#they have taken over my brain your honour

[coffeekoe]

jegulily my loves <3

[clegfly]

GAH THANK YOU SO MUCH WJENEJEJ…

I’ve been plagued by these two for HOURS I’ve done nothing but think about and doodle them… the siblings ever! They have one brain cell between them

Also the sprout mole shirt ehejennej… fun fact about that sunny’s design here is based off of OMORI’s first design, and I’m pretty sure the little creature on his shirt is a character from earthbound… but I replaced it with a sprout mole because he would so have a sprout mole shirt… especially cause they’re video game characters in their universe

“What have I done?”

More puter au stuff because you all love it so… and so do I ajsnsjjsns…

[zaldritzosrose]

Can't Stay Away (Feyd-Rautha x Princess!Reader)

Summary: Second daughter of the Emperor and you were well used to being ignored in favour of your sister. That was, until you met Feyd-Rautha, nephew to the Harkonnen Baron. A tourney of old, bringing back the traditions of champions and favours brought him to your side - but how close would he stay?

TW: Minors DNI, She/Her pronouns, afab reader, mild mentions of neglect towards reader (ignored in favour of Irulan), Feyd being a flirt, hot and heavy making out, fingering, lashings of sexual tension.

I've taken a couple of liberties with the veils the Bene Gesserit/Irulan seem to wear - making it an honour to see a Sister/Princess' face and given meaning to the paint on Feyd before the arena...because why not it's my story!

(There will be a part 2...maybe 3...I have no self control)

Words: 3508

THANK YOU to @tumblin-theworldaway for not only being patient over this but for listening to my months of related brain rot! I love you!

Being second to the Imperial heir had not always felt like a task. As a child, you did not mind being sent off to other tasks while Irulan was coached in the ways of an Empress. Your father had you both trained in the ways of the Bene Gesserit, and as a child it made you feel incredibly important. Being at the Reverend Mother’s side, and at times the only time you were ever praised for something you had achieved.

But the older you got, the more the feeling of being ignored crept in. Men would seek out Irulan's favour, not yours. Visitors would spend hours speaking to the elder princess before speaking to you. Irulan was the interesting one. She was heir, it made sense for her to be the one they wished to gain the favour of.

Second daughter, second best. You understood it, deep down, but that did not stop the hurt it caused.

Despite this, you always accompanied your father and sister on the planetary tours, following along as the Emperor would visit all his people and be lavished with grand feasts and parties as a welcome. Every House from Arrakis to Zanovar were granted a visit from their Emperor, some were happier about it than others.

Despite the tensions on Arrakis, the word of the ‘Messiah’ reaching the Emperor’s ears and being ignored and the rumours that the Emperor had ordered the end of House Atreides, the Imperial Tours continued.

Giedi Prime was the next stop. The home of the Harkonnens. You had heard of the Harkonnens. Fearsome warriors. Terrifying. Bloodthirsty. Brutal. In all honesty, they had fascinated you for the longest time. The manipulations that led to their rise. Their bloodstained history with House Atreides. You had read as much as you had been able to find.

And their welcome? A tournament, a battle of strength and brutality to impress their Emperor. Harking back to days of old when knights would compete in feats of battle prowess to show off. Men from all the Great Houses and more came to compete, including Feyd-Rautha. The Baron's nephew did not hesitate to volunteer to represent his people in something so prestigious.

The Imperial Ship landed and you, your sister and the Emperor were quickly greeted by the Baron and his nephews. You stood to your father’s left, Irulan at his right. Feyd’s eyes stayed on you, though you had not noticed yet. Trailing from the gold and pearl veil over your face, down to the matching white lace and gold dress that both clung and flowed over your body perfectly. He glanced briefly at Irulan, her silver and chainmail contrasting you, but his eyes ultimately returned to you.

"Your Imperial Graces, may I introduce my nephews," the Baron began, gesturing first to his elder nephew and then the younger as he spoke.

"Beast-Rabban and Feyd-Rautha."

Both men bowed, following their uncle's lead. First to the Emperor, then Irulan and then you. The order of importance seemed clear, as usual. But as his head raised, Feyd met your gaze and held it. Cool blue eyes boring into yours and you could not look away.

Your father nodded his head in thanks as did Irulan, but you...

You still stared at Feyd. Something about him, the way he held your gaze. The faint smirk forming on his lips. You could not do anything but stare.

His smile widened, black painted teeth on show as he stepped forward and taking your hand in his, a gesture that shocked even you. His lips found the back of it, pressing a surprisingly gentle but lingering kiss to your skin. No one ever focused on you like this, not when you stood by Irulan. It was something you had gotten quite accustomed to.

But the rough scratch of his fingers around yours, the heat of his lips on your skin, was enough to have you blushing. Then he spoke. His voice low, sending a shiver down your spine.

"A pleasure to meet you, princess."

The Emperor and the Baron led you, Irulan and the Baron’s nephews back inside the Harkonnen fortress. Despite trying not to, your focus always seemed to return to Feyd. The way he moved with confidence, the small glances he gave you with that smirk still on his lips.

Irulan was at your father’s side, as usual. Rabban walked beside the Baron. Which left you and Feyd behind that line. You were not purposely walking at his side, but you soon noticed that Feyd had fallen into step with you. Slowing his pace to match yours.

You kept your gaze forward, but you could feel his eyes on you. Like a predator and you were no more than prey. You knew you would be the one to break the silence before Feyd did.

“Are you looking forward to the tournament, Feyd?” You asked, glancing to the side to see him, as expected, staring at you as he walked.

Feyd hummed low in response before answering. You began to wonder how he was being so mindful of where he was going, whilst keeping his eyes on you.

“A fight is always welcome, princess. Are you excited for it?”

You did not answer immediately. No answer you gave, you felt, was ever interesting enough. Or at least, not in your past experiences. But, to your surprise, Feyd seemed genuinely interested.

“I am intrigued, to say the least. It is not often a House welcomes us with such an event.”

Feyd only nodded, before holding out his hand to stop you moving further forward. It was only then that you noticed you had reached the doors to the Harkonnen fortress. You had been so distracted by the man beside you, you had ignored your surroundings.

“After you, princess,” Feyd offered, holding out an arm to allow you to walk ahead.

You walked on, hearing Feyd’s boots against the floor behind you. Your father, sister and the Baron and his nephew were ahead of you. And your father had not looked back once to check on you, something you were well used to. But Feyd had noticed too.

His head tilted in curiosity but said nothing on the topic. He followed you inside, eyes glancing occasionally between you and your father, noticing the seemingly longing look you held. As the Baron led the Emperor and Irulan into the dining hall, you seemed to hang back, like you were waiting for permission to follow them.

When that did not come, you folded your hands before you and turned from the door.

“Are you not joining them?” Feyd asked, genuinely surprised at the situation.

Your head hung low, and you simply shook it.

“Not if I am not invited. Irulan is heir, not I,” You said simply and began walking away without a second glance.

You assumed Feyd would join his uncle and brother. But the sound of footsteps behind you told you otherwise. You did not look back as you walked, though in truth, you had no idea where you were walking to. You simply wished to be away. Feyd followed silently, only interfering when he felt the need to steer you somewhere specific.

“Princess, follow me, I have somewhere more comfortable you could wait over walking the halls?”

Feyd was not sure why, but he felt the need to be at your side. A strange draw that seemed to tug at his gut and keep him at your side. He was a man of pleasure, or so most people said. He held little care for the feelings of others.

Yet with you, he wanted to know. No, he needed to know. To know what bothered you. To know why your eyes dipped to the floor after looking at your father and sister. Why you seemed surprised from the moment he paid you attention upon your arrival. He was curious as to why you seemed to try to hide your presence at any given moment.

But he said nothing. He would not even know where to begin if he wanted to. Instead, he walked in silence, leading you to a wide balcony that looked out on to the expanse of Giedi Prime.

You took your seat and the two of you sat in a comfortable silence until you were called by one of your father’s attendants.

You listened politely as you walked beside your sister, Irulan’s arm linked with yours this time as you followed your father and the Baron towards the arena. Irulan talked on about how the tournament would work, that you, her and some other noble ladies from the Houses would choose their own champion to fight the tournament in their name.

It reminded you of the tourneys of old. Where knights fought for princesses and ladies to win favour. You had read so many stories, fairytales of times that were now a faraway memory. The idea fascinated you as much as the Harkonnens did. You were about to ask Irulan more, when your father turned to speak. To both of you, for once.

“My daughters, you will allow the ladies from the Great Houses to choose their champions, then you will choose.”

That confused you both, but you had little choice but to agree. He was the Emperor first, your father second.

You watched warriors from each Great House and some minor Houses line up before you, Irulan and the other gathered ladies with interest. And you could not hide your smile when Feyd stepped forward and joined them.

One by one, champions were picked. Irulan chose first out of the two of you, not surprisingly choosing a Corrino soldier as her champion. There were more warriors than ladies to choose, and Feyd remained in those waiting. That surprised you. He was known for his fighting ability, so you did not understand why he had not been chosen. Which only solidified your own choice.

“Princess, your choice of champion please?” the Harkonnen announcer asked, gesturing to the men before you.

Purely for the suspense, you paused before answering. Mere seconds, allowing you to enjoy the small amount of attention focused solely on you.

“I choose Feyd-Rautha.”

Everyone looked shocked, including your father and sister. Everyone, but Feyd. His smirk wide as he stepped forward, taking your hand as he had when you arrived. Eyes locked to yours as he pressed his lips to your knuckles.

“I shall win well for you, my princess.”

You were not sure if it was traditional, but Feyd had asked you to see him before the tournament. A guard led you silently to a round chamber, with only a black stone table in the centre, holding weapons of different kinds. You stood out so starkly against the black stone, the faint lights making the pearls on your veil shimmer ever so slightly.

Feyd was stood in the centre, and you could feel the heat in your cheeks you realised he wore only an intricately wrapped loin cloth.

“Princess, I appreciate you agreeing to come,” Feyd called as he strode to your side.

He smirked as he watched you avert your gaze from his bare chest. In his hand, he held a bowl of what looked like black paint. It was only when he tapped the stone bowl did your eyes find it. You looked back at him curiously.

“You are my champion, it would be rude not to,” you said softly, your eyes still looking at the bowl.

It was only then that you noticed there was no one else in the room. Something that seemed extremely unusual.

“Do you normally prepare for a fight alone?” you asked, eyes flitting around the room and back to him, now trained solely on his face.

Feyd chuckled, a low, gravelly sound that you found yourself wanting to hear again.

“No, usually I am surrounded by servants and guards. But I thought I would try something different today. It’s a special day after all.”

He held the bowl up, tipping it slightly to move the paint. Your eyes watched it with interest, it slowly dawning on you what it was for. You had read up on the Harkonnens and Giedi Prime before you arrived, there was more lore to research than you had anticipated. One thing, now, came to your mind.

“Am I to paint you, Feyd?”

That earned you another chuckle. Though Feyd was actually quite surprised you knew of any Harkonnen traditions.

“I thought it would be interesting, to prepare your champion for battle, hmm?” he asked, holding the bowl out to you, careful however not to get the ink black liquid on your white dress.

You nodded, confusing him when you turned away from him. But what you did next, was not what he expected. Slowly, you lifted the veil that had covered your face since your arrival. Finally revealing your full appearance to him.

And you were beautiful.

“Then I suppose it is only fair I let you look at me while I do so.”

What Feyd did not realise, was the importance of what seemed like a small gesture. Almost all those trained by the Bene Gesserit veiled themselves in some way. The Princesses most of all. But Feyd knew even now, he was being honoured by you.

“Thank you, princess.” Was all he could manage, any words he said would never be quite enough, he felt.

You returned to his side, only now looking down at the full form of him. Thick muscle covered him from shoulder and down. A body sculpted for war, it seemed. And it was now a body that would fight in your name.

Feyd held out the bowl, watching with curious eyes as you took it and moved to stand at his back. He opened his mouth to instruct you but was stopped by the cold sensation of paint on his skin. You felt him stiffen a little and continued to paint as you explained.

“I have done my research before coming here. My father always tells me it is best to know our hosts,” you said simply, as if that should be enough to explain why you so easily began painting him.

He said nothing as you finished his back, the feeling of the paint drying telling him where you had painted each square and line. It fascinated him that you had so quickly learned the symbols necessary.

But when you moved to his front, he felt a wave of anticipation run through him. Tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he waited for you to begin. He could feel the warmth of your hands more intensely now he could see you.

You started on his chest, painting the four thick lines on his pectorals first. He watched the concentration on your face, the way your teeth gently nibbled your lower lip as your made sure every stroke was perfect.

You could feel his eyes on you, but you did not dare look up. The whole situation was intimate enough, without meeting his gaze. Feyd heard the soft breath you took to prepare yourself as you moved lower, pausing only briefly before you began to paint his stomach.

“Do you really believe these help you?” you suddenly asked, as though distracting yourself from the path your fingers took over the ridges of hid abdominals.

Feyd’s jaw clenched at the gentleness of your touch, the feeling sending goosebumps over his pale skin. He did his best to concentrate on answering your question about the symbols.

“It is the belief in them that makes them important, so yes, I do.”

You hummed in response, and Feyd’s breath caught in his throat when you began to kneel as your painted nearer his hips.

The tension in the air was thick. No sounds in the room except the scrape of your fingers against the bowl and the soft puffs of your combined breathing. Feyd tried his best to concentrate solely on the paint being smeared on his skin, but having you so close had desire settling in his belly.

Soon, you were done.

“There, I hope I have done a good enough job…” Feyd smiled at the mix of hope and pride in your eyes. But when you moved to take your hand away from his skin, he grabbed it quickly. His body acting on instinct and the words leaving him before his brain could control them.

“Would I be too forward in asking for a kiss, princess. For luck?”

You were struck silent by the question, but an aching part of you began urging you to allow him one kiss. No harm could come from it, right?

Tentatively, you stepped forward after setting bowl down on a table nearby. You pressed your lips softly to his cheek, letting them linger for mere seconds. But that was not what Feyd wanted.

You had barely stepped back before his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. He revelled in the small squeak of surprise that left you and he appreciated the fact you were not trying to push him away.

Your face was mere inches from his as his hand moved to cup your cheek, tilting your head up to his as he pressed him plump lips to yours. The feeling was electric the moment your lips met, your own hand gripping the back of his neck. Not caring for the paint that was now smeared down the skin there.

You pressed yourself harder against him, letting your body mould to his as he deepened the kiss. Tongue swiping against the flesh of your lip, asking for entry which you happily granted. The moment his tongue found yours, Feyd was like a man possessed. Gripping your face tighter as your tongue soon surrendered to his, tangling together in a clash of teeth.

The paint on his body, barely dried, smeared against your dress but you could not have cared less. Your only thoughts were Feyd. The feel of his arm on your waist and hand on your face. The taste of him, combined with the black paint on his teeth. You were entirely intoxicated by him.

You were not sure when he had backed you towards the table, but you did not stop him when he lifted you quickly on to it. There was something so delicious about the danger of the whole situation. While realistically, you barely knew him, you could feel your body surrendering to every kiss and touch. The very fibres of you desperate to feel more of him already.

Feyd groaned into your mouth when you made space for him to slip between your legs, your dress parting either side to accommodate the movement. His hands took purchase your thighs while yours found his shoulders. Your paint-stained fingers leaving fingerprints all over his alabaster skin.

The room felt like it had heated as his lips began to trail down your jaw and to your neck, following a path until he reached the swell of your breasts, just visible with the cut of your dress. His hands kneading the flesh of your thighs, the combination forcing breathy moans to slip from your lips.

Feyd revelled in every one of them. The dig of nails into his shoulder when he nipped at your collarbone, the soft moan when his hands found the apex of your thighs and squeezed.

“I will win for you, my princess…” he mumbled, his face buried in your neck as his fingers continued their path to your core.

And you were powerless to stop him, your body listening now solely to your base instincts. The first brush of his fingers over your underwear had your head falling back.

“Win for me, and I will reward you…” you sighed out, as his fingers slipped deftly beneath the fabric.

Feyd could barely concentrate on your promise, slipping his fingers further and further between your folds until he was buried to the knuckles. The smallest curl of the digits had you moaning his name.

“Reward me how?” he asked, already feeling your soft walls clenching around him as your release crept forward.

He could barely help himself, thrusting and curling his fingers over and over. Feeling the soft gush of your slick coating his fingers and palm with each movement.

You could hardly form words, Feyd’s fingers somehow speeding up again. You could only moan as you release surprised you, tugging Feyd by neck to kiss him as you spilled around his fingers.

He slowed his movements as you relaxed, not pulling them out until he could feel your muscles stop spasming. Your jaw went slack as you saw him reach for the bowl of paint, mixing your juices with the black liquid and painting over the now smudged symbols you had adorned him with. The smug grin on his face making your skin tingle.

You slowly came back to yourself, eyes meeting his as you finally answered.

“Win for me, and you can have any part of me you wish.”

Dune Taglist (requested and people I know who like Dune):

@blissfulphilospher @tumblin-theworldaway

@lady-phasma @anjelicawrites @aemondsbabe @alexagirlie

(if you want to be tagged in or removed from future posts, let me know!)

[show-your-fangs]

omg omg omg can I pls request hotch genuinely being the most clueless, dumb-and-in-love individual?

Basically the team has to point it out to him for him to see how soft he is for reader and how differently he treats them 💗😩 he’s in love, your honour 🤭

i love our stupid man in love, he's so cute i can't.

this is part two of this blurb from my moments au

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x f!Reader

Words: 1.7k

CW: nothing, just fluff.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

He didn’t ask you out that night. Neither Morgan or Rossi won the bet, the unfortunate draw making them only want to try harder to win over the other.

That had been a week ago, the pool only growing as more agents got in on it and it had somehow gotten out of hand really quickly. Penelope had been tasked with keeping track of the bets, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her mouth shut about it, especially when she was around you. 

The team had left for a case earlier in the week which meant you were spending a lot of time with her. From helping with research, running point from the office, making calls and setting up permits, warrants, everything and anything they needed, you were practically tied at the hip as per usual when the team was away. The only problem? Penelope Garcia could not keep a secret to save her life, and the more time she spent with you, the more she almost slipped and told you what was going on.

You had closed the case earlier that night after five days of grueling work. You were exhausted, more so emotionally than physically, so you’d invited Penelope to dinner as way to celebrate the little victory. But what had started as a simple night out had quickly turned wild as the waiter had taken a liking to her and kept the cocktails coming throughout your entire meal. You were on dessert, a forgettable chocolate lava cake with ice cream when she finally slipped.

“I just think it’s so silly,” she giggled in between sips of her drink and scoops of dessert. 

“What’s silly?” you egged her on, whatever this secret was had eluded you for the entire week and you just needed to know. 

“How much Hotch likes you,” her cheeks flushed pink but her brain didn’t realize what’d she’d admitted to yet, allowing her to continue. “The team has a bet going on when he’s going to ask you out and everything.” 

“Huh,” you mused. “That is silly.”

That’s when her brain snapped, dread and realization washing over her all at once. Her eyes widened, her spoon fell from her hand and onto the plate. 

“Oh my gosh, do you not like Hotch back? I could’ve sworn— I am mortified! Forget I told you, please I am begging you—”

You reached over and placed your hand over hers, gently soothing her out of her panic as a mischievous smile curled on your lips. 

“Can you get me on the board, Pen?”

Apparently they were all convinced it wasn’t happening for a while. They had decided to overcorrect their previous assumptions, placing bets that were days if not weeks in the future. Penelope had added you to the bet list that same night, promising to keep the secret until the next morning. 

You knew the clock was ticking, knew that once you started the countdown, you had no business losing your courage. It was now or never, and the reminder that soon the rest of the team would be shuffling into the bullpen to start their day, that they’d know someone else had made a risky bet — it only got your adrenaline pumping even more. 

You poured his coffee as you watched him enter the office, gaze on his phone, powerful and confident strides leading him towards his office. He turned and waved from the top of the stairs once he finally noticed you, a small smile on his lips. You smiled back, your cheeks reddening slightly as you finished getting your own coffee in order, the pale tan a contrast to his straight black. 

You made your way to his office a minute after he’d settled, placing his cup on his desk and taking a seat across from him. This had been your routine for months now, you’d bring him his coffee in the morning and the two of you would fill each other in on your lives. 

Aaron had been dealing with his divorce, the guilt of having to split Jack’s time between him and his mom, the added stress of finding a new place and moving, of finding himself alone when he’d been used to always having someone to come home to after a tough case. And you? You had just started going to therapy after he’d encouraged you to. It had been a rocky adjustment to the job, and you were glad that you could confide in him as your boss but also as your friend. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled, pulling out the case files he’d taken back home the night before. 

You shot him a look, the look, and he couldn’t help but sigh deeply. You weren’t angry, you were simply disappointed, and he knew that. It had been hard, harder now that he had to force himself back out there if he wanted to actually have a life. But even after months of this new normal, the idea of dating made him even more exhausted than he’d like to admit. 

Because while Morgan or Emily thrived meeting new people, Aaron had met Haley in high school. He’d been with one woman his entire life, one woman for more than twenty years. He was rusty to say the least, the insecurity of it only growing the more he refused to take the leap, the more he refused to feel his feelings, the more he fell in love with you. 

“Haley had Jack last night—” he started but you were quick to interrupt him. 

“That’s a terrible excuse,” you chided. “There’s a million things you could’ve done instead.”

“Oh yeah?” the mischief was back in his eyes, making you gulp visibly. “What did you do last night?”

Your mouth opened in mock annoyance, he couldn’t possibly know—

“For your information, sir,” you mocked. “I went out with Penelope last night.” 

Whatever glimmer of hope Aaron had cultivated to tease you about taking work back home was extinguished in a second. He sat back in his chair, inaudibly admitting defeat. 

“Maybe that’s what you need too,” you started, your heart racing once more. His eyebrows shot up and you could tell his blood had also gotten to his head. “Ask someone out, go on a date, get laid.”

That caught him off guard completely. If he had been sipping on his coffee he would’ve choked, made an even bigger fool of himself. But instead his cheeks just reddened, his ears quickly following suit, a detail he knew you knew about him as you’d pointed it out many times in the past.

But you didn’t today, you didn’t say anything about his reaction but he was too hot to notice it right away.

“It’s what I have to do too, honestly,” you shrugged, faux confidence somehow allowing you to not combust right then and there. 

“Do you now?” he managed through gritted teeth, the idea of you dating something that he made sure never to think about because it always led him down a dark path of rage and an ungodly desire to ravage you to the point where you belonged to him and no one else. 

“Yeah,” you drawled on, almost sighing dramatically. That’s when he caught on, when his brain finally reconnected to his body and his heart only sped up even more. “But I don’t know…I’m not really into any of the guys Penelope or Emily have tried to set me up with, they’re not really my type.”

God, this was not actually happening. “What is your type?”

“Crime fighting single dads who adore their kids and participate in triathlons for fun,” there was no misinterpreting it now. 

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” the words flew out of his mouth before either of you could register them. 

A bright smile took over your lips, your eyes sparkling with happiness. A shy smile slowly started to turn adorably embarrassed on his, his gaze tentatively raising to meet yours, eyebrows raised almost pleading, his eyes round and hopeful. 

“I would love to,” you said and he graced you with the most beautiful full smile you’d ever seen from him. It was unrestricted, genuine, life giving. 

“Great,” he cleared his throat as the clock struck eight, the reality of the world outside of your little office bubble a reminder of where you were. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“Can’t wait,” you reassured him, standing up with your own untouched coffee mug and making your way downstairs. “Oh, and it’s my treat. Trust me.”

You were gone before he could argue, but you knew that he couldn’t stop smiling, the warmth radiating from him was enough for you know it deep in your bones.

“Babygirl,” Morgan asked aloud, holding up the list of bets that Penelope had left on his desk earlier as the blonde returned to the bullpen from her office. “What’s this?”

He tapped on the bet you’d written down, the other agents gathering to inspect the new addition.  

“Proof of my victory, Derek,” you said cockily as Penelope handed you the envelope full of cash. 

The entire team turned to you, eyes wide and anger slowly boiling. But none of them let it out, instead they all looked impressed, they respected the move, the hustle, the boldness. Morgan scoffed in proud defeat as he held out his fist for you to bump, and you did, excitedly.  

It had finally happened, the start of something that had been brewing for months, and you couldn’t be happier. While the girls walked up to you to get all the details you shot Aaron a cheeky glance as Penelope filled Emily and JJ in on your conversation the night before, and for the first time ever, Aaron allowed himself to meet your glance, unashamed to be caught staring at you. 

i've been smiling like an idiot all day

taglist: @ssamorganhotchner, @canuck-eh, @cr1minalskies, @xladyxdreamer, @mrs-ssa-hotch

[deepestnightcolor]

Just imagine Elliot ranting to his friend (Reader) how he just can‘t really put the scene from his mind onto paper, the reader of course would love to help him…

turns out the scene was about a beautiful woman masturbating, that lands her on Elliots bed with him telling her how to touch herself (to get it as accurate as possible of course) with him so close to her, watching and analyzing her every movement while he takes notes for his story

(You can add as much to it as you want)

ᴀ/ɴ: Okay, anon, wow. What is your BRAIN! I drooled a little over this, honestly. And I was SO excited to write this. I hope I hit the right spots with this, because hehehe. Had my head go brrrrrr. Thank you so much for your time and attention and your willingness to request! <3

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Elliott (SDV) x Fem!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 2007 words.

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: alcohol consumption, masturbation, making out, being watched while masturbating, finger fucking, teasing, pining.

☾ ʙᴇ ᴍʏ ᴍᴜꜱᴇ ☽

Usually, Elliott tried to avoid talking about his writing on Fridays. The reason for that was simple: Fridays were spent with you in the saloon and needed to be honoured.

This Friday was different, though. Something was bothering Elliott, and even though he tried not to show it, he did show it. On accident, of course. A dramatic sigh left his lips, wettened by the beer he was sipping, eyes looking out of the window wistfully. His whole body language screamed ���HELP ME OVERCOME THIS WRITING PROBLEM”, and you just weren’t one to let your friends suffer.

“What is it, Elliott?” You asked, leaning your elbows on the table so you could take a closer look at the author. “It’s nothing,” he sighed, voice filled to the brim with drama and expiration. “You sure?” “Yesss, everything is finnnnneeee.” The stretched-out “fine” ended in a drawn-out sigh, hazel eyes looking up at you, just begging for you to ask again. You sipped your own drink, eyebrow cocked at him. “You suuuuuuureeeee?” “I mean, it’s Friday...,” Elliott began, his lips now pushed forward in a cute little pout, “I don’t talk about my writing on Fridays.” “And if I tell you that it really is fine?” “Well…Maybe I would be able to make an exception then,” he murmured, adding a quiver to your lower lip. Oh, Elliott. So cute, so dramatic, lying it on thick for you today.

“Alright, it really is fine for you to tell me about you-“ “There is this scene I am struggling with,” he quickly began, scared you could change your mind faster than he could get his words out, “and I think you would be the perfect aid.” You hummed, licking your lips clean from the stickiness of the alcohol. “Is that so? And what is that scene about?”

The shimmer of mischief in Elliott’s eyes should have worried you, even more so when it was combined with him lowering his voice to a hushed whisper, telling you how he needed to tell you at his shed. It wouldn’t work here, you see, confidential information would be shared with ears that shouldn’t yet hear it. So of course you agreed, following your friend to his home without even a seed of doubt planted in your mind. “You want what?” You asked, disbelief drenching your voice. “I know, I know, it must sound absolutely ridiculous, yet you must consider! I am stuck on this scene, and I could use a beautiful muse like you!” “So, and just to be clear I heard you right, you want me to masturbate in front of you!” Elliott gave you this awkward, pleading grin, head cocked to the side: “Uh…Yes. Though it would be professional, I promise! No words will be shed about this – I just… I just really could use it for my book.” His hands clasped together as if he was silently begging you, and yet again he pulled his face into that cute little pout. “Pretty please…It is one of the last elements of my book and I-“ “Fine.” Surprise flashed over Elliott’s face, and really, you yourself were surprised. Both of you had expected that it would have taken a lot more to convince you, yet who was Elliott to complain? “Great, great! Thank you so, so much, darling! How about you lay down and get comfortable already, and I will just get my pen and paper.” “You will take notes about this?” “Why, yes!” Well, that had answered it, hadn’t it?

You took a deep, shaky breath as you began to take off your top, the little skirt that you had thrown on for the saloon. After a moment of hesitation, you even discarded the bra that had been holding your tits up, allowing them to bounce free. With a glance in Elliott’s direction, you allowed yourself to slowly find a spot on his mattress, but as soon as your head hit the pillow, you were surrounded by his scent. It would have been a complete and utter lie if you had tried to say that this didn’t begin to turn you on; lying almost naked in your friend’s bed, surrounded by his smell. About to be watched by him. Goosebumps arose on your skin, your clit twitching gently at the thought. You had always found Elliott handsome, but he had always seemed to keep his distance; most often hiding himself behind his manuscripts. This…was incredibly raw and open.

The sound of a chair’s legs scratching along the ground caught your attention. Elliot’s flustered face appeared in your field of vision, leading you to blush as well.

“You look…stunning,” he whispered. There was no dramatics in his voice, no exaggeration. Only that sweet, honest compliment. You gave him a smile, biting down on your lower lip. He had taken off his coat by now and rolled up his sleeve; his hair tied back in a top knot. He looked absolutely delicious himself, the way he started to write his notes. Hazel eyes taking you in completely, just to scribble something down on the paper. He had lit up a candle on the nightstand, the flickering flame accenting his sharp features in a way that made you want to drag him onto the bed with you, but instead, you slowly let your fingers slip down your neck, to your breast. The movement caught Elliott’s attention, and you could feel his gaze following the dance of your fingertips. You, on the other hand, shamelessly focused your attention on him. Being watched like this had a thrill to it that you hadn’t expected, but now fucking loved. Your thumb was now caressing your own nipple gently, mind wandering to the thoughts ofhow it would feel if Elliott was the one doing it. The goosebumps that appeared in your skin weren’t solely because of the pleasure you felt from teasing your nipples, but also because you believed Elliott’s hands on you would feel much better.

He scribbled something down again as your hand travelled down further, catching the hem of your panties. You lifted your hips, slowly sliding them off your hips. Your lower lip was bitten as you felt the air brush your cunt, and the throw of your panties towards Elliott definitely wasn’t an accident.

His eyes lingered on your cunt as it was exposed, taking it in with a deep inhale. He wrote something down, then scribbled over it, running a palm through his hair while shifting on his seat. “Oh, yes,” you whispered as your thumb caught your clit, giving the bundle gentle flicks of your thumb. Elliott swallowed thickly, his feather scratching the paper in a newfound frantic. You pressed your feet in the mattress and spread your legs wider, your eyes slipping shut as the gentle waves of pleasure washed over you. You had only just started, but feeling Elliott stare at you like this…Yoba, it made you wet. As if to prove it to him, you allowed a single digit to run through your folds, only to suck it into your mouth. The low groan coming from next to you caught your attention, yet when you looked, Elliott was fixated on the paper, feather just barely able to follow all the words that were supposed to spill out of it.

You slowly allowed your hand to pick up the journey along the curves of your body again, slowly stroking up and down your thighs with quivering fingers. You knew a pair of hazel eyes were following each and every touch, and you easily began to rub your clit again. More warmed up than the first time, you let a moan of pleasure leave your lips, not even opening your eyes when you heard Elliott shift on his chair, his hot breath hitting your skin soon after. “Mhhh,” you cooed, arching your back in a little just for show, dipping a finger into your cunt, your perverted mind wishing it was the author’s dick instead.

The quivering gasp next to you was the first thing that caught your attention. Looking over at the man, you could see that his hand was placed firmly in his lap, eyes wide. “What’s wrong, Elliott? Got a little hard there?” You whispered. Pride that your looks turned him on so much filled you, making you add another finger. The brunet grunted, shifting in his seat again under the pretence of getting more comfortable, but the lustful expression gave him away.

“You just look so luscious,” he breathed, his hand now wrapping around his shaft through his pants with barely an ounce of shame. “So pretty for me,” he added, willing himself to at least pretend to write down some more notes.

You didn’t really care about that, your eyes were now solely focused on his hard dick, just barely hidden behind his hand. Fucking yourself with your fingers, you whimpered his name, causing his attention to snap towards you.

You were close, you could feel the orgasm building up beneath your touch, but you just…you just needed a little more. “Elliott, kiss me? Fuck, please,” you whispered, a high-pitched moan leaving your mouth as you circled your clit again. Elliott’s lips pressed against yours in a captivating kiss; teeth clattering against teeth, tongues battling for dominance. Even though you had just asked him for a kiss, his hands automatically began to roam, finding your clit with ease and replacing your thumb there. Him rubbing patterns into the bundle of nerves while his tongue licked over yours sent shocks of pleasure up your spine, leaving your brain light and empty. In all honesty, Elliott couldn’t hold back anymore. His hips sloppily and greedily humped against your thigh while he rubbed your clit, sucking on your tongue with a tenderness you had expected from him, but also with greed that made your heat throb.

“El- Gonna-“

He didn’t let you finish the sentence, too busy to fill your mouth with his tongue again, his humping growing faster against your leg. The squeal that left you made him moan lowly, rubbing the bundle of nerves despite your orgasm already being torn out of you.

Your free hand reached for Elliott’s hair, tugging the long strands as you moaned, your body spasming at the feeling of your orgasm recking through you. Not even the tug caused Elliott to show any signs of mercy, his thumb steadily kept up its circling, with him only pulling away from the kiss to watch you shiver and squirm beneath his late touch.

“Elliott!” You cried out, eyes rolling back as you felt one of his fingers enter your sensitive gushing cunt, the grin on his face almost diabolic. “Are you going to cum a second time, my muse? It would be great for my story,” he whispered to you, working his finger into you while his thumb was still tracing patterns on your clit. His lips peppered gentle kisses upon your chest, making your heart thump against your ribcage.

“Elliott, can’t, oh, Yoba!” You tried to hold on to his wrist, but his merciless treatment of your slit didn’t even falter. “El! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your body squirmed away and drew closer, like the tides at the beach, but in the end, he still pushed you over the edge. With a quivering cry you released, your hips snapping up to get the author’s finger knuckle deep within you, your legs spreading and snapping close – it was as if your body was malfunctioning.

As your back met the mattress, Elliott’s fingers on you began slowing down. Gentle kisses were casted upon your skin, attempting to calm you down. Your hand was still buried in Elliott’s hair as he came down next to you, one arm wrapped around your waist. In the bliss of two orgasms, you rolled around and slowly snuggled into his side, pressing your face into his chest.

“You know,” you whispered after a while, voice still hoarse, “I think your book really needs a sex scene…And I know just the muses.”

[tavolgisvist]

At Laudate in Newdigate I decided that Saturday to take a very modest 250 milligrams of LSD in a final cup of tea with Joan before setting off for St John’s Wood to pick up Paul McCartney and Peter Asher and Tony Bramwell, the Apple team due next day at Bradford. <…> Paul seemed very positive and played us some rare recordings; ‘dubs’ he had made of songs, written by him for others, dubs on which he was singing for the first and last time. Maybe one day they will make an album of them, but maybe it will have to be over his dead body for I don’t see him wishing to complete that particular symphony in his lifetime. I said I had taken a dollop of the dreaded heaven-and-hell, and Paul said it should be an interesting journey, and it was. We stopped at a pub on the way up and I astonished myself by coping remarkably well up until the point where I asked the barman if I could buy a filthy table which stood in a corner covered in cigarette burns and the stains of long dead pints. <…> ‘Drink up,’ said Paul, seeing the signs and playing Dad. ‘Write your name here please, Paul,’ said the barman and we left.

We arrived in Bradford after dark. Some disabled people were operating rowing machines in a charity marathon in a local showroom. We wandered in and looked, leaving some silver in the collecting boxes, neither the first nor the last of the small spenders. It was midnight as we checked into the hotel. There wasn’t a soul or a sound except for the red-nosed night porter, as old as Moses. Paul had brought Martha (My Dear) with him – the sheepdog of the same name. ‘Can you shampoo her?’ he asked the porter who recoiled in terror. ‘It’s her arse,’ said Paul, and he put his fingers in the thick curls around Martha’s back passage and pulled off a cluster of clinkers. ‘Look!’ I nearly fainted. ‘I’m afraid not,’ said the porter. It was very late after all. Next morning, another lovely day. I felt very nice and clean around the brain, always have a lovely morning after acid. A few months earlier Paul and I had gone shopping for suits; he had told me navy blue pinstripe was already on the way back (meaning that he wore it) and I fell for it – and ordered one. I had taken it with me to Bradford; just right for Bradford I said. I wore it down to breakfast and then we went off to the Victoria Hall where the Black Dyke Mills Band were waiting on hard wooden chairs, looking bloody marvellous and real and solid and honourable and stocky and lots of other words like that. Paul had on a magenta shirt and a white jacket, double breasted, with black trousers (no one had ever told him they were on the way back), and the Black Dyke Mills Band was quite stunned by his charm and by the way he handled the music. Marvellous recordings were made, indoors and later in the street, of both ‘Thingumybob’ and ‘Yellow Submarine’. It was a good morning for everyone because the portable recording unit worked, the band and McCartney worked, and the press worked out beautifully – I saw dozens of old friends and we had a few pints and then lunch. At around three o’clock, as we filmed the last TV interview (‘How do you like Bradford?’ ‘It’s great …’; fast-moving stuff like that) I decided to off the suit and black shoes, put on a pair of red corduroys and a white Mexican cotton shirt from Olvera Street, Los Angeles, a couple of beads, an Indian scarf and down my throat went another 250 milligrams of the dreaded heaven-and-hell drug. What a day for a daydream. ‘Should be an interesting journey,’ said Paul. The chauffeur said: ‘Back to London?’ and we said ‘yes’, not sure that it was the right answer.

<…> As we rolled away from the South Midlands and approached the Northern Home Counties the acid really started to bounce. It was late afternoon and if there was a heaven to be found on this soil, then I reckoned it would be found this evening, in the green and gold of this divine countryside. ‘Would you like to swing on a star, carry moonbeams home in a jar?’ ‘Yes,’ said Peter Asher. ‘Where would you like to go?’ I asked. ‘AA Book,’ said Paul. ‘Pick the most beautiful name in Bedfordshire,’ I said, ‘that’s where we should go.’ Peter looked at the map for what seemed like two hours or more. ‘Harrold,’ he said, after fifteen seconds. ‘Harrold?’ said the driver, naturally knocked out with delight to leave the M1 and crawl down B, C and D roads to a village no one in the car, including himself, had ever heard of. We wound through Bedfordshire checking off the signs steadily until we reached the village sign: Harrold. Oh, it was a joyful Sunday sight. It was the village we were supposed to have fought the world wars to defend, for which we would be expected to fight the third when told to, but won’t. It was a Miniver hamlet on the Ouse and there were notices telling of the fete next Saturday, and a war memorial which made me weep. Thrushes and blackbirds sang and swallows dived into thatches and a little old mower wheezed as we walked down the only street there was past the inn which was closed, past the church which was open, nodding to a sandy man with a 1930s moustache and khaki shorts as he clipped his hedge and stared at these city people with funny hair and clothes. It was seven o’clock and acid or no acid, it was opening time and I steered us into the most beautiful village inn the world has ever known and there were three or four people in there, or more or less; magical antique villagers with smocks and shepherd’s crooks and also there was a fruit machine offering Jolly Joker tokens. Through the dancing lights, past the sparkle of the green and tawny bottles, I saw the sandy man with the khaki shorts. <…> ‘Welcome to Harrold, Paul,’ said the sandy man, the local dentist, downing the rich gold beer he had earned with his shears. ‘I can hardly believe it, in fact I think I’m dreaming.’ We next found ourselves in his house, below dipping oak beams, a banquet provided for us, hams and pies and multi-jewelled salads, new bread and cakes, chicken and fruit and wine; and the dentist’s wife, a jolly lady, still young beyond her maddest fantasies, bringing out her finest fare. Paul McCartney was at her table in the village of Harrold.

Hiding at a turn on the crooked staircase stood a little girl, shy and disbelieving. But she had brought a right-handed guitar and landed it in Paul’s (left-handed) hands but the wizards were producing this play by now and floating with the splendour of this, the strangest Happening since Harrold was born, the dentist and his wife, and the neighbours as they crowded the windows and the parlour, and the children, all caught their breath as Paul McCartney began to play the song he had written that week: ‘Hey Jude,’ it began. I sat peacefully, full of the goodness you can find within yourself when goodness is all around and the dentist’s wife picked up on it and asked why life couldn’t always be like this and I told her there was nothing to fear, nothing at all and the dentist brought out the wine he had been saving for the raffle at the fete next Saturday and we drank that to celebrate the death of fear and the coming of music to Harrold and then, and gradually, the dentist was freaking and he asked me what I thought I was talking about and for a moment it was very tough, very. Ah, but Dr Leary’s medicine was good that day and we came back to a good position again, but I didn’t feel quite right about the dentist after that, and I don’t think he felt quite right about me, but how was he to know and what was I to do? You don’t just tell strangers you’ve been taking that naughty old heaven’n’hell drug. It was now eleven o’clock and we were still in the house and the inn was closed but a winged messenger came to say that as this was the night of nights, never to return, the inn was to be re-opened. ‘In your honour, Paul.’ It was 11 p.m. Paul had The Look on his face, the ‘do we don’t we?’ I nodded: tonight we should. The pub was absolutely full. The whole village was here. Paul played the piano until at three o’clock a woman stood and sang ‘The Fool on the Hill’ and he left the piano to dance with her and kiss her on the cheek and then I went and sat in the little garden and cried for joy that we had come to Harrold. It was a most beautiful garden, with hundreds of old-fashioned flowers, lupins, foxgloves – that sort of thing, and Alan Smith came out, pissed as a newt and said, ‘Why so sad, old friend, why so sad on such a night?’ ‘Not sad,’ I said, ‘not sad, old pal, just happy to be alive.’ We left then, waved away by the Harrolds, by all of them, and we never went back and I never looked at the map again, not even to see if Harrold was there.

(As Time Goes by Derek Taylor)

(Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI)

Add to this

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Bestie, can we pleaaaaaase get some cockwarming with Aegon? I feel like he would be all over that, what with all the slapping and kicking around that he gets from his family. I saw a gif set that had all the instances where people are manhandling him and I haven’t been able to get out of my head on how touch starved he would be for praise and love and proximity. I COULD FIX HIM!!

nonnie I’m going to need that gif set tattooed on my brain. he’s a feral man!!! hope you enjoy xx

Touch Starved.

PAIRING: King!Aegon ii Targaryen x Wife!fem!Reader

WORDS: 1,879.

WARNINGS: slight dom!Aegon, touch-starved Aegon + fem!Reader, breeding kink, female oral receiving, p in v sexual intercourse, swearing, creampie (?), cockwarming amplified!!!

A/N - I got a little carried away with this one, but I hope you enjoy xox images do not belong to me, so credit to the origins.

Being King was an honour, yet in Aegon's eyes, rather a life-long sentence. Having battled and fought his way to success, dethroning and vanquishing his elder sister and her entire bloodline, Aegon came up ontop.

When it came down to his family, the man was willing to look the Stranger dead in the eye for them, and that did not exclude you.

You scarcely saw your husband during the Dance of the Dragons [as the maesters and historians dubbed the feud]. Aegon was adamant on keeping you far from harm’s way, even if that meant to have you locked up in some desolate castle in the Vale, guards posted at your door day and night, and an escape route planned if need be. If he lost you, it would be the end for him.

“My point of living would cease to exist without you my beloved.”

Nonetheless, Aegon peservered, for the sake if his family, for the sake of you. In return for winning, he not only secured his position in the realm, or the safety and security if his family... He had long been deprived and desperate for your touch, as simple as it may sound, it was a long, hard battle to resist the urge to climb on Sunfyre's back, flying over to you, only to expose your precise whereabouts. He refused to risk it, and suffered the consequence of being starved of you.

Now the wait was over, for good riddance...

****

A fulfilling, intimate family feast was held in honour of their successes and also in memory of their losses. Everyone dined, drank, laughed and cried. As grateful as everyone was to be reunited once more, Aegon had one thing on his mind only, and he grew impatient as the minutes went by, and you stirred the same.

Excusing yourself, you gave your husband with yet another beloved peck on the cheek, one of many endless, fleeting kisses that you showered him upon your return, before lovingly whispering in his ear "Please do hurry, my King...It has been far too long, I need you."

Your hand lightly grazing over his back as you strolled behind, sharing one last glimpse at Aegon, whose hungry eyes lingered over at your faint smile drawn across your face, before disappearing behind the oak doors.

As you sped to your familiar, shared chamber, changing into your sheer, silk white nightly gown, Aegon entered right on cue. Like he always had before the war, getting used to your bedtime routine. The innocent, nostalgic moments that you had observantly noticed, warmed your heart since your return.

"There you are, my beloved-" Reaching out for his rough hand stretched outwards towards you, lifting you up effortlessly, as he pulled you in closer towards him. This close up, you realised the toll the war had taken on Aegon, the fine details of his scarred flesh of his left face, the feel of its ruggard texture on his wounded hand, saddened you immensely. Yet the tearful, tenderness of his lilac eyes, and half-hearted smile

"Oh, how I've missed you my dear. The angel of my dreams-"

Without a moment more to spare, Aegon plunged his plump lips against yours in a passionate kiss. Pushing himself deeper into yours, his grasp over your sides felt firm, yet reassuring, not wanting him to ever let you go again. Releasing from the kiss, his lips remained lightly grazing over yours, as he softly spoke.

"I dreamt of you every lonesome night, saw your beautiful face before I woke dreading the next day. Oh Gods, Y/N, I couldn't bear it any longer."

"Neither could I, my love."

Once more, the kiss resumed distracting you from Aegon's busy hands, that began to slowly undress you. As you felt your gown and under garments suddenly drop from your body, the cool chill of the night's air and Aegon's light grip, massaging at your breasts, sent goosebumps over your body. His thumb flicking at your sensitive, perked nipples, feeling a smirk spike across his face.

"Gods, how I've fucking missed this body-"

Taking a few steps back as Aegon carefully led you to the bed's edge, gently laying you down, as you repositioned yourself further up. Making enough room for Aegon to follow on top, he remained standing as he removed his shirt and undid his pants. You closely noticed the healed burn scars traveling down his left side to his ribs, and several healed stab wounds barred across his chest.

"Apologies, my dearest wife, I am not as handsome as you once remembered."

The melancholy in his low, soft-spoken voice, made it seem as though Aegon was somewhat guilty of his appearance, of his survival.

"No... You are even more exquisite, Aegon. A King who fought for his people, his family...For me."

Aegon now leaning over you, begins to suckle and peck at the soft skin of your inner thigh, making his gradual way up. Leaving a wet, moist trail as he makes his way upto your entrance, he comes to a sudden halt, as his Valyrian eyes linger over your throbbing cunt, to your face momentarily. A cocky look glimmering across his face, as he subtly raises a brow, taking a deep inhale of your scent, as his nose lingered over your cunt.

"Fuck, I can just smell you. That scent. Been missing that sweet, sweet taste in my mouth-," He deeply growls, as he his lips latch onto your folds, his tongue piercing through between, as it begins to sensually lap and encircle your insides.

Seven Hells, it felt like an eternity since you'd lived this pleasure.

Your moans began to stir as small whimpers, your back arching as your hips buck forward ever so slightly. Your palm gently pushing down on Aegon's head agains your bare cunt, as your fingers entangled and pulled at his short, platinum strands.

"Hhmm, Aeg-"

His strong, muscular arms snake around your thighs, as his hands firmly grip at your flesh, spreading them apart even more, as he pulls himself up more. In an effort, his tongue shoves in deeper into your wet folds, guzzling and licking at your dripping ooze, not allowing a single drop to fall.

"That's it, A-Aeg. Feels s-so good."

A few more rousing laps around and around your folds, your moans growing louder and more careless, Aegon frees himself, as he takes a grand, deep breath in, licking his glistening lips.

"Fuck- Only the Gods know how starved I have been for you, craving for this very moment-"

Straightening himself up on his sturdy knees, his broad, wounded chest heaving: watching Aegon towering over you in an almost threatening way, as though his warfare mentality remained unmoving since the Dance ended.

"Stay still, angel. Think you can still take me?"

One arm stretched out by your head, keeping him steadily supported, and the other reaching for his cock, cautiously pulling it out from his unbuttoned pants. It seemed that during the agonising time that had passed since, by the sheer sight of it, was enough to send you beyond the Narrow Seas. You had grown ignorant in memory of its size, its girth and its capability.

"My body will take for you, my King. I need you Aeg, I want you."

"Such a good girl. My good girl. Take me so well, and I'll reward you with a babe in your belly."

Only having prepared you a few moments ago, as Aegon crept and shoved his thick, veiny cock into your wet cunt, moaning cry bled from your mouth, as your eyes viscerally swelled with tears of joy.

"That's it Princess, just give it a few seconds-Shhh-" Now gently laid atop of you resting on his forearms, one hand gently caressed at your hair, brushing it away from your face, as the other stroked away your tear.

His warm breath, dense and heavy, as his formidable chest pushed up and heaved against your tender breasts. One hand remained tugging at your loose hair, as the other wreathed down below, firmly gripping at your waist.

Aegon's pace, once steady at first, began to hasten, growing sloppier. Breathlessly cursing incoherent words, the tight sensation of your touch-starved walls clenching over him, aching for him to bury himself deeper. The fat, blush tip pummelling at your cervix, you were certain it would bruise against the tense friction and stiff pressure.

"F-Fuck Y/N, so tight for me baby, still so tight. Need to fuck every bit of you tonight and all the nights to come, for all the lost time."

"Y-Yes, Aeg. Stay with me-"

"The realm needs a new heir, m-my love. I will fuck a babe into you tonight, make you s-so full of me, till you drip of me."

His grueling grunts and stuttering words were pure ecstasy, feeling his grip on you tighten, as his lips found their way to the sweet spot in the crook of your neck, suppling at your soft skin.

"I want to see you dripping of me till this precious belly swells with my babe. I've been keeping you waiting and alone, for far too long. Now a part of me will be inside."

"Y-Yes Aeg, yes, my King."

"F-Fuck, I'm going to cum-"

The sudden spill of his hot seed messily tainting and coating your insides, shooting against your clit was a feeling that sent you into an oblivion. Naturally, your eyes rolled back, nails clawed deep into Aegon's fleshy back as you pulled yourself up into his mass. In return, you felt the invigorating release of the built up tension from between your thighs, as your cum began to ooze, painting Aegon's cock and inner thighs, as he remained inside.

"Seven Hells, that was amazing-"

Although your memory vague, you could reminisce the fine details, when Aegon would often remove himself, to clean up the carnage made, as he warmly tended to you. Yet he remained deeply buried inside, adjusting himself and effortlessly man-handling you by his side, sprawled on the mattress, as he embraced you cosily.

"I need to feel you around me. I need you to feel me inside. Do not think to remove yourself, wife, or else... We shall sleep like this from now either till your belly swells or I die."

You did not refuse your royal husband the privilege, for the unfathomable time apart left you eager for his proximity, blessed in each other's grace and touch. Remaining true to his word, Aegon remained inside of you, whispering lustrous praises of how obedient, and extraordinary you were for taking him so well, as he slowly drifted off to sleep. Keeping you closely and tightly embraced in his strong arms, from time to time, as you rose consciousness in the late, dark hours of the night, you could feel the tension between your inner thighs, as your walls remained sorely stretched out, oozing with a familiar wetness feeling Aegon's pulsating cock inside.

Gods, the servants would have immense fun with the clean-up in the morrow. Eager to awaken to Aegon reaching yet another fulfilling climax, his body was sufficient enough to prove just how unimaginably he had truly missed your every inch. His tender, honest words, however, were just the sweet cherry on top.

general taglist - @evenstaris @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @ilikeitbetterangsty @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @urabloodsucker @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylas-the-grim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea

Aegon taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you

[theoneandonlysemla]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by: @skyrim-forever @hircines-hunter @dirty-bosmer

Tagging: @did3lphis @tiredela @ladytanithia @thequeenofthewinter @elavoria

Let's go girls! Okay, maybe not so much. I'm damn tired, my brain is goo due to migraines on Sunday, Monday and today so... Hate that for me. I will write some Nevri x Morotar Hurt/Comfort but at the moment that is still all in my head. Instead, I'm going with a snipped from next weekend's new DwD II chapter! Ancano is, as always, an ass (ugh, I love him). Also under the cut because of spoilers.

A knock sounded. Ghash narrowed his eyes and stared unblinking at the door. Nevri sat rooted to her chair. Who wanted anything from her in the evening? Granted, it wasn't too late, so the visit wasn't rude, but it was certainly unusual. Maybe it's Colette, she thought and got up from her chair. Another knock followed. Nevri turned the key in the lock, pressed the handle and took a step backwards and stumbled back another. The Thalmor stood in front of her door, his face expressionless and his hands clasped behind his back. He looked different as he had taken off his long, pitch-black coat with the gold trim. Underneath was a dark purple tunic, as Nevri now realised. He had rolled up his sleeves, exposing sinewy forearms.

“Ah, you’re still awake. May I come in?” he asked, his tone as monotone as his countenance.

“What do you want?” Nevri immediately blurted out. Anxiety pressed on her stomach and made it queasy.  

“I just wanted to enquire about you.” The corners of his mouth lifted into something resembling a smile. But it didn't inspire confidence in Nevri. “Since I was involved in your rescue, it is my duty to look after you.”

“So, you've been looking after me. I'm standing upright. Is that it?” she said. Had he really been there? She did not remember him in the slightest. Only how she had been spewing water from her lungs and that the pale Altmer had been far too close to her.    

“Is that it?” he mimicked and made a step towards her, entering the room. “A little more gratitude might be in order.”

“How I remember it, you weren’t the one to pull me out of the ocean. Nor carry me to Colette,” she spat, but made another step back, the back of her knee hit her bedframe. Ghash sat next to her, his tail whipping.

Ancano closed the door behind him, then inspected her chamber with a look of depreciation. Everything in here seemed to displease him, but so did the whole college. In the one week that Nevri had been here, she had heard his lamenting often enough.         He stopped by her desk, his slender, golden fingers gliding over the two letters, keen eyes scanning them. A barely visible crease formed between his eyebrows as he read the second letter. Nevri bit on the inside of her cheek and thanked herself, that she had only written vague suggestions of the matters. He looked up, fixed his citrine gaze on her, staring her into the ground. Rarely had she encountered such a penetrating glare; only one other pair of eyes had had such a devastating effect on her. But that had been azure.

“To answer your question, yes, I have not been the one to recue you from the sea. My fellow agent had that honour, even though I deemed it hopeless.” His tone had become as sharp as his features, cutting like the keen edge of a blade. “A fall from such height, it's almost a miracle that you're standing in front of me.”

“It was pure luck,” Nevri answered quickly, maybe a little too quickly to not to raise suspicion. “And fast help. I would have drowned without it.”

Ancano took a few more steps towards her, stood right in front of her. He was not much taller than her, but he knew how to make himself look towering. A hint of lemon reached her nose, accompanied with pine needles. Under other circumstances, she would have described it as pleasant, but right now Nevri felt like she was shrinking under his scrutinizing gaze.

“I’ve seen people fall in similar conditions.” He paused, observing every movement in her face. “I have thrown people from comparable heights. It is a death sentence. No matter if there is stone, sand or water beneath them. The impact should have killed you, Dunmer.”

[phlurrii]

Really hoping I am posting this at the right spot…

Hey there, loving your work, you got me to jump into the theory wagon out of sheer suspense. Here is my try at seeing what will stick to this massive theoryboard of mysteries~

Missingo went from a creature stuck to Meau's shadow to having a body/vessel powerfull enough to kill Palkia.

Which braught me to what vessel could be powerful enough to do so? Meau's first cub died somehow (stillborn? Necktube fatality?) Meau designed Bucket after the Necktube drama to remove the necktube. But a cub that predates or happened to die during that drama should still have the old blueprints of being bigger and having a necktube. Traits Noe physically holds. Noe being a prototype non-ancient mew baby could explain why he and Meau could exist at the same time.

But that leaves an additional questionmark on why their lifeforce are linked.

Which is where I bumped into theory two (the most probable one I think) in which Meau was so done with living that she tried to birth an ancient mew. But if the birth went wrong and the ancient cub died there could have been a glitch. The world must have one ancient mew. If Meau passed her lifeforce to the cub yet the cub still died both should technically be dead. But that goes against the laws of the world. There needed to be something to fix/ballance that glitch. Missingo could be the way the world tried to fix that mess. Missingo might have inhabited the dead cub and taken on a weird alive status of not quite living. And whatever ballance his manifestation created could have allowed Meau to wake up (a lot more weakened than an ancient mew should be but alive nonetheless)

Both are merged to the same lifeforce and function or count as a placeholder for one ancient mew.

Meau + Noe = one ancient mew. Cause of problem? = Lifeforce transference issue.

Why would the world chose Noe over deca? Probably becouse Noe was already present. Being at the right time at the right place. Or technically wrong time since he was way too early…

Basically the ingredients of stopping the whole world from imploding where already in the bowl so the world just mashed them all together into a weird yet functioning chimerical mush. What a way to recycle your resources.

Deca born all late because he became extra. When could this have happened? Why was it the domain of space that had to die? When and why did Noe and Giratina go rebel? My brain does not compute numbers very well. Not touching anything timerelated with a ten foot pole.

Anyways congratulations Phlurri, you got me to use the comment function on this site for the first time. Got me typing out a whole tower of text from the get go, have a good day~

First, let me say I am HONOURED to be the cause for your first even commenting, as a lurker myself I feel that XD

Second, 100% correct place, I LOVE these asks, but they definitely make me go dormant for a day or two in order to proceed and write my response carefully ehe

Anywho, ONTO THE THEORY!!!

To start off, Meau’s first cub did not die, Bucket is Meau’s first mew child. Bucket is currently comatose in a bubble in the Tree of Life. So I know that throws a wrench in the theory, but dw you have a lot of foundational things correct; just the bridging between points isn’t X3

As for the necktube stuff, Meau did create bucket without many of her own traits/characteristics due to her own experiences. She wanted to remove those issues from afflicting her child!

However, Meau specifically avoided EVER having a child until she felt she was mentally capable of raising one. Hence why she never had one in the nearly 4.5 billion years she’s been alive. Adopting? Sure, but raising a functionally immortal mew? Definitely not ready…. Given she was struggling a lot mentally with… things. So bringing a child into that mix was something she actively refused to do until those issues were no longer severely afflicting her. So she never attempted to have a cub, let alone an ancient cub, to remove herself from the picture.

But, I am genuinely impressed beacuse again, your foundations for things… are mostly correct, which makes me very excited to know someone can go through the comic and asks and get EXACTLY that,,, the foundations correct,,, meaning the rules and whatnot I attempted to put in place has indeed made it though in time for the Noe arc >W<

Noe indeed did not have a vessel and COULD not have one until a certain criteria was meant. Meau did assist in that criteria being meant, however his appearance was early and not how it was suppose to occur. It was a glitch, just like Noe is himself. The way he obtained a vessel… you’re awfully close, but it does not involve dead children I want to be clear!! Regardless, it’s scary and exciting at the same time at how close you are, I think one person (you know who you are.) may figure it out with the publication of this, but until then… I cannot comment further.

The way he obtained a vessel and comes into the world connects into how and why him and Meau share their life force. Though I will say, Missingno. cause the split, not Meau.

Also for the rest of time stuff you are too scared to touch, don’t worry, I spent 3 weeks figuring out how all it would work and then another 2 making. Digestible and simplifying XD

It will make sense, I have made SURE of it. As well as it will be satisfying most importantly. Very excited to be looser lipped about this all with how close it is ehe,,

Anywho, ty for your tower of words I quite enjoyed them and well DONE on the foundations, again that’s huge. Your skeleton is very close, the connecting tissues though would be hard to guess for anyone X3

[cyborg-franky]

PROMPT: May I please request for some yandere marco, where his zoan kinda takes over during rut season (mating season) thank you!

Marco x GN Reader N/SFW TW: Yandere - n/ncon - dark themes - monster fucking- breeding kink [no mentions of pregnancy/female body implications] don’t like don’t read Word Count: 1,600

Repost of mine from libary of ohara

He stood over you with his eyes narrowed. His smirk never left his face. The jovial chuckle escaped his lips as he loomed. His talons scratched along the wooden floor as he did so. Using one to pin you down, the sharp points dig into you painfully. Red marks appeared on your shirt where he had pierced your skin and caused you to bleed.

The fear you felt stopped all signals of pain rushing to your brain. You opened and closed your mouth as your commander pressed even harder, blood rushing out the pinpricks at a faster rate. Marco had always seemed so kind, so nice that you’d never have thought you’d have ended up as his prey.

You wished the room was pitch black to avoid seeing the ugly twisted look on his face. His tail lit up the entire room. The brilliant golden hue which gave much hope was robbing you of any grace in the situation.

“Did you think you could get away from me?” Marco asked, the condescension clear as day in his voice as he lifted off his large, clawed foot.

“Marco….”

“Now, now, don’t grovel. It should be an honour that the phoenix even wants someone as weak as you as its mate yoi.” He wrapped a claw around your ankle when you tried to shuffle back out of his grasp.

Dragging you back along the floor roughly, making it hurt more than needed. You could feel tears prick the corner of your eyes. Your body trembled as Marco let out a sigh. You hated how you seemed more like an inconvenience than anything.

“Please!”

“Please what?”

You didn’t know, you just whimpered and shook your head. The phoenix clicked his tongue before he was on you. Blue eyes stared into yours with an intensity you couldn’t withstand, you closed your eyes. You felt his hand on your throat, feeling his lips trailing up your neck.

“My perfect little mate yoi.”

His words weren’t making any sense to you, he seemed so unhinged, feral… then it clicked, he was a zoan type devil fruit, the user. His humanity had taken a backseat while his animal side had come out from hiding. You whimpered when he moved once more, his sharp claws made short work of your clothes.

Catching your skin as the fabric ripped apart, he didn’t seem concerned about the lines of red he’d created along your shivering skin as he tilted his head from one side to the other, fully admiring what was laid bare for him.

His pupils blown wide, his normally comforting lopsided smile was gone, replaced with that horrid grin as he started to remove his sash, casting it aside along with his decorative belt, you winced when you heard the metal clang on the floor.

Somehow that was the thing that fully solidified your current situation in your mind. The bell that tolled for you. Your sniffling was starting to get on his nerves and he clicked his tongue, eyes narrowed with that unwavering smirk.

“Now, now little bird, shhhh.” He cooed with fake sympathy.

You felt something snaking around your ankles, glancing down you saw the glowing tail feathers of your commander as he pinned you down, the glowing appendages spread your legs wide, letting him get settled between them.

“Oh pretty, pretty bird yoi,” Marco said with a trill, his voice taken on an inhuman quality as he rubbed his cock against your entrance, you blinked and wondered why it didn’t feel like you expected.

“Oh? Want to see what’s going to be stuffed into you, mate?”

Marco pulled away enough that you could see his cock, thick and throbbing, a tapered tip. Ridges and bumps all along the shaft. You grimaced when you saw how much precum was pooling around the slit. He chucked at your bewildered expression.

“T-that won’t fit.” You mumbled and tried to close your legs, the glowing tail snapped your legs apart further, a dull ache where your hips connected to the rest of you caused you to consider your next actions.

“That’s not the attitude that’s going to help you.” Marco sighed, nipping along your neck, teeth grazing against your skin as he once again rubbed his cock against your hole.

He was getting drunk off your scent, loving every second your musk filled his senses. This was his mate, the person he desired to be bonded with. He would have preferred a more, willing mate, but that didn’t stop him from wanting you regardless.

“Brace yourself yoi.” That was his only warning, mumbled against your neck as you felt the thinner part of his member breach your hole, pushing inside you. You grabbed his shoulders, digging nails into his skin.

Blue flicks of flames danced over the nail marks, healing him in an instant. He cooed in your ear, whispering awful, sinful things as he pushed forward, you felt each teasing bump rub against your walls. Your mouth hung open and you gasped when the zoan was fully sheathed.

“I can’t wait to fill you to the brim with my seed little bird.” He sighed, licking down your neck, along your collarbone where he started to sink his teeth, marking you as his own.

“Mar-..Marco…s..stop..” you closed your eyes as you felt his cock stuff you.

You’d never felt so full before, you felt his hips start to move, how he picked up the pace. Slow, measured but brutal, each thrust going as deep as he possibly could. Greedy lips claimed your neck, feeling Marco’s cock expand inside you was a strange feeling.

“Be good for your commander, be a good mate for me yoi.” His breath ticked your ear as his pace picked up.

Unrelenting thrusts, getting faster as he worked himself up more, as your entrance got used to his monstrous cock. He cooed and trilled, feeling at home between your thighs, your tight walls holding him snugly, warm, welcoming, and begging to be bred. At least in his bird brain, he knew deep down it wasn’t possible.

You bit your lip, not wanting to moan, but it was starting to feel good, and you felt ashamed of that fact. You couldn’t help the muffled moans he was pulling from you with every drag of his cock. You arched up, bucking to meet his thrust when he wasn’t going as fast as you’d like.

“Ah getting into it now?” you said nothing, eyes fluttering open to see him gazing down at you.

You shook your head and he laughed at your lies. His arms became wings suddenly, you were mesmerised by the glimmering blue overtaking everything. How he flapped the majestic wings of feather and flame, he didn’t even need to pin you down.

You were still helpless.

The flapping of his wings and thrusting of his hips was doing something for you. Your own head was being clouded with the growing pleasure. You whimpered and moaned when he rocked into you just right. Wings of cool flame cradle your body, adjusting you. He pulled out, only for a moment as he positioned your lower half into the air.

“Presenting like a good mate, I knew you’d be perfect.” Marco chuckled as he slipped back into you with ease this time.

Deeper, so much deeper than before. You could tell you were drooling, lips parted as your breathing got heavy. Moans escaping unchallenged now as your body adapted to the rough fucking, the way he was going to breed you.

Marco couldn’t help but feel pleased, proud of himself for claiming you as his own, his mate. He wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last but, oh he wanted to fill you full of cum. Fuck his seed as deep inside you as he could.

Words failed you, all you could do was whine and moan out as you could feel your shameful end rushing to meet you. The heat that thrummed through your body as he started to pound in, slowly losing his composure as he was drawing close himself.

“Cum for me pretty bird, cum for your mate yoi.” His voice was smug, you could only imagine the smirk that went with it.

You hated that his filthy words were what got you over that hill, pushing you over the other side, crying out his name, begging, pleading for him to go just a little harder which he obliged, with pleasure. That was it, feeling that tapered tip twisting and twirling in the deepest part of your passage.

Body shuddering, voice shaky you came, and you came hard. Marco chuckled, a delighted sound echoed around the room, wings flapping as he drew close to his limit. He leaned forward as far as he could, seeing your fucked out expression he came, so much hot, thick cum, an inhuman amount was pumped into you.

You felt full, and it just kept going.

When he’d emptied himself inside of you, he slipped his cock out of your abused hole. Marco chuckled and watched the thick cum leak from your body. Wings soon turned back into human arms as he scooped some of the escaped seed and stuffed it back inside.

“Don’t waste my gift to you, tsk, what an ungrateful mate I have.”

You said nothing, you could hear the cruel smile in his tone, not needing to see his smirking face as you struggled to catch your breath. His arms wrapped around your middle, his lips leaving a trail along your body.

“Did you know, most birds mate for life yoi?” His chuckle tickled your skin, the implication of his words disgusting you.

[strawberrylabs]

Lyney drabbles

ok so...

i know i said id be getting all my other requests out like a month ago and i promise im working on them- just slowly

but i my brain is ROTTING with Lyney headcanons atm because I just finished fontane archon quests and his story quest so yall are gonna have to let my numerous lyney dabbles tide you over until i upload anything else

(also please send me lyney headcanons or prompts i am DYING to write about this man)

ANYWAYS!

reader can be interpreted as any gender! no gendered terms are used

WARNING! this will have spoilers to fontane lore and Lyney's story quest!! I will also be mentioning death, grieving and slight depression! read with caution if you're sensitive to these topics.

spoilers will be under the cut!

I'll be here

synopsis: after the events of Lyney's story quest, his lover comforts him as he finally finds closure after Cesar's death.

After the traveler and Paimon left Lyney and Lynette at the steambird, Lynette turned to look at her brother.

"So, Cesar's honour has been restored."

Lyney smiles to himself

"That it has my dear sister. Now, I do believe a certain someone is at home with Freminet waiting for us." Lyney turns to his sister expectingly.

"Actually, I'm going to the port. I need some time to shut down. And I think you need some time too, Lyney."

Lyney sighed and smiled a melancholy smile. Of course Lynette could see through him.

"You're quite right, as always dear sister. I think I shall take your advice."

-------------------

When Lyney walked through the door to his home expecting to be greeted by his brother and lover, he only found his lover in sight.

"Freminet said he wanted to go diving by the opera house tonight. Something about the tildaga being different at this time of year." (y/n) answered, almost as if hearing Lyney's confusiong.

"Ah I see. Lynette has gone to the port to unwind after the weeks events."

(Y/n) smiled knowingly at the magician.

"And I suspect you'll be needing to unwind too."

Lyney gasped in faux astonishment

"My word! I didn't know you learnt telepathy? I suppose when you spend so much time around such a great magician you do pick up a few things. Maybe you can join Lynette and I and we can form a magical trio?" Lyney emphasised his words with a florish of his hat.

(Y/n) chuckled and moved towards Lyney, grabbing his hand.

"As much as I would love to know exactly what's going on in your mind, I do not have telepathy. I do however, know you well enough to know you need a rest."

Lyney's smile faltered a smidge. Despite knowing he can be vulnerable around (Y/n), he still struggles to let his guard down. Apparently years of working for the house of the Hearth does that to someone.

While in thought, (Y/n) pulls Lyney to their room, and places him on their bed, sitting him down wordlessly, and moving to sit behind him.

Lyney registers the feeling of his hat being taken off, and fingers in his hair taking out his braid.

"Just relax. I'll take care of you. I know everything with Cesar has been tough. You've been preparing yourself for this moment for years-- but I know it's still been heavy."

(Y/n) presses a kisse to his head.

"Cesar would be proud of you. I know you feel guilty about with holding the truth from him, but I just know he'd understand. He would be so, so proud of you and Lynette."

Lyney doesn't remember when the first tear fell down his face, or when his performance clothes were removed and replaced with pjamas, or when he was tucked in against (Y/n)'s chest.

"Cesar can be truly at peace now with his name cleared. You did great Lyney."

Lyney takes a deep breathe, and burries himself in the safety of his lover's embrace.

"..Thank you (Y/n).."

"Of course Lyney. I'll be here for you, always."

this man has me in a chokehold

(thank god I pulled him<3)

-Strawberry

masterlist

Rules

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

October 3rd

GOODNESS GRACIOUS I knew the horrors were coming but my feeble soul was not prepared for this level of violence. I may need a little bit of brandy myself, but all I have is coffee. Oh well.

"He came up to the window in the mist, as I had seen him often before; but he was solid then—not a ghost, and his eyes were fierce like a man's when angry. He was laughing with his red mouth; the sharp white teeth glinted in the moonlight when he turned to look back over the belt of trees, to where the dogs were barking. I wouldn't ask him to come in at first, though I knew he wanted to—just as he had wanted all along. Then he began promising me things—not in words but by doing them." He was interrupted by a word from the Professor:—

"How?"

"By making them happen; just as he used to send in the flies when the sun was shining. Great big fat ones with steel and sapphire on their wings; and big moths, in the night, with skull and cross-bones on their backs."

OF COURSE I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN

"So when He came to-night I was ready for Him. I saw the mist stealing in, and I grabbed it tight. I had heard that madmen have unnatural strength; and as I knew I was a madman—at times anyhow—I resolved to use my power."

🥺

With his left hand [Dracula] held both Mrs. Harker's hands, keeping them away with her arms at full tension; his right hand gripped her by the back of the neck, forcing her face down on his bosom. Her white nightdress was smeared with blood, and a thin stream trickled down the man's bare breast which was shown by his torn-open dress. The attitude of the two had a terrible resemblance to a child forcing a kitten's nose into a saucer of milk to compel it to drink.

K I L L H I M

She shuddered and was silent, holding down her head on her husband's breast. When she raised it, his white night-robe was stained with blood where her lips had touched, and where the thin open wound in her neck had sent forth drops. The instant she saw it she drew back, with a low wail, and whispered, amidst choking sobs:—

"Unclean, unclean! I must touch him or kiss him no more. Oh, that it should be that it is I who am now his worst enemy, and whom he may have most cause to fear." To this he spoke out resolutely:—

"Nonsense, Mina. It is a shame to me to hear such a word. I would not hear it of you; and I shall not hear it from you. May God judge me by my deserts, and punish me with more bitter suffering than even this hour, if by any act or will of mine anything ever come between us!"

They’re everything your honour 🥺❤️

"He had been there, and though it could only have been for a few seconds, he made rare hay of the place. All the manuscript had been burned, and the blue flames were flickering amongst the white ashes; the cylinders of your phonograph too were thrown on the fire, and the wax had helped the flames." Here I interrupted. "Thank God there is the other copy in the safe!"

THANK GOD FOR MINA

I turned to wake Jonathan, but found that he slept so soundly that it seemed as if it was he who had taken the sleeping draught, and not I. I tried, but I could not wake him.

The Dracula Loop™ never lies

'First, a little refreshment to reward my exertions. You may as well be quiet; it is not the first time, or the second, that your veins have appeased my thirst!'

A little refreshment??? FUCK YOU

You have aided in thwarting me; now you shall come to my call. When my brain says "Come!" to you, you shall cross land or sea to do my bidding; and to that end this!

It keeps getting worse where is my goddamned brandy

Jonathan’s journal starts exactly as happily as expected:

As I must do something or go mad, I write this diary.

And continues just as merrily:

As it was, he thought that on the attendant's evidence he could give a certificate of death by misadventure in falling from bed. In case the coroner should demand it, there would be a formal inquest, necessarily to the same result.

H O W

When the question began to be discussed as to what should be our next step, the very first thing we decided was that Mina should be in full confidence; that nothing of any sort—no matter how painful—should be kept from her.

Better late than never

"I should get a respectable locksmith, and set him to work to pick the lock for me."

"And your police, they would interfere, would they not?"

"Oh, no! not if they knew the man was properly employed."

"Then," he looked at me as keenly as he spoke, "all that is in doubt is the conscience of the employer, and the belief of your policemen as to whether or no that employer has a good conscience or a bad one. Your police must indeed be zealous men and clever—oh, so clever!—in reading the heart, that they trouble themselves in such matter."

Van Helsing mocking the police is not what I expected from this entry, but I’ll take it.

"Look here, old fellow," said Morris, "it is a capital idea to have all ready in case we want to go horsebacking; but don't you think that one of your snappy carriages with its heraldic adornments in a byway of Walworth or Mile End would attract too much attention for our purposes? It seems to me that we ought to take cabs when we go south or east; and even leave them somewhere near the neighbourhood we are going to."

LOOK AT MY QUINCEY BEING SO SMART

"Do you forget," he said, with actually a smile, "that last night he banqueted heavily, and will sleep late?"

Look at Van Helsing being Van Helsing!

Now let me guard yourself. On your forehead I touch this piece of Sacred Wafer in the name of the Father, the Son, and——"

There was a fearful scream which almost froze our hearts to hear. As he had placed the Wafer on Mina's forehead, it had seared it—had burned into the flesh as though it had been a piece of white-hot metal. My poor darling's brain had told her the significance of the fact as quickly as her nerves received the pain of it; and the two so overwhelmed her that her overwrought nature had its voice in that dreadful scream. But the words to her thought came quickly; the echo of the scream had not ceased to ring on the air when there came the reaction, and she sank on her knees on the floor in an agony of abasement. Pulling her beautiful hair over her face, as the leper of old his mantle, she wailed out:—

"Unclean! Unclean! Even the Almighty shuns my polluted flesh! I must bear this mark of shame upon my forehead until the Judgment Day." They all paused. I had thrown myself beside her in an agony of helpless grief, and putting my arms around held her tight. For a few minutes our sorrowful hearts beat together, whilst the friends around us turned away their eyes that ran tears silently.

Has she not suffered enough?

There was hope in his words, and comfort; and they made for resignation. Mina and I both felt so, and simultaneously we each took one of the old man's hands and bent over and kissed it. Then without a word we all knelt down together, and, all holding hands, swore to be true to each other. We men pledged ourselves to raise the veil of sorrow from the head of her whom, each in his own way, we loved; and we prayed for help and guidance in the terrible task which lay before us.

I am once again wondering how anyone could come out of this book thinking that A. the Count is some sort of sexual liberator and B. these men are motivated by anything other than love and a (somewhat misguided, but again this was 1897) sense of chivalry

To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.

HELLO????

I have written this in the train.

My tired brain read this as “I have written this in the rain.” I am devastated.

BUT ALSO we’re back to Jonathan writing in the train… Dracula Loop™ on a wider scale… Doubly devastated…

Back to Seward…

Last night he was a frank, happy-looking man, with strong, youthful face, full of energy, and with dark brown hair. To-day he is a drawn, haggard old man, whose white hair matches well with the hollow burning eyes and grief-written lines of his face.

To be loved and to love is to be changed…

His energy is still intact; in fact, he is like a living flame. This may yet be his salvation, for, if all go well, it will tide him over the despairing period; he will then, in a kind of way, wake again to the realities of life.

See? Resilience again! I am taking notes for this Feligami AU!

"Look out for D. He has just now, 12:45, come from Carfax hurriedly and hastened towards the South. He seems to be going the round and may want to see you: Mina."

Literally what would we do without Mina?

I could not but admire, even at such a moment, the way in which a dominant spirit asserted itself. In all our hunting parties and adventures in different parts of the world, Quincey Morris had always been the one to arrange the plan of action, and Arthur and I had been accustomed to obey him implicitly. Now, the old habit seemed to be renewed instinctively.

Literally what would we do without Quincey?

It was a pity that we had not some better organised plan of attack, for even at the moment I wondered what we were to do. I did not myself know whether our lethal weapons would avail us anything. Harker evidently meant to try the matter, for he had ready his great Kukri knife and made a fierce and sudden cut at him. The blow was a powerful one; only the diabolical quickness of the Count's leap back saved him. A second less and the trenchant blade had shorne through his heart. […] The expression of the Count's face was so hellish, that for a moment I feared for Harker, though I saw him throw the terrible knife aloft again for another stroke.

Oh Jonathan is pissed off

Her husband flung himself on his knees beside her, and putting his arms round her, hid his face in the folds of her dress.

Look at them… 😭

RIP Renfield you will be missed 😔❤️

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[overtake]

Not to be weird but I feel like I got zapped when I read your hockey snippet, how didn't I know that this existed? It's literally been living my brain for hours and I've not been able to stop re-reading it since 🙃 clearly you can take the girl out of toronto but you can't take toronto out the girl because im a changed person now. No pressure ofc I mean this in non-prodding way but praying and willing you to put your snippets together. If you never come around to it then I'm glad (and changed) for what you've shared with world regardless 🙏🏻🙏🏻

This is SO sweet 🥹 I love you so much. Just for this, please have a bit more hockey au. There's a tiny snippet after a media bit (Surprise, this fic is multi-media! Writing the social media parts has been my fave part of the entire process)

@.MapleLeafs on TikTok: | December 12, 2023

[Players walk by a whiteboard on their way into the practice rink. They're stopped to answer the question written on it as they enter. The caption written over their heads reads: "Who don’t your Leafs want to sit next to on a flight?"]

ALEX ALBON: Easy one. Esteban Ocon. He’ll bite your head off if you make a single noise. I think he’d get mad if the plane was going down and you tried to warn him. LOGAN SARGEANT: Gasly or Ocon. I don’t know if it’s a French thing, but they both get really annoyed if you talk to them on a plane. PIERRE GASLY: Danny Ric. He is the loudest person I’ve ever met in my life. ESTEBAN OCON: Daniel Ricciardo. Sorry, Daniel. DANIEL RICCIARDO: Gasly. Max and I were just having a conversation and he rose up behind us and nearly bit our heads off for laughing. I don’t know why he keeps sitting near us. MAX VERSTAPPEN: I don’t really mind sitting next to anyone. I usually sit next to Daniel, and we have a good time. He keeps movies downloaded for us. They're often not very good, but that's sometimes more fun, you know? YUKI TSUNODA: Daniel. VALTERRI BOTTAS: Daniel Ricciardo. ZHOU GUANYU: Daniel. He is very nice and fun, but sometimes you just want to relax on a flight. MARCUS ERICCSON: Surely everyone except Max picked Daniel, right? FERNANDO ALONSO: I don’t want to sit next to anyone.

Mara (DR’s Reputation Era) @.mv33fan: Fernando Alonso: I hate this entire team The entire team: We hate Daniel and the French Max and Daniel: Ask again later. Our mouths are occupied with each other’s dicks.

________

Theoretically, Daniel knew that his and Max's pre-game ritual could end up on the broadcast. Butt taps and silly handshakes in the tunnel inevitably end up on team Instagram stories even if they don't air on TV. It was to be expected, particularly on a Saturday night game against Ottawa.

Still, he didn’t exactly expect a whole montage. It's a nice little package, to be fair. It shows him and Max laughing next to each other in the tunnels and locker rooms before games, followed by their fingers interlocking in their usual drawn-out high five. Daniel prefers to fist bump the whole team and exit only before the goalies, but his routine with Max is always a bit of a production that holds up the line. It's only a surprise it hasn't been uploaded sooner.

After a game where Max scored two goals and Daniel threw his body in front of a rogue deflection and stopped the Sens from a late-third tie, the media naturally focuses on the montage. God forbid they talk about actual fucking hockey in the hockey interview.

“We call it tangled love,” he tells reporters in the press scrum after the game. “In honour of our artistic collision last game.”

It wasn’t a real collision. They’d just got tangled up together when things got chippy by the net. Their skates had collided and they'd taken each other out while trying to defend Esteban from some Habs players. It was all over social media, though, and Daniel knew they’d end up in some embarrassing NHL moments compilation.

They’d both laid on the ice, a little stunned and a lot stupid, before Daniel let out a giant laugh and broke the tension. Max had risen to his feet and tried to pull up Daniel, only for them both to fall right back down as if this was the first time they'd ever skated.

They’d actually been doing this little handshake all season, but reporters were always happy for a soundbite to latch onto and a joke they’d never let go. There's not much to work with in this league in the way of on-camera personality, so it’d probably be a story for the next week. The go-karting clips of the two of them were so popular than even Max mentioned he’d seen them on Reels, and he’d carefully curated his feed to show him anything but Leafs content.

Daniel can’t explain it, this warmth that makes him feel like he’s glowing from inside out all the time since the season started, but he knows he feels it most when he sees people write his name alongside Max’s like their togetherness is a given.

[abyssmita]

I JUST found out about FGM through a yt short (i genuinely had no idea so I had to scroll the comments to understand) and I'm literally horrified. Even then as I scroll I find comments by men comparing it to male circumcision.....

Scrolling a little further I saw a comment by another Indian woman saying that she found out rn too and sympathizing with the victims, there's a reply to it stating how women were treated worse in Hinduism (sati, dalit women, menstrual cycle restrictions, draupadi etc.) and that the commentor shouldn't be "acting as if she's living better"???????? Wtf??? I can't even start to talk about what exactly went thru this person's head before making that comment because I simply cannot make the connection.

MOVING ON, ANOTHER reply comes from this another Indian guy to the previous replier, saying "you don't know anything, hinduism much better yadda yadda sati wasn't forced on women like jauhar isn't, isolating women during menstruation was justified because they didn't have Dettol back then, draupadi cheerharan was done because she insulted duryodhan first and it was 'tit for tat'"

There's just so much to unpack here. I'll be going on a rant.

I love my religion a lot, it means very much to me. And I understand that many of the wrongs in it started due to external influence and patriarchy. But that does NOT negate the fact that they were WRONG. No sati wasn't "women's choice". No independent healthy person with free will would want to burn themselves alive unless they are either 1. Manipulated to think that's correct, or 2. Being alive is a bigger threat (which was the case in jauhar). Even IF some women "chose" to die with their husbands, it was not out of love of free will, it was because they were conditioned to think that's what an honourable wife should do. they were made to believe a wife is nothing without her husband, she's merely an extension of him and should be discarded when he is no longer alive. And I also hate those people who glamorize the practice of jauhar, as if it wasn't a direct consequence of patriarchy. Yes, the women were brave to take such a step for their dignity, but WHY ARE WE IGNORING THAT THEY WOULDN'T JUST JUMP INTO THE FIRE IF THEY WEREN'T ABOUT TO BE TAKEN AS LITERAL SEX SLAVES? No it wasn't their "choice", they had no other option left. It was either an "honorable" death or a miserable life. This is just bear vs man all over again honestly, it's getting so tiring.

You at gunpoint, two cups infront of you, one laced with poison, either you drink one or he shoots. You'll pick one up, you'll take your chance. But you wouldn't touch any of those cups if not for the gun to your head. Stop justifying crimes against women with a false illusion of choice. You are no better than the perpetrators. If you can put the responsibility of such incidents on the victims, you can very well do the same thing to another person.

And I can't even start talking about the draupadi thing, man how in the world was duryodhan having her assaulted and sexually harrassed infront of the entire Kingdom a justified reaction to her simply LAUGHING at him (which DIDN'T actually happen, jsyk.) I'd really like to cut open the brains of the people who can think on this wavelength and actually see for myself how the thought process happens, and then preferably smash their brains straight to sauce because no monster who genuinely thinks like that deserves to be alive.

Another point I'd like to make is that how these two men somehow managed to take the point STRAIGHT from the cruelty against FGM victims to something that is completely different to the case at hand. Speaks a lot about exactly how they have behaved in the past few centuries, doesn't it?

Also, those who are unaware of FGM like I was, I request you go and research that topic. It is not a thing of the past, it's happening to very little girls right this moment as we speak. When we live in times where women struggle to be considered human, much less equal to men, the least we can do is be aware of problems our fellow women suffer from. Even if male circumcision is a highly debated topic, it is not at all comparable to FGM. Funny how most of us know about male circumcision and yet have never heard of FGM.

[sol-consort]

Whenever someone questions "what does it mean to be human" what they're really asking is "How much of me is truly me?"

Because how do you even define the human experience? When empathy and love can be found even in the deepest of oceans amidst the most fearsome of killer whales.

Or is it a question regarding our purpose. Because we can understand what it means to be a bird by simply observing one, we can understand what it means to be a plant by studying one. As if they're all born with a purpose, with a passion in mind with reserved seats at the grand meaning of life.

Are other species born with a purpose? Do the asari find it laying around through their early couple hundredth years? Do the salarians know what food is going to be their favourite before the first bite. Just how much of what it means to be a krogan is engranged in their biologically rather than sociology, Is that why Grunt struggled with the desperate need to fit in? Was it hereditary or acquired?

You look at a turian, and you see their bright future, the way they stand with pride, the way they honour their tribe. You look at a hanar, and you wonder how they adjusted to being a fish out of water with such grace at all times, how effortless they made it look, how divine.

What do they see when they look at us? What's the purpose written across our earthly skin and hungry eyes. Do they see an open book of emotions? An animal learning to crawl? A bunch of kids playing pretend, wearing their special uniforms and clumsily navigating the jenga tower that they built a government system out of.

We claim to be problem solvers at heart, but we end up breaking the things we fix more often than not. We say creativity is our speciality, but we box our definition of what counts as art.

We desperately want to be something, but we're not. We're a blank slate being constantly carved onto with a hammer and chisel. We're not born knowing how to swim, We're not born knowing how to make art, invent things, or start wars. We can only cry, and even that gets taken away in the shortage of time.

But maybe that's the point, fish can't talk, snakes can't walk, and I can't read minds.

That there might be some wisdom in this, some deeper meaning. Or maybe it's as deep as the earth's crust and is just hiding in plain sight.

We created language because we cannot read minds, asari had no reason to, so their language and poetry are ass. that's why it took them so long to master writing and passing down information accurately.

We somehow preserved our genetic diversity because we kept eating everything that's not nailed down. We licked those instead. This is why we have so many dishes and little allergies, why we can get around with one heart, one liver, and one spine. At any point, we could've exclusively just eaten potatoes or whatever is the easiest grain to plant and forced our bodies to adopt with time, but we didn't. We liked the diverse taste of different dishes, we enjoyed the different flavours the world offered, we hunted for meat and we aged wine, we churned milk into butter and cheese, we preformed all these convoluted steps just in order to create something that makes us feel good, that tastes good.

There are paintings on cave walls as old as time, there are colourful handprints of your younger self somewhere on your childhood home, be it left over melted chocolate or actual paint or your mom's lipstick that she dropped.

There is something in us doing this, something that feels like me. There is something in my brain that makes me love the moon and long for the stars, there is something in your brain that makes the mental image of a waterfall in a forest actively slow your heartbeat down, try it right now.

There is something that makes the oceans look inviting when other animals would avoid it not to drown. Something that makes the horizon tempting, the large mountains taunting, the abyss of space alluring, the unknown worth exploring.

It's the effort. They look at us and see someone who thinks all this convolution is worth the effort, that reaching the moon with spaceships with less power than the phone you're currently holding was worth all the risks. That learning to fly was worth all the engineering, that antarctica was worth living in a freezing hell.

They see a human with a purpose of their own design, be it just having a good time or defeating death itself once and for all. They see passion personified, love pushed to the extreme as a conscious decision rather than some built-in evaluationy gene.

They a species who won't back down, who won't take the easy way out, who won't stop trying to just have a good time in general.

[ssa-neeks-prentiss]

can you do amy santiago x reader? just literally anything about her, i dont mind what the plot is

Note : I'm sorry this is so short but since I had nothing to go off I was a bit stumped <33

Amy Santiago x reader

Summary : A dance in the rain with your girlfriend <3

Word Count : 470

You fiddled with your pen as you looked down on your paperwork. It was one of those days where there was no cases do you were sat at your desk. Your girlfriend, Amy Santiago, was sat opposite you. It was relatively quiet, with the exception of chatter from Jake and Charles. But it wouldn't be the bullpen without their voices.

The rain pattered against the walls and ceiling of the building, though it was only spitting so it wasn't too heavy. You decided to put your headphones in to concentrate.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You were sat down writing for maybe two more hours when a certain lyric ran through your brain.

'Dancing in the rain.'

You grinned as you lifted your head to look at your girlfriend. You had loved the rain, even when you were younger. You would constantly get colds because you kept staying out in the rain until you were soaking wet.

You stood up and stepped over to Amy's desk, you took a headphone out when she looked up at you.

"Hey, Ames, could we take a break and go on a walk together?"

She gave you a perplexed look.

"But it's raining?"

"So? I love taking walks in the rain. And I love taking walks in the rain with my girlfriend even more."

"But you haven't taken a walk in the rain with me yet, so how do you love something you haven't done?"

"Well, you love this paperwork."

You pointed to the unfilled paperwork on one section of her desk.

"But you haven't done it yet, so, how do you know you love it?"

Amy paused as she thought deeply before sighing.

"I guess you're right."

You grinned and helped her up.

"I'm always right."

She shot you a glare and you put your hands up in defeat.

"Okay! I won't say it again!"

She simply smiled and rolled her eyes. You then took her hand and dragged her through the hallway down to the door leading outside. You carefully opened the door and held a hand out to see how hard it was raining.

When you knew it was definitely only lightly raining, you took Amy's hand again and pulled her outside. You laughed as she stumbled into you and you held her close.

"Would you give me the honour of having a dance with you?"

You asked her even though you knew the answer.

"Of course."

You smiled and took her hands before gently moving forwards and backwards. And before you knew it, the two of you were in a full on waltz across the grass by the building. You smiled softly and looked her in the eyes.

She smiled back at you and pressed her forehead on yours. You shut your eyes and kissed her gently. This was a moment you wouldn't forget for a long time.