#Big Bang Imagine

[blu-joons]

When He Takes Your Child To The Studio ~ Big Bang Reaction

T.O.P:

The smile on his face was wide as Jiyong pointed out to Seunghyun, your son in the corner of the studio, trying his best to copy the four boys.

It quickly got the attention of all four of the boys as your son got lost in his own little world. “He’s having a right boogie.”

“He takes after his daddy,” Seunghyun proudly told them all, “he constantly wants to watch our videos back at home and tries to copy the dances.”

“You want him to be a dancer in the future?” Daesung asked him.

Seunghyun shrugged as he didn’t tear his eyes away from your son, “it would be pretty cool if he was a dancer, I mean look at him, he’s a natural, right?”

“He’s already a better dancer than you,” Jiyong teased, “how does it feel to be shown up by your four year old son at the studio, at your own place of work?”

“He’s not showing me up,” Seunghyun tried to dismiss, “hopefully one day this will be his place of work too.”

“Dancing his heart out,” Youngbae chuckled, “and being the best dancer in the Choi household.”

“Hey, the second best Choi,  thank you.”

Taeyang:

A shrug of the shoulders came from Youngbae as Daesung voiced his concerns about the fun activities that he had prepared for your daughter.

Daesung looked questionably as he met Youngbae’s eyes, “you know that Y/N doesn’t like her eating sweets during the day.”

“I’m doing Y/N a favour,” Youngbae reminded him, “if sweets are needed to keep Y/D/N under control then she’ll just have to deal with the consequences.”

“Are the sweets needed?” Seunghyun asked as he watched on.

A hum came from Youngbae as he watched your daughter closely, “probably not, but I’ve got a reputation as the fun uncle that I need to try and keep.”

“I’m so glad you’re taking Y/D/N home to your sister tonight and not us,” Jiyong jokingly told him, “I can already imagine her going crazy knowing what you’ve done.”

“Y/D/N knows what happens with Uncle Younbae stays with Uncle Youngbae,” he assured them, “it’s our little promise.”

“One day Y/N will find out,” Seunghyun warned him, “and you won’t be doing this anymore.”

“Y/N needs me to take care of Y/D/N.”

G-Dragon:

A weak smile formed on Jiyong’s face as he walked into the studio with your son in tow, feeling the eyes of all three of the boys watching him closely.

Your son quickly ran off to greet the three boys as Jiyong dropped his bag. “Y/N isn’t feeling well, so daddy duties today it is.”

“And we have to babysit too?” Youngbae asked him, throwing his arms up into the air. “We signed up to sing and dance and not take care of Y/S/N.”

“It’s just for one day,” Jiyong quickly assured them all.

Seunghyun nodded as he walked over with your son in his arms, “I’m sure we won’t lose too much time if we spend the day dancing and messing with Y/S/N.”

“You won’t even know that I’m here,” your son jokingly told them all, copying what Jiyong had prepared him to say in the car, “it’ll be like I’m at home.”

“We know your daddy bud, we know that you’ll be here,” Daesung replied to him, “you make as much noise as he does.”

“I guess one day wouldn’t hurt,” Youngbae eventually decided, “but you owe us for babysitting.”

“He’s your nephew, don't you forget.”

Daesung:

A sigh came from Daesung as he watched your daughter do another lap of the studio, full of energy, and not looking ready to tire any time soon.

His hand rested over his head as Jiyong chased after her, “Y/N’s going to go crazy if I take her home with this much energy.”

“We’re having fun!” Jiyong called out to him, picking your daughter up and throwing her in the air, “daddy’s being boring, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, don’t be boring,” your daughter noted with Jiyong.

A roll of the eyes followed from Daesung as Seunghyun appeared beside him, “if she doesn’t sleep tonight, I’ll throw you guys under the bus with Y/N.”

“You can’t do that,” Seunghyun groaned, hitting against his arm, “Y/N’s scary, especially when it comes to Y/D/N, she’ll go crazy if you tell her this is our fault.”

“Stop chasing her around the studio then,” Daesung told the three of them, “or you can come home and do bedtime.”

“Are they coming home with us?” Your daughter excitedly asked, “are uncles coming for tea?”

“I think that’s up to mummy, sweetheart.”

---

Masterlist

[astraystayyh]

The fundraiser is now closed !!!!

Hey stayblr, I've been thinking of ways we can unite to help Palestine in the current genocide. With Israel closing borders again, no aid is allowed in and local organizations on the ground urgently need our help. So, i thought of rallying to raise donations for Palestine, big or small, as every dollar counts and can truly make a difference.

‼️MONEY RAISED : 5000 DOLLARS ✅—13/05/2024–> 05/08/2024.

Split between Care for Gaza, UNRWA and Palestine Children’s Relief Fund.

For transparency, donations will be received through my Kofi, with daily updates on our progress. Here are the links to UNRWA’s, Careforgaza’s and PCRF’s work in Gaza!

Palestinians are saying that this is the worst phase of the genocide yet. They need as much of our help as we can give them, so please, let’s all stand together for this.

If you cannot donate

- please reblog and share around!

- stream hind’s hall (all proceeds will be donated to unrwa!

here are the receipts of our 2000$ donation to UNRWA, 1400$ donation to Careforgaza (to their paypal acc), and 1094$ donation to PCRF.

[daddiesdrarryy]

*7th Year Party*

Regulus: Okay, now this time, Potter, you’re going to lick the salt off my neck, do the shot, and then bite the lime, okay?

James: …

James: I’m sorry, I didn’t hear anything after lick

[bellarkeselection]

Hiii!! I saw that you wrote for Georgie Cooper from you Sheldon and I was wondering if you would write for him again 😊 Can I get Georgie with a latina gf that loves to cook, whenever she goes over to his house she's always bringing food from her culture (I'm Mexican so Mexican food ofc) .

Culture Cooking

I am not Latina so I hope I wrote this correctly 🤗 and a very short request in my opinion but I hope you still enjoy

Coming out of Missy’s room that used to be Georgie’s old bedroom, I had decided to get up early and make the family breakfast. I had stayed the night after my date with her older brother, and we didn’t get back till really late, so she said I could sleep over in her room. Walking down the small hallway and into the kitchen, I got lost in thought, thinking of the ingredients that I needed. I have been bringing over some spices and stuff when I would come over here. I loved cooking for Georgie, and he always seemed to enjoy my family's food. “Hey…uh what are you doing up this early?”

Whipping my head around away from the stove I saw Georgie stumbling his way into the kitchen. “Oh hey. I thought I’d make the family my kind of breakfast.”

“Sweet.” He smiled sitting down at the table watching me go back to cooking. My family had moved to Texas after my father got a new job here being the assistant principal.

One day after I was leaving from English class I had been walking down the hallway and accidentally bumped into Georgie. All of our notebooks went flying and that’s how we met basically. Turning the oven off I put the whole meal together on a plate and slid it across the table to him. “I present to you one of my families favorite things to eat for breakfast.”

“Woah this smells really good.” Georgie gave me praise picking up his fork and dove right in. He took a big bite making the same noise he does whenever his Meemaw makes brisket for dinner that he loves.

Georgie stared at me with a mouth full of food. “So what’s in this?”

“Let’s see it’s a fried tortilla topped with salsa. And there’s eggs, pulled chicken, cream cheese and bean included inside it too.” I chuckled sitting down and taking some bites out of the one I had made for myself with him.

Georgie took a few minutes to finish his food wiping some sauce that was left on his plate. I bite my lip trying not to laugh at seeing some cream in his hair where I moved one hand up wiping it away. “Awe dang it! I guess you are a really good cook if I get it in my hair.” He chuckled back at me.

“Yeah suppose so.” I responded moving our plates off the table hearing someone else entering the kitchen seeing it was Missy.

She squealed hugging me by the waist. “Hi Y/n. What did you make for breakfast?”

“She made a fried tortilla.” Her older brother said forking some more from the pan onto his plate.

Missy gave me a confused look. “A fried tortilla?”

“Yes but it’s actually called Chilaquiles.” I told her before she sat down and I made her a plate of her own.

Georgie finished his second plate putting his plate up in the sink then came over to me. He wrapped his arms around my waist bringing me closer to his chest with that same cheeky grin. “Even if I can’t pronounce your food half the time. You’re still a really good cook. Everybody in the family enjoys it. So thank you for this and all the other meals.”

“You’re welcome, Georgie. I always love cooking for y’all.” Draping my arms over his shoulders I grinned up at him kissing him slowly where he tightened his hands around me deepening the kiss.

He moved one hand into my hair and the other on my waist. We we’re getting caught up in the kiss that we almost wound have gone further if it wasn’t for his sister being in the kitchen with us. “Eww. If I knew you two were going to kiss after you ate I would have eaten my breakfast in front of the tv.” Missy made a look of discomfort.

“Awe I’m sorry Missy. I can’t help if he’s a good kisser and likes my food at the same time.” I shrugged my shoulders with him draping an arm over my shoulder so I laid my head on his shoulder since he was slightly taller than I was.

Georgie looped our hands together sending me a smirk. “Best of both words, my darling. You’re pretty awesome Y/n.”

“Stop being cute or I’m gonna barf my food.” She whined at us with her tounge sticking out.

I gasped remembering that their parents were already at work for the day so that left Sheldon in our care. Snapping my fingers at Missy I questioned his twin sister worried he needed to eat. “Missy, go tell your brother that I made breakfast.”

“Sheldon, Y/n made breakfast!” She spun around in her seat hollering towards their bedroom causing me and her older brother to start cracking up in laughter. Squeezing Georgie’s hand in mine I always enjoyed anytime I got to cook for this family.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

In the Wake of Silence

Aemond x unnamed wife | HOTD Big Bang

Summary: Aemond and his wife endure a loveless, arranged marriage. His wife, haunted by bearing witness to the events of Blood and Cheese, seeks respect and support from her indifferent husband. The Prince, troubled with his own demons that triggered the Dance, struggles to meet her basic needs. Political intrigue and personal grief threaten to tear them apart, but his wife demands recognition and partnership, a fraught path, hoping to find respect where love has failed. | Word Count: 8.8k~ | Warnings: angst, child death, spoilers for hotd s2 ep 1, dub-con, mentions of miscarriage, canon-typical violence/misogyny

A/N: my submission for this year's HOTD Big Bang! Thank you to the lovely @ewanmitchellcrumbs for the artwork, and for organising the event alongisde @emilykaldwen. Please do show all the love for other lovely writers/artists over @hotd-bigbang, you're all in for a treat!

The first light of dawn barely touched the horizon as Aemond Targaryen slipped back into the Red Keep. His movements were stealthy and deliberate, the echoes of his footfalls swallowed by the cold stone corridors. The scent of the brothel, flesh and sweat, still clung to him, a reminder of the night’s escape from the relentless pressures of court and marriage.

As he approached his chambers, the atmosphere within the Keep struck him as strange. It was too noisy, too chaotic for the early hour. The usual stillness of the dawn was replaced by the frantic rustling of armoured feet and the distant, muffled cries of distress.

Turning a corner, Aemond's sharp gaze took in a disturbing scene. Members of the Kingsguard were dragging servants and courtiers from their rooms, shouting orders and spreading panic. The confusion and terror were palpable, a stark contrast to the serene darkness he had left behind.

"What in the Seven Hells is happening?" he muttered to himself, quickening his pace.

Aemond's mind raced, trying to piece together the reason for such commotion. He rounded another corner and saw more guards, their expressions grim and unyielding as they secured the doors of the royal nursery. His heart skipped a beat, an inexplicable sense of dread washing over him.

His steps became more urgent, the clamour growing louder as he neared his chambers.

He pushed open the doors and immediately noticed something was amiss. A draught hit his face, a wall he had never known was in fact a doorway was standing ajar. His eye scanned the room, taking in the disorder. His belongings had been disturbed, gold coins taken haphazardly from the table. Papers were scattered, and the lingering scent of unfamiliar presence clung to the air. Something rancid.

His expression remained impassive as he made his way through the halls. Kingsguard rushed by him, towards Helaena’s chambers as well as maidservants with newly washed blankets. When he reached his mother’s chambers, Ser Criston gave him a grave look, but stepped aside. Inside, his mother was bent over her table, her long chestnut hair falling in waves either side of her face to hide her moist eyes and sheer exhaustion. His grandfather, Otto, was seated, his spine as straight as his face. 

At the sight of him, his mother paused, her eyes filling with a mix of relief and fear.

“Aemond,” Alicent began, her voice trembling.

His eye flickered about the room, a habit, taking in the darkness that lay within her chambers, in his blind spot the drapes still pulled tight to push out the sun, the rumpled bed sheets. 

“Mother,” he answered, “what has happened? My wife–”

Alicent’s face paled at the thought of having to revisit the hellish night she had only just left behind. “They came in the night. For Helaena’s boy…” she trailed off, “Jaehaerys is dead.”

Aemond’s blood ran cold, the weight of her words sinking in. His mind flashed back to his ransacked chambers and the passage he had found ajar. A passage even he had not known existed.

They had come looking for him.

And when they could not find him…

“And my wife?”

Alicent wiped her cheeks gently, inhaling as if to draw strength, “she was there, with Helaena and the children…”

The realisation hit Aemond like a blow. The assassins had been mere steps away from her. The thought of his wife in such proximity to danger, witnessing the horror of Jaehaerys’ murder, was almost too much to bear. The indifference he had maintained toward her now felt like a cruel and taunting weight.

“We must not be shaken by this,” Otto insisted, somewhat firmly, coldly. “We need to remain strong and act decisively."

“Not be shaken? They murdered my nephew, and my wife was there. This is no small matter.”

Otto’s eyes narrowed, his tone becoming sharper. “And that is exactly why we must remain composed, Aemond. Panic will only serve our enemies. We need to show them that we are not easily broken.”

“They came for me, Grandfather. When they could not find me, they killed an innocent child. My nephew. My wife could have been next.” His words were like arrows, laced with poison. “And how fares the King? Is he as composed as you wish?”

“The King’s composure is of no concern to you, Aemond. Your duty is to protect this family and this realm, not to question the King’s state of mind.”

“You speak of strategy while my family bleeds.”

There was a marked silence. Aemond was wound tight. His grandfather, while known for his clever strategy and had served many Kings as Hand at this very moment, was as detached emotionally as one could possibly be, and only saw how this tragedy might benefit their claim.

“And where was our Kingsguard while all this took place? Where was our vigilance when they slipped through our defences?”

He noted his mother’s still stance, her eyes unmoving from a single spot in the room, her hands, needing something to do, rose to her necklace, tight with worry and anxiety.

Otto said nothing for a moment. “We shall not be caught off guard again. Every measure will be taken to ensure our security.”

“I am sure your grandson will thank you for it now,” Aemond shot back.

“We will protect the ones who remain,” Otto retorted. “But we must do so with clear minds and steady hands. Emotions will not serve us in this fight.”

A tense silence hung between them, the air thick with unspoken words and clashing wills. Alicent stepped forward, her voice a fragile thread of calm amidst the storm. She took his hand, so large in her own it seemed near impossible that he could possibly be her son. Her large brown eyes were misty with tears. 

“The Hand is right. We must be united in this,” she uttered quietly, trembling. 

All Aemond could manage was a tired sigh. There was no use argumentation. For better or for worse, his grandfather was the King’s Hand, and if the King was indisposed, incapable of making rational choices, the members of his court had no choice but to obey.

“Where is my wife?”

Alicent hesitated, her expression pained. "She is with the maester," she finally replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“She is hurt?”

"No,” was her quick answer, “but do treat her gently," she said softly.

His frustrations at that moment were only tempered by the knowledge that she was not harmed. The relief briefly gave way to unease at the knowledge of what his wife had witnessed a night he himself was pressed to another woman’s flesh.

He moved, walked, existed, for some time without really realising.

"She witnessed the attack, my prince," the maester began, his voice steady despite the gravity of his words. "She was with Queen Helaena and her children when the assassins struck. It was a brutal and sudden assault. She managed to escape physical harm, save a small cut on her neck I have treated, but the emotional toll is severe."

"She is in shock," the maester continued, his gaze sympathetic. "Physically unharmed, thankfully, but emotionally... she has endured a great trauma."

Aemond nodded tightly. His mind raced at the thought that he had been out of harm’s way while his family and blood suffered horror beyond comprehension in their own home.

"Is there anything else?"

The maester hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "There was some... spotting," he finally said, his tone gentle yet hesitant. "Not indicative of her cycle. It may have been due to the stress and trauma she endured."

He couldn’t deny the slight sinking of his heart at the implication. Understanding the maester’s unspoken words, that his wife may have even been with child, added yet another devastation to the evening’s toll.

The maester nodded towards a door. "She requested to be alone. I advised her to rest, but she insisted on waiting for you."

Aemond swallowed hard, steeling himself for the sight of his wife, knowing that the rift between them had deepened with each passing moment of his absence. Of his continued absence, in their marriage.

He entered the chamber as if navigating a dragon's lair. It was dark with the curtains drawn, the only light coming from the dim glow of the hearth. Her figure was seated by the mantle, her back to him, still in the same dress she had worn the evening before.

He called out to her, but she did not face him.

“How kind of you to return from your nightly excursion.”

Aemond felt the hot frustration at the nape of his neck, his defences prompted. His jaw tightened at the accusation in her tone. “I had matters to attend to,” he said coldly, not bothering to disguise the edge in his voice.

“Matters,” she echoed in disdain.

“What I do in my leisure is my business. You know this.”

She finally turned to face him, her eyes blazing with anger and hurt. “While you tended to your 'business,' I was here, witnessing the murder of our nephew. Is the first thing you have to say to me a poor excuse for your absence? And not perhaps a soft word in grief and comfort?”

Aemond’s expression remained stony, though a flicker of unease passed through his eyes. “I know what happened, and it should never have come to that. But do not think to judge me for seeking solace elsewhere.”

Her face crumpled somewhat, the pain evident in her eyes deepening, “I do not judge that, Aemond. I simply ask for respect and loyalty–”

“I have given you my name and protection–”

“It is not enough!” She rose her voice, which seemed to suck all the energy from her lungs, “not when I am left to face these horrors alone. Your sister lost a child. As did I–”

Her mouth pulled shut, her eyes drifting as if she had said too much for her frail heart.

His eye narrowed, a mixture of shock and defensiveness flashing across his face. “I did not know.”

She looked away, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Of course you didn’t. You were too busy with your whores to notice.”

“Mind yourself–”

“Or what?” She snapped, “you will ignore me? As you always have done? Ignore your responsibility to your family? To me?”

It was rare she was ever able to best him with her words alone. But her next ones rendered the tall Prince completely silent.

“You have never been here, truly. I have been married to a ghost, a shadow that drifts in and out of our chambers but is never truly present.”

The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, the silence between them filled with the echoes of their shattered relationship. Aemond’s expression softened for a moment, a flicker of something almost like regret in his gaze, but it was quickly replaced by cold resolve.

“I am a Prince of this Realm. My duties extend far beyond you. This marriage. You will have to accept that.”

It was a neat trick Aemond did often, he would open his mouth and Otto Hightower’s words would slip out between his lips.

She closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “Then go. Do what you must. But do not expect me to wait for you, not anymore.”

Aemond hesitated, his hand twitching as if he wanted to reach out to her but didn't know how. The door closed with a resounding thud, leaving her alone in the darkness, the weight of their broken marriage heavy on her shoulders.

Why must it solely have been her burden to bear.

So she remained, the dim light from the hearth casting long shadows on each wall and tapestry. Her mind wandered aimlessly through her grief, reliving the horrors of that fateful night. The sounds and visions of her memories fueled the terror that gripped her even still. The pain of her own lost pregnancy, discovered too late, was a dull, constant ache in her heart. The exciting, blossoming swell of motherly intent had been snuffed out as quickly as it had been lit.

And the loneliness of her failed marriage only deepened her sorrow.

“The Mother knows.”

She blinked hard, but still heard the firm knock at the front of her mind. Two foreboding men who clearly did not belong in those parts of the Keep, one pulled harshly at Helaena’s arm, the other  grabbed her from behind, yanking her to her feet. A cold blade pressed against her throat, and she gasped, her eyes wide with terror. Helaena let out a muffled scream as Cheese, smaller but no less menacing, held a knife to her neck. Two pairs of frightened white eyes flickering terrified in the darkness.

“She’s the Queen,” the smaller figure, dark curls stuck to his forehead, sneered against Helaena. 

“A son for a son, he said. Well, does she look like a fucking son to you?”

She winced, his palpable violence felt through the pressure of the blade to her throat. Her breath felt like fire, her throat dry, the words spoken between the two men felt as if they were conversing in a language unknown to her.

“Prince Aemond ain’t here,” the other let out a cruel laugh, gesturing to the two cots with Helaena’s twins somehow sleeping deeply through the struggle. “We need to get our head and get out.”

Helaena could barely utter words, just winces and whimpers for mercy.

The man behind her was reluctant to release his grip. And through her body, an equally trembling voice broke loose.

"If you wish to hurt Aemond, take me," she said, her voice steady despite the terror coursing through her veins. "I am his wife. My death will wound him deeply."

She felt her breath still, two fierce blue eyes, shimmering with violent need, met hers from over Helaena’s shoulder. “So much loyalty for a man who is not even here to protect you. How touching.”

The man behind her peered at her face, his foul breath hot against her skin in a way that made her skin crawl. “So, you are the wife," he sneered, the cruel smile returning. "But we were promised a son. One who carries Hightower blood. You are useless to us.”

Helaena whimpered, her eyes darting to the cots where her children slept soundly, unaware of the nightmare unfolding around them. The smaller of the two pressed his blade a little harder against Helaena’s neck, drawing a thin line of blood. "Maybe we should kill them all," he suggested, his voice dripping with malice. "Just to make sure we don't miss the right one."

The larger laughed behind her, a low rumbling sound the deepest in the Seven Hells. “Imagine his pain when he finds her body cold in his bed." He loosened his grip slightly, letting her feel a false sense of relief before tightening it again. "Or maybe we should kill the boy first, let her watch the consequences of her husband’s crimes.”

She was only let go then, her neck aching as blood rippled to the surface, a superficial cut, but one that stung nonetheless. She watched with wide eyes, unease. The blade that was at her neck caught the light of the candles briefly.

“They both look the same. Which one’s a boy?” he asked with a trembling excitement. 

No.

Two hooded eyes, craving bloodshed and death, turned to Helaena, who stood similarly vulnerable. “The Mother knows.”

The room seemed to tilt and sway, the walls closing in around her, sounds muffled as if her ears were submerged underwater. She saw Helaena’s tear-streaked face, the anguish in her eyes as she was forced to point out which of her children was the boy. The assassins crowded the bed, dark shapes looming over the small, innocent form lying there.

Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a painful reminder of her helplessness. She wanted to shout out, to offer herself in place of the child, but the reality of her situation silenced her. Perhaps the smallfolk knew too well that Aemond cared little for his wife. That her sacrifice would mean nothing.

It felt like a nightmare, each moment stretching into eternity. She followed behind Helaena, Jaehaera hugged to her tiredly, limbs heavy with dread. The corridors blurred together, each step a struggle against the overwhelming sense of doom. As they neared her chambers, she broke away, her heart pounding with a desperate hope that Aemond had returned.

She burst into her chambers, the door slamming against the wall with a resounding crash. "Aemond!" she called out, her voice trembling with panic. The silence that greeted her was deafening, a void that swallowed her cries. Her breath came in ragged gasps, the weight of the night's horrors pressing down on her. "Aemond!" she screamed again, her voice breaking with desperation.

But the chambers stood empty. She stood there, the cold emptiness of the room closing in on her, offering no comfort, no solace. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a painful reminder of her solitude. She stumbled forward, calling out his name once more, her voice echoing off the walls. "Aemond, please!"

The darkness seemed to close in around her, her hopes extinguished like a dying flame. She sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around herself, trembling violently. The silence was unbearable, a stark contrast to the chaos that had engulfed her only moments before. "Aemond..." she whispered, her voice barely more than a choked sob.

The tapestry on the far wall was slightly askew, the ends flailing in the draught. A cold realisation washed over her. This was where they began. This is where the assassins had come in. A sick sense of vulnerability swept over her, making her stomach churn. They had been here. She was not safe anymore.

Her heart raced faster, and she felt a sudden, sharp pain shoot through her abdomen, doubling her over in agony. She gasped, clutching her stomach, the intense cramp sending waves of nausea through her body. The pain was unlike anything she had ever felt, a searing agony that stole her breath and left her gasping for air.

"No," she whispered, her voice breaking with a new kind of desperation. "Please, no."

But the loss was immediate.

She whispered Aemond's name one last time, her voice a fragile thread in the vast emptiness.

A gentle voice broke through her trance, pulling her back to the present. “My dear, can you hear me?”

She blinked, the room coming into focus. Alicent, her mother by marriage, was seated before her, concern etched deeply into her features with a drink cradled in her hand. Her dress was different, her hair braided in a manner that did not resemble that terrible evening.

How many days had passed? What had she eaten? Had she seen Aemond since that morning?

It was frightening, to exist without remembering.

Alicent repeated her name softly. “I’ve been calling your name.”

She turned to look at her, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I apologise, I... I was just thinking.”

Alicent sighed. “I know, dear. I cannot imagine the pain you’re in. But you mustn’t let it consume you.”

She nodded, but couldn't help but feel both frustrated and powerless. How could she not allow this to consume her, when she could still feel the twisting in her chest and the hollowness that had deepened since that night. “Of course.” Was all she said.

Alicent gave her a sympathetic smile, reaching out to gently squeeze her hand. “You’ve endured so much. More than anyone should have to bear. And I know it feels impossible now, but time will help.”

It felt as if ‘time’ was merely Aemond's mother's way of shifting responsibility. As if the effort were not needed in this mortal realm, and decided entirely by the Gods.

It was unfair, she thought. To have been abandoned by them in her time of ultimate need.

Alicent retreated, shrinking as she felt her despair, “Helaena is deeply hurt. She is sensitive, and this tragedy has cut her deeply, naturally,” Alicent trails off. “Perhaps you might go and see her. It might help both of you.”

Would Helaena even want to see her? She had not tried, reasoning that she and the King had enough to deal with. The death of their child. One another. The dark omen that loomed over the Keep.

She had not wanted to intrude on her suffering, despite feeling it so profoundly herself.

“Aemond has his own way of dealing with grief,” Alicent added suddenly, “it may not be the way we wish, but he is still young and finding his path. His responsibilities weigh heavily on him.”

She could have laughed. The only decent smile she would have broken in an age. Responsibilities.

It seemed the Dowager Queen truly had no idea what any of her own children were thinking or doing at any given time. And for that, she could not help the simmering resentment.

She masked it simply with a polite nod, acknowledging but not believing. Alicent’s face tightened with the strain of balancing her loyalty to her son and her compassion for her.

“I understand your grief, my love. I truly do. But you must try to understand his burdens, as difficult as that is. He has a duty to the realm, and sometimes that means... sacrifices.”

Her eyes were dry from nights of endless crying, and she felt them strain as she turned her head to Alicent, as if she could not quite believe what she had said. As if Aemond's words were perfumed and spilling from his mother's mouth.

“And that is what I am?” 

“You are a part of this family, and we must all find a way to support each other. I cannot excuse his actions, but I can ask for your patience and understanding. For all our sakes.”

It was not an answer to her question. Merely a dismissal. She swallowed hard, the bitter taste of resignation settling in her throat.

For a moment, she stared down into her cup of warm tea, untouched. Watching the rich brown ripple, for she could not stand to look into the bitter shade of Alicent's any longer.

“It is all I ask,” Alicent uttered gently, as if she was aware of the tentative string she walked upon. 

She nodded slowly, the weight of expectation pressing heavily upon her. She forced herself to meet Alicent's gaze, searching for any sign of genuine compassion or understanding. There was some, but it was overshadowed by the stern duty that ruled the Dowager Queen.

Alicent gave a sympathetic smile, “you have shown great strength, my love.”

She nodded again, though she felt anything but strong. The days had blurred into nights, and each moment seemed to stretch endlessly before her, a relentless parade of sorrow and duty. She was exhausted, worn thin by grief and the constant strain of maintaining a facade of normalcy.

Where was strength, in witnessing a brutal crime?

Where was strength, when losing a child that had barely lived?

Where was strength, in the waning tide of a failing marriage.

She had said to Aemond that it felt as if she were married to a ghost. But the more time went by, Lords and Ladies tiptoeing around her, their glances quick and measured, she felt very much the ghost herself. As if they see her, feel her presence, but do not hear her speak or breathe as if she were alive.

As much as she did not value the Dowager Queen's opinion of Aemond and their marriage, she struggled to cope with the unending trauma of her presence for Prince Jaehaerys’ murder. The nightmarish memories haunted her days and nights, an ever-present shadow that refused to fade. Each scream, each drop of blood, each moment of terror replayed endlessly in her mind. The palace that had once been her home now felt like a prison, its walls closing in around her.

The loss of the pregnancy was distant, but she still felt the fresh kick of it as if it were recent. It was a silent, aching sorrow, compounded by the knowledge that Aemond, the father, remained indifferent. The possibility of what could have been gnawed at her, the child a symbol of hope now lost forever.

With the child, she could at least have been useful, she reasoned. Her duty would remain paramount. But as Aemond grew less and less present, slipping into the arms of those he would rather share the warmth of his flesh with, it seemed less and less likely he would wish to try for another child with her.

Yet another thing her husband could take away from her. Her purpose.

The absence of this feeling had made her desperate for reconnection. She visited Helaena's chambers every day, requesting the Kingsguard stood straight at the door if she might speak with the Queen. But every time, he said the same thing.

“The Queen requests to be alone at present.”

Each visit, each attempt, ended in heartbreak. The closed doors and silence were a painful reminder that while she was not alone in her suffering, but also not welcome in her attempts to bridge their mutual anguish.

She felt her heart lurch into her chest when she returned to her chambers, finding an unfamiliar presence rummaging around the ornate oak cupboards. The figure, however unseen in this part of the Keep, possessed the silver moonlit hair she knew so well, but short, unkempt and choppy.

Her shocked gasp seemed to draw the King’s attention, and he turned, his clothes askew, face swollen and sunken from tears and wine consumption.

“Y-your Grace–” she found her words, giving a polite curtsy, trying to calm the hammering of her heart.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” he muttered, twirling a newly found decanter of wine in his hand. “The servants will no longer allow me to have my fill.”

She swallowed, her hand dropping from her chest, away from her thrumming pulse. “Of course, Your Grace. Help yourself at your leisure.”

Aegon’s gaze finally met hers, and for a brief moment, she saw the depth of his anguish. The loss of his son had shattered him in ways that wine alone could not mend. He took a long, unsteady sip from the decanter, the liquid sloshing slightly as his hand trembled.

“Is there anything I can do to help, Your Grace?” She asked softly, unsure if her presence was a comfort or a burden.

Aegon let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Unless you can bring back the dead, there is little anyone can do.”

Silence fell between them, heavy and poignant. Aegon’s words lingered in the air, a cruel reminder of the shared grief that bound them both. He realised, too late, that his careless remark had cut deeper than intended. He had lost a son, but she, his sister by marriage, had also felt a profound loss.

Aegon cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “I... I apologise. That was thoughtless of me.”

She shook her head, her expression softening. “We all speak from our pain, Your Grace. I understand.”

Aegon leaned against the table, his eyes bloodshot. “Where is Aemond?”

She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. And that seemed an answer enough. She felt her cheeks get hot, in his presence, the guilt seemed to grow and grow.

Why could it not have been her that night. She has mulled over the question several times.

“I am sorry…” she choked out, wiping her cheeks when moisture nipped at her sensitive skin. “I could— could have done more—”

Aegon’s expression softened, the bitterness in his eyes giving way to a rare moment of understanding. “It was not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

There was a beat of silence as he approached, the decanter hanging lazily in his grip at his side. He looked exhausted, as if all the fight had left him.

“I thank you…for being there for Helaena and Jaehaera,” he murmured, as if the Keep’s walls had ears, “my sister has a gentle temperament, and you are much like a natural born sibling to her.”

The silence that followed was heavy with shared pain and an unspoken understanding. For a moment, their grief became a silent bond between them, a fragile thread of connection in the midst of their suffering.

Her voice broke the silence softly. “I only wish I could do more, Your Grace.”

Aegon opened his mouth to reply, but the appearance of Otto Hightower in the doorway halted him. Aegon’s eyes widened slightly, and he quickly hid the decanter behind his back, trying to conceal it. With a curt nod to her, he slipped out of the chamber, leaving her alone with Otto.

She surmised perhaps, Otto had given the King a sharp gesture, inviting him to leave. And she steeled herself for the man's oppressive and yet firm presence, and turned to face him.

Otto stepped into the room, his gaze sharp and calculating. He glanced at her, noting her flushed cheeks and the way she quickly composed herself.

“I hope I am not interrupting.”

She shook her head, the brief moment of awkwardness fading. “Not at all.”

Otto’s eyes swept over her, lingering momentarily before returning to her face. “I came to ensure you are managing well under the circumstances.”

Just what reaction might he expect from her? To be scaling the walls with madness?

“It is said that people often find unexpected strengths in times of hardship, though it seems some have less experience in harnessing them.”

Her fingers tightened where she held them in front of her and tried her hardest not to mirror the feeling in her expression. “The weight of grief is heavy.”

“Indeed. It is important to remember that appearances can be deceptive. And, it would be unfortunate if this…response were to become an impediment rather than a motivation.”

Her shaky exhale did little to ease the tension in her body.

“I appreciate the reminder, Lord Hightower.”

Eager to see the back of him, she made no attempt to offer wine or tea. She did not want this emotionless, self-serving attitude to further darken the doorway of her chambers.

And she thought as she listened to the Lord Hand’s footsteps echo softly down the hall, that she now realised where her dear husband inherited this trait.

Aemond lay in the dimly lit room of the brothel, the scent of incense mingling with the faint aroma of sex and wine. His eye drifted shut at Sylvi's fingers through his hair, running the silver strands through them as if it were silk illuminated by pale moonlight.

Sylvi, with her deep, knowing eyes, watched him closely. She had always been good at reading him, understanding the depths of his turmoil without needing words.

“You are troubled,” she said softly, her voice a soothing balm in the quiet room.

“None more than is usual.”

“Tell me,” Sylvi countered, not letting him evade the truth.

“Daemon sent them to kill me,” Aemond’s voice was low, but his attention seemingly elsewhere, “I was out.”

“You were with me,” Sylvi reminded him, her fingers still tracing soothing patterns on his scalp.

“In truth, I am proud that he considers me such a foe. That he seeks to murder me in my bed.” Aemond’s voice held a mix of pride and bitterness, the conflicting emotions evident in his eyes as he looked up at her. “He is afraid of me.”

“As well he should be,” Sylvi said with a sickly smile, her fingers pausing for a moment, her body leaning closer to brush her breath against his lips. “The boy has grown into a man.”

“No. Not here.” Aemond pulled away from her intimacy, creating a physical and emotional distance. Sylvi sensed there was another truth Aemond was not displaying, and there was a thin, tentative line she had to tread as the man before her curled his legs to his chest.

“And what else?” she inquired, making no attempt to touch him.

Aemond’s gaze dropped to the floor, his fingers clenching and unclenching as if trying to grasp an elusive thought. The room felt colder, the flickering candlelight casting long, unsteady shadows on the walls. His usually composed facade was cracking, and the turmoil within him was evident in the tension of his jaw and the furrow of his brow. He struggled to find the words, each breath he took seeming heavier than the last.

“They came for me. When they couldn’t find me, they killed my nephew. And my wife... she was there to witness it all.”

"That must be an unimaginable burden to carry."

Aemond continued, his voice growing harsher, as if he expected Sylvi to be more…insistent of his guilt. “I was supposed to be there, but I was not. I was here. And she... she suffered because of it. My sister also.”

But there was little the other woman could say to quell the storm within. It was a complicated one, as it was always with Aemond she had begun to find out. While it was clear there was no love in this tumultuous marriage, the thought that she had endured such trauma while he was away, seeking solace in the arms of another, gnawed at him relentlessly. His absence had cost his family dearly, and the weight of that realisation was almost unbearable.

“And how do you feel?” she asked softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“How do you think I feel?” he snapped. He took a deep breath, trying to rein in his temper. “I am angry. My wife slips further into grief, not that she was ever truly close to me. And I do not know how to reach her.”

“Anger is natural, given everything that has happened.”

He shakes his head, the words seem empty. “And what is to be done about it. She lost a child that night,” he recalled bitterly.

Sylvi regarded him with a knowing look, her eyes glimmering softly in the dim light. Her voice was gentle, almost melodic as she spoke. 

“Perhaps, if she were to fall with child again, it would lift her spirits.” There was no recognising the subtle manipulation in her voice, nor did he realise the depth of what he had just revealed. He simply nodded, lost in his thoughts.

Sylvi’s fingers traced patterns on his arm, her touch light and soothing. She was planting a seed, one that could lead to healing or further heartache, depending on how it grew. “You have the power to change things, Aemond. You can give her hope again.”

“I do not know if I have hope to offer her.”

Sylvi tilted her head slightly, her eyes studying him with a blend of sympathy and curiosity. “She is your wife. She is still your responsibility. Even if you don’t love her.”

Aemond’s face hardened, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “Love is for peasants who wish to fuck without sin.”

Sylvi's gaze softened, though there was a hint of steel beneath her calm exterior, and perhaps a catching of some offence. “And what of duty? Even in the absence of love. And perhaps, through fulfilling it, you might find something worth holding onto. New life can often pave a new path.”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed, but the weight of her words hung heavily in the air, the hollow ache of his failure sitting like a stone in his chest. 

“I suppose duty is all that remains.”

The conversation with Sylvi weighed heavily on his mind, her words about duty and new life echoing in his thoughts. As he reached the door to his wife's chambers, he hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the handle before he finally pushed it open.

She was sitting by the window, staring out at the darkened sky. She didn’t turn to look at him as he entered, her grief-stricken face illuminated by the moonlight. The room was silent, save for the soft rustling of the curtains in the night breeze. He watched her for a moment, noting the listlessness in her movements, and he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation he had been avoiding.

“I need to speak with you.”

She looked up from where she sat by the window, her eyes dull and unresponsive. “What is it, Aemond?”

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “We need to try again. For a child.”

Her reaction was immediate, her eyes flashing with a mix of disbelief and anger. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am,” he replied, his voice steady. “We have a duty to our house, to ensure its future.”

“Duty,” she spat the word like it was poison. “Is that all you ever think about? Our child, the one I lost, does it mean nothing to you?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened. “It is not about that. It is about moving forward. We cannot dwell on what we have lost forever.”

She stood, her hands trembling with the force of her emotions. “You think I have not tried to move forward? Every day I wake up and try to put the pieces of my shattered life back together. But you... you have not been here. You do not understand what it’s like.”

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. “I have my own burdens. My own ways of dealing with them.”

“By disappearing to the brothels every night?” she shot back, her voice rising. 

He had never seen his wife like this, never. With her, there was an element of submission she had always offered, and she never complained, not once, before. Her eyes were so expressive he could read them like a tome. And in this moment, when she had said what was at the forefront of her mind, something she would dare not voice mere moons ago, he watched as her mouth slipped shut and she shrank back in on herself, sensing her words had widened their ever-expanding emotional chasm.

She looked upon him as if she were afraid of his response. But expectant.

Aemond took a step closer, his expression hardening. “This is not just about us. It is about our family, our legacy. We need to try again.”

Her shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. “I cannot snuff my pain out like a flame, Aemond. I cannot…pretend everything is well and start over like nothing happened.”

“I am not asking you to forget,” he said, his tone softening slightly.

But he was asking her to cast it aside. And for what?

“Why, Aemond…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Why do you care so much about an heir when you cannot even care about me?”

The silence that sat between them was an ugly one, borne of years of regret and guilt, like a festering wound that refused to heal. It stretched and twisted, warping the air between them, heavy with unspoken truths and broken promises. The weight of it was suffocating, pressing down on their chests and stealing the breath from their lungs.

He opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him, leaving only the bitter taste of unspoken confessions. He could almost hear the whispers of the smallfolk, the cruel gossip that had spread like wildfire through the castle walls, rumours of her inability to bear a child, seeded by a careless word in a brothel. The knowledge of it gnawed like a disease, a constant reminder of her perceived failure, exacerbated by Aemond’s apparent indifference.

Aemond’s gaze was hard, his jaw set in a rigid line. The vulnerability he had shown moments before was gone, replaced by the cold mask he wore so well. “Because it is what is expected of me,” he replied, the edge in his voice returning. “We all have our roles to play. I must ensure our future, whether I like it or not.”

He began taking off his doublet, the heavy garment sliding off his shoulders with a practised ease. The action was mechanical, almost detached, and it sent a shiver down her spine as she realised his intention.

"So soon...?" she said quietly, blinking the moisture from her eyes. Her voice was barely above a whisper, heavy with the weight of her sorrow.

Aemond paused for a moment, his hands stilling on the laces of his shirt. He looked at her, truly looked at her, and for a fleeting moment, something akin to regret flickered in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced once more by the cold determination that had come to define him.

“We cannot afford to wait,” he said, his tone softer but no less resolute.

Her heart ached with a sorrow so profound it felt as if it might swallow her whole. She wanted to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, but she knew it would be futile. Instead, she simply nodded, the movement small and resigned. She moved to the bed, the weight of her grief pressing down on her with every step and when Aemond joined her, the distance between them became palpable even in their proximity. There were no tender words, no gestures of comfort; just the cold, stark reality of their duty. His touch, impersonal.

She tried to steel herself against the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, knowing that this act was not born of love, but of necessity. And in that moment, the chasm between them seemed wider than ever, a silent testament to the love they had never truly known.

He did not look at her, did not seek her eyes. His mind was elsewhere, already thinking of the future he was so determined to secure. When it was over, Aemond pulled away, the silence between them more deafening than any words could have been. He dressed quickly, his movements efficient and unfeeling. She remained where she was, her body and spirit drained.

Her own form felt nothing like her own as she righted herself to sit up, pushing her skirts back down her legs, armouring her skin as if she needed protection over every inch of her. Aemond stood, his back to her, barely a silver hair out of place, fastening his breeches with a meticulousness that seemed almost cruel in its precision.

“Do you find comfort in their arms because you cannot stand to be close to me?”

Aemond's shoulders tensed, but he did not turn to face her. “I do not know what you want of me,” he replied, his voice distant and cold, like the draught seeping through the cracks in the ancient stone.

“I want to be respected as your wife. Your equal.” Her plea hung in the air, laden with the weight of unmet expectations and unfulfilled promises. 

“I cannot change what has happened. I did not know how to be there for you then, and I do not know now." He finally turned to face her, his gaze meeting hers with a mix of frustration and resignation. “I do not know how to be that man. I have failed you, and I may continue to fail you. But I will try to respect you as my wife, if nothing else.”

Her shoulders slumped under the weight of his words, the fight draining out of her. The acceptance in her voice was tinged with a profound sadness, the acknowledgment of a life destined to be lived in the shadow of duty rather than the light of love.

“Very well. If that is all I shall ever be.”

Some time passed, each day blending into the next in a haze of routine and muted sorrow. Servants and guards whispered as she passed, their sympathetic glances and hushed tones adding to the heavy silence that surrounded her.

The bloom of spring flowers went unnoticed, their colours a stark contrast to the grey fog that seemed to envelop her mind. She was supposed to track the days, to know when her moon blood should come, but time had lost its meaning. The markers of her cycle were swallowed by the same darkness that claimed her thoughts. 

“The summer of a woman's years is a short season. It passes by in the blink of an eye. Toyed with by this momentary value.”

Her mother had always been blunt about her words. But now, more than ever, with the taunting explosion of colour and vibrancy outside, she felt as if her season was closing in, like a prison she could not fight.

Some evenings, as she sat alone in her chamber, she felt a familiar ache low in her abdomen. It was a dull, persistent pain, one she knew all too well. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she tried to steady herself. Was it her moon blood, or was it something else? The uncertainty gnawed at her, but she could not bring herself to seek answers, to go to the maester to confirm. The prospect of hope was too painful, the fear of disappointment too great.

Life or loss. There was an element of control she could grapple to, by simply not knowing.

As usual, her Lord Husband remained absent from her life. Perhaps it was just as well she did not know, and that he did not inquire.

It was a pleasant enough evening in any case, spent mostly by the fire, the light of the flames serving to assist her in the delicate art of her embroidery. A pastime she would otherwise spend with Helaena in days passed. Since calling to her chambers most days in the immediate aftermath, in truth, she had rarely tried to urge her to accept her presence. Reasoning that in time, perhaps the troubled Queen would make her way back to her, in body and soul.

She felt her whole jump in her seat in shock, the door to the chambers swinging open and then shut with a loud thud. For a short moment, it brought her back, the horror making her heart hammer against her ribs, fully expecting to see two figures darken her doorway once more. 

But her wide eyes only looked upon the lone figure of her husband, his face a mask of anger and humiliation. As usual, he had ignored her presence entirely and went straight to the decanter on the table, pouring himself a generous measure of wine. Unusual behaviour from her distant husband. He sat down heavily in the chair by the hearth, taking a long drink, his movements tense and jerky.

She knew better than to ask, given the state of their fragile bond. Fearing perhaps the reaction she would receive. Instead, for a moment, she watched him silently from the corner, her own heart heavy with grief and pain. Despite her suffering, she felt an irresistible pull to reach out to him, to try to soothe the anger radiating off him in waves, almost palpable in its intensity.

Her steps were soft and deliberate as she approached him cautiously, each footfall muted on the cold stone floor. The air between them felt charged, thick with tension. Aemond didn’t look up from the drink in his hand, his gaze fixed on the swirling crimson liquid. His fingers gripped the glass with a white-knuckled intensity, as if the drink was his only anchor in a sea of turmoil. She reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing lightly against his shoulder. The contact was gentle, but he stiffened, his posture becoming rigid under her touch. Yet, he did not pull away, a silent sign that he was at least willing to tolerate her presence.

“You do not have to,” Aemond muttered, his voice low and strained, a mixture of resignation and weariness. “I have given you no reason to.”

“I know,” she replied softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. The words were simple, but they carried the weight of her empathy and unspoken concern.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, the movement slight but significant. A flicker of something unidentifiable crossed his features, perhaps it was vulnerability, or perhaps a fleeting moment of regret. She met his gaze with unwavering softness, her eyes reflecting a deep understanding that transcended the barriers between them. The lines of her face were etched with sorrow, yet there was a tender resolve in her expression.

With a hesitant motion, Aemond took her hand, his grip warm against her chilled skin. He turned his face into her hand, not kissing it, but letting the skin rest against his lips in a gesture that was both intimate and detached. As if he was silently thanking her for her presence, for her effort to reach out despite the emotional chasm that lay between them.

She let her hand fall away slowly, stepping back to give him the space he seemed to need. The small, almost imperceptible shift in his posture, a release of some of the tension, indicated that her gesture had made a difference, however slight.

Aemond took a deep breath, the sound escaping his lips like a weary sigh. The tension in his body eased slightly, and he became aware that while they might not be aligned in love, his wife understood him in a way few others did. She grasped his pain and anger, and she reached out to him despite everything that had transpired between them. He gave her a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of her attempt to bridge the gap between them, a gesture that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

She returned the nod with a gentle inclination of her head, her eyes meeting his with a flicker of hope and understanding. They didn’t need many words; the shared silence between them was enough to convey their fragile understanding, a tentative first step toward mending the rift between them. The quiet was a balm, a soft promise of potential reconciliation, though it remained unspoken.

Her heart seemed to lift, the rest she received later that evening somewhat fruitful. And though Aemond left in the early hours of the morning the next day, she recognised that he no longer visited the brothel, busying himself instead in the library most evenings. It was a small victory, but one she clung to, rightly or wrongly. 

The servants were even more palatable that morning, with sweet words and even sweeter smiles for her. Dressed in a gown she favoured the most, she felt her mood ripen.

She was gently roused from her reverie by the sound of quiet footsteps approaching her chamber door. A soft, hesitant knock followed, and the door creaked open. Standing in the doorway was Helaena, the Queen, accompanied by her only living child, Jaehaera. The sight of them was a poignant reminder of both the life and loss that threaded through their lives.

Helaena’s eyes were red-rimmed but held a glimmer of resolve and determination. Her composure was fragile, but there was a soft strength in her presence. Her heart ached at the sight of them. 

“Sister.”

She rose from her seat, her movements slow and deliberate, a sign of the emotional and physical exhaustion that still clung to her. Helaena stepped into the room, her gaze meeting hers with a quiet understanding.

“I thought we might spend the day together,” Helaena said, her voice steady. “As we used to.”

Her eyes softened as she looked at Helaena and Jaehaera. The gesture was more than kind, it was a lifeline extended in a sea of shared sorrow. 

“I would like that very much,” she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper, yet imbued with genuine warmth.

For a while, the three women sat together in silence, the room filled with the soft murmur of their breathing, the occasional rustle of fabric and the icy dropping of a needle. It was a quiet that spoke of shared pain and tentative hope, a small balm for their wounded souls. Helaena rarely spoke, apart from the quiet mutterings she herself was used to in her dreamy presence.

They, Helaena and Jaehaera, were a reminder that there were still threads of connection and understanding that bound them together. The day held the promise of comfort and perhaps, slowly, the possibility of healing.

From the doorway, Aemond watched them, his face was an unreadable mask, but his expression betrayed a depth of emotion, regret, longing, and a faint glimmer of hope. His gaze lingered on his wife, who held Jaehaera with a tender protectiveness, and on Helaena, whose hazy mutterings were soothing musings to the silent exchange of grief and solace.

He took a step back. For the first time in a long while, he felt a stirring of something he could not quite name, a hint of what could be if he only allowed himself to reach out and grasp it.

General Taglist: @1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose@natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics @primonizzutto

@qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

[lindseymcdonaldseyelashes]

Leverage 3x15 - "The Big Bang Job"

[nonranghaes]

warnings: spider mentions bc writer is terrified and needs to write comfort. this is idol au, btw. (also readers in a polyamorous relationship with both chris and felix, just a heads up)

chris jolts awake when he feels you tugging at his sleeve, barely opening his eyes by the time you speak up.

“christheresahugespidercanyoupleasegogetridofit--”

it’s... a lot. it’s clear that you’re terrified (although his brain hasn’t deciphered what you said yet), and he sits up, reaching out to pull you in. on the other side of the bed, he can feel felix stir from his own slumber--and he hears him stifle a yawn. chris just focuses on you, though, “honey--”

you sniffle, fingers dinging into his arm as you hold him by the forearms, “please go get it before it moves--”

he doesn’t even have to decipher what you said anymore. he knows only one thing gets you this scared, and he gently pulls you in further until you’re actually sitting on the bed. “it’s okay,” he says, “i’ll go catch it. don’t worry,” he presses a kiss onto the crown of your head, getting out of bed. “i won’t come back until it’s gone, okay?”

you nod frantically, and chris mumbles felix’s name to rouse him further. felix turns over, gaze meeting chris’s--although he quickly nods toward you, redirecting the attention--and he understands. he kicks off the blankets, crawling over to you as chris takes his leave as designated-spider-getter.

“it’s okay,” he murmurs softly, drawing you in for a hug. “chris will get it.”

your breath hitches, and felix can feel as you start to cry. it’s a frustrating fear to have--felix knows, as does chris, because you’ve cried to them before about how you wish you could just be normal about those eight-legged little things--and you know that they’re far more afraid of you than you are of them. or, well, that’s what everyone tells you. you haven’t seen a spider have a breakdown because of you, but what do you know?

he holds you, gently tracing hearts on your back as he lets you cry your fears out. felix’s lips press against your softly, just for a second, before he pulls you in again. he draws your face into his shoulder, gently talking you through it. when he finally draws back, once your cries have stifled, he begins searching around.

“where’s bbokari...?” he mumbles. when he and chris are away, the plushies they gave you take their place (... alongside the others, sometimes, but you don’t tell them about that since you’ll never live it down). he moves, patting around until he hears chris come back. “hey,” he calls out, voice raspy with sleep, “do you see bbokari?”

chris stops for a moment with a “hm?” but looks over to your dresser where the group was last assembled. he reaches for the little chick, tossing him over to felix. he returns to bed soon enough after felix moves out of the way, gently guiding you back to the middle of the bed by the arm. he’s pushed bbokari into your arms, and already snuggled in next to you as chris pulls the blankets back over you all.

“it’s okay,” chris presses a kiss against your shoulder. “it’s gone. i took it outside. we’ll protect you, baby.” there’s a teasing lift to his voice, but you know he genuinely means it. 

“mmhm,” felix sounds, planting a soft kiss against your lips. “we’ve got you,” he promises. “alright?”

you snuggle in, both of your boyfriends cuddling in to keep you as safe as they can. it takes you a while to get back to sleep... but it helps to have your silly saviors nearby, always happy to catch and release the spiders and soothe you with as many kisses as it takes.

[redroses07]

Meeting His Family//Georgie Cooper

Georgie Cooper x Fem!reader

Summary: Reader and Georgie are dating and she is meeting his family for the first time! this takes place some time around season five.

Content warning: literally nothing...a little spice at the end ig? Use of the word Y/N.

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: Okay...so I know this is different from my usual content but there are no good Georgie fics! So, naturally, I had to change that. As always, there's lots of fluff. Hope y'all enjoy, and happy Thanksgiving!! Lots of love 💖

You stared intently at your dresser drawer, it was overflowing with clothes, and yet you still had nothing to wear. Meeting your boyfriend's family was stressful enough, and making a good first impression was mandatory. Should you dress casually? It was just dinner at their home after all, but you didn't want to seem careless.

You looked at the clock, it read 5:10. Your boyfriend, Georgie, was supposed to pick you up at 5:30 so you had to decide quickly.

You sighed and reached for a navy blue flowered sundress with buttons down the front. After changing into the dress you brushed your, and applied natural makeup. You heard your doorbell ring and assumed that your boyfriend had arrived.

You took one last look in the mirror, fixing a few strands of your hair. You slipped your feet into your black converse, and rushed down the stairs.

you quickly opened the door, finding your Georgie leaning against the frame with a smug smile on his face. He was wearing a dark red sweatshirt and baggy jeans. His hair was pushed back and styled perfectly, as always.

"You ready to go sweetheart?" He said with his thick southern accent. He gestured for you to take his hand, and you obliged. He pulled you down the porch steps and led you to his green mustang, his car that he loved almost as much as you. He stopped to open the car door for you.

"Ladies first." Georgie said, winking at you. You felt your cheeks turn red, and butterflies came alive in your stomach.

You jumped in the car and strapped yourself in, Gerogie hopping in the driver's seat a few moments later.

"My god I'm nervous." you say, fidgeting with your hands. Gerogie reached over and intertwined one of his hands with yours, and left the other on the steering wheel.

"Don't worry, they're gonna love you." He assured you, rubbing his thumb across your palm. His hands were warm, a strong contrast to yours which were always freezing cold. They were also rough and calloused, due to the frequent car repairs he did.

"Also...just to give you a heads up my brother Sheldon is a little well...you'll see." Georgie explained.

"Ummm...Okay?" you replied, slightly confused.

Georgie turned onto the street where he lived. You recognized it because you had been to the coopers before, considering Gerogie lived in their garage, but you had always managed to avoid his family. It wasn't until last night when Georgie finally gave in to his parents' demands and let you meet them.

He pulled into the driveway and parked the car. You unfastened your seat belt and exited the car, you were even more nervous than when you left your house.

Georgie took notice of your anxious behavior and turned to face you, taking both of your hands in his.

"Darlin' how many times do I have to tell you there is nothing to be nervous about." he exclaimed.

You smiled at him and looked down at the pavement. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, giving you a quick hug. You pressed your face against his chest and inhaled the scent of freshly chopped wood and cheap cologne.

He squeezed your hand lightly before opening the door to his home.

"We're here y'all." Georgie shouted. It was a small, but cute home with floral wallpaper and a cozy living space. The smell of spaghetti, which is what you assumed they were making for dinner, wafted through the house, and was that hot dogs?

A woman wearing a pale pink dress with a warm smile appeared around the corner. You assumed this was Georgie's mom.

"Well hi, you must be Y/N" She said happily. She had the same accent as Georgie.

"It's nice to meet you Mrs. Cooper." You smiled, trying your best to seem polite.

"No need to be so formal, call me Mary." She exclaimed before turning to face Georgie, whose hand was still holding yours.

"Why don't you two go sit over on the couch while I finish making supper." Mary suggested. gesturing towards the living room.

"Fine by me." Georgie said, pulling you away from his mom.

You sat next to Georgie on the couch, and he draped an arm over your shoulders.

"See, not as bad as you thought, is it?" Georgie said softly.

"No," you replied, blushing.

A boy about thirteen years of age entered the room, giving you a look of disgust. He was wearing dress pants, and a button down shirt, and he looked like he wanted to attack you.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?" He said, glaring harshly.

"Hey, I'm-" You began, but Georgie cut you off.

"Don't be rude Sheldon, leave us alone." He snapped, and the boy rolled his eyes before grumpily walking into the kitchen.

"Sorry about him," Georgie said. You laughed, understanding how annoying little siblings can be.

The two of you continued to chat quietly, while waiting for dinner to finish. You rested your head on Georgie's shoulder while he twirled strands of your hair between his fingers.

You were nowhere near as nervous as you had been upon arrival. You hadn't been in Georgie's home long, but there was something oddly welcoming about it.

"Dinner's ready!" You heard Mary call from the kitchen.

You stood up quickly, smoothing your dress as you did so. When you entered the dining room you noticed seven chairs placed around the table. Mary sat next to a younger girl who had to be Gerogie's little sister Missy. Next to Mary, at the head of the table, was Gerogie's father.

If you were being honest, he was the one you were the most nervous about meeting. Of course you had seen him around school before, since he was the football coach, but you had never spoken to him personally. Across from him was an older woman with vibrant painted nails and a fancy hairdo. Sheldon sat on the opposite side of the table, was he wearing mittens?

After everyone was seated, the family joined hands and said grace. Everyone then served themselves a plate full of spaghetti with hot dogs. It was definitely an odd choice of a meal, but you were willing to give it a try.

You sat in the empty chair next to Georgie, and across from Missy. You smiled at her as she eyed you suspiciously.

"I'm Missy, nice to meet you" She greeted.

"Hi-" you began before she interrupted.

"Oh, I know who you are, in fact I know a lot about you, Georgie talks about you a lot." Missy said with a sly smile.

You turned to look at Georgie, whose cheeks had turned a bright shade of scarlet.

"Do you now?" you giggled, looking him up and down.

You saw Missy snickering out of the corner of your eye, which made the situation even funny.

"Now Missy, why don't we let Georgie keep his dignity." Said the older woman.

"I'm Connie, Georgie's grandmother" she said, as she turned to face you.

You proceeded to introduce yourself and continued to talk with Connie, who you had decided was your favorite member of the cooper family. Well, other than Georgie of course.

"Connie, are you going to give me a chance to talk to the girl?" Georgie's father exclaimed.

"She's all yours George." Connie replied, shooting me a look of annoyance.

You turned to the man, who held a half empty beer in his left hand. The two of you introduced yourselves awkwardly and failed to hold a conversation, creating an uncomfortably long silence.

Other than that, dinner went relatively smoothly. The family was extremely kind and genuine, well except for Sheldon. But you were sure you would get used to him.

After eating, you offered to help Mrs, Cooper clean up dinner, but she insisted that she didn't need it.

"Well, this has been nice, but I think we're going to head out to the garage now." Georgie announced.

You made sure to thank everyone before heading out the door, taking a breath of relief as you did.

"So, what do you think?" Georgie said laughing lightly.

He shut the garage door and turned to face you, a small smile spread across his lips.

"They're actually really great...I could get used to being around here more often." you exclaimed.

Georgie stared at you intently, his misty blue eyes pouring into yours.

"What?" you asked, blushing intensely. You felt your heartbeat increase rapidly, it always did when he gave you that look.

Georgie began slowly walking towards you, stopping only when there was less than an inch of space between the two of you. He placed his index finger under your chin and lifted it.

"Nothing, I was just thinking about how lucky I am to be in love with you." He whispered as he cupped your cheek, and leaned in to close the gap between the two of you.

He kissed you roughly, like he had been waiting all night for this moment. Come to think of it, he probably had.

Georgie let out several soft moans as the kiss continued. He began to move forward, slowly backing you up to the bed. Once you reached it, you happily flopped down on the mattress. Georgie relocated his lips to your collarbone, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

He slid his right hand under you, clutching your waist. His left hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your skin. His touch was ghostly, your skin tingling everywhere he went.

Georgie hovered above you, those beautiful blue eyes admiring you once more.

"Maybe...you should...stay the night." He said between breaths.

Your heart skipped a beat, this was new, but you weren't about to turn the offer down.

"I think...maybe you're right." you replied, before grabbing his face and pulling him into another kiss.

[whydoeseveryonewanttobangchan]

PART 1: 🚪 Whats wrong with a little privacy, huh? 🚪

✎ Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

✎ Genre: Slightly smutty fluff (?)

✎ Summary: Your boyfriend takes you out to a nice restaurant, but you end up eating something not on the menu.

✎ CW: Tbh kissing. I hope you like kissing.

✎ Word count: 2,118

✩ A/N: Spicy part 2 is live!✩

❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥

“You look beautiful tonight, by the way,” Chan says, shooting you a quick smirk while he drives.

He always looks effortlessly sexy in the car: one hand on the steering wheel, one somewhere on your leg. Tonight, it’s high up on your thigh, squeezing and rubbing the bare skin just under the hem of your dress.

“Thanks, baby,” you reply. “You, too, of course.”

“Oh, stop,” he chides. “You’ll make me blush.”

But he does anyway. Even in the dark, you can see his cheeks take on a slightly pink hue. It’s so easy to make him flustered sometimes.

The way the moonlight hit his skin was enough to make you giddy, too. His umber eyes glancing back and forth between the road ahead and your thigh, the way his wide nose slopes down and curves just above his plump, pink lips, his silver hoops swinging back and forth in his earlobes when you hit a rough patch of pavement. He was like living art. And he was all yours.

“So….” he starts, trying to change the topic inside your brain to something less… him. “You excited for the seafood?”

“Mhhmmm,” you mumble, still entranced by the god next to you. He’s gonna have to try harder than that.

He catches your eyes for a second and giggles before squeezing your thigh.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he says sheepishly. “I can’t handle that look in your eyes.”

“What look?” you ask, fully aware of what look it is. But it’s always fun to hear him describe it.

“Like… like you’re…” he says between glances. “Like you love me. A ridiculous amount.”

“Like you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life?” you add.

“Yes, that,” he says with a laugh. “It’s making me nervous. And… excited. I have to focus on driving and you’re over there looking at me like that — it’s so distracting.”

“Fine, fine,” you surrender and smirk. “I’ll save my lovey-dovey eyes for when you’re not operating a murder machine.”

“Thank you, my love,” he says appreciatively, reaching for your hand to bring it to his lips. “So, as I was saying… seafood. What do you think you’re gonna eat?”

“I’m not sure,” you say, shifting your glance to the road. “Clams definitely. Oysters maybe? Do you wanna share something?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’d love to share with you,” he says, squeezing your hand he still holds between the two of you.

The rest of the drive isn’t long, but keeping your eyes on the road is agony. Every brush of his thumb on the back of your hand fills you with raw emotion you need to channel back to him, but you fight to keep your eyes to yourself for the sake of his sanity — and your lives, apparently.

The car pulls into the parking lot, and he finds a spot easily. Once it’s in park, Chan removes his seatbelt, shoots you a wink, and says, “hold tight.” He exits his side, shuts the door, and hustles over to the passenger side where he opens the door for you with a slight bow.

“We’ve arrived, my lady,” he says and holds his hand out for you.

“Oh, thank you, good sir,” you reply, placing your hand in his to help you out of the car. “What a lovely gentleman you are.”

He shut the door, places his hand at his waist and holds out his elbow for you to take.

“Shall we?”

“Of course.”

You walk arm in arm toward the entrance, both smiling wide as you ascend the stairs.

“Good evening, sir and madam,” the host greets in a similar — but less sarcastic — tone of voice. “Do we have a reservation this evening?”

“Yes, should be under Christopher,” Chan answers.

“Ah, yes. Mr. Bahng. We have you in the private room this evening.”

“Oohhh, the private room, huh?” you whisper in his ear. “Ok, rich ass.”

He holds back a smile but squeezes your arm as the host extends his arm and gestures to follow him.

You weave through tables and up stairs and around hallway corners until the man opens a tall door and steps to the side so you can enter. Inside is a table for 4, but with only two seats. A small chandelier hangs from the tall ceiling, and the windowless walls are nearly bare, except for a themed photo or two.

“Will this do, sir and madam?” the host asks politely.

“Of course, this is perfect, thank you,” Chan replies. “Will a waiter come to us, or…”

“Yes, sir, they’ll come by and knock before entering.”

Oh, you sly piece of shit.

“Sounds perfect, thank you so much again,” Chan says.

The waiter nods and steps out of the room, closing the heavy door behind him.

“You fucking…” you tease, slapping Chan’s toned arms lightly. “Private room? The waiter has to knock? So pretentious.”

“Listen, I didn’t know it was this private, but yeah,” he defends himself, but his face softens again when he pulls you into his chest. “What’s wrong with a little privacy, huh?”

“You better be good,” you warn, looking at him sternly.

“I will, I promise,” he smirks, but then he holds you tighter and kisses your neck just below your jawline, so you’re almost certain his fingers must be crossed.

“Yeah, ok, sure,” you say sarcastically and lift his head to plant a quick kiss on his nose before heading to your respective sides of the table and sitting in the outlandish chairs — they’re almost like mini thrones.

“Well, these are… a lot,” Chan scoffs and turns his attention to you. “But they do suit you well, my queen.”

“And you, my king,” you say, barely holding in a giggle.

A knock at the door ends the role play — for now — and a waiter enters with two glasses and a bottle of wine.

“Good evening, can I get you two anything else to drink or eat?” he says politely as he pours your first glasses.

Chan skillfully orders a bottle of champagne, a tray of oysters, clams and other shellfish, and a pasta dish. The waiter takes note and leaves almost as quickly as he came.

“Wow, ok,” you say in amazement.

“What? Not happy with the selections?” he replies with a grin.

“No it’s fine, that was just… quick,” you marvel and pick up your glass, taking a sip of the Malbec.

“Yeah, hopefully the food comes quickly, too,” he says, then his expression turns much more serious, seductive even.

“Until then… wanna come sit in my lap?”

“Hm?” you ask. “You want me to sit in your lap… in a fancy restaurant?”

“Well, it is a private room…” he muses and grabs his glass, taking a sip and pushing his chair back from the table. Even confident Channie can’t help but blush when he gets excited, and you can’t resist those rosy cheeks.

“Well… will you? Please?” he repeats the question.

“… just because you asked nicely.”

You stand from your chair and slowly round the table to his seat, standing above him for a few seconds before lifting your dress enough to straddle his legs.

“Hi,” you chirp once your faces are only inches apart. “How are you?”

“Better now,” he says with a grin as he placed his glass back on the table and snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you closer so your noses touch. “How are you, darling?”

“I’m ok, a little hungry,” you answer, wrapping your arms around his neck and rubbing your nose against his. “You smell amazing.”

“So do you,” he says softly, leaning forward to inhale your exhales. “So sweet… I want to taste you.”

His lips gently press against yours as his palm travels up your back and stops at the base of your neck. His fingers close around it just enough to keep you steady, to keep you close.

He opens his lips then, slipping his tongue out to run along your bottom lip. Your tongue meets his there before returning to its original position to let him explore.

Soft sighs and moans bounce back and forth between your mouths as the kiss deepens. Heads tilt to gain better access, and hands travel to necks, to hair, to cheeks… to hold, to stroke, to savor.

Both of your eyes are squeezed shut, too overwhelmed by your other senses to process anything else. And you don’t need to see to understand the map of his mouth. It’s a place you’ve been so many times before. A place that stays with you even when you’re away. A place that feels like home.

Your mouth tastes like wine, but as more of his saliva sits on your tongue, the flavors change. The acidity drops away almost entirely, letting notes of vanilla, dark chocolate and blackberries shine through.

“Mmm,” he hums, breaking the kiss for just a second. “This wine is delicious.”

“I was just thinking the same,” you say, amazed for the millionth time how in sync you are. “Want some more?”

He nods, and you turn to grab his glass from the table and hand it to him. But he holds his hand up,l and gestures for you to drink.

“No, you go ahead, baby,” he says. “But don’t swallow it.”

Your eyes narrow at him, but you do as he asks anyway, taking a sip and letting the liquid slosh around between your cheeks.

“Good girl,” he says. “Now, come here.”

He places his palms on either side of your neck, pulling your mouths together once again. He presses his bottom lip firmly beneath yours and uses his tongue to separate your lips, letting wine spill from your mouth into his.

Your bodies stay eerily still as the stream falls between his lips, onto his tongue. If a waiter walked in right now, he may think he stumbled upon an ancient stone fountain, lovingly crafted by skilled and passionate hands.

The last drop falls, and his hold on your neck disappears. He closes his lips and lets the wine sit on his tongue for what seems like hours, though it was only a few seconds. Then he swallows.

“Hmmm,” he hums, his face scrunching up. “Vanilla… berries?”

A smile spreads across your face.

“I got that, too. Blackberries,” you say excitedly.

“Oh, yeah, that’s it,” he confirms. “Blackberries.”

He looks up into your eyes and sends that same smile, that same expression of understanding and love, right back at you. And you’re so synchronized, you dive back in to taste his lips at the same time he does, roughly bumping foreheads and noses in the process.

“Ow! Fuck!” you exclaim, moving your hand to the bridge of your nose to assess the damage.

You clearly got the worst of the collision, though, because he just sits there smiling and giggling.

“Come here, dumbass,” he says softly, placing one big hand on the back of your neck to guide you safely back to his lips.

His lips are softer now. Maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the swelling. But it’s like closing silky pillows between your lips again and again and again. There’s something so comforting, so safe, about being trapped there.

“I love you,” he mumbles into your mouth, too entranced to bother breaking the kiss for three small words.

And you’re too lightheaded to even form words, so you settle for a soft moan in reply and let your fingers find his hair.

You run the soft strands through your fingers and lure sweet sounds from his mouth, like you’re playing with a marionette. Pull this strand, he moans. Pull that strand, he sighs. Rub his scalp…

The hand on your neck travels down slowly, between your shoulder blades, and follows your spine down to your ass. He grips one cheek and squeezes just enough to make you groan. He knows how to pull your strings, too.

That hand travels forward now, around your hip to the top of your thigh. It sits there for a few seconds, enough time for its owner to slide his tongue behind your teeth, feeling every ridge as he goes.

He must’ve found some confidence there, because he takes that big hand and slides it over and down, between your legs.

You stifle a moan at the same time a knock sounds from the door. The knob twists before he has time to lift his hand out from under your panties, let alone get you off his lap and back to your seat. As the door swings open, Chan whispers in your ear.

“Looks like somebody’s getting a big tip…”

…continued in part 2...

[calummss]

Sheldon Cooper Blurb

masterlist

summary: sheldon’s hot new gf pays him a visit

pairing: fem! reader x sheldon cooper

words: 600

why i wrote this? bc jim parsons is so attractive to me and no one writes fics about him

Raj, Howard, Leonard where gathered together in front of the TV, their eyes glued onto the screen showing the newest unreleased footage of Star Wars. Absorbed into their world, a knocking on the door was heard.

Knock knock

Leonard stood up only to be ambushed by a half-jogging Sheldon, a rare sight for mankind, as he went towards the door. ‘That will be for me.’

Sheldon opened the door to reveal the prettiest girl any of the boys had seen. Their mouths gaping at her as she hugged Sheldon to greet him, Sheldon accepting the hug. Second weirdest thing to have happened in the apartment since Sheldom speed walked to the door.

‘Sheldon, who is this?’ Leonard asks, his tone between sweet and hostile.

‘Yes, Sheldon, who is this?’ Howard repeated, his usual sarcasm sweeping his words. ‘You didn’t happen to tell her that you are Sheldon Cooper.’

‘Well of course! Meeting Sheldon Cooper is a great honour, you know when I was—‘

‘Introduce us,’ Leonard cut Sheldon off, taken a back a bit.

‘Ah yes. Meet Y/n, my girlfriend .’ Sheldon introduced you, as you gave them a small wave, the three boys staring at you like Sheldon had given them amazing news but all they did was look shocked, their eyes and mouths never shutting. ‘I met Y/n at the Cheesecake Factory after Penny got my order wrong. I don’t know how that happened since I always order the same thing but one's simple mind can be overwhelmed with orders I suppose, even if it was only us there…’

‘Hi, I’m Y/n.’

‘Your Penny’s friend?’ Howard asked.

‘Yes.’

‘And Penny made me go on a date with Bernadette?’ He stared ahead of him, eyes almost popping out of their sockers

Sheldon turned his head, unaware of how to react to Howard’s outburst.

You also gave Sheldon a confused look to which he replied, ‘No worries, Social interaction with a spark of unsolicited germ exchange.’

‘So how did a theoretical physicist pick her up?’ Leonard gaped at the pair.

‘Oh I didn’t pick her up. I think you’re referring to is how we met?’

‘Yes, Sheldon…’

Suddenly Penny bolted through the door, phone in hand, ‘Sheldon has a girlfriend!? Y/n it’s you?’

‘If I may resume to Leonard’s question, I was minding my own business staring at the bird I was sure was out to kill me when she walked up to me with the words: You’re cute. I want you. Quite demanding if I might add.’ Sheldon gave you a brief look. ‘Straight to the point which is just right up my alley.’

‘You went up to Sheldon?’ Howard checked in on the facts with you.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry what?’ He replied, his eyes crossing.

‘Have you met him? Like met him?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you know he’s an extremely arrogant, narcissistic, ruthless, entitled, self-righteous, cold, condescending, selfish, pompous person, right?’ Howard said.

‘He’s also cute, lanky and gets me horny just doing his silly physics rants so if you don’t mind,’ You grabbed Sheldon’s hand, third weirdest thing to have happend in the apartment, ‘I have to give him something else to think about,’

The mouths couldn’t have been wider.

‘But today is game night,’ Sheldon whined.

‘Sheldon…’

Sheldon avoided eye contact, his eyes darting across the room.

‘Sheldon.’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ He responded immer, holding your hand and following you to his bedroom, leaving Raj, Howard, Leonard and Penny alone.

‘Did Sheldon just bring the hottest girl in the state of California through this door?’ Raj said.

‘Yes.’ They all said union.

‘And he’s getting sex even though he didn’t ask?’

‘Yes.’

‘Dammit.’ Howard hissed.

[blu-joons]

When You’re The Little Spoon ~ Big Bang Reaction

T.O.P:

Your eyes brightened as you felt a sudden arm wrap around your waist, feeling Seunghyun’s light breaths tickle against your shoulder.

“Are you alright?” You asked, resting your hand on top of his that was positioned against your tummy, “what suddenly brought you here?”

A hum came from Seunghyun, letting you know just how tired he was, before clearing his throat. “I didn’t like trying to fall asleep so far away from you, so I guess I’m here just because.”

“Just because,” you chuckled back across at him, “not that you’re much needier for affection than you like for anyone to know?”

Seunghyun nodded against your shoulder, letting go of a giggle himself too. “No one can ever know that I enjoy spooning this much,” Seunghyun warned you, making you smile.

“Of course,” you smirked, “you really are impossible sometimes. I wish the others got to see this side of you that I get to see.”

“This is a side just for you,” Seunghyun explained, “I can’t be letting everyone see just how soft I really am, you know.”

“I guess it’s just our secret then.”

Taeyang:

A groan came from Youngbae as you reached back and took his arm once again and tried your best to wrap it around your frame.

“Stop resisting me,” you joked as Youngbae used as much of his strength as he could to keep his arm by his side and away from you.

You could feel his head shaking behind you as you both laid out on the sofa. “One day you’ll get a boyfriend who can spoon you rather than just being single and relying on me.”

“I’m your friend,” you quickly reminded him, “aren’t you supposed to be nice to me and do as I say? Or are you not a friend?”

A faint chuckle came from Youngbae in reply to you, “I’m only your friend when you want to feel less single. Let me set you up with someone, I know a few good spooners Y/N.”

“There’s no way that you’re setting me up,” you quickly established, “I’d rather never spoon again then be set up by you.”

“Perfect,” Youngbae chuckled, “that means that you can stop hugging me and let me watch the film in peace instead.”

“You know, I really hate you sometimes.”

G-Dragon:

A sheepish smile appeared on your face as you looked to your left and saw an awake Jiyong staring back across at you with a chuckle.

“Did I wake you?” You asked, feeling Jiyong’s hand on your waist, tilting you gently so that you were laying on your side beside him.

Jiyong quickly shuffled closer to you, pressing his chest against your back. “It doesn’t matter, I was just starting to worry about you, have you managed to get any sleep tonight?”

“Not yet,” you told him, resting your head against Jiyong’s shoulder. “I keep dozing but then my mind starts to worry about work.”

A frown formed on Jiyong’s face as he listened to you vent for a few moments. “Is there anything that I can do to help you get to sleep? Clear your mind for a little while?”

“I’m quite enjoying being the little spoon,” you nervously giggled in reply to Jiyong’s question, “as long as you don’t mind.”

“Of course, I don’t,” he quickly assured you, “anything that I can do to help you, you help me enough times too.”

“That’s just what love is though Ji.”

Daesung:

Your smile was weak as Daesung’s arms came around your frame, pulling you in tightly to his chest with a kiss to the top of your head.

“You’ll get ill too if you cuddle me,” you warned Daesung, feeling him tangle himself even tighter around your frame for warmth.

A hum came from him as he peered over your shoulder, “I don’t care about whether I get ill or not, the only thing that I care about is trying my best to help you to feel better quickly.”

“I hate this,” you murmured, resting back against Daesung’s chest, “I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus or something today.”

It killed Daesung as he listened to you, squeezing you tighter and tighter. “Try and get a good sleep in you, that should help you to feel better, you can sleep well with me holding you.”

“That’s true,” you agreed with a faint giggle, “if there’s one person who I know can help me feel better, it’s definitely you.”

“I try my best,” he proudly admitted, “why don’t you get some sleep, I promise that you’ll feel better with a hug from me.”

“That sounds like the perfect idea.”

---

Masterlist

[gbirrd]

8/9 - Steph Brown tarot card designs for Complete Candor by @vexfulfolly as part of the @batfam-big-bang

Read the fic here!

Other cards:

1-Babs 2-Cass 3-Bruce 4-Tim 5-Damian 6-Jason 7-Duke 8-Steph 9-Dick

Image IDs

Image 1:

A design of the "Judgement" tarot card. It has the texture of recycled paper and reads "JUDGEMENT". A symbol of two clouds is visible behind the numeral "XX".

Steph Brown faces foward in her Spoiler uniform. She has pupil-less white eyes and is shrouded in purple smoke. There are a few stylised lilac-coloured clouds in the foreground, partially obscuring her. The bottom half of Cluemaster's face is visible in the background with a hand reaching to grab her.

Image 2:

A design of the "Judgement" tarot card. It has the texture of recycled paper and reads "JUDGEMENT" upside-down. A symbol of a rabbit and a wolf is visible behind the numeral "XX".

Steph Brown stands with her back turned in her Robin uniform. She is standing in a pool of blood. A large shadowy Batman is in the background. The lower half of his face is visible and his hand reaches out to grab her. The yellow bat on his chest fades into the blood. The entire card is upside-down.

[daddiesdrarryy]

Remus: So you and Pads’s brother are just sleeping together now?

James: Yeah, and I’m not great at casual relationships. I don’t want to scare Reggie off

Remus: Then just give him some space, all right? Don’t Floo, don't write him letters, don’t call

James: That’s crazy, Moony. What if I see a sunset that reminds me of him?

Remus: …

Remus: When do you see him next?

James: We’re having dinner tonight

Remus: Okay, put a rubber band around your wrist, and any time you start planning your wedding or naming your children, I want you to stab yourself in the hand with a fork

James: What’s the rubber band for?

Remus: To slow the bleeding

[decaffeinatedbreadsublime]

Rajesh Koothrappali x Female!Reader: The Comic Con Redemption

Author's Note: I love Raj very much and want to rewrite moments from the series including a girlfriend for him to pretend he didn't end up alone.

P.S.: English is not my first language, and this is my first imagine. Sorry for any mistakes.

Warning: none

Summary: You've just been promoted to Girlfriend of the Millennium.

(gif just to illustrate their happiness, lol)

Raj sighed, disheartened. "The tickets sold out… I didn’t get any."

It was another tense day at the opening of Comic Con ticket sales. The friends had gathered at Sheldon’s apartment, all agitated, each with their laptop in hand. They frantically pressed F5 until they managed to get into the virtual queue—if they managed to.

"I didn’t get one either," Howard replied. From the frustrated faces of Leonard and Sheldon, it was evident they hadn’t succeeded either.

"This was supposed to be the best Comic Con in the last 20 years," Leonard lamented. "I can’t believe we’re going to miss it."

"Now I know how Mexican immigrants feel when they’re barred from entering the United States and living the American dream they desire so much," Sheldon commented, his voice monotone in a sad tone.

"…No, Sheldon, you don’t know," Leonard said. Despite the frustration, he didn’t agree with Sheldon’s exaggerated drama.

When you arrived at the apartment from your shift at Caltech’s Computational Mathematics lab, where you worked as a researcher, the atmosphere was similar to a funeral. The last time you saw them this sad was when Tony Stark had died.

"Oh, no," you said, going to your boyfriend Raj’s side and sitting on the arm of the chair he occupied. "Don’t tell me another superhero died… when Tony Stark died, you were in mourning for three days, it was horrible."

"It’s worse," Sheldon said. "We didn’t get tickets to Comic Con."

"I already had my cosplay ready," Leonard sighed.

"Speaking of which," you stood up, took the bag that was still on your shoulder, and pulled out four identical pieces of paper. "Julie’s husband, who was my roommate at Harvard, works in event organization and is organizing this year’s Comic Con. I got four tickets for you guys."

You placed the tickets on the table, and everyone stood still for a few seconds, completely immobile. Sheldon picked up one of the tickets from the coffee table, analyzed it cautiously, and held it up to the light to verify its authenticity. When he finished, he put the ticket back on the table and sat up straight, in complete silence.

"Well?" Howard asked.

"They’re real," Sheldon replied.

"Y/N, YOU GENIUS, WONDERFUL WOMAN!" Raj instantly shouted. He quickly got up from the chair, went to you, gave you a hug that lifted you off the ground, and spun you around. Then he kissed you intensely.

"Why didn’t you tell us you had the tickets?" Leonard asked.

"Julie’s husband could only confirm if he could get them 30 minutes before the official batch opened," you explained. "I didn’t want to say anything before to avoid creating expectations. And when I got them, I called Raj five times, but he didn’t answer. So I called you guys, and no one answered. But I decided to get the tickets anyway, and if you managed to buy some, I could sell them, so it would be a win-win situation."

"We were doing finger stretches to avoid cramps while buying the tickets," Sheldon explained. "That’s why we missed the call."

You laughed. "Well, I guess you owe me one."

Raj hugged you again, kissing your temple. "Consider me your servant for the next weeks."

[corvigae]

Every person needs a game they've sunk 200+ hours into that they hate and would absolutely never recommend to anyone else or something similar. Whether it's a show you've watched too many times to count, a book you've hate-read until the spine is broken, or something else similar, there is hardly anything purer than the hatred that comes from knowing something deeply inside out.

[terry-perry]

Loki Introducing Sylvie To His Siblings...

Y/N: It's so nice to meet you! I've always wanted a sister! Thor: Really? Why? Y/N: ...I love you too, Thor. Loki: Really? Why?