#i keep meaning to scatter some of his ashes there

[ainawgsd]

Saw a post about mutuals you would go to a cemetery with and got curious so I made a poll.

I visit cemeteries fairly often, I think, but i don't really have a frame of reference for normal. Our town's sledding hill is in the local cemetery and it's a great place to take a walk. I do have relatives buried there, but I don't visit their graves that often. I also enjoy visiting old country cemeteries when I'm out hiking.

[crazy-rafe-madler]

Attack On Titan

Jealous Levi x Reader

A/N: not exactly following the events of the battle, but I really wanted some jealous Levi so enjoy!

The screams of soldiers and the thunder of Titans filled the air as you sprinted across the rooftops, ODM gear propelling you forward. The fires from the Colossal Titan’s explosion lit the night like a funeral pyre, casting a hellish glow over Shiganshina. Your heart pounded as you leapt, dodging chunks of falling debris and the scattered remains of comrades.

You had barely survived the explosion alongside Hange. The rest of your team was gone—dead in an instant, consumed by the blast or crushed by falling rubble. Their screams echoed in your mind, haunting you as you fought to keep moving. There was no time to grieve. You had to live, if only to make their sacrifices mean something.

Somewhere beyond the walls, Levi was fighting. The thought of him battling the Beast Titan alone made your chest tighten, but you buried your worry. There was no time for distraction, no room for hesitation. The chaos of war demanded focus, and your feelings for Levi—feelings you had never dared to voice—were a vulnerability you couldn’t afford to show.

“Stay close, Y/N!” Hange called, their voice sharp and commanding, though grief was evident beneath their words. “We can’t afford to lose anyone else!”

You nodded sharply, determination masking the turmoil beneath your calm exterior.

When Zeke and the Cart Titan began retreating with Reiner’s body, you saw your chance. Hange was far behind you, and you weren’t going to let the enemy slip away. With a burst of speed, you pursued them, your ODM gear slicing through the smoke-filled air.

“Stop them!” you shouted, your voice raw from the heat and ash.

The Cart Titan growled, its claws swinging wide as it tried to deter you. You dodged easily, adrenaline pumping through your veins as your eyes locked on Reiner. He was vulnerable—injured and barely conscious. This was the moment to end it.

You landed on the rooftop ahead of their path, cutting off their escape. The Cart Titan hissed at you, its claws scraping against the rooftop as it crouched low in a menacing stance.

“Get out of my fucking way,” you snarled, your voice dripping with fury as you glared at the grotesque beast. “I’m ending this!”

Reiner’s human form stumbled toward you, his face contorted in pain and frustration.

“You never give up, do you?” he rasped, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

You didn’t respond. Words were meaningless now. Your blades were too worn from the battle to be of use, so you engaged him with your fists.

The fight was brutal and raw. Reiner was strong, but you were faster, ducking under his strikes and delivering precise blows that sent him reeling. For a moment, you had the upper hand, driving him to his knees.

But then his hand found a blade lying amidst the debris. With a sudden burst of strength, he swung it toward you. You dodged, but the move left you open. He tackled you to the ground, using his weight to pin you.

Pain exploded through your side as the blade plunged into you, the sharp steel biting deep. You gasped, blood spilling from the wound as Reiner shoved you toward the edge of the rooftop.

“Die already,” he muttered, pushing you over.

The world spun as you fell, your vision blurring from the blood loss and the sheer drop beneath you. Just as you thought the end had come, strong arms caught you, jerking you upward.

“Y/N!” Jean’s voice was desperate as he held you tightly, his ODM gear anchoring you both to a nearby rooftop.

He landed carefully and laid you down, his face pale as he took in your wound. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” he muttered, as if saying it enough times would make it true.

Your strength was fading fast, but you managed a faint smile. “Thanks… Jean.”

“Don’t talk. Just—just hang on,” he said, his hands trembling as he tried to stop the bleeding. He brushed your hair from your face, his touch gentle despite his panic.

Far below, Levi arrived in time to see you collapse. His chest tightened as he saw Jean holding you, his hands on your face and your blood staining his uniform. A dark storm of emotions churned within him—worry, fear, and something far more bitter.

Without hesitation, Levi shot toward you, his movements fueled by pure adrenaline.

Levi landed beside you, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. “Move,” he barked, his voice sharp and commanding.

Jean hesitated, his hands still on you. “She’s hurt bad—”

“I said, move,” Levi growled, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Jean reluctantly shifted back but stayed close, his expression tense as Levi crouched beside you. Levi’s hands were steady as he pulled out his medical kit, cutting open your uniform to access the wound.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low but trembling slightly. “What the hell were you thinking, taking on Reiner alone?”

You tried to respond, but the pain was too overwhelming.

“Don’t talk,” Levi said firmly, his tone softening. “Just stay awake. Look at me.”

Jean knelt behind you, holding your shoulders to keep you still while Levi stitched the wound. You winced, the pain sharp and biting, but Levi’s steady presence grounded you.

“You’re going to be fine,” Levi said, though his jaw was clenched tight. “But you need to stop closing your damn eyes. Focus on my voice.”

Jean glanced at Levi, his worry plain on his face. “She’s losing too much blood—”

“I know,” Levi snapped, his irritation masking the fear gnawing at him. He worked quickly, his hands deft as he sealed the wound.

Once Levi finished stitching you up, he gently lifted you into his arms. Jean followed closely as they made their way to the top of the wall, where the wounded were being treated.

When they reached the top, Jean sat down with you cradled in his lap, refusing to let go. Levi crouched beside you, his face carefully blank as he cleaned your wound again, his sharp eyes watching for any signs of infection.

“You’re tougher than you look,” Levi murmured, his voice so low you barely heard him.

When the treatment was done, Levi placed his hands on Jean’s shoulder. “Let me take her,” he said, his tone more a command than a request.

Jean hesitated, his grip tightening on you. “She’s fine here—”

“Give her to me,” Levi interrupted, his voice cold.

Jean finally relented, though his jaw tightened as he watched Levi carefully shift your head into his lap. Levi brushed your hair back, his touch uncharacteristically gentle as he watched your pale face.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

He kept you in his lap for a long while, his fingers absently stroking your hair as the others worked around them. Only when Sasha was brought nearby did Levi reluctantly lay you down beside her, his hand lingering on your shoulder before he stepped away.

When you finally opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was Jean leaning over you, his face lighting up with relief.

“You’re awake!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly. “Thank god. I thought…” He shook his head, his expression softening.

You tried to sit up, but he gently pressed you back down. “Don’t move. You need to rest.”

As you processed his words, you noticed the others nearby. Hange stood a little apart, their sharp eyes darting between you and Levi, who stood silently a few feet away. Sasha and Connie waved weakly from their spots, their smiles a welcome comfort.

Jean hesitated, then blurted out, “You know, back in Trost… I kissed you. After that mission. Do you remember?”

Silence fell over the group like a hammer.

Your cheeks flushed. “Jean…” you began, but his earnest gaze stopped you.

“I thought I was going to lose you then. And now… I can’t stop thinking about it,” he admitted, his voice soft but unwavering.

Levi’s expression shifted—subtle, but telling. His jaw clenched, and his steel-gray eyes darkened, flicking from Jean to you. The muscle in his cheek twitched, his emotions a storm just beneath the surface.

“It was just a thank-you,” you said quickly, your voice steady but your heart racing. “Jean, you’re a good friend. But that’s all.”

Jean’s face fell slightly, but he forced a smile. “Yeah. Sure.”

Hange smirked knowingly, their gaze flicking to Levi, who looked away sharply, his fists clenched at his sides. The tension was palpable as the others began to disperse, Sasha and Connie throwing sympathetic glances at Jean as they left to rest.

Hours later, the quiet night blanketed the wall. Most of the squad had fallen asleep, their exhaustion overtaking the remnants of tension. You were awake, sitting quietly against the cool stone, your wound freshly bandaged and throbbing dully.

Levi approached from the shadows, his movements silent as always. He stopped a few feet away, his eyes scanning your face with a rare vulnerability.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low and even.

You shook your head. “Not with everything that happened today.”

He sat down beside you, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the day hanging heavily between you.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Back there, when Jean said that…” He hesitated, something unusual for him. “It pissed me off.”

You blinked, startled by his admission. “Levi…”

He turned to you, his gray eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I’ve seen too many people die, Y/N. Too many people I cared about.” His voice softened, the hard edges smoothing slightly. “I didn’t think I had room for this anymore. For you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your throat tightening as his words sank in.

“But when I saw you fall,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, “I realized I couldn’t lose you. Not like this.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You were too stunned, too overwhelmed by the depth of his confession.

Levi’s hand reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against yours. “I’m not good at this,” he muttered, his cheeks faintly pink despite the night’s shadows. “But I’m not letting you slip away. Not now. Not ever.”

This time, you found your voice. “Levi…” you said, your own voice trembling, “I’ve felt the same. For so long.”

He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. When you didn’t, his lips met yours, firm and warm, yet achingly gentle. The world seemed to still, the horrors of the day fading into the background.

When he pulled back, his eyes softened, a small, rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good,” he said simply, his voice laced with relief.

You rested your forehead against his, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. Despite the war, despite the loss, you had found something worth holding onto. And you knew Levi felt the same.

[targaryen-dynasty]

TO STOKE A FLAME.

Aemond Targaryen x servant!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; p in v, oral (m receiving), power imbalance (prince and maid), mutual pining, female Reader

WORDS: 4K

NOTES: this is written for the writing challenge hosted by @targaryenvampireslayer I got the prompt "Just relax for me, I'll make it feel good" and the trope mutual pining. This was my first time writing mutual pining, and I hope it's at least slightly fitting lol.

When you’re first assigned to cleaning the chambers of the King’s second son, your heart leaps for it means you are able to escape the tortures of being a scullery maid for a position that is at least a bit higher ranked, and not as ungrateful and strainful. 

Prince Aemond is an early riser, already up long before first light, and whenever he sets off to train with the sword in the morning, it’s time for you to take care of his quarters. 

There’s another maid that has been offered the same opportunity, only that she is in charge of making the chambers Prince Aegon presentable, and from what you have gathered, you wouldn’t want to trade places with her. 

Aemond’s chambers are always immaculate when you step into them. Everything is in its place, and the air is always filled with the cool morning breeze from the windows he’s kept open. Quite different to the quarters of his older brother. 

But what they do have in common are their questionable reputations. 

While Aegon is promiscuous, known to pinch and fondle at any serving girl who strays within his reach, Aemond is somewhat feared, at least among the staff. Most servant girls keep well away from the prince, and a part of you is certain it is solely because of the black eyepatch he dons after losing his eye, and the grim expression he usually holds on his face. 

The other maid that tends to his chambers with you is overly cautious when dusting or putting fresh linens on his bed, something that even makes you swallow thickly. However, you can’t seem to bring yourself to share their sentiment. 

How could you?

Despite only meeting the prince very briefly, you feel like every day that you sweep through his chambers, you get to know him more and more. If there’s bedlam following in Aemond’s wake when he leaves in the morning, it merely consists of several books scattered all over his desk, his armchairs and sometimes even his bed. 

Most of them deal with dragon lore, history, and a variety of other subjects which you wouldn’t expect to be read by any other lord, making clear that the prince is very well educated, and always strives to learn more. 

And though he keeps his chambers mostly spotless, there’s very much of his personality in them – if you read between the lines. 

More oft than not, the armchairs close to the fireplace don’t stand in their usual positions, turned to the side to face each other with one of them being piled by books or scrolls. And you know from the servants that he’s often found sitting beside the fireplace either in deep thought or engrossed in a book with the flames of the fire dancing in the corner of his eye. 

You’re cleaning his quarters all by yourself today for Darla, the other maid assigned, has been called to take care of something else, which means you’re granted slightly more time for Aemond’s chambers. 

Kneeling in front of the fireplace, you’re knocking off as much ash and debris as possible back into it, before some of it is swept up and emptied into the pail standing next to you. 

You’ve been a bit too engrossed in your task when the doors behind you burst open, catching you by surprise and startling you. There’s only one person that could and would enter the prince’s quarters at this hour of the day – the prince himself. 

As you hurry to get back on your feet, already straightening and dusting off the skirt of your maid attire, you’re a bit too quick and hit your head on the ledge of the fireplace, your mob cap falling to the ground in the process. 

It’s a stinging pain that shoots right through your whole body, and a throbbing that settles at the crown of your head. You bring a hand up to soothe the pain at least a bit, before you’re reminded of the reason why you got up in the first place. 

Gritting your teeth, you take in a sharp breath and lower your hand, bobbing a small curtsy with a strained ‘Prince Aemond’ leaving your lips to the man that stands still in the room, clearly regarding you.

“My apologies, I–” you say, trying to make excuses and wanting to state that you’re just about to leave, but he cuts you off. 

“Are you well?” he asks, though there is a lilt of amusement in his voice. “I apologize for startling you, that was not my intent.”

What’s even more unusual than him apologizing to you, a servant, for barging into his own chambers is that he's inquiring about your well-being. You’ve never before been acknowledged by any of the Targaryen’s, not that you expected it, and feeling his gaze on you kind of makes you nervous. 

He raises his brow when there doesn’t come an answer from you, and you take it as your cue to speak. “I–Yes, Prince Aemond,” you stutter, bowing your head. Raising it again, your hand brushes the crown of it briefly, the spot still throbbing despite it happening a few moments ago. “I am well. It’s–It’s nothing, my prince.” 

Gathering your things, you’re caught off guard for a second time since he’s entered his chambers as he slowly approaches you. He has a sympathetic smile on his lips now, and you’re not sure if it’s the embarrassment or him coming close enough to tower above you, but your body feels like it’s been put on fire. 

“Are you certain you’re well?” he asks, eye flitting from your head to meet your eyes. “You’ve struck your head rather hard.”

He reaches to inspect the spot on your head, yet he hesitates and pulls back right before his fingers could brush your hair. You’re slightly disappointed, but your pounding heart is grateful. Just the mere proximity brings a blush to your cheeks and has you shifting your weight from one leg to the other, and you’re certain you wouldn’t have been able to handle him touching you. 

There’s a moment of silence between you, and your hands clutch the handle of the pail tight enough for your knuckles to blanch from the force. It’s unnerving, and you’re torn between wanting to stay and wanting to leave. You’re afraid he’s not the man you’ve made up in your mind, that there’s just a hint of truth in the rumors that make their way around staff and court. 

His voice cuts through the silence like a sharp blade, smooth and somewhat calming. “What’s your name?”

Taking in a deep breath, you tell him your name, but not without your eyes darting to the ground. His gaze is heavy, too heavy for you to meet it, and you feel as though there’s something else than curiosity woven within it.

“You’re quite flustered over nothing,” he hums, and the way your name slips past his lips with so much ease almost makes you melt right then and there; at least it’s enough to make you forget that he’s clearly noticed the effect he has on you. 

Aemond takes note of you being nervous around him, his attention causing your blood to rush through your veins. It seems as though it’s a rather strong reaction that you have to him, something not many women feel when he comes near them. It’s endearing.

Your eyes flicker upwards to meet his good one again, and you straighten your back for another curtsy. 

“M-my apologies, Prince Aemond.”

You can spot the exact moment the corners of his lips curl into a teasing smirk, your timid demeanor and your nervousness the trigger for it. And being as cocky as he is, he thinks he could have a bit of fun with you. 

“It seems you’re rather out of sorts for something so trivial,” he notes, his tone teasing and playful, matching the flicker of mischief in his eye. “Perhaps I should inspect you myself to see if you have in fact sustained any injuries.”

His words make you feel as if the world around you is slowing down, making everything feel almost unbearable. You’re finding it incredibly hard to look him in the eye without blushing or your breath becoming heavy, and therefore fix them on the ground again. Noticing his large feet in comparison to your much smaller ones, your thoughts briefly stray to what else of him might be large. 

But before you can answer him, or your thoughts can dive deeper, Aemond places a hand beneath your chin and gently tilts your face back up for you to meet his gaze. You’ve only seen one other in passing, and even then you’re certain he’s paid no mind to you at all, so his touch comes unexpected. But you don’t tense, and you certainly don’t pull away. However, you’re unsure if you should give in and lean into it. 

His finger brushes along your jawline, trailing down the curve of your neck, and coming close to your collarbone, a heat following in its wake. He stops for a second, as if he’s debating whether or not he should move his touch any further. 

Aemond’s surprised by your reaction, yet he also realizes that you’re much more interesting than any of the other maids for they were all alike – all not daring to look at him or stay in his presence for longer than a few minutes. But you’re different. 

He could already tell by the way you so neatly clean and store his books when he’s spent his night reading by the fire, or how you seem to pay extra attention when you’re putting fresh linens on his bed, fluffing his pillows without the hurry the previous chambermaid has had. 

And seeing his touch having such a significant impact on you, the little maid he’s spent so much time dreaming and fantasizing about, feeds a desire he didn’t have before – the desire to bed you, to claim you. 

“Get on your knees,” he orders, hooded eye looking down at you. 

Swallowing thickly, your mind struggles to comprehend what he asked of you. “I-what?” you stammer in disbelief. 

“You heard me. On your knees.” He’s a bit firmer now, and uses the slight grip he has on your shoulder to give you a little help sinking down. You follow his lead, the pail rattling onto the ground. 

Your hands are folded in your lap when you gaze up at him, eyes wide and curiously studying his next move. With your thumbs brushing over each other, you try to keep your fluttering nerves at bay, grazing your skin to distract yourself from the throbbing that blossoms between your legs. 

Aemond looms over you, reaching out to cup your cheek with one hand. There’s something in the position you’re in, and the combination of his gentle touch and stern orders that gets to your head, and lures you in to lean into his hand. It also makes you a bit bolder as you place a hand on his thigh in return.

It piques his interest, obvious in the way he raises a brow, and his eye flickers to where your hand rests on his body. But he doesn’t shy away from the touch. 

“Do you know what I require of you?” Aemond asks, sterner than before. 

You bow your head, batting your eyelashes at him in an innocent manner. “I do, my Prince.”

That’s all he has to hear before he swiftly unlaces the front of his breeches and tugs them down barely enough to free his cock and stones, the sight alone making your breath hitch in your throat. He’s well endowed, and far bigger than the cock of the one man you’ve slept with before.

You release a shaky breath, replaying all the knowledge you’ve gathered about pleasuring a man with your mouth, and catch a whiff of musk mixed with the salty smell of sweat – he’s definitely trained with the sword this morning. 

Squeezing his thigh, your eyes flicker between his and his hard cock as the slight nod of his head encourages you to curl your hand around it, your thumb and index finger barely touching. 

He throbs in your palm already, and the tip is covered in a red that makes it clear he’s desperate to be buried inside of something; probably not caring whether it’s your mouth or your cunt.

Even though you cower beneath his dominating presence, a jolt of boldness strikes you that makes you lean in and lick a flat stripe from the base of his cock up to the bulbous tip. A salty taste lingers on your tongue as you drag it over the slit, making you hum appreciatively, seemingly pleased to witness the effect your touch and presence have on the prince’s body. 

Aemond buries his hands in your hair, loosening the bun you’ve put it into this morning, and grabs a fistful of it. It’s a sharp tug of him that catches your attention, and your wide eyes flit up to meet his demanding gaze. 

Spurred on by the heavy breaths moving his chest, you swallow, and eventually part your lips to slowly ease him inside, and even though he holds you by your hair, he’s generous enough to not force himself inside, allowing you to move as you please. 

“Fuck,” he growls as he gets accustomed to the warmth and tightness of your mouth, head tipping back to release a bawdy groan. 

You hollow your cheeks around him, and, after a few moments that allow you to adjust to him, start to bob your head back and forth his thick length, flattening your tongue against him for added stimulation. 

Growing bolder and bolder with each passing moment, you squeeze your thighs together every time the tip of his cock brushes the back of your throat, robbing you of the ability to breathe until you pull off of him again. 

With his hand in your hair, Aemond senses you getting more comfortable, and starts to guide your head along his member, encouraging you to set up a quicker pace to which you eagerly comply. 

“That’s it,” he groans, not able to tear his eye from the sight of your lips wrapped around him as his cock repeatedly disappears inside of your mouth.

Droplets of your saliva dribble from the corners of your lips down your chin with how fast you sink down on him, and the lewd sounds of his soaked cock sliding back and forth past your lips fill the prince’s chambers, hardly drowned out by his grunts and groans. 

At this point, you’re drenched in your arousal, the linen of your small clothes clinging to your swollen mound in a way that’s almost uncomfortable. 

While you bring one hand up to clasp around the rest of his cock that doesn’t fit into your mouth, the other grips his thigh a bit harder than before, holding onto him for dear life as he uses your face however he pleases. 

You feel the muscles of his thigh tense and contract under your palm and his cock throb inside of you, indicating that he’s close to reaching his peak. It’s the first time you pleasure a man with your mouth, and you’re not quite sure what to expect. But before you can brace yourself for whatever might come, Aemond pulls you off of him by your hair, prompting you to topple back to sit on your haunches. 

You lock your teary eyes with his good one, lips smacking as his musky and salty taste spreads on them and your tongue. “My Prince, I–”

“Remove your clothes,” he interrupts you, his voice less friendly and more a command. 

There are so many thoughts rattling your mind right now, and you don’t know where to start and what to process. 

“I wasn’t asking,” he growls, his impatience showing as you don’t comply quickly enough. 

With a bow of your head, you rise to your feet and peel the beige-ish apron off of your body, the red dress and smallclothes following suit. You waste no thought on your modesty, on the fact that you’re standing bare in front of a prince of the mighty House Targaryen. The longing for him that has built with all the days you’ve cleaned his pristine chambers, and the undeniable aching between your legs don’t allow you to. 

You’re undressed when he stalks around you, regarding you like he’s the hunter and you’re his prey. You see that your obedience arouses him, his hard cock throbbing and bouncing with each step he takes around you. It’s thrilling in the best way possible, and the feeling of being desired by him feeds your confidence.

“Are you just watching, or will the prince undress as well?” 

His eye narrows and flickers up to yours at your question, and there’s the hint of a smile adorning his features. “Would you like that?” 

Biting your bottom lip, a blush creeps on your cheeks. “Very much.”

As you size him up, you notice a flush blossoming from his cheeks down his neck, the same warmth you feel obviously spreading through his body, too. 

“Then I suppose that I’ll oblige.”

You watch with half-lidded eyes as he removes his clothing, slipping out of layer after layer, starting with the black leather robe, and ending with his smallclothes.  

You all but drag your eyes over his lithe frame, taking in every muscle that ripples beneath his pale skin, and every silver, coarse hair that trails from below his navel to his cock and the sac of his stones. 

It seems like he basks in your attention, in the way you stare at him in awe as you lick your lips, and he’s certainly not afraid of showing himself in his full glory. 

“Get on the bed,” he says, smugly. “On your hands and knees.”

This time you know better than to take a few seconds to comply, bowing your head before climbing his bed right away, getting in the desired position. You suddenly feel vulnerable and exposed, completely at his mercy in a way you’ve never experienced before. However, your curiosity and desire overshadow any reservations you could have. 

“Pray tell, have you lain with a man before?” You feel the mattress dip beneath his weight as he slowly settles behind you. His hands find your hips, and you shiver with anticipation. 

Looking at him from over your shoulder, you nod. “Just once, my prince.”

A soft hm rubles in his chest at your words, and he raises an eyebrow, intrigued by your words. You certainly seem to take him very seriously, which isn’t unusual given his station, but it’s your honesty that’s a whole different matter to him. “You enjoyed it, I presume?”

Still meeting his gaze, you swallow thickly. You’re hesitant to answer, not sure why it’s of importance, but he doesn’t seem willing to let you off the hook just yet. “Yes, I did.”

Aemond gives your flesh an appreciative squeeze at that, and shuffles close enough for you to feel his cock press against your arse. “Would you be willing to again?”

You press your lips into a thin line to stop them from pulling into a grin, but fail miserably. The prince behind you takes that as his cue to continue, and you’re most grateful when you feel him drag the tip of his cock through your soaked folds. 

“Just relax for me,” he purrs, his eye fixed on the motions of his hand, watching as his cock disappears inside of you. “I’ll make it feel good.”

The moment you stretch around him, you take in a sharp breath, his cock breaching your cunt at a teasingly slow pace that makes sure you feel every vein and ridge of him drag along your walls.

With his hands coming back to rest on your hips, he pulls you onto his cock until his hips press against your arse, taking his time to adjust to your tightness. The ‘shit’ he mumbles doesn’t go unnoticed by you, a renewed wave of your arousal drenching his cock and the sac of his stones. 

If his impatience hasn’t been running thin before, it certainly does now, because the first gentle, sensual thrusts are quickly replaced by merciless pounding. You don’t mind it for you’ve been thoroughly soaked, and enjoy the feeling of his cock repeatedly brushing the spot inside of you that makes your vision go blurry. 

Aemond brings a hand between your shoulders, applying a good bit of pressure to press your chest down and your face into the pillows. Your head turns to the side, but you’re not able to look at him.

His breathing is heavy, strained pants leaving him, and his hand trails back to grope your arse. 

“Fuck, what an obedient girl they’ve ordered to take care of my chambers–of me,” Aemond rambles behind you, bowing forwards to put a bit more of his weight on your small frame. “Taking me so well. Giving me exactly what I want.” 

The praise goes straight to your head, and you want to answer, but the words die on your tongue, replaced by quiet whimpers and whines that grow wanton as he splits you open with a hard, percussive thrust. Then another follows, and another, keening at the sweet sounds you make only for him. 

Not able to focus on anything else than the pressure building inside of your belly, you push your hips back against him, and he counters by pulling you back with each of his thrusts, meeting him halfways which results in the lewd sounds of skin slapping on skin to echo off the walls. 

He’s making you feel so good, so wanted, that you’re certain you would keep going even if someone is to barge into his chambers, interrupting you.

As his hand snakes beneath your body to make contact with your pearl, you’re overcome with the true knowledge of how experienced Aemond actually is. He strums your body like the most talented lutenist, bringing you closer towards your sweet release. 

“Gods, I–” you whine into the pillows. 

The taut string inside of you snaps, and the pleasure within you soares through your veins. White, hot pleasure clouds your vision, his arm around you the only thing keeping you up right now. 

“That’s it,” Aemond grunts, and the snaps of his hips increase to the point your whines become hiccuped, catching in your throat with little to no time to fill your lungs with air. 

And then, his hips stutter, his throbbing cock spending itself deep inside of your quivering walls. He twitches and trembles so much that he’s forced to still his hips, and you take it as your cue to roll yours against him, helping him through his peak. 

The throbbing only stills once you’ve milked him for every drop of his seed and the last bit of the euphoric high subsides, making him come back to his senses. 

But there’s not much basking in the proximity for you, not when Aemond pulls out almost immediately after, climbing off the bed to get dressed again. The red dress is crudely thrown into your direction, silently making clear that it’s time for you to leave. 

It seems as though he’s embarrassed, because he has a hard time meeting your eyes, and doesn’t look at you when you get back in your clothes. But perhaps you’re just not catching the subtle glances he throws into your direction as your maid attire comes back to hug your curves. 

Tying the apron and fixing your hair, you reach for the pail. It’s then, with you bowing forwards, that you finally feel his seed trickling out of your cunt, and the sensation alone makes you shiver in an uncomfortable way. You certainly have to look for a quiet spot in the keep where you can clean yourself, since you’re not done working. 

You head for the door, but before you open it, his smooth voice catches your attention again. 

“You may leave now, but I expect you to come back and finish your task at the Hour of the Ghosts, for you have not cleaned the fireplace thoroughly enough.”

Taglist: @heimtathurs @croatianprincess @nina2697 @malfoytargaryen @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @kyuupidwrites @boofy1998 @thekinslayersswordhand @sagelovesreading @jiminie-08 @doublesparrows @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @recorddust @tsujifreya @melsunshine @drwstarkeyy @kazuyatokue @moonlightfoxx @bbgmonsay @thatmysteriousblog @ashovertheriver @black-dread @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1 @lovelykhaleesiii @hypocritic-trash-baby @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowystark @connorsui @valeskafics

[aquamarinebling]

I enjoy the idea of the party carrying Siffrin’s ashes in different ways. how they would treasure him in their own methods, in this scenario fulfilling his wish of “carry my ashes with you” in a post-canon context.

mirabelle im not certain on, but i imagine she frets on what to do with them for a long time. she doesn’t want to upset their ghost- even if she doesn’t exactly believe in spirits that way and it’s a lot of her anxiety going “but what if you’re wrong, what if you’re upsetting them and they could never tell you? what if you pick wrong, and the memory of him is insulted without you meaning to?”.

perhaps isabeau considered, briefly, putting the ashes into an earring, but the idea feels too far intimate to do to someone that he never told his feelings to. even if siffrin did clearly have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter since isabeau never actually heard it. instead maybe he settles on a necklace, so he can still keep siffrin near his heart.

odile is functional with it. something small and easy to carry, something she won’t lose and can keep close. I think she considers turning them into a gem at some point after being annoyed with the stress of losing or accidentally scattering the ashes, and the thought brings her a wave of guilt. what right does she have to alter his wishes, just because he’s gone? it’s a conundrum for her, not knowing more about what they would have wanted, and having no way to learn more.

bonnie doesn’t want to lose siffrin, so they keep them at home in an urn where they can see them (set up by a window, because someone mentioned siffrin liked the night sky, and “maybe siffrin will wanna look outside sometimes”.) something about them saying hi to it each morning, perhaps working with petronille to put a shrine together (it takes ages to get it right), and sitting by it on a bad day, or ignoring the little section of their home dedicated to him when they’re mad at him (for dying, for sacrificing themself, for losing their eye, etc).

[zanazirafanfic]

What Charles Would Do To Micah

I sent @noshirdalal the following question on Cameo: "Since Charles was denied the chance to flatten Micah's face in the Epilogue, I would love to see him roast the hell out of the rat. Be as mean as you would like. (All in good fun, Micah is my favorite villain and I love Peter too.) Happy holidays!"

This was his response (transcript below the video.) Y'ALL. I was not ready for how amazing this was. Rather than roast Micah, he opted to burn him to a crisp and scatter the ashes. Very cathartic. It is very, very lucky for Micah that Charles wasn't up there on the summit beside John, because neither Micah nor Dutch would've even been able to open their mouths before it was just over.

PERFECT. Poignant. Believable as hell. As much as Charles cautions John against seeking vengeance on Micah, I don't think he'd reserve any of that same caution for himself. I think, like Sadie and Arthur, he considers himself more ghost than man. In another universe (where John didn't have to make a decision that would lead the Pinkertons to kidnap his family in RDR1) I can definitely see Charles and/or Sadie striking out on their own to take down Micah. John had more to lose, and Charles wouldn't (and didn't) want him risking himself when Arthur's dying wish had been to keep John and his family safe.

Thank you as always, Noshir. Your takes on these questions always exceed anything I'd imagined!

Transcript:

Zana, hey. You always ask interesting questions. "Since Charles never got to beat the crap out of Micah in the Epilogue, how would he roast him?"

I'll always be honest with you guys, so I think, uh... I'll just be as honest as I can be. If at any point in the Epilogue Charles encountered Micah, there would be no roast. There'd be no jokes, there'd be no games. He killed my best friend, and broke apart the only family I've ever had. And maybe that would've happened with or without his push, but he was definitely a big part of it.

I would hunt him. If he tried to go to ground, I would give him no ground to go to. If you're a friend of Micah's and you come to his aid, you are a dead man. If you have family, then at some point you walk off into the woods and disappear and your family never sees you again. But if you're a snake like Micah, well then the... The local sawbones probably rates that they died of fright, or from asphyxiation from the rat feces shoved in their mouths.

It would become known that Micah is hexed, that anyone near him for any period of time comes to a horrible end. And I would keep this up for a long time, until he has absolutely no one. And I would slowly guide him away from civilization and into the wilds.

I would liberate his horse, and then from there on in, he would never get a peaceful night's rest. His fires would always go out in the middle of the night. His food would spoil. He'd hear people at the edge of the campfire but find no one. And I would keep that up until he really started to break.

And then, I'd make myself known, carrying nothing but my bow, arrows, and my hatchet, and we'd play a game of cat and mouse, until he expends all his ammo. And then I would close on him, subdue him, but try not to hurt him. And I would take an arrow and push it between his ribs, and puncture his lung. 

And then I would let him go. And I'd give him bullets. I want him to run, and gasp, and drown on dry land, like my friend. And then I'd watch him waste his rounds trying to keep the wolves away, and let them tear him to pieces. And I'd let him see me watch.

That's what I would do to Micah Bell.

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Sympathy for Breakfast

(Part 1)

—

Time Written - 9:03 p.m

(Completely unrelated photo it’s just funny to me, also just a silly part 2 for no reason. SFW silly, he stands like this for a majority of this Drabble)

—

The early rays of morning sun sent an irritating glare of bright light through his mask when he feels a faint rumble, making him instinctively reach for his phone.

You coming home soon?

I have a surprise :)

Love you <3

Jason smiles at the screen, feeling glad that his girl woke up on the good side of the bed. However, he checked the time, slowly growing concerned as to why you were up so early.

The diner the both of you adored on weekends and midnights wasn’t even open yet.

A handful of thoughts course through his tired brain. Some of them concerning, some of them far from appropriate.

“Good morning, Mister Hood.” You smile from your position on the ground as he shuffled himself through the front door, carrying double bagged to-go boxes in hand.

The only comfort he had at this moment, besides the fragrant hot coffee inside the machine pot, was seeing your smiling, well rested expression. Your hair was styled to keep out of your way as your main focus, the ‘surprise’, was the project the two of you had been putting off on for a while.

“Babe, what’re you doing?”

You sat criss cross on the living room floor in front of an ash gray, large convertible crib, newly put together by yourself alone.

“Built the crib! Isn’t it pretty?” You extend your hands out towards the sight, the crib equipped with every detail perfectly in place. All you had to do left was add in the bedding onto the new mattress for your son, and it’s fully finished.

A very special bed for a very special boy, already loved before he’s even born.

“The box weighed a ton.” Was Jason’s first statement as he eyed the empty box and scattered foam borders. He sets his helmet and breakfast on the dining room table, approaching the messy living room.

“It wasn’t heavy,” you quickly state, gesturing your head over towards the corner of the living room, where the box had sat behind the couch for a good three months.

“It was super easy too! What do you think?” You immediately ask, not liking how he was too concerned for everything but the surprise.

Their was a cute, eager glimmer in your eyes as you stared up at him, like a little girl showing off her extravagant art piece. Right there, he understood why you had lately become quite OCD with all the baby’s essentials.

Sorting out all the supplies, washing all the clothes, ordering a new baby blanket set because it didn’t arrive in the shade of teal blue you wanted.

Nesting. You were nesting.

Cute.

“It’s nice,” Jason says, tilting his head as he examines the large crib. How the hell his eight month pregnant sweetheart built this heavy crib all on your own was a full body shiver he tried very, very hard to refrain expressing.

“Yeah, very nice. How’s it, uh… how’s it gonna fit through the door?”

“What?” Your smile slowly drops. “Huh?”

“I mean, it’s pretty wide?” Jason peeks over towards their semi open bedroom door. “I don’t think the crib will fit through…”

You go quiet, looking over at the crib you were proud of merely seconds ago.

“Huh??”

You express once more, noticing this large, extravagantly built crib, with bottom drawers prepared to pack in freshly washed baby clothes, would be a little too wide to push through the bedroom door. Especially with the bed in the way.

“But this took … this took forever!” Your voice held that tremble that Jason suspected would come, making him playfully pout.

“Awww, Princess.” He tried so hard to hold back a smile or laugh, quickly failing behind his gloved palm.

“Don’t laugh!” You yell up at him. “I was so proud of myself! This was the one time we buy something from IKEA, and I didn’t have to second guess the instructions a hundred times! Now you’re saying it won’t fit through the door!”

Cause it won’t. Jason wasn’t cruel enough to voice it, simply gazing down at his love, who hid her face from his view, still perched in the center of empty screw bags, power tools, and ever so finicky foam beads.

As tired as he was from patrol, this topped the cake of interesting things to happen yet.

He wasn’t delighted to see you cry aggravated tears from this daunting realization you completely missed, but the outcome of your hard work at such an early hour… only to be stumped, it’s funny. Jason can’t help that.

His shoulders bounced with his light laughter, settling down in front of his woman, who had exhausted hands covering that pretty face from him.

“S’okay Princess. Crib looks gorgeous, an’ you still possess all fingers and toes. Proud of you, but no more heavy lifting. Alright?”

His soft praise and gentle warning fell on acknowledging ears, but responded to with shameful silence. Jason couldn’t help that you were a little impatient with exciting tasks, he wouldn’t ask you to change that.

It’s like asking him to stop his horrible, eye rolling humor. Or twisted, cruelly timed jokes. It’s impossible.

He softly shushes you, kissing the top of your forehead. His eyes glance back to the crib, overall impressed at how you put it all together so well by yourself.

At the start of living in your own apartment, the both of you took many IKEA dates. Each night ended up in some form of aggravated frustration over a piece of furniture placed wrong, or the irritation of an extra screw from a missing slot once the entire piece was already finished.

“You take your vitamins?” Jason prompts, watching your head slowly shake no, still sniffling behind your hands.

You were too fixated on building the crib and getting everything together, you forgot the key component of a successful pregnancy; to worry about your own health. The biggest of priorities.

Yep. Nesting.

“We’ll eat, take your vitamins, an’ have our food comas. No worries ���bout the crib mama, I’ll take care of it.”

Jason’s soothing voice was almost enough to settle your nerves, or the mention of food actually.

“Did you go to Benny’s?”

“Mhm. Got your favorite.”

“Can you help me up?” You reluctantly ask, giving him those pink flushed puppy eyes that he couldn’t go against.

“Whatever the lady wants.”

Tired muscles slip underneath your arms, cradling your sides as he helps you up off the ground. Your swollen belly nudges against his abdomen, making his heart melt. He wondered if your manic rush of dopamine woke up his boy, softly smirking at the idea of you chastising your relentlessly kicking son whilst building his future bed.

“Baby boy missed you, by the way.” You say, as if you just read his mind.

God, kill him already. His twice beating heart can’t take much more of this.

“He just wants food,” Jason chides before stepping to the side, letting you slowly waddle to the kitchen.

“We’re all on the same boat, Papa.”

God, please scratch that last thought. He’s in heaven.

Jason’s exhaustion didn’t stop him from nudging you towards your seat, taking the empty mugs from your hands to fill them with Colombian roast.

He wasn’t just being courteous; he was making sure you didn’t have too much caffeine, diluting the majority of your cup with your preferred milk.

After taking those vitamins you needed, Jason finally allowed himself to sit down and rest, too lazy to pull off anything other than his tactical belt and leather jacket.

He watches the love of his life through hooded eyes open your plate, your expression brightening as if you didn’t just sob over the crib mishap. Something he most definitely wasn’t going to mention at a manor dinner about three years from now.

Fluffy blueberry pancakes, piled with fresh fruit and savory sausage on the side. Honey cinnamon butter, and extra syrup. All topped with chocolate chips.

Beside it, an egg white spinach, cheesy omelette. With vegan cheese, for some odd reason. Suddenly, you had as much distain to cheddar and mozzarella, possibly most dairy, as you did to egg yolks in your omelettes.

This was your breakfast, The only meal out of your three meals a day that wasn’t invaded by a strange concoction of spicy pickles or vinegar based hot sauce. Or any other horrible last minute choices.

Something tells Jason that he’s going to see cake eaten for breakfast after the birth for a good while. Not like he’s going to complain, honestly.

Whatever he can do to combat the birthing blues, but that’s a concern for the future.

“Babe.”

“Hm?” You glance up from your plate before you dug in, seeing that same gentle smirk he carried on his face for the past four minutes.

“I was kidding, by the way.” His smile slowly grew the quicker it sets in, expecting to get pummeled by fruit after this;

“The crib will fit through the door.”

[cbrownjc]

My Long IWTV Season 2 Prediction Post:

So this is a long post containing all my (more or less) final predictions for Season 2 of IWTV. Mostly so I can keep track of everything I've been predicting since Season 1 ended.

I'm breaking this all up between General Predictions and some specific Episode Predictions. And I'll put it all under a spoiler cut due to the length and just in case any of this is correct, which would mean massive spoilers. Because yes, many of these predictions are based on things found in many of the books in the VC, not just IWTV; as well as recent trailers and other press material.

General Predictions:

Louis will attempt to end his life like he did in the book Merrick by the end of the season, likely in EP08: This is something that I've been predicting since EP05 of Season 1 first aired. I think it is pretty much my oldest prediction wrt the show, and one I've never wavered from. Now it's time to see if this prediction is right or not.

Lestat is asleep in a coma somewhere in the Al Shafar Tower, and is the source of The Groan: I first made this prediction back before EP07 of S01 aired. I wasn't too confident about it being proven during Season 1, but I think now is the time. Maybe Lestat's in the penthouse. Maybe he's in the basement. Maybe he is on some floor in between, I don't know. But something like The Groan wasn't spoken about as just some throw-away line. There is a reason it was pointed out. And I think that is because Lestat is the source for the sound and makes it sometimes while he is in his post-Memnoch coma state. And what is going to finally wake him up will be Louis doing what I predicted above in my first prediction.

Armand and Daniel's relationship (ie their past romantic relationship) will be revealed in EP08: I've been predicting this more times than I can count during the hiatus. Simply because, as far as general/causal audiences go, revealing it in the finale always just seemed like the most impactful place to reveal it.

The missing pages of Claudia's diaries will reveal the information about her that we learned in the book Merrick, particularly regarding her feelings toward Louis: Via the link above I made a long meta post about that. I'll say more about it below, but in general, why Louis is going to do what he does by the end of EP08 will be because of what he reads/learns from Claudia's missing diary pages, just like as what happened with book!Louis in Merrick.

Louis will begin to awaken his Fire Gift abilities during the season: There is a quick shot in one of the preview trailers of what looks to be Louis setting one of his photographs on fire, but not with a match or candle or anything, but just by staring at it. I think when Louis first discovers he has the ability to light things on fire like that, he'll not be overly excited about it or anything, and only reluctantly test it out sometimes . . . until he unleashes it in full in the season finale against the theater coven.

--------

Episode Predictions (Spoilers):

Episode One (many people have already seen this episode at the premiere, but there is one thing I was already predicting about it before then that I want to say again):

-- Louis and Claudia will not arrive in Paris until either the end of the episode or the beginning of Episode Two.

-- This episode will be a set up to explain how revenants are created. That they are made if you try to turn a human but don't give them enough blood; OR if you don't scatter the ashes of a vampire that has been reduced to one. This will be done to set up both why Claudia's ashes had to be scattered AND the risks being made to bring Louis back either at the end of Season 2 or the beginning of Season 3.

---

Episode Two:

-- Not much to say really that most don't already know/suspect. Louis and Claudia arrive in Paris, and Armand and Louis first meet. Louis and Claudia meet the whole theater coven.

---

Episode Three:

-- Again, not much to say. Armand's full backstory will be told. This is also the main episode where we'll see Nicki and what his fate was. We will probably also get confirmation from Armand that the backstory that Lestat told Louis and Claudia about Magnus and how Lestat said he was turned was true.

credit: gif by @sheisraging

---

Episode Four:

-- Louis and Armand have sex for the first time (with Dreamstat in Louis' head giving commentary 🤪).

credit: gif by @sheisraging

-- The "banquet" scene, where Armand puts the coven members to sleep and Louis and Santiago have a confrontation (Louis looking like he's going to cut Santiago's tongue out.)

-- We will see the rift between Claudia and Louis continue to grow, as well as Claudia's distrust/dislike of Armand.

credit: gif by @sophsun1

---

Episode Five:

-- "Lestat, Lestat, Lestat, Lestat, Lestat, Lestat, Lestat, Lestat." 😂

credit: gif by @loo-nuh-tik

Yeah. We'll see this moment above in Episode 5. And Louis and Armand will basically deliver all their break-up dialogue from the end of the first book HERE, in Louis' shitty apartment in San Francisco; after Louis has attacked and almost killed Daniel.

This means that yes, Louis will confirm to Armand that he knows what Armand did to Claudia here. (With only heavy illusions made about what her ultimate fate has been.) And then Armand will give his "I thought you'd get over it" monologue.

And while Louis and Armand won't fully go their separate ways as they did in the book after all of this (because Armand will still feel he needs to look after Louis), we will very much understand that these two are not a happy couple at this point in time, and are full-on toxic in their own unique way.

credit: gif by @loo-nuh-tik

-- Along with the FULL 1973 interview, The Chase between Armand and Daniel will be shown almost in full. We'll see a lot of things about The Chase, but we will probably not see fully when, or how, it ended.

---

Episode Six:

-- "I betrayed Louis once in my life and it wasn't in San Francisco." Armand says this to Daniel in Dubai in this episode.

-- Madeleine gets turned in this episode.

-- Louis says goodbye/breaks up with Armand.

credit: gif by @hermit-frog

-- "The Last Supper."

credit: gif by @nalyra-dreaming

-- The episode will end with Louis, Claudia, and Madeleine all being taken by the Theater coven to be put on trial. Armand gives Louis a "Judas kiss" and leaves the three alone at the dinner table right before they are taken.

credit: gif by @ofinkandust

---

Episode Seven:

-- Okay so, back when the Jones Cut trailer first aired, I said that this moment was Rockstar Lestat:

credit: gif by @virginiaisforvampires

Well, I was wrong about that. Why? Well take a look at this:

credit: gif by @sheisraging

Do you see it? Behind Santiago, in the upper left. That is the same key prop on the railing as in the shot with Lestat on the right on the railing. If you squint, you can also kind of make out the musical notes on the railing to the left of the Lestat image on the railing on the right in the Santiago one.

The shot of Lestat isn't Rockstar Lestat, as I first thought it was. It is the real Lestat's first entrance into Season 2. And it's going to be at the trial, in Episode Seven.

-- And because Lestat is making his first entrance in the way I talked about above? This is 100% from Armand's POV with some of Louis' misremembered POV with it. Because Lestat was not in any condition to make THIS kind of entrance on his own.

-- The revisit of Mardi Gras Murder Night from EP07 of Season 1 will happen here, during the trial. And it will be revealed that Claudia alone slit Lestat's throat while Louis stood by passively, while Lestat begged Louis to put him in his coffin. (Matching up to what Claudia wrote, in Lestat's blood, what his last words were.) Giving the full context to this moment we only saw in a flash in EP07 of Season 1:

Which will then lead into . . .

-- The revisit of the Louis-Lestat fight from EP05 of Season 1 will be shown in this episode as well. (And will give viewers, particularly non-book readers, their first hints of Amel.) And because of what happened in that fight, specifically why that fight started in the first place, will tie into . . .

-- Claudia's diaries, which will be read at the trial. Out loud. By Santiago. And more specifically the missing pages, which we see Louis and Armand talk about in this preview, will contain some damning evidence that will all lead to . . .

credit: gif by @mundaneandmagicalcreature

-- Claudia will reveal right there, on stage, to Louis himself, how much she hates him and blames him more for her situation than she does Lestat. Because "It's never been about me." Lestat made her for Louis. If Louis hadn't wanted her, she would never have been turned.

-- This episode will end with Claudia's death. Louis will be rescued from his coffin prison by Armand, and the episode will end with Louis breaking down over her loss -- both in the past and in the present in Dubai now that he remembers everything about Claudia's true feelings towards him right before she died.

---

Episode Eight:

-- Louis goes all Carrie/Firestarter on the Theater coven (after warning Armand to stay away first), unleashing his full Fire Gift powers on them all.

credit: gif by @sam-reid

-- Louis grieving in the park -- the same park where he first met Armand -- in the rain after destroying the theater coven, comforted by Dreamstat. And then Armand arrives . . . because Armand is whom Louis was actually waiting for. Why? Because, as Louis said about it in the book --

Where to go then, if not to die? It was strange how the answer came to me.

credit: gif by @hermit-frog

-- Louis and Armand (and Dreamstat) go to the "Louver" for that moment from the book; which in the show has been replaced with someplace else since, post WWII, the Louver was apparently still closed at that time. It will be revealed that Louis knows of Armand's hand in Claudia's fate, shown via Dreamstat's reaction to everything Armand says about what happened.

-- And this will all now tie everything together into what will be alluded to about Claudia -- and Louis knowing Armand had a hand in it whatever it was -- in Episode 5 . . . and this now reveals why Louis and Armand's relationship has not been a happy one at all over the years, as we will see in Episode 5. And this will all be summed up by Louis probably saying this from the book directly to Armand:

"Yes, that is the crowning evil, that we can even go so far as to love each other, you and I. And who else would show us a particle of love, a particle of compassion or mercy? Who else, knowing us as we know each other, could do anything but destroy us? Yet we can love each other."

-- And the "Louver" scene will be the last scene we see Dreamstat in, as it will be here that Armand will tell Louis that Lestat died in the destruction of the theater. And Louis will believe him.

-- Armand, in the present in Dubai, will reveal the head thing he did to Claudia before she died.

-- Armand will reveal how he threw Lestat off Magnus' tower, even after Lestat was badly burned by Louis setting fire to the theater (but survived).

-- we will find out WHY Louis stopped feeding on humans in the year 2000. And it's probably not something anyone expects.

-- At some point in here it will be revealed that Lestat and Louis do reunite after Paris -- for real -- for a time, in the recent past. As seen by this hug:

credit: gif by @nalyra-dreaming

However, something happened that made Lestat unavailable/incapacitated again (some Memnoch-type event is my guess.) So Lestat is now in a coma and Louis, rather than be alone, chooses to stay with Armand for the same reason he did after losing Claudia in Paris.

-- In Dubai, Louis will try to end his life via sunlight exposure, as he did in the book Merrick (as I noted above). Because, along with finally remembering the truth about how Claudia really felt about him, Louis will also be under the impression that Lestat will never wake from his coma again.

-- The bookcase collapsing around Daniel is a consequence of Lestat waking up from his coma after he stops hearing Louis' heart beating. (I.E. a visual representation of Lestat "shattering the realm" as it is apparently explained in the book Prince Lestat about this moment when he woke up in Merrick.)

-- Armand saves Daniel from getting crushed by the bookcase, which will also come tumbling down after the books and glass do.

-- Somewhere in all of that, Daniel will have a flashback that reveals he and Armand were actually lovers in the past. Daniel will be stunned by the memory. Armand will just be surprised that Daniel finally remembered it.

-- Armand and Daniel won't have time to talk about it though because Armand fears/will realize that Louis has done something that caused the commotion to happen (and likely because he also notices The Groan has stopped).

-- Armand and Daniel find Louis' body, burnt to coal ash. Lestat is either already there with Louis' body or arrives very soon after they do.

-- Whether we see Lestat revive Louis (as he was revived in Merrick) at the end of the episode (with Armand's help) or if we are left on a cliffhanger about it? IDK.

--------

The predictions above are all the ones I feel most confident about right now. There are some others I have, but I'm not very confident about them, so I'm not listing them. I might mention them in individual posts after certain episodes air or not.

[dhampling]

sun astarion x reader drabble

Granted, only for a few hours; until morning at most - but there’s a genuine relief when your compatriots want to scatter across the town and leave you be. 

All except for him. 

-

wc: 600+

Blistering.

Eyes closed, toes outstretched - free from the confines of all leather and the tough of a sole long-battered - heels heavy in the fresh grass, the new soil. 

There’s a moment where all the air carries is far-off laughter and the smell of woodsmoke. 

You can’t say you’ve ever spent much time in Rivington - if any, at all. It’s charming in some lice-ridden rickety fashion, akin to other small towns you’ve travelled through in your time; and in prime position under the sun it simply bakes. Smoulders. Dirt paths trodden with clouds of pale puff, shoes laced with thick dry creases of dust. Warm ash on the waning breeze. 

The birds chirp in a dot-smatter overhead. Sky blue and vast and baking in the swell of the midday heat.

And it’s here you decide you’ll stay.

Granted, only for a few hours; until morning at most - but there’s a genuine relief when your compatriots want to scatter across the town and leave you be. 

All except for him. 

His first few tenday spells of day in two hundred years and he understandably basks in it. Pallid, occasionally wounded by the tender curse of long sun-reddened flesh for some small while before the skin heals over and his whinging stops. Forearm over forehead, eyes half-squinting; the gentle cant of his head toward yours on the lolling hill.

Astarion is quiet. It’s understandable. In a few long nights once reaching the Gate, he may have to relinquish his freedom once more. Give himself to the shadows, to the endless night; some awful routine of the moon rising as the stars sparkle overhead and the memory of every ounce of self-control leaving his corpse for the hunt. 

Granted, his centuries of plight will no longer be a problem. You’ll die if it ensures he’s free. Unspoken but he’s safe in the knowledge you won’t leave him behind. You won’t forget his struggle. You hold every ounce of his deliverance in safe hands and you’ve proven yourself time and time again to be in his corner.

“I’ll come with you, you know.”

A soft whispering into the sun; and you feel him shift to turn his head fully to you, still squinting; heat radiating from softened cheeks and lashes fluttering at the high of his cheek.

“Hm?”

“If you want me to. Whatever happens next.”

He offers some noncommittal hum and blinks slowly, wriggling a little to lay on his side with arms outstretched toward you.

“Come to me, lover. Please.”

You shuffle closer and rest a head on the hot skin of his inner arm, lips dipping to kiss your head.

“I mean it, Astarion.”

“I know. I do.”

A sleep-heavy sigh of contentment as he holds you still.  

“A house. Here. Thoughts?”

You wrinkle your nose.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“I can’t see you settling here.”

“I could definitely settle here, if I wanted to. Little house. Little... pets.” 

His fingers flutter on the peachy low of your cheek. You groan.

“You’ve got a lot of life to live. Rivington shouldn’t factor into that, love.”

“Oh, I know. I’m familiar. However, it has a certain charm by day that I’d never seen before now. Cobble all… warm, underfoot. It’s nice.”

You grin.

“You’re the pet. A fat housecat.”

“I’m not fat.”

“No, but if you keep feeding on me the way you are doing, then that will change.”

He taps you playfully then pauses, before softly nuzzling his face deeper into the warmth of your hair. 

“That or the wine, I suppose. I’m a creature of comfort.”

“You’re a creature. Full stop.”

-

[drenched-in-sunlight]

very opionated talk underneath the cut

this is what I get for keeping checking out the fandom tag, but oh well 😭

seeing the reasoning behind the “Marika and Godfrey would have been proud of Godrick for the grafting” take is so wild to me like… are we just going to ignore the fact that Nepheli - who is implied to be Godfrey’s descendants, said Godrick’s deeds “taint the very wind” and helped us beat his ass and it’s her who later becomes the rightful Lord of Stormveil ?

+ Roderika, who is thematically a reflection of the girl Marika was pre-Godhood, losing all her companions and being left alone scared shitless and heartbroken in a shack, blaming herself for not being strong enough, brave enough to go die with her friends, all because Godrick is making a mockery of Godfrey’s name and enacting the same tragedy that befell Marika’s people ?

Like, I can sorta see why people refuse to see the Living Jars in the Lands Between as Marika reclaiming a practice that was tainted by the Hornsent deeds, returning it into something done to honor the dead and let them be returned to the Erdtree to continue the cycle of life - death - rebirth (is scattering ashes of the deceased to the sea not a thing in many irl cultures anymore or am I going crazy), cuz if one has certain…views on her, it can be hard to see anything she does in a positive light (actually even if you don’t see it that way, equating jar innards made of dead warriors in a ritual to honour them with living ppl being cut up and forced to meld together as a form of torture is… a choice), but to completely ignore Nepheli and Roderika’s stories and their role in the narrative? 💀

Plus, where in the game is it even stated or implied that Godfrey being a battlefield maniac means he is ok with *read writing on hands* some guy sending his lackeys out to hunt Tarnished (Godfrey’s own warriors) and making them into unwilling extra limbs?

The guy that gives his all to fight the player by himself and compliments us on a battle well fought… will see honour in gaining strength via kidnapping ppl and stealing their strength, instead of fighting your own battles, honing your own skills and getting stronger on your own? Huh?

And even ignoring all that, Kenneth - a mere nobleman, not even demigod or anything, fr called Godrick a “jumped up country bumpkin” who fleed from Leyndell, holed up in Stormveil to hide from Radahn (why are we forgetting this…bro can’t even pass the Godfrey’s no.1 Stan vibe check) and then got beaten up by Malenia?

To add insult to injury, Godwyn’s body lying beneath Stormveil will literally stab anyone coming close to him (which is sth I have an interesting conversation with ppl on twitter about. there’s one person bringing up an interesting interpretation that Godrick probably took off with a relic of Godwyn’s body hoping to graft a piece of the Golden Prince onto himself, but Godwyn body was like “no” and infested the castle ground like a disapproving ghost 😭 but Godwyn is cool with us because he knows we have Marika’s sanction 😊).

Godrick… has no support whatsoever from Marika and Godfrey’s direct descendants, other than maybeeee Morgot who probably was only there to keep an eye on Stormveil - a place of importance to his dad and maybeeee a bit family pity for Godrick, definitely not because he’s proud of the stuffs Godrick is doing (he astral project there to scare us a bit then leave. We gonna kill Godrick? None of his business.).

And there’s also Godefroy who literally got locked up in a gaol… by a Leyndell Knight who later got the highest honour of Erdtree Burial after he passed away - specifically because of his feat in capturing Godefroy. Why are we forgetting Kristoff???

No one in Leyndell likes the Grafted guys, no one in Limgrave likes the Grafted guys, there are numerous items in-game expressing disappointment and sadness at the decline of the Golden Linage…. it’s a real damn no one likes you situation 😭

Then later on, Godrick got replaced by Nepheli.

So who are the ones being proud here ????

I’m not even a Godrick hater, I think he’s a fucked up, but compelling!, conclusion to the linage that Marika has with Godfrey - who is probably one of few people who actually knows what she used to go through.

I could even see the kind of pressure and struggle he must have gone through, humiliation after humiliation, hiding from and losing to Radagon’s children of all guys, carrying a legacy that is too big for him to handle. But to say that Marika and Godfrey would have been proud of him? Or that grafting is somehow a reclamation of the trauma Marika’s people went through and turning it into strength ????? He doesn’t even know that Marika was once not a God, let alone anything about her people’s suffering to reclaim anything ? That’s not his pain to reclaim ???

Someone else already did that. Marika herself. Rakshasa herself. You really do not have to give a man all the flowers for something women (who actually suffered and went through that trauma) already did.

[sapphire-writes]

I see you’re open for requests 😍 Could you write Aemond x Reader who is his childhood best friend (she could be like a commoner or a servant) I’m not sure about the plot…thought you might have some ideas, it could be angst and end with fluff 😚

Love, love, love this request! Thanks so much, nonnie, I hope you enjoy 💚

Aemond x Reader

rating: mentions of Aemond's eye injury, some angst & fluff

word count: 1.6k

masterlist

You opened the door to Prince Aemond’s chamber, sticking your small head inside. The room was dark aside from the beams of sunlight that shone through the gossamer curtains. The breeze made them dance across the floor.

“Prince Aemond?” you called, in a voice squeaking with nerves. There was no reply. You knew the young prince was supposed to be at the dragonpit, but something inside of you begged you to check. After assuming the coast must be clear, you entered, bringing with you your bucket. 

It was your job to replenish the fireplaces in the chambers of the royal families. You were still a small child, and this was the task that suited you best. You could enter any room in the Red Keep practically unnoticed. 

You walked over to his fireplace, getting started right away. You were eager to finish the job and be off before the prince returned. Digging through the soot, you cleared the ashes, placing fresh logs atop. When your work looked decent, you stood, brushing the soot from your hands onto the apron you wore. 

A breeze tore through the room through the open windows, sending several papers scattering from the prince’s desk. You rushed to collect them, taking care to not stain the pages with soot. As you placed them on the desk you couldn’t help but admire the pages of one of the many books that lay open. 

It was the drawing of a dragon that caught your eye, with descriptions and arrows pointing at various parts of the creature's body. You squinted at the pages in front of you.

“What are you doing?”

You nearly jump out of your skin as you turn wide-eyed to face Prince Aemond. Eyes wide, mouth gasping like a fish out of water, you do not answer him. Aemond raises a brow, looking from you to the book.

“Were you reading?”

You find your voice.

“N-no! No, my prince,” you stutter, feeling your cheeks warm. You desperately hope the soot from the fire hides the rosy flush.

“Do not lie, I saw you,” Aemond says, as though he is your father, not someone the same age as you.

“I wasn’t my prince,” you tell him, “I cannot read.”

Aemond’s face scrunches at this. He walks over to you then, pulling the book from his desk. He holds it across his chest, to face you.

“What does it say?”

Your lip wobbles. Embarrassment fills you and burns your insides like a fever. Surely, he means to humiliate you. 

“I do not know, my prince.”

He brings a finger under a word. 

“Balerion,” he says, looking at the page and back to you.

“Balerion,” you repeat, earning a nod.

Aemond traces the letter at the beginning of the word.

“That's a B,” he tells you, violet eyes meeting yours. 

From then on you found yourself lingering in Aemond’s chambers when you went to do your daily task. Each day he would show you something new, different words, different letters, the names of great houses and maidens in songs. 

Aemond and you became fast friends. Slowly, he was teaching you how to read. You enjoyed the company of the prince. He was patient with you and seemed to enjoy being able to teach you. Aemond did not have friends, and he was happy to have you. 

Soon, you were both reading books together every chance you had. In the library, in the gardens. Aemond would even forego the Dragonpit to join you on your rounds to the other chambers of the Red Keep, book in tow. 

When the royal family went to Driftmark for the funeral of Laena Velaryon, you found yourself missing the company of your new friend. 

You heard what had happened before the royal family returned. You found yourself shaking with nerves once more when entering the prince’s chambers. 

“Prince Aemond?” you called, opening the door. You could see his small body, tangled in the sheets. The curtains were drawn completely shut. You entered slowly, tip-toeing. 

“Aemond?” you called to your friend. The bed rustled, but he did not respond. Assuming he was not up for visitors, you went about your duties. When you had finished, you glanced towards the bed once more. 

“Aemond?” you tried once more, hearing a sniffle in response. You placed your bucket down and walked towards him. A book lay on the floor, seemingly tossed from the side. You gently picked it up. 

“I can’t,” Aemond whimpered, sniffling once more. He turned his head and your eyes widened at the state of him. The stitches across his face were red and swollen, his functioning eye was wet with tears. His whole face was an angry shade of red. 

“I can’t even read,” he sobbed, fingers clutching the sheets, “I’m fucking pathetic.”

Wet tears rolled down his face, snot leaking from his nose. The pillow he lies on is damp from his crying. 

You bring a hand to his shoulder and he flinches away from your touch. Aemond feels as though his shame is fire beneath the surface of his skin, threatening to boil him alive. 

“I shall read to you,” you whispered. Aemond looked at you through his tears. His hands begin to shake. 

“Here,” you told him, placing the book in his lap before walking to the other side of the bed. You climbed onto the linens sitting next to Aemond. Taking the book from his lap you turned the page. 

“The days before the Doom were quiet, though legends say this was an omen of death.” you began, as Aemond rested his head against your shoulder. 

~

“I want you to come see,” Aemond says, when you enter his chambers. He pulls the pail from your grasp, lacing his hand in yours. You have never seen him so elated, his smile is blinding. 

He pulls you from the room, dragging you down the halls of the keep until you reach a large window facing Blackwater Bay. 

“Look,” he says, pointing in the distance. You squint, the sun reflecting off of the bay nearly blinding you. Suddenly, you feel the castle shudder, it's as though again it has fallen down the serpentine steps. 

Vhagar flies overhead, out towards the bay. She lets out a roar, powerful wings causing the waves of the bay to change direction. 

“She’s mine,” he tells you, giddy with excitement. 

Your eyes are like saucers. You’ve never seen a larger dragon. 

“She’s amazing,” you admit, feeling a pang of jealousy. Now Aemond shall take to the skies, leaving you alone in the castle once more. 

You want to hate Vhagar for stealing your only friend, but you can’t seem to find it in your heart to hate the magnificent creature. 

Aemond’s hand still holds yours, you can feel your palm begin to sweat with the realization. He tears his gaze from Vhagar to look at you. The stitches have been removed from his face, the skin is now turning into a pearl-colored scar across his face.

“Now we can fly,” he tells you, the grin never leaving his face. Your heart stutters in your chest.

“We?” 

Aemond’s smile falters for a moment, his eyebrows crease together. 

“You and I, when  mother allows it,” he tells you, “Vhagar can carry many books, and we can fly to anywhere in the seven kingdoms. 

Your smile matches his. He has not intended to leave you behind. 

“I would like that, my prince.”

~years later~

You do not announce when you enter Aemond’s room now. Being friends for so long has awarded you that right. You have grown alongside him, rising in the ranks from lowly fireplace servant to chambermaid. 

Aemond is awake when you enter, as he often is. He has most likely already been to the training yard that morning before you arrived. While you detest early mornings, Aemond loves them. 

“Good morning, my prince,” you address formally, carrying new bedsheets. Aemond’s mouth twists from where he sits at his desk. 

“Ao issi biare tubī,” he says, barely looking up from his work. (You are happy today). 

You begin to strip the bed. 

“You’ll have to teach me sooner or later,” you tell him, and make a face, pausing your movements to glance at him. 

“What?” he inquires. His gaze has risen from his desk, a sly smile on his face. Aemond’s eyepatch is missing, he rarely wears it in his chambers (or around you) and the sight of the blue sapphire never fails to take your breath away. 

You narrow your eyes at your friend. 

“Teach me,” you demand, crossing your arms in front of you. Aemond cocks his head to the side. 

“Unwise to command a prince,” he teases, piling his papers away and rising from his desk. He walks over to you. 

“Oh come now, Aemond,” you pouted, causing him to chuckle.

“Teach me.”

Aemond bites the inside of his cheek. It is as though you are children again. You, a curious little creature peering over the knowledge he possesses. 

“Fine,” he agrees, “since you asked so sweetly, gevie.” (beautiful).

You swat at his arm, a blush creeping up your cheeks. Though you were close companions you could not help the feeling of butterflies in your stomach when he talked to you in such a manner.

“What’s that mean?” you inquire, “Gevie?”

Aemond lets the word hang in the air for a moment, enjoying the way his mother tongue falls from your lips. 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and the heat in your face nearly sets you ablaze. 

“Me?” you ask and Aemond lets out a real laugh then, from deep within his chest. 

“Of course you,” he tells you, “only you.”

[reobsessed]

Luis' Lab Partner

Pairing: Reader X Luis Content Warning: 18+, minors DNI, slight humour, protected sex, AFAB reader, Reader x Luis Sera fic. Special thanks to Suri for reads and edits!

Summary: You'd been working many long nights at Umbrella, with only your work and your smooth-talking lab partner to keep you company. One night during a particularly lengthy experiment, the two of you take a break to read some 'online smut'. One thing leads to another and you find yourself undressed, thrown over the top of Luis' desk.

Fic under the cut!

“Senorita, I have to ask, what does it mean by ‘he thrust deep into me, his cock battering my cervix relentlessly’?”

“Luis, I’m gonna be completely honest, I have no fucking clue,” you stated, pinching the cigarette from Luis’ mouth and inhaling deeply.

“It’s rather abstract…” Luis scratched the back of his head in confusion. The two of you were currently hunched over Luis’ work computer. The only source of lighting in the room came from the painfully bright light of the CRT monitor, casting your faces in an ominous white glow.

Time always passed slowly in the lab whilst you were waiting for results. Today had been a particularly gruelling experiment and despite it very rapidly turning to the early hours of the morning, you both still had a long wait ahead of you.

“It’s just like porn but with words.”

Luis laughed and did his best to sound shocked. “A lady such as yourself watching porn?? How scandalous,” he remarked with a glint in his eye, or perhaps it was the light playing tricks.

You tapped the shared cigarette on the side of Luis’ mug, watching as the powdered ash dropped into the remainder of his coffee.

The pair of you had been working together for quite some time now, the pleasant small talk you exchanged towards the beginning had quickly grown stale given that neither of you really did anything outside of work. Whilst you were happy to sit in silence like you’d done previously with other colleagues, Luis wouldn’t allow it. He was by no means annoying or obtrusive but he always made an effort to engage with you, small things like, how did you sleep last night? Have you ever read Don Quixote? What food do you like? Would you like to read Don Quixote? By all rights you should have found him annoying but there was something quite charming about him. 

“You know what we’re doing right now is basically the same as watching porn together.” You paid close attention to Luis’ expression, fully intending to get as much amusement out of his reaction as possible.

Luis choked on air. “Th-that’s not- it’s not the- I have to go check on some vials,” he announced, springing to the floor in a rigid stance. You suppressed a giggle, watching as he ran behind one of the desks and pretended to look for something.

Reading together in the dark lab had become a tradition for the two of you, it first began when Luis had brought along a heavily worn copy of Don Quixote to read. Unfortunately your busy work schedule didn’t leave much time for reading and so Luis had read it aloud for you while you worked. He managed several chapters a night depending on how late you were working and surprisingly he’d breezed through the entire novel in a matter of weeks. Luis had given it his all and you deeply appreciated how he brought the characters to life, giving each a distinctive voice, you enjoyed it so much in fact that once it was over you were unable to hide your sadness. 

You’d both agreed to find more things to read, these came in the form of: every single magazine in the break room, the umbrella health and safety pamphlet and finally, each of  Harold’s work diaries that he’d left scattered throughout the labs (that was when they found out he really didn’t like Luis.)  You cursed yourselves for not bringing along more books. That was when you had an idea, why not go online for some ‘fine literature’. And that’s where you found yourselves tonight, sat in a darkened room reading online smut.

“You coming back or should I find another one?” you called out, mouse already skimming over various links in the forum.

“I’ll just be a second,” came the stammered response from across the room. 

“We can read something else. I just thought it would be funny.” You stood up, making your way over to where Luis was. “Sorry if I made things awkward…” you trailed off, your eyes studying Luis carefully. “What are you doing?”

“I just needed a moment to… catch my breath.” His back was turned to you but the embarrassment in his voice was clear.

“You know,” you began, edging closer as you spoke. “It gets lonely being cooped up in a lab all day.” Luis’ head spun round and he flinched back slightly when he noticed you were standing directly in front of him.

“I’m always here to keep you company, senorita.”

“I know,” you replied, reaching out a hand towards his chest, Luis stopped you, clasping your hand gently in his.

“Perhaps we get to work, ey?”

“I don’t want to and clearly you don’t either,” you said pointing your gaze downwards.

Luis attempted to cover himself but it was too late, even in the dark of the room his growing lust was painfully obvious. 

“Ah that’s not very gentlemanly of me,” Luis laughed nervously.

“I like your carefree side better.” 

You stepped forward once again, closing the gap between you. Instinctively, Luis reached out his hands and put them either side of your hips, eliciting a gasp in response. Despite being the one to initiate you were still taken aback by the sudden contact. You’d spent many days and nights together but you’d rarely touched, there was the occasional brushing of fingertips when exchanging coffee, a pat on the shoulder followed by an earnest ‘well done,’ and of course, your most intimate act so far, a shared cigarette passed back and forth between your lips. 

Your arms reached upwards, looping around Luis’ neck, you pulled his head down towards you and planted a long awaited kiss on his lips. It only lasted a second but you felt as though a current were running throughout your entire body even after pulling away. Luis stared at you momentarily, mouth agape, until it widened into one of his signature grins. 

“Dios Mios,” he exclaimed softly. “It would be rude not to follow the lady’s example.” He brought his lips back down to yours and kissed you passionately, threading a hand through your hair as he did so. 

Delighted, you leaned into his touch, lapping desperately at his tongue, only ever having tasted him through cigarettes you were desperate to get your fill. The kiss intensified and so did your grip on the back of Luis’ shirt. The two of you stumbled backwards with Luis steadying himself with one hand.

“Perhaps a change of position is in order,” he announced, picking you up by the waist and setting you down on one of the desks. 

“Stuff’s in the way,” you said, swiping your hand across various notes and test tubes. Luis winced as the glass shattered on the floor. “It’s okay, Umbrella’ll pay for it.” You’d already discarded your lab coat and were halfway through undoing your blouse.  

Luis looked conflicted for a moment, that was until his gaze landed on your now exposed cleavage.

“Mi amor.” He let out a breathy sigh before burying his head in the ripened fruits. His hands fumbled with the back of your bra. His mind was clouded in a lustful haze, impairing his ability to complete simple tasks. “Mierda,” he muttered impatiently, hands still grappling with the metal hook of your bra. 

Both amused and agitated you began pulling off Luis’ lab coat and then quickly moved to his jeans. In the time it took you to remove both articles of clothing, he was still trying in vain to remove your bra. 

“Can’t be good at everything,” you giggled. Luis laughed in return, unclipping your bra in an instant.

“You’ll pay for such hurtful remarks,” Luis threatened light-heartedly. He dragged down your trousers and underwear, dropping them to the floor along with his jeans. Without another word he nestled his tongue between your legs, eliciting a high pitched moan from his lab partner. He gave extra care and attention to your clit, lapping at it firmly and greedily. You wiggled your hips in pleasure, grasping fistfuls of Luis’ hair in your hands, as you pushed his head further into your throbbing clit.

The force of your fingers pulling on his hair caused Luis to let out a stifled groan, despite the pain he continued to lap at you until his mouth and stubble were fully wetted with your dripping contentment. 

“Luis- fuck- just stick it in already,” you cried out between gasps.

Luis pulled away, dabbing at the side of his mouth with his thumb. “If you insist,” he smirked, pulling open one of the desk drawers and retrieving a condom from inside. Printed on the front of the pack was a stark red and white umbrella logo, along with the slogan ‘Our Business is Life Itself’, Luis couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony.

“Seriously, Luis? You keep those in your desk?”

“What?? They’re company issued,” Luis explained innocently.

“Oh, right, so they just hand out a condom with every beaker or something?”

“Err they do for me,” he gave a half shrug, half laugh as he tore open the packet and slid the condom over his awaiting dick. He turned to look at you, before shaking his head. “Ah, this won’t do, that looks a little uncomfortable.” He grabbed the clothing from the floor, bundling it into a makeshift pillow that he slid underneath your head. You smiled at his attentiveness, reaching up to peck him on the lips once more.

Luis positioned himself on top of you, sliding in with ease. You both moaned as he settled himself inside of you. “Are you feeling alright?” He cupped one side of your face in his hand as he waited for an answer.

“Doing just fine,” you grinned in response, bucking your hips against Luis. 

Luis responded by matching your rhythm, pushing in and out, the room was filled with the sounds of your heavy panting along with the clatter of the remaining items left on the desk.

Luis fought hard to suppress his overflowing pleasure. He gripped the edge of the table with one hand and used the other to pull one of your legs up over his shoulder. The new position gave him a better angle to pound into your most sensitive parts.

“Ah, more,” you gasped. Your rising contentment threatened to boil over as you felt your head swim. “Luis,” you called out in desperation. You gripped onto his arms, your eyes watering and pleading.

He peppered kisses down your neck.

“It’s okay mi amor.” The gentle caress of his voice gave your aching body permission. 

Like a flash of lightning your mind went blank, all thoughts emptied as you sought only satisfaction. An electrifying pulse coursed through you as your entire body trembled as you writhed against Luis.

“Ah, ah fuck,” you cried out as you collapsed in bliss.

Luis followed soon after, crumpling beside you. You both laid in silence besides the occasional panting of breath. Luis carefully slid out of you and grabbed his lab coat from the floor, throwing it over the two of you.

“Hey, Luis?”

“What is it,” he mumbled as he dug through his pockets searching for his lighter.

“Did you hit my cervix or not?”

“Hmm maybe, maybe not. Perhaps we can try again another time?” he quirked an eyebrow in sync with his cigarette lighting up.

You struggled to suppress the blush that burned across your cheeks, holding his hand closely in yours.

Umbrella was really going to have to start issuing more condoms.

[hypoclericalcunt]

I lie awake hearing you shake

TW: SH, Mild Gore, blood.

Will byers centric byler fic.

Chapter 1 : Care

"Is Will alright?"

"Yeah, he seems fine. Why?"

"I don't know, it's just, he's really quiet today"

"Mike he's always quiet." Lucas quipped.

The Byers moved back to Hawkins, unprepared to be frank, they cleaned up Hoppers cabin and moved in. Things didn't seem to look up lately, with Vecna still on the loose, the firey red ash ridden sky, scattered with spontaneous lightning, the toxic spores made it hard to breathe, so many people lost their homes, and casualties stood at an all time high, Max was still in a coma, and there were earthquake like cracks all over the town, spitting fire all around. They were not hopeful to say the least, however, they had each other and for that they were grateful.

It's been two weeks after the 'earthquake' and Hawkins High decided to reopen. The party was having lunch, when Mike noticed Will was acting weird.

Something was wrong but he couldn't tell what it was, after they moved back to Hawkins, Will barely spoke to him, now they were having lunch, and Mike could feel the awkward tension emanating from their distance.

Mike was sitting next to Lucas and Dustin, Will was sitting across them infront of Mike. He was poking the pea that was on his plate, with a flimsy plastic fork. The pea rolled off and Will set the fork down.

He got up and rubbed his eyes, "I'm just gonna go to the bathroom."

Mike got up and followed behind him,

"Hey Will, you good ? You've seemed kinda off lately, and I mean we barely talk anymore"

Will turned around, facing Mike, his eyes looked bleary and red, his cheeks puffy and swollen.

"You think 'ive been off' because i didn't talk to you?" Will snapped.

"No no no that's not what I meant, it's just, we used to talk all the time, you'd come to me more, but now it's like we're strangers and I mean, you know you can talk to me right?"

Will face softened but the weak smile vanished as soon as it came.

"Yeah I know, I've just been tired lately, that's all, I'm fine. I need to go home and get some sleep."

"Uh okay.. if you need anything just let me know."

"Okay."

Will went back to the cafeteria and swung his bag over his shoulder, he walked out the door and got on his bike, cycling at an alarming rate.

Mike went back to his seat.

"Mike what was that ?"

"He's fine Dustin, just tired I guess. He said he wanted to get some sleep or something"

"Okay..." Lucas and Dustin looked at each other questioningly.

The day went on, bleak and monotonous, when Mike reached his house, he ran up to his room and shut the door with a loud thud.

What's going on with Will.

_____________________________________________

Will's pov

He was cycling as fast as he could, his feet burning with exhaustion, but he didn't care, he deserved the pain.

stupid stupid stupid, Mike does'nt care about me, he never will, his goddamn life started the day I went missing. I can't do anything right. I'm just weak and stupid.

He reached his house throwing his cycle near the porch and went up the stairs reaching his room. He shut the door and jumped under the covers.

Tears trickled down his face, as he clutched his pillow tightly. Ever since he came back to Hawkins, he's been feeling horrible, Max is in a coma, his friends and family are in danger and he's just waiting like a sitting duck for Vecna to posses him again. He's going to feel helpless and endanger everyone again. He can't do this anymore, the worst part is that he knows Vecna is gonna be much crueler this time, he's not going to stop unless he's taken everything and everyone from him. His best friend confessing that his life started the day he went missing wasn't much of a help either regarding his mental state, he had tried to brush it off, forget about it, but it had been eating at him day by day. Obviously Mike doesn't want anything to do with him, he has El now and he's no longer required. He just hates the fact that Mike keeps acting as if he cares, because he doesn't, not anymore.

Will slept for a few hours, woke up sweaty and disoriented, he thought he'd try to sketch, to try to take his mind off things. He walked towards the storage box lying in the corner of his room, that's where he'd keep all his art supplies. He shuffles through the stationary and picked up his sketchbook and some graphite pencils. He got back in his bed, opened up a fresh page in his sketchbook and started to draw a vague figure, it wasn't coming out very well, atleast not upto his satisfaction. The lines were messy and disorganised, at a sudden hard stroke, the sharpened led broke, he tried sharpening it again, but it kept breaking. Growing frustrated by the second, he closed the book shut and threw the pencil on the floor. Great i really can't do anything, can I ? The one thing I thought I was good at... i really am useless.

He went down to the kitchen and drank some water, his stomach churned, but he didn't care, he hadn't eaten since last night. He doesn't deserve food anyway. The days blur into a continuous loop of cruel torture. Every day the same feeling the same dread the same hopelessness. He had been having nightmares lately, they would go one of two ways either he kills everyone or everyone dies infront of him as he stands there lifeless, watching, waiting for his own promised end. Why me why me why me.

He's tired of letting everyone down, of Vecna taunting him and having any hope towards Mike reciprocating his feelings. He knows Mike does'nt like him, he never will, he's nothing special anyway. Hours had passed. Someone burst through his door.

"Will, buddy, how are you ?"

Will got up groggily, even though he hadn't been sleeping, his hair bristled in different directions.

"I'm fine Jonathan."

"How was school?"

"I was a bit tired so I came home after lunch, to take a nap."

"How're you feeling now?"

"Better I guess."

"Great, mom's calling us for dinner."

"Uh i already ate, if I feel hungry I'll fix something up later."

"Ok buddy, take care."

"yeah"

He could hear his brother shout out to their mom that he wouldn't be joining them.

After an hour, there was a small knock on his door, joyce walked in.

"Baby I know you don't feel hungry now, but you might later, come and eat hon. You haven't been eating properly."

"Mom I'm not hungry, seriously, I'm just a bit sleepy."

Joyce walked over to his bed and sat close to him, she ran her fingers through his hair.

"C'mere I know you've been tired lately, let me give you some energy."

Will reluctantly moved closer to her, she wrapped her arms around him and embraced him in a tight hug.

"Mooom stopppp."

"Nuh uh, you're recharging, honey."

Will slowly gave in, he felt safe, warm, protected, loved.

"Okay Mom that's enough !"

"Uhhh finee."

Joyce smiled sweetly at her baby, her son who she was willing to tear worlds apart to find.

"Thanks" Will said in a soft tone.

"You'll always be my baby boy, don't thank me. Rest up honey, jon told me you were a bit tired today, do you need anything ?"

"No mom, I don't need anything, good night."

"Goodnight baby."

Joyce got up and walked out the door, closing it slowly. Will switched the lamp sitting on his bedside table off and opened up the windows.

He tried to sleep again, finally he drifted off. After a few minutes he heard someone shout

"Watch, Will, I want you to see everything. There's nothing you can do, open your eyes." Vecna tormented.

"NOOOOO, stop, please, kill me, take me instead."

His eyes were blood shot, black veins all over him, his hands hurt, wrapped around something, something familiar, something soft. His knuckles turned white, he tried to shut his eyes as tight as possible, maybe enough to turn him blind. He's choking someone, he doesn't want to know who it is, not this time.

"Honey I c-c-can't b-breathe" the voice wailed.

"M-Mom, is that you !?" Will snapped his eyes open. Joyce let out a blood curdling scream, her lifeless body now turned pale, strokes of blood spilled out of her white eyes.

Will started crying uncontrollably, his grief stricken self jolted backwards, his hands finally free.

Will woke up, in a puddle of his own sweat, his back soaked. His pants had the same fate. He jolted forward and sprung out of his bed. Tears still fresh, rolled down his cheeks moistening his shirt further. He accidentally stepped on the broken pencil he tossed hours ago. He can't do this anymore, he started hyperventilating and walked over to his storage box and scoured through the stationary, his hand finally grasped something, a small bag. He threw the contents of the bag on the floor.

His pottery bag had a bunch of clay, tools, and something else, shiny, rough, an instrument that was usually used for precise carving, a craft knife.

It had a shiny sloped blade, and a metal rod holding the blade in place, it was new, he hadn't used it, yet.

He held it up to his window, the moonlight made it glisten. He sat on his bed, his back hitting the wooden headboard, his trembling hand rolled up the sleeve of his left arm. He could feel the grooves of the knife with his fingers, he hovered it over his forearm. Don't do it, don't do it.

He was hesitant, but as he shut his eyes, flashes of his nightmare ran through his mind. Joyce's limp body sloped over on that rock, he killed her ,he killed his mother, he deserves this, he deserves everything and more. He pressed the blade against his skin, he could feel it pierce the epidermis, he dragged it across his arms horizontally. He winced in pain as each cell of his screamed in vain. Viscous crimson oozed out of the slit, he sobbed silently biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. His quiet grief echoed across his room, bouncing off the walls, hitting him harder, his entire shirt was soaked with sweat and tears. Red droplets dribbled off his arm landing on his thigh. The breeze of cold wind hitting his skin made it sting in the worst ways possible. Saline kept toppling over his eyelids, he waited agonisingly for the maroon scab to form. Exhaustion overcame him as he pulled his sleeve over the scab, soon he passed out, the blade slipped from his hands and drop to the ground.

The next day Will came to school late, he looked worn out. He lazily walked the hallway floor and reached his locker. He put in the locker combination and opened it up. He could see Mike run up to him from his peripheral.

"Hey Will ! What're you doing ?"

"I'm taking books for chem."

"Oh yeah I forgot to bring the journal, Ms Smith's gonna be mad."

Will nodded and tried looking through his books with his right hand, Mike noticed Will struggling and reached out to pick the book.

Will swiftly pulled it out and held it against his chest, the book was quite heavy and his arm was in no position to work properly, he held it in his right hand instead.

"I got it."

"Yeah you've gotten pretty strong." Mike exclaimed. He cringed at himself for wording it so weirdly.

Will looked taken aback, his demeanor shifting slightly. Mike took this as a sign to push further

"Let's go before smith freaks out."

They walked in the class, luckily the teacher didn't arrive yet, Mike sat next to Will as usual, however this time he scooted closer to him. Will flinched when Mike moved closer, Mike's heart sank.

The class was boring, Mike noticed Will stare blankly forward, he nudged him.

"What"

"Do you have any plans for today? "

"No I don't." Will sighed.

"Can you come over, I'm having trouble with chem. Maybe you could help me ?"

"Mike I'm really busy."

"You just said you didn't have any plans."

"Well I'm tired, Okay ? Plus you don't need my help, you're fine at chemistry."

" Will if you hate me, just spit out already, I don't know why you're avoiding me, what did I do?"

"I'm not avoiding you."

"Yes you are ! Just tell me what's wrong."

"Boys what's going on ? Anything you want to share with the class? Hmm??" Ms Smith inquired.

"Sorry" Will whispered.

"Fine I'll help you with your work, but I can only stop by for a while."

"Thank you, I'll pick you up after school."

Will nodded and looked ahead. Am I really going to his house, I haven't been there in ages, but he's persistent, maybe he really does want to hang out.

No way, he just needs help with his chem homework.

It had been a few hours since Will reached home, he had just freshened up a bit and tried to study chemistry a bit so that he would know what to tell Mike, he halfheartedly flipped through the pages.

I can't do this. Its so hard and I can't even concentrate, i should just tell Mike I'm sick and that i can't come.

Suddenly Will was startled by a series of knocks on the front door. Shit he's here.

He opened the door and was greeted by an excited Mike.

"Will, you ready to go ?"

"Uh... Yeah I guess."

"Ok great, hop on." Mike gestured to his bike.

"Wait you didn't bring a car ?" Will was puzzled.

"I can't drive."

"Okay it's fine we can bike."

He went to pick up his bike and tried to get on, but a sudden sharp pain in his left arm made him let go off his bike on accident, the cloth of his cardigan rubbed against the wound, great i can't even bike.

"You sure your bike can hold me ?"

"Course"

Mike got on his bike and Will followed behind, he sat on the back of the bike, he wanted to wrap his arms around his waist, but he was flustered enough with their close proximity that he decided to keep his arms clung to the seat. Mike would probably be weirded out if I got any closer.

"Hey Will, you alright back there?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Just asking, you know you can hold on, the road is a bit bumpy, because of the rubble."

"I'm fine, don't worry."

After 15 minutes they reached the Wheeler's residence.

They walked in and went to Mike's room, his house hadn't changed much since the last time Will's been there, but his room, it changed a lot.

It looked like Mike had taken effort to clean up, the decor was interesting to say the least, but the thing that caught Will's eyes was that his art was plastered all over the walls, Mike's kept all my art, except the piece that really mattered. The painting Will had made for Mike was nowhere to be seen, it was as if Will wrapped up all his feelings for him into that painting, tied it with a bow and handed it to him, clearly he didn't care enough to keep it.

"We can sit here." Mike interrupted his train of thoughts and pointed to his bed.

He went and sat on his bed, with his books in hand, Will sat at the edge of the bed facing Mike.

"What do you have trouble with ?"

Mike smiled and opened up his textbook,

"Ok so I was getting confused on how to identify what kind of bond and hybridization the carbon compounds have."

Will didn't buy that for a second, because he remembered Mike answering questions related to those exact types of compounds in class. So he shrugged and decided to teach him anyway.

"See, when there's a single bond, it has a Sigma bond, when there's a double bond, it has a Sigma bond and a pi bond and when there's a triple bond it has a Sigma bond and 2 pi bonds. Got it ?"

"Mhhm yeah."

They solved the worksheet together and after an hour or so they were done.

"Thank you so much Will, you're so smart."

"I'm not, you could've done it too, it's pretty simple."

"Okay I better get going."

"No wait !" Mike suddenly shouted.

Will stopped and turned around. He was confused, they finished the homework what more did Mike want.

"Do you wanna watch a movie."

What

"Uh.. why?"

"I just thought we could watch something, like when we were kids you know like old times."

We aren't kids anymore I mean what did you think really, that we'd never get girlfriends, that we'd sit in my basement and play games all day?

Yeah I did, I guess I really did.

"We aren't kids anymore."

"Well clearly you've moved on fro- , so i guess we really aren't kids anymore."

" 'I moved on' ? You moved on first !"

"Will can you please just talk to me."

"Forget it Mike, I'm going."

Will got up and start leaving.

Mike jumped up immediately and grabbed Will by the hand.

"OUCH, oh my god, let go!"

"What's wrong with your arm ? You've been acting weird all day."

"Not this again, my arm's fine, let GO."

Mike without hesitating pulled up the sleeve of Will's cardigan up.

"Holy shit, Will what happened ??"

Will's eyes started welling up with tears.

"I-I fell."

Mike pulled Will into his arms and held him tight.

He started sobbing violently,

"Will I'm so sorry, i should've been there for you, i should've talked to you sooner, I'm so sorry."

Will cried bitterly into Mike's shoulder, a damp patch forming there. Mike had one arm around his waist over his back rubbing smooth circles rhythmically to calm them both down and the other arm holding Will's head against his shoulder, fingers burried deep in his chestnut hair.

They stayed there for a few minutes, until Will let go.

"Mike you can't tell anyone, especially my mom or Jonathan."

"I won't, as long as you talk to me, and I see your arms everyday."

"Fine, but this stays between us."

"Course"

"And I'll t-talk."

"Why do we keep fighting?"

"Because we care, I care, I care about you so much Will. And I'm always here, I'm always gonna be here, we'll get through this together, as a team."

"Will I can't help you unless you talk to me, no more lying please."

You should also probably stop lying. He doesn't care about you, he's lying.

"Fine"

"Is it Vecna? Can you feel him again."

"Its him, it's yo- ,it's max, it's my family and our friends, everything. He's been sending me visions, giving me nightmares, and i can't help but think, he might possess me again and hurt everyone I care about."

"Its j-just can we talk about this tomorrow, I'm feeling really overwhelmed."

"Sure, can you wait here for a minute?"

Mike walked out of the room, and Will plopped down on his bed. It felt good to finally tell someone how he's been feeling, the whirlwind of emotions and scenarios that were going through his head was way too much to handle, but atleast now he's not alone in this. He fiddled with the stray fibres of the bedspread. Maybe he does care. No he doesn't, he does, no he doesn't, he does. He does. Mike walked in after a couple of minutes with a first aid box.

"Will this might hurt a little, but I have to do this."

"..."

"Please roll up your sleeve."

Will rolled up his sleeve and Mike set the box down. He sat opposite Will, they're knees were barely touching, but it was enough for a faint blush to spread through their cheeks.

"Where did you even learn how to clean a wound?" Will interrupted the electric silence.

"Nancy taught me."

Mike dabbed a piece of cotton in rubbing alcohol, with a pair of tweezers.

"Here we go, you can hold my knee, if it hurts too much."

Mike dabbed the alcohol soaked cloth on the cut and it stung terribly.

"Fuck"

Will squeezed Mike knee with his right hand as Mike wiped away the scab with the alcohol.

"Okay worst part's over, I'll just put some ointment and bandage it."

Mike put the ointment and carefully bandaged it with a beige adhesive cloth.

"Thank you Mike, you didn't have to."

"Wha- what do you mean, i wanted to, you're my bestfriend."

"You're my bestfriend too."

"Well I hope so, we're gonna be hanging out everyday, I don't care if you actually get sick, cause I'll just drag you out."

"Whatever" Will looked away to hide the heat flowing to his cheeks.

It felt nice to be with Mike again, like when they were younger, they'd talk all day every day, hold hands, hug. But they're a lot older now, every touch, every glance even breathing the same air as Mike made him flustered. Mike was his friend, his best friend and it was going to stay that way, as far as Will was concerned. He had stopped hoping a while ago. But atleast he felt like he had Mike back, his Mike.

[samurailoveballadhistory]

These stories are references to various Japanese folklore, though for the life of me I cannot figure out what Kojuro's was.

Nobunaga: Bamboo Cap Jizō

The story tells of an elderly poor couple, who lived in a mountain making bamboo caps. On a winter, near the New Year, the old man took his caps to sell so he can buy food. Some version says it's winter provisions, some says New Year celebratory items. On his way, he sees a row of Jizo statues (Buddha statues usually placed on roadsides) covered in snow. Feeling sorry for them, the old man cleaned off the snow and put all his caps on the statues. He didn't have enough caps for them, and gave the last Jizo his own cap (some version I saw said it was his scarf).

With no more caps to sell, he just went home. Later that night, the couple heard bumping noises outside and opened the door. They saw a pile of food in front of the door, and in the distance they could see little figures in bamboo caps leaving.

Mitsuhide: Momotarō

I think this is the most famous one of them all, and has been referenced in so many other media (anime, games, etc).

Momotarō was a boy who was born of a peach to an old couple. When he was grown, he heard of oni (ogres) terrorising the people and decided to set out to defeat them. His parents didn't like the idea, but eventually relented. The father gave him kibidango (kibi is an unknown grain, usually translated as millet) to eat on his journey.

On the way, Momotarō met a monkey, a dog, and a pheasant who wanted to join him in his journey in exchange for the kibidango. The group then travelled to Onigashima, successfully vanquished all the oni, and returned with all the treasure they found there.

By the way, the common version says that the wife found a giant peach, and Momotarō was inside when she cut it open. However, supposedly the "original"/older version of the story says that what she found was a divine peach. She and her husband ate the peach, became young again, and was able to conceive Momotarō through normal means.

Yukimura: Urashimatarō

Urashimatarō was a fisherman. One day, he found some kids tormenting a turtle and rescued the poor animal, setting the turtle free into the sea. Later, the turtle came back to him, and took Urashimatarō to the underwater Dragon King's palace (Ryūgujō).

There he was welcomed with a banquet and entertainment by the princess named Otohime. After some time, Urashima missed home and wanted to return. The people of the dragon palace tried to tell him not to, but he insisted, so in the end the princess let him go. Before leaving, she gave him a box (tamatebako) and told him never to open in.

When he reached land, Urashima found that hundreds of years has passed. The place is no longer recognisable, and his family and friends had long died. Distraught, he opened the box and he immediately grew older, as old as the hundreds years of age that has passed.

Some version says he just vanished into thin air after.

Saizo: Flower-growing old man

An elderly couple had a dog whom they loved dearly. One day, the dog began digging a hole in the field. The old man dug in the same spot where the dog was digging and found gold. His neighbour got jealous and borrowed the dog in hopes to find gold as well. However, he only got trash and rocks. In rage he killed the dog.

The dog's owner sadly buried his dog and planted a tree to keep the dog's grave safe from the weather. The old man eventually cut it down to make a pounding mortar, but to his surprise, gold would miraculously appear whenever he pounded rice in it. The greedy neighbour borrowed the mortar, and the old man kindly did. Like before, only trash and other gross stuff came out. The neighbour then burned the mortar.

The old man then asked if he could at least have the ashes for keepsake, and the neighbour let him. Then, wind blew the ashes towards a flowering tree, and suddenly flowers started blooming despite it being out of season. The old man scattered the ashes everywhere, making flowers bloom. Then the feudal lord heard about it, and requested the old man to make flowers grow on his favourite tree. The old man threw the ashes on the tree and flowers immediately started blooming.

The lord was happy, and showered the old man with gifts. The neighbour, still greedy, claimed that he could do the same. He started throwing ashes in front of the lord, but the ashes blew away and stung the lord in the eyes. The lord got angry by this and sent the greedy neighbour to prison.

Masamune: Crane Daughter

The more famous variation of this is probably the "Crane Wife" one, but there's actually a version where it's a "daughter".

One day an old man rescued a crane from a trap. Later, a beautiful young woman showed up at his house, seeking shelter. The old man and his wife then took in the girl as their daughter.

To repay their kindness, the daughter told the old couple that she would weave fabric for them to sell, but warned them to never peek into the room when she does so. The fabric the girl wove were exquisite, and they fetched such high price that the old couple quickly became quite well off.

However, whenever the girl finished weaving, she always looked so weak and exhausted. Worrying for their daughter, the old couple looked into the weaving room, and saw a crane pulling out its own feathers to weave.

After finishing the bolt, the daughter confessed to being the crane the old man rescued, but now that they've seen her true form, she could not stay. She turned back into a crane and flew away.

The crane wife story is exactly the same, except the rescuer is a young man who married the crane woman.

[sagegreenfrogs]

another night in then sway of the the flower moon

sorvus week day 5: matching scars

ill post this on ao3 tmrw cause i need to go to bed :)

Flying above Katolis, Corvus smelled smoke. 

And he saw it too. The royal city was in ruins, crumbling and falling apart. They’d heard from Opeli that there were some survivors, but the destruction seemed too immense for that to be possible. He didn’t even know if Soren was alive, let alone safe. 

The silence of the night didn’t help either. There were no clouds aside from the plumes of smoke and ash rising up from the once grand castle.

“Look!” Ezran shouted out, “There are people outside the ruins, along the riverbank!”

They all swooped down on Aegis and Embertail, who Queen Janai had graciously let them borrow.

They landed in a small camp in the woods. A few tents were set up, a campfire set in the middle with citizens clustered around it. Bags, tattered belongings, and burnt clothing were scattered onto the ground.

At the edge of a camp, a mother scarred and burnt comforted her sobbing child, whose skin was still burning with the dark spell that had been cast over everyone trapped in the burning palace as a means of escape. 

Eventually a crowd began to gather around Ezran, Aanya, and Corvus. Angry citizens demanding why they weren’t here, children sobbing asking for their parents, and parents for their children. The few guards swooped in to dismantle the crowd, and they parted as someone came running along. And a sense of relief washed over Corvus.

In front of him stood Soren. Scarred, covered in blood and grime, but alive and safe. 

Before Soren had a chance to give King Ezran more than a moment's greeting, Corvus pulled his boyfriend into a tight hug. He dug into Soren’s shoulder, overwhelmed with the joy that he was actually alive.

“Thank Xadia you’re safe!”

Soren was frozen for a moment, shocked still. He sighed and embraced Corvus in return. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alive.” They clung to each other for what seemed both like forever and only a mere second. 

Still keeping his arms hanging around Soren’s body, Corvus pulled back for a moment before gasping in surprise.

“Soren! Your eyebrow!” He reached up and ran a thumb along the injury that now pierced Soren’s right eyebrow. “It’s cut.” 

The other man chuckled. “Oh-! Yeah, it is. A rock- uh- hit me on the forehead.” 

Corvus placed a hand on his hip and gaped. “And you still haven’t cleaned it up?”

A guilty expression crossed Soren’s face. “Sorrrryyy.”

“We are getting you patched up right now, young man. And I don’t want to hear any complaints.” He snapped at his fellow crownguard. 

Corvus dragged the other man to the medic tent, stubbornly thanking him for not dying all along the way. He threw Soren down on the log laying in the tent, grabbing his medic bag and sitting down next to him.

“Seriously, you could get an infection!” Corvus continued to scold his injured boyfriend. “Do I honestly have to do all the work around here?” He grumpily wiped down the blood, laying gauze on top of Soren’s eyebrow.

He sighed and stepped back. “Well, considering how long you went without treating it, that cut was pretty nasty. It will probably leave you a scar, but no promises.”

He expected Soren to be upset, or at least a little disappointed, but instead, he burst out into a fit of laughter. 

“We’re gonna be matching!” Soren pointed at the scar along Corvus’s left eyebrow. He stood up, slinging his arms over the other man’s shoulders. He placed his chin in his boyfriend’s scarf, comforting himself with the smell of rosin, cloves, and anise.

Corvus hugged him back, chuckling and placing a small kiss on Soren’s forehead. 

“Oh yeah, I guess we will.”

He let out a soft smile, laughing into Soren's hair. And Soren smiled too.

[caliburn-not-calculator]

Someone explain to me what happened with this detective au to land me here. Uh, some fic of the boys?

Anyway, they are... well you'll see

Contains: Religious overtones (they're not subtle at all), religious guilt, dom/sub undertones (i mean they might as well also be overtones), fade to black, implied sexual content, frottage, but overall it's very soft

Rays of afternoon light streamed through the drawing room’s tall windows, spilling across the floors and furnishings in a luminous mosaic. They glinted off unlit candle sticks, turned the ash scattering the desks to gold mica, and shone in the whites of Maxim’s eyes. Tears gathered in the corners as he took it in. His pupils swallowed the grey of his iris despite the glare, eyes wide and staring, pointed upward into the beams that slipped past Veerle’s face. Though his shadow saved most of Maxim from the burn, his companion refused to spare his sight. Not to give him such mercy. No relief. But the discomfort served its purpose. Not a test or cruelty, but a distraction.

Something to blind him to the scrapping nudge of a shoe sole at his waistband, and the tense heat that grew beneath its gentle pressure.

Maxim knelt on the plush Persian rug before the hearth, legs aching with a familiar throb. Not that of war or injury, but reverence. A position long forgotten, long ignored, but now…

Now he sat with a steady and still absoluteness. Trust unflinching and something like devotion in the sigh of each drawn out breath. Some may have considered him a damned soul, perhaps some small facet of himself did too, but it was drowned beneath the honey of Veerle’s stare and quashed beneath the press of his scuffed Oxford shoe. A disciple, not damned.

He tilted his head back, the slice of sun slipping over his cheekbones, blistering his lips. A long steadying breath whispered through them. He did not shift, not to avoid the pain, nor to hasten whatever Veerle had planned for him, but kept still. The ache pulsed up his hips, but the only groan that slipped from him was forced up from his contracting muscles and lungs at the slight downward push of Veerle’s foot. His waistband dipped, the leather scraping through the hair dusting his navel.

Maxim couldn’t decide if he wanted him to keep moving down or turn his attention higher. If he wanted that steady pressure to hasten the pleasurable pangs between his thighs or if he might fracture in both unbearable guilt and bliss at being given it. Either way, it was not his choice to make. Not his burden to bear. All Maxim had to do was take what Veerle bestowed unto him. Whether friction or famine, climax or come down.

He would take it. He had to take it. Wanted to take it. To take the absolution offered by gentle hands and heavy eyes. For surely there could be no sin in such supplication.

There was something about the submission which felt more like prayer than service ever had. Perhaps it was simply that, for the first time in decades, he truly, utterly, meant it. Offered it. Depended upon it. Maxim had little faith left to spare, nothing more than brittle shards that cut his hands whenever he tried to grasp them, and they did nothing but hurt when held close or offered out.

But, Veerle… 

The flitting fire of his chatter, the sparks of his laughter, the low smoulder of his rare and ravenous rage, melted the points and edges away. He made the ache manageable, tangible, and burned himself so irrevocably into its form that there was no other it could now be given to. No other deserving of such handiwork. None but its sculptor.

Maxim raised one hand from where it had laid limp on his thigh and gingerly tugged at the cuff of Veerle’s pants. The faintest, slightest tug. Maybe meaningless, maybe a mistake, but also, potentially, a request. Asked for or not, his companion hummed, tightened his fingers in Maxim’s hair, and pressed the sole of his shoe flat to his stomach. He swayed back as far as he could at the pressure, a strangled gasp slipping from his awe drunk lungs as the heel dug dangerously low. The hem of his shirt was rucked up by the motion. Sunlight spilt molten over his stomach, the fabric brushing teasingly soft against over sensitive skin. He choked back another noise, only harsh breath falling from parted lips, brows furrowed in concentration.

If there was one thing Maxim excelled at, perhaps to a detrimental degree, it was restraint. Restraint and reserve. Careful and precisely maintained control. Though he had handed Veerle the reins, allowed him to direct and decide and devastate him in whatever manner he believed best, it was still his to maintain. But now he merely had to focus on stilling his shaking form, and complying with each motion made onto him. A task almost meditative in its methodology. There was no heart stuttering panic or head splintering confusion, only the surety that he needed not to do anything more than take.

Perhaps once the vulnerability may have been sickening, but all that was left as Veerle dragged the toe of his shoe over his abdominals, shirt bunching beneath his pectorals, was a wake of heat. Melting molten heat. The pressure which crept up his chest like a lava flow. With painstaking languidness it sank into his skin, ever deeper, until it joined the pool of untouched arousal. It was a rare occasion for Maxim to blush, but the red across his cheeks bloomed unhindered.

He swallowed as the rough sole found the base of his sternum, and metal clinked against Veerle’s shoe. Maxim tensed at the sound. His companion paused, tilting his head. The steadying hand he had in Maxim’s hair hesitated in its gentle caresses through the sun gilt strands. 

“Alright, my love?” He asked, his voice more breath than words, more manifestation than man.

It took most of Maxim’s mind to lift his tongue from the floor of his mouth and draw enough breath for words. “Quite. I uh… just do not remind me of it now.”

Veerle’s expression, soft as it was, lightened to something even sweeter. Lips upturned, worry lines nigh invisible in the warm shadow he was veiled with. He readjusted, setting his weight more toward Maxim’s heart, and away from the pendant now peaking from his raised shirt. His eyes slipped shut with an appreciative hum, and he sagged backwards, more than ready to fall from his aching knees. That worship as this did not always require such discipline, that it could be done just as well limp and reclined, dizzy and dazed, with prayer that wasn’t words, was more a blessing than he could have imagined.

“Well, in that case,” Veerle shifted, leaning his weight forward, shoe flat to Maxim’s chest, gentle enough to not immediately send him sprawling, “Let us get more comfortable, down you go.”

Veerle’s hand slipped from his hair as Maxim’s legs slid from beneath him. He barely caught himself with shaking arms as he was forced to the floor, his companion’s heel surely leaving an indent on his flushed skin. His grip around his ankle tightened, the heat of Veerle’s so distant through the fabric he held. Too distant. Too cold. Not nearly enough to brand as he wanted it to, though he dared not move even that small fraction of covering.

Whatever logical sliver of thought he still possessed understood that Veerle wouldn’t mind, not even slightly, but to touch his companion in a way that even approached how he touched him, to fathom undressing him, in being the one to reveal and revel in his bared skin, was a desecration he could not bear to perform. How much he longed to mattered not. Instead, he held tight, and let himself sink into the softness of the rug beneath him. Let himself gasp as the prized pressure crept high enough to nudge his chin up, and settle over his bared throat.

The sun warming his exposed skin was a poor replacement for the heated body he craved, but it was enough of a comfort to lose any remaining tension in his muscles. The prickling sensation of eyes flitting over him, though not nearly as stimulating as his companion’s touch, likewise satisfied his need for contact. His breath came in rushing rattles as his lungs were lovingly crushed.

Through lidded eyes he watched as Veerle went to speak, lips parting, chest rising with an intake of air, but nothing but a low groan escaping. His companion raised a hand to his face. Dainty fingers made more for dancing across pages and pens (and if Maxim were to be shamefully indulgent, over his chest and jaw and perhaps dipping between his lips) than the warless warfare he insisted on partaking in covered his mouth. He nibbled on his knuckles, an action something between thoughtful and nervous, but most certainly considering. Maxim let his head fall back against the rug, surrendering any of his remaining strength with a sigh.

Patience. That was all he needed now. Patience while Veerle enacted whatever design he’d no doubt painstakingly envisioned and would equally painstakingly enact. He brushed his thumb over the laces of the shoe pinning him, the rough threads calming in their intricate repetition. The sensation of eyes methodically passing over him did not fade. Nor did the ignored need Veerle had stirred up within him. But he merely closed his eyes, and focused on breathing.

Somewhere in the foggy depths of his thoughts, he remembered once comparing himself to one of his insectoid specimens. A mindless light lured creature, willingly flitting into flame, helpless to the unfathomable force that pinned it in its forever position. It was almost flattering to think of now, that Veerle saw him as something both beautiful and fascinating enough to keep, to study, to tend to. That he may want him in a manner similar to Maxim’s own desire, though surely less base and simplistic than his prior imaginings.

What consciousness had condensed was sent swirling formless once more, as the weight lifted, only to return tenfold. A breathy groan was forced from him as the careful pressure of a foot against his chest and shoulder turned to the digging press of a knee. Veerle knelt over him, one leg tucked against his side, the other resting atop his chest. He shifted, getting comfortable, the pads of his fingers slipping beneath his raised shirt to glide over his collarbones.

“I’m going to get rid of this, okay?” he asked, tugging gently at the fabric, voice a gentle disturbance upon Maxim's mind, like water rushing over loose sand.

He could only, and barely, nod in response.

“Thank you.”

The hands on his chest vanished, and he’d be lying if he said a displeased sound didn’t escape him at their loss, but a moment later they returned at his wrists. Carefully, Veerle guided his arms above his head so he could remove his shirt with ease. He whispered thanks and encouragement as he did, the softness at odds with the harsh press of his knee upon his chest. The fabric seemed to rustle and vanish, his thoughts too caught up elsewhere to process the moment of its loss. Only when Veerle took back his wrists and guided his hands down did he notice it was done, that what Veerle didn’t shadow was set feebly aflame by the sun. 

He startled as a soft texture met his palms, warmth radiating beneath them. His hands twitched. More by accident than purposeful action, he lightly squeezed what Veerle had given him. The narrow width and faint curve of his companion's hips were in his grasp. Hands covered his own, gently smoothing over his knuckles as he settled.

A faint sigh left Veerle at the pressure, and the weight upon Maxim momentarily vanished. It returned, more evenly distributed and crucially, lower on his body. Maxim maintained his hold on his companion, so he had at least some warning before he lowered himself to straddle his hips. He did not, however, have a warning for the smooth and sudden roll of his body. His fingers dug into Veerle’s flesh as he ground against him, tearing a sound from him he would have deemed unholy had any but Veerle invoked it. Though his belt had been removed and discarded some time ago, no move had been made to loosen his slacks. No buttons or ties undone. It had been a passing issue until then, as his companion set a slow and steady pace with the motions of his hips, the usually well tailored item started to become far too restrictive.

Palms settled upon his chest, Veerle’s fingers splayed wide over his feverish skin. With each breath Maxim inadvertently pressed up into the touch. If he breathed deeper, let his chest rise further in pursuit of some shadow of force from the cautious motions of Veerle’s explorations, then he hoped it went unnoticed.

Maxim couldn’t quash the urge to crack open his eyes and search for signs that Veerle may be as worked up as he was. The hope to see his sharp features or teasing smiles turned red and wanton one which far predated their more involved relationship. The image of him with lips parted in silent pleasure, bright eyes dark with need and face aflame was one Maxim had shamefully indulged himself with when he was too exhausted to stop himself. The thought that one day he may see it made the heat within him roil. The sight that met him was certainly no disappointment.

His companion gave him a shaky grin, crooked and creasing his eyes with yet impermanent laughter lines. Hair fell over his brow, coal dark strands loose and framing his face, and stress greyed streaks crowning him with silver. His clothes remained faintly rumpled as they were when they began. As neat as Veerle ever wore them, a few buttons undone and suspenders pulled over his narrow shoulders. Some part of Maxim considered grasping them, pulling down, forcing Veerle to finally meet his lips. The more sensible part acknowledged that moving his hands from his companion's hips was a feat beyond him.

“I, uh, don’t suppose you’ve ever been ridden before?” Veerle whispered with another roll of his hips, red blooming high on his cheeks and wide fluttering eyes painting far too sweet for all that he was doing.

Maxim failed to swallow his groan as the friction sent a pulse of pleasure coiling tight within him. The sweetness only unspooled him further, drawing out each thread of strength and will and weaving it through the loom of Veerle’s careful ministrations, into some new fragile tapestry. A picture wanton creature of his own design. 

“What?” He mumbled between shaking breaths, peering up through heavy lidded eyes and teeth clenched as Veerle slowed, but continued to make nigh imperceptible motions more teasing than stimulating.

“Well, that’s probably a no then. Don’t worry, my love.”

Veerle leaned forward, eyes soft crescents with his smile, glittering in the afternoon light like shattered stained glass. His shirt tickled Maxim’s bare chest, his breath caressing his jaw, the hands on his shoulders pressing with more force as he drew closer. A gentle kiss was placed upon his cheek, chapped lips lingering in its place.

“I’ll take you slow.”

[colemorrison]

Okay look, I’m not crazy… Well I mean I am a little but it’s fine… Here’s some yandere overwatch..

This will include blood, possessive behavior, blah blah.. Mauga, Ashe, Junkrat, Sombra, Sigma and Ramattra are included.

Mauga :

He was always this over protective right? He threatened anyone who looked at his friends right?

"Where ya going? You're supposed to stay with me remember? Who will protect you and keep you safe if you're not with me?"

The look in Mauga's eyes was slightly scary, desperation pooled in them, he needed you after all. What would he do without you? He'd simply pass away.

"No, no.. You can't go see them. Stay with me, don't you wanna be safe? Darling, I don't want to have to tell you again."

His touches were rough, almost too rough, like he was worried someone would steal you.

"Can't have anyone taking you away from me, mine... All mine."

Ashe :

"Awh how cute, you think you have a chance with them? Oh no, they're mine.. Lay a finger on them and I swear I will show you what hell is."

Her fingers danced over your shoulders, displaying how only she could touch you, touch your body. Ashe was practically dangling you in front of them, showing exactly how much power she had over you.

"Aren't they just adorable? Such a sweet sight, look all you want. But I'm not keen on sharin'."

It happened so fast, painted nails digging into your throat, a shot firing straight past you toward the man, blood splattering across your face and Ashe's.

"No one gets to see my pretty little thing and live. Now.. Each time you think about going toward someone else, speaking to someone else, anything with someone who isn't me, I want you to remember this moment."

Junkrat :

"I'll kill em! They can't have you, you belong to me remember? I will make sure none of them even look at you."

His fingers gripped your skin, he couldn't let you go, his body wouldn't let him, what if you ran away? He can't possibly live without you, you're his favourite person, he needs you.

"Maybe I'll make you a nice little place and keep you here, that way you can never ever leave me. Would you like that? I would, I would love to wake up to you every morning."

Jamie's metallic hand drew hearts all over your back, obsessive traced hearts decorating your skin because of how hard he pressed.

"Mine, mine, mine, mine."

Sombra :

She had access to everything possible, she knew every little thing about you, that thing you wanted to hide and completely forget? Oh.. Olivia knows.

"What do you want for your birthday?"

"My birthday? I didn't tell you my birthday."

"You didn't have to, I know everything about you."

Her tone was playful but you could tell she was serious, the way her finger nails traced over the veins in your wrist showed you that..

"You have no idea mi amor, you are everything to me.."

Sigma :

Yes you knew he was insane but this..? Paper's scattered across his room, photos of you, photo's you didn't take. Your name written repeatedly over the walls, it was his own little sanctuary of you.

"See? I love you. No one else loves like I do."

His eyes were full of obsessiveness, insane cackles leaving his throat as he pinned up more photos of you. He needed to be surrounded by you at all times, he would go absolutely insane without it.

"It would be such a shame if this went poorly. I do not wish to kill you and then myself just so no one can have you."

Ramattra :

He took care of you but you weren't allowed to speak to anyone, absolutely no one. If you needed something you ask him, if you need help you ask him. He's learned how to do anything you might need, that way you'll never ever need anyone else.

"What is it? Oh you're hair is tangled? Well let me help you."

Ramattra moved you to sit on his lap, a brush softly going through your hair while his other hand held you by the throat.

"I need you to be still, you can handle this right?"

He chuckled at the small nod you gave.

"Ah.. My wonderful little pet human. No one else even knows you exist anymore, you really do belong to me."

————

Now... I've never written something like this so enjoy, also I wrote this with the help of @bruhhhh-huhhhhh. So he deserves some credit too.