#fluff too... spoilers!

[sirmatthew1972]

House With the Sycamore Tree

At last! Here is Chapter 1 of the sequel to Room on the Third Floor, the final part of the Tooth and Claw universe. In which Aaron Hotchner is a wildcat shifter, and Spencer Reid is his human lover. Yes, you'll have to read part 1 for this story to make sense. *shrugs* Summary Injured wildcat shifter Aaron has clawed his way out of the hunters' cage as Orion the leopard, but his fight to be free isn't over yet. Far from it. Since the hunters have subdued his ability to return to human form and stand tall again as the BAU Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner. Worse, the metal collar invented by his captor Ben Stein is pushing ever harder onto his DNA, forcing back his humanity behind the fur and claws of the leopard deemed feral by some. Traumatised and weakened, yet too stubborn to let his captor win, he puts his fate and trust into the one person who's stood by him since they first kissed. Can Spencer undo what's been done to him? Hell knows, Aaron aches to be human so he can hold Spencer again and propose to him with the ring he'd bought the day he got snatched from the street. But as the days veer off towards winter not even the rain and snow can conceal his reputation… and now another draws to why he stands out amongst his kind. Why a leopard like him can hide, but never change his spots, with good reason. Note Go read House With the Sycamore Tree on AO3, and beware of the tags, 'cause there's all sorts of fun to be had... from hurt to angst to comfort and back around again.

[l13]

The loud thumping wakes you up, and you blink tiredly as the sound persists. You look at your ceiling for a second before you realize someone is knocking at your door. You groan, bringing your duvet over your ear as you snuggle in again.

“Leave me alone,” you mumble against your pillow as the knocking becomes more forceful.

Suddenly there’s silence, and when you finally think that whoever is bothering you has left, the knocking starts again.

You groan, cursing under your breath as you stand up, grabbing your gun from your vanity. You walk to your front door, opening it angrily.

“What-” your outburst dies down at your lips when you lock eyes with the last person you’d expected to see standing outside your apartment, but one you’d longed for, for years.

Your first instinct is to panic, there’s no way you were conscious. The person standing at your door was supposed to be dead.

So you raise your gun up, hand trembling, “This isn’t real.” you choke out, and Vander raises his hands slowly, opening his mouth to speak but you cut him off, “You’re not real, you’re not here.” There are tears dripping down your cheeks, the gun threatening to fall from your hand with how much you were shaking “Y-you’re dead, this can’t-” you clutch at your chest, heaving, and Vander’s hands grab at your shoulders when your knees buckle,

“My love,” The gun slips from your shaky grip and falls to the floor the moment the words leave his mouth. His voice, god fuck, his voice. You’ve dreamed of it, you’re certain you’ve heard it, back when the grief first clawed at your heart, when the illusions spilled into reality to try to mend what was broken.

But this sounded too real, and you gasped when his hand cupped your cheek, thumb wiping the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “Darling, my darling girl. It’s me,” the sweet but rough sound of his voice sent shivers down your back, and you wanted to drown in it, you wanted to hear it again and again and again until you couldn’t anymore. You blinked rapidly, tears blurring your vision as your eyes danced across his features, the five bright white dots across his forehead would have confused you, if you weren’t on the verge of a panic attack.

You didn’t realize you’d raised your hand to cover his, until you felt the warmth of his hand under your skin. “S-stop, this isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real,” you squeezed your eyes shut, whispering frantically in order to wake up from this sickly realistic dream, to end this before you woke up and missed his touch again. And yet you craved more, desperately running your hands down his sides, back up to his chest, his shoulders, his back.

God, he felt real, and he was so warm, not like the previous dreams you’ve had when he was always cold, just a silhouette of the man you loved. He even smelled like your Vander. A sob broke through you, and you threw your hands around his neck, crying against his chest. Even if this wasn’t real, you’d still take advantage of this opportunity to feel close to him one last time.

You tried not to cry harder when his arms immediately circled around your torso, hugging you tight to him as you both slipped down to the floor, “Shh sh, love it’s me. Please, look at me,”

“If I do then I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone.” you muttered against his chest, nuzzling closer to him, “Let me have this, just for a moment.”

“You have me, forever.” His rough gravelly voice vibrated against your chest as he spoke, his breath hitting your ear as he nuzzled against your hair, his hands running up and down your back, spreading warmth everywhere.

Too real, too real, too real.

“I miss you so much. I-I can’t-” you take a shuddering breath in, “I can’t live without you. I need you back, please. Please, I’ll do anything.”

“My love, my heart. You beautiful, stunning creature. Look at me, I beg you.”

You could feel him leaning away just so he could cup your jaw, lifting your head up softly, so so softly.

Please.

“Look at me.” he mutters, the softness of his request filled with desperation. You slowly open your eyes, blinking away your tears, gaze immediately locking with his.

Your lips part as you take him in. The color of his eyes was much greyer than you remembered. You raised your hand to follow each feature, each wrinkle of his. After a moment, You brought your other hand up, as well, cupping both his cheeks in your hands, feeling his stubble prickle at your palms. “Vander… This- this can’t be real.” you move to pull away but he cups both your hands, keeping you in place, leaning his forehead against yours, “It can, it is. I’m here honey. I’m here.”

You can’t help but stare at his lips, watching them move as he speaks, your mind trying to make sense of what you’re seeing, hearing, feeling.

Please.

You can’t let yourself get too hopeful because this isn’t possible, and he seems to get it too, so he starts explaining.

He tells you everything. How he was on the verge of death, how a man, Singed, found him, turned him into something vile, but the mutation kept him alive, even if he wasn’t entirely himself. He tells you about how all he felt was pain, but you and the kids were the only thing in his mind the whole time, trying to block away everything else. Tells you about Powder, Vi, and Isha, how they found him, brought him somewhere, a colony of some sort. A man, the Herald, helped him, and “..honest to God he kind of scares me, but it-it didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter now because I’m here. I’m here with you.”

Please.

You don’t realize you’ve lost track of time until you’re looking at yourself. You blink quickly, eyebrows furrowing, but then you realize you’re looking at yourself in the mirror. Vander is still holding you tightly, and the side of your face is pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he whispers sweet nothings against the crown of your head. You stay there, listening to his voice and his heart for what feels like forever.

He grabs your shoulders, pulling you away from him just enough for him to look at you in the eyes, “Are you okay?” he asks, but his voice is muffled, sounding too far away. You blink slowly up at him and he frowns sadly.

“I missed you so much. Even in death I missed you, but I wasn’t selfish enough to wish I could see you again because that would mean you’d-” he cuts himself off, the strands of his hair moving as he shakes his head, eyes clenched shut as if to rid himself of that painful thought. “I-I’m here. I’m real. Darling, I’m alive, and I need you to know this.”

His eyes are pained as he stares down at you, once again cupping your jaw, thumb caressing your cheekbone “Say something.”

“I love you.”

His face immediately crumbles, eyebrows squeezing together as his tears start falling, and he tucks his head against the place between your neck and shoulder, crying as he squeezes you impossible tighter, “I love you.” he chokes out, and you feel him pepper soft kisses over your skin, the brokenness of his voice bringing fresh tears to your eyes as well.

You don’t know how long you stay tangled together like this, just holding each other, but Vander leans back suddenly, looking at you with so much adoration that it makes you want to scream. “Hi,” he mumbles, petting your hair softly, his other hand drawing circles on your back.

You start pressing soft kisses all over his face, not being able to contain your affection, and he closes his eyes, laughing giddily, the deep sound traveling over your skin, spreading warmth everywhere. God, you’ve missed this, missed him. “Hi.” you mutter, pressing one last kiss at the corner of his mouth.

His puffy eyes glance down at your lips, “Can I-”

“Please.”

He kisses you.

2024 © l13 | Do not steal, copy, edit, translate or re-post any of my works.

[yashley]

As you all step out, what do you see?  (episode 111 spoiler:)

[lucabyte]

Taking pride in One's own appearance.

[jvsont0dd]

Jason Todd dies so often that he might as well be a Winchester

[elifinchsart]

they cant do anything normally

[demigods-posts]

the "'i can explain' 'no you can't'" interaction between percy and annabeth should be an on going thing every season. in season 2 after percy blows up a gym and annabeth has to clock a bully. in season 3 when annabeth finds out percy hijack a quest he wasn't asked to be on. in season 4 when percy disrupts his own funeral and annabeth demands to know where he was for two weeks. in season 5 when annabeth finds out percy took a dip in the styx. the possibilities.

[sunsburns]

[nsfw 17+]

thinking about eating out hazel for the first time and how she would probably be super loud, scrunching up her nose while gripping onto your hair like her life depends on it.

it would start with a heated make out, messy, clumsy where her teeth crash against your own because she just wants to be closer if that was even possible. when half your clothes had been thrown somewhere in the room, you'd notice her hips grinding against your thigh, and it goes from there.

she'd hold her breath, her eyes following you as you make your way down her body, lips pressing soft kisses against her clothes, her skin. her hands grip the counter as she tenses once you get to her underwear. nothing special, a pair of boxers, but it still makes you groan in want.

"you're so hot," you tell her, slowly dragging down the underwear.

hazel lets out a breathless laugh at your words, staring down at you before bringing her bottom lip between her teeth in anticipation. she's still a little embarrassed about how you got on your knees so willingly. she didn't even have to ask you to eat her out.

the way you stare back at her nearly makes her moan, "i wish you could see yourself right now."

you feel yourself smiling, humming while running your hands up her thighs and waist as hazel kicks off her boxers. you bring your hands to the inner sides of her thighs, fingers slipping between her lips.

hazel sucks in a sharp breath as you poke two fingers by her entrance before bringing them to her clit, drawing gentle circles on her clit as you lean closer. your warm breath against her skin makes her let go of the counter with one hand and dig it into your hair. hazel drags you closer, her hips bucking to try and keep up with your moving hand.

"fuuuucckk," hazel tilts her head back once you finally bring your mouth to her.

your tongue laps around with slow, long, languid strokes. you go from the bottom of her folds to the hood of her clit, hooking it up a bit. the corners of your mouth curl into a grin when she pulls your hair harder, gasping before letting out a broken moan.

to test the waters, you suck on her clit, your eyes staring right at her bright blue ones. her eyes half open, making an effort to look at you before she caves in and squeezes them shut.

she's biting her lip again, trying to hold anything back before giving up and calling out your name. it's like a prayer in her mouth, and she says it four times before cutting herself off and groaning loudly, cursing. "shit, shit. keep doing that. please, don't stop."

you listen, of course. how could you not?

when hazel starts to squirm, her grip on your hair loosening, you make your way lower, dipping the tip of your tongue to her entrance. you can't help but moan at the taste of her, feeling it run down your chin.

hazel starts to moan louder when your nose consistently brushes against her clit while your tongue continues to make its way deeper and deeper inside of her. "fuck- i'm gonna- shit." her voice has dropped to a rasp, pulling you so close you can barely breathe between her thighs.

"c'mon, haze," you mutter against her skin, "cum for me."

and you keep on going, like shit you could probably eat her out of days if she'd let you. and when hazel cums, you make sure to get all of it, drowning in the sounds of her moans and her cursing and mumbling your name in incoherent whispers. she makes you feel so fucking good all the time, so it's only fair if you return the favour.

[toovaeloe]

— Said the Annoying Hero Who Dies Spectacularly in the End

[hyakunana]

"This only happened because you killed my sister in the first place…!"

[pixelatedraindrops]

Baby Makoto AU Doodle Dump🐣

Hiya everyone! So, I’ve been busy working on some art of this new little concept of mine. It’s been in my head for a while. Ever since I found out Makoto is in fact canonically 3 years old. And then thinking of Number One being a doting single parent to his tiny homunculus clone whom he adopts to keep safe from further experimentation and raises as his own 🥺💕

I’ve seen other people (specifically on twitter) come up with this thought as well. Makoto as a 3 year old child with Yuma as his parent. Honestly other than drawing my favorite characters being sick, drawing them as little kids also brings about a nostalgic comfort to me. Not nearly as much joy as drawing sickies brings me, but it was fun to draw the all powerful CEO as a little toddler curious about the world. He's just a little baby <3

Now I am actually a bit shy and insecure about this idea. Mainly due to people possibly confusing it with infantilization and/or age regression. This is neither of those things. It’s an AU where he just happens to be a toddler. If anything I picture little Makoto to be similar to Anya from Spy x Family. (and the fact they both share a Japanese VA makes this connection even cuter, and he's only one year younger than her x3)

Anyway, I hope you all will indulge in me as I share the art I’ve done of this tiny little homunculus. I probably won’t talk about this au or draw it often due to feeling shy about it, so I just made a full on thread of the doodles if you want to see. I keep them under a read more to prevent spam (and I know not everyone is a fan of this concept)

But if you look, I hope you enjoy!

A little reference of sorts I made of my toddler Makoto design. (though he wears different clothing in every art I do of him lol this just connects his normal purple flowery attire) He is exactly 2 feet shorter than his usual height making him pretty small for a toddler. (but yuma is pretty short too lol and I want him to be able to carry him ;w;)

He has 2 special toys that connect to his other mask designs in the concept art. The teddy bear is his very special possession that Yuma gave him as a present, and the puppet teruteru-bozu is something he made together with Yuma when crafting on a rainy day. (he is so talented preparing him for the future when he actually develops products for the company he will run) The melon ball is based on his favorite fruit, and he has socks and a fuzzy blanket with the pattern of his mask.

In this AU, Yuma retains his Number One persona. He’s not meek apologetic and unsure, he has the confidence of the ultimate detective. But is he confident as a parent? Not in the slightest. But taking care of Makoto teaches him more about being kind and empathetic towards others, and eventually over time he becomes super protective and even at times doting towards Makoto.

Making his personality a bit more bright and pleasant, much like the kind and gentle Yuma that we all know and love. Parenthood causes the serious detective to soften up a lot. And of course this causes Makoto to love and depend on Yuma in return and never want to cause him trouble. (So he puts on a tough act a lot ;w;) However, he almost never calls Yuma dad. He just calls him Yuma. Its very rare that he refers to Yuma as his dad but this is perfectly okay by Yuma. (But when Makoto does call him dad? Yuma feels such unexplainable emotional discord that he almost cries.)

Some more doodles :3

Such a silly little family. I love them so much <3

Why did I think of this AU? Because I want Makoto and pre-game Yuma to not be lonely, be happy together, and for Makoto to have a childhood. Honestly Makoto seems a bit childish and playful in canon too so...

I think I'd like him to have an actual childhood where he grows up comfortable and happy. And in the care of someone who loves him 💜

[xxlady-lunaxx]

sanemi had never been desperate. he wasn’t the kind of person to plead or beg for anything. he had learned as a child that that brought nothing but humiliation and pain. but he couldn’t help it. tears tumbled down his cheeks and he screamed, he cried, he begged. he did not want genya to die. and yet, in his arms, he found his brother’s body disappearing into the air. and all he could do was plead desperately for someone, something to help. because he felt useless. he couldn’t do anything, nothing he could do would bring genya back. desperation didn’t look good on him. but he was willing to do anything if genya could just be genya again. let him be alive. please.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Horrible new theory about Runaan's shirt today.

-no, not the new one, the one he lost-

He's still got his green assassin shirt here on the balcony, and vest too:

But by the time Gren is thrown into the dungeon a couple days later, it's missing.

Runaan's also sporting bags under his eyes because he'd been kept awake all night, enjoying Viren's frustrations about losing Harrow and also getting denied the crown of Katolis.

So. About that missing shirt.

I can't think of too many things worse for a guy who wears four shirts at once than to have them all taken off while he's badly hurt and manacled to the wall, and then be tickled half to death all night long, on his birthday.

[kakashi-fangirl-ita-blog]

Zosan headcanon (set either after Whole Cake Island or during one of the pre-timeskip arcs)

One night Sanji has a bad dream (about his childhood, his trauma, his fears...) and suddenly wakes up gasping and heavy breathing.

He doesn't want to wake up his crewmates, so he just gets up from the floor where he usually sleeps and leaves the room. But Zoro is on lookout that night and sees Sanji running into the kitchen (his comfort place). He knows that something isn't right by how panicked his breathing sounded and how confused he looked around, so he decides to check on him.

He finds Sanji in the darkness, sitting on the floor, with his back leaning on the counter, covering his head with his arms and sobbing like he never heard him do. (In his own mind, it that moment Sanji is still a child, left alone crying in the darkness by his father).

Sanji sees Zoro on the doorsteps, lit by the moonlight. Because of his pride and his rivalry with the swordsman, he doesn't want Zoro to see him while he is so vulnerable and tells him to go away, but of course Zoro is way too stubborn to do what he tells him to and wants to know why he's crying.

Sanji thinks that he wants to make fun of him, so he just stays silent, suffocating his sobs, waiting for an insult or a joke. But instead Zoro sits next to him and tells him that he envies him, because he's able to let all his emotions out and to cry freely without feeling judged (by his own self) or "less masculine".

Sanji is obviously surprised by that glimpse of Zoro's sincerity, but doesn't want to tell him why he's crying. He doesn't want to burden him with his story. In that moment, he just knows that Zoro's company is comforting. Their shoulders slightly brushing while sitting next to each other in the darkness, Zoro's slow breathing, the warmth of his body... Everything about that makes Sanji cry even more. He isn't alone anymore. He doesn't have to bear all his sufferings by himself in a loop of poisonous thoughts.

Without even realising it, he finds himself leaning his head on Zoro's shoulder, feeling the tears running down his cheeks and soaking Zoro's shirt. He quickly starts sobbing again, covering his face with his hand. Zoro wraps his arm around him and pulls him closer, letting Sanji bury his head on his chest.

Zoro patiently waits, while Sanji cries until he's too tired to even let out a single hiccup and they both fall asleep holding each other.

[aldisobey]

Fuel to Fire

AO3 Link - Fuel to Fire

A gift on this eve! Finally got it to a point where I don't mind sharing. Emmlich content, come get some Emmlich and Rook angst. It's got comfort and warmth and I've been with it too long just take it before I start hating it again. Tagging @emmg you asked for it! (oh yeah and the title is just the song I listened to the most, it's how I'm naming things because eugh naming things how). Technically part two in a series, check out Nascent Blight if you need more.

Word Count: ~3k

Relationship: Rook Thorne x Emmlich, M/M

Full story below because why not

Emmrich paced the room, green flickers of his skull mixing light with the soothing glow of the water’s reflection on the ground. Rook sprawled out on the divan, head back on the armrest, eyes closed, and rubbed at his temples. Peeked a moment at the towering necromancer gleaming soft in the muted room.

“Rook.” Emmrich’s stern tone made him squeeze his eyes shut. The lich ceased pacing and stood near the small table at the center. Hands folded behind him he faced the waters. “That was reckless.”

The Warden was still coated in lingering blight from the Wetlands. He’d meant to clean up and go celebrate the Eruption’s destruction on return to the Lighthouse, but it was all he could do to drag himself here. He could still feel the echo of it. Too close, too much.

He gripped his head, pressed hard as he dared to drive away the thrumming recollection of whispers. Thank whatever luck graced him it hadn’t…his hands dropped. One to the ground, the other his chest. Their pressures had provided no relief. It would fade, always had, should have stopped when they burned the thing, but something of it’s nature let that damnable echo persist. That or a head injury, he’d taken some hits.

He sighed. Slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to glance at Emmrich’s back facing him.

“Had to be done.” Equally stern in a quiet way, exhaustion clear.

“You might have left the matter to Davrin.” A resounding voice. The folded hands clenched, then released, flicked to the side as Emmrich turned round to fix Rook with his hollow stare, “Or Evka and Antoine, or any number of other Wardens in Lavendell.”

“Emmrich,” Rook responded more softly, slowly, but kept firm, “I had my reasons.”

“And?” The skull tilted, frustration snipping, “Were those reasons worth it?” Emmrich gestured towards Rook, everything said in that tone and movement. Today had not been easy for the rogue. Taash had to half carry him back.

“Yes.” Grumbling, he swung his legs off the divan, sat up properly to face Emmrich’s accusations. “They were.” He straightened his back and squared off his shoulders, suppressed the pulse built on his forehead with a heavy blink. “Look. I brought Taash because they can burn whatever comes their way. And I brought you because you’re undead.”

Emmrich twitched, almost imperceptibly, at that. Rook might’ve missed it had his attention on the lich been less than absolute, but the movement sent his stomach falling. He bit at his tongue and rushed on.

“We got the job done alright? Lavendell can thrive. Everyone safe.” He rushed the words. Kept them short. Folded his arms. He might’ve looked petulant, but the wear of the day was too loud. Holes in the sleeves, tears on the sides, slash on the leg, all red stained, all healed flesh below, but memories of wounds. Everywhere.

“Darling. What about you?” Emmrich’s voice shook, seeing more than the evident physical. Undead eyes exposed a roiling of lingering red pain whispers, swirling confusion, exhaustion like a leaded blanket.

“Hmm? I’m already blighted, it was no concern.” Rook shrugged, doing his best to appear at ease. Brush off the worry, confirm the wellness of the situation. They were here, they were whole, they…

“Enough.” A snarl of exasperation, Emmrich stepped closer, seeming ever taller as he approached, “Davrin would have joined us had it been no concern. You brought Taash.” There was finality in the words, a stillness as the simmering anger evened and burned with purpose, “I was there, Rook. Your Warden friends were quite clear on the danger that Eruption posed to you.”

Rook grimaced, rubbed his hands, felt over callus, cut, and bruise. It hurt. He added pressure, focused the pain there.

Emmrich was right of course. The lingering pounding in his head was testament to that. What if the Eruption had sparked something? It felt safer for Taash to be there with their fire. Why put more than one Warden at risk? How many was it if not him? If not Davrin? Thoughts roiling he shrank below that green gaze burrowing into him feet away. Rook realized then he’d gone slack jawed, unable to think of an acceptable excuse. But no. He had made the right call.

He snapped his mouth shut.

“Fine!” Rook growled and stood using the armrest with a stifled groan. Patience worn thin after all the drumming in his skull he put his hands to his hips when he reached his full height and glared up at Emmrich.

He didn’t shout, but matched the steaming frustration, “I knew it was dangerous for me. Alright? But I had to do it.” The words came out through grit teeth, biting back the desire to escalate.

Emmrich drew back. Not a step, but into himself. “Dearest...”

“No, don't dearest me.” It came out like a hiss, and Rook leaned the smallest degree forward, “The Grey Wardens need every last person after all this.” His hands flailed out, gesturing vaguely to the world at large, “After Weisshaupt…” A breath found him. The fury caught on his tongue. This shouldn’t be so hard.

He cleared his throat, kept strong, “My jobs done once we’ve killed those gods.” His hands returned to his temples for a moment to steady himself, applied pressure to calm the beat. The blood flushing to his face couldn’t be helping.

Rook gave his head a shake and looked askance, maker how did a skull appear sad, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Unable to face Emmrich in that hunched posture before him. Bent, mourning, pathetic…no, Rook swallowed. Not that. The necromancer didn’t stand alone. The lean was enclosing him, protective. He dared a glance forward.

The lich stood draping the Warden in shadow like some gilded ribbed vaulting. And Rook, an insignificant supplicant come, with soft flesh aching, stinking of blight. Before a cathedral.

“Davrin’s got a book in the works!” He sputtered before he forgot all of the pieces reinforcing his decision. “Antoine makes such things?” Because it had been the right decision, “Can you imagine things if left to Evka’s hands?” They would all flourish after he did his part.

“You think I’d risk a single one of them?” Voice a hushed whisper of desperation. He couldn’t bear it.

No. The gods died next. No one else.

Tomorrow. His mind kept at a furious pace. A last check on Lavendell. Then Treviso, the Crows had word. He could feel cold sweat on his neck, they might have a location. Almost there. Not much longer now, almost safe, and all at once his legs went weak. Rook sank, barely controlled, back down to the divan. He settled with elbows on his knees, hands holding his head, and stared down at the floor. Could feel welling in his eyes, blinked it away.

“Rook,” Emmrich’s voice was slow, the gentle echo of a creek; water over stones as it traveled through him, “I’m sorry.”

Sincerity. Rook could feel it. Feel his nerves still at the serene appeal, “You carry the weight of every decision. Don’t you?” Not a question, a declaration, and in hearing it, so firmly spoken, Rook quaked.

“You were exemplary today.” Finally. A shuddering breath, a tiny lift, that voice of praise, a warming balm.

“My love,” The words sank deep past the skin, something in the tone kneading them firmly within the chest, past bone and into heart where a soul might sit, “let me help you.” Rook sniffed, didn’t trust his voice, dipped a nod once. Emmrich extended his hand, gestured towards Rook’s head.

Movements small, close, Rook leaned in, but then gave start, bit his lip, froze, “..wait.” He still needed to scour, make sure every speck of blight was gone, that could take awhile for hair.

“That’s of no concern.” Emmrich smirked.

Rook looked up as that comforting palm settled soft on his head. Peered past the linen, memories flashing of that arched brow, those lidded eyes, and met a crowned skull, flickering flame. He’d heard it in the tone.

His eyes went wide, tight pain gripped his chest. That was the cost wasn’t it? But then, he felt his heart beat. There was that…the desire...ever since…

'Rook’s Necromancer. An excellent subject to test how long one could go back and forth between life and death.'

Rook blinked at the perfect, beautiful, loving undead skull staring back at him, the whisper of hope escaping from dreams and solidifying here and now.

���You’re safe.” Rook choked out the words.

Then collapsed. Gone so limp he would have fallen from couch to floor had Emmrich not anticipated the movement and dropped to his knees to catch him in his arms.

They dropped together a moment, Emmrich’s arms a cushioning guide. And once stable, once still, he lifted, held the trembling man close, and carefully settled down on the divan with him. The Warden, for his part, was all snot and tears, clinging to the lich’s robes. His arms wrapped tight around the ribcage as he pressed close as he could.

"Emmrich, it can't…” His voice and body shook, words closing off in the shudder of relief.

Emmrich cradled Rook as tight as he dared, a soft hush drifting from him as he brought calm in his firm embrace. There was no measured breathing to guide the man hiccupping into his cloak, so Emmrich purposefully rubbed Rook’s back in the rhythm of a breath, and with a few extra movements green sprites darted from his fingers. All at once sound was still and calm around Rook’s hearing, and then began the sigh of trees, wind through leaves, in measured cadence to help level the rogue’s racing heart.

Rook almost felt a cool breeze on his skin same as he heard it, and the glow of water and flame mixed like light through the leaves to his eyes. He sighed, then lifted his head, buried it beneath the lich’s chin, felt his final quivers fade as a hum traveled in waves through the bones embracing him, back and forth, kissing skin where it touched, a fleeting doting touch. The beginnings of a smile and easy breath came to him at last.

Emmrich’s voice sounded quiet around…in…where his head lay. The traveling hum returned deep and pleasant, warming the skin where it passed. “My love. To think…you worried over me, to such...” Disbelief mixed with adoration, Emmrich’s voice eased its way into Rook’s waiting ears, pure love. The lost words saying more than any uttered.

Rook was steady now, melting instead of shivering, he clung to that genuine smile dawning on his lips, he could have this at least. They couldn’t take this. Rook tilted his head up to whisper to the air where Emmrich’s throat might’ve been.

“I love you.”

He put his head back down as he felt both of Emmrich’s hands move up to massage his scalp. The room was incandescent with green, the necromancer’s palms the epicenter of the glow. Focused. He plied at the Warden’s head. His movements were rhythmic, the magic alive with a pulse and rippling at his direction.

Rook could feel the echos become sated, the answering ebb of the necrotic channeling a path of release, carrying the riptide tight and rebounding in his skull back out to sea. Ease and push, gentle waves of magic and fingers worked the movements with Fade and physical, gently towing that ache out from the Warden’s skull.

Rook yawned, almost a thrum while in Emmrich's care, “Of course I was worried.” And he stretched in small movements, “You immortal fool.” His voice was low, pining, enraptured by the fool he entrusted with his care. Emmrich didn’t reply, his voice occupied in the ending incantations. Otherwise they kept in silence, the soft green glow encasing Rook’s scalp continuing to pulse, dancing with the shimmering from the tank.

“Darling,” when Emmrich's voice finally graced Rook again it sent warmth flashing through him, “I’m safe.” A rolling delight, the aches and pains losing hold, Rook groaned, toes curled as every muscle seemed to tighten, and hold. Then release.

The magic dimmed. Rook breathed heavy, then slow, then measured, calm. Almost asleep.

Emmrich sighed, his voice an echo that resounded through the room. He took a long laborious moment to take off his crown, and with utmost care placed it on the table behind them. Then, barefaced as possible, spoke gentle, the deep echo private now, tumbling only to the Warden’s ears, “But, Sir Thorne.” He looked down at Rook, tilted the man’s face to look up from where it lay on his sternum, kept his tracing fingers there, touch yearning. “You are most unsafe.”

Rook felt his eyes go hot at the words, if only because Emmrich’s couldn’t, and he could hear the despondent tears held in the lich’s tone. He tried to look away, but that meant leaving that soft touch on his chin, he pressed down into the palm instead.

“I’m sorry.” he twisted his head deeper into the hand, whispered the mumbled words into Emmrich’s thumb. The thumb traced Rook’s lips a moment, but seemed distant, moving further away.

“Those are words, Rook.” Emmrich’s hand withdrew, Rook looked up, sensing the gravity in the next words had been stressed by absent touch. “Please. If only out of love for me. Take more thought and action towards your safety?”

Rook gave the barest of nods, mind rebelling against the gross hope of self preservation. He nestled back down and away from the skull’s sight. Emmrich’s voice grumbled in old exasperation, his hands moving to cradle the Warden’s skull and massage along his neck. “If you remain so determined to put your life at risk I’ll have no choice but to drag you to the deepest tombs of the Necropolis. Seal you there until you develop a modicum of sense.”

“That a promise?” Rook’s voice surprised them both, and had Emmrich been able to feel heat his hands might have burned from where they held Rook. So quick and fierce was the flush on the man, so immediate the reply, it came without thought, driven by something deeper.

He could feel the lich’s fingers dig hard into his skin. Maker he really did want...The skull was staring up and away from him now. But Rook could hear the words resound in his own chest, “Don’t tempt me.” A low rolling warning, like thunder from a storm still away. But Rook could sense the ache, felt his heart quicken at what some choice words might lead to, felt the barest tremor in the hands holding him, but then they were gone. The storm gave way to trickling laughter at the thought.

Emmrich moved to extricate himself from the divan, took extra care to settle Rook comfortably in place. Hummed away the lighthearted mirth as he stood free and took off his cloak, gently draped it over the fading Warden, “Seriously, dearest, you mustn't jest.”

Rook held tight to the lich’s cloak and burrowed into it, buried his face deep in the lapel as he muttered half asleep already, “Don’t tease, you started it”.

He yawned. Felt warm, eased his mind to think of falling quiet, but the shiver of dreams crept up at him. The Fade always awaited, didn't it. Rook bit at his cheek, blinked an eye open to peek out from beneath the cloak. Emmrich was still there, though his back was turned to him now, he had taken to quiet pacing again, fish in the tank following as he glittered in the pale light.

“Emmrich.” Rook whispered.

“Hmm?” Emmrich paused midstep, fish paused midswim.

Rook stifled a chuckle, overcome at that moment with overwhelming adoration. He could ask this, a beaming smile hidden beneath the cloak, eye twinkling from beneath the fabric he muttered, “You once comforted me by saying the lich lords were, ‘Unlikely to visit your slumber’.”

Rook mused, calling back to that first time, that first terror. Emmrich had been so excited to share, so animated when explaining, the first time Rook heard the word ‘Lich’. Ice had taken Rook’s veins then. Fresh terror, new fear, but what emotion did he know better? And what a blessing it could be? His blood ran cold. Something deep in his gut warned him, but he ignored it. Looked long at the lich before him, fish following Emmrich’s concerned sway, and let the prickling sensation thaw, there could be warmth here, “Is that…something…you could do?” He finally asked.

“Oh.” The lich seemed to stand taller, an edge of excitement to his tone. “I hadn’t the time to consider it.” He started towards Rook, came to kneel at his side, put a hand on the cloak where the man’s shoulder lay, head tilting in question, “Would that interest you?”

Rook poked more of his head out so that his lips could be read, voice a hush, “Maybe…if you can, just uh check in?” He swallowed, “That song, it's in dreams…it’s worse…” Emmrich’s hushing tones cut off Rook. One hand going so far as to pull the cloak back up to cover the Warden's mouth and tuck him in.

“My love, speak no further. Sleep. Nothing will dare trouble your dreams.”

“Thank you…you know you can troub…”

“Another time darling. Please. Rest.”

Eyes closed Rook could hear the smirk again, felt a heaviness settle in his limbs, swore he was already dreaming when he heard the warmth in the immortal’s voice holding him, was that a lullaby? And sleep took him.

[milky-aeons]

— BY A COMMANDER’S SIDE

౨ৎ  . . . even though you may not always be by his side, there are multiple ways you and ARMIN ARLERT express your love for each other.

warnings: sexual content, memories of war, ptsd, marriage, pregnancy, mdni, w.c 845

♪ . . . ˗ˏˋ ꒰ tenerife sea — ed sheeran ꒱ ˎˊ-

: ̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍, who was, at first, not very forthcoming about his feelings towards you. Who allowed them to balloon into something monstrous, something that wouldn't let his eyes leave you no matter where you came or when you went.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍, who mustered up the courage to ask you on a date after weeks of deliberation. That mind of his really was a double-edged sword, having the ability to lead squadrons to victory but crumbled when he looked into your eyes and became so adorably tongue-tied.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who, on the day of your wedding, wore a crown of flowers in her hair and jewellery made from emerald sea-glass. Who kept the jewellery on that night you spent together, the smooth stone sliding over your bouncing breasts as you rode him into ecstasy.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who held him tight on those nights he couldn't sleep. When the haunting echoes of war visited him instead of dreams. Who cradled him against your chest and carded through his golden hair, humming to him a song from your childhood, until his tense shoulder muscles smoothened down and he took more even, slumbering breaths.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍, who was always phenomenal when it came to choosing gifts. Whether they be for special occasions like your one year anniversary — when he surprised you with that delicate little music box specially crafted to play that tune, the one you always sung to him — or little delicates he brought home after a long day's work. Chocolates, flowers, books from the Capital where he conducted the duties of Commander.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who would know immediately when your husband has had a taxing day. When he'd come through the door of the little town house you shared — his eyes shadowed, his hair mused from where he ruffled at it. You would go to him and place longer, sweeter kisses against his lips. You would instruct him to sit in the kitchen so you could brew him some tea, so you could take your fingers to his temples and draw soothing little circles.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍, who brought you to the beach on late summer's nights. Who would be mysterious and playful with his little secret, ushering you out of the house when you least expected it. Of course, he had the charade planned right down to the finer details; the standing wax candles in the sand, the blanket, the bottle of fine Mitras wine and two polished glasses waiting to be drunk.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍, who was reserved with his desires, and yet eager to please you at the same time. Who would murmur hot and heady into your ear; where do you need it, love? Does it feel good when I do this? Tell me what you need, let me please you. Who had years of power in his honed abdomen muscles and thighs as he would use them to thrust into you without conviction. Who would relish in the way you called out his name as your walls clenched around him, undoing him by the very seams.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who gave him a small clothed package unannounced one day. Watchful as he undid the layers with those gorgeous blue eyes wide and curious. Who did not take long to understand what the gift meant — a little wooden horse and a hat that would be much too small for him. He had stood, unbelieving, his eyes shining with tears, and picked you up in a hug that stole the air from your lungs and spun you round, round, round.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍, who lay beside your curved belly swollen with life and read to them. About fields of fire, endless seas of ice, vast rivers of colour in the night sky. Who would place kisses to your unborn child, who would place kisses on the back of your hand and tell you how much he loved you.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍, who cooked with you on the days he had been spared from his military duties. Who would lift your beautiful child up into the air and make them giggle as you stirred the pot. Who would come up behind you and encircle you in his strong arms, placing a quick, chaste kiss on your temple.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who was cunning with him, adoring the blush that still coloured your husbands cheeks when you did something daring. You would seek him out on late nights in the study as he poured over reports by lamplight. Quietly, you would slip your nightdress down from your shoulders and let it fall to a pool at your feet. It always made your pulse flutter, the way he looked at you, like a man strangled. Like a man so madly and irrevocably in love.

: ̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍, who, before he left every morning and before he closed his eyes at night, would mutter the same exact words;

"I love you, my moon and stars."

: ̗̀➛ 𝐘𝐎𝐔, who would murmur right back;

"And I love you too, my entire night sky."