#prompt about shame

[writersbeware]

Feeling Ashamed

            Imagine standing at the front of your church to lead the congregation in song. You begin off-key, get a few notes right, then go off-key again. You feel your cheeks getting hot. Respiration increases. Your pulse quickens as time seems to stand still. When you reach the last word, you make a fast exit.             Perhaps you stole something from a friend’s bedroom. She owned a…

[stealingyourbones]

The Lazarus Pits are actually ectoplasm distilleries made by ghosts that have since been abandoned after being discovered by humans.

Ra’s Al Ghul, various heroes, villains, all were revived due to the ghost equivalent of Blinds You strength moonshine.

Additional idea: Danny doesn’t know of the existence of Lazarus Pits and just turned 21. Ember brings him to her favorite Lazarus Pit; the one that’s directly under Gotham

[save-the-villainous-cat]

mmm heroo whump i loooove heero whump mmmm baby i missed you mm

“Oh, no.” The supervillain shook their head and sighed dramatically. “A speedster with a broken leg? Gosh, that’s too bad.”

The villain didn’t want to look at the hero crawling over the floor. Their sobs and pleas were bad enough already but the blood? The bone digging through their flesh? That was indescribable.

“Is this necessary?” the villain asked. They kept their voice apathetic, even though they knew their hand would be shaking if they lifted it. The hero’s broken voice filled the lifeless interrogation room, just like the blood covering the floor. “All this mess for an interrogation? You’re wasting precious resources.”

In response the supervillain laughed. In one hand, they still held the pipe and spun it around as their gaze wandered between it and the hero. It was a trophy to them. They cared little for subtleness. The bloodier, the better but they didn’t seem to realise how much time they were wasting.

“You know, with your legs all broken you’re just another human. Nothing really special,” they said to the hero as they leaned over. The supervillain tilted their head. Right when the hero wanted to push their upper body up, the supervillain rammed their boot into their back.

They slammed into the concrete. Face first. They left a bloody handprint on the supervillain’s pants.

And the villain clenched their teeth.

By now the hero was quieter. It wasn’t that they had given up — they’d probably still attack anyone if there was a bullet in their chest — but their energy was fading and their muscles were failing. The villain had never seen them like this.

“It’s a dead end. They won’t give you any information,” the villain said and they hated the hero for that. Truly, deeply loathed that the hero endured torture for hours and even when their bones broke, they didn’t say a word to save themselves.

What kind of sick loyalty was that? What kind of unquestioned obedience? The villain was nearly jealous of that.

“You’re so pessimistic today…we just have to get a little creative, don’t you think?” the supervillain asked. “What if we make them run with their broken leg and if they stop, we kill them?”

“You think that’s creative?” The villain focused on the supervillain instead of the hero who tried to push themselves up again with their trembling arms. Their grunts and moans sounded more like those of an animal. And that wound…the villain could see their tibia.

Yet, the villain pinched the bridge of their nose and squeezed their eyes shut, surprised by their partner’s idiocy.

“Well, it could be entertaining.”

“They can’t even stand up. What makes you think they could run for your entertainment?” the villain asked.

“I dunno. I like experimenting.” The villain sighed.

If they wanted to save the hero, they needed to do it in private. Convincing the hero to give up their secrets wasn’t going to be easy but the villain had information the supervillain could never know about.

“Great. It was your turn and it didn’t work out. Now it’s mine. Give me 20 minutes with them and you’ll have your oh so desired information,” the villain said.

The supervillain studied them.

“You know what? You’re right. They’re your nemesis. Why should I get involved anyway? God forbid I do a friend a favour.”

“Look, I—” the villain looked at the hero’s tears “—appreciate your efforts. But I fear they’re quite stubborn. They won’t give you what they want, even if you take them apart bit by bit.”

For ten very, very long seconds, the supervillain stared at them.

“Is this a possessive thing?” they asked. They had the audacity not to whisper.

But the villain was willing to push them.

“It is a I-know-your-spouse-shouldn’t-know-you’re-a-criminal-thing,” they said. All the villain needed to see was some time with the hero, even if that meant they’d threaten the supervillain.

They didn’t care what their partner thought about this. Or what kind of rumours they wanted to spread. The villain had enough dirt on enough people to bring a quick end to such accidents.

“Oh, stooping to a new low?”

“Forgive me,” the villain said. They stood up. “I’m sure you understand. They’re my nemesis and you’re robbing me of all the fun. I have to draw some lines here.”

“Fine.” The supervillain didn’t look necessarily happy when the villain cornered them until the last escape was through the door.

“Search for something else to play with, will you?” the villain asked. They opened the door of the interrogation room and offered their partner the way out.

Without a second glance, the supervillain mumbled incoherent curses on their way out until the villain shut the door behind them.

However, as soon as they left, the villain walked over to their nemesis and kneeled.

“Hey, come here.” They grabbed them and pulled them onto their lap. The hero kept looking at their leg and whimpered. Fingers drenched in blood found the villain’s jawline and cheekbones and left fingerprints there.

The villain’s heart was beating fast. Usually, they were able to control themselves in stressful situations but the hero desperately clinging onto them startled them.

“I’m sorry,” the villain whispered. “They won’t let go of you. They’ll kill you if you don’t give them anything.”

The hero shook their head and hid their face in the villain’s clothes. They seemed to know how this was turning out.

“Please,” the hero begged. “Please, it hurts so much, it hurts…”

The villain wiped some loose strands of hair out of the hero’s face.

“They want information on your latest mission. You have to give them something. After that, I can protect you,” the villain promised. They could feel how the hero held onto them.

“I can’t, please, please—”

“Sweetheart, don’t make me do this.”

“No, please.” Their tears rolled down their cheeks and the villain’s heart splintered.

Blackmail was the villain’s preferred way of fighting. Everyone had their secrets and the villain liked to obtain information like no other.

In a world where information spread in seconds, a well kept secret could be the key to peace and conflict.

But their hands were shaking. Tears burnt in their eyes.

“You know I know your siblings. If…” The villain felt disgusting. They felt filthy, wretched even. Despising themselves was new and this feeling was alien to them. It hurt, it burnt. But even if the hero never forgave them for it, this would save them. “…if you don’t tell them, I will kill one of them.”

“No, I trusted you, they love you.”

“I’m sorry,” the villain said. They kissed the hero’s temple. “This is the only way, I fear.”

After that, they developed a distaste for blackmail.

[yourocdoeswhat]

If your OC is considered over-powered for your setting, what is it that sets them apart from the rest? How do they use it to their advantage? How does it impact them?

[mikashida]

u seem like u have a lot of wolverine headcanons pls ... 🤲

you've enabled my rambling just know that you did this to yourself. I do also wanna quickly disclaimer I've not read many of the x men let alone wolverine comics so idk how much of this *is* canon or has been mentioned, I was raised by people who thought comics were evil and would "Turn Me Gay" so I only got to watch the movies because obviously movies can't turn you gay (they did)

most of these are kinda depressing the only funny one is the first one

for like General Headcanons that would apply to all variants i 10000% believe the gruff gravelly voice is fake and he just Does That intentionally. I'm not saying his voice isn't deep but the whole like "ruruuuhughgh. im trhe best at what i do but what i do best aint very nice hnrnrghh..." is overplayed. so when he gets nervous or caught off guard his voice raises like at least half an octave. to illustrate what I mean here's a cutscene from the origins game

I also think he tries to drink to slow his healing factor and not necessarily to get buzzed. this is pretty much canon in Logan, but even outside of that canon he's very often been shown to at Least be fascinated by the idea of being mortally wounded if not genuinely suicidal at times and i imagine drinking consistently kinda fucks with that. like let's say he's physically harmed while intoxicated i figure it would probably hurt more/heal slower than it would if he was sober if that makes sense.

to continue with that i think he's tried to kill himself a lot and not in the funny way that deadpool does (like when he shoots himself in the game to get out of a conversation with colossus lmfao) (not saying that deadpool hasnt Genuinely tried to either though) probably doesn't bother anymore but imagine being like fuckin 20 years old and you cant die and you have So Much ptsd and no way to deal with it because its the fucking 1800s

i generally think his ptsd affects him a lot more than the movies and comics let on, which I understand because it's not easy to write when you don't have experience with it. I think it was written really well in deadpool and wolverine though, I am very tired of the perfect victim trope and I like that this logan is actually. kind of a horrible person (I have more headcanons about that but I will stop with this one). he failed his world and that made him the man that saved the universe, but that doesn't cancel out his wrongdoings, and now that he has people in his life again he has a responsibility to do better for those around him

tldr wolverine has issues and i want to make them worse

[waitineedaname]

i feel like the svsss stuff i've been writing is too tame. i need to do something fucked up to them

[art--harridan]

[Image description: A digital drawing of Angie from the film R.H.I.N.O.; Really Here In Name Only. She is on the left of the piece, wearing her first shown outfit of a jumper and shirt, a woolen coat, and a checkered scarf. Her hands are in her pockets, and her expression is blank, but leans a tad dour. She stares off to the left. Next to her right shoulder, there's the phrase "really here in name only" which descends with each word. In a panel which molds it borders around the words, there's a drawing of a fire escape. Though their upper half is obscured and unidentifiable, Angie can be seen descending the spiral staircase with Charley in her arms, as denoted by the small blue jacket there. There's a green expanse behind it. The background of the piece is purple and the lineart is a dark green. The colours have a purple-tone to them, and are fairly dim and desaturated.]

Inktober - Day 21 (Rhinoceros)

Film - R.H.I.N.O.; Really Here In Name Only (Jane Howell, 1983)

[rotteneldritchhorror]

He’d never do it cause he’s too repressed and toxic but the idea of Rafe in a dress is so funny and endearing to me lol

[moe-broey]

Why did I start like three other projects when I was already working on a big project when I just got hit with the autism exhaustion beam (requires. At least One Full Day just dead in bed, and then some more Taking It Easy time after)

[likeafairytale]

“ Do you want to try too? Surely you can't be as bad as your sister. ” – Yasmeen to Malachai, while she's ice skating with Calypso

“Hey!” Calypso yelled, a bit offended.

Yasmeen tried to hide her amusement, but she couldn't. She wasn't wrong, though, Calypso was struggling to stay steady on the ice and almost fell more than once. Malachai couldn't help but laugh at the view of his sister, and while she came closer to him, she hit his shoulder, making him jumped. He pretended she hurt him, and she seemed proud of herself, which made her brother smile with amusement. The merman stayed in the bank of the frozen lake, while holding his sister, who was still struggling to stay on her feet.

His attention was now on the frozen lake. It was the first time he saw one, and he had to admit it was mesmerizing. It was Calypso's first winter in the Fae Kingdom, –and so his first one too– and winter was full of surprise. The snow, the cold, the warm clothes, the hot cocoa, the fireplace always burning, and Christmas, something the merfolks did not celebrate under the sea. It was a strange season, Malachai thought. Winter did not exist under the sea, obviously there were a change in the current, the water was a bit colder than usual, but it was hard to tell the difference as they were living in deep water, and water there was always colder than the rest of the ocean. And if Calypso welcomed the new season with open arms, it wasn't the case for Malachai.

“No, I came to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” Calypso repeated, a bit confused. “Why? Where are you going?”

“Back home.”

“When?”

“Tonight...”

Malachai suddenly felt unease when he saw how distraught she now was. She let go of his hand, even if that meant almost falling once again, and stepped back, the best she could, with Yasmeen's help. The maid did not let go of the princess, and the latter shook her head at her brother's words, because she did not want to accept them.

“But why?..”

“Duty calls me.”

“Can't you ignore it? We were supposed to celebrate Christmas together, it's our first Christmas, Malachai!” She whined and he grimaced. The merman hated to break his sister's heart, and he knew how much she hated seeing him or Nathaniel leave the Fae Kingdom, not only because that means she was loosing her support system, but also because unlike them, she could not go back to the ocean, which she was jealous.

“I'm sorry, little sister, but I have to. We can celebrate next year. And you won't be alone, Nathaniel stays here.”

“It won't be the same without you!” She screamed, her eyes full of tears. Her eyes were burning now, because of the cold, and she violently let go of Yasmeen's hand that she was still holding. The little mermaid then took off her skates, –not without difficulties– before running away straight to the castle.

“Calypso, come back. Cally don't be childish.”

But it was too late, the girl was already far away. Malachai sighed to her behaviour while shaking his head. He looked at his sister while she was running, and he promised himself that he will bring back her favourite treat, and probably some of her shells that she was collecting in order to be forgiven.

“The sirens again?”

Yasmeen's question brought Malachai's attention back to her. She shyly handed him her hand, and it took a few second for Malachai to understand what she was silently asking. Shaking his head, he softly took her hand, and that physical contact sent a shiver in his spine. He noticed that Yasmeen, too, quivered, but maybe it was just his imagination, maybe she was just cold. He helped her leave the frozen lake and sat on the bench next to her while she took off her skate in order to put her shoes on.

“No, not this time.” He confessed, and Malachai hesitated for a split second, but he then added: “The Selkies. Apparently, they are unhappy with the treaty father proposed, and they threaten to follow the sirens if we do not hear them out. Father is too stubborn to listen to them, so I said I will, in order to keep the peace.”

He was a bit surprised to be so open with her about the merfolks politics. A little part of him wasn't sure if he should discuss it to Yasmeen who was, after all, one of Morgana's maid. But keeping all of it for himself, without no one to confide was weighing on his shoulders. Plus, last time they had problem with the sirens, her helped and knowledge of battle strategy helped them to keep the Norwegian sea. He owed her his home after all. He silently looked at her, studying her facial expression, and he could tell she was lost in her thought. Yasmeen was a real mystery, and he wanted to be the one to pierce her shield. He was waiting for questions, about politics and probably what would be his strategy, but none of that came.

“You know, if you were more open with her, maybe she wouldn't be so mad about you leaving.”

“I cannot tell her, or Nathaniel. It would put unnecessary worries on them, they do not need that.”

“It's their home too, they deserve to know.”

“Not now. Please, can it stay between us?”

“I promise.” He smiled to those words, and she smiled back. To that he couldn't help but blush a little, for she had a pretty smile. “How long will you be gone?”

“Three months.”

“Oh...” She whispered, visibly surprised. Malachai loved to think that she was sad, or disappointed, but he did not want to ask, so he simply shrugged.

“Negotiation took longer than a battle sometimes.”

“This isn't the only reason why you are leaving, am I right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I watched you while you were coming. You limp.”

“You watched me?” He smiled, and she seemed unease, which made him laughed a little. “Is it that obvious?”

“More than usual, at least.”

“I admit that I also try to avoid winter, I do not enjoy it very much...”

He nodded to those words and couldn't help but grimace a little. He thought he had it under control, but visibly he was wrong. The merman was hoping that no one else noticed it except Yasmeen. The cold was chilling his bones and waking up some old wound that did not heal properly, like his limp. So yes, he took the disagreement with the Selkies as an opportunity to go back to the sea and avoid the cold that was winter. Yasmeen had a little laugh at his words, and that made his heart missed a beat. Here was the song that he probably loved the most. A smile took place on his face, happy to have made her laugh.

When she looked at him, he suddenly realized how close they were. He might have come closer during their conversation, without realizing it, and she probably did not realize too, because she did not move at all. For a few minutes, they looked at each other, silently, as they used to. None of them moved. This proximity, although unusual between them, was welcomed by both. The merman wanted to hold her hand, and he was ready to take it, when he heard the crispy noise of the snow, meaning that someone was coming from behind. Immediately, Yasmeen stood up, and Malachai backed up in the bench, looking away. He noticed that it was just a servant passing by, no one important, but the fear of being caught was still there. The girl cleared her throat while gathering hers and Calypso's skates.

“I should go make sure the princess is alright.”

“Yasmeen, wait.” He started, and he almost regretted it. She turned around, looking at him with curiosity in her eyes, and he cursed himself for acting before thinking. Malachai listened, making sure they were just the two of them, before timidly saying: “I... I'm going to miss you.” He could that the girl was trying to hide how surprised she was by his words. She stayed silent, and he couldn't blame her. He probably took her aback, and to be honest, he did not expect her to answer anything to him. “Anyway, tell my siblings I'll make it up to them when I'll come back. And... I'll bring you back a souvenir.” He finally said, an awkward smile on his face, before leaving the Fae Kingdom.

[eponastory]

Modern au zutara prompt: Tell me how you know your boyfriend won't cheat on you without actually telling me

Is this a joke?

Am I being pranked?

This has got to be a prank.

Because if it is...

Jokes on you, I don't need a man for validation or status.

[riddlerosehearts]

figured out how to edit the game files and combine some mods so i could try out different things with gale's earring because i have a lot of thoughts... also gale's earring should really be positioned lower but i'm having an issue with one of the mods, oh well

[atatfortatzelwurm]

A huge part of the reason Big the cat is so torn apart by people who arent Sonic fans and who ARE Sonic fans is because Big is, intentionally or not, extremely autistic-coded. And because he's fat. I'm not kidding

[candycryptids]

Is this our fate? To be discarded by humanity when we’re no longer deemed useful?

Who am I even more like, anymore? A sentient being with the body of a machine- what even am I, now? Did they grieve for you, or was it quiet and lonely? Did it hurt, can you even feel pain? I’m here now. I’ll remember you too.

[wild-flowerhoney]

i am not a fan of my works for percico week but you will all need to forgive me just this once - life got in the way of writing for my favourite boys unfortunately.

[hekateinhell]

Before I started with the NSFW prompts, I was going to try to do Kinktober 2022. That didn't happen, but I did have this prompt and pairing scribbled in my notes app, so here she is, actually done. Lestat/Armand, post-canon AU, rated E (cock warming, canon-compliant), 2k. For @ancelegance, who read this already. 🖤

"What is it, Armand?" Lestat didn't even spare him a glance, although a faint smile tugged at the corners of the lips. So focused was he on the mounds of paperwork before him; it took him longer than it normally would have to realize he wasn't receiving a response.

Come with me.

"Armand, mon chèri, you know I would love to spend the evening with you, but look at this! I'll be lucky to grab a small drink before dawn." It's not meant to be defensive, but frankly, it felt as though Lestat could either manage one of two things: being Prince or being a Blood Spouse to one such as Armand – the circumstances of which remain a story for another time.

"Fine," Lestat sighed, flinging down his pen with all the added flair of a dramatic theatre child. Looked up and met Armand's large dark eyes with a forced cheeriness but a genuine affection. Must everyone always find him lacking in some way? Perhaps Armand read that in his expression because he appeared to shrink into himself momentarily, his youthful face vulnerable and sad once more.

Damn.

"I'll compromise with you," Lestat pushed back his chair and patted his lap, "Come here." Suddenly self-conscious but never one to disobey a direct command from Lestat's lips in this, their new season, Armand timidly slid his arms around Lestat's shoulders before straddling his lap and leaning forward to rest his head against the prominent clavicle.

Tell me what I can do for you, my wild one. Let me be a comfort to you. It's a plea, equal parts a desire to comfort and the need to assert his usefulness – if to nobody but himself. Lestat pressed a kiss to those auburn tresses, his hands instinctively resting on Armand's narrow waist.

"You already are such a comfort to me," he murmured, hoping Armand heard the sincerity that Lestat tried to infuse into every word.

A sigh was the only response as Armand tightened his grip and drew as close as he possibly could to be completely flush to Lestat's more muscular body. "I need you," he whispered as if it were a sinner's confession rather than a lover's ask, his hands repeatedly opening and closing over the fabric of Lestat's silk shirt.

"Of course you do," Lestat couldn't resist the tease, while swallowing down the rest of that thought. Of course you do, after I've denied you for so long. "Take whatever it is you need then, mon coeur," said Lestat earnestly, and he meant it; the notion of an equalized relationship still not an entirely familiar concept to him.

Armand wordlessly drew Lestat's hand to his face, nuzzling against his palm like a kitten might, before turning it over to place a lingering kiss on the topaz gem that adorned the golden band around Lestat's ring finger – clearly expressing his devotion and appreciation for his beloved, his Prince.

The tableau he made, with his dark lashes dusting over his cheekbones as he bowed his head, was enough to make Lestat's heart twist painfully in his chest. He pulled back his hand to twist it into Armand's hair instead, drawing him in for an embrace that was rough and possessing and perhaps a bit desperate. Surely Lestat wasn't that much of a withholding spouse that warranted the display Armand had just presented?

Armand’s smaller, delicate hands came to cradle Lestat’s face as his fangs grazed Lestat’s bottom lip, the sharp nails digging into the flesh just enough that Lestat resisted moving, opting to let Armand take control. Contrary to most appearances, it was nice–comforting even–to be held in place by Armand as he so often was.

It’s either the best or worst kept secret in their court.

"You do well, Lestat," Armand whispered in between kisses that were somehow chaste in their tenderness yet obscene in their urgency.

Lestat didn't do well; he knew this. His Prime Minister wouldn't be in the temper he was usually in if that were the case. Armand needn't come begging for a quick caress and a sweet word if Lestat were doing well.

Still, hearing the loving affirmation murmured in that honeyed voice was enough to make Lestat's throat tighten, and he blinked rapidly to dismiss the subsequent unwanted emotional response.

Armand, damn him, caught it anyway, and he smiled like a child, delighted.

“Imp,” Lestat waved him off gently with a laugh that wasn't entirely forced. “Go on then! Do what you came here to do, mon chèri!”

“Oh, I'm about to, mon roi,” Armand teased as he rose with a flourish.

Of course, Lestat watched – a man in a trance – as Armand unlaced his knee-high leather boots with a precision and a learned seduction that only a vampire, only Armand for that matter, could possess. His white ruffled shirt and grey trousers were next to follow, purposely left discarded on the rug.

For a man that hadn't felt the sensation of human arousal in his body in the last two hundred years, Lestat would certainly think he was at least experiencing the imitation of it, if it weren't for the obvious fact that nothing ever changed in the region below his waist.

What a pity, a travesty, really!

Nonetheless, Armand's was a bewitching beauty that Lestat longed to claim for himself; a wildcat he'd finally subdued into the demure, sympathetic creature that stood before him now.

Permit a man his delusions of grandeur, please. If nothing else, it appeased Lestat's ego to see the efforts Armand lavished on him. Always had... How could it not?

"Cherub child," Lestat teased in an abrupt flash of wickedness. What a thing to say as Armand approached him, seemingly dancing, before kneeling down in front of the ornate mahogany chair. Completely nude, his curls tumbling over his shoulders as his hand came to massage the ever-present hardness between Lestat's thighs.

"Expecting a miracle, are we, darling?" Lestat questioned, amusement and confusion evident in his voice as he reached out to push Armand's hair back over his shoulder, unobstructing the view of that angelic face.

"No," Armand looked up at him now, tiny fanged teeth coming to nip lightly at Lestat's jaw – an effective distraction – while a satin-like hand quickly freed him from the confines of his trousers.

Hard not to gloat like a mortal man upon seeing the satisfied glint in Armand's eyes each time he took in Lestat's physical endowments, even if he had no use for them beyond the mere aesthetic.

"Is that what you think? That I have no use for all of this?" Armand gently stroked Lestat from base to tip, lingering as though he, Armand, were gaining pleasure from the act itself.

"Do you, really?"

All other thought left Lestat's mind when he looked, really looked, at Armand's face for the first time all evening. His entire face flushed pink, darkest at his cheeks and plump lips, the stolen heat making itself known like rouge painted onto the features of a china doll. He felt almost feverish to the touch when Lestat dragged his knuckles along the apple curve of a perfect cheekbone, "You must have been starving to gorge yourself like this!"

Oh, but I am starving still, Lestat...

"I told you," Lestat reminded him, veritably hypnotized, "Take whatever you need from me. It's yours, Armand. I swear it." Armand startled and blinked at this in a way he hadn't the first time Lestat had spoken the words. He looked terribly, frightfully, young then – the seductive bravado slipping for a moment before his lips curved into a rare, genuinely serene smile. "You did tell me that, didn't you?"

It wasn't a question that sought a response, and Armand didn't wait for one. Turning to face the doorway, he held the edge of the antique desk with one hand while the other reached back and readily sought Lestat's cock.

"Armand-"

You said whatever I needed. Now, quiet.

He could only watch spellbound in rapt fascination as Armand sank down on his shaft in one fluid, rehearsed motion. A motion so skilled it ought to be scandalous. Armand had evidently prepared himself well beforehand, but it was not without a sense of pride that Lestat noted a subtle catch in his breath. In all probability, a part of the show, given a vampire's tolerance for pain, but Lestat still thought it polite and gentlemanly to enquire, "Are you alright, love?"

Armand was fully nestled in his lap now and warm. His internal heat surpassing what Lestat had felt on his face moments ago; the private clutch of Armand's body was snug, slick, and so agreeably warm. "It's an adjustment," Armand replied as he nodded against Lestat's shoulder, interlacing their fingers and bringing Lestat's hand to press on his lower abdomen.

Lestat could have laughed out loud. "My, you are certainly full of flattery tonight! Perhaps I shall ignore you more often." Armand didn't respond, but his fingers over Lestat's hand slacked as his body stiffened, his chin tilting downward ever so slightly.

Why did the wrong thing always slip out so easily to Armand? What sort of damnable curse was this?

I didn't mean that, Armand! You know that I didn't. You know how much of my love you hold, don't you? Tell me that you do…

He's the one gripping Armand's fingertips now, and Armand gave no reaction before suddenly taking in a sharp breath and sitting up again while keeping his toes pressed to the carpet. Never relinquishing an inch of Lestat's cock inside him as he braced his elbows along the hard wood and picked up the court document Lestat had been pursuing in frustration when Armand had first walked in.

His voice was clear and melodic when he read it out loud, as it was when he allowed his accents to come through. Sweetly caressing the vowels with a trace of their native French, the language in which they'd first been acquainted.

As the pronounced exhaustion that came only from duty and obligation began to make itself known – combined with Armand’s soft and saccharine tones and the heat that enveloped him – Lestat felt himself becoming rather lethargic in a manner not unlike a stray animal that’s long-last found its refuge in a storm.

His forearms formed a cage around Armand's middle, cheek pressing against the jut of an unblemished shoulder blade. At some point, the words faded out, but the delicate sounds remained – all Lestat knew in those moments as he drifted in and out of a half-sleep was the delectable inner warmth and the unmistakable scent of his boyish companion. Barely noticed a hand passing over his head, pausing briefly to tousle his golden curls before Armand made a small cut in his own skin.

Go on, lover. I fed for both of us tonight.

How easy for Lestat to turn his head to the other side and sink his fangs into Armand's throat without opening his eyes, relying instead on muscle memory and his predatory senses to find the vein, finally latching on with a slow and drowsy suck like an infant to its nurse.

Merci, Armand. Lestat squeezed his hips, grinding against him for good measure as if he could conceivably get any deeper, perhaps disappear entirely.

A kingdom to spend the rest of his eternity in this position.

Upon drinking his fill, he carefully retracted, sealing the wound with a lick and a kiss, dropping his forehead back down to its previous placement, partially hidden beneath that russet hair. Content to be wholly supported by Armand's deceptively slighter body while he slumbered, satiated in all the ways a man and vampire could possibly be.

Was I to your liking then, my Lestat? Coy, yet cocky at the same time. Knowing he had given Lestat what Lestat had needed, but craving the acknowledgment that Lestat had, in fact, understood what just transpired between them.

Indescribably so, as always.