germ shield, the folder held across her face so you can only see her eyes, and tells you to take a hot shower first thing in the morning - the steam will clear you out for the day. There’s a chorus of agreement, or disagreement you’re not sure. It’s a struggle to hear much over the cotton wool in your ears.

“We’ll see, with any luck I’ll die in my sleep. Love you!” You sniffle as you back out of the office, feeling all kinds of sorry for yourself, and determined to make it as far as you can without touching anything. Lest you actually start the next plague.

Spencer watches you go, shuffling backwards out of the office and turning towards the elevators. He’d elected not to add his own suggestions to the plethora of options supplied by the rest of the team. Unable to focus on much beyond just how tired you look. You’ve been fighting this thing all week, he’d passed over his own supply of hand sanitiser only that morning when you ran out. Ultimately, you put up a good fight, but there’s no cure for a virus. It just has to run its course. Just like his own feelings.

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t be comparing a virus to whatever it is he feels for you. Has felt, will feel - if there’s an end to this tunnel, he can’t see it yet.

“What about you, Spence?”

JJ’s voice pulls him from his thoughts before he can start spiralling down that particular hole. It takes him a moment to recall what they’d been chattering about before your long overdue exit - drinks, right. Yeah, that’s not happening.

“I’m busy, actually.” He shrugs, content to miss out on one night in favour of the plan currently coming to fruition in his mind. They won’t miss him too much.

“Busy? You weren’t busy when we talked about it last week.” Emily makes no effort to conceal her surprise. To be fair to them, it’s not like him to blow them off. There’s just something that’s come up, something decidedly you shaped, that’s far more important.

“Yeah, I forgot. Sorry.”

Spencer doesn’t miss the look that JJ and Emily share, he doesn’t miss the eyebrow that Derek raises in his direction. He simply chooses to ignore them.

At least the walk to your apartment is short, there’s still heat leeching from the plastic bag around Spencer’s wrist as he fumbles with his keys. You’d given him a bright pink key cap, so he’d know which one was yours, as if he wouldn’t know anyway. Eidetic or not, that’s one he would have committed to memory. The excuse had been because he was helping you out whilst you were down an arm, takedown gone wrong, you’d dislocated your shoulder. And then you’d insisted he keep it, because someone should have your spare key, and he’s the least likely of the lot of you to lose it.

He thinks you might be asleep at first, open plan living area lit only by a salt lamp and a set of fairy lights draped over your kitchen window, it’s cosy. And then you appear in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in a jewel toned blanket. The low light is forgiving, but Spencer would be able to spot the bags under your eyes from a mile away. Without his glasses.

“I brought noodles.” He says as he turns back to set the steaming bag on your kitchen counter.

“I’m so gross right now.” As if to demonstrate your point, another cough racks your body. You just about manage to catch it under the swathes of blanket clutched in your fingers, but at least he can’t claim you’re not truly disgusting in this moment.

“I don’t mind.”

You’re so set on denying him entry that you don’t even really register what he said - Spencer Reid doesn’t mind that you’re ill. He doesn’t mind. A younger, healthier version of you would swoon. You might anyway, although that’s probably the vertigo talking.

“You’ll get sick.” Your rebuttal is weak, resolve crumbling. Warm noodles do sound pretty good right now.

“Will you let me help you, please?” It’s the firmest he’s ever been with you. No room for argument, doctor’s orders. So you have to relent. Not that you have much of a choice, he’s already pottering about in your kitchen in search of bowls. As if he doesn’t remember where they are.

“Did you get me a number three?” Your voice is brighter than he’s heard it all week.

“With extra toppings, of course.”

And those extra toppings go down a treat, of course they do.

Spencer watches you carefully as you eat - usually he’d be a little more subtle about it, but there’s not a lot that could pull your attention away from the bowl in your hands. You’re cross legged on the couch, blanket bunched around your middle, happy as a clam. Something his mother would say. He wonders what else she might say, what she might think about the abandonment of his germaphobia. Convenient, probably. Diana would say it with a raised eyebrow and a sly smile, the one that’s just for him. She has always liked you.

He promises he’ll be back tomorrow, once dishes are washed and leftovers are tucked neatly in your fridge, to make sure you get that hot shower Emily mentioned. The steam will definitely help, he’s read about it. Arguing with him would be pointless. You don’t have the energy, he’d only show up anyway, and it’s kind of nice to feel looked after. Spencer’s never failed to make you feel like that. You’re far too delirious to start thinking about that, not while he’s still standing in front of you at least. So you let him tuck you into bed, let him leave a glass of water on the table, let him dote. Pretending is a comfort when you feel as awful as you do. You’re already drifting off before he’s even ready to leave, content enough in your bed with the sound of him in the other room. Just, tinkering.

The sound of your front door opening rouses you the next morning, just about. Just enough to raise your head from your pillow and witness the sorry sight in your bedroom doorway.

Spencer’s trying - key word, trying - to suppress his sniffles, but the red rimmed eyes and tissue clutched in his fist give him away. It’s impossible to keep the sad little smile off of your face.

“Oh no.” You reach out a tired arm to pat the space beside you. There’s enough room for the two of you in amongst the blankets, and Spencer’s so far gone that he doesn’t even argue. His shoes and bag find a home at the foot of your bed as he lets himself collapse into the nest you’ve built. Tension leeches out of his body the moment he hits the mattress.

You have to lean across him to get your phone, right arm outstretched over his back - you can feel the heat rising off of him through his sweater and yours. Fever, that’s day two. Which means he spent yesterday evening taking care of you whilst he began to feel worse and worse. Softie.

“Egg or no egg?”

There’s an affirmative grunt from where his face is buried in your blankets. Egg it is, then. You dial the number mostly from memory, elbow still resting on his shoulder blade when you put the phone to your ear. You feel a little better than you did, but dragging yourself to the front door is still probably all you’ll be capable of today. At least you won’t be suffering alone. The line rings for a moment, then clicks, and a grainy hello sounds from the other side.

“Hi, can I place a breakfast order for delivery, please?”

i’m stuck on which chapter to work on next, do we want angst or yearning or fun flirty activities????🧡

[wonysugar]

angel | jang wonyoung

synopsis : she was convinced everything you did was to seduce her.

pairing : wonyoung x 6thmember!femreader

genre : smut

tags : noncon, degradation, manipulation, gaslighting, objectification, wonyoung is genuinely a creep, blood mentioned, scratching, physical and verbal abuse, choking, slight mentions of tribbing, fingering, slight nipple play, just plain suffering tbh, death threats, ‘good girl’, ‘slut’

!! warnings : this is like. PURE noncon so please please please read with caution and please for the love of god read the tags before continuing :(( !!

word count : 2.1k

a/n : okay i know i made the poll yesterday and all but look i had ideas and here they are I HOPE YOU LIKE IT this was so interesting to write cause this is SOOOO OUT OF MY COMFORT ZONE AND LIKE?? idk it was a nice experience i hope you like itfkendn

also you know the drill THIS IS NOT OKAY NOR IS IT HEALTHY DON’T DO THIS IRL BITCHES CONSENT IS KEY YALL😭🙏🙏do not give tea to someone who doesn’t want tea CAUSE THEY DON’T WANT ITT IT’S SIMPLE

god, finally.

you sat on the corner of your mattress, still carefully drying your wet dripping hair with the fluffy towel that belonged to you. after a shower like that? you felt refreshed, you felt good and oh did you feel so ready to just pass out on your bed at that moment. that was until you remembered that you couldn’t; since you had to wait for wonyoung, your dorm mate, to come back from the mall with yujin— or, wherever the hell they were at this hour. her dumbass forgot to bring the keys with her, so you’d have to stay awake to be able to open the door for her.

grabbing your phone, you checked the time. it read 12:37 am, which then lead you to text her, very politely yelling at her through SMS to hurry the fuck home before turning it off again and plugging in the charger. 

what a hassle, you thought, groaning. you were fucking exhausted and were practically dying to get some amount of rest, especially after such a long day of non-ending schedules.

mentally sucking it up and shrugging it off, you put the towel aside and laid down on your back, grabbing your phone yet again as an attempt to cure the ongrowing boredom and impatience inside you; maybe instagram reels would make the time go by faster.

indeed, before you knew it, you were startled by a quiet knock at the door. feeling immediate relief, you quickly got up and rushed to open it, already thinking about the amazing night of sleep you were gonna get afterwards.

“any second later and i would’ve left you outside, wonyoung.” you complained as soon as you turned the knob, immediately greeted by her face. you particularly noticed her expression switch to one of slight guilt as she giggled nervously.

you also observed how she stared at you, as per usual.

“sorry, angel.” she apologized, looking up and down at your entire body, seemingly distraught by the sight of your naked thighs, before walking in and continuing. “we just got so caught up in conversation that we ended up just walking around for hours, i hope i didn’t keep you waiting for too long, though.” she scratched the back of her neck, still staring at you, this time more so focused on your chest.

here’s the thing, you loved wonyoung. she was one of your closest friends, that was undeniable. but for some reason, sometimes whenever you’d talk to her.. she’d have a certain look. the same look that she’d give you whenever you’re wearing a somewhat revealing outfit, or doing quite literally anything, for that matter. it always made you feel uneasy, it made your skin crawl. you’d never tell her, though; she was a sweetheart, and you knew that her last intention would be to ever make you uncomfortable. 

right now was one of those moments, though, and her staring was getting overwhelming.

more overwhelming than usual.

subtly trying to brush it off, you responded, “it’s— it’s fine. just, please bring the keys next time?” 

she simply nodded before apologizing again, clearly aware of her mistake and swearing to never commit it again. that gave you the permission you needed to finally get ready for bed. whilst you were doing that, she was changing into her comfier clothes and also getting ready to sleep as she threw occasional warm smiles at you. 

until she squinted at you.

“man, you look pretty tired, y/n. did you sleep early yesterday?” she asked with a worried tone, afraid that you maybe weren’t getting enough sleep. 

you waved your hand around, “yeah, i did. today just wore me the fuck out really, but oh well.” you cut the conversation short, heading straight towards your bed. “goodnight wonyoung—“ but before you could do so, you felt her hand grab your wrist.

tightly.

“wait but— don’t you wanna cuddle like we usually do?” she asked, her mouth formed into a small pout.

and there went that stare. again.

“wony i’m sorry, i’m really tired and—“

“come on, please. i missed you.” she insisted, her grip on your wrist getting tighter as she kept her unsettling gaze on yours. 

your tired brain didn’t seem to register that, however, since you didn't even think about saying no.

i mean, she seemed pretty insistent on cuddling that night, so who were you to even say no? either way, you were gonna fall asleep immediately, so did it really matter if she was cuddling you or not?

you groaned dramatically, then signaled for her to lay on the other side of the bed. her eyes immediately lighting up, she rushed to jump on that side of the bed.

it didn’t take long at all for you guys to finally be settled in bed and you particularly thrived in finally feeling the warmth of your weighted blanket against your cold skin. she, on the other hand, just seemed to be happy to be there with you, considering the grip she had on you was quite strong for like, literally no reason. 

after telling each other goodnight, you expected to doze off immediately, but you couldn’t. you felt bizarre, you didn’t feel like yourself at that moment. every single ounce of exhaustion left your body and it was like insomnia just kicked in for no reason whatsoever.

frustrated, you tried to sleep. that’s when you heard her breathing heavily… very heavily. her inhales and exhales were loud and violent and you felt them on your neck, since she was especially close to it. you would’ve shrugged it off, 

if you didn’t feel her hands moving a lot more than usual.

“wonyoung?”

you felt her shift before hearing her hum, indicating you to keep going.

“you feeling okay?? you’re.. you’re breathing quite heavily.” was what you asked, somewhat concerned. “plus, you’re like, grabbing me—“ 

“sorry.” she responded immediately, “you just— you smell good, is all. i saw your hair was wet, you took a shower, right? you used the body lotion i gave you, right?” 

you nodded reluctantly, somewhat weirded out by her behavior tonight, to which she hummed again.

“i knew you’d like it, it’s so soft and sweet,” she leaned in closer to your neck, sniffing it closer, “just like you, angel.” 

what the fuck was actually wrong with her that night??

getting even more weirded out with each second that passed, you were about to let out a hesitant ‘thanks’ but got cut off by the sensation of her slowly sliding her hand up your pajama shirt as she kept sniffing you.

woah.

woah woah woah???

“wonyoung— what the fuck—“ 

“you smell so fucking good baby. fuck— so good. you used that body lotion just so i would notice, hm? i know you did.” she whispered into your ear, smelling your hair in the process as her other hand went down to your crotch.

triggering your fight or flight, you tried pushing her off of you slightly, but she simply wouldn’t budge. 

wonyoung had always been taller than you by a long shot.

your own breathing getting heavier, you were starting to get progressively worried. why was she keeping you in place, why was she smelling you like this?? why the fuck was she acting weird??? 

“wonyoung get off of me—“ 

“god your smell.” 

she just kept mumbling that same sentence as she sniffed you all over, gently putting her hand on your neck to keep you secure, making you squirm under her whilst you’re trying to break free from her tight grasp.

in a state of panic, “you’re scaring me wony stop it please—“ 

“stop moving or i swear to god i’ll fucking kill you.” was all she said back, it was dark, but not dark enough to where you couldn’t see her staring at you with that look again. you were shaking by this point, but you obeyed. you stopped moving, in fear of what she was actually going to do to you.

“look at you, being a fucking slut and putting on the body lotion i gave you, always wearing these outfits around me, and you seriously expect me not to do this shit? god, you probably sounded so good washing up too—” she rubbed your inners thighs with her free hand before adding on, 

“what do you want me to do when your ass is out in front of me all the time, y/n? i tried to be nice and do it only when you’re sleeping, but answering the door at midnight in booty shorts and tshirt this tight? baby, you’re asking me to fuck you.” her hand still reaching down to your thighs and squeezing them, hard enough for her acrylic nails to dig in slightly as you winced in pain.

you tried speaking up, but words wouldn’t come out. 

you could only stare at her, tears quickly welling up your eyes. 

“oh angel, don’t cry..” she pouted, quickly taking that same hand she used to hurt you and wiping your tears with it. you could only flinch “i’m so sorry baby, i— i just can’t help it. you look so good and smell so good and—“ she slid her hand up your shirt and quickly went under your bra, playing with the nipple for a few moments almost immediately as she breathed in more of your pheromones before exhaling sharply yet again. “fuck y/n your tits—“ 

“—i’ll be quick, okay? i promise it’ll be fine, i’ll be sooo quick.”

wonyoung very quickly slid her hand back down your crotch as she forcefully kissed you, tightening her grip on your neck whenever you weren’t giving her enough tongue. “come on baby, work for it, i know you want this.” 

you didn’t. you didn’t want it.

her fingers slipping under your shorts and onto your panties, she rubbed circles around your wet clit through the fabric of them, closing her eyes in euphoria when she heard your choked up moan.

“shit.. look at you, being all wet for me. i knew you’ve always wanted me to do this to you. hm? come on, say it.” 

“l-let go off me—“ 

her nails dug into your neck once more, making you whimper. “shut. the fuck. up.” she whispered, “i guess bitches like you shouldn’t be allowed to speak up, huh. that’s fine, we’ll have you be a stupid puppy instead, okay? you can do that, right?” 

you only cried out in front of her, clit still being stimulated from her long and cold fingers. her disturbing gaze piercing through yours, her pretty face exhibiting the ugliest thoughts she had about you. 

“i said, nod, bitch.”

and so, you nodded. eagerly, at that. of course you did, with the amount of strength this girl was putting on her grip, you needed to obey her every word.

even if you had abundant tears rolling down your face.

“you’re so pretty like this.” she breathed out, before kissing you then pulling back away, “you’re getting me so fucking wet y/n.” 

then, she gradually reaches into your underwear and puts her hands on your naked cunt, rubbing the slit and feeling how wet it is. in response to that, she laughed. 

she laughed in your face.

but before you could even process anything, however, she already had two of her fingers buried deep inside your pussy, already curling in all of the right places.

and that’s when you remembered the fact that she had acrylic nails on. 

“w-wonyoung— take them out take them out it h-hurts wonyoung it hurts p-please—“

“i don’t give a shit. you’re gonna be a good fucking girl and take it. you know what’ll happen if you don’t, don’t you?”

she pumped and curled her fingers in and out, watching you as your facial expressions changed with each movement she made, smiling and mocking you.

and that went for what felt like hours. 

until she decided she had enough of you crying and begging for her to stop. she believed that it was, in her words, ‘her turn to feel good’ now.

so she took off her own clothes and rubbed her dripping pussy onto your own, her hand digging into your neck if you moved in a way she didn’t like. 

her words rang in your head, things like “y-you’re so fucking selfish y/n, it’s usually so much better, whenever you’re sound a-asleep peacefully— oh my god.”

it didn’t take long for her to cum, since seeing you sob so prettily made her so unbelievably aroused. and when she did, she just went back to cuddling you. as if you weren’t bleeding from your nose, thighs and neck. as if you weren’t in pain, she just went back to cuddling you.

and you just had to silently cry in her arms. those were the only ones you could do that in at that moment.

[demonic0angel]

Haunted Paintings Sketches!

Part one

I hope you enjoy the sketches I made of the paintings!

Also! You’re free to use my ideas (please give credit ofc) if you’d like, bc I REALLY don’t think I’ll write this one, no matter how much I want to. It’s just too much and I’ve already got 3 unfinished fics and several other series to write for. If you have any questions, feel free to ask or send me a submission! You can also DM if you’d like!

TW: mentions of suicide, murder, depression, mental illness, just really dark, creepy stuff bc these are haunted paintings and they torment people :/ no scary drawings tho! I only described them (click for clarity)

Jazz:

Description: Jazz is sitting at a table in the middle of a flower garden with a book in one hand and a teacup in the other. She looks tranquil and is dressed formally. On the table are a few plates, a plate of cookies, a bookmark, an opened envelope and a bloody butter knife, and a teapot that is slightly out of view.

Use of mediums: gouache paint, watercolor, and pencils

Focus: Jazz amidst the flowers

Inspirations:

• The Queen of Hearts from “Alice in Wonderland”

• Galna from “Mairimashita! Iruma-kun”

Location: She used to be in the home of a random crime lord in Gotham for intimidation purposes. She was kept in the crime lord’s office before being relocated into Wayne Manor, where she sits in the hall across from the library.

Extra facts:

+ Her scary form would be one where her tea is filled with blood and the roses would be replaced with decapitated heads. The sky would turn dark red and the ground would be a pool of blood. Jazz would smile and look at the viewer with shark-like fangs and hollowed out eyes.

+ The tea she drinks is Darjeeling and the cookies are chocolate chip.

+ Although Jazz is the weakest painting, her effects are deadlier, more painful, and longer lasting than the others if her victims survive.

+ She causes paranoia and dizzy spells. Her effects are rather weak compared to the others, but when spending enough time with her, victims can also display symptoms of scurvy, which cannot be cured.

+ She was the first one I drew and also the easiest to plan. I just love her so much, she’s one of my comfort characters so it’s not hard for me to find ideas for her 😭

Valerie:

Description: Valerie stands in the middle of a dark, foggy forest, wearing a long dress and pressed close to a tree as if she is about to hide behind it. A branch covers her face and the trees around her curve into a circle with multiple holes within them. There is a Fenton thermos in the background on the floor and an axe in front of Valerie, sticking into the tree and oozing something.

Use of mediums: pencils and watercolor paint

Focus: Her hidden face

Inspirations:

• The Son of Man by René Magritte

• The Beast from “Over the Garden Wall”

Location: She was kept in the back of an art museum, but the director has been hoping for someone to buy her and get rid of her, since he cannot handle the strain of having her inside of the gallery. Now she stands near the door to the entrance of Wayne Manor, a silent and deadly sentry.

Extra facts:

+ Her scary form would have her surroundings to turned into the entrance to a mouth or an intestine, red, fleshy, and bloody. There would be bones littering the floor everywhere and Valerie herself would become bloody and stained, with her face still hidden. Tortured faces would be seen through the fog.

+ The holes on the trees sometimes leak a mysterious substance.

+ Valerie is not the weakest, but she is not that powerful. However, she does amplify the others’ effects to fatal degrees.

+ She causes paranoia and auditory hallucinations, often causing her victims to feel as though they are being watched relentlessly, which cannot go away. Eventually, her victims will shut themselves into their rooms and starve to death from the fear.

+ She and Tucker had switched ideas, but I had to trash them. I never got the opportunity to draw those ideas because I struggled so much with Tucker that when I eventually got inspiration for Valerie, I just went with it. I’m quite happy with Valerie’s portrait now.

Dani:

Description: Dani, dressed formally, sits at the head of a table with a large painting and curtains behind her. She holds a fork and a knife over a pig head. Her gaze is downward and she looks like she’s frowning softly. The dinner table is messy with three other dishes and a knocked over bottle of wine.

Use of mediums: oil paint and oil pastels

Focus: Dani holding the fork and knife

Inspirations:

• Rosie’s Tea Party by Mark Ryden

• “Spirited Away” (specifically that one scene where Chihiro’s parents eat the food)

Location: She was hidden by Vlad and kept safe with him. He keeps her in his office, where he can watch her. He only recently found her again, and he was determined to watch over her. Now she stays in the Wayne Manor's dining room, but often changes her position to be next to everyone else in the bedroom hallway.

Extra facts:

+ Her scary form would be one where all of her food dishes would be replaced by very obviously human parts, especially with the pig head becoming a human head. The curtains would turn to blood dripping down the wall and Dani would be smiling, taking a direct bite of the human head that was in front of her with her fork and knife.

+ The dishes she eats in the painting are: pig head, vulture thigh, lamprey eels, and sheep brain.

+ Her at the dining table is meant to signify greed and gluttony, 2 of the most simplest sins.

+ She causes great feelings of hunger and paranoia in others. When spending too much time with her, some victims turn to self-cannibalism to sate their never ending starvation.

+ Originally, both her and Dan’s ideas were switched, so Dan would’ve been the one feasting and Dani would’ve been the one looking at her reflection. However, I switched them around because I felt like it would’ve been spookier. I even finished the drawing with Dan and everything, but then I just erased him and drew in Dani 😓

Dan:

Description: Dan is standing in front of a mirror, glancing behind his shoulder, while his reflection shows something different: him looking at everyone else and the door behind him by looking at the mirror. The party guests are all wearing masks and there are chandeliers on the ceiling. The party looks vaguely fancy, but messy with secrets.

Use of mediums: Oil paints

Focus: His reflection

Inspirations:

• Jeff Lee Johnson and his art

Location: He was kept in a locked safe within a rich person’s house in Italy. He had to been wrecking havoc on the nerves of everyone around him, but he is now safe and happy in Wayne Manor, where he is kept in the office to the entrance of the Batcave.

Extra facts:

+ His scary form would have all of the party guests dead, but their eyes would face the viewer. Dan's reflection would also be dead, but his actual self would be the same, only with an eerie smile as his eyes follow the viewer. In the doorway would be the figure of Danny. Blood would cover the entire floor and walls, but nobody would react to it.

+ Dan keeps his own masquerade mask in his pocket.

+ The woman who is directly staring at him is supposed to look like Maddie.

+ He causes viewers intense mood swings and long, often violent mania episodes or mind-numbing depression episodes. Those who keep staring at him will gain the feeling of being watched and haunted, often with visual hallucinations, resulting in losing their mind from fear and then killing others in their terror and panic.

+ I tried so hard to make Dan as handsome as possible. I think I pulled it off bc I’m a little bit in love with him ong, but I also kinda have to be bc I draw him so often

Tucker:

Description: Tucker is in the back shot of a desert, with his back towards the viewer, staring at a large skeleton that is seemingly climbing over a large sand dune. The skeleton has flowers in its eyes, and its hand reaches over the horizon. There is a single sun in the sky and an arm holding a pocket watch sticks out of the sand close to the viewer.

Use of mediums: gouache paint, pens, and pencils

Focus: The large skull

Inspirations:

• JT Music (specifically their JT album covers)

• The Giant God Warrior from “Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind”

• “Dune”

Location: He was originally kept in one of the rooms within the GIW headquarters. Now, he is kept within Wayne Manor, and stays in the theater room, where he whispers to the Wayne residents what movies he wants to watch. Sometimes, he moves to the garage.

Extra facts:

+ His scary form is one where the skull becomes covered in meat and flesh, oozing blood and tar while the sand turns red. The scene turns to darkness, and more limbs would sprout from the ground. Tucker would be nothing but a pile of flayed skin, crumpled into the sand.

+ GIW agents were unable to experiment on him, since he would purposefully cause machinery to misfire and slowly corrode his surroundings.

+ His painting is meant to be a little comic book-esque with one of his mediums being ink, but I felt like that wouldn’t be a PAINTing, so nvm

+ He causes visual hallucinations, hypovolemia, headaches, blindness, and osteoporosis :). Often, when his victims are autopsied, sand and salt can be found within all of their organs. He emits so much radiation that he can wear down the materials of the place he is stored in.

+ I DREW HIM THREE DIFFERENT TIMES OML, FIRST IT WAS HIM IN A WORKSHOP, THEN IT WAS HIM IN A MARSH, THIS IS THE FINAL PICTURE I CANNOTTTT IM DONE

Sam:

Description: Sam stands on top of a small, grassy hill with a path leading to a grave and an angel statue on top of it, close enough that she is blocking it. Around the hill are pomegranate trees and hanging corpses. There is no sun, but there are clouds as Sam stands with her back to the viewers in a long goth-styled dress.

Use of mediums: paper, glue, acrylic paint

Focus: Her standing on the hill

Inspirations:

• This Reddit picture of a liminal garden

• A mix of weirdcore and dreamcore aesthetics

Location: She was tossed into the ocean by her parents when they first saw her, but she later washed up on an island and now the animals and plants there act erratically and strangely. Finally, she was relocated to Wayne Manor, where she hangs on a wall within the greenhouse, happily watching over the plants there.

Extra facts:

+ Her scary form would be one where eyes would replace all of the pomegranates, staring at the viewer. The paper used to make her would become flesh textured and bloody, and Sam would appear abnormal, broken into pieces and cracked, turning around and smiling at the viewer with shark-like teeth. The grass would become hairy skin and the sky would become red, with swirls and more eyes.

+ Sam's "painting" is actually made of mostly paper, since it is a collage. It is a bit touched up by paint and all of the materials used are vegan and ethically sourced, though they do change.

+ The flora and fauna in the island she landed on have mutated so much that they’re basically mindless. They protect Sam relentlessly.

+ She causes general insanity and relentless symptoms in her victims, such as paranoia, intense episodes of mania and depression, itchiness that can result in self harm, and violent, unexplained behavior in animals and plants. She also emits so much radiation that she can cause sporadic DNA mutations, resulting in several forms of cancer and mental instability, often resulting in victims becoming inhuman and monstrous forms of themselves.

+ Originally, Sam’s portrait was supposed to be in a garden, but I wanted it more “liminal space” themed, and I think I got it right. I think it’s really simple, but I also feel like if I was able to create it in real life, it would be more interesting because it is a collage of paper and paint.

Danny:

Description: a picture of black blotches and scribbles with muddy and red stains. Any features besides the ornate frame is hidden underneath the stains.

Use of mediums: pencils, ink, charcoal, tar, blood

Focus: His crying

Inspirations:

• SCP-035 (“The Possessive Mask”)

• The Anguished Man by an unknown artist (it’s a haunted irl painting!)

• Bendy and the Ink Machine

Location: He was cloning himself in order to jump through universes to find his family. In the current universe, he was with the League of Shadows before he was found and brought back to the Wayne Manor. He is in the hallway with the bedrooms of the Wayne residents.

Extra facts:

+ His scary form is technically his normal form because he cannot turn it off. Once he is happy again, his normal form would be one with him and his family, smiling and happy. Until then, he haunts the minds of others and ravages their sanity.

+ He’s been traveling all over the multiverse in order to find his family. Coincidentally, they’ve all been in the same world for some time.

+ He screams all day and night for his family. It’s so bad that Danny has destroyed thousands of worlds in his grief.

+ He causes the worst of all symptoms, often causing the viewers who look at him to go insane and kill themselves or others, even if it is only a few seconds. Even those who stay in the same room next door to him are consumed with suicidal thoughts and intense moments of psychosis. Those who have survived encountering him and have some semblance of mind left say that he “cries” relentlessly. His paintings leak a black substance that corrodes the place around him.

+ Literally all I did for this picture was scribble in my notes app, take a screenshot, and then scribble some more on photos LMAO

Extra notes:

+ Jazz, Dani, and Dan showing their face while Sam, Tucker, and Valerie hiding theirs is intentional. Danny is a mix of both, because he actually IS showing his face, but you can’t see it past the black and red.

+ Every painting has a flower inside of it, specifically a carnation, which are often funeral flowers, and can mean gratitude, remembrance, love, and affection.

+ Every painting also has a mention or appearance of Danny in it.

+ I also tried to put hints of bad omens or signs of death within every painting. Some examples are Dani’s painting with the chopsticks sticking out of the bowl (a sign of bad luck and death), or Dan’s painting, where a woman is being strangled in the background and another is being killed.

+ All of the paintings generally have an ability to teleport to places nearby and can actually snatch up viewers to shove them into their domain. This can be a defensive mechanism (the paintings protect the Bats) or an offensive ability (they pull victims in and kill them). They also all have weapons on them that are hidden or not so hidden.

+ I struggled a lot with ideas and how to get started on some characters because I just had so many, and I wanted it to be creepy, but not noticeably creepy, like most paintings. I’m sad to say that I wasn’t able to use some of my planned ideas from inspirations of actual haunted paintings.

+ Discarded inspirations: The Rain Woman by Svetlana Telets (my favorite!! Please look it up if you can!!), this picture I saw on Reddit of a sheep being stuck under ice with its back exposed, a workshop idea with Tucker, and Dani and “Daughter of Evil” with mirrors and everything.

+ The world where Danny and co., come from is different from the world they’re currently in. It’s like a world where some people are the same, but others are not. Example: the GIW, Maddie, Jack, and Vlad exist, but Danny and Jazz never made it past their childhood. So basically a What-If world or something.

+ Their backstories are somewhat undecided, but basically, something dangerous happened to them in their home dimension and it was so bad that Danny captured all of their souls and put them into paintings so they would live (with the help of Clockwork). However, by doing this, he scattered their souls and paintings throughout the universes and he went crazy from it, and turned himself into a painting too so he could find them. Now his cloned paintings travel and sends itself to other worlds to find his family again, often leading to their destruction from his power.

Or something? Lol

[lynnlovesthestars]

The sun, the moon and the stars.

Pairing: Astarion x reader.

Synopsis: with the solution in your hands, you give back Astarion all he has lost.

Genre: fluff, a tiny bit of angst, kinda smut but not graphic?

Warnings: mentions of insecurities and self doubt, mention of past abuse, death. Extra warning: Astarion being so loving and caring. Tav/reader taking risks for Astarion. Post act 3.

WC: 5k

Alternate name: Curses, Undead, Deseases.

Author's note: Hello everyone, before i posted "One and only" I didn't expect it to be loved so much, but after seeing the love it received, I took it to my heart to grant your wish. So here it is, the part two of One and Only, which I'll link down here.

One and Only.

Taglist: @skittleabyss

Cure for vampirism: kill and resurrect the vampire with a scroll of true resurrection or, use a scroll of wish and hope you won't fuck it up.

Finally the scroll was in your hands, the legendary wish.

The great Mordenkainen spoke plenty of this spell, the inevitable results of using it and the power it held.

The risks were great, like being sick and weak for weeks, and the chance you might never be able to cast the spell ever again. It was a one shot enchantment, and you would have done it in a heartbeat if it meant your Astarion would be free from vampirism, even if it meant not being able to control the weave ever again.

You were all on the floor, weighing the situation while you read and reread the spell.

Astarion sat next to you, his hands shaking as he kneaded your thigh. The adrenaline from the fight was still cursing through your bodies, even though you were all eagerly to get over with this, you knew that it'd be better to cast the spell in the safety of your home, where you could rest right away.

Gale spent the whole trip explaining the hows and whats of the spell, especially the risks, trying to remind you that there could have been other ways. nevertheless your mind was set. You would risk it all for Astarion.

Everyone scattered around the living room, tea cups were all over the place to ease everyone's nerves as you mentally repeated what you were going to ask.

Shadowheart protected your home, making sure you could feel safe as you rested afterwards.

Wyll was sitting close to you, in case you would pass out and needed to be carried to bed.

Gale was reading and rereading Mordenkainen's tome to make sure there was no trap.

Karlach was trying to cheer everyone up, offering hugs to everyone.

When she planted herself in front of Astarion, ready to beg him to be hugged, he took her by surprise.

He was shaking ever so slightly, the pure anxiety was ebbing through his veins, he was not going to back away from an hug.

"Can you stay next to me? I trust you" He smiled weakly as she squealed happily.

"Of course" She beamed. She took the spot next to Astarion and opened her arms to wrap the pale elf's body in her warm embrace.

When you finally raised your eyes, ready to cast the wish, you locked eyes with everyone one at a time.

All your friends were gathered there because they loved you and Astarion, and were not going to miss the moment. Even Lae'zel was uncharacteristically sweet, even in her harsh and bitter words. "Tck, you better not come back as a zombie, cause I don't know what zombies need" She scoffed. "And you already reeked like this, I can't stand zombie stench at all". She said scrunching her nose.

You took a long breath and lastly locked eyes with Astarion, exchanging a nod as the silence fell around you.

The knot in your throat was tight, your words almost were strangled out of your lips.

"I wish.." You could feel the air being knocked out of your chest. "That Astarion Acunin" the words wrapped around your throat tightly, the magic vividly ebbing from your body for everyone to see. "Could be" The soft blue-purple glow flowing out of your body, wrapped around Astarion's throat, making him breath harder. "Cured.." You felt the word drain you almost completely. "From vampirism and" You breaths were heavy, worry in everyone's eyes while you didn't stop. "Could live his life as elf" You were shaking, threatening to hit the ground, but no one had to intervene, you had to endure it all alone, for him.

"Like before being turned" As you spoke the last word, the magic that was holding you in a chokehold suddenly released you. The magical flow disappeared in Astarion as you fell to the ground, and him with you.

Everyone scrambled around the room, checking for pulses and bringing you to your shared bed.

They tucked you under the comforter, as they planned turns to take care of you both.

They didn't know how long it would take for you to wake again, but they concentrated on things they had power to do.

Your body was heavy with an inexplicable tiredness. Your eyelids felt like bricks as you fought to open them.

The soft light of the sunrise filtered through the curtains of the room, almost blinding you for a moment.

You were in your bed, tucked in and warm. An arm was wrapped around your waist protectively as you could hear the faint chatting coming from the other rooms.

You turned to look around you,then it hit you.

The arm around you, it was warm. The complexion was still pale, yet it looked like it was almost a very faint shade of pink.

You almost jolted up, if it wasn't for your limbs, that grounded you, startling the sleeping Astarion next to you.

He gasped as he awoke suddenly, his eyes squeezing for a moment before opening wide at the realization that you were awake.

He didn't change much, his body at the end of the day was mostly the same, if not for the color that he regained.

His hair was a mess from sleep, the soft white curls were all over the place, untamed. His cheeks, nose and lips were warm with a pinkish blush, and his eyes.

Oh his beautiful scarlet eyes were still there, but softer. A shade that was more pinkish blue, than red. A color so soft that swirled peacefully. His canines were still slightly vampiresque, but way duller than before.

And when you leaned in his arms, you could feel it. His heartbeat, fast in the beginning, probably from the scare, but then rhythmic as it calmed down.

Astarion's arms wrapped around you, pushing you tightly against him as he sunk back in the comfort of the bed.

Your eyes filled with tears, before you could even process the elf in front of you.

"We did it" You sobbed in his tight embrace, relishing the newfound warmth.

"No my love.." He whispered as his own eyes were teary, threatening to spill any second. "You did it" He placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. "You cured me and I will be forever grateful for this gift" He lulled you, gently tapping his fingers on your skin.

You sobbed harder, your arms wrapping around him as well as you allowed the realization to completely hit you.

You weren't quite sure what day it was, or how long Astarion has been cradling you close to him, but you didn't care anymore.

Only when you finally regained a bit of your control, your head started filling with questions.

"How long have i been out?" You asked, before yawning.

"So.. if i did the math correctly" He counted on his fingers before beaming. "You sleep for a whole week. I fed you and hydrated you as you rested. The wish literally drained you" He gently raised your chin to look at you, a tender smile spread over his face, along with the warmth of a blush.

He took in your beauty, gently tracing the tip of your pointed ear to your cheek, resting his palm on it.

Your body chased the warmth of his touch, leaning into it.

"How long were you asleep instead?" You asked as your body was melting.

"The thing is, I didn't sleep" He shrugged. "Gale gave me a long and boring explanation of what happened, but I'm going to take out all the useless informations he added" He explained, waving his hand in the air. You couldn't help but snort at the remark.

"Anyway, making it quick, you killed me" He blurted out, making you jolt up confused, your mouth hung open and your index finger pointed up as you were about to ask something. Then you curled back your fingers and closed your mouth, thoughtful.

"Basically the cure for vampirism involves killing the vampire and using true resurrection on the body or soul" In a way it made sense, cause a vampire is a dead person turned into undead, reason why restoration spells and curing curses wouldn't be effective. You didn't have to remove a disease either, but revert the body back to its original form. And the only way was true resurrection.

"Oh, cause the spell would be able to bind your soul back to your body completely, reversing death instead of just raising you as undead as vampirism does" You whisper shouted as you connected the dots. "But your death was way past 200 years ago" You remembered.

"I'm glad you remembered how long it's been since my first death" He tucked a stray hair behind his ear. "But apparently that's where the wish spell comes in aid" He kissed the top of your nose.

"It erased the time clause from the spell, since it was a wish" He smiled.

"Mhmh makes sense" You whispered as you tapped a finger on your chin and slowly eased again in the silence.

There was so much you wanted to say in that moment, like the fine print of the spell, whether he could already walk in the sun freely now, how did he feel, and so many more questions about this new story you were going to start together, but your body started growing heavy and thick again, drawing you back in your sleep, but this time you were lulled by Astarion's steady heartbeat.

Hours later you woke up still in Astarion’s lap, though now he was using a magic hand to read a book that you couldn’t quite recognize.

“That’s a very smart use of a magic hand” You stretched your arms, squinted and yawned loudly.

“It is, and this book has been very enlightening as well” He flips pages quickly, getting back to one that had a bookmark.

“Really?” You asked mindlessly as you rested your head on his shoulder.

He nodded, skimming through the page looking for a specific paragraph.

“I always wondered why you choose to sleep every night, aren’t you bothered by the weird dreams?” He asked. He never thought about it until he started reading this guide he found with the wish scroll. It was a book by Mordenkainen himself which spoke of his studies of all the races he encountered. He picked it up to read about what he missed through the decades about his culture and habits, just in case elves grew a new horn at a certain age or something. Dying so young, really cut off a huge chunk of his youth. At the time he was still considered young by his family, he was looking forward to that 100 birthday so much. At least he was glad he kept his youngish self for a little longer than his peers. if that really mattered.

“Mh, no I like them” You mumbled, another yawn escaping between one word and the other. “I found meditating boring, what even is the point of relieving past experiences when most of the memories are negative?” You shrugged, slowly stretching your legs.

“I never thought about that” He was definitely contemplating ditching meditation, if he had to see less of the memories, and more of.. anything but that. He usually slept when you happened to fall asleep next to him, or while you were traveling, and everyone would take their sweet time in the morning. He didn’t need to be up for 8 hours so why not just sleep, he always thought.

“You should do it more often” You smiled at him as you crawled out of his embrace, already missing the warmth of his chest, but you needed something to eat, a whole week asleep really took a toll on your stomach.

The house was still crawling with friends lounging all over, even withers found a corner for himself, in case a resurrection was needed, funny since the conditions of this party, you thought.

Whoever allowed Gale in your kitchen would pay the price. You walked slowly towards the chair in the kitchen, making sure you could hold on to the wall, in case your body decided to be too tired to move.

Gale didn't notice you joined until he turned and unexpectedly saw you sat with your arms crossed, staring stoically at him.

The most satisfying part? The squeal he let out, though it didn't last long. In an instant he was next to you handing you a glass of water.

"How are you feeling?" He asked as he sat in front of you, playing with a peanut he got from your nuts basket.

"Groggy" you mumbled. "Tired" You took your time stretching a little more. "It truly drained me" You leaned on the table wondering what to fill your stomach with.

"I cannot even imagine" He patted your back. "Though actually i could since the netherese orb whole ordeal" He mumbled.

"The price a man must pay to seduce a goddess" You rolled your eyes jokingly.

"Ehy, if you knew Mystra, you'd do the same" He poked your shoulder before handing you a fruit that was laying nearby.

You rose from the table, taking a bite from the apple he gave you. "No, I don't think I would. I'm more the whole I will fix your vampirism I promise, person" You shrugged before taking another big bite.

"I would have never guessed" He laughed.

"Oh so I'm a type, you did this for other spawns?" Astarion chimed while wrapping his arms around you, and placing a kiss on the crown of your head.

"Yeah, don't you know?" You took the last bite from the fruit before attempting to throw it in the trash. "I've kept a diary with all the names of the spawns I saved" You picked up a piece of paper nearby and scribbled a few names all over the paper, and handed it to Astarion.

"So, we got: Astarion, the annoying one, the mysterious one that almost cut my throat, the one that almost sucked me dry, the one that I recently casted a wish spell for" Astarion counted on his fingers. "Damn that's a lot of people right there, you must be an expert" He joked as he folded the paper.

"Of course, don't you see?" You pointed at yourself, sluggish on the chair. "I'm so good at it, I'm not even tired" You jokingly dropped your upper body on the table, faking to be asleep.

"Well, this is my time to leave the room" Gale awkwardly said before standing up and quickly escaping the kitchen.

"I've got sad news for you, my dear expert" Astarion took the seat in front of you, and took your hand in his, absolutely ignoring your friend. You didn't even wait to raise your head, you were already lost in his eyes. "You don't have all the names of the spawns you freed." He poked your nose.

"Mh, who's missing?" You smiled at him as the sly grin appeared on Astarion's lips.

"You will know in due time"

When was the due time? You had absolutely no clue. A few days passed by, everyone left when they were sure you were at least able to move on your own, and Astarion was remembering his physical needs. For so long he only drank blood, and for most of his life, it was very inconsistent as well, so they just made sure he had all the necessary to stay hydrated and well fed, while you were still recovering.

One afternoon you were sitting outside on the porch, the chirping of the birds and the whooshing of the trees was the only sound around you. You enjoyed the warmth of the sun as you waited for Astarion to join you. You had planned a nice picnic in your garden, so together you could enjoy your first sunset since he was a normal elf again.

Astarion just appeared from the door, mittens in hand as he carried out a tray. You could still see the steam coming from it as you were eager to know what he had been fumbling with in the kitchen.

"My darling, they might look wonky, but I promise you, they are way better than what they seem" He smiled, as he placed the tray on top of the low table you set up outside for the two of you.

They did indeed smell delicious, though the cookies looked like they lost their shape.

You couldn't hold back your smile as you picked one that looked like a disfigured kobold.

As you took a bite of it, Astarion joined you. "Wow that's how you treat our dear Wyll uh?" he asked, trying to not laugh at his own joke.

"That was Wyll?!" You took another bite of it, the look of fake surprise on your lips was adorable.

"Didn't you notice the detail of the fake eye and the horns? I thought it was pretty obvious" He joke-scoffed as he relaxed.

For a moment you couldn't believe this was real: the soft breeze lullying you and Astarion as you had a late afternoon snack together. You no longer had to worry about the sun burning to ashes your other half, or to eat alone, though Astarion always sat at the table with you. You didn't have to worry about excuses or mirrors that wouldn't dare to reflect Astarion's beauty.

Just the thought of mirrors brought you back two memories you held dearly: the night you helped him read his back, and the first time after 2 centuries that he could see himself with his own eyes, rather than through yours.

It was the same night you finally awoke after a whole week. He had waited through that week eagerly, as you recovered. All those things that he lost the habit of doing, he wanted to experience them with you.

So you both stood in front of the mirror, you were behind him, your arms tightly wrapped against his hips and your head on his shoulder, as he stared wide-eyed at his reflection.

"See?" You twirled one of those curls that fell in front of his face. "This is what I mean" you gently twisted his head so he could see better his ear and the way his curls wrapped behind it.

He was speechless as you guided him through all those things you always swore to love, but sounded silly for him.

You even ended up telling him a joke about kobolds and goblins to steal a smile from his lips, just enough you could show him those creases that made your knees like jelly.

But the more he'd look at the reflection, the more he'd notice also the details he always dreaded would forever haunt him: like the bite mark on his neck, so deep that it never healed properly, or the scar he never knew was on his shoulder. It was a cold shower while you were trying to cheer him up, and he was so sad because he thought he ruined such a lovely moment between the two of you, focusing on the wrong details.

The one thing he was truly afraid of though, was looking at the rest of the body, the back in particular, terrified of what gruesome scars might have harbored between his shoulder blades, so he didn't dare yet.

He wore his best smile as he turned your way, placing a tender kiss on your lips before muttering—

"My love, are you alright?" He asked, sitting closer to you, and placing a hand on your thigh, drawing slow circles, bringing you back to your picnic and away from memories.

"Yeah, sorry" You muttered, still half lost in the memories. "I just remembered your smile, and I couldn't stop. '' You said softly, your cheeks warming up at the look on Astarion's face. His eyes were wide and soft, so beautiful as the sunset light started to reflect in them. The now softer red of his irises danced and swirled with the soft shades of pink that twinkled reflected. His lips were turned in a grin that he couldn't wipe away even if the world would be crushing on him. Even his ears had a cute reaction as the tips twitched for a moment.

Lastly his cheeks flushed, a sight that was so unique, as they took the colors of peaches.

He wanted to kiss you now that you were so close, but then his mind connected the dots, and he couldn't help but yelp ever so slightly at the realization.

"My love" He called lovingly, his gaze not leaving yours as you admired him. It was not about the admiring itself, but the love those eyes were shining with. Eyes that twinkled like that only for one, him.

A soft hum was your answer as you just enjoyed the little corner of peace you were sharing.

"In the beginning I thought me and you were like the sun and the moon, destined to chase each other and never meet in the middle. Even before we knew each other, deep down- very very deep down I might point out- I would dream of a love like this, of being rescued by a kind soul that would teach me what I never had the chance to experience." He didn't stop, he poured it all like a river during a high moon. "And even in those dreams, you were a fleeting presence, you'd run around kissing everyone's cheeks, and meeting with me in those small moments when the sun and moon would be next to each other"

You could see the raw emotions seeping through his eyes as he just let it all out, while you listened devotedly.

"I wonder if in those two hundred years, we met accidentally down the roads of Baldur's Gate. If by any chance we stumbled upon each other as we were running for errands. If the universe tried to bring us together earlier but failed over and over again" He sighed, taking a long breath before starting again.

He didn't notice your hand reaching for his and cupping it with your fingers, until the pads of your thumb brushed delicately against his knuckles.

"But then we met, and you were no longer running away. Yet I was so afraid that I ended up being the one who did, and you chased me" He smiled ever so softly.

"I was truly awful to you if I think back. I initially planned to toy with your feelings to have a safety net, and instead I had you there, poking with your dexterous fingers where no one ever did. You came every morning, before leaving camp, to say hi. You offered your neck to me and trusted me, it was so new. All of it."

He unclasped your hand, bringing it to your cheek, and caressing it.

"Then I saw it. We were no longer the moon and the sun. We became the moon and the stars. You were there in all that darkness. You listened to a story that would make anyone weep in pity, and yet you offered me a shoulder to cry on and ears willing to hear. You offered a heart to share the burden with, willing to help me carry it. You were my moon, the light that I couldn't help but yearn for. So I became the stars, lingering around you and taking in all those little things you'd do." He could feel his chest tighten as he went on, seeing the way your eyes would soften by the minutes.

"You taught me all. With you I didn't have to be afraid of being myself, I didn't need to be afraid cause you had my back. I didn't have to charm my way through you, and despite the fact that I could give you nothing, you still managed to patiently give me your everything. You taught me love, something I've never thought I could feel, in any way" He leaned forward, placing a ever so soft kiss on your forehead before sitting back.

You were still there where you leaned as well, your eyes yet to open. Then he spoke again, his voice low yet delicate.

"And I will be forever grateful for it, my love. I will forever be grateful for you to be in my life. I will be grateful of the gifts you made me, giving me a second chance at life" It was something he couldn't fully explain, and neither could you, how naturally you two fit together. How the universe made sure his arms would perfectly wrap around your waist, or how he could shake you like no one ever could. The fates truly took their time threading you two together, and you both were grateful for it.

A calm was between you two, silence filling where words could have been, silence where you allowed your eyes to say it all. Yet that silence was abruptly stopped.

"So my love." He took a long breath, mustering all his love in his heart before gifting it to you. "I was wondering if you'd like to share the night sky with me forever, until the end of time." You smiled, and he swore he saw the universe in your irises.

"I thought it was obvious, my star." You brushed your thumb along his cheek. "I'd cross the nine hells if it meant staying by your side. I'd sail the elemental planes and even at the edge of the universe if it meant to kiss you" You leaned in, your lips barely caressing his in the most delicate and pure kiss.

He hummed, closing his eyes at your warmth, but quickly brought himself back to the reality around you.

"So" He cleared his throat, swiftly reaching into his pocket. "My moon, will you marry me?" His words came out so full, like he wanted to scream the question into the void, and yet so gentle, like he was holding a single flower in his palm, out for you.

Warm tears traced your cheeks as your heart swelled. You wanted to say it out loud, to yell it. Yet the words were stuck in your throat behind the trembling lips as you were so overwhelmed.

Your head did it all for you, nodding before you could control the rest of your body.

Your touch was delicate against his chest, even when you were pushing him to have him lay down.

You towered over him, as you gripped the collar of his shirt, and crushed your lips together.

You poured every drop of you to him, cause you were his and only his.

He didn't let go of you, or of your kiss. He basked in the slow dance you were making together, while the cookies and the ring laid forgotten on the table. You don't know how or when you moved back inside, your bodies still flush against each other, and your lips still tangled.

It was something so harmonious, the way you'd moan in his lips, as he grazed your skin. You were one as you made love over and over again. So tender, slow, emotional.

Sometimes tears would swell on your eyes just for a brief moment as you'd profess your love to each other between those choked moans.

You were truly the other piece of him. The only one that would fit perfectly wrapped around his hips, and still perfect when he'd be tangled in your limbs, coaxing those sweet sounds that drove him insane. You were perfect when your arms held him to you, and perfect when he filled you to the brim.

He wanted to say so many things as you showed him the stars, as his head rested in the crook of your neck while he could feel his body lose control over and over again. For you, with you, in you.

"I'll be yours in every universe" He'd kiss your shoulder.

"L-love you in every life" He'd lock your leg on his hip.

"M-my moon" He'd moan as he'd spill in your warmth.

He was glad they were alone, secluded away from any prying ears, cause all he wanted was to drown in the sweet sounds of the love you'd give to each other.

And then you laid in his arms. Your head pressed against his chest as your bodies grew tired, as your legs were still tangled with his while he'd whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

"I'll never love again the way I love you" He'd let his fingers trace the hills and dips of your body, and for a moment he'd indulge in thoughts he always feared to cross his mind; like his hands cradling your swollen belly, or the tiny life you'd protect with every fiber of your beings. The byproduct of your love asleep in his arms. He dared to dream about growing old by your side, and for a moment he dared to imagine meeting you in his next life, but this time he'd waste no time.

Like that, he'd also forget about that folded piece of paper in his pocket where he added one more name to the list. He wanted to finally uncover the mysterious person you saved: your husband.

[lowkeyrobin]

Hii!! Is it possible to request a Minho x Reader Angst fic? I don’t have any real ideas for what i just rlly like angst😭

Anyway make sure you’re looking after yourself!!

YES 🙏🙏 I concocted the perfect idea for this so I hope you enjoy! ; thank you for requesting!! ; I wrote like a good chunk of this in geometry and physical science so this is actually kinda good lol ; also this is so damn long for me what the FUCK. ; also a bit of inspo in the end thanks to she by jelly roll...

MINHO ; they

summary ; minho loses you again

warnings ; language, guns & gun violence, explosions/bombs, death, he rips off your wckd jacket & top (not sexual), and a panic attack

disclaimers ; top ten most unneeded deaths in cinema

track ; she, jelly roll (again, not a word)

word count ; 2.5k

masterlist

Minho lost everything he'd been able to remember once he left the Glade, including you.

You were a smart thinker, which confused him as to why you stayed back with Gally and the other skeptics who didn't want to find escape in the maze. He tried so hard to convince you to come, but with such little time, he couldn't.

He'd spent months imprisoned mourning the loss of your presence. He didn't know how to function without you. He wondered where you were all the time, if you were even alive or not. He'd been wishing the best in your fate, in the scorch and back in the hands of WCKD. He missed your dorky smile and infectious laughter, hoping one day he could hear it again, even in the stars that he oh-so-missed gazing with you.

Your name scorched his heart every time it was spoken. Your face was engraved in his brain, to the point every time he thought of or imagined you, he'd fight back tears to stay strong. You were weaponized against him, being used to create false memories and episodes to help them find a cure.

Every time he'd wake up from a real dream where you were present, he'd end up in tears, to then have to cradle himself back to sleep. He'd been confined like this for months, then another few days before the bust. It was so, so much worse in the Last City, he'd rather have died in some horrific train crash then have missed his chance at freedom.

However, you survived. Gally did, too, though, even after Minho pierced his chest with a spear.

You'd joined some revolution gang together, learning to use guns and join the ranks. You'd been given bulletproof vests once you proved your worth, officially becoming part of the team.

Reuniting with Thomas, Fry, and Newt was a story in itself, but knowing, or at least hoping, that you'd see Minho again made your heart race in your chest. Gally took Thomas and Newt out to explore the perimeter of the city, letting you reconnect and catch up with Fry and get to know Brenda and her father figure Jorge.

Brenda grew fond of you quickly, liking your badassery and passion to overthrow WCKD. She knew you weren't into trying to kill innocents and understood that you wanted bullets in Janson's and Paige's heads, and you were willing to do it for free.

You showed her and Fry how to use the electro-guns, two you'd stolen from WCKD guards that defended the city walls. They're good for torture, but it was never your taste of tea, you left the others to do the sick shit. You wanted your friends back, you didn't even know they'd been free up til earlier today.

Once the trio came back, they set up a plan that you and Gally jumped in on to deflect and suggest ideas. It was set for tomorrow night, and you didn't know how to process it. You try not to think of Minho the rest of the night, which you awfully fail at, as you'd fallen asleep thinking of him.

You play out your role over and over again, overthinking every single detail down to the grade of gun you'd have strapped to your side. Gally, now your close friend after all this time together, could see your nervousness and anticipation.

"You okay?" He asks, leaning on the railing to your shared bunk bed. You slept on the bottom, him on the top.

You nod, arms sprawled over the top of your pillow, basically holding it like it was going anywhere. "I'm good. Nervous"

He nods, "It'll be alright, we're gonna get him back"

You'd stolen WCKD gaurd suits, your first priority. You and Gally walk around the perimeter of the building post getting the kids on the bus. Your masks are up to avoid any real guards noticing that you're fakes. He holds his bulky gun across his chest, while yours is angled with the safety on across your back. A hand rests over the pistol on your side.

You can feel your heart pounding behind your ribcage, the anticipation of seeing Minho and taking down WCKD killing you. Gally pats your shoulder for reassurance and nods forward silently, wanting to pick up the pace.

You notice explosions in the distance, firey flames illuminating the sky.

As you walk under the main area, you notice a fire extinguisher land in the modern pool, splashing water into the air as it sinks to the bottom. You hear yells, then three bodies plop into the pool. You and three other guards behind you run to the scene, while you and Gally lag behind, knowing who just showed up.

Thomas, Newt, and Minho rise out of the water, floating over to the side after Thomas sends Janson, standing in the bay of the window, maybe twenty stories high, a middle finger. They wade over to the edge and pull themselves out, guards hold them at gunpoint, leaving their faces shaken and in despair.

Gally acts first, shoving one of the guards into the pool, then you pistol whip the one on your right, and you together knock out the last guy. The boys stare at you two, confused as to why two guards had apparently saved them, their questions are quickly answered as Gally rips his mask off.

"Hey"

"Oh, you bloody genius!"

"Oh, shit"

"What the hell?" Minho mutters.

Laying your eyes on him again, even though that mask, it brought you nearly to tears. Seeing his eyes, so tired, his body clearly so weak from the mental and physical stress, your heart broke for him. You make sure your handheld gun had the safety on before tucking it away properly.

"Long story" Gally replies to Minho, knowing what he was thinking.

Minho, still in genuine shock, adrenaline coursing through his veins, looks to you, wondering if you were maybe Brenda or Fry. You bite the inside of your cheek before pulling your mask off, softly smiling at Minho.

Newt and Thomas smile, Newt much more weak, as he was beginning to crank out.

"Y/n?" He questions in disbelief. "How- am I dreaming again?"

You quickly pound the boy into a hug, the moisture from his body rubbing off onto your red and grey outfit. The mask lays on the concrete, where Gally kicks it into the water, same with his.

You hear him begin to sob, holding onto you so tightly in fear you'd disappear like all the times before. You rub his back with your dominant hand, which trails up his spine toward his nape.

"I thought you were dead" He cries, "They've been using you in those simulations-"

"It's okay." You softly speak, "We have to go, you can tell me all about it later"

He nods, eyes still widened in shock and confusion as you follow the other three as they quickly flee the scene.

You take cover by some bushes, leaving Newt on the side to rip his jacket off as he sweats profusely. The veins in his neck were bulging out of his skin, colored a matte black.

You couldn't help but stare, unable to listen to the others talk. You quickly rush to his aid, wanting to help him be the most comfortable he possibly could be.

You crouch down next to him, giving him some reassuring words that he'd be okay. You help him to his feet, where Minho is at your side.

Gally and Thomas lead the way as another explosion rings through the air near you. You duck your head as some loose shrapnel lightly hits your skin, thankfully not enough force given to puncture your face.

The explosions only become worse as you run through a little diner, having no alternate route around as the city was being blown to smithereens.

"God damnit, we said blow up the entrance, not the whole damn city"

Newt falls to the ground, too weak to walk as black ooze drips from his lips. Glass explodes behind you, in which you quickly shove Minho to the ground in front of you to protect him. You cover your head, letting the glass shards hit your protected back.

He gasps for air for a moment as Thomas and Gally prop him up against a safe wall, trying to talk to him. You and Minho follow suit, making a quick plan to go get the temporary cure from Brenda and Jorge, and run back to give it to Newt.

"Stay strong for me, okay?" Minho speaks, his hands on the blonde's shoulders.

He nods, his eyes clearly lost in a daze, his vision blurry and wobbly.

Minho pats his shoulder before standing up, letting you give him a nod of reassurance. You and Gally follow Minho, weapons drawn to protect him as he leads with his quick sprinting skills.

You three get one last look at Newt and Thomas before fleeing, working your way through the maze of buildings and explosions to get to your friends. Gally shoots a guard at his side while you do the same at about a 10'o'clock radius.

"This way!"

You follow Minho, the explosions so loud that they defeaned gunshots. The battery on your stolen WCKD gun runs out, and you toss it to the side, resorting to using your pistol to defend your friends. Another bomb nearly knocks you off your feet, causing you to stumble into Minho.

"Sorry!" You shout over the noise.

"You okay?" He shouts back, helping you balance on your feet again.

"Yeah!" You quickly reply, nodding forward for him to continue running to get the cure.

You make it down to the Berg, where Fry, Brenda and Jorge await your arrival.

"The cure!"

"We can't leave him here like this"

"We can't take him back-"

"We have to, please"

"It's too dangerous, we won't make it back to the Berg in time, or we'll get blown up carrying him!"

You stand at Minho's side, looking down at the blonde haired boy as he stands up. He wipes the tears from his eyes, looking at you.

"We have to leave him, Minho"

He nods, slowly placing the cure in Newt's cold hand. He takes one last look at him before turning away, waiting for anyone to speak and give orders.

Brenda speaks up again, deciding to get back to the Berg as fast as possible. You all follow her, guns out, ready to shoot whoever you had to at this point.

Minho turns to you as you run side by side, "Why are you here? Why are you putting yourself in the face of danger? To save me or something?"

You give him a little head tilt to act as a shrug, "You called"

"What?"

You shake your head, deciding to explain it once you were in the hands of safety. An explosion, which cause the ground to rumble beneath you, knocks you all off your feet and onto the hard concrete.

You all groan in pain, having fallen all over each other. Brenda had fallen onto Fry, and they both stumble to the side, apologizing to one another profusely. You'd fallen onto Minho, of course, and help him back to his feet.

You feel lightheaded, your face growing cold, odd for the amount of heat and fire and running around you'd been doing. You lean onto the boy, feeling woozy, as maybe you'd stood up to fast.

Then you fall to your knees, some invisible force knocking you down, your cargo pants ripping at the knees from the impact.

"Y/n!" You hear Minho shout, his voice echoey in your ears.

You hear three gunshots coming from each Fry, Gally, and Brenda. You look back, seeing a WCKD guard fall on their back after taking three shots to the head and chest. Minho's hands rest on your shoulder and on your cheek as he calls your name, asking if you're okay. You see his eyes glance down, where he quickly looks back up to not scare you.

You stand up, numb to any pain. He follows, making sure you're able to keep balance on your feet. He quickly rips off the bulletproof vest for you and your jacket, revealing the wound right under your collar bone.

You look down at it, then look back up at him, eyebrows furrowed. You look to the other three, eyes widened in shock and fear. Another explosion pops a few hundred yards away, shaking the ground again, though not enough to knock you all down once more.

Minho quickly shouts for anything he can use to keep pressure on the wound. He held his hand over it, as the bleeding was horrible at the moment. His hands are covered in your blood, considering the bullet that shot you went clear through you. You notice the bullet a few feet away, light flickering off of it as it rolls into the street where multiple bloody bodies lay.

Minho rips a piece of his shirt and stuffs it into the exit wound, ordering you to hold it there. He pulls you along as you continue running through the city. Your left arm rests over Minho's shoulders, not wanting to upset your other side. Considering moving, it would only agitate it more, and you were trying to keep pressure on the wound anyway.

As you reach the final yards to reach the Berg where Jorge and Vince wait, you collapse to your knees again, landing face first in the debris covered concrete. Minho falls with you, your weight having dragged him down. He tries to pull you up but notices the pool of blood forming around you. A thin, but large pool.

He calls your name over and over, then flips you on your back, where blood sputters out of your mouth. He quickly pulls you up, your back now held up by Brenda and Fry, who were quick to turn back. Gally crouches down on one knee and slowly removes the cloth from the wound, absolutely drenched in crimson.

"No, no, no, no. Not now! Y/n, get up, please," He pleads, watching Vince and Jorge rush to your aid. "They were shot by a gaurd, went clean through, there's so much blood-"

You reach your hand out to Minho as the men pick you up off the ground, where you stumble to walk with them. They practically carry you on their shoulders to the Berg.

Another explosion knocks you all to the ground again, leaving bruises on faces, arms, and legs as you're pounded onto the ground. You'd be lucky enough not to get AIDS at this point.

Minho stumbles to his feet, rushing to you as the men pick themselves up before you.

He notices blood spewing from the other side of your chest. He rips the extra layers of clothing off your torso, tossing your pistol to the side as well. Gally looks around, finger on the trigger of his gun, looking for a shooter.

"Stray bullet!" Brenda shouts, "Get them in there! Go! Thomas needs us!"

Minho places his hands under your arms and drags you into the Berg himself, all the children right in view of your slumped body. You choke on blood and air, feeling your face grow cold and pale. The liquid trails up into the aircraft, staining the hard metal red for the time being.

Vince jumps into the driver's seat, ordering the others to help you and how to before it's too late. Brenda stands next to him, trying to get any info out of Thomas through the walkies.

You wrap your arms around Minho, feeling the pain in your chest now as you grunt and cry. You squeeze onto the back of his shirt, the pain causing you to claw your fingers into him. He holds you, his heart breaking in two as you struggle to breathe.

The placement, it wasn't possible to keep you this time. It wasn't possible to keep you and be free in any situation, in any timeline, in any universe.

"I don't wanna say goodbye"

He sits on the beach every morning, talking to the sunrise as if you were there next to him. He didn't mind the sand that would pile up in his boots or the dusty grain that would stick to his hydrophoric hands all damn day if it weren't for the water there to wash it away.

His fingers traced over your name on the rock when he felt lonely, like you were magically there, hugging him again.

He'd never know for sure what you meant when you said that he called. He understood that you definitely didn't hear him call for you after awakening after nightmares, but maybe you did, he wouldn't have known. He guessed in a metaphorical sense, he did call for you, which you both knew, but it still confused him somehow. He wanted you to explain it all so he'd understand, like how you always did.

He regretted never being able to rant about all his feelings to you. He wished he had time to tell you about all he went through so you could reassure him that you'd protect him forever. You'd protect him from the nightmares and the scars, the mental baggage that would weigh him down forever.

He started crying himself to sleep after he began to forget your face.

He just wanted another hug, but your face was beginning to blur out. It sent him into a panic attack right there. No one was there to help him as he cried and clawed into the dirt, trying to ground himself again. He couldn't believe himself, he treasured you so much yet he was forgetting your face after merely a year after your dissapearance?

It didn't help that after a while, he began to forget your voice too, that hurt even more. He'd been forced to talk about his feelings to Thomas like a parent-child conference. He wasn't himself anymore.

His eyes were always swollen, eyebags dark and weighing his happiness down. He was depressed. Every smile he showed was just him trying to make his way through another day's work, distracting himself from the fact that he lost you, for good this time, he watched it.

He wrote letters to you with no address to send to. It didn't help whatsoever that he himself pushed you out into the sea once Thomas regained consciousness so he could say farewell. He watched it all, he knew you were gone this time. At least he had some sense of closure.

He had nothing left of you other than that WCKD jacket you wore, that haunted him as he slept. He only kept it because even with the logo of the corporation that tortured him for years and past the bullet holes in it, it provided him a little comfort that you were still there.

He found that telling stories of you to the younger kids helped.

"They were like the life of the party, bright smile, infectious laughter. They were the one everyone wanted to be around. You could see the sunrise in their eyes."

"Who were they to you?" One little girl asks.

"I don't really know" Minho shrugs, looking down at his hands for a moment.

"Where are they now?" A little boy asks, tilting his head.

"They're in the sky, they have been. They're stuck there. I hope I see them again" He replies with a little nod, looking up at the sun beginning to set up on the island.

"Why are they stuck in the sky?"

"They're afraid of coming down"

[galedekarios]

Gale headcanons go! :]

thank you for your ask. i'm sorry it took this long to get around to it. my mind blanked.

i want to add that these are solely my own headcanons and just that. nothing more. if you have a different opinion, that's valid. i'm not here to argue or debate about it.

anyhow, these aren't in any particular order, just writing as i think of them:

-gale was clean-shaven before the orb and being discarded by mystra. his hair has outgrown its original style as well. this is the reason why tara hates gale's beard, even when felines usually like to rub their faces against them.

-while gale has enchanted the piano in his tower to play by itself, he can and does play himself when the mood takes him.

-gale doesn't truly get jealous or possessive. he skips that step and slips right into questioning himself and feeling sad/insecure.

-gale tends to overthink, he struggles with anxiety and feeling overwhelmed esp after the orb, but has found methods that help him deal with these feelings and bring them under some form of control to examine them ("please, i need to think... i need to retrace my steps to a glade of calm and think.")

-he cries at his wedding & struggles through his vows

-he never takes off his wedding ring

-while he is very much an acts of service person in a relationship, he learns to accept and love being taken care of and doted on by his partner

-gale is very much able to find beauty in the mundane and simple things of life: beautiful flowers in a garden, the way the light falls at sunset, the sound of rain tapping against the window, the fresh salty sea breeze in the morning, a warm cup of expensive tea, a beautiful piece of art, a touching poem

-he often prefers walking home with his partner after work instead of using portals or teleportation. it allows him to talk about both of their days and show his partner things about the city he loves so very much. it also allows him to clear his head after a long day.

-his spellbook has pages that look like this:

when tara has decided that nagging him to stop working didn't cut it anymore.

-speaking of: gale gets so absorbed into his work and research that he skips both sleep and meals

-after his long isolation and depression, struggling with orb and being affected by it physically, gale is quite slender/willowy (tara has several lines reminding him to eat and take care of himself in an origin run) with a soft stomach and no muscle definition

-he's ~175 cm

-he's touch-starved

-while he does like to cook for others, he doesn't tolerate anyone helping him with the task. he will however appreciate it if his partner cooked for him.

-his tower now is quite barren, except for his extensive book collection, having consumed most magical artefacts he owned

-after his return to waterdeep, he likes to fill it with little things he has collected over time. the space is healing as much as he is.

-gale still suffers from chronic pain flare-ups, even after the orb is gone/calmed

-he likes it when things (fabrics, clothes, pens, books, etc etc etc) are well made and of high quality, but not necessarily ostentatious

-he has an eclectic taste, sort of imparted on him by morena's own

-his father abandoned him and morena

-gale is extremely open-minded and accepting, and will entertain almost any and all thoughts and opinions as long as they are well argued for / follow a sound logic

-while he's not easily spooked or scared given how diverse and open waterdeep is, nothing quite managed to prepare him for the things he would see during the journey to cure himself and the others of the tadpole. his knowledge was mostly academic, save for the stray unfortunate death slaad encounter. he works through these things by compartmentalising. writing them down, examining them and going over them in his mind.

-he hopes that he and the friends he's made on this journey will stay close. he writes them regularly and is elated when he receives a reply himself, but will need encouragement and reassurance to organise a get-together in waterdeep.

-his biggest flaw is not hubris or the ambition in the pursuit of knowledge he held as a chosen, his biggest flaw is his sense of worth as gale dekarios, the imperfectly perfect human being, the person behind the titles and accomplishments and perceived failures and insecurities

-he still has to realise what truly happened in his 'relationship' with mystra and still has a lot of healing to do after the game ends

-in the early stages of his relationship with his partner, he's very willing to please/tolerate, at times sadly to the detriment of his own preferences (drow twin scene)

-while he takes compliments in stride, he still likes and appreciates word of affirmation and praise; his partner insulting or degrading him would wound him deeply

-while he wouldn't be a father himself, he would be perfectly happy to be the eccentric uncle. yet even so and while he does love it, he would need time to recharge his social batteries after / recover from the overstimulation that being around children for a prolonged amount of time brings.

-gale's magic is a second nature to him and he likes using it even for the many mundane things, turning the page of a book, getting a spice from a high shelf, etc

-he's a born sorcerer with a wizard's education

-after settling in waterdeep with his partner, he lets his hair grow out more

-while easily lost in his work and research, gale is extremely thoughtful about anniversaries or birthdays, always striving to find the perfect gift

-he likes reading to his partner or being read to & discussing it, exchanging thoughts and opinions

-it's canon that he does write poetry, i like to imagine he'd sometimes leave little haiku-esque verses for his partner

i'm sure i have more, but they escape me right now so. 🖤

[angelofthenight]

*reunion in the Death Cure*

Gally: (y/n)?

Gally: (y/n)!

Gally: *runs to you in slow motion*

You: Gally?

You: Gally!

You: *runs to him in slow motion*

Gally: (y/n)!

You: Gally!

Gally: (y/n)!

You: *grows angry* Gally!

Gally: *grows concerned* (y/n)?

You: *goes into full sprint, angry* GALLY!!!

Gally: *turns to run away* OH SUGAR HONEY ICED TEA!!!

[sansaorgana]

Hello love! I simply adore your writing and I was wondering if I could get a Gale Cleven x reader who's dealing with infertility? Probably something angsty? If not, that's totally fine. I'm just having a bit of a rough day :/

hi, sweetheart! 🥺 I'm sorry that you're having a rough day... I am trying to write these stories chronologically but I decided to write this one today so you don't have to wait too long 😊 btw I know that we treat Buck as a fictional character here but as far as I am concerned, real Buck Cleven never had children – at least I've never seen them mentioned anywhere like Bucky's daughters or Crosby's kids 🤔

my inbox is open for blurb/short fic requests for major cleven 🤗

You didn’t want to go there at all but you knew that you should leave the house finally for your own mental health. Buck was looking worried about you, too, and you wanted to show him that you were slowly getting better after your last miscarriage. But the truth was that some part of you was dying with each one of them.

For the first time it had been sad but not devastating yet – it was common to happen after all. Second time had started to make you worry. Third and fourth had only been a confirmation of your fear – you wouldn’t give your husband a child and you wouldn’t become a mother unless someone comes up with a magical cure.

Your best friend Eva was the only person who had known about it and she was as worried as Buck was. When one of your and Eva’s friends, Nancy, had decided to throw a tea party, Eva insisted on taking you there. So you dressed up and let her take you in her car as Buck watched from the window with a faint smile.

Eva was an independent woman. After her husband’s death in the war she decided not to marry again. She got her own car and managed most things on her own. She was a wild and free spirit and she never wanted to have children so as much as you appreciated her effort to help you – you knew that she would never fully understand your struggle.

The tea party took place at Nancy’s house. There were a few other women and you all sat by the table and sipped on the warm beverage from the china set Nancy had gotten for her wedding. She looked excited and her eyes were sparkling all the time as she was smiling widely. Eventually, you found out the reason behind that.

“So, I wanted you all to come here because… Because I have something to tell you, girls,” she giggled and all the women looked at her, curiously.

You felt a knot forming in your stomach. You already felt what it was.

“I’m pregnant!” She announced and everyone cheered. You did too, forcing a smile. Eva’s hand found yours under the table and squeezed yours to show you a silent support.

You felt tears forming in the corners of your eyes. You got angry at Eva for convincing you to come here but it wasn’t her fault after all, she couldn’t know… You looked around and realised that all other women in the room had children already or were pregnant. Except for you and Eva but she didn’t count since she didn’t want to become a mother anyway.

But the worst hadn’t happened yet.

“Now it’s (Y/N)’s turn,” Nancy smiled at you and you put the cup down with a shaky hand.

“Stop pushing her,” Eva reacted immediately.

“Don’t be like this, Eva. You hope she will never be a mother so you won’t be alone in this,” Nancy’s sister, Hannah, snapped at her.

“We don’t really think about having children, Buck and I,” you smiled nervously and the women looked at each other.

“My husband didn’t want them either but I convinced him,” Janis grinned at you, thinking that her words were in any way helpful.

“We just don’t…” you started and your voice broke. Eva jumped in the conversation quickly.

“Stop pushing her!” She insisted angrily.

“I’m only saying, he can wait but she cannot,” Nancy shrugged her arms.

You didn’t want to make a scene and leave after that so you only pretended to be more interested with the piece of cake on your plate although swallowing it was extremely difficult with a gulp in your throat. You waited about half an hour before nodding at Eva discreetly.

“It’s time for us,” she stood up and grabbed her purse. “I promised Buck to take her back home by eight.”

“These officers, they are all about discipline,” you chuckled while excusing yourself and picked your purse up as well. “Can’t have my Major waiting too long.”

You left the house as fast as possible and waited for Eva by her car.

“I’m sorry, darling,” she told you when she finally joined you. “I had no idea.”

“Let’s not… Let’s not talk about it, alright?” You sniffed back the tears and she nodded, furrowing her eyebrows at you but respecting your wish to stay silent.

In fact, you both remained silent for the whole ride home and she only kissed your cheek when she parked by your lawn and you jumped out of the car to go back inside and hide from the world.

Buck was in the living room, crouching down next to the TV set with a screwdriver in his hand as he worked on some adjustments. You smiled through the tears and leaned on the wall, shyly.

“You’re back already?” He mumbled without looking up.

“Yeah, it was no fun,” you answered. “What are you on about again, Buck?”

“The signal keeps being bad, I can fix that, I think,” he explained.

“Just don’t hurt yourself and, most importantly, don’t break the TV,” you sighed, trying to be in a playful and teasing mood but it was difficult, especially while seeing him – the man you loved… whom you couldn’t give a child.

You burst into tears all of sudden and Buck looked up, worryingly.

“Hey, baby, what’s wrong?” He put the screwdriver down and approached you as quickly as possible to put his hands on your shoulders.

“Nancy… She… She’s pregnant,” you told him and he sighed before pulling you closer and pressing your face to his chest.

“I’m sorry, darling…” He rubbed your back, not knowing what to say.

“And she asked about us not having a baby of our own…” You tugged on his shirt.

“That is none of that woman’s business why we don’t have a baby of our own,” you heard Buck’s voice getting more stern and angry.

“I know… I told her we don’t want babies… I didn’t know what else to say…” You explained.

“It’s alright,” he shushed you and kissed the top of your head.

“No, it’s not…” You looked up with your wet eyes and makeup running down your face. You could see the pain on his face from witnessing you this way and you hated to bring him sadness, too, but you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. “She said you have time but I am running out of it.”

Buck’s jaw clenched at the words. He hated when anyone was hurting you either with words or actions – no matter if it was a man or woman.

“Nancy’s never been a bright girl, you know that, baby?” He cupped your wet cheeks and leaned in closer to your face. You nodded, unsurely. “Girls like her only care about keeping a husband at home and showing off in town.”

“But I care about keeping a husband, too,” you gasped.

Buck sighed and shook his head, looking for the right words.

“Come here, baby,” he lowered his hands to hold yours as he led you on the sofa and sat you on his lap. You threw your arms around his neck and he pulled you closer by your hip and thigh. “How many times do I have to tell you, sweetheart, that you’re all I want? Only you,” he pecked your lips softly. “You make me the happiest already. Having a baby with you would be only an addition, it’s already perfect the way it is. If we have a baby, I’ll be happy. But if we don’t, I’ll be just as much satisfied,” he explained to you. “And I won’t let anyone say bad things about my beautiful and wonderful wife.”

“Buck…” Your lower lips trembled. “It brings me comfort to know you don’t really care about it but…”

“It’s not that I don’t care. Don’t say that,” he interrupted you. “I care.”

“I know, I’m sorry… But I want this baby. I want to have a baby with you more than anything in the world. I am glad you’ll be as happy without it but I don’t think I will be…” You looked down, ashamed of your confession.

Buck stayed silent for a while, caressing you and keeping you close as he rested his chin on your head and sighed.

“I know, my sweet girl, you just want a baby to love and take care of, right?”

“Yes…” You nodded. “And… And I hate how jealous I get when I see other women with babies or being pregnant. It brings the worst out of me and I don’t like this version of me.”

“Shh, hey, love, there are lots of babies out there who want a mummy to love them and take care of them just as much, you know?” He asked in a soft whisper and you looked up at him.

“What are you suggesting? That we should adopt?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Only if you want to,” he nodded and raised his hand to caress your head gently. “I want you to be happy, darling. That’s all I want, nothing else. I hate to see you so sad all the time,” he confessed and smiled sadly.

“It would be lovely to adopt a baby but I’m scared it won’t be the same… Because I want to have your baby, Gale… Ours,” you fixed yourself.

“You know that I’d do everything to make your dream come true, I really would. But some things… They’re just impossible to happen sometimes, you know that, baby?” Buck kissed your forehead. “We can keep trying and trying but it kills me to see you getting even sadder each time it happens.”

You only hummed to yourself and squeezed him tighter. A decision to adopt a baby couldn’t be made in the heat of the moment, you had to think about it more thoroughly. But your husband had a point. You also hated to make him worried so much about you and the fact that he himself would be as happy without having a child with you was bringing you lots of comfort. It would be way worse if he wanted this baby more than anything else.

“I have to heal after the recent loss first,” you whispered to him after a while, “and then we’ll talk about it again, how about that?”

“Sounds about right,” Buck caressed your cheeks with his thumbs and leaned in to place a soft kiss on your lips.

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

[myslutwritings]

Human Heian era! Muzan with arranged marriage wife! s/o super sweet and kind. Cue tsundere (and in denial ✨) Muzan whenever his wife cares for him. Wants to cuddle with her and tries to makes up the excuses that he needs her body heat lmao

... Then she dies after trying to get blue spider lily for the medicine that the doctor requested (doctor "hinted" to lady s/o that the flower can be a cure for Muzan so he could trick her to get it for his lazy self lmao)

Fluff to angst my cup of tea 👍

LOVE THIS IDEA!!

➤ Muzan with a wife!reader

➤ SFW headcanons (not proof read)

Human!muzan x Fem!reader

•

•

•

warnings: death of reader

No, no, no, no.

None of this sat right with him!

Why, why on god mother earth would he need a wife only to probably get bored of him and slowly witness him die?

What’s the meaning of this nonsense?

Muzan isn’t happy with it one bit.

He throws a fit.

Bro is immature as hell to be honest.

He judges you and absolutely resents this situation before he even meets you.

Fast forward to the first time y’all meet. let’s just say you aren’t what he expected!

you were.. so kind. it almost seemed unreal.

Wonders if your kindness is fake or genuine.

He obviously doesn’t admit he does in fact enjoy your presence so instead he either throws childish insults at you or pretends he doesn’t want to be around you when really he craves your body warmth and soothing voice.

I feel like this Muzan is insecure.

Like, definitely insecure of his sickness and he usually asks you why you even want him if he’s just going to die in the end.

You consistently remind him that you love him for who he is and reassure him that you’re going to find a cure for him.

Doesn’t really help since he hears that from the doctor 24/7 but when it’s coming from you he actually feels a bit better about himself which is a first.

I also headcanon that this Muzan grows a bit shy when you touch him.

That’s only because he isn’t used to someone touching him so intimately and gently.

If you notice his flushed cheeks don’t you dare point it out!!

One night, Muzan really wasn’t feeling the best (as per usual) so being the loving wife you are you gladly offered him cuddles. you enjoy holding him, or him holding you.

Most of the time it’s mostly you holding him since he struggles to move..

Despite him being the biggest asshole on the face of the earth sometimes he does have a cute side.

Cue those special moments whenever you have to leave the futon he lies in, he briskly grabs your waist and pulls you back down with him while mumbling the words “stay”

Anywho, you smother this man to death at times.

Turns all Tsundere mode every time you do anything.

Acts repulsed by love but deep down you know he loves you just as much as you love him.

You adore Muzan with all your heart. No words can even begin to describe how deeply you appreciate him. You’d do anything to see him grow healthy. You know he can!

You’d walk the earth to find your husband a cure for his sickness.

Muzans doctor is highly aware of your growing relationship with him and how you’re so desperate to please him.

So, here you are, naively making the fatal mistake of doing the doctor a massive favor and searching for a medicine/plant called “blue spider lily”

Your clueless self accepts this mission in a heartbeat, assuming ahead of time that nothing could possibly go wrong.

Oh my, what an unfortunate evening that was because as soon as you leave town a deadly storm hits.

To make matters worst, Muzan isn’t even aware of any of this. He just thinks you forgot to visit him tonight.. which is incredibly odd considering the fact you’re all over him by now.

Doesn’t think much of it all until you’re pronounced dead by the next day.

You died, searching for that damn flower that the lazy bum doctor couldn’t get himself?!

As soon as he heard of your death, Muzan goes on a rampage with all the strength he can muster up in his fragile body.

He killed the doctor that same day you were announced dead.

Now Muzan truly has nobody. No cure for his illness, his lovely wife is gone, the doctor isn’t alive to nurse him back to health.

But at the end of the day, he doesn’t care for the doctor, nor that stupid medicine.

He only cares about you.

Muzan is aware he’s close to dying. All his life he despised his condition, desired for it only to go away, dying was his greatest fear.

But now?

Maybe dying isn’t so horrible after all.

At least he could reunite with you in the afterlife.

A/N: i apologize if this post isn’t well written. i was rushing and i’ve been insanely busy lately! I hope you enjoyed tho:))

[crepesuzette2023]

Hi, I would love recs for mclennon fics dripping in sexual tension, like six hours in August by stonedlennon. It doesn't need to have explicit sexual content. Thank you!

Thank you so, so much for this ask—this is a category of fiction I personally enjoy *a lot* (imagine Paul's "I slept with John..." pronunciation).

Here are some favorites that came to my mind. Some have sex on the page, others do not; I remember all of these as having excellent Tension™. I hope you find something you like here! Young J/P:

Streets of Your Town (@with-eyes-closed): Sensual. The upheaval in young Paul's mind as he falls in love with music and John, without putting a name to it. As of yet unfinished, but it's so good I rec it anyway, because it's...[read to find out, take a fan]

All I Know Since Yesterday (RedheadAmongWolves): Paul and John's first kiss at Paul's, after long, sweet hours of trembling fear/excitement. Paul POV.

The Way Things Sometimes Are (@paisanas): Young John is troubled and pining for Paul. Paul is mesmerizing through his eyes.

now and then (there's a fool such as I) (@stonedlennon): The Nerk Twins take the bus to Caversham and share a bed. You can smell the summer grass and the sweaty leathers...

(Ain't no cure for the) summertime blues (orphan_account): John and Paul alone on a hot summer day.

The Photograph (thinkpink20): John finds a Photograph Mike took of Paul and notices...things.

Hamburg:

ageless children, animal sweat (eyeball2eyeball): Read this story to spend time in John's throbbing, unhinged Hamburg mind. No sex on the page, and yet. It's *everywhere*. For such a short story, it takes up a lot of room in my brain. The Paul in this story is one of my favorite Pauls.

Sinful City (thinkpink20). Days and Nights in Hamburg. Paul needs John, and stops questioning things.

In Margaret Asher's music room:

Tell You Something (@louiselux). Lennon and McCartney write "I Want to Hold Your Hand." The tension rises.

In or near Paul's Geodesic Dome:

shotgunning (@pauls1967moustache): John and Paul languidly try something new...

Chrysalis (cloudy_blue): Tension in 1967. Hypnotic and stylish, I love it.

Stop all the Clocks (@javelinbk): After Brian's death, John and Paul retreat to Scotland. Grief and awakening ensue...slowly and sweetly.

Greece:

Way Up Top (@boshemians). Snapshots of J/P desire and spiraling doubts, contained in the Beatles' trip to Greece to buy an island.

Nineteen Sixty-Eight:

Outro (bakerstreetafternoon). From the Summary: 'Had it been this tension that had kept them together? Had it always?'

Bad Luck to Talk (7intheevening): Paul chats with JohnandYoko at a party and follows them home for a cup of tea. What hurts more exquisitly than pining? Unacknowledged pining.

John I'm Only Dancing (@skylikeaflame): Amidst the insanity of the Mad Day Out, desire erupts relentlessly.

The 70's as they should have been:

Down on the Farm (RosalindBeatrice): Incredibly hot and realistic (and funny in just right amounts!). John visits Paul in Nashville; Paul shows off Wings and the family, John stays the night. Dot dot dot.

I can only speak my mind (@paisanas): John's diaries are leaked to the press and printed; Paul reads them. What follows is the sexual awakening of James Paul McCartney as he reads of John's feelings for him. First rate pining, past and present.

I still miss someone/ I know that I miss you, but I don't know where I stand/ close the door lightly when you go (RosalindBeatrice): John and Paul meet in 1976. There is a spark. Few and far between meetings follow.

The Other Eighties (John lives and experiences sexual tension with Paul):

and when broken bodies are washed ashore (who am i to ask for more) (wardo wedidit): John divorces Yoko and visits Paul in Scotland. Soul searching and relationship mending.

The Birthday Party (@merseydreams): John and Paul meet at Ringo's Birthday Party. There is only one bed.

Tension through the Years:

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes (@savageandwise). John is turned on by Paul smoking. 1958—1969.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Eighty-Five

The next morning, dawn broke gently over Dragonstone, painting the sky with hues of pink and gold. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a soft glow in the room. Outside, the sea was calm, the distant calls of seabirds the only sounds punctuating the stillness.

Maera woke up with a stretch, feeling the child within her wriggling around uncomfortably. She couldn't help but think of her mother, Lady Gael, during the late stages of her final pregnancy —how large and unsettled she had always seemed. Sitting up slowly, Maera's eyes were drawn to the chaise at the foot of the bed. There, Aemond lay with his feet propped up, his boots removed. His straight silver hair flowed freely, having been undone from its usual restraint. Most notably, he had removed his eyepatch, and his sapphire eye gleamed in the dawn’s early light.

As Maera shifted out of bed, Aemond immediately opened his eye, sitting up straight and looking at her. He had always been a light sleeper. They shared a moment of silent communication, their eyes locked as if they both knew what was on each other’s minds. The question hung unspoken in the air: Would this day bring forth a new alliance, or would more blood be spilled? Without words, the weight of their shared responsibilities and uncertainties pressed upon them, the quiet morning a brief reprieve before the potential storm of the day ahead.

The servants moved quickly to ready the royal couple for the day. Aemond insisted on an early meeting with Hugh and Ulf, despite knowing how much wine the dragonseeds had consumed the previous night. Maera was certain the men would not appreciate an early awakening, but Aemond's urgency allowed no room for delay.

None of Maera’s nor Aemond’s belongings had arrived yet, aside from the dragon egg that rested in a pot on the hearth, which Aemond had brought with him. The servants dressed them in what they could find within the castle. These clothes were not tailored for them, necessitating various pins and adjustments to hold them in place on bodies they were not meant for.

For Aemond, they found Prince Daemon’s clothes to be more his style. However, the King Consort was much broader in the shoulders, and the vests did not fit him properly. Instead, the servants provided him with old garments of Prince Jacaerys, though it took a considerable amount of time to find something that was purely black. The fit was not perfect, but it sufficed for the day.

Maera, too, was given borrowed clothes. Thanks to the size of Rhaenyra’s brood, she had many options to choose from. The servants dressed her in a long black chiffon robe that fit her like a glove and was comfortable to move around in. The soft fabric accommodated her swollen belly, offering some relief from the discomfort of her pregnancy. As they finished dressing, Aemond and Maera exchanged a glance, each understanding the underlying tension of the day ahead.

Breakfast was brought into their room with an elaborate display. Silver platters were carried in by a procession of servants, laden with freshly baked bread, golden butter, and various jams. There were plates of sliced fruits—apples, pears, and berries—alongside bowls of nuts and dried figs. A centerpiece of roasted ham glistened, flanked by smaller dishes of boiled eggs and cured meats. A large pot of steaming tea and a pitcher of chilled water were placed on the table, accompanied by delicate porcelain cups and glasses.

Maera and Aemond sat opposite one another, quietly sipping their tea. The silence between them was thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension, a reflection of the impasse their marriage had reached after all they had endured. Aemond was making an effort, or at least trying to try, but the weight of their shared history loomed heavily.

The chamber doors suddenly burst open, and in stomped the dragonseeds. The aftermath of the previous night's indulgence was evident in their appearance. Ulf looked particularly pale, his face drawn and colorless, while Hugh shielded his eyes from the intrusive morning light, squinting as he entered the room. Their heavy footsteps echoed through the chamber, breaking the fragile morning calm.

Maera greeted the dragonseeds cheerily, raising her teacup in their direction. "Good morrow, my lords," she said with a bright smile, her voice cutting through the tension. Aemond, however, merely scowled, his expression a stark contrast to his wife's warmth. The dragonseeds skulked over to the table, their movements sluggish and eyes bleary. Eventually, they collapsed into their chairs with heavy sighs.

Maera, still smiling, presented each of the men with a glass of raw eggs mixed with garlic. "A remedy from my brothers at Rain House," she explained. "They swear by it for a miraculous recovery after a night of indulgence."

Hugh smiled at her adoringly, his purple eyes lighting up despite his obvious discomfort. Without hesitation, he grabbed the glass and gulped down the drink, slamming the empty vessel down on the table with a satisfied grunt. Remnants of egg clung to his thick curly dark beard, giving him a rather unkempt appearance.

Ulf, on the other hand, seemed hesitant. He eyed the glass warily, glancing at Hugh for reassurance. Seeing Hugh apparently unharmed and even invigorated, Ulf finally lifted his glass and drank the contents. His face contorted briefly in disgust, but he managed to swallow it all, placing the glass back on the table with a relieved sigh.

A heavy silence settled over the room, punctuated only by the clinking of cutlery and the occasional clearing of a throat from the steward. The atmosphere grew tense, laden with unspoken words and uncertain futures. No one seemed eager to break the stillness and address the matter at hand.

Eventually, Aemond set down his cutlery with a deliberate motion, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. His piercing gaze swept over the dragonseeds. "Have you come to a decision?" he asked, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Hugh was quick to respond. "We spent the night talking it through," he said, smiling at Maera. She held her breath, her heart pounding as she waited to see if his eager response was positive or merely the prelude to a boast.

Maera's green eyes flicked to the pale-haired Ulf, who drummed his fingers against the table. He looked between Maera and Aemond before asking, "Horn Hill and Harrenhall?", alluding to the suggestion the Princess had made the previous night.

Before Aemond could respond, Maera interjected, her voice steady. "We swear by the Old Gods and the New." She glanced at Aemond, who nodded in agreement, his expression firm.

Ulf then uttered the words Maera had been hoping for. "We accept the proposed terms."

The Princess let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Relief washed over her. For now, at least, there would be no need for violence. She nodded respectfully towards Ulf before reaching out and squeezing Hugh’s hand with a smile, much to Aemond’s discomfort.

"How wonderful," she said, her voice light with relief. "I thank the Gods that today will not be a day of bloodshed." She then turned and smirked at Aemond, adding, "A shame for Vhagar and Ēbrion though."

Aemond couldn't help but smile at her jest, his stern demeanor softening just a bit. Ulf, however, rolled his eyes before asking, "What do you expect of us now, Prince Aemond?"

The one-eyed Prince ran his finger around the edge of his glass thoughtfully. "The same as you were told before.” he replied. "Go to Tumbleton."

Maera furrowed her brow at this, confusion flickering in her green eyes. Aemond elaborated, “Instead of defending the town, allow the Greens in to seize it, granting us greater stability in the Reach.”

Hugh’s agreement came with an eager nod, his large frame almost vibrating with anticipation. Ulf, on the other hand, took a moment longer, drumming his fingers against the table before finally nodding in consent. The strategy was clear and would serve their cause effectively. The tension in the room began to ease as the dragonseeds accepted their roles, their expressions shifting from cautious uncertainty to determined resolve. The room, once fraught with the potential for violence, now hummed with a shared purpose.

After they finished their meal, Maera glanced around the room, taking in the attending servants and guards. The thought gnawed at her: surely her most trusted advisors had journeyed to the Capital after their Queen, but what of those remaining at Dragonstone? She did not wish to risk any further spies or assassination attempts. Perhaps if they swore to recognize Aemond as the Regent and Maelor as the true King, they would see it was the right path for the Realm.

Maera looked at her husband, her expression thoughtful. "There may be others here that would swear to the Greens' cause, my Prince," she said softly. Aemond cocked his head, considering her words. Maera urged him, "Give the occupants an opportunity to declare their loyalties."

Aemond then scanned the room, his sharp purple eye focusing on each face of the servants attending them. The early morning light streamed in through the windows, casting a pale glow on his chiseled features.

His eye, keen and discerning, moved slowly from one servant to the next, as if he could see into their very souls. His face, illuminated by the soft dawn light, appeared both regal and formidable, the lines of worry and determination etched deeply into his skin.

After a moment of tense silence, Aemond nodded. "Very well," he said, his voice low and commanding. He turned to one of the guards and issued the order, "Call all within the castle to the western beach."

The guard bowed deeply before hurrying out of the room to carry out the command. Maera felt a sense of anticipation build within her. This was a pivotal moment, and the actions they took now could solidify their power and ensure the loyalty of those who served them.

The volcanic beach on Dragonstone was a stark and dramatic landscape. The black sand stretched out in a coarse, grainy expanse, glittering like onyx under the early morning light. Waves crashed violently against the rugged, rocky terrain, sending plumes of white spray into the air. The scent of salt and sulfur mingled, carried by the brisk wind that whipped across the shore. Jagged cliffs loomed on either side, their dark, craggy faces carved by centuries of relentless waves and volcanic activity.

Gathered on this beach was a large crowd, the castle's inhabitants drawn by the summons. Their faces displayed a mix of emotions—confusion, agitation, and fear. The servants and lesser courtiers glanced around nervously, whispering among themselves, their expressions betraying their uncertainty about what this sudden assembly might portend.

Among the gathering, the castle guards stood in disciplined rows, their stances rigid and alert. Their allegiances were not immediately clear; some bore the colours of Rhaenyra’s cause with pride, while others seemed more apprehensive, their eyes darting about as if weighing their options and assessing the situation.

All watched in anticipation as the one-eyed Prince, his wife, and the two dragonseeds approached them from the high stone bridge. The bridge, worn and ancient, seemed to groan under their purposeful strides. As they descended onto the volcanic beach, Aemond and Maera made their way to the front of the gathered onlookers. The Prince, tall and imposing, stepped onto a large rock, elevating himself to be seen by all. His wife, Maera, stood beside him on the sand, flanked by Ulf and Hugh.

A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the rhythmic crashing of the waves and the occasional cawing of sea birds circling overhead. The atmosphere was tense, charged with the unspoken questions and the anticipation of what was to come. A bellowing roar, followed by a deep, rumbling growl caused gasps and screams amongst the crowd. People gasped and ducked, eyes wide with fear, as Vhagar and Ēbrion flew overhead.

Vhagar, with her green and bronze scales shimmering like an ancient relic and her orange eyes burning with a fierce intelligence, led the way. Her immense wings cast vast, shifting shadows over the crowd. Ēbrion followed closely, his deep blue and black scales absorbing the light, his own orange eyes glowing like embers. The two dragons called to each other, their voices resonating with a power that made the earth tremble.

The older war dragon circled and landed on a cliff to the east, her claws digging into the rocky terrain as her orange eyes scanned the crowd. Ēbrion descended gracefully onto the beach to the west, his wings folding elegantly as he settled, his gaze fixed on the gathering of people below him.

The atmosphere grew even more charged as lighter chirps and calls heralded the arrival of two more dragons. Vermithor, known as the Bronze Fury, appeared with a roar that echoed across the cliffs. His bronze scales gleamed in the light, and he landed on the high bridge, his massive form almost overwhelming the ancient structure. Silverwing, with her gleaming silver scales, descended behind the crowd, her wings creating a gust that whipped through the assembly.

The four dragons effectively encircled the attendants, their imposing forms creating an inescapable barrier. The sense of entrapment was clear, the onlookers now fully aware of the power and danger surrounding them. The stage was set for the declarations to come, the dragons' presence underscoring the gravity of the moment.

Aemond cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the tense silence, before addressing the crowd. His voice, strong and commanding, cut through the murmurs and whispers. "Two of Rhaenyra’s dragon riders have come to their senses and are now sworn to the Greens' cause," he announced, his words causing the onlookers to exchange confused and anxious glances, their murmuring growing louder. Aemond raised a hand, silencing them, and continued, "I am giving you all a chance to see the true path and recognize Rhaenyra for what she is: a usurper."

He paused, letting his words sink in, before resuming. "My half-sister fled like a coward, stealing the Iron Throne from her own nephew rather than allowing her husband to face a challenger in singular combat. Is that the kind of leader you want? One who runs and hides when faced with direct confrontation?" His voice grew colder, more intense. "Recognize me as Prince Regent for Maelor, heir of the firstborn son of King Viserys, who will ascend the throne when he comes of age, or face the consequences."

Maera watched the crowd hesitate, their faces a mix of fear, confusion, and defiance. Not a single person bowed or pledged their allegiance. She knew what they thought of Aemond: a Kinslayer, a cold, one-eyed man, a cripple. She glanced at her husband, seeing the tension in his jaw, his frustration growing at the crowd’s lack of action.

Suddenly, Vhagar roared from the cliff top, the sound a deafening bellow that shook the ground and sent a wave of terror through the crowd. The people flinched and cowered, but still, none stepped forward. The silence that followed the roar was thick with tension, the crowd's defiance hanging in the air like a palpable force.

The Princess had had enough. The crowd’s hesitation and murmurs threatened to spiral into chaos, and she knew she had to take control. Determined, she attempted to pull herself up onto the rock beside her husband, but her large stomach and injured arm and leg made it difficult. She gritted her teeth, feeling the strain in her muscles and the sharp sting in her wounds, but she refused to give up.

After a few moments of struggling, she finally managed to pull herself up, standing tall and proud next to Prince Aemond. Her presence, regal and defiant, commanded attention. As she prepared to address the crowd, her left leg gave way, and she stumbled forward with a gasp. In an instant, she felt two strong arms grab onto her firmly, keeping her in place. She looked up to see Aemond, his face etched with concern. She couldn't tell if it was for her physical stumble or for what she might say to the onlookers.

Granting him a small smile and a nod, she reassured him before he let her go. Turning to face the crowd, Maera drew a deep breath, her eyes scanning the sea of faces before her. The silence was heavy, all eyes fixed on her, waiting to hear what she would say.

"I know everyone in attendance, including myself, has been affected so far by the Dance of the Dragons." She paused, her gaze sweeping across the crowd, recognizing the worry and fatigue etched into their faces. "There has already been enough bloodshed from both the Greens and Blacks."

The crowd stirred, whispers and nods rippling through them as Maera continued. "My nephew, Maelor, represents a new age of peace and prosperity for the future." She emphasized the innocence of the young prince, contrasting it with Rhaenyra’s ambitions. "Whilst Rhaenyra wishes to live in the past, invading the Capital and plotting to kill children, Maelor is innocent. With the right guidance, he will grow to be a great King."

Maera rubbed her belly tenderly as her child kicked beneath her skin, a visible symbol of a new beginning. "My own child gives me hope for the future, a future that does not know war or violence between kin," she said, her voice tinged with emotion. She turned to look out onto the dark sea, the waves crashing onto the beach in a rhythmic reminder of time’s passage. "Some of you may value the past more than the future, and that is fine. If that is the case, you can leave now without any harm coming to you."

The crowd held its breath, the silence filled only by the sound of the sea and the distant roars of dragons. Maera’s offer hung in the air, a glimmer of mercy in a world torn apart by conflict. The tension was palpable as they awaited the response, the weight of their decision bearing down upon them.

Suspicion lingered in the eyes of those gathered, as they glanced nervously at the four dragons surrounding them. The formidable presence of Vhagar, Ēbrion, Vermithor, and Silverwing was a stark reminder of the power held by the dragon riders, capable of striking at any moment upon command.

A murmur ran through the crowd as her words sank in. A small group of servants, stewards, and guards began to edge away from the crowd, their faces a mixture of fear and resolve. As they swerved past Ēbrion, the dragon growled menacingly, snapping his teeth in an intimidating manner. The defectors flinched but continued their retreat, leaving the rest of the Dragonstone inhabitants standing in uncertain silence.

Maera, sensing the hesitation in those who remained, spoke again, her voice clear and unwavering. "Those who decide to stay should declare themselves loyal to Maelor, and in turn, to Prince Aemond as Regent. I would be honoured to serve those loyal to my family, for a great future cannot be forged without your support."

After an awkward, tense moment, the two serving girls who had attended Maera and Aemond the night before were the first to move. They dropped to their knees, casting their gaze downward in a clear sign of allegiance. Their actions seemed to break the spell, and a few guards followed suit, dropping to one knee. Stewards and maids hesitated briefly before kneeling as well, their heads bowed.

One by one, the rest of the crowd followed, their collective movement creating a rustle of fabric and a soft thud of knees hitting the black sand. The entire assembly knelt before Maera and Aemond, their loyalty now pledged to Maelor and the Greens. The tension in the air dissipated slightly, replaced by a solemn recognition of the new order being established.

Even though Dragonstone was won, there was still much work to be done. Ravens were dispatched to alert their allies of this bloodless victory, the messages bearing news of their success and immediate orders. Ser Criston Cole, their steadfast ally, was commanded to come to Dragonstone without delay, while a contingent remained at Harrenhal to secure it for the ongoing war effort.

Aemond cautioned Maera to remain wary of those around her, a caution she found irksome but necessary. The previous attempts on her life had left her deeply distrustful, regardless of others’ past actions or promises for the future. Still, she maintained a demeanor of kindness towards those who served her, understanding that true loyalty was often won through compassion and respect.

This kindness bore fruit, winning the sincere loyalty of many among the staff. The most devoted of them came forward, warning the Princess of traitors hidden within their ranks. Maera thanked them genuinely and informed her husband of the treachery. Aemond took swift and decisive action, leading the discovered traitors to the beach where Vhagar awaited. The mighty dragon burned and feasted upon the flesh of those who would endanger them, a brutal but effective display of power and retribution.

In the past, Maera might have thought such punishment too harsh. But now, with so much lost and the stakes so high, she no longer possessed the mercy she once did. One chance was all she gave, and if her kindness was betrayed, the consequences were ruthless. The dragonfire served as a stark warning to all: loyalty would be rewarded, but treachery would be met with unyielding severity.

Despite their display of unity on the beach, Aemond and Maera's marriage remained firmly on the rocks. Nightmares continued to haunt Maera, the smell of Alys's burnt body filling her subconscious. Her wounds were still healing, and each time she looked at the ugly scars forming, she could not help but think of Aemond's betrayal. The sight of the marred skin on her arm and leg served as a constant reminder of the price she had paid for his choices.

The couple spent most of their days apart. Maera still refused to have him in her bed, suggesting instead that he take the grandest room in the castle, meant for the presiding Lord. Aemond declined, insisting she should have it as she would need more room, especially in her condition. Their interactions were sparse, each exchange tinged with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved pain.

During the early days of their marriage, Aemond's presence had been enough for Maera. Now, she found herself incredibly lonely, the vast halls of Dragonstone echoing with her isolation. But instead of wallowing in despair, she focused on rebuilding her network. She wrote to many of her own allies, including Lord Unwin Peake, her brothers Faran and Luthor, and her sister Sabine. Each letter was crafted with care, reaching out to those who had once stood by her side.

She also wrote to Wynni and Helena, though she did not expect a reply from either. She was unsure if Wynni still harbored hatred for her due to the death of her husband, and she doubted whether Helena was still lucid enough to read her correspondence. Yet, she penned the letters anyway, hoping that her words might somehow reach through the fog of grief and madness.

One night, Aemond summoned Maera to his quarters for supper. The news, delivered by a maid, was met with a huff of frustration from Maera and an eager wriggle from her unborn child. When Aemond was out of her sight, life felt easier. However, she realized she had avoided him long enough.

She did not bother to dress formally, instead opting for her black robe over her nightgown. Her gigantic bump felt much heavier now, the weight of it bearing down on her. Walking had become a tremendous struggle; coupled with her injured leg, Maera now waddled due to the late stage of her pregnancy.

A constant burning sensation in her nether regions only added to her discomfort. The midwives had assured her it was perfectly normal at this stage of pregnancy and a good sign that birth might be near. Knowing it was normal did little to ease the situation.

Maera gathered her unopened letters, scrolls, and quills, deciding to take them with her. She hoped the distraction of her correspondence would help her endure Aemond's company for the evening. With a determined sigh, she made her way slowly to his quarters, every step a reminder of the burden she carried both physically and emotionally.

When Maera entered Aemond’s chambers, she saw him hunched over his desk, his gaze flicking up to her briefly before he set aside his quill. She walked towards him, placing her items down opposite him.

The smell of pastry soon filled her nose, and on a table a few feet away was a small untouched banquet for two. Her nausea was still present, so she filled her plate with bread, turkey, cheese, and grapes before grabbing a bowl of raspberry tart and custard and sitting opposite Aemond.

As she began to nibble on her food, she noticed Aemond had not eaten a thing, nor had he even got up to serve himself. To break the awkward silence, Maera joked, “You should at least eat something if you’re asking me to supper.”

No reply came, his usual sternness painted across his sharp-featured face. Maera attempted to joke again between bites. “I hope you have a good excuse for calling on me this evening,” she said, rubbing her stomach. “I actually planned on getting a bath because your child is causing me-”

Aemond cut her off, his voice devoid of emotion. “Your father is dead.”

Maera froze, the spoonful of raspberry tart hovering in the air. Her mind raced with thoughts, but outwardly she remained still, her expression unreadable. Her father, dead? The words echoed in her mind, a maelstrom of conflicting emotions surging within her. She thought of his stern face, the frequent disapproval, and the sharp words that had cut deeper than any blade. Yet she had always sought his approval. But now, none of it mattered. He was gone.

Aemond‘s voice cut through the silence, his words still devoid of emotion. "As is my grandsire." After a moment, he asked, “Are you okay?” His expression remained inscrutable, his body stiff and unyielding, though there was a flicker of concern in his single eye.

Maera gulped, rubbing her pregnancy bump nervously. She felt a complex mix of relief, sadness, and a strange hollowness. She hesitated before answering. "He was not a good father. I feel... strange. I thought I would feel something more."

Aemond hummed in agreement, his gaze distant. "I felt the same when my father died."

Maera sighed deeply, memories of Lord Jasper flooding her mind. She was sure the Master of Laws saw her as a thorn in his side. Where his other daughters had obeyed their father’s orders, Maera defied them cleverly. While her sisters diligently attended to their duties, Maera took up the sword and sparred with her brothers. Where Sabine and Wynni had lovely, pristine reputations, Maera had hers ruined by a rejected suitor, yet her father still blamed her. There were moments of tenderness between her and her father, yes, but those did not erase the moments of cruelty and rejection.

She recalled the rare moments of warmth, the fleeting smiles, the gentle pats on the head, the conversations about her mother. At times, Maera could not help but admire him, for he was clever and strategic, with a brilliant mind and sense of duty. But these were overshadowed by the times he dismissed her, blamed her for scandals, and his obsession with producing so many offspring in order for him to have a hand in all matters of the Seven Kingdoms.

Maera had always been the rebel, the outcast within her own family because she did not comply with her father’s wishes of being a demure, silent and obedient lady. She wondered if he had ever truly understood her, or if he had merely seen her as a rebellious daughter, a source of constant disappointment. She thought of her brothers, her sisters, the family she had left behind, who had no doubt also heard of their father’s passing. She felt a pang of guilt, of sorrow for the connections that had been strained or severed.

Shaking her head, Maera said, "Nothing can be done now. It’s best not to dwell."

The Princess began opening her correspondence and reading them, a welcome distraction from her husband and the news. The room fell silent once more, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of parchment and the soft clinking of cutlery against Maera's plate.

She read through the letters, her green eyes scanning the familiar penmanship of other noblewomen detailing how the war was affecting their households. There were minor updates about troop movements, food shortages, and the general anxiety that had settled over the realm. She read letters from her family at Rain House, filled with well-wishes and mundane news. Nothing stood out, nothing to lighten the heavy mood that had settled over her since the news of her father's death.

Then she came across a small scroll, rolled up tightly and likely delivered by raven. Unfurling it, she noted the rushed and coarse penmanship, with splatters of ink marring the parchment. It was clear whoever had written it had done so in haste and under duress.

Princess

I could not move the Queen. But I got the little King and young Princess out of Kings Landing

Thena

As she read the letter, Maera's stern face softened, her brows raised, and a laugh escaped her lips. A smile spread from ear to ear, a rare sight in these troubled times.

Aemond glanced up, his sharp-featured face framed by long white hair. His single eye narrowed in confusion, a brow arched. "What is it?" he asked, his voice cautious.

With glee, Maera announced, "Jaehaera and Maelor have escaped the Capital! They’re making their way to safety."

Aemond's shoulders visibly relaxed, the tension easing from his posture. He breathed a sigh of relief, his usually stern expression softening for a moment. "Thank the Gods," he muttered, the weight of worry lifting slightly from his features.

For a moment, amidst the dark and uncertain times, a spark of hope flickered between them, bridging the gap that had grown so wide. The Princess said a silent prayer, hoping the Gods would guide their niece and nephew safely to the Stormlands and the Westerlands.

She then looked out of the window to see the dark, starry night sky. "It’s late," she declared, rising from her chair. "I should get back to my chambers." She gathered her letters and scrolls. "I’ll write to Luthor and Sabine to inform them of their impending arrivals."

Aemond also rose from his seat, moving to assist Maera in gathering her belongings. As she reached for her quill, his large hand landed atop hers, enveloping it in warmth. A rush of emotion surged through Maera at the contact, and she flicked her gaze up to meet his stare. His single violet eye held a mixture of longing and sadness, his sharp features softened by the dim candlelight.

For a moment, the room was suspended in silence, the tension between them palpable. Aemond’s grip tightened slightly, as if afraid to let her go. "Stay," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Maera felt a lump form in her throat. She missed him—his touch, his warmth, the intimacy they once shared. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the familiar scent of leather and dragon fire bringing back memories of better times. She so badly wanted to give in, to let herself be held by him once more. Her heart ached with the memory of their love, now marred by betrayal and pain.

But the scars of their recent past and the weight of an uncertain future loomed large in her mind. She could not forget Aemond’s actions or the consequences they had wrought. With a sigh, she pulled her hand away, bringing the quill with her. The loss of his touch was immediate and profound, leaving a cold emptiness where warmth had briefly flourished.

“I cannot,” she said softly, her voice barely holding steady. She turned away from him, her heart heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. She felt his gaze on her back, a silent plea for understanding and reconciliation that she could not grant.

Leaving the room hastily, her thoughts a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She longed for the comfort of his embrace, yet the wounds of their past were still too fresh, too raw. As she walked down the dimly lit corridors of Dragonstone, she felt the weight of her unborn child pressing down on her, a reminder of the future she had to protect, a future that demanded strength and resolve. A future that would come to be very soon.

Notes: Dragonstone for the Greens 💚 their marriage is still rocky but improving a tad. I’m so excited to post the next chapter 🖤

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤