#to your eternity s1

[simplydoomed]

my 5(?) year not-crying-at-anime streak has been completely shattered by To Your Eternity

I've cried at like 2/4 episodes so far and I don't think it'll be stopping any time soon

[warmsoapywater]

Just read the first Wings of Fire book, and now I've just realised Joel naming the Pearl statue Peril was sort-of not-really an unintentional WoF reference

[tragedy-machine]

something something the boys have to confront an evil psychic who's able to see ghosts' unfinished businesses, among other things, by touching them and she of course decides to go the psychological mockery/torture route and uses it against people

so she touches Edwin and sees basically what Edwin told the Cat King, that he runs the agency to earn his one way ticket away from Hell, so she makes fun of him for it, says that it'll never matter, that he's destined for the eternal flames because of who he is anyway yada yada

and when Edwin doesn't really seem affected by it (him still being here is proof that it does work, hello, and she missed his entire s1 arc of self-acceptance), she moves onto Charles, and catching him is a bit trickier, but she eventually achieves it and comes out of her vision with a wicked grin already on her face

"Him?" She asks mockingly, pointing at Edwin. "Really? He's your little reason to stay on Earth and he's not even yours? How long till he finds someone who will claim him, someone better than you, hm? What happens when he doesn't need you anymore?"

[novaursa]

okk hear me out!

gwayne x daemon daughter // kink repro

We all remember the tournament in s1, just imagine viserys decide that his niece (who is younger than nyra maybe 16) should marry sir gwayne to make more strength between their houses.

time pass they fell in love in oldtown and they raided Daeron as their own. They all come back when Luke was name heir of drifmark (during the audience). Daemon is furious to see her with gwayne.

But their chamber is right next to daemon and nyra, and at night gwayne is way more than ready to make understand that she is his 😏🔥

In Defiance of the Dragon

- Summary: When your uncle, King Viserys, promised your hand to Gwayne, your father was least pleased about it.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

The air in the tournament grounds is drenched with the scent of crushed flowers and churned earth, the banners of noble houses fluttering like the wings of restless dragons. The sun casts a golden shine over the scene, making the polished armor of the knights gleam like fire. You stand at the edge of the royal pavilion, a place of honor, though it feels more like a cage at this moment. Your heart pounds in your chest as the king—your uncle, Viserys—raises his hand to command silence.

The crowd hushes, anticipation hanging in the air. You can feel the weight of a thousand eyes upon you, but none as heavy as the gaze of Ser Gwayne Hightower. His presence is unmistakable even among the throng of knights, his armor adorned with the sigil of his house, the beacon of the Hightower shining bright against the steel. Your breath catches as you meet his gaze, a fleeting moment that seems to stretch into eternity. There is something in his eyes—an unspoken promise, a plea for understanding.

Viserys’ voice booms across the grounds, his words carrying the weight of royal decree. "Today, before the tilts commence, let it be known that my beloved niece, the daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, shall be wed to Ser Gwayne Hightower. This union shall strengthen the bond between our noble houses, binding the blood of Old Valyria to the steadfast walls of Oldtown."

A murmur ripples through the crowd. Otto Hightower, standing beside the king, allows himself a thin, satisfied smile. The whisper of steel, the low hum of murmurs, and the occasional startled cry from the gathered lords and ladies mingle with the pounding in your ears. Beside you, Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent Hightower exchange a glance, though their expressions reveal little. You know Rhaenyra's thoughts well enough; her small hand squeezes yours briefly, a silent assurance.

Your eyes dart to the stands where your father, Prince Daemon, lounges. His posture is deceptively relaxed, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers drum against the arm of his seat. His eyes—those unmistakable violet eyes—burn with an intensity that sets your nerves on edge. When he rises from his seat, you feel a tremor of fear run through you, though you fight to keep your face composed.

Daemon’s voice, sharp and cutting, pierces the air. "I would face Ser Gwayne in the first tilt. Let us see if this union has the favor of the gods."

The crowd roars in approval, eager for the bloodshed and spectacle that is sure to follow. Gwayne’s gaze shifts, now locked onto Daemon’s. You see the flicker of concern in his eyes, quickly masked by the steel of resolve. He inclines his head, accepting the challenge with a courtly grace that belies the danger he now faces.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The fear gnaws at you, a beast with claws that rake against your insides. You force yourself to remain still, even as every instinct screams at you to intervene, to do something—anything—to protect Gwayne from your father’s wrath.

Alicent notices your distress, her voice a gentle whisper in your ear. "Do not fear, my lady. Ser Gwayne is a skilled knight. He will honor you in this contest."

Her words are meant to comfort, but they do little to soothe the storm raging within you. Your eyes dart between the two men who now occupy your every thought—the father who has always shielded you with his fierce love, and the knight who has stolen your heart with his quiet strength. What would your father say if he knew how often Gwayne had filled your thoughts, how often you had dreamed of a future together, away from the politics and dangers of the court?

As the knights prepare for the tilt, you can barely breathe. The cheers of the crowd fade into a dull roar in your ears, and all you can focus on is the two figures facing each other across the field. Daemon’s black armor, dark as night and adorned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, stands in stark contrast to Gwayne’s silvered plate. The dragon against the tower—a battle that feels all too symbolic.

Rhaenyra leans in close, her voice urgent and low. "You know your father, sister. He won’t hold back. You must steel yourself."

"I know," you whisper, though your voice trembles with the effort of holding back the fear that threatens to overwhelm you. You cannot let anyone see how deeply this affects you—not Rhaenyra, not Alicent, and certainly not your father.

The trumpets blare, signaling the beginning of the tilt. The horses rear, their hooves pounding the earth as Daemon and Gwayne charge at each other. Time slows to a crawl, and you can only watch, helpless, as the gap between them closes.

The impact is thunderous, the sound of steel against steel ringing out across the field. The force of the blow unseats Gwayne, and he crashes to the ground in a heap of armor and dust. Your heart lurches in your chest, and you rise to your feet, barely aware of the gasps and cries around you.

"Gwayne!" you hear yourself cry out, the name escaping your lips before you can stop it.

The crowd is on its feet, roaring with excitement, but all you can see is Gwayne, motionless on the ground. The world blurs as tears well in your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to show any weakness.

Daemon circles back, his expression inscrutable behind his helm, but you can feel his eyes on you. This was no accident; he wanted to make a point, to remind everyone that no one—Hightower or otherwise—would take what belonged to a dragon without consequence.

But then, Gwayne stirs. He rises slowly, his movements pained but determined. Relief floods through you, but it is quickly replaced by a renewed sense of dread. Daemon is not done—not yet.

Before you can react, Gwayne is back on his feet, his eyes locked onto Daemon's. The defiance in his stance is clear—he will not yield, not even to a prince of the blood. You feel a swell of pride for him, despite the fear gnawing at your insides.

Daemon, sensing the mood of the crowd shifting, raises his lance once more, ready for another pass. But this time, something in Gwayne’s demeanor gives you hope. His gaze flickers to you for the briefest of moments, and you see the silent vow in his eyes—a promise to fight for you, no matter the odds.

The horses charge again, and this time, Gwayne meets Daemon’s strike with a fierce determination. The impact is brutal, but Gwayne holds his ground, refusing to be unseated. The crowd roars its approval, the tension in the air is felt.

When the dust settles, both knights remain in their saddles, battered but unbroken. It is Daemon who finally raises his hand, signaling the end of the tilt. There is no victor, no vanquished—only two men who have tested each other’s mettle and found themselves equally matched.

The relief that washes over you is overwhelming, and you sink back into your seat, your hands trembling in your lap. You dare a glance at Gwayne, who inclines his head to you with a slight, weary smile. It is a small gesture, but it fills your heart with warmth.

As Daemon dismounts, he casts a long, lingering look in your direction. There is something unspoken in his gaze, a challenge, perhaps—or a warning. But for now, you do not care. You have seen Gwayne survive your father’s wrath, and that is enough for you.

For the first time since this day began, you allow yourself a small, secret smile. The road ahead may be fraught with danger and intrigue, but you will face it with the courage of a dragon—and with Gwayne by your side.

You stand at the window of the Hightower, looking out over the sprawling city of Oldtown, where the cobbled streets wind like serpents beneath the autumn sun. The air is cool, tinged with the salt of the Whispering Sound, carrying with it the scent of the sea that you’ve come to know so well. The bells from the Starry Sept toll the hour, their sound reverberating through the stone walls of your home.

Your home. It’s a thought that still brings a small smile to your lips, even after all these years. The Hightower is vast, imposing, and ancient, its walls steeped in the history of Oldtown and the Hightowers themselves. Yet within these walls, you have found something unexpected—peace, and more than that, love.

Gwayne is beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back, a comforting weight. His touch is gentle, yet there’s a strength in it that you’ve come to depend on. He’s watching you with that soft expression that always melts the last of your worries away, the lines of his face relaxed, his grey eyes bright with the warmth of the afternoon light.

“He’s arrived,” Gwayne says, his voice low and calm, a grounding presence. You turn your head slightly to meet his gaze, the unspoken question in your eyes.

“Prince Daeron,” he clarifies, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Alicent’s letter arrived this morning, and they’ll be here within the hour.”

You nod, the familiar flutter of anticipation and duty stirring in your chest. Prince Daeron, the youngest son of Queen Alicent, sent to Oldtown to be raised and educated under the care of your husband’s family. It’s a great honor, of course, but more than that, it feels like a trust, a bond that ties your houses closer together.

Gwayne’s hand moves from your back to your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. “He’s young, but from what we’ve heard, he’s bright and eager to learn. He’ll thrive here, I’m sure of it.”

You smile at his optimism, leaning into him slightly. “We’ll make sure of it,” you reply, your voice carrying the quiet determination that has grown within you over the years. Oldtown has become a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you and Gwayne have built a life together, despite the stormy beginnings of your union.

You can still remember the day of the tourney, the way your heart had pounded with fear as your father had chosen Gwayne as his opponent. The memory lingers like a shadow, but it’s one you’ve learned to live with, just as you’ve learned to live with the man who became your husband.

Gwayne, sensing the shift in your mood, squeezes your hand gently. “He’ll have the best tutors, the finest training. And he’ll have us.”

“Yes,” you agree, turning your gaze back to the city below. “He’ll have us.”

The grand hall of the Hightower is filled with the warmth of a roaring fire, the stone hearth dominating the room. The thick tapestries that line the walls soften the sound of footsteps on the stone floor, and the smell of spiced wine and roasted meat fills the air.

Daeron is smaller than you expected, a boy of perhaps seven years, with a mop of silver hair that falls into his eyes. Those eyes, so much like his mother’s, are wide with curiosity and just a hint of nervousness as he stands before you and Gwayne.

“Welcome to Oldtown, Prince Daeron,” Gwayne says, his voice kind but formal, as befits the occasion. He kneels slightly, bringing himself closer to the boy’s level, a gesture of respect and warmth that seems to put Daeron at ease.

The boy glances up at you, his lips parting in a small, shy smile. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne,” he replies, his voice small but clear. Then, turning to you, he adds, “My lady.”

You kneel beside Gwayne, reaching out to take Daeron’s hand in yours. His fingers are cold, and you can feel the slight tremor in them. “You’ll be safe here, Prince Daeron,” you assure him softly. “This is your home now.”

Daeron looks up at you, his young face a mix of emotions—fear, uncertainty, but also trust. It’s a look that tugs at your heart, and you find yourself wanting to protect this boy, to give him the guidance and care that only family can provide.

“We’ll take good care of you,” you promise, your voice gentle but firm. “Just as we would our own.”

The boy nods, and you can see the tension in his small shoulders begin to ease. He looks around the hall, taking in the grandeur of the Hightower, the vastness of the space that is now his home. There’s still fear in his eyes, but there’s also a glimmer of something else—hope.

Gwayne rises to his feet, offering his hand to you. “Come,” he says to Daeron, “let’s show you the rest of the Hightower. There’s much to see, and I believe the maester has prepared something special for your arrival.”

Daeron hesitates for just a moment before he takes Gwayne’s offered hand, his small fingers gripping tightly as though seeking reassurance. You stand beside them, a silent guardian of this new bond that is being forged.

As you walk through the halls, Gwayne points out various tapestries, statues, and paintings, telling stories of the history of the Hightowers and Oldtown. Daeron listens intently, his earlier nervousness slowly melting away under the gentle guidance of your husband.

When you reach the maester’s chambers, you’re greeted by the sight of a table laden with books, scrolls, and an array of strange instruments that immediately capture Daeron’s interest. The maester, a kindly old man with a beard as white as snow, greets Daeron with a deep bow.

“Prince Daeron,” the maester says warmly, “I’ve prepared a special lesson for you, one that I think you’ll find quite interesting.”

Daeron’s eyes light up with curiosity, and for the first time since his arrival, you see a genuine smile on his face. He looks up at you and Gwayne, his eyes shining with excitement. “Thank you,” he says, his voice more confident now.

Gwayne squeezes your hand, and you can’t help but return the smile. This, you realize, is what it means to be a family—not just by blood, but by the bonds you choose to create. In this moment, with the warmth of the fire and the promise of a new beginning, you feel something settle in your heart, a sense of fulfillment that you hadn’t known you were missing.

As Daeron sits down with the maester, already engrossed in the lesson that has been prepared for him, you and Gwayne share a look, a silent understanding passing between you.

And in this moment, as you both watch Daeron eagerly absorb the knowledge being offered to him, you know that you wouldn’t have your life being lived in any other way.

The halls of the Red Keep are as imposing as ever as you and Gwayne make your way through the corridors. It's been years since you last walked these halls, and yet they feel as familiar as ever—haunted by memories both bitter and sweet.

Gwayne’s hand rests on your elbow, guiding you through the maze of the castle with practiced ease. He’s dressed in the colors of his house, the green and silver of the Hightowers, his expression calm and composed as always. But you know him well enough to sense the tension beneath the surface, the way his gaze sharpens when he hears a distant sound, always vigilant, always protective.

You both turn a corner and nearly collide with a small entourage, led by none other than Rhaenyra herself. She’s flanked by her husband—your father, Daemon—and their children, their steps purposeful, their expressions tense. Rhaenyra’s silver hair gleams under the flickering torchlight, her violet eyes widening slightly in surprise as she sees you.

“Rhaenyra,” you greet her, your voice soft but steady, betraying none of the uncertainty you feel. So much has changed, yet seeing her here, a part of you yearns for the easy camaraderie you once shared as children. 

“Cousin,” Rhaenyra replies, her voice warm despite the strain visible on her face. She glances at Gwayne and then back at you, her gaze searching, perhaps for some sign of how the years have treated you. “It’s been too long.”

“Far too long,” you agree, your eyes flicking to Daemon, who stands slightly behind Rhaenyra, his gaze locked on Gwayne. There’s a tension in his stance, a stiffness that wasn’t there before, and you know immediately that your father is displeased.

Daemon’s eyes are dark, and though he remains silent, the disapproval is clear. His gaze travels from Gwayne to you, then back again, lingering on the clasped hands between you and your husband. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and for a moment, the air seems to thicken with unspoken words and unresolved history.

“You’re back in the capital for the petitions, I presume?” Rhaenyra asks, breaking the silence, her tone carefully neutral. The mention of the petitions brings you back to the grim reality of why you’re all here—the matter of Driftmark, and the question of succession that has thrown the court into turmoil.

“Yes,” Gwayne answers before you can, his voice firm. “We came as soon as we heard.” He glances at Daemon, his expression respectful but guarded. “It seems the crown’s decision is in favor of your son.”

Rhaenyra’s face softens at the mention of Lucerys, but before she can respond, a voice from behind her interrupts. It’s Jacaerys, his young face set in determination. “The matter should have never been in question. Luke is the rightful heir to Driftmark.”

You see the fire in his eyes, the same fire that once burned in Rhaenyra at that age. It’s both heartening and concerning, especially now, in these treacherous waters.

“That he is,” you say gently, offering a smile to Jacaerys. “And it’s clear to anyone with eyes that he’ll make a fine lord.”

Before Jacaerys can respond, Daemon steps forward, his presence commanding attention. His eyes are locked onto yours now, and there’s a storm brewing behind them, a mix of emotions you can’t fully decipher. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, carrying the weight of a warning.

“You’ve found happiness in Oldtown, I see.” The words are directed at you, but his gaze shifts to Gwayne as he says it, his tone laced with something darker. “Though I wonder if the cost was worth it.”

You feel Gwayne’s hand tighten around yours, a subtle gesture of support. “Happiness is not something to be questioned, Father,” you reply calmly, meeting Daemon’s gaze without flinching. “Nor is the loyalty I hold to both my families.”

Daemon’s lips twitch, almost as if he’s about to say something more, but Rhaenyra places a gentle hand on his arm, silently urging him to hold his tongue. There’s a brief moment where it seems he might ignore her, but then he lets out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“We’re here to support our family,” Gwayne adds, his voice measured, addressing Daemon directly now. “In whatever way is needed.”

Daemon studies Gwayne for a long moment, the silence between them stretching thin. Finally, he gives a curt nod, though the hardness in his gaze doesn’t entirely soften. “As you should,” he says, the words clipped, before turning back to Rhaenyra.

“Come, we have business with the king,” he says to her, his voice brooking no argument.

Rhaenyra hesitates, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. “We’ll speak later,” she promises, offering a small, genuine smile before following after Daemon, their children trailing behind her.

As they walk away, the tension slowly dissipates, leaving you standing beside Gwayne in the dimly lit corridor. You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, leaning slightly into your husband’s side. Gwayne wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, his warmth a comfort against the chill that lingers in the air.

“That went… better than I expected,” Gwayne murmurs, a touch of wry humor in his voice, though you can hear the relief beneath it.

“He’s never going to fully approve,” you say quietly, your eyes fixed on the spot where your father had stood. “But he’ll have to accept it.”

Gwayne turns to you, his expression softening as he looks down into your eyes. “I don’t need his approval,” he says, his voice firm. “I have you, and that’s all that matters.”

You smile at that, a genuine smile that reaches your eyes, banishing the last of the unease. “And I have you,” you reply, your voice filled with the love and certainty that have grown between you over the years.

The heavy oak door of your chambers shuts behind you, a soft thud echoing through the room. The warmth of the fire flickers across the stone walls that dance in tandem with your heightened pulse. Gwayne stands before you, his emerald eyes sharp and intense, still simmering with the tension of your earlier encounter in the halls. He says nothing as he approaches, but the way his hand reaches for your waist and pulls you flush against him speaks volumes.

You’ve grown accustomed to the feel of him—the strength in his embrace, the heat of his breath against your skin—but tonight there is something different, something more urgent. The lingering traces of your father’s displeasure hang between you, and you know, without words, that it fuels Gwayne’s every movement.

His lips descend upon yours, fierce and claiming, tasting of the wine shared at the evening’s feast. You respond in kind, your hands weaving through the thick strands of his hair, pulling him closer, as though you could erase the earlier tension through sheer proximity.

His hands roam across your body with practiced familiarity, fingers curling around the ties of your gown, loosening the laces with deliberate slowness. Gwayne leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice low and rough. “I will make you scream for me tonight,” he promises, and the unspoken words hang heavy in the air—Let him hear.

Your heart flutters in response, not with fear, but with anticipation. The thought of your father just beyond the walls, likely brooding over his anger, stirs something within you. How often had Daemon whispered venom into your ear about the Hightowers, about how they were a poison slowly strangling your family? And yet here you are, wrapped in the arms of one who bears that very name, bound to him not only by vows but by something far deeper, something that even your father’s fury cannot tarnish.

Gwayne’s touch turns rougher, more insistent, and your breath catches in your throat as he lifts you with ease, laying you down onto the bed. The covers crumple beneath your weight, the mattress giving way as he settles over you, his eyes burning with a hunger that matches your own. “I want him to know,” he murmurs against your neck, his lips trailing fire down your throat, “that you belong to me.”

Your back arches involuntarily, and you bite down on your lip, the need to hold back your cries warring with the knowledge of who might hear. Gwayne’s hands grasp your hips, his grip possessive as he moves against you with a rhythm that leaves you breathless. Each movement, each deliberate thrust, is a challenge—a challenge to the walls that separate your chambers from those of your father and his wife.

The pressure builds inside you, the familiar heat coiling in your belly, and you grasp at Gwayne’s shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you fight against the wave of pleasure threatening to drown you. His mouth hovers over yours, demanding, coaxing you to give in, to let go.

And then you remember—Daemon’s chambers are just beyond. The thought of his reaction, of his barely concealed rage at the idea of you finding joy with a Hightower, sends a thrill through you. You gasp aloud as Gwayne drives into you harder, his breath ragged in your ear, “Louder,” he commands, his voice a mix of authority and need.

You close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you, letting the sound of his name tear from your lips, louder than before, louder than you ever have. You imagine the look on your father’s face, his fists clenched in helpless fury, and the thought sends you spiraling into a pleasure so intense it nearly blinds you.

Gwayne’s name tumbles from your lips again and again, each cry more fervent than the last, as he brings you to the edge and beyond. You feel his satisfaction in the way he groans your name in return, his hold on you unyielding, as though he could anchor himself to you through sheer force of will.

When it’s over, when the last echoes of your cries have faded into the night, you lay beside him, your body spent and trembling, but your mind still racing. Gwayne’s hand rests possessively on your hip, his chest rising and falling with the remnants of exertion. “He heard you,” he says, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

You can only nod, the thought of what tomorrow might bring swirling in your mind. But for now, there is only this—only you and Gwayne, and the knowledge that whatever storm your father’s ire might bring, you would weather it together.

In the silence that follows, you curl closer to Gwayne, your fingers tracing idle patterns across his chest. “Tomorrow…” you begin, but your voice trails off.

“Tomorrow,” Gwayne echoes, his tone firm, reassuring, “we will face whatever comes. But tonight, you are mine, and that is all that matters.”

You smile softly at his words, closing your eyes as sleep finally begins to claim you.

[ghouldump]

hi your fics are so amazing!!

if you’re open to requests, i was wondering if you could write a lestat x louis x reader fic that takes place during their huge fight in the townhouse? i can imagine the reader being a mother figure to claudia and trying to protect her during it and getting hurt in the process of trying to break up louis and lestat. i’d love to see how the reader deals with the aftermath of her and louis’ injuries as well as claudia taking care of the two of them.

sorry if its confusing😭 i thought of this while rewatching s1

For The Love Of A Daughter | Lestat x Reader x Louis

ෆ out of fear, lestat does the unimaginable and has to try his hardest to win his family's trust back, but it may be too late

the comparison of s1 vs s2 of this scene had me on the edge of my seat 🥺 ⚠️ THIS IS S1 E5 ‼️

How did your once beautiful family go to ruins? When Claudia was created? When she rebelled? Or when she left? Your daughter, you would go to hell and back for her, yet, you couldn't convince her to stay.

Lestat was cruelly strict with her, invading her privacy by reading her diaries, not considering the fact that she was trapped in the early stages of puberty for an eternity. She couldn't help that she was a young girl stuck in this body, and he never let her forget or made it easier on her.

Louis, he'd always been passive, about your companionship, as well as his role as a parent. He wanted to keep the peace and harmony. If that meant allowing Lestat to discipline her, then he’d turn his head to not have to watch out of guilt.

Then you, Lestat often complained that you spoiled her too much. You never raised a finger to her, nor your voice. You hadn't been brought up that way, and so you did the same with her. You still remember the night she left. Packing only a few things, while you and Louis tried convincing her to stay. Standing her ground, she gave you both a hug, letting the wind carry her away.

Seven years flew by, silence made its way into the house that no longer felt like a home. Louis nose-deep in book after book, Lestat leaving going god knows where, while you remained secluded, drawing, reading, and sometimes staring at the wall.

Tonight was a rarity, Lestat wasn't running off, and Louis sat on the sofa, reading, while you sat in a chair, your head lying on your arm, taking in the soft jazz music.

Hearing the door open, Claudia entered, setting her suitcase on the floor. Rushing over, you wrapped your arms around her, rocking back and forth. Pulling away, your heart broke as Louis hugged her tightly. He too had been taking it so hard, since she had been gone. Abruptly, the music stopped, Lestat glaring at her.

“The prodigal daughter”

“I've come to apologize, I put all of you in a bad spot, I wasn't right in my head. I am now,” she said. You couldn't put your finger on it, but there was something different about her, a certain brokenness, she was trying to shut away.

“Apology not accepted,” Lestat said.

“How was college? Magna cum? Summa cum? Phi Beta Kappa?” he continued.

“I've read a lot of books. Started with Persia and Babylon, the old gods who longed for blood. A lot of it was popcorn, but a few old tomes. A Romanian tract on vampirs. A strange old Hungarian text, ‘Masticatione Mortuorum,’ the chewing dead. I plan to leave for that part of the world as soon as I can,” she told him. You and Louis shared a look, sensing that this wasn't headed in a positive direction.

“So, quick stop home to do laundry before you fuck off for good,” Lestat spat.

“A quick stop to pick up my mama and Louis,” she told him. Your hand went to your stomach, trying to control the unsettling nervousness building up. Lestat glanced at the two of you, before glaring at her in disgust.

“Oh, Perused a few folklore anthologies, and now you're going to cross the ocean and take on a society of monsters,” he said, slowly making his way towards her.

“If what I've read is lies, then tell me what's true,” she told him, but he only continued to stare at her as if she was beneath him.

“Seven years and what’s changed, other than you need a housekeeper?” she sneered. He slowly approached her, and as you were about to step forward to intervene, Louis grabbed your hand, discreetly shaking his head.

“The vampires out there…are vicious. Oh, but you've learned that already. Who did you meet out there in the American hinterland? Read her,” Lestat looked at the two of you, walking away. Staring at her, you quickly wiped the tear from your eye, you couldn't imagine what she had been through all on her own.

“That’s it, keep 'em scared. That's his way,” she said to you both.

“The vampires in Europe are much, much worse”

“But I think he's scared,” she spoke over him.

“I never asked, how did Charlie taste? Like the love you'll never really know,” he said, trying to get under her skin.

“And when he's scared, he ridicules”

“She was a destitute little girl, destined to live an inconsequential little life,” he said, approaching the both of you.

“And we took it from her, we cursed her,” Louis said, making the smug expression drop from his face. Looking at you, his frown deepened, seeing you gaze at her, the bloody tears moments from seeping out.

“Come with me!” she called out, both of you staring at her.

“Come with me, mama, Louis”

“Louis, Y/n,” Lestat said, becoming angry as neither of you looked at him.

“I thought I could live without either of you, but I was wrong,” Claudia said, her eyes pleading for you to come along.

“Y/n, Louis”

“Louis, Y/n,” Lestat continued, raising his voice.

“His love is a small box he keeps you both in, don't stay in it,” she said, as you glanced at him.

“A thousand nights of sulking, and the first sight of her, you are just gonna up and leave me?!” Lestat yelled.

“Please, come with me! Let’s be vampires worth of your love!” Claudia screamed before Lestat surged, choking her.

“Get off of her,” you said, going to shove him off of her. However, he was much stronger, gaining the upper hand, his fingers wrapping around your throat, he looked unrecognizable.

“You, always choosing her,” he spat, before Louis charged over, tackling him.

As they fought, Claudia screamed, panicking, as you tried to keep up with them. Throwing Louis in the living room. Lestat straddled him, punching him in the face.

“Lestat, stop it,” you cried out, jumping on his back, but he easily slung you across the room, as you smashed into the wall, you could feel your arm already broken.

“Claudia, stay down here,” you told her, rushing to the bedroom.

“Stop fighting,” you screamed, as they continued tackling each other.

“Let him go,” you hear Claudia crying.

“It’s alright, you stay where you're at,” Louis told her, as if he wasn't completely bruised up.

“You're going to choose her too? Leave me for her when she left you both, I’ve been here,” he told you, as you slowly backed away, unsure of what he'd do next.

“Lestat st-

“Do not tell me what to do,” he told you, wrapping his hand around your throat, and pulling you close. His nails were in your skin, with your airway completely blocked.

Dragging both of you downstairs, and outside, you could hear Claudia running.

“I fought myself a million times, fought my nature, controlled my temper. I never once harmed either of you,” he said.

“Let him go,” you cried, hoarsely, trying to claw at his hand, while reaching for Louis.

“Silence,” he told you.

“Uncle Les”

“It's Uncle Les, now suddenly?”

“Let them go, they didn't do nothin’, let them go, it's me you want,” you could hear her steps approaching.

“Listen to me, and listen very carefully my infant death, it was never you. No matter how much your mama made you think otherwise,” he spat, crushing your throat, and dragging you both out into the road.

“I chose you, and you, given you the dark gift and you've betrayed me,” he said, biting into your neck, draining almost every ounce of blood from your body, before throwing you, watching as you flew into the backyard, colliding with bricks, you could feel your rib cage shatter.

However, as you stood up, you quickly fell to your knees in pain and fear for Louis’s life, watching as they flew into the sky to the point where they were no longer seen.

“Mama, are you alright?” Claudia ran to you, reaching for her hand, your other hand on your throat. You couldn't speak, Lestat’s nails had managed to pierce through. Claudia gasped, as you coughed, blood spilling out.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“I’m okay, we just need to get Louis,” she said, helping you stand, however, just as you stood, Louis fell from the sky, hitting the ground. Limping over, you were afraid to touch him, the slightest touch looked as if it would break him even more.

Crying, you looked up, staring into Lestat’s eyes as he flew over you all, not saying a word. You couldn't say it, but from your expression, there was no way you could easily forgive him after this.

Healing was a struggle, not just from the physical damage, but any previous trust was gone. While you managed to bounce back within a few months, Louis had a long way to go. Lestat skipped town and hadn't bothered to show his face.

You avoided thinking about him, altogether. Dedicating yourself to Claudia and Louis, from coffin-bound to limping, every day was progress. Louis was slowly getting better and you both worked on strengthing your bond with Claudia. Then the calls started coming.

All of this time, you managed to push through the soreness and pain, but the moment he called you hid away, licking your eternal wounds. He was a completely different person that night, the things he said, the things he'd done. After Louis fully healed, you were no longer opposed to the idea of leaving for Europe with Claudia.

Hearing the doorbell ringing, you turned your head, watching as Claudia went outside. You could hear his voice, he had gifts, and he wanted to talk, to apologize. Louis went upstairs, throwing his coffin out of the window, you couldn't help but snicker.

“There’s your answer”

“And where is Y/n? I know she would enjoy these paints, they are rare. I paid quite a price because I knew she would make the most beautiful-

“My mama ain't got nothin’ to say to you, like you said, she betrayed you, choosing me,” she told him, shutting the door, and locking it.

Coming back to the living room, she glanced your way before to Louis, who came from upstairs. As Louis sat next to you, you pulled him close.

“You okay?” you asked him.

“Getting there,” he mumbled, smiling as you kissed his cheek.

Lestat didn't show his face anymore, but the gifts never stopped. Each time more spontaneous than the next, and while you knew, Louis was becoming weaker, you wished you could say the same for yourself.

“Emily Dickinson is not a vampire,” Louis said, as you laughed.

“How do you know?” she asked.

“Because she is dead,” you pointed out.

“How do you know?”

“She got a grave,” Louis said.

“And a tombstone,” you added.

“So do you,” She told Louis, all of you laughing, afterward.

As you crossed the streets, the driver honked their horn, as they slowly came to a stop in front of you. Opening the door, Lestat climbed out, smiling at you all. Rolling your eyes, you simply looked the other way.

“25 horsepower Rolls-Royce six-cylinder engine and a front end they call a coffin nose, is that rich? This one’s yours, mine’s back at home in blue,” he said, showing off the new car, and tossing the keys to Louis.

“I know how much you despise driving, so I got you other things, the finest fabrics, books, art supplies, and music, waiting for you at home, I'm back in town permanently,” he continued, looking your way, but you just stared off to the side, as if you didn't see him.

“Were you gone?” Claudia asked him.

“Across the river, in Algiers,” he said, you could still feel his eyes on the two of you.

“You know who lives in Algiers” Claudia said to you, as you clenched your jaw.

“I don't know what possessed me that night,” he said.

“Three years ago, that night, three years ago, he means,” Claudia corrected him.

“I was someone I don't want to be anymore. I've changed. Let me prove it to you. I’m nothing without you. I’m nothing without any of you”

“If you want me to go away, just say so. I’ll obey you. I’ll leave your lives forever. This silence is cruel, all I ask is that Y/n looks at me. You haven't spared me a glance since I've been here. Neither of you were ever cruel, don't let our situation change you,” he said.

“Just look at him,” Louis pleaded.

Turning to face him, he cleared his throat, straightening his posture. You didn't say anything, emotionlessly staring at him.

“You look stunning as always, ma chérie,” he complimented, his heart breaking as you looked away again.

Taking the keys, Claudia threw them, before scratching the car, reaching for your hand, walking away.

Six years, came and went, and more gifts flooded the house. It was unspoken between you and Louis that you both missed him. Although it looked different, Louis wanted him to come running back, each extravagant, but sentimental gift was tugging more and more at Louis’s heart. You preferred the distance, reminiscing on the past, before that night. You didn't think you could have that back, now, you secretly enjoyed every time he saw you, or wrote to you, begging that you would acknowledge him.

Unexpectedly, it happened, the record came in the mail and was immediately played. The song meant to win you both back while pissing you off, a song sung by his affair partner. Louis was seething, grabbing the record, and ran out of the house.

“You're not going with him?” Claudia asked.

“They will be back,” you mumbled, knowing his plan worked, he got through to Louis and would be coming back.

“Rule number four-

“Kill Antoinette”

“Antoinette is my own private-

“Affair,” Claudia said.

“Said child, interfering in the romantic lives of her parents,” Lestat said, wanting one of you to stop her. She had been sharp with him since the moment he stepped into the house.

“She will be 33 soon, far from a child,” you reminded him, rolling your eyes.

“It’s a lick and a promise in vampire years,” he shrugged.

“Maybe, but I am not your child anymore, that's rule number five,” Claudia said, catching his attention.

His eyes shifted from her to you, your interlocked hands. She had you, wrapped around her fingers, taken from him. Louis was more willing to work on the broken relationship, but you had shut him out, choosing your child.

“I’ll be your companion, your sister,” she told him, as he scoffed.

“It's not as simple as choosing a new family configuration, now I'm your cousin, now I'm your aunt, I am your maker,” he told her rudely.

“I’m going to bed,” you said, standing abruptly, he looked into your cold eyes, searching for any emotion.

“Will you not lay down your rules, as well?” he asked, sarcastically.

“Good night,” was all you said, turning away, going upstairs.

“She needs time,” you could hear Louis say.

Did you need more time? You didn't go through nearly as much as Louis and he managed to forgive him, why couldn't you? You were never maternal until Claudia came along, perhaps it came with being a mother. The way that he treated her, turned you against him. As much as you loved him, thinking back to the times you were spoiled, lavished as if you were royalty, you couldn't bring yourself to open up.

Hunting became insufferable. Louis began drinking human blood, it was supposed to bring everyone closer, hunting as a family, but you kept your distance. He knew he'd wounded you, his choice of words hurting you just as bad, and he'd have to be more persistent to win you back.

“I wished you’d look at me, the simplest glance would help me a great deal,” he said, following you, sighing in relief as you faced him.

“Happy?”

“You have my heart at your will, your precious words command me, and I would do anything you ask of me,” he said, trying to fight the tears, as you slowly approached him.

“Take up your heart, I wouldn't want you to feel betrayed when I don't choose you,” you said, turning around, leaving him to stand there and try to gather his emotions.

“Could you at least try to compromise?” Louis asked you, as you looked through the different fabrics in the store.

“I am-

“No, you're not, you put your coffin in Claudia’s room, and the other night, whatever you said, he cried himself to sleep”

“Aw, poor baby,” you said, placing the fabrics into Louis’ arms.

“You agreed that we would work things out, everybody is compromising trying to work through our problems, we need you too,” he said, pouting, as you approached the cash register.

“Fine, I hate when you give me that look,” you playfully rolled your eyes at him.

“Thank you, I love you,” you grinned.

“I love you,” you laughed, pecking his lips.

Later that night, after putting away your things, and changing into your nightgown, you were about to into Claudia’s room, when you stopped. Huffing, you went to your shared bedroom, opening the door.

“Did she say anything? I left a note, but she never responds,” Lestat grumbled.

“I talked with her, but it is up to her to make a decision,” Louis said.

“I hope you don't expect us to squeeze that coffin,” you said, making both of them face you.

“We could always sleep in the bed,” Louis offered, both of them approaching you.

‘Thank you’ he said, as you faced Lestat.

“Will you keep that stupid look on your face, or will you speak?” you asked.

“I didn't know it was okay for me to do so,” he chuckled.

“Y/n is willing to compromise, she hasn't said it verbally, but she does still love you,” Louis spoke, as you stared at the two of them.

“Ma chérie, if I could take back what I've said, what I’ve done-

“But you can't”

“I can't, and I will have to live with the burden of knowing I hurt you and Louis both, your role in Claudia’s life was never a problem, I am sorry, my love,” he said, walking to you, falling to his knees in front of you. His head laid against your stomach, and he continued to apologize profusely.

“To have you look at me, after months of refusal, even if it is a look of anger, is to see heaven,” he said, looking up at you. Reaching for his hand, you helped him stand, pecking his lips. Holding your hand out for Louis, as soon as he was close enough, your lips were on his soft skin.

Pushing Lestat onto the bed, you straddled his lap, rolling your hips, as Louis stood behind you, kissing your neck. Leaning down, you wrapped your hands around his neck.

“I’ll forgive you, but if you ever do anything remotely similar, I’ll make sure you burn in the sun, and I’ll wear you as makeup,” you said, making him smirk.

“Anything you say, although the thought of me being on your face, arouses me greatly,” he said, watching as you pulled Louis onto the bed, moving over to him.

Your nearly decade-long monogamy had now come to an end, sharing the night with Louis and Lestat. You had forgotten how spontaneous he was, managing to pleasure both of you.

‘Have you taken him back, like Louis?’ Claudia asked.

‘For now’ you thought, as Lestat kissed along your shoulder blade.

‘Do you think Louis will help?’

‘He will’

‘Do you think it will work?’

‘I don't know, my child, but we will try’

‘We can do it, mama, he wants to keep you and Louis for himself, he hates me and would probably kill me if it meant having you both alone’

‘I know’

Now lying in bed, Lestat in between you and Louis, both of you in his arms.

“I hope you will allow me to continue to prove myself to you, and I am lost without either of you, I feel empty without you both here with me, I love you,” he spoke, you couldn't deny the way your heart fluttered.

“Then it is official, we will kill Lestat’

‘And if our plan doesn't work?’

‘Then we escape to Europe, we find other vampires, and we rebuild our lives there, does that sound okay?”

‘It sounds perfect’

‘Great, good night mama’

‘Good night, my child’

Looking up at Lestat’s face, he lay peacefully, his eyes shut, face relaxed. He was incredibly handsome, you didn't dare tell Claudia but coming to this room, you were just as weak as Louis. Would you be able to kill this beautiful man, the love of your life? Or run away and live an eternity with your daughter? You couldn't decide anymore, only time would tell.

brotha eughhh, this was so mid

[whoreforsexymen]

Guess who just finished acrane and is writing this with actual tears on my face!!! I need some Vander fluff- i think i will emplode- it doesnt even have to be anything specific i just need comfort after that shit storm 😭

Yes my child. Mommy will make good on your request.

And don’t even get me started on S2. I can’t bring myself to watch it yet. I’m still not even over S1 and I KNOW for a fact it’s not even as sad as I’ve learned S2 is.

But shhhhh, Mommy’s got you. Here’s the fluff you asked for.

Piltover’s Got Nothin’ On You | Vander Fluff Flash 🍺🤎

(GIF cred: me <3)

Pairings: Vander x GN!Reader

Pronouns: No pronouns used.

Rating: Slight NSFW because Reader and Vander are presumably half naked in bed, so 18+!! MDNI !! You WILL be blocked

Word Count: 524

Summary: Vander is enjoying a nice cozy morning with you, and reminds you exactly how he feels.

Tags: A little spicy, just because it’s a little maturely themed if you whip out a magnifying glass, Fluff, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Domesticity W/ Vander, OoeyGooeyRomance

Notes: None, just enjoy. Take a breather. 🤍

“Would I lie to you?” The question hung in the air, light yet loaded with meaning. It was enough to send a familiar flutter through your stomach, a soft, nervous twinge that made your heart skip. The sensation was strangely uncomfortable, yet in the most endearing way—like a gentle reminder of how much he could still make you feel, even in the simplest of moments.

You lay atop the man you were speaking to, both of you bare-chested, the warmth of your skin pressing together in an effortlessly comforting way. The coolness of the morning air was a distant contrast to the heat between you, a calm presence that made the moment feel serene to say the least. His steady breathing beneath you gave the moment a gentle rhythm, and for a while, there was nothing but the simple unspoken connection between you both before you responded.

“Maybe. Depends.” You tease, your words playful but laced with a hint of mischief.

His response is immediate—his large hand slipping into yours with a quiet sense of contentment, the warmth of his grip grounding you. There’s a comfort in the way he holds you, as if, in this moment, the world outside doesn’t matter. His touch speaks volumes, the unspoken understanding between you both more powerful than anything words could convey.

“Someone clearly thinks highly of me,” he teases back, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. Before you can answer, he leans down and places a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, his touch tender and full of quiet affection. The sweetness of the gesture catches you off guard, a simple act that somehow feels like the most genuine expression of his feelings—a quiet reminder of how deeply he cares.

You smile, a soft laugh slipping from your lips.

“All I was saying is that, as much as Piltover has its minor flaws—“ you begin, your voice light with amusement as you’re stopped short.

“Appalling flaws, really. Humongous, towering flaws,” he interrupts playfully, his tone teasing as he presses a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, still held firmly in his.

You can’t help but laugh at his wit.

“Yes, huge, appalling flaws. But despite all that, Topside is stunning at night. The lights here are beautiful, too, but nothing compares to the glow of Piltover.” You add, trying to make your point clear: a city’s beauty can stand on its own, no matter what darkness might lurk behind the scenes.

He regards you for a long while, his gaze lingering on your face with an amusement that never quite fades. The seconds stretch on, almost too long—what might seem like a few moments in the world’s rhythm becomes an eternity in his eyes. Each shift in your expression, each subtle change in your posture, draws him in, holding his attention as if time itself has slowed. And yet, even as eternity unfolds, it’s still not enough. To him, no amount of time could ever truly capture all he wants to see.

“That may be true,” he says, his voice steady, the smirk never quite leaving his face.

“But Piltover’s got nothin’ on you.”

[motherofdogs1010]

Solar Flare (Feyd-Rautha x Reader)

Summary: Chosen as the bride of na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, Y/N finds herself at the hands of the sadistic na-Baron who seems keen on having his bride on their wedding night...

Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, arranged marriage, DUBCON/ pinv sex, fingering, loss of virginity, brief knife kink, small breeding kink, crude language, forced arranged marriage

A/N: I took inspiration from S1 GoT with Khal Drogo and Daenarys' relationship lol, can you tell I love that show?

Open to further parts in the future

Dividers by @firefly-graphics Banner by @vase-of-lilies

Geidi Prime was so different from her own world, one that was known for its windy, sunny atmosphere where nearly anything thrived in the fertile soil; she looked out the window of the bedroom she was in, seeing how the black sun of the planet truly blotted out any color. She could hear the hum of life within the ship as she awaited for her brother to summon her, to see if her fate would be sealed or not.

She wore a simple satin dress of a lavender shade, her hair loose and held back by two simple braids with some bells that hung from it as it was a fashion trend in her planet. Y/N sucked in a breath as she recalled her reason for being on Geidi Prime, that reason being that her brother was selling her off like a broodmare to the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

She had heard the rumors of Feyd-Rautha, the sadistic nature of the man and it made her tremble in fear as she thought about it.

Knock. Knock.

Turning her head, Y/N looked at the bedroom door, watching it slid open to reveal her handmaid, Illaria.

"Your brother is calling for you", she said, Y/N felt her hands go sweaty as she knew why he was calling her.

🌑

"Where is he?" her brother asked, inpatient.

They were outside their ship on the landing pad where Houses meet, the bright light from their ship fought back the black-white filter that the black sun gave. She stood slightly behind her brother as he grumbled, she knew he was doing this to gain more Spice, the man was addicted to it.

"The Harkonnens are not known for their puncuality", her brother's advisor, Minos replied.

Minos was an overweight man with a long beard that nearly went past his heavy stomach.

Y/N looked between the two men chatting before seeing the Harkonnens, her heart skipped a beat as Minos joyfully went to greet them; she saw the large, menacing figure of the Baron, how slumped in his floating seat he was. She saw all of their ghastly pale skin and hairless appearance that differed from the beauty standard of long, thick hair on her planet.

And it was then she saw him: Feyd-Rautha, he was similar to his kin with the white skin and bald head, dark eyes that were sinister and she swore she saw black teeth.

"Do you see him?" her brother whispered, gripping her arm. "Feyd-Rautha is the fiercest warrior in the universe, they say he's never been defeated in battle. Of course, he's a Harkonnen and a savage... but you're going to be his na-Baroness."

He chuckled just as Minos called out to her to join him where the House stood.

Slowly, she made her way to where Minos was and she saw Feyd locking eyes with her. When she got to where Minos was, he moved her a little in front of her just as Feyd walked up to her, staring down at her.

He had a lean figure, she noted as he stared at her with his black eyes and she saw his tongue lick his bottom lip as he stared. His skin was practically white from the planet and she saw he had a slightly protruding eyebrow bone but he was a handsome man, a psychotic man but handsome.

She stared into his ink-black eyes, the smell of the polluted air of the planet going into her nose as he stared back into her own E/C eyes. His eyes trailed her full figure, taking in her hair and appearance as they stared at one another for what felt like an eternity before he turned to his uncle and walking away with the others following behind.

Y/N felt herself let out a breath as she lived, he hadn't killed her.

"Wait! Did he like her?" her brother cried out, rushing to where they were.

Y/N blinked at the interaction as Minos said, "he liked her."

"How could you tell?"

"Trust me, Feyd Rautha makes it known when he does not like a woman."

"Well then, when is the wedding?" her brother asked, Minos looked at her.

"Soon", Minos said, Y/N felt dread at his answer.

Soon enough, the wedding to her Harkonnen groom came and it was an event. Fireworks were booming as in one of the many Grand Halls, drums were beat up as the music was loud as she sat near her now husband, who was taking pleasure in watching a fight between two men over a woman commenced. Y/N held back a grimace as she looked around and saw the table where the food was, she prayed that the meats on that table weren't human.

Minos mumbled that if there were no fights during a Harkonnen wedding, then it was not a wedding. The ceremony had been a brief one with the Baron, himself, officiating the ceremony and dark, throaty singing in the background as he talked of how she was now Feyd-Rautha's in body and mind, that her will was now his and her duty to produce heirs.

Feyd, himself, had been dressed in a black leather ceremonial suit that was fitted to his body while Y/N had been forced in an tight, silk dress that had slits on either side of her body, a deep cleavage bearing neck line and the veil she had been given to wear trailed behind her in a long train.

The maids that had gotten her ready had told her that Feyd had found her fuller figure appealing hence the dress and her hair hung down as she was also told her enjoyed that as well.

Y/N saw one of the attendees grab a rather bloody piece of dark meat from the table and she recalled the cannibalistic nature of Geidi Prime; the festivities proceeded before suddenly, Feyd stood up and she swallowed her spit as her breath got caught.

She had hoped he would turn to his concubines for the wedding but it seemed he truly wanted to consummate their marriage and Y/N felt her heart beating faster as the music, as everything stopped.

Feyd was waiting for her down the steps as everyone stared at her, she slowly got up as she felt her eyes want to water. He held a hand out and Y/N slowly walked down the steps, feeling the stares of everyone as she grasped his hand before letting out a small squeal as the man threw her over his shoulder without effort.

The room erupted into laughter and clapping, music picking up as Feyd walked around, carrying her around like she was some prized animal he hunted. The attendees were enjoying the show as Y/N felt a sense of humiliation before it was finally over and he walked them out of the hall.

It was silent with the exception of the fireworks.

"Are you frightened?"

His voice was raspy and Y/N swallowed, "N-No husband."

His footsteps echoed in the hall as his voice teased, "You should be, I could easily feed you to my pets and be done with it, wife."

Y/N blinked rapidly as tears welled up in her eyes, "I believe that would not be in your best interest."

She hadn't even realized they made it inside his bedroom until he tossed her onto a bed, she was surprised by the softness of the bed and the coolness of the sheets.

Feyd smirked at her as he stared down at her before climbing over her, a cold knife slid up against her cheek as she stared into his eyes.

"And why is that, my na-Baroness?"

"Are your pets worthy enough of bearing you a strong heir?"

He slid the knife down until it nicked her skin, a hiss of pain escaped her lips as Feyd stared at her.

"What makes you believe that you can carry my heir, hm?"

His thumb pressed on the cut, making the blood from the cut come out more before he brought his thumb to his mouth, licking it off.

"You'll have to find out", she responded back.

Feyd smirked before crashing his lips on her, her eyes closed as a heat came up on her face as the hunger his kiss conveyed consumed her and she fisted his clothes as he dominated the kiss. She tried her best to kiss back before Feyd pulled away, a thin strand of saliva connecting their mouths as Y/N panted.

"Your brother was right in his bragging, you truly have never had a man."

Feyd seemed proud in his statement as he used the knife to rip the bodice of her dress, exposing her breasts to him and he seemed pleased at their appearance as he brought his mouth down one of her buds, sucking on it harshly and sliding the knife over the other. The coldness of the knife made her nipple harden and the sensation of Feyd's mouth of her breast made her cunt begin to throb in a painful way and she felt a wetness begin.

She watched him toss the knife away as the hand that held the knife dove under her skirts, the Harkonnen man ripping and tear at the skirt with his hand as he fisted her panties before tearing them down her plump thighs.

Her heart was beating in her chest, she was experiencing so many emotions: fear... confusion... lust.

She felt his cold fingers probe at her cunt, a smirk coming on his face as he pushed her legs open before his swiped a finger through her lips; she felt a odd sensation, a throb of electricity go through her as he pressed a calloused thumb to her swollen clit and pushed two fingers into her hot, slick walls.

Y/N couldn't help but arch her back and her eyes flutter at the sensation of Feyd beginning to literally fuck his fingers into her, rubbing harsh circles on her clit that seemed to light her body on fire.

She clutched his shoulders as she cried out as she felt him massage his fingers into her as he chuckled.

"Such a little whore you are, wife", he rasped, "I haven't even shoved my cock into you and you're already mewling like a whore."

It was true, her toes where curling as she moaned and gasped.

"Wonder how you'll be once you have a cock in you."

🌑

Feyd was determined, Y/N would later conclude towards having her carry his heir was her legs had been thrown over the lean man's shoulders. He was pressing down hard into her, his hips brutally slapping into her as he let out these animalistic growls and groans.

She clung to him, fingers digging into his flesh as the pleasure that rocked through her body overwhelmed her.

The intrusion of his cock when it first entered her in one rough thrust had stung, tears had pricked her eyes for those brief moments of pain, but now it was tears of tears that rang down her round cheeks.

She panted and moaned, back arching, "Feyd!"

"Let everyone hear you", he demanded, "I want them to hear who you belong to."

She squealed as she felt another orgasm come over her, having lost count of the many he had already forced out of her body.

"I want them to hear who's heir is being bred into you."

[reiding-writing]

SCREAM AT THE ABYSS — SPENCER REID!

after being kidnapped because of your involvement in the case, spencer and the team rushes to shut down the operation as quickly as possible.

s1!spencer x fem!reader | mystery | 4.0k | event masterlist.

main masterlist.

| part one. | part two. | part three. |

a/n — happy? ending? maybe? uh… idk bro

The van’s doors slam shut with a cold finality, the sound echoing in your mind like a death knell.

The air inside is thick, musty, and suffocating, and your heart hammers in your chest as you struggle against the hands pinning you down.

Your breath is coming in shallow gasps, muffled by the rough cloth they’ve tied over your mouth. The floor of the van is cold, hard, and your skin scrapes against the metal as you writhe, trying to free yourself. But the grip on you is unyielding.

The men say nothing, their movements precise and practiced. It’s terrifying in its efficiency, how quickly they’ve taken control. You try to scream, to shout Spencer’s name, but your voice is swallowed by the cloth gag and the darkness.

The van jerks forward, and you’re thrown back against the wall, your head pounding as the vehicle accelerates through the night.

Time blurs, the minutes stretching into an eternity. The sound of the engine and the steady hum of the tires are the only things you can focus on, grounding you as your thoughts race. How did they manage to grab you? The club was literally crawling with police. Where were they taking you? Did anyone notice that you disappeared? The questions pile up in your mind, each one more frantic than the last.

You force yourself to calm down, to breathe through the panic that’s clawing at your throat. You can’t lose control. Not now. You try to remember everything you’ve learned—everything you and Spencer uncovered. The missing girls, the disappearances, the trafficking ring. It’s all connected. You are now part of that connection.

The realisation hits you hard: you’re not just chasing the truth anymore—you’ve become its prey.

The van lurches to a stop after what feels like hours. Your heart leaps into your throat as you hear the doors swing open, the crunch of gravel under heavy boots. The hands tighten around your arms, dragging you roughly toward the exit.

Your body resists, instinctively fighting, but it’s useless. They haul you out of the van and onto your feet, the blindfold over your eyes making it impossible to see where you are.

You can hear distant voices now—faint murmurs of conversation, some in a language you don’t understand. There’s a sickening sense of organisation to it all, like this is something they’ve done a hundred times before. You’re pulled forward, the sound of a heavy door creaking open, and the air shifts as you’re led inside.

The smell hits you first—damp, metallic, and faintly chemical, like rust and bleach mingling in the stale air. You try to make sense of your surroundings, but everything feels disjointed, your senses heightened but useless without your sight. The blindfold is ripped off, and the dim light of the room stings your eyes.

It’s a warehouse. Or at least, something like it. The walls are gray, lined with stacks of crates and industrial equipment. There are a few flickering overhead lights, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. Your stomach churns as you notice the small cages along one side of the room. Empty now, but too small for anything other than a person.

There’s a man standing in front of you, older than the others, his presence commanding in a way that sends a cold shiver down your spine. His suit is pristine, his demeanor too calm for the circumstances. He steps forward, appraising you like a piece of merchandise.

“You’ve been poking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he says, his voice low and smooth, as if this is all just a game to him. “We don’t take kindly to curious minds like yours.”

You feel the bile rise in your throat, but you hold his gaze. Despite the fear gnawing at your insides, you refuse to look away. “What do you want from me?” The words come out muffled, but the venom is clear in your tone.

He smirks, a slow, predatory expression. “It’s not what we want from you. It’s what we want with you.” He gestures to the cages, the darkened corners of the warehouse where shadows shift and other captives might be hidden. “You see, girls like you are quite valuable. Especially when they know too much.”

The weight of his words crashes down on you, and suddenly, the stories you and Spencer uncovered—the whispered rumours, the reports of girls vanishing into thin air—become horrifyingly real. This isn’t just a trafficking ring; it’s a machine, a well-oiled operation designed to exploit the most vulnerable. And now, they’ve pulled you into their web.

The man’s eyes narrow. “You’re not the first to think you can expose us. But you might be the last if you’re smart.”

He steps closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You have no idea how deep this goes. We own people—law enforcement, officials, you think your amateur investigation will protect you? You can’t touch us.”

You feel cold all over, the enormity of what he’s saying sinking in. They’re bigger than anything you’ve imagined, and the people you thought you could trust may be compromised.

One of the men standing beside you moves toward a nearby table, grabbing something—a syringe. Your pulse spikes, adrenaline flooding your system as you realise what’s about to happen.

You thrash again, the blind panic finally setting in, but the hands pinning you are too strong. They hold you down as the needle pierces your skin, the sharp sting quickly dulling as something cold spreads through your veins.

Your vision blurs, the room around you beginning to fade, but you hear the man’s voice one last time, as distant and cruel as the darkness closing in.

“Welcome to the market.”

The world tilts, and then everything goes black.

—

When you wake, you’re lying on a cold floor, the taste of blood sharp in your mouth. Your wrists are bound, and you’re in a different part of the warehouse, the dim light casting long, eerie shadows in its corners. The sounds around you are different now—muffled voices, footsteps echoing on metal stairs, the distant hum of a generator.

Your body feels heavy, sluggish, whatever they injected you with still coursing through your system. Panic threatens to overwhelm you, but you force yourself to focus. Stay calm. Think. You scan the room, your heart pounding as you see other girls huddled in the corners, some barely conscious, others staring blankly ahead.

This is what Charli went through. This is what all of them went through. And now, you're trapped in the very nightmare you were trying to stop.

But somewhere out there, Spencer is still looking for you, he has to be. And if you can hold on—just a little longer—maybe you’ll find a way out before you disappear for good.

—

You don’t know how long you’ve been in the warehouse. The minutes blur into hours, the cold seeping into your bones. You drift in and out of consciousness, each time waking to the same gray walls and the quiet murmurs of the other captives.

There’s no sense of time, no way to gauge how long you’ve been held or if anyone is coming for you. Your thoughts grow darker with each passing moment, and for the first time, a terrible possibility creeps into your mind—what if no one ever finds you?

Then, one night, everything changes.

You’re startled awake by a series of loud crashes, followed by shouting and the unmistakable sound of gunfire. The entire warehouse erupts into chaos—men yelling, doors slamming, the heavy thud of boots on concrete.

The other captives stir around you, eyes wide with confusion and fear, but none of them move. Everyone is too frightened, too broken, to hope for rescue.

Your heart races as the door to your cell flies open, and for a terrifying second, you think it’s one of them coming to take you. But it’s not. It’s Spencer.

He looks disheveled, his face streaked with dirt and sweat, but his eyes lock onto yours with a fierce determination. Relief washes over you, overwhelming and disorienting, but you can barely process it as he rushes to untie your hands. "It’s okay," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "You’re safe now. We’re getting you out of here."

Your mind struggles to catch up with what’s happening. You’re safe. The words don’t seem real, not after the nightmare you’ve endured. But then Spencer is pulling you to your feet, his arm around your waist as he helps you stumble toward the exit. “You’re okay, I’ve got you,”

All around you, agents from the BAU and local law enforcement swarm the building, subduing the traffickers, rounding up the men who took you. The sting operation has finally come to fruition, and the trafficking ring is being torn apart.

But the price of that success hits hard as you step out into the night air, your legs trembling beneath you.

In the days that follow, the weight of what happened doesn’t lift. It sits heavy on your chest, even as you’re surrounded by people trying to reassure you, to tell you that you’re safe now, that it’s all behind you.

The arrests make headlines: dozens of men involved in the trafficking ring, including high-profile figures in the D.C area, are taken down. The news calls it a victory for the BAU and law enforcement. They call it justice.

But it doesn’t feel like justice.

Not when the trauma lingers like an open wound, raw and festering beneath the surface. You sit in the hospital room, staring at the IV in your arm, but all you can think about is the warehouse. The cold concrete. The cages. The girls who weren’t so lucky.

Spencer comes to see you every day, though you don’t say much. He sits in the chair beside your bed, his eyes full of worry, as if he’s searching for the right thing to say but knows that nothing will fix it.

He saved you, but you can see the guilt weighing on him, the same questions gnawing at him that haunt you: How many girls did they miss? How long had this been going on? Why didn’t anyone notice sooner?

“You don’t have to talk,” he says one afternoon, breaking the silence. His voice is gentle, but there’s an edge to it, a weariness that mirrors your own. “But when you’re ready… I’ll be here. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

You want to respond, but the words don’t come. You’re trapped in the in-between—relieved that you’re out of that hell, but shattered by the memory of it, by what you witnessed, by how close you came to disappearing completely.

—

The days stretch into weeks. The investigation wraps up, the trial dates are set, and the media frenzy dies down. But your world feels smaller now, confined to the four walls of your apartment, where you spend most of your time trying to make sense of everything that’s happened.

The smallest things bring it all rushing back—a sharp sound, the clink of metal, the smell of bleach—and suddenly, you’re back in that van, or in that warehouse, bound and powerless.

You’ve been through the trauma debriefs, sat through sessions with psychologists who try to help you process the experience. They talk about recovery in terms of stages, as if healing is something you can track and measure. But for you, recovery isn’t linear. It’s fractured, messy, one step forward and two steps back.

One evening, Spencer comes over to check on you. He brings takeout and sits with you on the couch, both of you eating in silence. After a while, he sets his food down and looks at you with an intensity you haven’t seen since the night he found you.

“I know it’s hard,” he says quietly. “I know you’re still processing, but you did something incredible. You found the truth. And because of you, so many girls are going to be saved.”

You swallow hard, staring at your untouched food. “But I couldn’t save them all.”

Spencer’s expression softens. “No one could’ve. This operation—it was bigger than any of us imagined. You did everything you could, and more than most people would have. That’s what matters.”

His words settle over you like a blanket, warm but not entirely comforting. You know he’s right, but the guilt still gnaws at you. You think of Charli, of the girls who didn’t make it out. You think of the nights you spent terrified, wondering if you would ever escape. The victory feels hollow.

“I don’t know how to go back to normal,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper. “I don’t even know what normal is anymore.”

Spencer is quiet for a moment, then he reaches out, placing a deft hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to go back to how things were. There’s no ‘normal’ after something like this. But you will heal. It just takes time. And when you’re ready, we’ll keep fighting. For the ones we didn’t find. For the ones who are still out there.”

You meet his gaze, and for the first time in weeks, you feel a flicker of hope. It’s faint, fragile, but it’s there. The trauma won’t vanish overnight, and you know the nightmares will come for a while yet. But Spencer is right—what you uncovered, what you survived, will save lives.

Maybe you didn’t stop it all. Maybe you couldn’t save everyone. But you made sure the world knows what’s happening. And for now, that has to be enough.

As you sit there, the weight of everything still heavy on your shoulders, you take a breath. It’s shaky, but it’s a start. You survived. You’re still here. And for the first time in a long time, that feels like a victory.

In the months that follow, you begin to rebuild. It’s slow, agonising at times, but each day you feel a little more like yourself—though a new version of yourself, forever changed by what you went through.

The nightmares come less frequently, the panic attacks that once struck you in broad daylight begin to subside. But something is always there, lurking in the quiet moments, reminding you of the darkness you escaped.

It’s during one of those quiet moments, sitting in the early morning light by your window, that the idea first comes to you. You’ve spent so long trying to understand what happened, to come to terms with it, but you realise that your experience doesn’t have to be just your burden. It could be a way to help others. To make sure something like this never happens again.

You begin to think about the girls who went missing, and the eerie silence that had surrounded their disappearances until it was too late. The indifference of the campus administration, the lack of awareness, how easy it had been for these predators to operate in plain sight.

If anything was going to change, people needed to be aware. Students needed to be armed with knowledge and resources—tools to protect themselves and others.

That’s when you decide. You’re going to turn your pain into something meaningful.

—

The first meeting of your support group takes place on a rainy Tuesday evening in one of the small, out-of-the-way rooms on campus. The turnout is small—just a handful of students—but that doesn’t matter.

What matters is that they’re there. You sit in a circle, Spencer at your side, Detective Walker standing off to the side, her presence both protective and reassuring.

You never expected her to become such an ally after the initial doubts she had about your investigation, but after the sting operation, she’d been just as shaken by the scope of the trafficking ring as you were. Since then, she’d committed himself to working with you and Spencer, determined to prevent anything like it from happening again.

As you look around the room at the students—some hesitant, others eager to share their fears and concerns—you realise how important this is.

These are people who are scared, who’ve heard the stories and rumours about the disappearances, but never knew where to turn.

Some of them share personal experiences of feeling unsafe on campus, of reporting suspicious behaviour only to be dismissed or ignored. Others simply want to know how to protect themselves and their friends.

You take a deep breath, then start to speak. “I want to thank you all for being here tonight,” you begin, your voice steady but soft. “I know how hard it can be to talk about things like this. To admit that you feel vulnerable, or that you’re scared. But that’s why we’re here. To change that. To make sure no one has to feel like they’re alone.”

You pause, glancing at Spencer, who gives you an encouraging nod. “Some of you might have heard about what happened a few months ago. About the investigation into the missing girls and how it all led to… something much bigger. I was part of that investigation. And while we were able to stop some of the people responsible, the truth is, this could happen again. It happens more often than we realise.”

There’s a quiet murmur in the room, but no one looks away. They’re listening. You can feel the weight of their attention, and you press on.

“That’s why we’re starting this group. To create a space where we can talk openly about campus safety, about the things that make us feel unsafe, and to figure out how we can protect ourselves and each other. We want to raise awareness, but more than that, we want to take action. We want to make sure the administration hears us, that they take real steps to keep us safe.”

Detective Walker steps forward then, her authoritative voice grounding the room. “I’ll be working closely with you all to help guide these conversations. We’re also going to be pushing for more campus safety initiatives—better lighting, more security, self-defense classes. But what matters most is that you’re aware of the risks and that you don’t hesitate to report anything suspicious. Your vigilance is the best defense.”

The group talks for over an hour that first night. Some students share their experiences—times they felt unsafe walking home alone, or how they avoided certain areas of campus after dark.

Others ask questions about how to recognise warning signs, about what they should do if they feel they’re being watched or followed. You and Spencer answer as best you can, while Walker gives practical advice, but you’re careful not to push too hard. This is a space for support, not fear-mongering.

As the meeting comes to a close, you feel a sense of relief. It’s a small step, but it’s a step forward. And in a way, it’s part of your own healing process, turning your trauma into something that might help others.

Over the next few months, the support group grows. What started with just a few students in a small room blossoms into something larger. More people show up, word spreads, and soon, the administration can no longer ignore the conversation.

Spencer helps you organise events in his spare time—awareness campaigns, partnerships with local law enforcement, and self-defence workshops led by professionals. Detective Walker becomes a trusted figure on campus, and her involvement lends credibility to your efforts.

One night, after another well-attended meeting, you stand with Spencer in the empty room, gathering your things. The exhaustion is still there—the weight of everything you’ve been through never fully leaves—but there’s also a sense of accomplishment. Of hope.

“You did it,” Spencer says, breaking the comfortable silence. “You turned this into something real.”

You glance at him, offering a small smile. “We did it. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

He shakes his head. “You were always the one pushing forward, even when it was hardest. I just followed your lead.”

You pause, thinking back to everything that brought you to this point—the investigation, the sting, the night you thought you’d never make it out of that warehouse alive. The memories still haunt you, but they don’t control you anymore. You’ve taken that power back.

“None of this brings back the girls we couldn’t save,” you say quietly. “But at least now, we’re doing something. We’re making sure people know what’s out there. Maybe it’ll stop someone else from going through what we did.”

Spencer nods. “It will. I know it will.”

And you believe him. It doesn’t erase the trauma, but it gives it purpose. And that’s enough.

As you lock up the room and step out into the night, you take a deep breath of the cool air. The campus is still, the buildings lit up by streetlights that feel brighter than they used to.

There’s a sense of safety now, not just for you, but for everyone who came to those meetings, who learned something that might one day save their life.

You reflect on the journey that led you here—from the isolation and doubt at the start, through the horror of the trafficking ring, to this moment of quiet resolution.

You’ve changed. You’re stronger. And now, you’re not just surviving—you’re making sure others have the chance to, too.

—

The city buzzes with energy on Friday night, vibrant and alive with laughter and music echoing from the clubs lining the streets. Young people gather in groups, their voices blending into a lively symphony as they celebrate the end of the week.

“Hey, you almost here?”

Jules takes a deep breath, a feeling of giddiness washing over her as she glances at the neon lights flickering across the street. The club is packed, and the atmosphere is electric. “Yeah, yeah I’m almost here,”

“Great, I’ll see—” The line cuts out into static, and Jules furrows here eyebrows, pulling the screen away from her ear momentarily.

“Hey? Hello?” she asks, pulling her phone closer to her ear.

“Yeah, I’m—”

Jules sighs as the line continues to cut out, ending with a dead tone as the call ends. “Stupid phone— whatever,” She dumps her cell into her purse as she turns towards the club, crossing over the street.

Before she can even make it to the sidewalk, a hand clamps down over her mouth, yanking her back into the darkness. Panic ignites within her, and she struggles, her heels clattering against the pavement.

The laughter and music from the club fade into oblivion as she’s pulled toward a nearby alley, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Help! Let me go!” she cries out, muffled by the grip on her mouth. But the streets are alive with laughter, the music too loud for anyone to hear her desperate pleas.

[kakushimiko]

Vox Machina overanalyzing ramblings part 4.

Me again, these rambling posts are becoming my therapy until centain white hair boy comes back to iluminate our lives again lol

So, Percy's death has been haunting me these last days, something that all the fandom is experiencing together, I'm not especial, I know, but there was something that was really bothering me about Percy's expression when Vex found him, and after thinking and seeing other posts comparing all the deaths/close to death moments in the show so far, I think I know what it is.

Look at Percy when he's taking his last beath

He looks so sad and defeated, his last thought is of Vex walking away after he confessed his love for her. And yeah, even if he knows Vex loves him, watching her not being able to say it back because she is so afraid of how that can change the team dynamic, afraid that her love will harm him, and whatever other excuse she makes in her head, she walking away still hurts.

I was expecting Percy's death expression to look like Keyleth when she almost died saving Vex in s1, like this:

(damn Vex, how many death people have you hold in your arms? lmao)

Look at Keyleth's eyes, they look hollow, vacant, she almost looks apathetic. But Percy's ended up looking like this:

His eyes are hollow, but his expression looks... scared, terrified. Those are the eyes of a man that is horrified of something.

This is what is been haunting me, the fact that Percy died scared because is his last moments, he saw Orthax taking him away, Orthax whispering all the things he'll do to his soul for all eternity. That bitch crow demon couldn't even give him a moment of peace before starting the torture on his soul.

God, I can't wait for VM to fucking destroy Orthax for good, is going to be so cathartic.

(Not sure if anyone else notice the eyes thing or is just an animation choice and I'm just overanalyzing things but it really feels like a foreshadow of what is really happening to Percy atm that everybody will look back and point after the season is over)

Is it thursday yet?! 😫

[yoursweetestbunny22]

Rudy pankow x Co-star!Reader [social media au]

Rudeth

Liked by madelyncline and 804 236 others

Rudeth just some bts pics from obx s1 🌊 #watchobxonnetflix

View all 4802 comments

madelynecline don’t post pics of my gf without permission rudy 😠

rudeth sorry not sorry

User23674 white boy of the month 🫡

y/nismywife so…Luna and jj endgame?

user35681 jj and kie way better

madisonbaileybabe 🫣🫣🫣

wh0reforrafecameron spill the tea girllll

User33458 the last pic?!

rudypankowupdates they're part of the same show, it's no big deal

user33458 @rudypankowupdates they would look good together tho

y/nuser

Liked by rudeth and 234 568 others

y/nuser i made some pancakes and took them to the set!! Everyone liked them, I think I should focus on cooking and forget acting..just sayin🎀

View all 3867 comments

hichasestokes mother thank you for the food🫡

y/nuser always son🫡 someone needs to take care…your dad💀

user23356 @y/nuser NOT BIG JOHN HAHAHAH😭

drewstarkey why the hate tho?FAN 🙄

y/nuser sorry proactive one love ya

austinnorth55 this pogues nowadays 🙄🙄

rudeth where’s my pancake?!?

y/nuser 🧍🏻‍♀️

user23346 @y/nuser GURL?!?!

jonathandavis @y/nuser smooth yn.REAL SMOOTH

madelyncline @ynuser I feel betrayed

hichasestucks @madelyncline IM SORRY?!

rudeth

Liked by y/nuser and 890 347 others

rudeth pasta?I love pasta

View all 5087 comments

y/nuser that’s a coincidence hum

rudeth oh it is?

user2376 @rudeth what’s going on?!😭😭

user2098 THE SECONG PIC!?!I NEED TO KNOW WHO TOOK THAT, POOKIE?!

sabrinamaybank THE ABS?!RUDY IM IM IM AAAAA

hichasestucks and the “no pogue on pogue macking”?🫣🫣

user12765 SIR?!?

user87610 at this point I’m just waiting for the marriage announcement

y/nuser

Liked by drewstarkey and 347 763 others

y/nuser pasta and 💐

View all 8789 comments

rudeth ❤️ *y/nuser liked*

y/nwifey y’all need a dog?I can bark🐶!!!

user27496 I KNEW ITTTTT..YALL JUST SAY YOURE DATING ALREADY 😜

rudypankowupdates gurl it’s just pasta and flowers

user27496 @rudypankowupdates THE EYES THO?Gurl stop being blind

madisonbaileybabe giggling rn you’re so pretty

y/nuser stop babe you making me blush🫣🫣

Jjbestgirl23 what does Rudy see on her?…

user4567 gurl..you’re getting all pissy when you know you don’t even have a chance with him PLEASEEE

y/nismygirlfriend you’re so pretty just give me a chance 😔

rudeth

Liked by y/nuser and 987 674 others

rudeth In the depths of my being, you reside as the essence of my existence. With every beat, I confess: I am yours, wholly and eternally.

Love you❤️ @y/nuser

View all 9894 comments

y/nuser shakespeare’s got nothing on you love 💋

jjlunaendgame SHE’S SO FUNNY ICANT😭

randomuser I GET IT RUDY I GET IT

user3765 HELPHAHAHAHAH

hichasestucks chatgpt?

rudeth don’t be jealous you’ll be my number 1 always

madelyncline @rudeth Shut up u have my girl and now you’re trying to steal my man?😔😔😔😔GET OUT OF HERE

drewstarkey I want to be invited to the wedding

madisonbaileybabe OMG MY BABYS OMG OMG

jonathandavis im so single…

user7654 I VOLUNTEER

Obxoficial: Our Luna and JJ🌊❤️

randomuser THAT’S A CONFIRMATION?!?

rudypankowupdates happy for you…😔

Bunny : this was my first social media au so hope you like it!!

[legy]

media tag 2024

#29. To Your Eternity (S1)

MAN WHAT THE FUCK WHY DOES NOBODY TALK ABOUT THIS SHOW!!!!! IT FUCKS!!!!!! IT FUCKS!!!!! IT FUCKS!!!!!!!

i dont even care if this turns into a dumpster fire later on because its ALWAYS really inventive and interesting. this is probably one of the anime of the decade for sure. i cannot BELIEVE how fucking SLEPT ON IT IS

[girlwithonegoal]

season 1 of supernatural is truly the gothic horror masterpiece of all time because it perfectly encapsulates both the tragedy and necessity of incest in a non-nuclear nuclear family. like what do you mean dean is pining after sam and has been pining after sam his whole life and steals sam away from jess and doesn’t even have to seduce sam because she dies and sam loves dean and is jealous of dean and jealous of all the girls dean’s ever been with and sam and john are literally the same person and their fights are charged with enough sexual tension to power a small city and dean is sick with lust and love over john who will always love sam more because sam always fights back but of course he loves dean who is so beautiful it makes him sick to his stomach and sam knows this and is so insanely jealous they got closer even though he LEFT to be with jess and was shopping for rings to marry her which breaks dean’s heart in a way he can’t put into words and mary holy mary mother of god mother of abel and cain hangs over them for all eternity. s1 spn writers i am in your walls

[vidavalor]

"There will come a tempest" scene & possible S3 Crowley & Aziraphale foreshadowing...

When Gabriel is apparently possessed in the second half of Awning of a New Age, he and the woman who appears to be possessing him say something that is strangely repetitive:

"There will come a tempest and darkness and great storms, and the dead will leave their graves and walk the Earth once more and there will be great lamentations."

There is no actual difference in definition between a "tempest" and a "storm." A tempest *is* a storm-- both are wind and rain together. The usage of them is more of a matter of manner of speaking-- it's situational. "Storm" is the common usage while "tempest" is just the more literary, more poetic way of saying "storm." Your local news station reports on an impending "storm" but a poet might call that same storm a "tempest." As a result, the prophecy is weirdly repetitive at the start, right? It really reads like this:

"There will come a storm and darkness and great storms..."

Ok, why repeat it? Why use "tempest" and "storms" in the same phrase? Why separate them? To Crowley? Maybe because whoever this is is trying to warn Crowley specifically of events, not just warn of them in general. Because the word that triggers the whole thing is "tempest"-- and it's Crowley who said it. It's Crowley who called what he just did in Awning of a New Age "a tempest" and not a storm because he's poetic and dramatic like that.

So... what if the first part of the prophecy is actually already in motion? What would this potentially tell us about S3?

What if it's kind of like Agnes Nutter's first prophecy for Aziraphale was in S1-- "...thy cocoa doth grow cold" being about *that particular moment right then* with a difference of it being unclear right now if Crowley really understands that someone is trying to warn him through Gabriel? If this is the case? Then S3 isn't about *preventing* The Second Coming-- it's about somehow trying to *reverse or fix it*... because it's already happening. The tempest is Crowley's storm in Awning of a New Age... which Crowley thinks he failed at but didn't really entirely. It's his failure, in his estimation, to get Maggie and Nina to fully vavoom that causes him to tell Aziraphale that it's Aziraphale's turn to try-- setting up the meeting/ball to go the way it does, leading directly to the end of S2. What comes next?

Darkness and great storms. The end of the world. The dead rising from their graves and walking the Earth once more. The Second Coming. And there will be great lamentations...

Obviously, The Second Coming sounds horrible in GO. It's The Metatron's plan and he's the main antagonist. It sounds like they're going to destroy Earth and the known universe and only the the chosen few will survive it but what intrigues me about this is why whoever is delivering this prophecy is warning Crowley about great lamentations. Crowley is the one who prophesied in S1 that he thought the real war that was coming was "all of us versus all of them", and he meant he and Aziraphale and humanity versus the system of Heaven and Hell. So far, he seems to be correct on that and given that it was a set up line in the final moments of the season for future plot, it seems likely to be true. This would be how he survives it. Armageddon in its S1 round was supposed to trigger a war between Heaven and Hell that could have resulted in Crowley and Aziraphale being separated for eternity after it. They managed to push it off until the end of S2 and now Round 2 is a different flavor of Armageddon. The Second Coming is what Crowley seemed to predict in S1... but someone here is trying to get a message to Crowley and it sounds as if it might be meant for him directly as much as it is for the world. And what might that prophecy possibly be saying about S3's Crowley & Aziraphale plot, specifically?

That after Crowley's tempest comes darkness, comes great storms, comes the end of the world, comes The Second Coming... comes great lamentations-- great grief, great mourning. I'm not saying that Crowley wouldn't be broken by the end of the world but I am saying that someone warning Crowley that in an era of "the saved" being given eternal life, that will Crowley will be experiencing great lamentations feels very much like Aziraphale is not among them. (I am not saying that the show will end like this-- it will be fine.) It also would be the height of irony if Crowley and Aziraphale spent their time together always thinking that they had the about 6,000 years until Armageddon and that it was probably Crowley who wasn't going to make it beyond then and then it turns out that Aziraphale, who always thought that he was the one who was going to spend eternity alone without Crowley if they couldn't figure out a way out of Armageddon... it's Aziraphale who then doesn't make it.

It might also be worth considering that Crowley is the character who was given information along with us about The Book of Life from Beez-- someone who would know and whose memory isn't damaged. He doesn't need this information if he's the one getting Book of Life'd. He needs it if his plot in the future is to try to un-Book of Life someone.

There is also that while Michael was threatening to Book of Life Aziraphale in the bookshop, they didn't just *do* it-- and then The Metatron said that Michael wasn't qualified to do it. I'm not sure how true that is or if it was just him getting Michael to knock it off and stop giving everyone spoiler alerts for his game plan lol but The Metatron *would* be qualified and is the angel associated with The Book of Life in religious texts and S2 ends, as we all know, with Aziraphale getting in the elevator to Heaven with The Metatron.

You know those unused concept art images of the bookshop that didn't make it into S2 where it's the last thing standing in what looks like some kind of apocalyptic nightmare around it?

Crowley saves the bookshop during The Second Coming? Sends as many from Whickber Street as he can to Muriel in the shop and makes sure it survives because he can't see it destroyed again and, in doing so, he might have preserved evidence of Aziraphale's existence enough for a plot to bring him back when he finds out he's gone? (I'm aware that the idea with The Book of Life is that the person is erased from existence and so never existed at all. I'm a romantic and this show is too, really. Aziraphale can't be fully erased and Crowley can't fully forget him. Fight me on it if you want to lol but I also can't see how a plot to bring him back happens unless Crowley somehow remembers him.) S2 also gave us way too many things Aziraphale has made in a way that kind of foreshadow his disappearance in a way that makes their existences more relevant. His sketch of Gabriel. His diaries. The photo Furfur took of him and Crowley in 1941... Then, there's this line. This bloody line:

...and that one...

...and this bit from S1 when Aziraphale is in a state of semi-existence and what can help them is what Crowley saved from the bookshop...

[cuntylouis]

It's interesting that even though Louis goes to the park we don't actually see him doing anything sexual with men there or even interacting with them. Just watching and passing by people hooking up, who are clearly interested in him but Louis just ignores them. I feel this suggests he maybe didn't have sex with anyone in the park at all and really was there just to observe and fantasize and experience the atmosphere. It also brings to my mind what Jacob said about Louis and the vampire community:

I think Louis sees the vampire community and lgbt community in the same way; it brings him some joy and peace to know the the community exists and glimpse it, but he doesn't necessarily want to be a part of it, have a direct experience of living in it and being together with other people. He's eternally an outside observer.

There's also how Louis views sex and relationships in general. Jacob was talking back in s1 how Louis wanted a traditional monogamous relationship with Lestat and how hurtful it was to him that Lestat wanted to sleep with other people - and that Lestat at first (untruthfully) said that he would be fine with Louis sleeping with other people. I don't think that's just about Lestat either - i think Louis is (both because of his personality and catholic upbringing) fundamentally someone who wants a passionate, committed relationship with one person, and wouldn't in most circumstances be comfortable with an open relationship or casual sex.

When Armand approaches Louis in the park he's gentlemanly and romantic and essentially asks him out on a date. Even though they are immediately attracted to each other if Armand's approach would've been blatantly sexual i think Louis would've turned him down. I wouldn't be surprised if he hasn't had sex with anyone after Lestat in the years before meeting Armand. I think the hallucination of Lestat interrupting Louis and Armand before they've even done anything and calling Louis a whore also implies this. In the traditional catholic thinking sex outside marriage is always seen as sinful, and sometimes it's been considered infidelity even if your spouse has died.

From this point of view it's also interesting that Louis still eventually ends up having threesomes with Armand and lots of casual sex. During the interview they present this to Daniel as something fun and happy, but when young Daniel met them they seemed to be unhappy. Does it represent freedom and happiness to Louis or is that more something he's telling to himself? Or both? Neither, something in between? In any case i'm curious to see how we get to the point where someone as monogamous as Louis feels comfortable enough to have threesomes together with his partner and many strangers

[cnl0400]

(Trying to make sense in the Simeon human >> demon pipeline. Very Headcsnnon heavy post so be warned)

Simeon steals the Ring of light and gets told off by Michael. Michael enters panic mode because that means Simeon messed up with a human life spawn and he would be punished/banished for this

(Reminder that in the conversation with Michael in S2OG, he mentions how If he would have been more like MC, things would have gone different and he wouldn't have lose Lucifer/his brothers. So in a way, trying to stop Simeon from falling/being punished Is his "second chance" on doing everything right)

The punishment for messing with a human life spawn Is basically being forced to wander through darkness for all eternity (both NB & OG mention different punishments for Lilith, my rule Is that the newer version it's whats considered canon unless stated otherwise), and going against the CR in general Is losing your angel status and become a fallen angel. So Simeon punishment was odd since the start

To stop the whole process of Simeon becoming a fallen angel, Michael turns Simeon into a human. In that way, Simeon doesn't have enough magic to go throught the whole metamorphosis. Also explains why he was defenseless for the whole S4OG

S3 happens and Simeon Is "human" the whole time. Probably in the same way that MC Is human (that they can see that he's not a regular human and has a supernatural origin, but still pretty weak by himself)

Raphael regularly checks on him for the whole S3, he was probably keep in the dark about how bad the situation situation Is, judging by his actitude in L48NB

S4 Happens and Raphael gets into the exchange program, to keep Simeon safe and to inform Michael about whatever changes he may be going through. Luke also says that Michael asks him more about Simeon so it's probably that Simeon being human just was a way to gain more time to fix the whole issue

** The whole Nightbringer/Time traveling arc happens (S1 & S2 of NB), not a lot happened here since the time barely moved in the present

They return to the present, Solomon cast a protective spell on Simeon and that's where everyone starts to see that something Is going on with Simeon. My theory Is that now Simeon has enough magic in himself to "transform"

(Also: Simeon apparently still has hidden power within himself, even after becoming "human" but tbh that's makes everything more confusing. Sry Solomon)

** Something that I found interesing Is that 7 Lessons after L41, this lesson was the one they choose to make reference to the past. Solomon references his time with MC in Cocytus hall. Does this mean something? Probably not. But I'm still on the cracktheory that Simeon & Nightbringer are in this together.

[windybreeze12]

DBD Quotes that are my Roman Empire (and my reactions to them)

No version of this where I don't come get you - Charles S1 E7 (SIR???? IM SORRY??? If someone said that to me, i'd faint. Edwin is a strong one) .

Do you think it must be torture? Being the way we are? - Simon S1 E7 (I swear you could audibly hear my heart break when he said that) .

Teethface, what the fuck? - Esther S1 E6 (I love her. She's an awful person and is literally irredeemable but dammit she does her shit with style and sass and i love her) .

He did not feel the same way. But I think we are better friends because of it - Edwin S1 E8 (THEM. JUST THEM. I CANT WITH THEM.) .

You, Charles Rowland, are the best person I know - Edwin S1 E5 (It's like they want me to go throw myself off a cliff their friendship is everything to me) .

And we've got literally forever to figure out what the rest means - Charles S1 E7 (Charles is raising the bar too high i fear. the standards are through the roof) .

When you punish yourself, everywhere becomes hell - Edwin S1 E7 (*starts sobbing in the corner*) .

Imagine thinking there was only one way to do any one thing. How difficult would life be? - Kashi S1 E6 (I swear Kashi walked into this show to spit straight facts and then was never seen again. Icon.) .

We didn’t matter, he and I - Edwin S1 E1 (No because the way I swore to myself that I would protect these boys with my life the minute he said this) .

I will always hit a demon with a cricket bat for you - Charles S1 E6 (Fellas, never settle for anything less than Charles Rowland) .

I wasn't talking about you - Edwin S1 E5 (I'm not even kidding I paused the show, got up and had to take a minute because OOF Monty darling) .

As more than a friend, I’m afraid. Charles, I'm in love with you - Edwin S1 E7 (No joke this is one of the best scenes in a show I have ever watched. The acting, the dialogue, the pacing, the emotion??? UGH!!! Perfection) .

I certainly hope not, that story ends tragically - Edwin S1 E7 (There are already a million and one posts about the implications of Charles referencing Orpheus' story so go check those out but holy hell the way it made my heart twist) .

I could- we could lose Charles - Edwin S1 E3 (This was such a tiny detail but GOD I replayed it ten times before moving on) .

Honestly I just find her so charming - Edwin S1 E2 (I knew from this moment that Edwin and Niko were going to be a pair to watch. And boy was I right) .

That was my third life you bitch—i only get nine; would you fuck off - The Cat King S1 E8 (now THIS is how you creatively use a cat's nine lives in media I love it I freaking love it) .

You sacrificed me to a demon who traded me to another demon who traded me to a thing that is worse than a demon and this is your punishment! An eternity of papercuts! - Edwin S1 E7 (Honey I have an eternity of questions cause what the FUCK is this human trafficking system down in hell??? but also go off king??? 😭)

I'll update this whenever I remember anymore. Tell me more quotes in reblogs/replies i'll add them into this!