#fic: savage garden

[spartanguard]

Y'all. @ohmightydevviepuu is living up to the MIGHTY in her URL, because she is SO TALENTED. LOOK AT THIS STUNNINNGGGGG PIECE!!!!

Seriously—this looks professionally made. The construction of this is INCREDIBLE; the actual page setup is PERFECT; and then she took it the extra step with the gorgeous details on the front (and back) with the gemstones and the ribbon and the flowers (which I need to find a way to secure so I never lose them because I am going to cherish this forever).

We all know the feeling of success of feeling a story. But holding it in your hands like this is something else, and I can't thank Dev enough 💗 (she has her own post coming for this and I don't want to steal its thunder because she deserves ALL THE CREDIT FOR THIS AMAZINGNESS but I had to say SOMETHING because I've been staring at this for a WEEK)

[umlewis]

📷 @.cj_avenger42 / instagram

[bcbdrums]

I'll Break Your Fall

FFn | AO3

A young Spirit and Stein story.

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A/N: Rated M for one brief graphic description of violence/horror and some vaguely implied gore. Probably the rating is cautionary, but, *Sid voice* that's the kind of person I am. Just being careful. This is a young Stein and Spirit story, full of angst and suspense and I guess even some fluff? Maybe? I've decided to headcanon a three-year age gap. Spirit is 14 and Stein is 11 in this story, and they've been partners for almost a year. I'm an anime person, only just barely started the manga (so excited to read it!), but I do include I think one use of a Japanese honorific just because it seems tied to Stein as a character to use it even though it doesn't appear in the anime dub... I've read enough of the manga to get attached to the term. So...this story was inspired by a song, and by a piece of fantastic art I couldn't get out of my head. Can't reveal them yet, cuz spoilers (they are linked at the very end). But then, as stories go, this took its own path away from the inspiration and my gosh I'm just elated with what happened when I gave the characters the lead. I hope it's not trash. I adored writing this. I hope you'll enjoy it too.

I'll Break Your Fall

Spirit had never paid too much attention to the study of souls. The topic was interesting to him, but not having anything special about his own nor any of the unique abilities that other meisters and weapons had, it simply wasn't his focus. He wasn't bitter or jealous, however. He was content knowing that each soul was unique and exactly as it was meant to be. And if his soul was meant to be average, then who was he to argue?

He never let it dampen his attitude though, especially given what Lord Death had once told him. It had been nearly a year ago that he'd been called to the Death Room for the first time and responded with the anxiety of an innocent called before the headmaster. What in the Reaper's name could he want to see Spirit about, a low-level scythe without a meister?

It was then that he'd been informed of an incoming student, and that Lord Death had chosen him to be his partner.

"I'll have a few more conversations with him before I introduce you, just to be sure, but I think a soul like yours will complement his perfectly," was what Lord Death had said at the time. Spirit never forgot those words—a soul like yours—and had often wondered what it was that the ironically larger-than-life being could see in him that he couldn't see himself.

It had been quite the boost of confidence, and perhaps the reason he wasn't too concerned when they studied soul types and special abilities in class. However average he might appear to his teachers and peers, Lord Death knew otherwise. He'd seen something in him to hand-choose him out of every student to be the weapon partner of possibly the strongest meister in the entire school, and the youngest on top of that. Still, it came up often enough—especially partnering with someone so unique—that his own soul was average and that he had nothing outwardly special about him.

It was this knowledge that had Spirit both confused and alert one night when suddenly he was startled from deep slumber as beyond a shadow of a doubt, he sensed a powerful soul.

He knew it was a soul instinctively, for what else could it be? And the fog of sleep was rapidly leaving his mind as he tried to make sense of the mad feelings that were rapidly pressing in all around him. It wasn't like the kishin egg souls he ate after defeating an enemy, and it wasn't like anything he could recall learning about in class. Or at least, he didn't think so; suddenly he wished he had paid more attention.

No, this soul was wild, electric, and untamed...and it was tearing itself apart.

It was massive, radiating such strength that it caused Spirit to shrink in his bed and pull the covers up closer as if they might provide some protection from the raw power that had woken him. He could feel the soul clawing against itself, trying to burst free from whatever it was that kept souls whole, ripping at its own seams as it warred against the will of the person to whom it belonged. And as the seconds passed it seemed almost as if it would engulf him, the person's breathless fear rising in time with his own and the soul's destruction surely imminent.

And then, Spirit knew. He may not have the ability to truly sense souls, but there was one soul that even an average weapon like him could always see.

His feet hit the carpeted floor too hard and he nearly tripped as he forgot to throw back the blankets, but momentum helped him keep his balance as he ran across the hall and in less than ten steps was at the bedroom door of his young meister, throwing it open before he could stop to consider that he should probably knock first.

He still couldn't see the soul, but fear filled the entire room as he stared in a strange combination of confusion and relief at his partner. The boy was okay, at least outwardly, seated on his knees in the center of his bed but curled down on himself into a ball. He had his hands pressed tightly against his ears and his whole frame was trembling, visible even through the black of the night.

Something had his meister terrified, and his very soul was beginning to rip itself apart in agony.

"Stein!" Spirit gasped, unsure what to do. His thoughts were a maelstrom, still bombarded with an inexplicable torrent of madness which was what he understood now to be radiating out of his partner's wavelength along with the fear, so powerful that they permeated Spirit's soul and had set him trembling from head to toe.

There was no way to tell what had happened, or what on earth he should do to help. All Spirit knew for sure was that his partner was afraid, seemingly of himself, and whatever had happened to trigger this, he couldn't seem to bring his soul back under control.

"Stein?" Spirit repeated, a little louder as he considered his partner may not hear him with his hands covering his ears.

The ever-present hum of resonance between them was why Spirit was able to sense him at all, and he realized that lacking any soul perception ability must mean that whatever was tormenting Stein was dreadfully powerful for it to have woken him and his being able to sense it so clearly. What must this fear feel like to someone with soul perception?

"Stein?" he tried a third time, taking a few steps nearer the young meister's bed. He considered that to touch him might startle him, although it seemed like anything might yield that result with the horrible state he was in.

Spirit thought a moment and then swallowed his fear as best he could and attempted to extend his soul toward Stein's. He didn't have a healing wavelength, but perhaps resonance alone would be able to snap his partner out of whatever horror was causing him to seemingly consume himself.

Spirit found it difficult to keep his feet, his entire frame beginning to shake as he felt like a tiny island standing in the ocean of Stein's soul, struggling not to drown as the roiling waves of his meister's wavelength surrounded and beat against his even more for being so near. But words weren't reaching the boy, and he had to do something to bring him back from...whatever was happening to him.

He pressed his wavelength harder against the dark torrent even as it started to choke the breath out of him, and then suddenly Stein's head snapped up in a gasp. He turned toward Spirit with his eyes wide and mouth agape. The weapon had never seen his meister look so astonished, as if he never expected to see him standing there.

"Stein..." he breathed desperately, still pressing against the chaos of his partner's soul that threatened to devour him. And with that single word, he finally seemed to break through.

Stein blinked, and the darkness that emanated from his soul seemed to lose a little of its strength. Spirit didn't withdraw his wavelength however, feeling that whatever was happening was far from over.

"S...Spirit?" Stein's voice came out small, and uncertain.

"What's happening?" Spirit gasped, feeling even less sure of his footing despite the faint calming of the powerful current in Stein's soul. His meister was still looking at him as if seeing a ghost, and the light was absent from his eyes.

"This...is what is real?"

"What?" Spirit said, starting to feel his knees buckling. It wasn't a fully conscious decision to stumble toward Stein's bed, but as he turned just in time to fall seated upon the blankets, breathless, he knew that the floor would have surely been his destination otherwise.

Stein didn't recoil from Spirit's sudden nearness, only stared at him more intently as the light slowly returned to his eyes.

"It was a dream..."

The words that slowly fell seemingly absently from Stein's lips caught Spirit's attention, and he looked sideways at his partner as he continued to extend his wavelength almost on instinct despite the crushing feeling he was still battling from Stein's chaos. But in catching the boy's eyes he finally started to understand... His meister had had a nightmare.

Most people's view of the youngest student in their class was that he was indifferent at best and callous at worst. He walked around with blank expressions or else out-of-place smiles that put people off, and his default was to be sullen except when in battle. That was when his soul would erupt to life, and Spirit knew what no one else did—that the small, steely-eyed boy possessed more emotion than perhaps all of them put together. But even without resonance, Spirit had started to learn the nuances of his meister's bland expressions; to others the boy may appear without feeling, but Spirit could see through the stoic facade.

However none of that was necessary now as Stein wore no mask whatsoever. He kept glancing at Spirit, ogling him as if shocked by his very existence, but then almost in the same moment his eyes would dart away with a heavy expression of guilt.

Whatever motivated that, it didn't stop his continually looking back at his weapon as if seeing a ghost.

"Do...you want to talk about it?" Spirit asked uncertainly.

"No!" Stein cried abruptly, and in an instant Spirit felt a violent resurgence of the dark dissonance. Right next to him now, faced with the full force of that pressure, Spirit could hardly breathe.

"You're choking me," he managed despite the tightness of his throat, and he knew that even were he not trying to break through with his wavelength, the raw power of his meister's soul would inevitably crush him. It was likely his feeble attempt at resonance was the only reason he was conscious at all.

He watched as Stein absorbed his words in confusion, slowly processing them until his eyes widened in understanding. Immediately, the pressure began to wane, though not as quickly as Spirit would have hoped.

It was such a relief that he fell back upon the mattress, his toes still grazing the carpet where his legs hung over the side of the bed. He gasped for breath though his lungs still wouldn't fill, and he continued pressing his wavelength against Stein's tumultuous one. It wasn't much, but the dark waves were starting to recede again.

As the seconds passed, Stein continued looking at him as if Spirit's presence in the room was the last thing on earth he'd expected, but interspersed were deeply guilty looks that had his olive-green eyes flashing away to stare at any other point in the room. However those looks never lasted long, as it did in fact seem that the weapon's presence was the only thing calming the distressed young meister.

Spirit simply stared back in fear and concern, waiting, reaching out with his soul as he felt a further wavering in the pressure against him. When he at last felt he could draw a full breath into his lungs was when Stein finally made the slightest move, reaching out hesitantly with a flat hand and poking his weapon's arm with his fingers as if testing the veracity of his presence.

This yielded a few results, the first of which was a choked gasp from Spirit that had him leaning up on his elbows to stare back with mouth agape. The slight touch had burned, and the closer contact with Stein's soul had him shaking with fear anew. Stein had jerked away with a gasp of his own, and as Spirit processed what he'd seen—not dark waves, but a wild, tormenting fire that seemed to be consuming his meister from somewhere at his very core—the younger boy's face took on an even deeper look of fear. His lower lip began to tremble as his eyes finally stayed locked on Spirit's, pleading for help.

"What's happening...?" Spirit said breathlessly as he sat up. He instinctively reached out, but then stopped, his hand frozen in the space between them. If he were to touch Stein again, that fire in his soul would surely consume him. It had been a split second, but it was far worse than the crushing pressure in the room that still had him feeling as if he was moving through tar and fighting for each breath.

He wondered again what someone who actually had soul perception would be seeing and feeling in the tiny apartment as his meister's soul tore at itself with the resolute goal of destruction.

Stein was staring back at him, fighting against whatever hell was in his head that had prompted this...madness. His lip was still trembling, and the fear and guilt had settled into a devastated mix in his eyes. It looked as though it was taking everything he had to keep the chaos of his soul from bursting forth, destroying himself and Spirit and who knew what else in the process.

Spirit had never thought to see the stoic boy in such a state, his soul lost and eyes desperately searching for an anchor. And as the two continued staring at one another, the red-head saw the younger boy's gaze flick down more than once to Spirit's hand that still hovered between them. Both of Stein's however had moved to his thighs, his fingers digging into his flesh through his pajamas. And was that red beginning to show against the white fabric in a couple of spots?

"Stein...?" Spirit asked, feeling the desperation begin to wash over him as well. Whatever was happening to his partner wasn't showing signs of stopping as he'd had hope for moments ago. Perhaps he should call a teacher or Lord Death for help?

"I..."

Spirit refocused on the face of his meister, still extending his wavelength from its small, safe haven toward the younger boy. He was shocked that Stein could feel his pathetic attempt at aid at all, given the massive differences in their souls. And for the first time since being partnered with Stein he began to feel inadequate.

"What can I do?" Spirit asked, still struggling to draw air.

"I..." Moisture began to shine in Stein's eyes, and Spirit's brow rose. "I'm sorry!"

Churning waves washed out of Stein's soul even stronger than before, and Spirit grit his teeth as he glanced down to where his meister's fingers were now definitely drawing blood.  When he caught enough breath to look up again Stein was still fighting tears as he sat frozen and afraid. He looked utterly defeated, holding on by a mere thread—grasping for Spirit's wavelength—against whatever it was that had happened to him.

Spirit made a decision.

He reached out and quickly enveloped Stein in a tight hug, forcing his wavelength against his meister's in hopes Stein would meet him in resonance. But instantly, at the contact, into the dark waves roared the fire, twisting and crackling and seeming to draw him down into a pit of darkness as static hummed in his ears, further overwhelming him as the water threatened to drown him at the same time the fire seared his body and mind. He couldn't fight this... He would surely be destroyed by this madness.

But if he fled from it, what would happen to Stein?

He was aware of choked sounds and cries coming from his throat, still struggling for breath as his soul battled the insanity that it had found consuming Stein's. But there were other sounds in the room now... Screaming? Was that his voice? And crying? It sounded worse than that. Which of them was crying?

"Stein," he attempted to say, unsure if the name actually left his lips as some instinct within his weaponhood continued the attempt at resonance with the clamor of his partner's soul.

He knew it was still there, somewhere, not yet fully consumed or else Stein wouldn't have been able to recognize him, speak to him... And then, Spirit realized with sudden clarity that whatever had happened, it was all coming from within Stein. The horrors that threatened to destroy his partner were part of his soul, and seemingly a nightmare had brought them all to the fore.

His brow furrowed as he held on tighter despite how it scorched his entire being to do so and he ran deeper down into the fire. The dark waves did nothing to douse the flames, the pressure increasing and the light fading the further down he went.

"Stein..." he said hoarsely, not sure if he'd spoken aloud or only in his soul as he sought familiarity in the madness. His partner gave neither aid nor resistance, lost somewhere in the war of water and fire. Spirit's heart was pounding as the pressure and heat sent a dizzying feeling to his head. Black danced at the edge of his vision as he ran through the chaos of Stein's soul, seeking anything to grab hold of to bring his meister back.

The flames were all around him, but he couldn't see them for the dark, crushing pressure of the waves. He couldn't breathe. His feet gave way as he began to fall into the pit that raged fire and the blackness began to take over.

But then out of the dark he saw a flash of red. It meant nothing to him except that it was different, and he stumbled toward it even as he felt his lungs about to burst. Red, and the sickly metallic scent of blood. Or was that the taste?

The fire was suddenly swept up around him by a fierce whirlwind, and it pulled the waters back with it. Spirit nearly choked for how quickly he gasped in the sulfurous air, but his breath was taken away again as within the whirlwind images began to appear, flashing past at speeds too fast to process. They were of blood and sinew, the shining edge of a scalpel that morphed into a cleaver, and a wicked smile on a familiar face too young to have fallen victim to something as fatal as the evils displayed before him.

At first the images appeared random, but gradually they seemed to swirl into a narrative. And they only became more violent and gruesome as it progressed. It was more horrifying than anything Spirit had seen on the battlefield, and his stomach turned at the scenes of flesh being rend from bone, of bodies ruined and desecrated, and everything slowly turning to red.

All around him blood had begun to rain, and Spirit realized with a twisting in his gut that the horrors went deeper still. He wanted to retreat, to back out of what was far worse than any nightmare could ever be.

But he still hadn't found Stein.

He pursed his lips and strode forward upon shaking legs into the whirlwind of red, holding his breath as it felt he had walked straight into a wall of blood. His nostrils confirmed the reality as the liquid fell thick around him, but he only closed his eyes and kept going. The fire and water were not so powerful anymore. It had to mean something, right?

There was something new down here in the pit too that he'd felt briefly when he first fell—a hum of static that came and went intermittently, clouding his desperate thoughts. It was like too many voices all at once, dozens or...was it millions? All trying to tell him something but they were too numerous to begin to isolate any, or discern their intent.

"Stein!" he called again, perhaps aloud or perhaps in his soul. "Stein! Where are you?"

To his surprise and relief, he felt rather than heard a familiar voice reply through all the noise. Somewhere in the wash of red, his meister had tried to answer.

"Stein! Wherever you are, take my hand!" He thrust his arm forward, fingers outstretched.

"I can't."

He felt the reply come in a terrified whisper, and it only made him more determined. He quickened his pace, hurrying past images that made him want to vomit and toward where he had felt the faint, frightened answer coming from.

"Stein! Come here!" he pleaded, fairly demanding as he struggled for breath, his arm still outstretched.

He knew he was getting close. Somewhere in this tumult, the wavelength of the boy who had been his partner for nearly a year now was cowering in fear. It was weak, withdrawn, and defeated.

This more than his own fear and pain drove Spirit onward. The madness, whatever caused it, would not claim his meister if he had anything to say about it. He ignored the pain and pressure and focused on the faint feeling of Stein's true wavelength, buried so deep in the pit he was amazed he had found it at all. But it was there, and despite the voiced resistance, he could feel the faint hope in response to his approach.

"Stein! Come here!" he said, more confident this time as he pressed through the wash of red.

"I can't."

Finally, he saw him.

Small and alone in the static-laden center of the whirlwind, Stein looked no different than he had on his bed. He was kneeling with his legs folded under him, fingers digging into his thighs and drawing blood that stained the white of his pajamas, the latter color made more prominent as he was surrounded by a puddle of darkness. It rippled violently, extending outward from the younger boy into the pool of red, and Spirit realized the source of the darkness was his meister's soul.

Stein's eyes were downcast, and he didn't lift his head at Spirit's steady approach.

"Stein. Take my hand," Spirit said as he stopped in front of him, still extending his own.

"I can't," Stein repeated, his tone flat now as he shook his head ever so slightly.

"We have to get out of here. It's...it's not good to be here," Spirit continued, his meister's resignation making him uncertain.

"But it's worse out there," Stein protested quietly.

Spirit was bewildered. In this mad, labyrinthine pit he was nearly blind. He was surprised that he could speak for the pressure against his lungs, and the heat of the flames still seared him from skin to soul even as he stood before his meister in the dark rain of blood.

"How can it be worse!?" he asked with genuine incredulity. "We have to go!"

Stein's chin only dipped lower, almost hitting his chest.

Spirit sighed heavily and knelt down in front of the younger boy, extending his hand directly in his line of sight. The darkness broke against his knees and rippled away from his presence.

"Stein, please!" he urged.

Stein finally lifted his head just enough to meet Spirit's eyes, and the look within the green orbs was pure terror.

"I... But I'll kill you, Senpai."

Spirit gasped as suddenly, some final barrier around Stein's wavelength fell away, and he saw with perfect clarity the path his partner's nightmare had taken.

He saw himself lying on a slab, cut up, eviscerated, and dismembered in ways more horrible than he could have possibly imagined. And worse, he saw his young meister standing over him, a mad smile bisecting his visage as he grinned down into the face of Spirit's dream-self. And then reaching down to the slab, Stein grabbed Spirit's hair and picked up his bloodied, severed head.

Spirit grimaced and shook his head to banish the horrifying images as bile rose in his throat. In front of him, his meister's gaze fell again.

The dark rippling intensified and no longer broke at Spirit's knees, washing through him now as fear began to seep into his soul. Was this truly what Stein wanted? Not just for him, but the other gruesome images he had seen as he strode through the pit to find his partner... Were those more than nightmares?

Spirit was devastated. This madness... It was part of Stein. It hadn't been placed there, or influenced by some outside source. The desire to cut, to tear apart, to desecrate... This, he realized, was the secret that lay carefully guarded behind his partner's dispassionate mask that refused to betray any emotion, that refused offers of friendship and pushed away even the most determined with a sadistic edge. Except that the latter, he knew now, wasn't really an act.

"Now you understand..." Stein murmured. The sadness that emanated from the boy was heartbreaking. "It's okay. You can leave me here. You'll be better off."

Spirit frowned, his jaw setting in stubborn defiance.

"No."

"I'm sorry, Spirit."

"No! You're coming with me!"

He reached down with his right hand and pulled Stein's up from where he was digging his fingers into his thigh, clutching it to his chest. Stein looked up in wary surprise.

"But...you'll be better off," the younger boy repeated slowly, still resigned. "If you leave me here then..." Stein lifted his free hand, but as it shook he dropped it and dug his fingers back into his flesh. He took a shuddering breath, his next words coming out in a frightened whisper. "I'll become a...a kishin... Death will send someone to destroy me. Then... I won't be able to hurt you."

Stein's gaze sank in defeat. The agony and fear radiated out of his soul in heavy black waves, weighing Spirit down as he still gripped his meister's hand to his chest, nothing being returned.

The fire, the pressure, the intermittent static, and the whirlwind of blood and horror... The fear that had finally been exposed, and the madness that was the reason for everything... Spirit ignored it all. It was for another time.

He wanted to question, to mourn, as the realization that he couldn't fix this caused his heart to ache. Not only was the madness borne of Stein's soul, he had probably suffered it his entire life. The grief tore at Spirit's heart as if it truly had been rend in two, not by a blade but with the pain of his partner's fears.

There was nothing he could do.

But his soul swelled in fierce determination.

"No. Stein, you're coming back with me."

Stein did glance up then, but his eyes were hollow, already having sunk back down to somewhere within himself. The boy shook his head slightly, sullen and resigned.

"Don't...don't try to save me," he whispered, an almost imperceptible quiver in his voice. "You can't."

Spirit's fingers clenched on his partner's hand as he blew air out through his nose in frustration.

"Well you know what, Stein?"

The boy's dour expression didn't change as he stared at him.

"I don't give a damn!"

There was something then—a flicker of color in Stein's eyes; something still alive. Surprised. But not enough to stop the dark waves of his soul.

Exasperated, Spirit threw his free hand out in a broad gesture at the thick rain of blood that surrounded them interspersed with images of horror that came and went sporadically.

"Is this what you want? Really!?"

Stein looked down guiltily, and Spirit felt with grave assurance that not only was this madness part of his meister's soul, but it was deeply rooted. This wasn't something new or fleeting that had come over him in a night, but a longstanding battle that apparently Stein was tired of fighting. And it was a battle far, far from won.

He adjusted his grip on Stein's hand and with his other grabbed the boy's shoulder, demanding response.

"Well? Do you!?"

It was an ultimatum, though Spirit hadn't quite intended it to be one. But he needed an honest answer out of the younger boy. And he realized he didn't need it only for Stein, but for himself, given the nightmare he'd witnessed. Did his partner, hand-chosen for him...the boy he'd trusted with his life for almost a year now...truly want to murder him?

Stein looked up. The whispered answer was pained, and offered through trembling lips.

"No."

Spirit sighed in heavy relief, but only gave himself a moment. He began to stand and pull Stein up out of the dark ripples at the core of his wavelength. The boy followed him.

"Then let's get out of here."

Stein's expression, still broken, had gained the tiniest spark of hope. But the wariness hadn't left his eyes.

"But...why...?"

There was far more in the question than Spirit could fully discern in the moment, but he answered what he knew Stein needed to hear most.

"Because you're my meister, Stein. And weapons protect their meisters, even to death."

There was something else then in Stein's eyes—a curiosity—that made Spirit wonder for a split-second if he'd said the wrong thing, but his partner's other hand slowly unclenched from his leg where he'd been drawing blood. Spirit took it as a good sign.

"And...you're my friend," he said, leaning forward to wrap his arm around Stein as he held his other hand tighter to his chest.

And then, finally, he felt Stein's soul come to his.

It wasn't the easy synchronicity he was used to on the field of battle, nor was it the insanity that had been threatening him as he struggled through the pit. No, this meeting of souls was different from every time before.

It was still Stein's wavelength, but it was as if Spirit was truly seeing it for the first time. He realized he'd felt it briefly before, when the madness first woke him that night. A soul that was wild, electric, and untamed. Resistant to control. Coming at him in power. And it pressed against and around Spirit's soul, trying to engulf him in haphazard waves that knew no single direction as they spilled from their source.

The resonance was erratic and barely holding together due to the disparity in their two wavelengths. Spirit's remained smooth and steady while Stein's erupted, beating against Spirit's and attempting to tear him apart. But the claws of madness slid off harmlessly now that Spirit understood.

It was part of the role of the weapon to yield, never to command. But this wasn't a battle against one of Death's enemies. This was just their two souls, Spirit's and Stein's, and as his young meister's seemed desperate to swallow his, to drown him in whatever it was that constituted his partner's daily existence and make him part of the madness...Spirit wouldn't allow it.

"Trust me..."

A small break in the dissonance as Stein considered Spirit's calm appeal. He didn't want to give in. He was afraid to. And Spirit wondered if that in itself was part of why Stein's battle against the madness was so long-lived... Because he'd been too scared to ask for help.

Spirit didn't falter. He only held on and waited as the darts of madness grew fewer and farther between. Stein's soul was still screaming into the darkness of the pit, electricity shooting out like lightning in search of a connection even as he surrounded the offered anchor of Spirit's wavelength entirely. But Spirit held back too. He couldn't allow more until the fear had been beaten back. Or at least, until it had stopped enough to eliminate the threat of falling again.

The flames, he noticed suddenly, were gone; a mere distant warmth somewhere beyond his sight. The waves that had been drowning him had receded. Every now and then he heard them break against the turbulent edge of Stein's wavelength, but they weren't a threat anymore. The static was quieting. And the red he only saw in occasional flashes as he felt a tiring in Stein's soul.

They were rising.

How exhausted must his meister be, if this was what he fought all the time? How had he kept it secret from him for so long? Was it always this awful?

Those questions and more pressed against Spirit's mind without answer, all serving to raise his compassion for the young boy who had been chosen for him. He remembered Lord Death's words on that fateful day again, and rather than feeling them with pride or assurance that his own state wasn't so low...he felt the fierce desire to protect grow even more.

No matter what he thought of his own soul... Stein was his. He had been chosen to be his. And his meister needed him.

His heart was gripped with a pain he'd never known as he continued waiting, stabilizing the raw, wild soul of the younger boy with steady, unshakeable calm.

It didn't even occur to Spirit to fall apart.

They were almost floating now, above the earth, above the clouds. The pit was almost out of sight as Stein slowly but surely let go of the fears that tormented him, the flashes of red fewer and farther between. And then finally, after what seemed an eternity, Spirit felt Stein. Not the blind hunt for something in which to sink hooks of madness or to devour for strength—his meister was finally back with him.

Spirit let crumble the hard shell he'd set around his soul to keep it safe, and instantly the raw power and emotion of Stein's wavelength surged in. It was both familiar and new as now his partner's secret was no longer between them, and with the revelation of madness something about Stein's soul had changed.

He wasn't holding back anymore, and Spirit felt that if he were to lose focus that Stein's soul would still swallow him up—but not to harm him. It was not a loss of inhibition so much as it was a desperate search that Spirit sensed, but this time with so much less fear. How had Stein kept it hidden from him for so long?

Stein's wavelength continued to come at him in a flood, but not one that overwhelmed Spirit. This time he wasn't drowning or choking, his head securely above water, and he lifted a hand to reach for his partner's through the light as their souls slowly found resonance, swirling together in delicate, twisting frequencies that vibrated against each other until merging into one soft song.

The fear faded. He felt Stein's fingers tentatively, willingly find his. Their resonance rate rose, and the light became blindingly bright. Spirit held control, and it was with relief that he felt the faintest frown from Stein. It made him want to laugh, to sense something normal from his young partner. But he maintained the steady pressing of his wavelength, letting his meister find his way in and around it.

Things were getting better. But he couldn't give Stein the lead. Nothing that had happened that night could be solved with resonance alone. This struggle would go on, and Spirit could only hope his partner would continue to trust him through it. He didn't want to think about what would happen if Stein locked part of his soul away again as he'd clearly done for years, tortured by madness, all alone...

Compassion radiated across Spirit's wavelength, and he felt something from Stein in response. A yearning to fall into it, as well as a hesitation. He was afraid of being pitied. Spirit sighed within himself and slowly let more of the shell around his wavelength fall so that Stein could see him as clearly as he saw his meister. And...he let go a small fraction of control.

This seemed to do the trick, showing Stein that he trusted him, and in moments everything else fell into place. The loud waves of Stein's soul slid smoothly between his own, and Spirit guided them into unity. Their souls were as one, reverberating with the electric power of Stein's and held together by Spirit's constancy.

The waves shimmered away calmly in all directions from the heart of their resonance, through the blue sky, toward the clouds, toward the earth, and out of sight. And while Spirit knew that for the moment all was well, there was still the faintest of interruptions in the younger boy's wavelength every now and again.

It was a war far from won. But for the moment, and as much as was possible...Stein was at peace.

Spirit opened his eyes.

It was like waking up but into sleep, to go from the brilliance of their resonance to the dark of the apartment bedroom. But the space was absent now of the crushing pressure and madness, and if not for the ten spots of red that slowly came into focus below him he may have questioned if the descent into the pit of Stein's soul had happened at all.

They were still resonating of course, and as Spirit looked at the place where Stein's fingers had drawn blood through his pajamas he felt a ripple of sadness from his partner's soul. He looked up to find that Stein was watching him, his eyes vacant.

Spirit's hand was in fact holding one of Stein's to his chest, the other wrapped partially around his meister and his fingers gripping his neck. Apparently that hadn't just happened in their souls.

Spirit straightened up slightly and drew a breath...and then he was falling as a swirling nausea and dizziness racked his being. He felt his shoulder brush against Stein's as he fell past him, landing awkwardly and painfully on the arm that had released his partner's neck. He'd managed to keep hold of his hand however, and Stein had twisted to watch him with wide eyes, his grip tightening on the weapon's. Spirit started to panic as the room spun and he struggled to suck in air, but after a he moment realized that the journey through Stein's...madness...had simply been taxing.  His body would need time to recover.

He forced himself to stay calm, and his frame shuddered involuntarily a few times as the tension started to leave him. Gradually his breathing evened, and his heart rate slowed... He became aware of the softness of Stein's blanket under his cheek.

He blinked as the dizziness faded, the room's spinning coming to a slow stop and the churning in his stomach subsiding into a dull ache. He became aware of a slight rise in their resonance rate and lifted his gaze to Stein's face, the younger boy still staring at him with wide eyes. He realized then that Stein had taken the small amount of control that Spirit had relinquished to send him strength.

He was trying to help him.

Spirit shifted, wincing as he wiggled his arm out of the painful angle from under his side and stretched it across the bed. Pins and needles prickled his flesh from his shoulder to his fingertips, but it began to wane almost immediately.

"Are you okay?"

Stein's voice was small and uncertain, his eyes still wide but his face otherwise blank.

Not only Spirit had figured out how to read his partner over the past several months, but he felt he could see even more now after the journey through his soul what each deliberately bland expression meant. And hidden behind the monotone words and still features was genuine concern.

Spirit tried to smile, but he couldn't tell if his muscles responded to his brain's commands.

"I..." he began hoarsely in reply, "should be asking you that."

Speaking hurt his throat, and he was bewildered for a moment until he remembered that he had faintly heard screaming. Had he been screaming when he dove into the fire? He reached trembling fingers up to his cheek and felt dried tear tracks.

"I..."

Spirit looked up to where Stein had glanced away, a guilty look coming over him again. Spirit could see the faint red rimming around his partner's eyes, and he wondered whose crying had prompted the other's during the chaotic resonance.

He felt something shudder across their souls and watched Stein's free hand fall to his knee, his fingers beginning to grip his flesh. Spirit shifted again with a slight grunt and set his hand gently atop Stein's. His meister's eyes flew back to his.

"Hey...stop. You're gonna hurt yourself again," Spirit said softly, glancing at the blood that had previously seeped through white.

Stein looked like he wanted to say something, but pressed his lips closed into a line. Spirit could feel the tension rising rapidly. It felt as though his partner would burst if he couldn't express whatever was still crying out within him for release, and so Spirit concentrated again on keeping their resonance stable, settling the rate into a low but steady thrum, hoping to soothe. If Stein didn't know that they were going to have to talk about what had happened, then the night was far from over.

Either realizing it himself or sensing it from his partner, Stein looked back at Spirit, his lips trembling.

"Stein," Spirit encouraged. They had to talk about it, difficult as it was going to be.

"At least it's better than hurting people!"

The words had burst forth even as Stein's fingers clenched his knee beneath Spirit's hand. Spirit frowned lightly and turned his hand over, forcing his fingers beneath Stein's palm until the younger boy acquiesced and Spirit pulled that hand away too. He made to sit up, but his head started swimming instantly so he let himself fall back again. Too soon.

"Why...?" Spirit asked, searching Stein's tortured eyes. "Why do you...want to hurt people?"

Stein watched him nervously, and Spirit knew he was making a decision between telling the truth or hiding it away again. He understood then...he felt through their resonance, that all of his partner's attempts at telling the truth in the past had ended badly. Very badly.

He frowned and forced himself upright. He closed his eyes against the dizziness as he sat on his knees in a position that mirrored Stein's and let go of his left hand to hold his own to his head as the black danced before his vision. Just how great a toll had the descent into Stein's soul taken on his body?

He looked up again and waited as the young face in front of him stopped spinning. Stein was still watching him uncertainly. He wanted to answer, Spirit could tell. It was burning behind his partner's eyes, eager to come out and be fully known. And Spirit wanted to understand, to make sense of the horrors he had seen down in the pit. He wanted them to mean anything other than that his meister was, at his core, a sadistic murderer.

But what if that was the truth?

"It's okay," Spirit managed. He would keep being brave for both of them. "Tell me."

A hint of hope, a sliver of trust, came into Stein's eyes. And then, a wild ripple across their resonance. Uncontrolled excitement that went every direction without guidance.

"I love to dissect things!"

The smile that had come across Stein's face was too real to ignore, and Spirit simply stared back, drawn in by his partner's unbridled emotion.

"I love to take things apart and see how they're made. I love to see how everything fits together so perfectly and shouldn't work but somehow... Somehow it all does. I need to know why it works! So I have to test things. I'll take the frog and start pulling it apart to see which parts are important and which aren't. What parts can it live without? How long can it go without some parts and not others? What causes instant death and how long can life be prolonged while it's still apart? How soon does it go into shock and what role does that play in prolonging or shortening life? And of course a frog isn't nearly adequate enough, the experiments have to be deeper to achieve any real result. How does a reptile react or a fish or a bird or a mammal? They're built similarly but different. So how do their anatomical differences play a role in what they can live with or without? What gives each of them life? And of course, ultimately it's all just a background to the greatest experiment, because the true mystery of life is in humans because humans have what animals don't. Humans have a soul, and I need to—"

Stein stopped abruptly, a horrified look flashing through his eyes before he looked down, struggling this time to school his features back to the colorless, bland expression he forced all of the time. This time when Stein dug his fingers into his knee, Spirit let him.

Shame. Shame and fear, beginning to build in his wavelength.

Spirit wasn't entirely sure what his face looked like, except that at some point during his meister's chatter his jaw had slackened. And then he felt the darkness, those black waves from the core of Stein's soul, rapidly rising.

Spirit inched forward on his knees closer to his young meister and gripped his hand tighter, lifting it to his chest again.

"Stein. It's okay," he pleaded in a hurry, not wanting to watch his partner fall again.

Stein shook his head. "No it's not."

Spirit sighed and tilted his head back, running his fingers through his hair as his heart pounded. "Yeah, okay...it's not. But it's going to be."

Stein shook his head again. "It won't be. It never has before."

Stein attempted to pull his hand away but Spirit held on tighter. "We'll figure it out together, whatever it takes."

"That's what they said too. But they—!"

Stein clammed up again, harder than before. His frame had started to shake, but he held onto Spirit's hand as if it was the only thing keeping him alive. Spirit pressed his wavelength against the blackness that clouded their resonance, trying to calm his meister, but then he hesitated. There were more truths not yet revealed, and perhaps the only way to know them was in peering into what Stein clearly spent all his time trying to keep buried.

Spirit relaxed his wavelength and closed his eyes to let the dark wave wash over him. And then he saw.

Two faces, a woman and a man, smiling down into his eyes, but concerned. Offering reassurances even as they put distance between themselves and him until they were out of sight. And then suddenly a gray room with windowless walls, painful fluorescent lights above, the same claustrophobic nothingness in every direction he looked. And the itching from the heavy jacket he couldn't take off. Why did it itch? Why was it pulling on his arms, pulling them across his body and pinning them and tying him and—

"Oh..." Spirit breathed as his eyes opened suddenly. "Oh, Stein..."

His meister was crying now, and Spirit didn't know if the tears that stung his eyes were a sympathetic response through their resonance or his own for what he had just seen. The black wave was still surging, washing over his soul, but it wasn't threatening him.

This was Stein's burden. A madness he had been seemingly born with, and a loneliness that had been imposed upon him because he couldn't stop it. A fear of isolation because imprisonment was the only solution to madness, save destruction, even though being set apart was the only protection he had. A struggle to conform in the way that was required to save himself even as his soul screamed for freedom. And the knowledge that those he was supposed to be able to trust over anyone else had let him down.

Stein hated being touched. Spirit wondered now if part of the reason was that dreadful, itchy jacket. But the way he still gripped Spirit's hand the older boy took as permission.

The first time had been quick and desperate, but this time Spirit carefully wrapped his arm around Stein, pulling him closer as the boy's tears turned into sobs. He received no reciprocating response, just Stein's uncontrolled gasps next to his ear as what was probably a lifetime of emotion flowed out of him, and Spirit continued holding his hand between them as the other held his meister tight.

In their souls, Spirit continued offering his wavelength, holding it steady and safe from the darkness but open and ready for Stein's to fall back in once he had resolved at least some of the grief that was pouring from his core.

He didn't know what to say at this point, so just allowed Stein to feel. It was clear the boy spent most of his time avoiding that very thing, in addition to fighting his innate desires. He wondered why, if this was what the boy went through all of the time, Lord Death had said that his soul would complement Stein's. Surely Lord Death knew the truth...? He had to, if what Spirit had seen about where Stein had come from was real. And those memories he had witnessed through his young partner's eyes were unmistakable.

So what was it then, about his soul, that Lord Death saw to be fitting to match wavelengths with...this?

The black hadn't receded, but Stein's sobbing slowed to sniffles. Spirit held on tighter, touching the side of his head to Stein's for just a moment. With that contact, Stein's fingers briefly flexed in his grasp. Spirit took this as a sign to move and leaned out of the hug, moving his hand back to Stein's other instead.

And then, he held his breath in wariness at the strange, condescending look that suddenly came to Stein's face.

"You must be really stupid."

"What...?" Spirit said, recoiling in shock from the sudden, harsh insult.

For the first time his wavelength faltered and he pulled back from their resonance due to the sting. He felt Stein's soul begin to move sporadically again with the absence of his control and regretted his retreat. But he was reeling from his partner's words.

"Why...why would you say that?" he couldn't help but ask, still in shock.

"You think I can be 'fixed.' That you have some power to save me. Nothing can save me, Spirit. I've known that my whole life. Even when I was in kindergarten, and in preschool before that.  They always made excuses to get rid of me, to send me on to the next place. And I couldn't understand why everyone just accepted everything so blindly. Why weren't my questions allowed? Why did everyone avoid answering? Why were they so afraid of me...asking...why? I never found out. After trying so many things they just finally got rid of me for good. But even at the...at the..."

Stein's defensive anger was arrested by the fear of the place Spirit had seen in his memories. What horrors had been committed against the boy there, he wondered with a shiver of unease. And it was with an even deeper queasiness that he suddenly wondered...which of the gruesome images that swirled amid the blood in the pit had been real?

Asking questions wasn't enough reason to lock a boy away in an asylum before the tender age of ten.

"Stein..." Spirit said shakily, his mouth turning to cotton as he was unsure he wanted to continue the path his mind had taken. But he had to know. "What did you do...?"

Stein blinked, the hard facade that Spirit knew well settling back into place easily even with tears still falling down the boy's face.

"Enough."

Spirit searched the green eyes, alight with too much emotion. Stubborn anger and apathetic distrust, fighting to supplant the fear and sadness that he could no longer fully hide.

"Did...did you hurt someone?"

Stein looked away.

Spirit sighed as his gaze fell. Why had he expected a different answer, after everything?

It was then that he noticed...Stein hadn't let go. He was still holding his hands.

Spirit looked up again, his jaw setting in determination even as his frame was racked with a tremor of fear he hoped Stein couldn't blame him for, given everything.

"Sorry, Stein." His partner looked up woefully. "But I'm not like them. I...guess I'm just not smart enough to let you go."

Stein blinked, the mask slipping again as Spirit stared back at him, holding his breath, hoping against everything that his meister would still accept him.

"What...?"

"I...I just have one question, though," Spirit said, hoping the tremor in his voice wasn't obvious.

Stein looked curious, apprehensive. The anger had faded and was being replaced again by that tiny thread of hope. His fingers were clammy between Spirit's, but he was still holding on.

"Do you...really want to hurt me?"

He had emphasized the last word more than he'd intended, and Stein recoiled from the question, glancing away. Spirit didn't take that as answer, simply waiting. Stein's face was hidden by shadow in the dark of the room as he fought a battle within himself that Spirit felt through the tremulous, black waves that still washed loudly across his wavelength.

Stein looked up again. The mask was gone. Spirit's partner was just a frightened child, misunderstood and mistreated, abandoned by the world before his soul even had the chance to try to find its way and thrive. And he had been hurt too many times to trust again.

But Spirit couldn't just let him go. He was his meister. Stein had been chosen for him.

For his friend...he would take the risk. For better or worse, Spirit at least had to try. He supposed he really was stupid like Stein had said...

Spirit released every last small barrier that could separate their wavelengths, letting Stein's soul spill freely into his. And he let go of all control. This startled his young partner and he watched Spirit uncertainly, his fingers fidgeting against the teen's larger ones.

"Stein," Spirit said firmly, demanding his meister's attention. The younger boy stared at him with hesitant, frightened eyes. "I am your weapon. And I'm your friend. I'm never going to leave you."

At this, Stein's lips parted, and a soft, trembling gasp slipped through. Spirit sensed the hope rising despite the darkness that was still so powerful within Stein's soul, and then he felt it again—that shooting electricity, the wild, raw power that was his partner's true wavelength. It was skeptical, testing him and weaving through him, looking for anything that could possibly mean this was a lie. But Spirit responded only with acceptance, with the quiet acquiescence to wherever Stein might lead him.

The fear within the waves calmed as it had before, and instead of the swallowing up that he'd expected from his powerful meister, Spirit felt Stein's soul cautiously nestle up against his. Peace began settling into their resonance but, occasionally there was still a brief dissonance where their wavelengths weren't fully in sync. The sound of it caused them both to wince, but neither withdrew, their souls still entwining ever tighter.

Of course it couldn't be perfect, after everything. But it didn't matter, Spirit decided. They could work on that.

And with that resolve, his body finally gave out.

"Oh..." he gasped as he fell, his eyes rolling back until all he saw was black.

The next thing he knew was panic rippling across Stein's wavelength seconds before he saw his face over him, heard him calling his name out of time with the movement of his lips.

It could have been moments or minutes, but he slowly became aware of Stein's hand attempting to lift his head, the cool feeling of glass against his lips, and the scent of water as the drink was offered. With trembling fingers that seemed not to belong to him, he attempted to steady the glass and lifted his head further to sip from it even as his eyes refused to fully focus.

The water was soothing on his strained throat, and after drinking his fill he gasped in relief and fell back again. A pillow was beneath his head this time, and he watched the ceiling overhead seem to rotate as his senses slowly returned. He listened to the glass being set down on the wooden nightstand, the creak of the mattress as Stein sat down, and then the wavering ceiling was replaced by the wide-eyed face of his meister.

"Spirit? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah... Yeah, Stein," he croaked. His instinct was to sit up, but he decided against it.

They were still in resonance, but it was a soft hum now compared to the brilliant power it was before he'd fainted. He hoped his young meister had managed all right for however long that had been, unsure what the madness might do without the steadying control he'd imposed upon the boy.

"Sorry," he said, trying to refocus. He needed to keep their resonance rate up.

"How did you...how are you doing that?" Stein asked.

Spirit blinked up at him in confusion.

"What?"

"How did you get so deep within my wavelength? No one has been able to find me down there before."

Spirit considered. He hadn't done anything special, he'd just...known he needed to help his meister and gone looking for him. Despite the threat of drowning and the searing pain of the fire.

He could feel it even now and shuddered at the memory as he ran one hand down his arm to be sure there were no actual flames. Yet he could still feel the scorching heat against his skin, and the choking weight of the water. And he could see the horrid visions within the rain of red...

Stein was looking at him, awaiting reply. "I just had to get you out," he said with a half-shrug against the mattress.

"No one has ever...been able to control my soul like this either," Stein said, almost marveling.

Spirit considered Stein's words at the same time he wondered if he could pick up the glass of water. They had been partners for almost a year. Why did it surprise the younger boy that he knew his way around his soul?

Stein was still watching him though, as if waiting for explanation. His wavelength was vibrating with curiosity. Spirit sighed internally. Ever the scientist, his young meister...

"I just...knew what had to be done. So I did it," he said, even though he wondered at the real answers himself. How had he traversed the depths of that pit of pain and horrors? How had he pulled Stein back, brought the madness into complete submission...beaten back his fears?

Stein was staring at him in some kind of awe, more questions racing behind his eyes. They thrummed against Spirit's wavelength, but the meister left them unasked.

"Can I have some more of that?" Spirit asked, taking the chance in the lull to glance over at the water glass.

Stein stretched his arm over and picked up the glass, bringing it to Spirit with both hands. Spirit was relieved that he continued to hold it, as his own fingers seemed to have lost all their strength, and all four of their hands tilted the glass as he drank greedily.

"Thanks," he said when it was nearly empty, his throat still raw. How much had he screamed when jumping into the fire? He was amazed that no one in the rest of the building had woken up.

As Stein set the glass back down, Spirit lifted one shaking arm up to look at in the dark. It was his arm, t-shirt clad and looking none the worse for wear. But Spirit could feel the faint remnants of the fire across his skin. He still couldn't quite draw a full breath.

"Is that...what it's like in your soul all the time?" he asked tentatively.

The rest of what he would have asked he let hover across their resonance, and Stein glanced down as he considered how to reply.

"Does it...hurt you the way it was me? Are you always in that much pain?" The questions spilled forth as the feeling of fire grew stronger in Spirit's memory. Somehow Stein must have known, and the reciprocating steady assurance that was sent back across his wavelength was a stronger control than Spirit would have thought his partner capable of after everything.

"It's okay," was the answer designed not to really answer. "I'm used to it by now. Sometimes it just..."

Spirit felt the familiar, faint ripplings of fear and he increased their resonance rate, bringing each tiny pulse under his wavelength and gently shattering them, one by one. His meister had experienced more than enough fear for a lifetime.

Stein looked up at him. "How are you doing that?" he asked again, that look of awed bewilderment back on his face.

Spirit was confused. He wasn't doing anything. He was devastated that his meister was in a near-constant state of suffering and that he couldn't stop it, and that it had taken him nearly a year and a nightmare to notice what Stein had guarded so tightly. All he could do was meet each challenge as they came, no matter how big or small, and try to help.

He felt his partner's wavelength respond and accept the control as the fear was erased, settling back into the gentle, lulling melody of resonance. He could feel both of their heartbeats it seemed, like thunder in his ears as he realized finally...it wasn't just the journey through Stein's madness, but the effort to keep his partner stable that was physically exhausting him.

He didn't stop.

Spirit shook his head. "I'm sorry that I didn't notice sooner, and that I...that this is all I can do."

Stein's expression, to Spirit's confusion, was still amazement. And then the young meister yawned involuntarily. Spirit had no idea what time he'd raced into his partner's bedroom in a panic, but a quick glance at his alarm clock showed that it was past one in the morning.

"But you're... No one has... Your soul is so..." Stein couldn't seem to find the words, and Spirit still didn't understand.

"I wish I could...I wish I could just fix it for you," Spirit said with an edge of frustration. "Maybe someone else could. But I don't... I don't have anything special. I'm sorry. My soul is just average."

Stein looked more bewildered than ever. "Average...?"

Spirit set one of his hands atop Stein's forearm. "But I meant what I said. I won't give up on you, Stein. I'm your weapon. And weapons protect their meisters."

"Even to death," he didn't say this time, but it flowed through their resonance and he knew that Stein heard. It wasn't what he focused on, however.

"Average...?" Stein repeated, as if the word was foreign. He yawned again, and Spirit considered only briefly before giving Stein's arm just enough of a tug to shift his balance. The boy responded to the unspoken command and lie down facing Spirit, pulling the second pillow under his head. Spirit rolled to his side and set his hand back on Stein's forearm.

"I know I can't really...be what you need. But we can figure it out together, okay? We were chosen for each other. I'm not going to leave you."

From the core of Stein's soul, a small, scared question threaded its way across their resonance until it was almost all he could hear. But the boy left it unspoken, choosing instead to press his lips together in attempt to stay any outward expression of emotion. But Spirit could see the telltale shine return to his eyes.

"Promise?"

It was so desperate, so uncertain—his meister's hope a mere pinprick of light from the depth of his soul. Spirit slid his hand up to find Stein's again and held on tight.

"I promise," he breathed as exhaustion began to have the final word of the evening. "I'm never leaving you."

His eyes had fallen closed of their own accord, but the sound of Stein's voice pulled them open again.

"Spirit Albarn..." his meister said, looking at him as if seeing him for the very first time and looking through his soul all at once. "How are you real...?"

Spirit didn't know how to answer, so he didn't. But the strength of Stein's wavelength entwining with his told him an answer wasn't needed. Their rising resonance was a blessed relief in the face of his exhaustion, and Spirit let all control fall again. This time, he felt the familiar, expected strength as he let Stein's soul overwhelm his. But it wasn't crushing nor diminishing. Stein's soul simply took his in, wrapping him up and keeping him safe.

His eyes had already closed again.

"You have...the most incredible soul I've ever seen..." Stein murmured into the dark between them.

Spirit wanted to protest that, but he suddenly remembered something. Gathering enough energy to speak took effort, his body rapidly surrendering to the exertion he'd taken on that night, especially with his meister's wavelength there now to sustain him.

"You didn't...answer my question," he said, keeping his eyes closed. He decided he didn't want to see the look on Stein's face when he asked again.

"What?"

"You didn't say... Do you really want to hurt me?"

A powerful shudder from Stein's wavelength caused him to recoil, but it was gone almost instantly, the boisterous frequency calming again to hold his head above water.

"No," came Stein's answer, resolute. "I don't."

Spirit wanted to respond, but the words wouldn't come. He was simply too tired, his eyelids heavy and his entire body screaming with relief as he let himself sink into the softness of the bed.

Behind the dark of his eyes his vision swam, with fire and water and flashes of red, and occasional frightening scenes that made his breath catch. Each time he saw one he pressed his wavelength more strongly into Stein's to keep the madness at bay. Or was it simply his memory of the journey?

He felt his partner's grateful response each time however along with the resounding strength that was given in return, slowly restoring his worn body and exhausted soul.

It had been almost a full year. And Spirit felt he knew the reserved boy pretty well. But it was clear now that he had a lot more to learn. At least, the one thing he knew for certain was his meister was with him. The strength of their resonance proved it... Neither of them was going anywhere.

"Spirit?" he heard his partner's voice come softly, somewhere out of the dark. Stein's fingers fidgeted slightly against his own.

"Hmm..." was the only reply he was capable of. The fire and flood were just a memory now, the darkness behind his eyes only occasionally broken by a flash of red. In their place was blinding brilliance, and he soared into it on the wings of their resonance's song, giving himself to its welcoming peace—the peace he and his meister had found together.

He sank deeper into the mattress, deeper into Stein's soul, letting sleep claim him at last. It was time for that terror-filled night to end. They could work on everything with the new day.

And then, a whisper... A faint ripple of guilt across his wavelength.

"What if I already did?"

Spirit tightened his fingers over Stein's. He pretended he hadn't heard.

A/N: So this was stress-relief writing while I coped with something, but it was inspired by a couple of very specific things. First, by this incredible art by the equally incredible wispforever whose Tumblr is full of lovely, funny, and inspiring Spirit & Stein pieces, and whose Spirit & Stein fics on AO3 are absolutely incomparable. (@wispforever your brilliance is a never-ending source of joy and inspiration for me, sorry not sorry for always telling you lol.) Second inspiration was the song "Crash and Burn" by Savage Garden which honestly could fit any meister and weapon?? It really could. But. I'm obsessed with the song, and it's my young Spirit and Stein anthem. And it's this entire story. It's just...how I see them as a pair. So yeah, there you have it. Also I snuck in a canon quote; Spirit quoted Maka from near the beginning of episode 45. I'm not telling which line, lol. You figure it out. It was just really fun to have him do that, you know? I think they have a lot more in common than we get to see really... And, if anyone cares... Spirit and Stein slept through the morning and when they never showed up for class, Azusa broke in and found them asleep and started scolding them. Spirit basically told her to buzz off and went back to sleep, lol. Stein lingered till he got too antsy and then went to abuse a frog with his scalpel. Anyway...think I'll take this story as part of my headcanon. Hope you enjoyed!

[tm-trx]

currents.22 [2024]

selections from my week in media [26 may - 1 jun 2024]

[anticipating]

Ascendant by Michael R. Miller - I love a good 'boy and his dragon' story, so this one is up next on my dragon book list.

Running Close to the Wind by Alexandra Rowland - It comes out on June 11 and sounds like a fun read.

[listening]

[loving]

Dee's grandma crashing Yak and Dee's sex date, then proceeding to charm the heck out of everyone, including the audience. I love her.

[reading]

The Lawyer in Shizukuishi Sleeps With a Wolf by Akira Sugano [3 stars] - The cover art looks yaoi, but the book mostly consists of philosophical concerns around the nature of justice, with more than a little tax fraud. It took me two months to the day to finish it. But there are also immortals and a wolf who can only be in his human form when he's alone with his brother. I would actually love to see this adapted into a drama or movie.

Love, a Kitten, and a Salty Dog by Nenko Nen [2 stars] - It was cute, but that was about it. It features a couple of my least favorite tropes. The kitten was adorable though.

The Oppa Trap by rainhat - The King: Eternal Monarch twins AU - one of my favorites; I reread it every time I watch the drama

The Storm Boys series by NR Walker [4 stars] - MM contemporary romance about a storm chaser and a fulminologist (lightning scientist)

When Among Crows by Veronica Roth [5 stars] - urban fantasy novella based in Slavic folklore

[watching]

The King: Eternal Monarch, ep 8-16 - finished my latest rewatch; still wishing there were time stamps included at key points because the passage of time is so unclear

Wandee Goodday, ep 5 - A very cute episode with more plot development than I expected, looking back. And is it me, or is meeting a promoter after dark, on a deserted street not a good sign? (Or maybe that was just filming location problems.)

previous Currents posts

.

[bipherpol]

Nice songs! I like the way you think! I wish Kaku can rejoin Galley-La in the future, provided he apologizes, and Galley-La forgives him, of course. Who realizes that Franky and Lucci are going to be in-laws first? I just realized that I sent the Alice in Chains songs twice, so you get six songs this time! "Pictures of You" by The Cure, "One Thing" by Finger Eleven, "Skinny Love" by Bon Iver, "Whirring" by The Joy Formidable, "Tongue Tied" by Grouplove, and "Little Talks" by Of Monsters and Men.

oh kaku is absolutely joining galley-la. they try to make him stay after enies lobby and he's like "no let's go be proper government traitors and give everything we know to the revs and then i'll consider it" this argument ends with the other six deciding that they'll do that and then promptly dump kaku on the next ship to water 7 regardless of whether or not he agrees. if necessary, they are not above tying him up to get him there. if that doesn't work, they could always ask kuma.

(kaku absolutely wants to go back but he also, y'know, doesn't want to just ditch the rest of them. meanwhile, the rest of them are like "oh my god please just ditch us and go. live ur childhood dream. pls. at least one of us gets to.")

honestly, the first one to realize the in-laws is probably one of cp9. or nami. actually no wait it's probably nami. she catches onto the whole franky/robin thing quick and then just kind of has a moment where she just mentally points between them and starts laughing her ass off because oh god. it's funny on so many levels, at least partially because the former government assassin is going to be in-laws with the head of water seven's big gang.

songs!! a: i love "pictures of you" it's so good. (the emo kid loves the cure, who's surprised) also oh god "tongue tied" i haven't heard that song since glee. (it is a good song though)

"toxic" by britney spears (who saw that one coming), "don't hold your breath" by nicole scherzinger aaand "unkind" by sloan

[sickenedfanfics]

Sanguine Symphony

Title: Sanguine Symphony

Chapters:

“Note to Readers”

“Fully Qualified”

“Vampire Overview”

“Human Overview”

“Sanguine Symphony (A Tears of Pearls Parody)”

“Chapter One”

Note:

Please note: The mention of Aboriginal vampire hunters using boomerangs to impale vampires is a reference taken from the show, Firebite, which is an Australian/American joint production.

Type: Alternate Universe, Real Person Fanfiction, Band Fic

Rating: Explicit

Warning:

Rape/Non-Con, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Profanity, Gore

Category: M/M

Fandom: Savage Garden

Relationships: Darren Hayes/Daniel Jones

Characters: Darren Hayes, Daniel Jones, You, Reader, Original Characters

Story Tags:

I miss the 90s, Bring Back 90s Music, Yup I'm Old As Fuck, POV Darren Hayes, Good Writing, Well-Written, Original Universe, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe – Dark, Slice of Life, Dark, Minor Original Character(s), Guitars, Keyboard, Piano, Music, Musicians, Musical Instruments, vocalist, 90's Music, music group, Band, Band Fic, Alternate Universe – Vampire, Vampires, Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Blood, Blood Drinking, LGBTQ Themes, LGBTQ Character, Bisexuality, Gay, Gay Male Character, Homosexuality, Shipping, Established Relationship, Dysfunctional Relationships, Abusive Relationships, Unhealthy Relationships, Domestic, Drama, Past Violence, Past Domestic Violence, Bottom Darren Hayes, Top Daniel Jones (Savage Garden), Reader-Insert, Mild Reader-Insert, Reader-Insert Parts, RPF, Real people, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, POV Multiple, POV Alternating, Bisexual Daniel Jones (Savage Garden), Domestic Disputes, Erotica, Homoeroticism, Gay Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Heterosexual Sex, Killing, Murder, Romance, Mention of Child Abuse, LGBTQ, Gay Romance, Gay Male Lead Character, Gay Male Relationship, Relationships, Real Person Slash, Real Person Fiction, Based on Real People, Homoerotic Themes, Homoerotic Scenes, Homo, Gay Sex, Explicit Language, Heterosexual, Supernatural, Psychological, Anti-Hero Lead, Magic, Male Lead, Non-Human Lead, Villainous Lead, Adultery, Affair, Cheating, Cross-Dressing, Cruel Characters, Famous Protagonist, Modern Times, Nudity, Singer, Succubus, Suicides

Chapter Tags:

no smut, no sex

Story Summary:

Play me a symphony painted with sanguine kisses.

Darren Hayes and Daniel Jones dropped off the radar twenty-two years ago. Have you ever wondered what happened to that cool-ass group? How can they just disappear without a trace? The answer to that is not one that humans can imagine. The pop duo has been dragged into the underworld of the undead. They've survived this long but their relationship is hanging by the bare threads. Depression, rage, fury, and pain all thrive in this tale of blood, strife, and pain.

Chapter Summary:

Users of the hit vampire social media site, VamVu, get a surprise when a live video featuring Darren Hayes, frontman of Savage Garden, is hosted. They're stunned and outdone, but they get great news.

Intro:

You sit at or hold your Wi-Fi-enabled device (laptop, tablet, computer, phone, whatever) with a glass of junior blood wine at hand. It’s the cheap shit because everybody knows you were piss poor broke before you were embraced, so why would undead life be any different? You sign into your VamVu (yeah, a play on vamp/vampire view) account located on the dark web. You catch up with some of your friends, thumb down a video by sociopolitical leftist pussified vampires which promoted allowing weres, shapeshifters, zombies, demons, and Magic Folk on the site, and thumb up one commenter’s chant of “keep VamVu bloodstained red.”

“Note to Readers”:

AO3 Quotev Royal Road Scribble Hub Squidge World

“Fully Qualified”:

AO3 Quotev Royal Road Scribble Hub Squidge World

“Vampire Overview”:

AO3 Quotev Royal Road Scribble Hub Squidge World

“Human Overview”:

AO3 Quotev Royal Road Scribble Hub Squidge World

“Sanguine Symphony (A Tears of Pearls Parody)”:

AO3 Inkitt Quotev Royal Road Scribble Hub Squidge World

“Chapter One”:

AO3 Inkitt Quotev Royal Road Scribble Hub Squidge World

----

Other Sites: Fanfiction Original Writing

[pedroscurls]

in every lifetime (pt. 5)

summary: you invite logan back up to your apartment to dry off and he ends up spending the night... the beginning of something new for the both of you. pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader tags / warnings: post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), smut (18+, mdni) - missionary, unprotected p in v, no use of y/n, logan finally gets a happy ending that he deserves. word count: 3.3k a/n: i'm so sorry for the delay... part of me didn't want to write it because it means that this story is complete, but thank you thank you thank you to everyone who's read this story, who's left comments, and liked it! this story holds a special place to my heart and the first ever logan fic i've ever written so it means a lot. i hope you all enjoyed this story as much as i did writing it. also - i know the song is so 90s, but i just kept imagining the reader and logan having a very sensual night while this song is playing... anyway, enjoy the last and final part! ����💙 song: i knew i loved you by savage garden prev. part

Finally. 

Logan practically melts into you, arms snaking around your frame so gently. Your grip around him tightens and he can feel your tears trickle down your cheeks, meeting your joined lips. It’s a gentle kiss, soft and slow, and there’s an unspoken fear; you’re both afraid that this is just a fleeting moment, that one of you is going to pull away and realize that this isn’t what you want after all. That the fear and pain of losing each other in your own universes are just too much to bear. 

But when you both do decide to pull away, rain pattering down on the both of you, the look on each other’s face is one of relief. 

“Hey bub,” Logan whispers, lips gently brushing against yours. 

You stare up at him, the look of complete vulnerability in his expression. He’s no longer hiding from you– the walls that he surrounded himself long gone as he stares at you. This Logan won’t ever be the same as the one you lost, but the one standing in front of you gives you hope for a future that you only ever dreamed of having with him. You’re sure that in every universe out there, your love for Logan is just as strong as the one in this universe. 

“Spend the night?” you ask quietly, hesitantly. 

“Are you– Are you sure?” Logan knows what you’re implying and despite the subtle excitement that flickers in his eyes, he knows that he doesn’t want to push this… doesn’t want to push you. 

And just like in his universe, you catch on to his hesitation. Can see the look of uncertainty in his eyes. You can see him thinking. Gently, you bring a hand up to his cheek, brushing the pad of your thumb across it before you lift it further to stroke his wet hair back and away from his face. 

“I’m sure.”

“But Laura–”

“Not home tonight.” 

Logan lets out a shaky breath. He’s been alive for almost two hundred years and here you are, making him nervous. “Okay, bub. I’ll spend the night.” 

You catch him by surprise by leaning up to press your lips against his that he almost stumbles back, but his arms tighten around you further and he leans back in and purses his lips against yours. Slowly, you move your lips with his and Logan can feel the excitement begin to build in the pit of his stomach. 

“We should head inside,” he mumbles into the kiss, pulling away briefly to rest his forehead against yours. “I don’t want you getting sick. We’ve been standing in the cold rain…”

You nod and then release your hold on him to bring him back inside your apartment. Once inside, you shut the door and lock it behind you. Standing in the hallway, you’re both dripping wet and you walk towards your thermostat to turn up the heat. 

“I’ve got some old clothes of Logan’s if you don’t mind,” you say quietly, biting your lower lip. “Is that weird?” 

Logan shakes his head. He walks over to you, the sound of his wet boots making quiet squeaky sounds against your hardwood floors. “I don’t mind, but…” he begins. “Will you?” 

You shrug your shoulders. You don’t know how you’d react to seeing your Logan’s clothes on some other version of him. “Only one way to find out, right?”

“I just…” Logan sighs. “I want you to be comfortable and I don’t mind taking this slow, baby.”

Baby. 

You shut your eyes and wrap your arms around him, face burying into his chest. You let out a shaky breath and feel his arms wrap around you, enveloping you in his warm embrace. Logan had always been your personal heater, his body always running hot, and this version is no different. 

Logan places a soft kiss on the crown of your head and slowly pulls away to look down at you. “We should really get you out of these wet clothes.” 

“We both should get out of these wet clothes. Come on.” You lead him further down the hallway and into your bedroom, leaving a wet trail on your floors. Once inside, Logan bends down to remove his boots and socks, setting it near the door as he catches you lifting the end of your crewneck over your head. He sees a sliver of your skin and immediately peels his gaze away from you, turning around to face the wall. 

“Logan, what are you doing?” you let out a quiet giggle and it takes everything in him not to just turn around. The sound of your laughter had always made him feel so happy, especially when he was the one making you laugh. “You can turn around. It’s okay.” 

Clearing his throat, he turns around and looks at you. You’re now standing in just a towel, a pool of your wet clothes around your ankles. But the sight of your smile makes his heart skip a beat. The way it meets your eyes, a flicker of contentment in your features… and it’s all because of him. 

“I’m going to rinse off,” you tell him. “I’ll go and use Laura’s bathroom down the hall. You can use mine.” You walk towards your closet and grab a few change of clothes, in addition to an extra towel. You bite your lower lip, keeping one hand to hold the towel up against your body. You hand him the clothes and towel, leaning up to gently peck his lips. “Then I’ll grab our wet clothes and put it in the washer.” 

As you’re walking away and out of your bedroom, Logan gently reaches out for your free hand. He turns you around and pulls you against him, leaning down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. He growls against you– the fact that you’re only using a towel to cover yourself causes an excitement to rush over him. 

Logan feels your lips move against his, urging him to continue the kiss. He releases his hold on your hand and instead moves his hand to your lower back. For a brief moment, you move your own hands to his wet hair, having long forgotten the towel that you’re holding up as it slips. 

“Bub,” Logan whispers, slowly pulling away as he feels you gently bite down on his lower lip. He growls at that and then glances down to see just enough of your bare front before you wrap the towel back around yourself. He clears his throat and feels his length stir beneath his jeans – it’s uncomfortable and tight, especially since he’s completely soaked from the rain. 

“I’m going,” you reply quietly. “I’m going.” You turn around and walk out of your bedroom, glancing over your shoulder to catch his gaze and you smile. “You should get going too, baby.”

Baby. 

Logan grins at that and nods, turning on his heel and walking to your bathroom.

—

By the time you're showering, you’re dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized white t-shirt that reach your mid-thighs. You’re in the laundry room, putting yours and Logan’s clothes in the washer when you feel his strong arms wrap around you from behind. 

You shut your eyes and lean back against his chest, hands coming down to rest over his. You tilt your head upwards and feel his lips brush against the side of your neck, the feel of his facial hair tickling you. You let out a quiet giggle and Logan smiles against you, holding you firmly against him. The tension in the air thickens and you open your eyes to press the start button on the washer. Once the machine starts, Logan turns you around and stares deeply into your eyes. 

Your gaze lowers to see what he’s wearing, biting your lower lip. He’s wearing only a pair of boxers and he’s shirtless. Of fucking course. Your eyes deviate even further as you gently reach out to touch the muscles at his abdomen and move them up his strong chest and to his shoulders. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

“Hi,” you answer, feeling the heat in your cheeks rise as you obviously ogle him. 

“Do you– Are you–” you clear your throat. “Sorry. Are you thirsty? Do you want water?” 

Logan shakes his head. “Just want you, bub.” 

You nod and then take his hand, leading him back to your bedroom. You’ve already cleaned up the wet mess you both left and your entire apartment is warm enough that you’ve already turned the heater off, but the tension makes you feel hotter than normal. Logan’s touch sends an electrifying shock through your body and once inside, you’re about to push on his chest to have him sit on the bed but he catches you by surprise when he scoops you into his arms and gently lays you down on your bed. 

He climbs in after you and gets underneath the sheets with you, instantly pulling you into his arms. Logan can feel the tension in the air, can practically smell your arousal, but he makes no comment. He wants you to set the pace, wants you to decide what you want, wants you to choose what to do next. 

You turn on your side and rest your head on his shoulder, moving a hand to rest on his bare chest. “Logan, I–” you stop yourself, biting your lower lip. 

He turns to look down at you, hand cupping your cheek. He had always been so gentle with you. Those same hands had caused so much pain, so much hurt, but with you… Logan’s always been a different man. You had awoken something inside of him that he never knew existed and when he lost you in his universe, that part of him died with you. 

But getting the chance to be with you again, even if it’s a different version of you, makes him hopeful for the future. Makes him hopeful that he can finally be happy. With you. Always with you. 

“I’m here,” he whispers. “I’m here.” 

You let a small smile line your lips and you turn to lie on your back, bringing him to hover above you. Logan rests his hands at either side of your head, settling himself between your legs as he looks down at you. He can hear the quiet pitter patter of the rain hit your window, the small lamp on your nightstands providing just the right amount of light to illuminate you. Your hair splays against your pillow and you’re looking up at him with the same look you always had. Even in his universe. 

In your eyes, he can do no wrong. 

In your eyes, you see someone more than just the wolverine. 

In your eyes, you see someone worth loving. 

“I promise,” Logan whispers quietly. “I promise I’m going to always keep you safe, no matter what.” 

“I know, Logan,” you say softly. “You have a good heart. Always have.” 

Tears sting his eyes and he leans down to peck your lips, careful not to crush you. “I don’t deserve you…” 

“Yes, you do,” you reply. Your hands move to his arms, fingertips brushing against the chiseled muscles. “Everyone deserves to be happy, to be loved… Even you, Logan. Especially you.”

Logan feels his heart swell at your words, can feel the emotion taking over him as he remembers his dream earlier that night. His world’s version of you had said the same thing and while he isn’t even sure it was ever real, hearing those words come from you makes his heart race.

He doesn’t know what he ever did in his life to ever deserve someone like you because he’s sure that he doesn’t deserve it. 

But you… The way you’re looking at him makes him feel worthy of this happiness, of your love. 

“After everything you’ve been through, why?” Logan asks honestly. “Why do you still have such a positive outlook on life? On this life?” 

You bite your lower lip and move your hands to run through his hair, seeing his eyes flutter shut as he purrs quietly. “It’s not easy,” you admit. “There are days where I can’t wait for it all to end… but Laura still needs me. There are people out there who still need me…” you move one hand to wipe at your eyes, feeling tears begin to fall from your face again. “And because I promised him.”

“You’ve always been the strongest,” Logan whispers, placing a light kiss on your forehead. “The bravest,” another kiss on the tip of your nose. “And the kindest person I’ve ever met,” he finishes, leaning in to press his lips firmly against yours. 

You gasp against his lips and instantly move your lips with his own. The kiss deepens further, ignited by passion and a sudden sense of urgency. One of Logan’s hands remains on the mattress, keeping himself propped up as the other moves down to your side and leg, hooking it around his hip as he presses his lower half firmly against yours. 

You feel his hand move up and down the side of your bare leg, causing shivers to run through your body as you slowly roll your hips upwards to create some friction… Until you feel his hardened length press against your throbbing heat. 

It has been way too long and your panties are already soaked at the realization of what’s about to happen next. Logan pulls away from your lips to press firm kisses along your jawline and down the side of your neck, teeth darting out to graze your skin. His low growl against you reverberates through his entire being and he pulls away from you briefly to look down at you. 

You’re breathing heavily, eyes darkened with desire, but you’re still looking at him like he’s the only man that ever mattered. 

“Is this okay?” he asks. “I don’t want to do something you’re going to regret and I’m fine if nothing happens, but I just– I needed to ask before this goes any further.”

You bite your lower lip. “In your universe, were you a gentleman?” you tease. “I just assumed all versions of you liked to be in control and–”

Logan growls again and moves his hand underneath your shirt, finding his way to your bare breast as he runs his thumb across your peaked nipple. “Should have known,” he grins. “Once a smartass, always a smartass.” 

You whimper quietly, letting out a quiet laugh that only excites Logan even further. “You like it.”

“Oh, baby, I always have.” 

Then, he leans down again and presses his lips more firmly against yours. His hand kneads your breast into the pit of his palm and he can hear you whimper against his lips, can feel your body begin to squirm, can smell your arousal even more prominently now. 

“Logan,” you moan quietly, pulling away from the kiss. “Yes, I want this. I want you.” 

It was all Logan needed to grip your shirt in two hands, ripping it open. You gasp loudly, your front now fully exposed for him. He looks down at you and clears his throat as he leans down to wrap his lips around your nipple, flicking his tongue repeatedly against you. 

He feels your hands move down to the waistband of the boxers, urging it down his legs and he pulls back to lean on his knees. He gently takes your hands and kisses your knuckles before he pushes down his boxers past his legs, slowly kicking them off to the side as he looks down at himself. 

Extremely hard. Leaking. Throbbing. 

Logan needs you. 

He sees your eyes gaze down at him and sees the way you bite your lower lip at the sight. Then, you reach down to hook your thumbs into your panties as you begin to lower it down your legs. Logan helps you, pulling them away from you as your arousal now hits his senses at full force. He looks down between your legs, reaching down to run the length of his finger across your sex and sees your wetness glisten across his digit. 

You whimper and lift your hips, yearning for more as you try to reach down to wrap your own hand around his length. Logan stops you and hovers above you, forearm propped near your head as his other hand reaches down to grasp his manhood. He runs the tip across the length of your sex before he slowly slides into you. 

You’ve always been tight, but always felt like you were made for him. Your walls stretch to give way to him as he slowly continues to slide further into your depths. Your hands move to his shoulders, fingertips digging into his skin and he groans at the sensation. He feels your legs tighten around his hips, the heel of your feet digging into his lower back to urge him to push further into you. 

“Logan,” you moan, feeling his free hand cup your cheek as his eyes remain open to stare down at you. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, hands now linking at the nape of his neck as Logan’s hands move to either side of you when he fully slides into the hilt. He groans, dipping his head to rest his forehead against yours as he stares into your eyes. 

You let out a loud groan at the feel of his manhood filling you completely as your walls slowly give way to his girth. Slowly, Logan rolls his hips and pulls back enough before he pushes back into you. He leans in and press his lips against yours, his hips continuing its slow and deep strokes as your walls remain tight around his length. 

You whimper against his lips, mouth widening at the sensation of his deep thrusts. You know you won’t be able to last long, the feeling of his manhood sliding along your walls, his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust in, and the hair at his base brushing against your clit all bringing you closer and closer to the edge. 

Logan lowers himself enough so that his chest rests against yours as his arms wrap around your waist. He slowly picks up the pace, his skin beginning to slap against yours as it echoes off the walls of your bedroom and mixes in with the sounds of your moans and the rain from outside. 

When he feels your body begin to tremble, your walls begin to tighten even further around him, Logan quickens his thrusts. You’re both panting heavily, foreheads resting against each other, bodies pressed firmly against one another. It’s so passionate, so intense, so long overdue. 

“Logan!” you exclaim, arms tightening around his shoulders as you hold onto him when you reach your high. Logan delivers a few more thrusts before he releases inside of you, growling lowly against you. Usually, Logan likes to make sure you come at least two or three times before he comes, but he couldn’t help himself. 

He needed you. 

Just as badly as you needed him. 

—

Afterwards, Logan helps you clean yourself up, using a wet and warm towel to wipe his sticky release from between your legs. He pulls you into his arms after setting the towel aside, feeling you snuggle into his chest. He looks down at you, your eyes falling shut as you drape an arm around him as well. 

He lets out a sigh of relief and brings a hand to gently brush your hair away from your face. He leans down and presses a soft kiss on your forehead, hand lower to rest on your lower back. 

“In every lifetime,” he whispers. 

You open your eyes and smile, looking up at him.

“In every lifetime, Logan.” 

--

taglist: @its-in-the-woods @mynatureworld @wadewnstonwilson @squishyfruitloop @maybedisaster

@kellyxo1 @m1cky-y-y @flowersforbucky @namikyento

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Truly Madly Deeply

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is madly in love with a married woman.

CW: FLUFFFFFF (Happy Valentine's Day, my loves!!)

WC: 1300+

This fic was written for @roosterforme’s love is in the air tgm challenge! Inspired by the song Truly Madly Deeply by Savage Garden.

Masterlist

“Sorry, I’m married,” Bradley hears you say to the man who’s just offered to buy you a drink. He glances over his shoulder just in time to witness your suitor’s face fall in disappointment. He notices that you give him an apologetic smile and it melts Bradley’s heart that you’re being so sweet to a complete stranger.

He eyes you discreetly as you wave with a couple of fingers at the man now departing sullenly. You turn on your stool to face the bar, revealing the deep plunge of your dress which exposes your exquisite back, and Bradley can’t help but stare at you in admiration. He smiles to himself, biting into his lip. “Married, huh?” he asks, leaning his forearms into the bar.

You glance over at him in surprise.

“And here I thought I could buy you a drink,” Bradley says with a sideways grin.

You stare at him for a moment before letting out a small chuckle.

“Who’s the lucky guy, anyway?” he asks, looking around the bar.

“Strange,” you reply, craning your neck to look over Bradley’s shoulder. “He was just here.”

Bradley shakes his head. “Ill-timed departure on his part,” he says, meeting your gaze. “I would never let a woman like you out of my sight.”

You giggle. “He’s around, I’m sure.”

Bradley watches you mischievously. “And yet,” he says, getting out of his seat. “We can’t let an opportunity such as this pass us by.” He holds out his hand to you.

You give him a piercing look and hook one of your eyebrows. “And what opportunity would that be?”

“Come on.” Bradley grins at you. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you letting me have one dance.”

“You’re probably right, actually.” You shrug. “My husband’s not really the jealous type.”

“Really?” Bradley asks incredulously as you stand up. “He should be.”

You chuckle. “He trusts me.”

Bradley’s eyes sweep over your features when you glance up at him and he tries to recall the last time he’s encountered such beauty. You are, without a doubt, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. But this fact doesn’t intimidate him in the slightest. He takes your hand and draws you out onto the open floor, keeping his eyes locked on yours.

You smile when he takes you by the waist. “Now I feel bad for sending that other guy away,” you say. “If I’m just handing out dances.”

Bradley makes a face. “He wasn’t trying hard enough,” he says. “See, I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.”

You laugh. “Is that so?”

Bradley nods. “You know what else?”

“What?” you ask suspiciously as the two of you move gently to the distant music of the jukebox.

“I’m going to kiss you when this song is over,” he says.

You raise your eyebrows as your mouth falls open in shock. “You mean, assuming I’ll let you!”

Bradley’s gaze drops briefly to your lips. “You’ll let me.”

You shake your head with a scandalized smile.

“Think your husband would mind?” he asks.

You fix him with a more serious look. “What do you think?”

“You said he wasn’t the jealous type.”

You lower your gaze and lick your top lip before lifting your eyes temptingly. “My husband would fucking lose it if he saw me making out with a stranger on the dance floor.”

Bradley bites his lip, chuckling. “I bet.”

You roll your eyes, a smile still playing on your face, and Bradley just about loses it himself.

“What’ll it take for you to come home with me?” he asks boldly.

You give him a pointed glance and he pulls you slightly closer. “Gee, let me think,” you respond playfully.

Bradley chuckles. “I’ll do anything,” he says in a low voice, his mouth moving right over your temple.

You shake your head and look up at him. “You’re bad,” you say with a grin.

Bradley brings his face down to meet yours, his arms coming up to wrap around your back. He draws you closer until your head is resting on his chest. “I’m so in love with you,” he breathes.

You giggle into his chest and his heart performs a series of somersaults against your cheek. Your hands snake underneath his open Hawaiian shirt to meet behind his back. “You’re ridiculous,” you respond calmly.

Bradley kisses the top of your head. “I love you more with every breath,” he whispers.

You raise your head slightly and he can feel the warmth of your mouth on his neck. “I think you’re alright,” you say gently.

Bradley snorts, his arms tightening around you. He rests his cheek on your head, his fingers grazing your bare back. “I could hold you forever,” he mutters. “Can’t I just hold you forever?”

He feels you relax further into his embrace. “Okay,” you respond softly.

Bradley’s arms constrict around your body, and he plants several kisses on your forehead. “I bet you’re way out of your husband’s league,” he says with a heavy rasp as his hand starts travelling up and down your waist.

You laugh. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bradley’s hand stops moving abruptly and comes to rest of your hip. “You love him?”

You give Bradley an earnest glance. “Very much,” you say.

Bradley eyes you curiously. “How the fuck did he land a woman like you?”

You laugh. “Well,” you say, “for one thing, he’s unbelievably sexy.”

Bradley smirks. “I bet he isn’t half as sexy as you are.”

You roll your eyes. “He’s smart, and funny, and sweet, and a little crazy sometimes.”

Bradley laughs. “Sounds pretty basic, if you ask me.”

You give him a tight smile, trying to hold back a laugh. “And his confidence is off the charts.”

Bradley raises his eyebrows. “Can he take me?”

You let out a giggle. “He wouldn’t,” you say. “He’s not the jealous type, remember?”

Bradley gives you a skeptical look. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I think your husband would absolutely annihilate anybody who would dare lay a hand on you.”

You watch him with a tantalising smirk. “Is that what you would do?”

Bradley meets your gaze and responds firmly, “No question.”

You rest your head back on his chest and let out a contented sigh when the first notes of a very familiar song ring out through the bar. Bradley looks up to see Jake Seresin winking at him from where he’s standing by the jukebox. Bradley smirks, nodding at his friend in appreciation. Meanwhile, you start humming to the melody absently while Bradley sways you gently from side to side.

When the bridge kicks in, Bradley sings along, “Oh, can you see it, baby? You don’t have to close your eyes. It’s standing right before you…”

You detach yourself partially and look up at him. “I’ve always loved this song,” you say.

Bradley tenderly runs his fingers along the side of your face. “I know, baby,” he says.

“My husband’s not a big fan,” you say with a playful grin.

“Oh, no?” Bradley lifts eyebrows.

“I had to beg him to make this our wedding song.”

“He made you beg?” Bradley asks in outrage.

“Mm-hm.” You nod. “Can you believe it?”

Bradley lowers his head and, placing his hands on either side of your face, brushes the tip of his nose against yours. “Something tells me your husband would do anything for you.”

You giggle. “If only I knew where he was.”

Bradley grins, biting the side of his lip. “Joke’s on him. He’s missing all the fun.”

You reach up to twist your fingers into Bradley’s shirt, pulling him closer. “You promised me a kiss.”

Bradley chuckles. “Oh, you want a kiss?”

You nod, humming in affirmation.

Bradley smirks, rolling his tongue along your open mouth before letting his lips finally make contact with yours. You whimper softly into his mouth and his chest nearly erupts with desire. He loves you so deeply, so madly, so – “You know, the song’s growing on me,” he mutters between kisses.

You laugh. “I knew you’d come around eventually.”

Bradley lets out a fevered sigh, his hands sliding down your arms as the song comes to an end. “Come on, Mrs. Bradshaw,” he says hoarsely, a bit impatiently. “I’m taking you home.”

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[hekateinhell]

Welcome, Armand lovers! I’m so excited it's finally time to share my little project with you! 🖤

From November 1 - December 5, I'll be hosting Good to Embrace, Good to Love, a fandom event celebrating Armand's relationships with his four greatest loves—Marius, Lestat, Louis, and Daniel—from the book series The Vampire Chronicles.

Each week will be dedicated to one of these ships, with a bonus week of prompts that can be used for some of the many others Armand has loved in his long immortal life i.e., Bianca, Nicolas, etc.

There will be two prompts per day: a quote from the books that represents an aesthetic of the ship + a word/sentence prompt. Do one, do both, combine them—it doesn't matter as long as you have fun!

AUs and genderswaps are more than welcome!

𝕲𝖚𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘

Submissions can include fic, art, meta, headcanons, graphics, playlists, crafts, whatever!

Submissions must focus on a romantic and/or sensual element of the ship. It is ship fest, after all!

Ship combinations (threesomes or more) are also welcome—you decide which week you want to post! For example: an Armand/Lestat/Louis fic can be posted either during Week 2 (Lestat) or Week 3 (Louis).

Bonus week prompts can be used for whatever Armand ship your heart desires! And if you want to use them for Marius, Lestat, Louis, or Daniel, go for it!

Tag your submissions #ArmandShipFest and I’ll do my best to reblog! 🖤

AO3 collection here!

𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖙𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖜 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖚𝖙!

Day 1: “A blending of sadness and simple grace” / Love Affair with Damnation

Day 2: “You took my blood and it made you my slave” / Greedy Creature

Day 3: “I would have given all the world to see him white again, my marble god, my graven Father in our private bed.” / Paternal

Day 4: “My frankly carnal embraces” / Fateful Moment

Day 5: “I want to be a fool for you.” / Bruise

Day 6: “Be my challenger, be my questioner, be my bold and ungrateful pupil.” / Rebirth

Day 7: FREE DAY

Day 1: “Cinderella revealed at the ball” / Succubus

Day 2: “You break my heart, you little fool. You always did.” / Heartbreaker

Day 3: “Stinging insults and worshipful analyses” / Yearning

Day 4: “You look good to me, you damnable little devil” / Fatal Attraction

Day 5: “I wanted to polish him with kisses, clean him up, make him even more radiant than he was.” / Dress Up

Day 6: “I hate you as much as I have ever loved you.” / Enemies to Lovers or Lovers to Enemies

Day 7: FREE DAY

Day 1: “The only promise of good in evil of which I could conceive.” / Enchanted

Day 2: “You would yield to me now” / The Alluring Embodiment of Misery

Day 3: “I want you more than anything in the world.” / Evanescent Flush

Day 4: “A stranger to himself and to me.” / Withering Rose

Day 5: “To seek for grace once more” / Pillars of the Household

Day 6: “Elegant phantoms in our lace and velvet” / Flame

Day 7: FREE DAY

Day 1: “I like kissing. And snuggling with dead things” / Cold To The Touch

Day 2: “Let me be a lover in the Savage Garden with you” / Exquisite Monsters

Day 3: “The freedom, the power, and the luxury” / Million Dollar Man

Day 4: Dark-Eyed Cupid / Erotic Anguish

Day 5: “Say the word my love, I'll do it. We'll be in hell together after all.” / Unholy Consequences

Day 6: “There was never any innocence for us, there was never any springtime.” / Hunting In The Rain

Day 7: FREE DAY

Day 1: “These violent delights have violent ends”* / Cage

Day 2: “You look like an angel and hold forth like a tavern knave” / The Devil's Road

Day 3: “Not made by human hands” / Lotus

Day 4: “Yet he seems the naughty boy who mocks all things” / Careless Words

Day 5: “In the very depths of Hell, do demons not love one another?” / Home

Day 6: “Vile precocious child” / Drunk

Day 7: FREE DAY

*This is the only quote not directly lifted from the books, it’s taken from Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet.

**a huge thank you to the lovely @apoptoses for the graphics, and to the Morzoi Girlies (gn) for assisting me with the prompts and always hyping me up! Love you lots. 🖤

[just-some-random-blogger]

Truly, Madly, Deeply

Daemon Targaryen, Viserys Targaryen, Otto Hightower x Targ!Reader + with a hint of Aemma x Reader

Summary: This follows the five (and a half) accounts you, the princess, get ravished by your immensely loyal subjects.

Word Count: 20k+

Warnings: fem!reader, twin!reader, targcest (brother fucker), aged up!everyone, pwp that spiraled out of control, so much smut (masturbation [fic literally opens w it], voyeurism, threesome [f/f/m, f/m/m], vaginal penetration, dom/sub dynamic, anal penetration, double penetration, oral (f receiving), marking, cock warming, breeding kink, degradation kink, praise kink, public sex, hair pulling, edging, biting, spanking, choking/breath play, cream pie, overstimulation), internet translated high valyrian, slow burn, fuck boy!Viserys, stupid puppy!Daemon, church boy!Otto, baby girl!Aemma, city girl!reader, angst, fluff, jealousy, possessiveness, typos, etc.

A/N: you guys imma be so for real this shit is nasty like NASTY 🥲 DD/DNE MINORS DNI btw i did the math for their ages during this time and 💀💀💀💀 i aged them up cos viserys is canonically 16 when he and aemma were wed which means daemon is 14. We're all going to agree everyone is in at least their 20s cos aint NO fucking way im writing about children fucking. Also the fact i almost made her fuck otto twice but i got too tired to write it HAHAAH. title is a 1d song btw, or a savage garden one, depends on who you are Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @sloanexx @esquivelbianca

"Though Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa had one set of twins and, sequentially, a son, it was not uncommon for many to think or mistake their children as triplets, moreover when they reached a certain point of maturity. It was almost ascertain that where one of the three was found, the two would not be far off, especially during the fires of their youth. Though eventually, both Viserys and Daemon would outgrow their sister in height and weight, neither would outgrow her wit and command over them, leaving her apparent as the head, and the two as her shoulders." --Excerpt from 'The Songs in the Dance of Dragons' by Grand Maester Hamish, circa 500 A.C.

Daemon laid on his back. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and chest. He had gone to bed in the clothes he was dressed in the night before, though it was drenched in all sorts of fluids. He could not be bothered to change then, he could not be bothered to change now, not even as the hour passes swiftly.

His sister would soon return from Citadel for their brother's wedding.

And he loathed it.

He loathed to know his sister, that you would shine your face upon him, only because Viserys asked you to come.

Viserys asked.

Viserys asked you to come.

Daemon's breath strains in his neck.

"Come, sister... come on my cock."

Daemon grits his teeth at the words, willing that sour memory away, cursing his brother's existence.

It was not helping him get what he needed from his hand right now.

Damn you. Damn you and the fact he had woken with an uncomfortable hard on, for he had dreamt of you.

He dreamt of your cheeks, of your shoulders, of your waist. He dreamt of how you embraced him tenderly against your breasts, and how snuggly he fit against you, for he was still at an age where you were taller than him. He belonged against your ribs then.

He pants as he strokes himself rapidly up and down.

He belongs against your ribs now still.

He tricks his senses with the memory of you. He recalls the way you smelled, the way you caressed his cheek, and the way you furiously defended him against Viserys' coarseness.

Daemon remembers a moment wherein he wept against you, there against your ribs. His tears that day were sweet, for he had you on his side.

He imagined that moment as he touched himself. He willed the memory of your scent and your voice into existence as he tightly pleasured his pulsing manhood. He recalled the softness of your palm as you brushed his chin affectionately. He pretended his working hand was yours.

Daemon's heart pounded as he chased after the feeling growing in his loins. He further quickens his actions.

The next part of the memory plays in his head against his will. Viserys barks at him and you, pointing out that he too was injured by their argument-turned-brawl.

Daemon heaves heavily.

Fucking Viserys.

He screws his eyes shut as he curls on the cushion, shifting on his spot as his arm began to tire.

He tries to freeze the memory in his mind, wanting to think only of your feel, your fragrance, but his mind is not on his side. He watches with his subconscious how you break away from him to go to Viserys, to go to your twin, your wretched half, to him he could never compete with. Yes, he too was injured, though, in Daemon's opinion, he was undeserving of your attention, for Viserys had inflicted a much larger wound on him.

Daemon's nostrils flare as his eyes rip open.

Where the pattern of the ceiling should be, he sees how you kissed Viserys to calm him down.

He heaves heavily, body straining even more as he fucks himself with hand, a growing bitterness in his mouth. It was not the morning breath that tasted so.

And again, he remembers it; the sour memory.

"Viserys," you moaned.

Daemon shakes his head furiously.

"Come, sister," Viserys panted as he thrust roughly into you, "come on my cock," he sighs, "be a good girl and come for your beloved twin, my pretty."

Daemon feels tears build in the corner of his eyes as he seals his lids tightly together. He relives the sounds his older siblings made that horrid afternoon.

He chokes on his spit as he thinks of your oh-face through the small crack in the door you idiots carelessly left open. He remembers how Viserys stuffed himself into you while on your knees on the guestroom bed, how he yanked your silver locks back and slapped his hand on your mouth to shut you up.

It didn't work; Daemon could still hear your lewd sounds slip through his fingers. He heard them clearly, even now.

Daemon comes to the thought of Viserys spilling into you. He comes to the remembrance of how his brother pummeled forward into you and how his sister plummeted down because of him. Daemon thinks about the strain on Viserys' neck as he spasmed into you and how your spine arched as you screamed into the cushions.

Daemon feels his heat shoot out and sputter hotly into his hand. He catches his breath and feels his heart race. His length softens.

He catches his breath as he cranes his neck and checks the mess he's made. He clenches his jaw, irritated by how much of himself he spilled on to his breeches at the thought of his older siblings coupling.

He grunts and angrily sits up. He growls as he stands and rips his clothing off, throwing them onto the floor. His long, light hair bounces by the ends of his shoulder blades as he heads for his bath.

It had been a few years when he caught you and Viserys, and yet the memory was still vivid. It was forever seared into his mind. He was boiling with an unnamable emotion. He was unsure if it was rage, hurt, or envy, but it was burning true.

That day, Daemon he had been looking for you, wanting to gift you a necklace as a remembrance of him for your departure to Essos. It would be one of the many solo travels you'd have since then. And it would be the first time the three of you would be apart, the first time you would be away from Daemon. He wanted so badly to see you that day, and instead he saw treachery in its truest form.

That same day, later that afternoon, as Daemon recounted against himself the unspeakable acts he bore witness to while staring blankly into space in the gardens, the twins came looking for him.

He was repulsed by how you two acted so nonchalant, like everything was normal, like you two hadn't just been fucking in secret, like you had not just been sharing each other's spit and slick. He then hit him like a boulder, that this nonchalance was present because you two had most definitely been going at it long before today.

He is immediately hostile when you reach out for him. Daemon slaps your hand off and threatens. Viserys immediately steps forward as you reel back, and puts Daemon in his place.

Daemon remembers all of this as he washed himself in with a sweet smelling water in his tub.

The smell was reminiscent of you.

He hates it.

He hates that Viserys soiled you. He hates that had taken your maidenhead. He hates that he no inclination to tell their parents that he intended to marry you. He hates that because he wouldn't have done the same. He hates that you seemingly enjoyed being taken advantage of, by your twin, no less. He hates that you touched him with the same hands you used to touch Viserys.

Yet, he hates that he had shoved you away in his disgust. He hates that you had fallen into Viserys' arms because of it. He hates how he had gotten berated by his older brother for hurting you. He hates that he had stormed off after. He hates that he had never given you the necklace. He hates that you had still left on dragon back that day although he was upset with you. He hates that you had incessantly sent him letters, although he never responded.

He hates that you arrive with late today. He hates that he's been so agitated because of how late you were. He hates that Viserys sees through him. He hates that his older brother tries to calm him down. He hates that his words help.

He hates that he comes alive when you emerge. He hates that you cut through the festivities. He hates that your holy halo steals everyone's attention.

He hates that you immediately greet Viserys. He hates that your beloved half drops what he is doing for you. He hates that you embrace Aemma as well. He hates that you so eagerly dote on her.

He hates that you reach your arms out to him, like everything was fine between the two of you. He hates that you pull him for a kiss. He hates that he goes weak. He hates that he nuzzles his face into your neck. He hates that he feels himself twitch in his trousers at the scent of your perfume.

He hates that he missed you. He hates you so much.

Daemon braces you against his chest. He feels you rub your cheek against him. He releases a sigh. You belonged there, against his ribs.

Your long silver hair was wound in curls and braids pinned with shining metals and jewels. The back cut of your red dress went past your shoulder blades, the front was deliciously right above your cleavage. His hand rubbed the curve of your waist, familiar yet so foreign against him. By your nape dangled baby hairs that tickled your skin. He finds jealousy of it. He tickles his nose and lips against your milky neck, making you curl at the feel and giggle in response.

He missed you... so much.

You pull back. Daemon doesn't want you to, but he is powerless against your wishes. You slip from his fingers and he finds it mildly bearable only because you smile at him. You kiss him on the cheek again and tuck his hair behind his ear.

"Skorkydoso ēza ñuha valonqar issare?" you coo as you caress his cheek, "ēza Visērȳs issare sȳz naejot ao?" How has my baby brother been? Has Viserys been good to you?

Daemon licks his lips as he watches yours curve into a bigger smile. His violet eyes meet your own as you rub his chin with your thumb. He is a child in your clutch all over again.

"Oh, damn him," Viserys calls from his seat. You and Daemon were standing across him.

With an eye roll, Viserys grabs his chalice of wine and mutters, "he's no better than when he was four, sissy."

Aemma beside him chuckles but says the name of her betrothed in a scolding manner.

Daemon watches as you turn to your twin, "do not insult my darling, you imbecile."

Your twin turns to you, "pah! I will say what I want about the fucker. It is my day, you brat!" He points a finger, "kessa daor sagon pryjata ondoso ñuha idaña." It will not be ruined by my twin.

Daemon turns to Viserys as you scoff.

"And pray tell, what will you do about your bratty twin, Viserys?" you raise a brow in challenge.

Viserys smirks and leans back on his seat, "I'll have her over knee and discipline her like when we were younger."

Daemon clenches his jaw so tightly his teeth could break.

Aemma laughs and slaps his shoulder, "hush, love. You will do no such thing. Much less on our wedding day."

Daemon thought Aemma looked none the wiser as she said that. He looks at Viserys, catching a darkness behind his eyes, then back to you, finding the same shadow. You roll your eyes at him. It takes everything in Daemon not to burst at the seams. If only Aemma knew. Gods be good, his tongue itched to finally be granted retaliation.

But he couldn't do that. He couldn't do that to his dear cousin, Aemma, at her wedding. Seven hells, he couldn't even do that to Viserys, though he loathed him so. But most of all, he couldn't do that to you.

So he kept his mouth shut.

You release a sigh and click your tongue at Viserys.

"Ahh, my love," you turn to Aemma, "how joyous yet tragic that you will deal with him for the rest of your life."

Aemma holds back her giggles, "well, it's not like you will be able to rid of him entirely either, my princess."

You grin form ear to ear as your eyes dart back to Viserys, "an unfortunate truth."

Your twin takes his turn to roll his eyes.

Suddenly, you grab Daemon's hand and reach out the other to Viserys, "might my brothers indulge their favorite sister to a dance?"

Daemon's ears perk. He quickly pulls you into him, but you repel him slightly, wanting the eldest to join in. He eyes Viserys, mentally telling him to decline the offer.

Viserys raises his brows, "you're our only sister."

"Precisely," you purse your lips.

"And you're quite irritating," he adds, earning another scold from Aemma.

Aemma leans into him, "come now, my love. Your sister has traveled far to attend to our day. The least you can do is share a dance with her."

Viserys turns to Aemma, face softening at her lilac doe eyes. He sighs then stands, turning to you and Daemon, "fine. But I shall make it a point to step on your toes."

You cock your head to the side, "funny. You're acting as though you are capable of anything but."

Daemon sizes up to Viserys as he approaches and takes your hand. The eldest catches his expression and scoffs, "oh, bugger, I will not steal your sister from you, Daemon. She's all yours."

Daemon seethes, and yet before he can bark anything back, you yank both of them to the dance floor and eye both of them hotly, "I will not have my brothers quarrel on such a lovely morn."

"When have we never not quarreled for your attention, sister," Daemon finds himself retorting with little thought, with little emotion.

"Oh, Daemon," you mutter, leaning into him, "emā dōrī ēdas naejot vīlībagon Visērȳs syt bona." You have never had to fight Viserys for that.

Viserys scoffs out a chuckle, "aye. She would rather feed me to her mount before she ever ignores you."

Daemon begins to bristle at the thought, at the lies his older siblings were shoving down his throat.

The three of you dance to the upbeat music. The two men alternate between steps to fill in as your partner.

As quickly as he was made furious by the words he was just told, he was struck with awe at your form. You danced between them, expertly spinning towards Daemon and Viserys at every other down beat. It was a sight to behold. It was so mesmerizing everyone began to watch.

He had forgotten how good you were at this. How easy it came to you to entertain them because you had always made it a point to dance with both brothers at every occasion. He had forgotten how happy it was to dance with you and Viserys.

Daemon missed you so damn much.

Viserys catches you as you twirl toward him. He places his hands on your waist and glides with you for a whole 8 counts. Afterwards, you continue the steps and move towards Daemon. You and him circle around each other, smiling fondly as you did.

Aemma, from her seat, feels her heart soar at the sight of the siblings making merry in the middle of the room. She was overjoyed that you had caused this shift, that you had made the occasion, and the princes, as sparkle in a way only you could.

Her breath hitches when you catch her gaze as you danced with the two men, both unwilling to avert their eyes from you. They very evidently missed you greatly. She was glad her wedding was a good enough cause for your return. Aemma shifts in her seat when she sees you bite your lips. She missed her beloved cousin as well.

"It was known that Queen Aemma and her good sister were incredibly fond of each other. Their sisterly bond would never be bruised or broken by any issue. Most notably, the princess attended to Queen Aemma whenever she was with child. She would treat the queen's only heir, Rhaenyra, as though she was her own, would mourn the passing of each of the queen's stillborn children, and would be greatly changed after Queen Aemma's sequential death from labors. Her death was a source of strife between the princess and her twin brother, King Viserys." --Excerpt from 'The Blood of the Dragons' by unnamed maester, circa 350 A.C.

Aemma moaned as you kissed her and reached your fingers into her soaking thighs. She grabbed at your hair and you instantly pulled back, swatting her hand away, giving her a stern look, "you'll ruin my braids, lovie."

She sighs as you crawl down body, peppering kisses all over her skin as you did. The fabric of your dress rubbed against her naked form and the bed dipped where you propped your hands and knees as you continued your descent.

Aemma could not help herself and reached out to you again as you sucked on her skin. She rubbed the sleeves of your dress and felt goosebumps form on her chest where your cold necklace dragged down her hot skin.

When her hands involuntarily clawed into your scalp, you pull away, shifting on your knees. You hiss and grab her wrists, giving her a stern look, "filthy bitch. I warned you once before. Don't be naughty or I won't let you come."

Aemma takes in the sight of your swollen lips and licks her own, feeling a pit form in her belly at your beauty.

Viserys, who was lying beside Aemma, feels himself get hard as his sister looks down on his wife.

I tilt my head at her, "I taught you how to be a good girl, didn't I? Hmm?"

Aemma nods slowly.

"Then be a good girl," you slap her wet folds, making her yelp, "and hold up my hair while I feast on your pretty cunny," you purr, kissing Aemma's left breast as you gathered your long hair up.

Aemma shudders and takes your hair in her hands, curling up slightly as you travelled south.

The sound Aemma makes when you kiss her tenderness makes Viserys' cock twitch. He heaves as he watches you rub your nose into her pearl and grab her supple thighs, willingly squeezing your cheeks between them.

Aemma calls out your name hoarsly. Viserys calms himself, remembering he promised to only watch as you gave your good sister her wedding gift.

Aemma's back arches as you work your tongue into her. She cannot help but rip at your hair though she tries her best not to.

"So sweet, and all mine," you purr, "isn't that right, Aemma?"

Aemma coils in her spot and screws her eyes shut. She knows she will be in trouble if agrees, she knows she will be in trouble if she doesn't, and she knows she will be in trouble if she keeps her silence. So, she responds with what is best for her in that moment, "yes."

You lift your eyes, feeling yourself grow damp at the sight of her wantonness, "yes what?"

"Kessa, ñuha dāria, Iksan aōhon," Aemma sighs. Yes, my queen, I am yours.

You moan, wild for the sound of High Valyrian, and chuckle darkly, eating her out more eagerly, "sȳz riña." Good girl.

Aemma screams when she feels your teeth nip at her.

Viserys had had enough at that point.

He climbs off the bed and walks behind you with his raging erection. Neither of you seem to notice, but you finally do when he rips your skirt up and rubs his tip into your pulsing heat.

Aemma's eyes break open as you pull away from her to look behind, "you filthy fuck, I s--"

You do not continue because your words are sliced in half by the lewd moan that rips out of your mouth when Viserys thrusts into you. You feel two pulses in you, your own and his. He grunts when he feels you clench around him.

He feels different, snugger inside you somehow. You brush it off to the fact it has been a while since you've had him.

"I promised to only watch my beloved as you tongue fuck her--" Viserys leans down and takes your hair from Aemma. She gratefully releases it and reaches out for your cheeks, wordlessly begging you to attend to her again.

"--but I did not say I wouldn't touch you, pretty whore," he smiles as he begins to thrust a rough pace.

You squirm and tighten your grip onto Aemma's thighs as he does this.

"Jikagon va, rene" he pants, "kesā daor gaomagon ñuha ābrazȳrys isse jaelagon." Go on, slut. You will not keep my wife in want.

Aemma licks her lips at the sight of her husband fucking you in front of her. She feels her core flutter at the familiarity. She feels her pulse in her core more prominently now. She places the back of her knee onto your shoulder, breathily begging, "please."

You whimper as you turn back to Aemma and huff hotly onto her flesh.

And so as you feasted on Aemma's weeping womanhood, you were battered by Viserys' angry manhood.

The sounds in the air were obscene, squelching, delirious, and as you all slowly rode toward your highs, Viserys made it a point to make it difficult for you.

He yanks at your hair and makes eye contact with Aemma, "you will come when I do, but this bitch between us will not."

You lift your head upon hearing that, but Viserys pushes you down, making Aemma yelp at the way your face digs into her. You pull up to catch a breath, lest you suffocate on princess cunt. It wouldn't be the worst way to die.

"Did you not say that I shouldn't waste my seed, sister," Viserys taunts as he quickens his pace, "I will throw you to the side and come in Aemma's pretty cunny, as I should-- as you said I should," his hands reach between your thighs and begins to rub you there, "līvi ȳdra daor māzigon." Whores don't come.

Aemma whines when you begin to slow your pace and desperately lifts her hips up for more friction.

The sound of her helpless whines send a spiral through your belly. You would not dare leave your darling girl unsatisfied. Aemma is grateful that you begin lapping eagerly at her again.

"What say you, come slut?" Viserys hisses, "you have quarrels with your king?"

You groan when Viserys begins to rub your sensitive nub harsly, making Aemma, in turn, squeak.

You're in no place to pick a fight with him and so you breath against Aemma, "inside."

Viserys' ego inflates, "skoros iksin bona?" What was that?

"Iemnȳ, Visērȳs, kostilus." Inside, Viserys, please.

He smirks, "Iemnȳ qilōni?" Inside who?

"Iemnȳ nyke." Inside me.

Aemma's breath strains as she opens her eyes. She does not want to miss this.

Viserys laughs, "greedy little stupid whore," he slaps your ass, "maybe I should fuck a babe into you too. Maybe then you'd cease with your slutty urges."

You take out your frustrations on Aemma. She loves it.

"Aemma wouldn't mind, wouldn't you darling?" Viserys says, "you want to grow a babe the same time as your good sister?"

Aemma whines and nods, "yes! Yes."

Viserys imagines the sight of his two girls filled with his seed, carrying his children, "mmm, fuck."

Suddenly you're all coming.

It was unintended, but the gods made it be. The three of you shiver and spill into each other. The room is heated with your breath and your voices echo through the chamber. Aemma is the loudest, a high pitched squeal ripping through her throat. You shake and squirm, glad to have gotten Aemma spasming beneath you as you spasm above her yourself. Viserys grunts as he digs his fingers into your hips as he bottoms out.

The white noise that plays is one of pure bliss.

When Viserys pulls out, he carelessly drops your hair onto your right shoulder and then jumps beside Aemma as he catches his breath.

You lift your head and look at Aemma who is staring at you with blown eyes. You smile at her and kiss her navel, "like my gift, pretty girl?"

Aemma nods as she heaves, "yesyes," she sighs, "thank you, my love."

You feel your skirt fall down your legs as you crawl over Aemma to kiss her on her lips. Her tongue darts out onto your wet ones, relishing the taste of her on you.

When you pull away, you wipe your lips then slap your damp hand onto Viserys chest with a fury, "stupid fuck."

Viserys yelps and recoils at the harsh assault but breaks into a laugh. He pulls Aemma into his chest as your crawl off the bed, "what?" he asks innocently as he kisses Aemma's temple, eyes not leaving you at all, "I did what you begged me to, darling."

You stand and walk over to dresser, grabbing yourself a damp piece of cloth stationed there, wiping yourself down, "you'll fuck a babe into me, will you?"

Viserys laughs. You roll your eyes as you look at your reflection on the vanity.

"What?" he says again, "Aemma truly wouldn't mind, wouldn't you, lover?" Viserys turns to her as Aemma turns to him.

Aemma, no longer drunk with lust, makes a face.

You answer for her, "you would let me mother a bastard like a true whore, brother?" You eye him as you lift your skirt and wipe the evidence Viserys left in you, "that's not very prince-like of you." You chuck the towel at him after cleaning yourself, "but then again, you've always been the bigger whore between the two of us."

Viserys tires to dodge the towel, but he does not.

Aemma turns to you and offers a smile, "she is right, Viserys. As much as I would love to have children with her, I would not have her be ostracized for it."

You smile back at Aemma and walk over to her, pushing your hair back as you lean in to give her another kiss.

Viserys watches as you do this then mutters, "then I would make her my second wife."

You pull away from Aemma and roll your eyes yet again, "I will be no ones second."

The married couple watches as you walk away. The man calls out, "you're my second! Second in birth, second in life, my sweet half."

"No, I was your first," you correct sternly, heading for the door, "you married your second." You turn over your shoulder to add, "no offence, Aemma."

Aemma shakes her head, "I am honored to be both your seconds."

With that, you give them one last look and open the door, "enjoy your marriage."

Aemma leans into Viserys shoulder and smile. The latter answers, "there is talk that I will ascend grandfather's throne. I will wed you then, sister."

You roll your eyes and close the door, loudly calling out, "goodbye, brother."

You begin to venture down the halls and find yourself strolling down the gardens. You feel of the breeze on your skin and breathe in deeply the fragrance of the flowers. You smile to yourself, shutting your eyes as you basked in he sunlight.

You had gone a great many places, yet still, there was no place like home.

"There you are," a voice calls. Soon after a hand comes to your back. It doesn't take long for your to figure out who it its. "I have been looking for you everywhere."

You open your eyes and smile at Daemon, "and I was just looking for you."

You watch as Daemon's lips curl into a smile. You catch how he tries to hide how pleased he is by the sentiment. You push his hair away as the wind blows it to his face, "I thought you would be off on dragonback."

Daemon purses his lips. How could you possibly know that was his plans?

You chuckle at his expression and link your arms with his, "you've forgotten I'm always right."

"Well, I was about to," he leans into you, a grin playing on his lips, "but then I thought it would be better if I had you to accompany me."

"Dōna valītsos," sweet boy. You smile and nod, "I would love to ride with you."

Your younger brother and you begin to leisurely stroll down the area, savoring the weather as well as each other's presence.

You press your cheek upon Daemon's shoulder, "I am certain Alaerion will enjoy riding with you and Caraxes again. She hates being bound or caged, but she was excited to go back to the pit after being away for long."

Daemon feels his chest swell with joy upon hearing that. "I am excited to see her too. It's been a while since red and indigo graced the skies together."

As you make your way to the dragon pit, you are intercepted by an unexpected face. You halt in your tracks, stopping Daemon along with you, upon seeing the man in green across us.

The man stops as well and immediately greets you with a reverent bow, "your majesties."

"Otto," you mutter with a surprised smile. Daemon eyes this Otto persona as he rises, violet eyes immediately poking daggers into his form.

You break away from your brother and push your hair behind you, "what brings you to King's Landing?" you tilt my head to the side, "it's an awful long way from Old Town."

Daemon clenches his jaw tightly as Otto steps forward. It was all to clear to him that the cunt was smitten by you.

"I have been offered a position to represent my house in the small council," he presses his lips into the faintest of smiles, "I have merely accepted the honor."

"Ah," you lift your nose, "I see."

Daemon comes to your side and pulls you into him. His stare does not leave Otto, and soon enough his violet eyes lock with his green ones.

You topple into Daemon due to the force of his action, but you do not mind. You enjoy how you are roughly handled by your brothers, more often than not. You bring your arm around Daemon as he rubs your side.

Otto blankly stares. Daemon notices the clench of his jaw. You notice the building tension and break it.

"May I present Prince Daemon Targaryen," you announce, though you do not turn away from Otto, "rider of Caraxes, and my darling baby brother."

"It is an honor to meet your acquaintance, prince Daemon," Otto bows in regard.

Daemon turns to you just as you turn to him and offer a mischievous expression.

Daemon's eye twitches. Him? Really?

"Darling, this is Lord Otto Hightower," you speak to your brother, though your eyes go back to the said man. You finally notice how Otto clenches his jaw as he smiles and nods at the prince.

You turn back to Daemon. Your brows furrowing at the sight of the lines on his forehead. Hmm. Odd.

"He was a friend I made during my tours in Citadel," you reach out to his face and rub on the creases forming on his skin.

Daemon breaks his hard gaze from Otto, and softens when he turns to you.

"He was kind to me, and even spoke on my behalf to see the place, though he was actually sent to escort me away. He, himself, is adamant a woman had no business at the place," you turn back to Otto, "but I think I have become the exception."

Otto turns to you and instantly croaks out, "not an exception, princess. I would much rather lose my honor than subject a woman like you to the life lead by a maester--"

You laugh.

"--but I am not a man without reason," he shifts on his spot, "you told me your stance and I was moved by your case. I merely spoke what you told me to the Grand Maesters, thus allowing you to tour Citadel freely."

"And I am thankful for your services," you give a lopsided smirk, "I was beginning to think my travels would have been for naught had you not..." you trail off, "come."

Daemon's ears clap. He grinds his teeth as he watches Otto's reactions closely. The prince's nostrils flare at his poker face. The fuck does not betray himself at all, and it makes Daemon's insides boil. He will kill him the moment he does betray himself, and Dark Sister will enjoy the blood bath.

Otto is nonchalant even as he to turns to your brother. And when he does, you speak again, "I look forward to seeing you around, Otto," you smile, making the brown haired man turn back to you.

"My brother and I will be taking our dragons for a ride," you raise a brow, "perhaps you would like to join us."

Daemon face falls as he hears your offer. He look to you in betrayal and disbelief.

You feel the hot gaze of your brother.

Otto as he pipes up, "I would not like to intrude upon you and your brother, your grace."

"Come now," you speak to him, though you tilt your head at Daemon, "I'm sure my beloved brother can find it in his heart to bring you along."

Daemon stiffens as he stares at you.

You hold back a laugh and point to Otto, "surely Caraxes wouldn't mind if he dangled beneath his belly, Daemon."

Daemon pulls his head back.

Otto does so too, then his eyes widen at the insinuation.

The prince suddenly breaks into a toothy grin and laughs with his whole chest. You follow suit.

Daemon turns back to the lord, "sissy's right," he raises a hand jovially, "my boy would appreciate a live necklace. And I think you would make quite an amusing one."

Otto grunts where the Targaryens giggle.

Daemon leans into you as he laughs and you shake your head at his exaggerated movements. You sigh and turn back to Otto, "I jest, Lord Hightower. Very truly, I agree that anyone who wishes to squeeze between Daemon and I would be intruding."

Daemon catches his breath and finds himself kissing your cheek. You turn to him, smiling at his affection. He pulls you in close.

"We must away," you turn to Otto, offering a final smile, "I look forward to seeing you around, my lord."

Daemon's smile flattens when he hears Otto's oily response, "as do I, my princess."

"It was no secret that Lord Otto Hightower was repelled by Prince Daemon Targaryen, just as he repelled the latter. When the prince's brother ascended as king and announced Lord Otto as his Lord Hand, tensions grew between all of the mentioned parties. Though many could attribute their dislike for another to the Rogue Prince's uncouth tendencies and the Lord Hand's disapproval of it, there are a great many rumors that say their conflict was borne out of their mutual desire for Lone Woman of Citadel, The Fanged Beauty, the Princess-" --Excerpt from 'The Histories of the Hightowers' by Lord Baelor Hightower & Maester Lucien, 209 A.C.

You had been in the middle of getting ready for the day when there was a knock on the door. You were sat on a chair in front of your vanity in nothing but your shift dress, combing your silver tresses. You pulled up the neckline of your soft, thin dress as you awaited whoever wanted to seek entrance. A moment later, it was clear it was not your a servant because they did not immediately announce themselves.

You turned from the reflection of the door to the door itself from over your bare shoulder. You continue to brush your silver hair and smooth it out with fragrant oils.

"Who is it?"

"Who would dare intrude on the princess as she dressed?"

You smile upon hearing the voice. You turn back to your reflection and call out, "go away then, Dae-dae."

The doors break open and in comes a grinning Daemon, "I will do no such thing, sissy."

You snort as you watch him walk over from the mirror. You set your brush down and turn to him as he leans down and brushes your hair to the side. He kisses your neck then takes your hand and kisses the visible blue veins there. You chuckle and roll your eyes, "alright, what have you done?"

Daemon smirks and pulls away, walking over to your bed, "I have no idea what you mean."

Your eyes follow him as he sits at the side of your bed, crossing his arms, looking out to you with a rascal look.

You take in his attire, the sharply cut leather of his top that complimented his figure, his shiny black boots and his snug pants. He has grown to be a dashing man, you think. You smile fondly at him and lean your head into your hand, "you nary show me affection simply because you want to, Daemy."

He cringes at the nickname; that being the one he really did not like. You enjoy it so precisely because of the fact. You bubble in amusement of his face.

Daemon leans on the headboard, "is it a crime to want a change of pace then?"

You shake your head and roll your eyes, "not at all, my love."

His stomach rolls at the pet name.

Daemon does nothing but watch you after that.

He watches as you throw your hair behind your shoulders, as you lather your skin with lotions, as you paint your skin with rouge. He jumps off the bed when you grab a necklace and attempt to put it on. He eagerly mutters, "let me."

You turn to him as he circles behind you, handing him the gold chain with blue jewels. You gather your hair up, looking at his reflection as he fixed the necklace upon your throat.

Daemon makes it a point to brush the back of his hand against your jaw and nape as he hooks the piece of jewelry around you. Once it is fastened he takes your hair and smooths it down, "gevie." Beautiful.

His attention is focused solely on stroking your hair so he does not see that you smile at his reflection as you say, "hae issi ao, lēkia." As are you, brother.

He ceases his actions upon hearing that. He stills in his spot for a long moment. Your smile fades when he remains rigid too many seconds too long. You straighten up and blink rapidly a few times. You decide to break into smile and tease, "I should ready myself for the flock of ladies that will throw themselves at you."

Daemon finally turns to you, or rather your reflection.

You tease further, grin growing, "and perhaps I should ready potential matches for you, my prince."

You reach out for your earrings and begin to put them on. You offer him a playful look as you do so. You freeze at his response.

"What about you?"

You furrow your brows and hook your golden earrings to your ear, "what about me?"

Daemon watches as you put on your other earring then turn on your chair to face him. He looks down on you and shifts on his leg. He links his hands in front of him, "you are four years my senior. You are a woman," he reaches out to your cheek, "my woman."

You raise a brow at his words.

"If anything tis I that should be fussing over your matches, princess."

You close your eyes as you chuckle softly. You take his hand and look back at him, "oh, my baby. You needn't fuss. You needn't ever fuss about me at all," you shake your head, "ever."

Daemon's gaze is locked upon you as you stand and kiss his knuckles. You tilt your head at him and bring your hands down. You pout softly, "or have you forgotten how formidable your sissy is? Lest you forget, I will remind I broke your baby teeth because you wanted to steal the pony father gifted me."

Daemon cannot help the snort that leaves him and looks away from you. You find yourself smiling at his reaction.

"I will fuss over you. I will care for you. You are my responsibility, Daemon. Twas I that promised mother-" you suck in a breath, "that you would not be without one when she-"

"But I am not your baby!" Daemon snaps at you, "I am not a child and I have no need of your coddling anymore!" he quips, yanking his hands out your own.

The action, though not physically painful, hurt you deeply. You immediately feel your chest tighten as he walks away from you. He head to your bed again but does not sit and just stands by its side, back turned to you, "you overcompensate your mollifying for the time you've spent away from me. I despise it." He turns back to you, eyes very suddenly red with hurt and anger, "you say you care for me, but you leave me for many moons and stay for but a few days!"

You feel your throat constrict at his accusing tone, "I send ravens for you every--"

"YOU THINK I WANT YOUR FUCKING LETTERS?!" Daemon bursts as he marches over to you, gripping your shoulders tightly.

You look at him in bewilderment, and soon enough, your eyes begin to glass. Daemon watches your tears spill and your lips quiver.

"So... that is why you never respond to me."

Daemon's forehead wrinkles and he releases your shoulders. He drops his head and huffs, "that's not what I meant."

You release a deep breath, "then what do you mean?"

"I-" he lifts his face slowly, reluctantly looking at you, "I do not want this from you."

His words stab at you deeper. You shake your head and clutch your chest, "you no longer want me to care for you? Is that what you want?!"

"No," he weakly retorts, grabbing your hands, squeezing them tightly. His knees buckle, "that's not what I want."

"Then tell me what you want!" you cry out, "do not speak hurtful things to me like you did once before then never explain why."

Daemon recalls that day. That day he meant to give you a necklace but never did. He looks at the one on your neck now then remembers where he stashed away the object that reminded him of you and Viserys' treachery. He blinks as he brings your hands to his face, "I want you to love me the way I love you."

You caress his cheeks and shake your head, unsure of what to say, "I love you so much, Daemon."

Daemon furrows his brows and straightens, rubbing your arms back and forth. "I want you to love me like you love Viserys," he heaves heavily and takes your pulse to kiss it, "but I want you to love me more."

"Oh, Daemon," you rub his cheeks with your thumb, "I already love you more than I love Viserys. I always have loved you more, since the day you were born."

Daemon heaves heavily upon hearing that, anger and frustration building within him.

When you pull him in to kiss him, he leans towards your mouth, but so swiftly bring his head down and kiss his forehead instead.

It destroys him.

He shoves you away and you look at him like a deer that's just gotten shot. He gives you one last look before storming away.

You call out to him in hopes of stopping him. You so badly wanted to chase after him, but you were too afraid that he would shove off all over again, and things would end the same way the ended the first time you got into such argument. You did not want to go through all of that for the second time. So you let him leave.

Daemon looks over his shoulder as he storms off, laughing bitterly at the lack of calls. So, you don't care enough to follow after, huh?

After you got dressed, you quickly look for Viserys, eager to spill speak your woes, but when you found him, you see a great many Lords discussing many things with him. Undoubtedly they were trying to get into his good graces for he was now unofficially the heir to the Iron Throne.

You would not interrupt him at this time. You did not want all of those Lords to see you in this state anyway.

So instead, you find yourself seeking solitude in the small shrine room for the Seven. There you knelt before the bust of the Mother and wept to her, praying for comfort.

You do not realize someone knelt next to you until he speaks.

You gasp and turn to your right. Otto Hightower mutters a prayer, "I pray the Mother will give comfort for our sorrows and wipe away our tears."

You release a breath and you take in his closed eyes. You turn to the statue.

"I pray that she guide us through our heartache, that we may find peace."

You sniffle and look to your linked fingers, "will you pray for me as well, Otto?"

Otto turns to you and responds, "I am praying for you, my princess."

You hold back your tears as you meet his gaze. Otto's solemn expression falls even more grave when he sees the tears streak your cheeks.

You whimper and give him a sad smile, "thank you, my lord."

Otto continues to pray for you, pacing his prayers to your breathing. By the time you've calmed down, he ends his supplication to the gods. His heart is heavy as he looks at you. So badly, he wishes to dry your tears.

Otto clenches his jaw, "we can continue to pray, or, if you'd like," he turns to the statue of the Mother, "you can vent your sorrows to me. Perhaps I could do something to... remedy your issue."

You release a soft chuckle. You turn to him with a soft smile and nod your head, "I would be grateful if you listened as I spoke my troubles."

Otto looks back upon you, taking in your undone hair and your pink face. Whichever fool dare wronged you will not rest easy.

"I only need you to listen," you nod quicker, "that is all. I would not require you to do anything for me, Otto."

Otto thinks he would do anything for you. He would kill for you. He does not say that though and only shifts on his spot, turning his whole attention to you. He offers you his hand in comfort.

You gratefully take it and shift closer to him.

Otto wishes to wipe your soft cheeks but he knows that if he does so, he will not be able to hold himself back from doing his other urges, ones that were far less noble and descent. After all, he sneaks a look to his side, the Mother is watching.

"My brother and I got into an argument," you sigh as you look at him through tear laced eyes.

Otto knows exactly which brother you were referring to and yet he still asks, "your twin, or your... baby brother?"

You wipe your face roughly, "I argued with Daemon."

"Mmm," he hums, "prince Daemon is a rather rugged character. I cannot say I am surprised by his actions."

You feel a protective anger surge through you. You glare at him and pull your hand away.

The sentiment strikes through him.

"You are supposed to be listening, are you not?"

Otto does not respond.

"I do not need you to weigh in on my brother's character. I know his far tendencies better than anyone else."

Otto submits and bow his head, "forgive me for my crassness, your grace."

You turn away from him and look up to the face of the Mother before you.

He watches the tears continue to fall from your violet eyes. Fucking Daemon Targaryen. He takes in how silver strands of your precious silver hair cascade over your face and shoulders and thinks you are Mother incarnate. He draws in a deep breath to calm himself and to rip of all the unholy thoughts that were building in his head.

"He cuts me so deeply, Otto," you mumble, "I love him dearly," your lips quiver, "I only want the best for him, but it's like... it's like-- it's never enough. It's like my love is not enough. It's like I am not enough. I cannot be me. I cannot want the best for me..." you turn back to him, "I want to see the world with Alaerion. I want to feel the wind in my hair. I want-" you choke, "... he spurns me for my want."

You shake your head and try to hold back a fiercer wave of tears that threaten to spill out of you. You cannot help that you break and crumble into your hands.

The lord cannot help himself any longer either, and pulls you into him as you weep in sadness. You clutch him tightly and pour your heart out into his chest. He shushes you, strokes your hair, and pats your back.

You both end up sitting on the floor to better accommodate your shared embrace. It was still pretty uncomfortable, but both your knees were grateful for the change of position.

He feels the way you shake your head against him.

You sigh, "I'm sure you scoff at my ideas," you pull away from him. Your hands go to his shoulders, "you do not agree that mere women are meant to do such things."

"But you are not a mere woman," Otto clutches your cheeks, "you are a Targaryen princess," he wipes your tears away, "you are closer to the gods than men," he shakes his head, "you do not crumble, you conquer."

Your lips part at his words. No more tears fall from your eyes after.

"Do not waste your energy on a boy who does not recognize you as what you are," he says, hands slowly going down your neck.

You take in a deep breath. You shift on your spot, "and what exactly am I?"

Otto swallows a lump in his throat as you crawl onto him and straddle his lap. Immediately, he feels his pulse in his trousers, and though his eyes momentarily flick to the Mother behind you, he does not make any attempt to push you off. You were the Mother. He nearly tells you this, but manages not to. Instead he speaks as he swipes the pad of his thumb to your pink lips, moist with tears, "a queen."

You place take his hands in yours and lift your nose, "you would make me your queen?"

"You are already my queen," he mutters under his breath. He sits up straighter and brings his hands to the swell of your hips, adjusting you atop him. Your own hands go back to his shoulders again. Otto adds, "I would make you whatever you desire."

You lean into him until your foreheads were pressed together. He makes a sound when your hot breath hits his face.

"And what would you do to be able to give me my desires?" you say this in slightly amused tone. You say this to taunt him.

Otto knows this, but he doesn't care. He answers seriously regardless, "whatever it takes."

His soul nearly leaves him when you whimper.

Right after you make that sound, he traps your mouth against his. You instantly lean into him and moan at his warmth. Your fingers scratch up to his collar, then they dig into the roots of his dark hair. He, himself, moans when you tug firmly.

Otto wastes no more time and quickly digs into your skirts, ripping them up until he had access to the softness between your thighs. Sweet mother, he's missed you. He eagerly touches your core and it makes you break away from him, in lieu of groaning as you leaned into his shoulder.

He's gotten practice since the last time you've met. You being his first, he quite clumsy with his touch. You did not get to teach him much in Citadel, for your escapades were always rushed and unplanned, not unlike what it was this very moment. He made it a point to get better though, knowing he'd see you again once he got to King's Landing.

"Seven fucking hells," you mutter against his ear as your one hand squeezes his bicep.

Otto rubs his cheek into yours and whispers, "feels good, doesn't it? I've practiced for you."

You squeal as rubs his fingers in purposeful circles and maneuvers according to your reaction. He feels you pull his arm closer, so teases a finger into you. Instantly, you let out a sharp moan and whimper. The sound of his name echoes through the shrine and it was the holiest thing he had ever heard.

His other arm hand goes around your torso and secures you in place, "I will make you feel better, my queen."

You moan against his neck and suckle on his skin there. You begin to rock your hips into him as you begin to weep from your cunt.

When he feels you dripping, he finally slips a fingers into you, and you groan at the feel of. He nips at your earlobe and works into you in a similar pace that you buck yourself to.

"More," you mewl.

He adds another finger.

He feels himself grow harder than he already was. It begins to feel uncomfortable, but he rather liked hearing you make the noises you were making.

You push his arm off, making him grow rigid. You shake your head and kiss his lips. You did like the way he was stretching you out, but that was not enough.

Otto's actions slowly grow reluctant because of your head shake. You dive your hands into your skirts and sigh softly, "need you now, Otto."

He immediately perks, in more ways than one, and helps you as you grab onto his pants.

The moment he is free, you feel your cunt clench and your mouth water at the sight of his throbbing cock.

You waste no time and quickly lift yourself up and mount him through a strangled breath.

He spirals with a string of veneration, praising the Mother for the glorious feeling of your soaking heat. He grips your hips for dear life as you slowly begin to fuck yourself on him. Holy, holy, holy.

"Do I feel good, Otto?"

Otto grunts and tightens his old on him, helping you with your bouncing, "so good, my queen. So good, my love."

You whimper at the sound of his endearment. You bite your lip and grab his face, forcing him to look at you. You heavily pant, "you going to fuck me good in front of Mother?"

His eyes widen then dart away from your momentarily. He does not respond.

You do not like that.

You clench your jaw and bring your thumbs to his parted mouth. You dig your fingers into his teeth and push his jaw down, "I asked you a question, boy," you heave, "will dare ignore your queen?"

Otto lets out a guttural noise at the sound of your words and chokes when he feels clenching around him. He breathlessly responds the moment you pull your thumbs out of his mouth, "no, my queen."

You let out a grunt when he begins to match your movements with upward thrusts. You drag out a prolonged exhale and rub your nose against his, "then what, you sycophant?"

He heaves.

"What will you do to me, church boy?"

Otto growls and digs his fingers into your waist. He digs his heels into the floor, allowing him to ram himself into you with more ease and viciousness. The squeaks and yelps that leave your throat adds further fuel to the flames into his body. He attaches his teeth to your neck and bites down. He hotly speaks against you, "I'm going to fuck you good in front of Mother."

You moan and throw your head back as his movements begin to grow more erratic that your own. Otto yanks at the neckline of your dress and claws at your breasts that threaten to spill out. He hungrily stuffs his face into that spot. As he does so, he unintentionally breaks off the gold chain on your neck and the thing trickles down your cleavage.

Otto pull away tp stick his fingers into your top and fishes for the thing. You you take his face and push him back into your chest. He brings his hands underneath your skirt and squeezes your bare thighs.

"I'm close, Otto," you whine, finally finding his tempo as you maneuvered over him.

Otto licks the skin from your sternum up to your collarbone, then kisses all the way up to your jaw, " 'm fucking you good enough then."

You groan and dig your hands into his hair . You pull at his brown locks as you sigh, "so good."

When he comes, he says a rough prayer of thanks to the Seven under his breath. The feel of his spilling into you and the sight of his rolled eyes, paired with the sound of his prayer was so twistedly delicious that you come a few second later.

"Vaogenka līve," you whimper as you continue to ride your high, "ao rattan bisa tolī olvie." Dirty whore, you liked this too much.

Otto does not stop in his movements, as the overachiever he was, though it was quickly beginning to be painful for him. He literally pushes through it and only stops until you begin to squirm. Even then he makes it a point to roughly flick his hips before finally stopping to catch his breath.

You go jelly against him and defeatedly lean into his chest as you even your heavy pants.

Otto rubs your thighs and nestles his face against yours, relishing the feel of your heartbeat.

You brush his hair away and kiss his ear, "what would your gods say about the sinful acts you've been doing in their temple with the princess?"

Otto kneads at your thighs and it is only then that you feel there is something in his clutch. He huffs, "my faithful servant is a man of duty," he looks upon your face, "he is most loyal to the crown and has gone to great lengths to assure it's... contentment."

Your lips curve into a smile, "great lengths, you say."

Otto leans in and nips at your lip, "a humble length."

You giggle, and as does he. He cannot help but moan at the feel of your clenching around him because of it. He then pulls his hands out of your skirt and wraps his arms around you.

"I broke off your necklace, princess," he mutters through a kiss on your neck.

You hum, "I think that is treason."

Otto bites at your neck, "and what is your sentence?"

You moan at the feel of his tongue on your pulse. You comb through his hair, "mmm, fuck me good in front of the Father."

His laugh echoes across the room. The feel of his amusement vibrating into your core begins to excite you all over again.

"Filthy girl," he whispers.

"You're worse than I," you retort.

"Mmm," he pushes your hair back and takes in the shimmer of your face, "then I ought to replace your necklace only to be able to rip it off you again when I make you come in the shrine of the Father."

You give him a wicked smile and shake your head, "see... you're worse than me."

"Well, I learned from the worst," he kisses your shoulder.

"One of the first issues King Viserys took up when he ascended was that his twin sister. Many frowned upon the fact she was inching past the age where a well-bred lady ought to be married, and yet still went off on tours with her dragon mount. It was no secret the princess was a free spirit. Beyond her renowned and well-documented travels across Westeros and beyond, it is said she left trails of broken hearts and longing lovers, all willing to offer their inheritance and very souls in exchange for her hand. Many a man came to contend for the honor of being her husband, but there were less than a few that were even considered. In the end, her only real prospects were Otto Hightower, the hand of the king, Daemon Targaryen, the brother of the king, and Viserys Targaryen, the king himself." --Excerpt from 'Chapter 3: The Fanged Beauty' of 'The Lone Woman of Citadel' by Grand Maester Mateos, 354 A.C.

Daemon was ignoring you.

He was choosing to ignore you.

It was not a coincidence, it was an active choice.

Perhaps it was believable the first few times that, when you walked in a room, he was leaving, but then the days passed and you made attempts to seek your brother out. You called to him only to be shunned.

You were set to leave again, soon. Daemon knew this. He found no point in facing you if you would leave him all over again.

Yet things after this would happen so quickly. Your grandfather would order you to stay for the proclamation of his heir, he would pass come days later, and your twin would then be named king, your younger brother, his heir.

You thought that the rift between you and Daemon would ultimately repair itself as it did before, but he was difficult with everyone, with you especially. Now it's come to a point where you no longer speak, you only argue.

And now, there was a storm between you, both real and not.

The hour grows late and the rain has become more brutal. You waited by the keep's entrance for your younger brother that had left early morning and yet still has not arrived. With every roll of thunder, you grew increasingly worried.

"We will bring him back, your grace," Ser Harrold Westerling assures you for the hundredth time, ceaselessly patient with you.

You clench your jaw and nod as you pace around, "Caraxes would be in more unrest if something had happened to his rider, but he is calm in his pit, so I am calm."

Ser Harrols sighs at your words. A disingenous and unconvincing sentiment.

You say this mostly for yourself but still, the commander of the kingsguard nods, "aye."

You huff and nod as you pace around some more. A crack of lightening makes you begin to worry now for the guards that have been deployed to look for the heir apparent. You suck in a breath and take Ser Harrold's arm, "what if something happened to your men? Dear gods, I wou-"

"My men are capable of caring for themselves, princess," he speaks calmly, placing a hand atop on your own. You nod rapidly at his words and pull away from him. He catches your arm before you do, "your grace."

You turn back to him.

"Pardon me, but it has been hours since you've been pacing."

You give him a guilty expression, "yes... Forgive me, ser Harrold. You may leave if--"

"Perhaps you ought to sit-"

His words are cut off by the sound of the gates opening. You both look to the door in anticipation. In comes a wet prince, dripping in rain water from head to toe.

"Gods be good," Ser Harrold speaks as you pull away from him and rush towards Daemon.

Expecting him to come in soaking, you grab the towel you had prepared and immediately wipe his face, "skoriot se qogralbar emagon ao issare?" Where the fuck have you been?

Daemon stills as he looks you. He lets you wipe his soaked face and hair for a few seconds before he rips the towel away from you and throws it off to a distance.

You turn to where he discards the item and Daemon walks away from you.

"Ȳdra daor geron qrīdrughagon hen nyke," you seethe under your breath. He does not stop. You snap, repeating much louder, "DON'T WALK AWAY FROM ME!"

Ser Harrold watches as the prince stops in his tracks. He watches as Daemon heaves heavily as his sister walks up from behind him. He knows this will be a long and brutal sermon.

"Emā daor paktot naejot gaomagon bisa, valītsos," you hiss as you march in front of him, "ao daor gaomagon daor sytilībagon naejot aōla. Iksā dārilaros naejot se Dēmalion Āegenko."

You have no right to do this, boy. You no do not belong to yourself. You are heir to the Iron Throne

Daemon's soaked hair sticks to the side of his face. Rain water drips to the floor as he laughs at your words. He steps forward and snatches your arms, yanking you into him.

Your clothes immediately absorb the water in his. His angry breath fans against your face, "pār gaomagon daor vēdros nyke, iā eminna ao ilzitan hen."

Then do not anger me, or I will have you thrown out.

Your expression drops upon hearing this. You are at a loss for words at his blazing admission.

Daemon shoves you off and walks past you; your shoulders collide with each other as he storms off. You gulp heavily as you watch him leave puddles of murky water behind. There is an ominous crack of thunder.

"Then I'll save you the trouble and leave on the morrow," you call out as your eyes begin to mimic the weather. "It is clear now that any effort on my part to make peace with you will be put to shit."

Daemon halts. His boots skin as he turns, "you've made no such effort."

You laugh loudly and throw your arms out, "then what the fuck am I doing now?!"

"You are caring for the heir to the throne," Daemon barks and raises an accusing finger, marching back to you.

Your face twists at his words and you scream through a hurt expression, "AND WHO IS THE HEIR, BROTHER?!" You meet him halfway and grab him by the collar "is it not you, Daemon Targaryen?" you shove him off, "does it appear as though I care not for you?!"

"I don't WANT your mothering!" he blares, grabbing your cheeks, "I do not want you to look at me with those-" he drops his head, "those eyes that scorch my--" he catches sight of the jewel on your neck. He clenches his jaw tightly at the wretched emerald and rips it off you, casting it off to the end of the hall.

At this point, Ser Harrold cannot keep still nor silent. He steps forward and warns, "Prince Daemon!"

You recoil at his actions, hands coming to your now bare décolletage.

Daemon fumes, "that lecherous cunt is pushing his luck," he shakes with anger, "I will have his head on a spike if he deigns your form with cheap bribes again."

You hate that he is evading the real argument all over again, "do not change-"

"I do not know why you enjoy his company. He is a spineless, ugly fuck that-"

"Is that all you have to say to me, Daemon?!" you seethe, shaking your head in disbelief, "you only want to pick a fight over a man who has been kind to me while you have been cruel?"

Daemon takes those words like a stake to the heart.

"Don't you want to get whatever it is that has gotten your cock so far up your arse out?" you shudder as anger spills out of you in a form of tears.

The prince vibrates in anger.

"Hen rhinka ao gīmigon skoros ziry iksos hae naejot emagon someone's orvorta bē aōha gundja," Daemon retaliates, "ao ivestragī mirre vaoreznuni qogralbar emagon iā jikagon rȳ aōha orvorta

Of course you know what it's like to have someone's cock up your ass. You would let any sorry fuck have a go at your cunt.

You release a dry chuckle. Tears of hate burn down your eyes, "so you resolve to framing me into whore? When you and Viserys have been whoring around in brothels sinc-"

"You are a whore," he quips loudly.

You pull your head back and your expression drops. There were suddenly no more tears left for him. "Then very well, my prince. I am a whore," you agree, "but I will no longer be fucked over by you."

Needless to say, the rift between you two was greater now more than ever.

Otto, who had been watching you from the mezzanine near the gates the whole time you waited for your boorish brother, heads for your chambers as you walk away from your brother.

You freeze when you see him standing by your door. Immediately, you run into arms and crumble into his chest.

He grunts and strokes your hair, leading you into your room, sitting you on your bed.

Otto cannot help himself and says, "the king is being pressured by the council to remedy your brother's disruptive behavior as of late. Hear me when I say I will have him relocated somewhere out of sight and out of mind."

You pull away from him and look at him through teary eyes. He wipes your cheeks, "I'll have him married off to someone in the farthest corner of the realm. The burden of him will no longer be your own."

You sigh and lean into his touch, "save yourself the bother. I will leave come day break and continue my travels across the realm."

You bring his hands to your lap, "I only stayed because the late king asked me to. I stayed to witness the anointment of my beloved half as ruler. I stayed to make things better with Daemon. And, now, I have done all that I must and could, so... I will away."

Otto does not like this. He does not like this idea at all.

He tightens his grip on your hands when you make an attempt to stand, "I cannot stomach the thought of you leaving and myself doing nothing about your insolent brother."

You watch how his face hardens, how he is unable to withhold the lines that tighten around his features. You release a sigh and shake your head, "cast your concerns for my brother aside. I do not need you to avenge me."

His brows furrow furiously, "he is an insipid man-child who enjoys spitting on his older sister that does more for him than he will ever know. I will not let him go unpunished."

You tick at his words.

You release his hands. Your expression goes blank as you stand and peer down upon him, "hear me when I say this, Otto Hightower. If you harm a single a hair on my brother's head, I will never forget it," you mutter as you take his chin between your fingers.

Your words are soft spoken and monotonous, yet Otto feels his body grow rigid with uneasiness.

"A confidant can be quickly chosen, a suitor can be found in the streets, a lover can be made in an evening. I may well be wed to many different men in my lifetime, should they meet tragic ends, and, yes, I will never cease to mourn the death of any of my children," you release your grip on him, "but, the truth is, they too can all be replaced."

Otto watches as you raise your brows, "who then, however, can grow me another brother?"

You clench you jaw and await his response.

He does say anything or move.

You've made your point crystal clear.

"So, I say even plainly, my lord," you articulate, "you will not harm my brother for my sake."

He rises to his feet and nods in respect, "as you command, my princess."

You nod once. He turns back to you, watching the fire in you cool.

You take his face, brush his hair back, and offer a small smile, "the hour is late. I must rise early tomorrow if I wish to leave with no further troubles." You give his cheek one last touch before pulling away.

Otto does not let you. He pulls you towards him, hands coming to your sides. He breathes heavily as he surveys your face. You knit your brows at him in concern.

"I do not wish to see you off."

You release a chuckle, "then you do not have to. Sleep in and-"

"Do not leave," he sighs.

You purse your lips at his words then place your hands on his chest. A small smirk places on your face, "and who are you to order me?"

"Lord Hand," he mutters, "I outrank you."

I break into a laugh, "do you now? You are but a lewd little church boy to me, Otto."

"Then I will outrank you," he whispers as he leans closer, "I will ask the king for your hand and make you a Hightower..." he runs the back of his hand down my neck, "my Lady Hightower"

You snort loudly, "oh, he's gotten it twisted," you coo, "I would still not be outranked if you managed that, you candlestick."

Otto feels the corner of his lips twitch into a soft smile as youbreak into a fit of giggles. He leans down to kiss you jaw, "but then you would no longer find it in you to leave your poor husband by himself, now would you?"

Your stomach flutters as he begins to kiss your neck.

When you begin to undo his buttons, he pulls away, "we will not continue if you do not swear to me you'll stay."

Your expression slips into shock. You break into a breathy laugh. "Iksā iā vaogenka valītsos." You are a dirty boy. You pull at his belt, forcing him into you, "a scheming viper in the grass."

Otto peers down as you undo his collar. He brings his hands to your back begins to work on the laces of your dress. He kisses your shoulder, "I take this as agreement." His lips travel to the base of your neck where he realizes that you were bare of any of the jewels he gifted you.

He bites down on you and speaks hotly, "my hands will make a pretty necklace, don't you think?"

You let out a lewd noise, "you better make my stay here worthwhile."

Otto shoves you onto your bed. Your heart races at the sight of his rabid expression.

Later that day, during the council meeting, the issue of your courtship was brought up, as it has been since the moment Viserys was crowned king.

The king made it known once before that he was set on allowing you to chose your match; he owed it to you, as his beloved sister. It was a sweet sentiment no one at all cared for. Still, Viserys said that if he was allowed to wed who he wanted, then he would assure the same for his twin. At least this is what he told the council members.

None but he, and mayhap Queen Aemma, knew his true intentions. He was waiting upon your decision to become his second wife. True, you had turned him down many times over, but he knew that no one could match the flame of a Targaryen better than another Targaryen.

Daemon knew this too.

Daemon knew that no man could survive the ferocity of your fire. And he understood suddenly ,as an old fuck on the council droned over potential matches, why you never wanted to marry Viserys though you gave him so much.

He was weak.

Daemon watched as Viserys smiled pleasantly at the sagging fuck through his horrible attempt at selling his son to him as a potential match for you. If it were him, he wouldn't have let him speak as long as he did.

And even now, Viserys heard out the qualms of another Lord, because this was his nature. He went through at the politicking because he lacked the balls to exercise his soverignity.

The prince was certain you recognized this in your twin. This was why you let him have your maidenhead but not your hand. Rest assured, you will recognize nothing of the sort in him.

Daemon slams his hand on the table, making the room go silent as all eyes turned to him.

Viserys looks darkly upon his brother.

Otto turns to him, wanting nothing more than to press his boot upon his throat and put him in his place. So he does the latter, "have you lost all sense of decorum and self, prince Daemon?"

Daemon whips his head to Otto and narrows his eyes as they twitch, "the fuck did you just say to me?"

"Not only did you interrupt Lord Awyen, but you have, yet again, disrespected the king with your thoughtlessness."

Daemon jolts out of his chair and angrily growls, "you fucking cunt-"

Viserys barks, "Daemon!"

The kingsguard begin to press forward.

Daemon slams his hand on the table again and points at the Hightower cunt, "I am saving him the seconds he will never get again," he turns to his brother, "we all know that you will not consider any of these fucks' dimwitted sons," he looks out to the rest of the men, "nor will the princess even spare them a moment's glance."

It became quite apparent quite quickly to Otto where Daemon was taking this conversation. He will not let him have the final say.

"I am her only real match, brother," Daemon says, confirming Otto's thoughts, making the other men at the table mumble under their breaths. He turns to Viserys. "I am the only one who can honor her in a way that is-"

"Honor her?" Otto scoffs, shoulders stiffened with ire, "my prince, are you not the same man who has ceaselessly been coaxing your sister into tears whenever you have the misfortune to cross paths?"

Steam nearly whistles out of Daemon's ears. He lets out high pitched chuckle, "and you really think that all the fancy collars you've given her has made her into your bitch?"

"DAEMON!" Viserys fumes.

"If you think for a second, mutt," Daemon begins to circle around the room, "that I would let my sister end up with a slobbering-" the kingsguard come upon him, holding back before he can come close enough to strike Otto, "-pathetic excuse for a m-"

"Fucking get him out of here!" Viserys barks.

Daemon fights out of the arms of two guards' who have him apprehended, "fucking LET ME GO!"

They do not and hauls him out of the room.

Otto looks out in as Daemon wrangles and growls. Viserys releases a deep breath and thinks about how he would really rather not have to tell you this happened.

And he doesn't, because before Daemon is even released by the kingsguard back to his chambers, the servants have already whispered about the incident each other and your trusted handmaiden informed you promptly what happened as you visited Alaerion in the pit.

You didn't even need to seek Daemon out this time, because the next thing you knew, he was marching over to you as you brought your dragon back in. Alaerion's screech is what makes you realize he was here.

You turn away from her and see your distraught brother marching over.

"Daemon, wh-"

"Iksan ēdrugī hen umbagon. Kesā dōrī ūndegon, sīr kesan urnēptre ao nykēla," he heaves as he walks over. You pull away from your large mount and walk towards the prince as he continues, "tolvie ñāqatubis ao zālagon nyke lēda aōha laehurlion. Ao jurnegon rȳ nyke yn gaomā daor ūndegon nyke."

I'm tired of the wait. You will never see, so I will show you myself. Every morning you burn me with your face. You look at me but you do not see me.

Daemon grabs your wrists and pulls you toward him, "I have not been a boy for years. You will no longer treat me like one."

Alaerion begins to circle around the two of you. She roars for attention, but neither of you give it to her. She shakes her head and cranes her dark hued neck up, looking down upon you both.

His hard gaze dig into the internal wounds that he had just inflicted. You suck in a breath and yank out of his grip, "then do not act like a child around me."

Alaerion goes on the defensive when you shove Daemon back. She may be fond of him, but she would not hesitate to protect her rider.

You raise a hand at your dragon as she hisses, "arlī bē." Back up.

Alaerion begrudgingly obeys.

You watch as she lies down but keeps a close watch on the two of you. You turn back to your brother, who looks like he had suffered horrible whiplash, "ziry iksos iā doru-borto hen ao naejot vīlībagon nyke isse naejon hen Alaerion."

It's a stupid of you to fight me in front of Alaerion.

Daemon shakes his head, "I'm not trying to fight-"

"Then WHAT do you want from me?!" you throw your hands out in question.

"I WANT YOU!" Daemon bursts with frustration.

You freeze in your spot as he steps forward and grabs your face. His breath hitches, "I want you to see me for what I am!" His hands drag down to your neck, "and I am a man with needs," your hands grab onto his top, "with wants," he heaves, "with desires."

"Daemon-"

He shuts you up with a kiss. He is done wasting time. The time is now. He has to have you.

You are shocked by the kiss. You are shocked by how hungry it is. You are shocked how wonderfully his lips fit against yours. You are shocked by how easily you mold against him.

Daemon feels his stomach flurry as he brings his hands to your side and digs his fingers into your dress. Your own hands come to his nape and tug at the roots of his long hair.

He breaks away from you to whisper against your cheek, "you will no longer scorn me. And you will not refuse me."

You let out a yelp when Daemon bends and pulls your skirt up. He drops on his knees and scratches up your legs, nails intent on leaving their mark, "I have made it known to the old fucks at the council that no man is worthy of you."

He brings himself under your and sinks his teeth to your thigh, "none but me, sweet sister."

You moan out his name, as you feel his hands slowly knead their way up to your hips. You snap out of the rabid trance you were being pulled into because of Alaerion's loud huff.

"My love, the doors are wide open, someone could-"

"Ivestragī zirȳ ūndegon," Daemon cuts you off and suddenly rises to his feet. He looks out of breath and starved. He takes your shoulders and shudders, "ivestragī zirȳ ūndegon bona ao sytilībagon naejot nyke."

Let them see. Let them see that you belong to me.

Daemon shoves you down, bringing you to your hands and knees. You look back at him as he undoes his breeches. You turn away and gulp. You try to calm yourself but the thought of someone walking in on you, added to the fact you could hear the prince ripping at his trousers, was making your insides burn.

He gets on his knees, rips your skirt up, and hisses at the sight before him. He immediately grabs your thighs and rips you apart. He wanted nothing but to taste your sweet building slick, but he has to claim you now. His fingers find your entrance. He lets out a grunt as he toys with you with two fingers while his other hand continues to free his steadily hardening cock.

You let out a shaky moan as Daemon circles his thick fingers around your tender flesh. Your jaw drops and you shoes dig into the floor when two digits shallowly enter you.

"I've gotten much practice," Daemon mutters, "learned everything for you," he mutters, "want to touch you better than Viserys."

Your heart drops at his words. Your head whips over your shoulder. Just then, Daemon pulls his hand away from your core and looks at you. His eyes darken and he grabs your hair, effectively ruining your braids. He brings his glimmering fingers to your lips. You have no shame, or at least not in that moment, and you instantly suck on him, tasting yourself on him.

""Nyke pendagon nūmāzma bona tubis nyke ūndan ao lanta mirre se jēda," he huffs as he ruts against you, "sesīr skori nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon naejot."

I think about the day I saw you two all the time. Even when I don't want to.

Your let out a loud sound when he unceremoniously thrusts into you and yet he does do anything beyond gripping your hips tightly.

Daemon rubs at your fleshy backside and releases a string of High Valyrian curses as you feel yourself clench around him. He acts in retaliation of his hated sour memory, shoving into you only once out of spite, making you release a cry that echoes across the room.

A few more moments pass and, still, he does nothing, you bring one hand to your side and place it atop of his knuckles. You arch your back and begin to maneuver against him faintly, "my love," you speak in a wanton manner, "please move."

Daemon's face contorts.

You squeak when he slaps into you once more then stops again. Without another warning, he further ruins your hair with his careless grip and then begins to fuck into you like there's no tomorrow. In truth, they may well not be one for him if someone catches you and Viserys' anger is inspired.

You feel your neck crack as Daemon yanks your hair. At the same time, you let out a guttural cry that bounces across the room. This is finally enough to rouse your dragon with concern.

Alaerion stirs and lifts her long neck, looking down upon her rider as she is mounted from behind. The creature knew well enough what was happening, and she happened to like Daemon, which was why she watched for a second before letting out a bleat, along with smoke through her nostrils.

You really don't have the sense to speak to your ride, much less make any sound that was remotely intelligible, so you effectively ignore her as you feel a pressure in your belly build.

Daemon releases your hair, making your head drop and shake in relation to the his ministrations.

Gathering his strength, he hoists your hips up slightly, making your shift your weight on your fidgeting toes. This allows him to rip into upward and in doing so, hits a needy little nerve in you that makes you release a helpless cry every moment it is hit.

You call out Daemon's name in response, arms shaking through its attempts to keep you up.

"You like being fucked by your brothers, don't you?" he sighs through his brutish actions, "you wanted to be filled up so bad that you couldn't wait for me to take my place in you."

You don't respond with anything coherent. You feel dribble slip down through your open mouth.

Your limbs begin to tire, and your belly begins to grow tighter and hotter. You focus on the feeling building in your stomach and make yourself go wild at the thought of the prince filling you up with his seed. You release a moan but it rips into a yelp when he slaps your ass then yanks at your hair again.

You nearly choke on your spit. You begin to beg to him in High Valyrian.

Alaerion catches this and finds no more tolerance. She begins to growl.

Daemon chuckles as he leans in to you, "your dragon has issue with her master being bred roughly," he nips at your lobe, "tell her off."

You whine.

Rather desperately and unconvincingly, you order Alaerion to back up and calm down. You know for a fact that the sound she made was one that was dissatisfied with the order, and yet she forces herself to calm and decides to curl into herself.

Daemon reaches his breaking point, and moves as ruggedly and as quickly as he possibly could. He elicits another yelp out of you when he slaps you again, "udligon ñuha másino." Answer my question.

You're lucky to even know what the hell he is talking about, so with a loud gulp you let out a strangled answer, "kessa." Yes.

Daemon growls, "which brother?"

You whine, "ao, Daemon," you sigh as he pummels into you, "sīr sȳz." You, Daemon. So good.

And as though that was the trigger, you bounce against him some more and then you come so good around him that it squeezes the air out of you and makes your eyes roll back.

You continuously call out his name as he sequentially spurts out with burning ripples of him. He makes sure you are shivering and overstimulated, and that he, himself, was fully done for before slowing and eventually stopping.

Daemon catches his breath as he rubs the fleshy part of your backside. You can feel yourself twitch around him as he does so, and you so badly wanted nothing more than to hold him right now.

"I've imagine doing this so many times, my princess," he mutters through a breath and stops his rubbing motions, "I've imagined making you mine more times than I can count."

You hiss when you feel him slide out of you. Sequentially, you feel his orgasm drip for your convulsing womanhood. Daemon uses a gentle touch as he brings your skirt down and slowly gets to his knees. He quickly puts his softened self away but makes sure to help you to your feet before doing anything more. You sluggishly move to stand and take his hand as he reaches out to you.

Daemon tugs you into him and looks upon you with solemn eyes. He brushes your hair back and you look at him then his undone laces. You find yourself smiling as you reach for his pants whilst feeling a hot bead burn down the inner part of your legs.

You happily tug at the string of his trousers and tie them up for him. You cannot help the playful expression that spreads across your faces as he makes attempts at smoothing your hair out.

You look at his face once, catching the concerned line between his brows. You turn back to his waist as you finish tying the strings, "do I look utter ruined, sweet boy?"

Daemon releases a breath. His hands come to your neck, his thumbs rub at your collarbones. You lean into his touch as your lips curl into a brighter smile.

"Ao jurnegon hae ñuha māzīlarion," he retorts, taking one step forward, face leaning close to yours, "nyke zālagon syt ao." You look like my future. I burn for you.

Your breath hitches when he places a gracious kiss upon. Daemon is warm and gentle as he leads your lips through this dance. You reach out for his torso and let yourself drift through the feel of his warm mouth.

"Nyke ānogrosa nehugon syt ao," Daemon whispers as he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours. He takes your hands and places it upon his chest, "iksā mirre nyke jeldan, mandia." I bleed for you. You are all I ever wanted, sister.

You feel your stomach roll, "ñuha Daemon." My Daemon.

"Take me as your husband," he retorts, pulling away to look you straight in the eyes, "I would honor you better than any man could. I would smite all that wrong you. I would fly across the realms with you. I would clear the way of anything that hinder you. I would father your dragonlings. I would teach them the pride of our house," he shakes his head, "I would have you till my dying breath... if you'll have me."

You cannot help the tears that begin to fog your vision. You pull you hands from him to clutch his jaw and rub it lovingly, "oh, Daemon," you let out a soft chuckle, "you have always been the most important person in my life. I would give you the world if you asked it of me," you curl your lips into a smirk, "and now I can put to rest all my worries for your betrothal."

Daemon breaks into a smile. He chuckles softly. He wraps his arms around you and presses you tightly against him, "not all your worries. You will still need to plan it."

You laugh as he kisses your neck. You relax against him and dig your fingers into his nape, massaging the area gently, "you would let me fuss about it all by myself?"

"I nary care for the formalities," he mutters against you, "I'd wed you in the gutters and still be the happiest man alive."

You snort and push him away. You give him a look as he tucks hair behind your ear, "we are not going to be wed in the gutters, Daemon."

"Of course not," he raises his brows, "I will not allow such offence be made to my bride."

You find your stomach fluttering at his words, "your bride."

Daemon's face grows solemn all over again. He rubs your lips, "my bride."

You smile at him and nod decidedly, "I will speak with Viserys about this and promptly begin preparations."

Though the words should have made him overjoyed, the prince felt a pang of dread rip through him as he heard them. Daemon clenches his jaw, "I should speak to him. It is only right I implore brother for you hand."

You take in his expression and find yourself chuckling softly, "you fought with him, didn't you?"

Daemon does not retort.

You laugh louder and shake your head, "then do not further inspire his fury, my love," you smooth out his hair, "let me do the talking. After all, he will not refuse me."

Daemon places his hands atop yours, causing you to still your actions, "he may not refuse you but he may want to spite me."

"Daemon," you sigh, "Viserys may be difficult, with you especially, but he means be out of love," you kiss his nose, "leave your worries to sissy."

Daemon sighs then nods. He sinks his head do your shoulder and you pull him close. He kisses your skin and thinks he belongs here. He belongs against your ribs.

Alaerion rolls over.

"Prince Daemon, though adopted many infamous names, would notably be remembered for overcoming what would be known as the Four Horrid Tasks, issued by his older brother in exchange for their sister's hand. King Viserys' had always been extremely fond and protective of his twin. He made clear many times over that she would wed whom she chose. Yet through constant pressure, in the end, he made a proclamation for all those interested in her: 'He who be daring and gallant enough to accomplish but four tasks for the king, Viserys of House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, will be allowed to take the princess, the King's twin and younger sister, as his wife.' It is heavily debated whether or not the decision was made to silence the voices of the council from further pestering him with the matter of the princess' hand, or to dissuade his younger brother into pursuing their beloved sister any further."--Excerpt from 'Daemon Targaryen: A Prince Larger Than Life' by unknown author, circa 100-120 A.C.

Daemon took deep breathes and sure strides on his way to his brother's chambers.

Yes, you told him to leave it up to you, but he could not find it in him not to speak to Viserys about the matter.

The events at the dragon pit yesterday were clear in his mind. He could still hear your cries, feel your soft flesh, taste the tenderness of your words.

He knew, truly, that if it was the issue was of your hand, you were the only one who the king would ever listen to its regards. And yet even after hearing from both guards and servants alike that King Viserys made it known he would not be interrupted in his room or bothered with any royal matters for today, he pressed forward still and now stood before his brother's chamber doors.

The prince decided to knock and announce himself, which was honestly not his nature.

He waited for a few moments, listening in for a response, before raising his knuckles to rap on the door again. He does not though, as he hears the sound of a whimper seep through the crevice before him. Daemon straightens as a high pitched voice continues to whine. It was very obviously not Viserys making that sound, and somehow, he was certain that was not Aemma either.

He clenches his jaw, it was you.

"Enter," the king barks.

Daemon wastes no time and pushes the door open. He makes it a point to keep his eyes down and only look up once the door was closed behind him. When he does, he feels his insides gurgle at the sight of his twin siblings.

Lo and behold, there sat the King at the edge of his bed, chest bare, hands rested upon on his lap, or rather, the lap rested upon him. You were sat on Viserys, lips parted as you heaved heavily, clad in nothing but your shift. To make matters worse, your clothes were bunched up by your hips and Viserys' hand was unabashedly in between your thighs.

Daemon wouldn't know that your fluttering cunt was filled up with his brother's seed and your ass with filled up by his cock up until later.

He could clearly see how his brother was touching you with his fingers, evident by the strain in his arm and how you would slightly flinch intermittently.

"So, baby brother," he starts, "you caught me fucking sissy once before, huh?"

Daemon neither moves nor responds.

Viserys keeps his eyes on him as he nuzzles his face into your neck and makes you whimper by shoving his fingers into your leaking entrance with little regard, merely keeping them there. You grip on his arm and mutter his name out in a plea.

The king does not like that and looks at you as he thrusts upward, making you squeak helplessly, "funny that now you remember my name now, whore."

Daemon's nostrils flare at the crude name you're given.

Viserys turns back to Daemon as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder. He enjoys watching his brother's face tick at the sight of him sullying the woman he wants to make his wife. He pulls his mouth off you and speaks to the prince, "you remember when I first took you to a whorehouse, Daemon?"

In truth, Daemon doesn't want to reply, but he decides that he probably should, "yes."

"If the princess wasn't born a princess, she would've be the best whore in the Street of Silk," Viserys turns back to you, "iksis bona daor paktot?" Is that not right?"

"Paktot," Right, you reply like clockwork.

Viserys releases a groan that bubbles into a laugh, "my poor girl is so desperate to come, isn't she?"

You let out a needy sound and arch your back against him when he begins to move his fingers inside you. One of your hands go to the side of his face and another goes atop of his working hand, urging him with gentle stroke to continue pleasuring you.

Gods be good, the sight of you coiling up against Viserys was a torturous sight. It was making Daemon's breath shorten and his insides churn. And yet, at the same time, he could feel his pulse in his pants thud strongly in reaction to what he saw.

"Do you deserve to come, byka rene?" Little slut.

You readily nod at your king's words, "kostilus." Please.

Viserys begins to feel your folds tighten against his fingers. He promptly pulls away and grabs your neck with the hand he just used to fuck you with, "I don't think you're sorry enough."

You whimper as he presses down on your airways.

Viserys then turns back to Daemon, "you know why she's here?"

Daemon watches as you let out a choking sound. He shifts uncomfortably in his spot but does not get to reply as the king answers himself.

"My pretty twin is here to convince me to give her to you," he sighs deeply, releasing his chokehold to grab one of your breasts and knead them roughly, "the gods made her the same day they made me. They molded her next to me in our mother's womb, and I molded my cock into her with a vengeance," he eyes Daemon hotly, "she belongs to me. Why would I give her to you?"

Hearing those words make you momentarily slip out of your lustful trance. You turn to Viserys and rub your nose against his cheek, "brother, please-"

"If the fuck says he wants my throne and you'd kill me in cold blood and give it to him, wouldn't you," the king seethes, flicking his hips upward, making you screech, "all he does is complain like the little boy he is and calls you cruel if you ignore him for even a second, yet you think he's worthy? Worthy to be king? Worthy of my prized half's cunny?

"He doesn't even know how much you favor him," Viserys continues through a growl and slowly stops his vicious movements. You let out a tired cry as he rubs your belly and turns to Daemon, "when he first shared a whore, brother, I immediately thought of sissy. I so badly wanted to share her with you."

Daemon watches as Viserys hands come between your thighs again. The latter explains further, "I thought she would look so pretty leaking from both holes after her brothers fuck her like the slut she was made to be-- made for us."

The prince swallows heavily.

"But no," Viserys pulls his hand away from your thighs, "she said she did not want to taint you," he scoffs out a chuckle, "as if she was unaware of the fact you were a bigger whore than both of us combined."

Daemon shifts in his spot again.

"Why don't you tell our sweet sister how much of a whore you are, Daemon," the king announces, "tell her how you made your painted whores swallow your seed and not waste a drop, for it was an honor to even have a Targaryen load in them. Tell her how you spit between their arse cheeks and made them weep as you tore through them with your cock," he turns to Daemon, "tell her how you touched yourself to the thought of us-"

He lets out a strangled breath.

"Tell her how badly you want to be me," Viserys gives a wolfish grin as he begins to rock his hips upward, making your whine, "how badly you want to fuck her with me right now."

For some reason, Daemon finds his brother's words as a trigger to step forward. He manages two steps before he realizes what he is doing and stops in his tracks.

Viserys face darkens as he stills. You whine again. He tilts his head in a beckoning manner, "take her dress off, brother."

Daemon does not know why he hesitates, but he makes up for the seconds with eager steps towards you.

Before he reaches you two, the eldest speaks up again, "you ought to know that she rather readily gave herself up to me as she mused about the idea of your marriage."

Daemon stops when he is before you. He feels himself stiffen further at the sight of your sweaty face as you turn to him.

Viserys looks up as well, "and while we were fucking, the bitch called out your name instead of mine."

Daemon cannot help the way his eyes widen at that.

"Syt sīr bōsa, nyke mirre ao kreni, se syt skoros?" he yanks you by your hair, "naejot emagon ao isse jaelagon hen orvorta hen ñuha lēkia." For so long, I kept you pleased, and for what? To have you in want of the cock of my brother?

"That's enough," Daemon rebuts.

Viserys releases your tangled hair upon hearing this and laughs. He turns to Daemon and shakes his head, "enough? Pull her dress off and you'll see how whorish she is. You'll see her leaking with me because I fucked her and didn't make her peak. You'll see her grinding down subtly cause I have her ass impaled."

So he does just that.

He pulls your dress off and sees your wet curls and thighs, painted white with the with sticky remnants of the king. You lift you hands so Daemon can rid your clothing altogether, and he quickly chucks it to the side. He licks his lips as he finally notices the miniscule circular motions you were doing on top of Viserys' lap.

The said man raises a brow, "you still want your hussy?"

Daemon does not get to respond as you are pulled back onto the bed. Viserys falls onto the sheets and drags you up, all while keeping himself snug inside you. He pushes you to your side and grabs your leg, bringing it behind you, over his hip.

You whimper as you feel come spill out of you. Your sounds intensify when Viserys grabs your breast and begins to thrust into you. He twists you carelessly as he fucks into you with little regard.

Daemon's mouth nearly foams when you raise a hand and call out for him, "jorrāelagon ao sīr olvie." Need you so much.

Viserys pants, "come one, little brother. Your come slut awaits."

Daemon can feel his hands trembling as he strips himself naked. He works as fast as he can but when he hears your cry, he decides to climb over to you although his dress shirt remained on him.

You whimper as tears prick in the corner of your eyes, reaching out to Daemon as he takes his place next to you. The said man rubs your hips and grabs his hardened length, easily slipping into your soaking folds.

You release a loud cry when you feel him enter. You scratch at his clothed back and tug at his shirt, "off, please, off-"

Daemon does not dare deny you this, and though he struggles, he eventually rids himself of his final piece of clothing. After this, he finally begins to move into you. He pumps in and out at a much slower pace than Viserys, but matches the same ferocity.

You let out quick and shallow pants at the delicious feel of fullness in you. As you were denied and teased for so long, you could feel yourself quickly reaching your peak. You arch your back and pull Daemon into you as you clench around them

Viserys, knowing your body well, grabs your neck and whispers into your ear, pushing your further to your edge, "greedy minx. Coming already? Daemon's just getting started."

You can't help that you come right after that, shuddering and shaking as you feel heat spill all over you. You feel your lungs wring out all the air inside it. It only intensifies as Viserys keeps his hands secured around your neck. Needless to say, you're seeing stars at this point.

Daemon releases a groan as he feels your cunt convulse around him. It makes him increase his tempo to a point where he's moving about as fast as his brother.

With the added roughness, your high is surely lived out up until there was nothing left. Soon enough you were squeaking helplessly, twitching at the overstimulation.

Neither of the two could keep themselves from chasing after their own need even as you very clearly began to grow tense in discomfort.

At one point, everything became all too much that you choked out a soft sob.

It was at this point that Daemon begins to relent in his ways, slowing down to offer your brief repose.

Viserys, however, was not letting you have any of that, "don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop," he grunts. "She can take it," he leans into you, "can't you pretty girl? Can't you pathetic whore?"

Daemon watches as you choke out a yes through tears and a strangled breath.

You lift your leg off Viserys and prop it atop of his hip, "want to make you feel good," your grab at Viserys' neck, "want to make both my boys feel so good."

The king loses himself after that. With merely a few more thrusts, he bursts into you and releases a hot load that has you yelping.

He tightens his grip on your neck before he releases you abruptly, grabbing onto your shoulder as he uses you to satisfy his remaining needs.

He calls out your name and tilts your head back to kiss you. You catch a quick breath before he connects your lips together. Your mouths mingle against each other's sloppily, up until you're only breathing and grunting against the other, no longer kissing.

When Viserys stills behind you, he watches as Daemon pummels into you like a man on a mission, and, to be fair, he was.

Daemon takes his turn, bringing your face to him and kisses you much tenderly than Viserys did. He grabs at your leg and pulls you closer to him as he chases the building fire in his belly.

Part of the king knows his brother was probably being held back by the position you were in, and as much as he wanted to see him suffer and to keep himself buried in your plush tush, he decides to be a magnanimous king and pulls out of you, causing you to whimper as you swollen hole oozes with his creamy delight.

Viserys rolls to his side and takes a moment before standing up and grabbing his ever ready wash cloth on his cabinet, wiping himself down as he turns to watch his brother break into his twin sister.

Immediately, Daemon has you pushed on your back, sprawled out beneath him. He wraps your legs around him and fucks into you with more vigor now that he had you all to himself.

"D-Daemon," you whimper as you wrap your arms around him, clinging onto him for dear life.

He nuzzles into your neck and mutters sweetly, "need me so badly, sweetheart?" he groans and whispers, "need me to fuck you better than Viserys?"

You whimper in response as the bed creaks at his movements.

Daemon pushes your legs down your sides and licks your tear stained cheeks, "you want to come again, love?"

You shake your head in disagreement as your poor cunny was still very much reeling from being teased too much.

He whines, "what if I want you to come, pretty girl, will you come for me?"

You sob at the idea, "Daemon please-"

"Shhh," he sneaks a finger between you, "you can do it, can't you?"

You digs your nails into his back and you scream out when he begins to rub at your sensitive pearl.

"Gōntan ñuha dārilaros daor ivestragon ziry kessa tepagon nyke mirros?" he mutters against you, "kessa ao daor tepagon nyke iā byka run hae bisa?" Did my princess not say she shall give me anything? Will you not give me a small thing like this?

Tears rush out of your eyes as you hear this, "Daemon kostilus." Daemon please.

Viserys lets out a heavy breath as he hears your whimpers. He finds himself smirking, "where's the Fanged Beauty's teeth? You can take it can't you?"

Damon groans and answer for you, "she can take it," he grunts, "take it like a good girl. Sissy's always been good at taking care of us."

You whine and let out a long breath. You allow yourself to relax against him and eventually, with all of Daemon's ministrations, you calm and feel yourself begin to tighten around him all over again.

"Gaomagon sȳrī, riñītsos, tolī mirre, iksā doing bisa syt zirȳla, daor?" Viserys speaks as he walks off to get himself a cup of wine.

Do well, little girl, after all, you are doing this for him, no?

The king sips on his drink as he watches the obscenities playing out on his bed.

Daemon feels himself fall closer to his limit. Sequentially, he no longer actually gives a shit whether or not your come with him or not, though he really wanted to feel your cunt choke him as he pushed into you.

It was a good thing that you suddenly began to pant out his name and dig your fingers into his hair, "I'm close, Daemon."

He smirks and nods, "like a good girl."

You whimper and rapidly feel yourself inching towards your undoing. The final blow is delivered after Daemon sputters out curses as he unravels above you. He releases into you with his nails digging into your sides. He twitches and shudders with the intense bolt of pleasure. It surges hot, molten, and thick. It fills you up until you're overflowing.

The sound you make is piercing. It rips through Viserys' ears, inspiring him to call you a string of vulgar names in your shared mother tongue. On the other hand, it makes Daemon hiss hotly against your neck as his ego soars while he concludes his fuck. His stiff body slowly begins to grow limp and your own terse one spasms until its putty.

By the time the prince is a melted sky above you, you catch your breath and hold onto him, as though he was your deliverer, as though he was your beloved; both of which were true after all.

Daemon buries his face next to your own and whispers sweet nothings to your ear.

You nuzzle your face against him. Slowly, your heart began to calm.

"Hen rȳ istin," Viserys pipes up, cutting through your tender moment, "ivestragī īlva ūndegon se mess emā vēttan." Off at once. Let us see the mess you have made.

The king walks over to the side of his bed and motions his head at Daemon, who barely wanted to roll off you as it was, now it was the last thing he wanted to do. Still, he looked at his brother, thinking that he had a withering cock, and gave you a quick kiss before separating from you.

Though Daemon did so in a gentle manner, you still could not help but curl your toes tightly and whimper as the weight above you shifts off. Immediately, your pulverized holes began to weep out the lustful load the two dragons left in you.

The two men cannot help the fascination and the enthrallment they feel upon seeing the way your swollenness flutters, nor, frankly, can they turn away.

Daemon does not move too far from you and, in fact, lies by your side, nuzzling his face between your breast, wrapping an arm over your side, pulling you close to him. He rubs his cheek on your skin and plays with your pert nipple.

"Filthy whore," Viserys smirks, "to think you could have had us both long ago had you not been so persistent in babying your precious baby brother."

You do not respond to him but you do begin to lightly brush through Daemon's hair. You breathe through your lips as you slowly bring your head down to look upon the youngest, "I do not regret it."

Daemon looks up at you as you mutter through a smile, "I prefer knowing him like this."

Viserys' eye twitches at this. He clenches his jaw at the sight of you both and downs the drink in his hand. He walks off to set it down and then finds himself scoffing. He feels a bitterness settle in his stomach and as he turns over his shoulder. Suddenly, a smirk spreads on his lips.

"Dirty girl," he mutters, "if you were to fall with child," he turns around, "no one would be able to tell if it was me or Daemon that fathered it."

Daemon turns to Viserys as he walks over.

"Maybe you'll bare twins like mother and then Daemon and I can share a child."

You turn to him and sit up slightly when he says this. You notice that, though his tone was mischievous, there was a serious glint in his eyes. You raise a brow at him, "don't be ridiculous."

"I am not ridiculous," he shrugs, "I am king."

Daemon immediately sits up.

Viserys raises a finger.

The two brothers stare at each other for a moment before the latter speaks, "I have heard your pleas. I will consider them kindly at the council tomorrow."

[averageanonymous]

Fic Sprint: In which Crowley is angry with Ducks

30 Minute Time Limit

Prompt: Ducks, Messy, Garden

“Get OUT, feathered bastards!” 

Aziraphale started as Crowley’s voice shattered the pleasant silence of a Sunday afternoon in late spring. He looked up from the recipe for an lavender-almond cake he’d been reading and rushed outside to see what the commotion was about. 

He found Crowley in the garden. The demon stood, chest heaving, the air around him crackling with Infernal energy. He was covered in mud, caking his boots, coating the knees of his pants, smeared across one cheek, and somehow clumped into his hair. Aziraphale looked him up and down, then tried and utterly failed to hold back a laugh. 

“What in the world are you getting up to out here?” He asked, covering his mouth with one hand in an attempt to stifle the fit of giggling. 

“The DUCKS,” Crowley snarled, eyes blazing. 

Aziraphale looked around, and sure enough spotted a small group of ducks waddling idly in the grass just beyond the flowering hedge that bordered their yard. They quacked quietly to themselves and generally appeared to be minding their own business. 

“You like ducks,” Aziraphale said.

“Not those ducks,” Crowley retorted sharply, “THOSE are ungrateful avian savages,” 

“I see…” Aziraphale nodded slowly, “And we are angry with the ducks because…?” 

“Because,” Crowley growled, “The damn things keep sneaking in here when I’ve got my back turned, and eating the damn lettuce!” 

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, making a show of glaring sternly at the ducks, “Feathered fiends, the lot of them,” 

“That’s right!” Crowley snapped, heedless of Aziraphale’s teasing. He started stomping around, carefully covering the young greens that could be salvaged with churned soil, plucking out the ones that could not. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chided gently, “The ducks don’t have a vendetta against you personally, I’m sure,” 

“The hell they don't,” Crowley muttered, glaring at the ducks as he passed the hedge to grab his tools, “They wait out there, minding their business, until the second I walk away.” 

“Of course, that is generally what wild animals do,” Aziraphale said, “And it doesn’t help that we haven’t put in the garden fence yet.” 

“Ah! Oh, I see! Put the blame on the victim, will you,” Crowley accused as he brandished a trowel in Aziraphale’s direction, “Some angel you are!” 

Aziraphale smiled warmly and shook his head, then he stepped into the torn up garden beds and took Crowley by the hand, leading him back to the cottage. Crowley grumbled but didn’t argue, dropping his tools in a bucket. 

“Shoes,” Aziraphale said as they got to the door, and Crowley stepped out of his mud-coated boots. Then they went inside and to the bathroom attached to their bedroom. 

Crowley’s expression was set in a frown, brow ridged with deep furrows. Aziraphale paid it no mind and undid the buttons of Crowley’s shirt, peeling the muddy fabric away from his skin. That done, he took a cloth, wetted it with warm water, and began wiping away the muck where it had dried on his hands and arms, working his way up to his neck. As Aziraphale worked, Crowley closed his eyes, and gradually the severity left his features, the harsh lines of his face softening. Aziraphale took a comb and gently pulled the mud from Crowley’s hair, brushing it smooth. He took up the cloth again and dabbed away flecks of dirt that had crusted on his eyebrows, finally working at the large clump of mud that was thoroughly smeared across his cheek. When Aziraphale pressed the cloth to the demon’s cheek, though, Crowley’s eyes opened and he caught his arm, holding him still. Without a word, Crowley took the cloth, placed it on the counter beside him, and then took Aziraphale’s chin and kissed him. Aziraphale leaned into the kiss, letting his hands wander down Crowley’s neck and over his bare shoulders, wrapping around him to trace the notches in his spine, down to the waistband of his jeans. 

“These,” he said against Crowley’s lips, drawing his fingers around the demon’s hips, “are absolutely filthy. It won’t do.” 

“Guess you’ll have to take them off, as well, then,” Crowley murmured back, running his hands into Aziraphale’s hair.

And Aziraphale did.    

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

This is a fun thing we do on Thursdays over at the @goodomensafterdark writers guild subsubreddit. I owe them for making me write when I'm not in the mood to write 😘😅

[bg3daydream]

Rumors and Facts 2/3 (Solavellan Fanfiction)

Solas x Female Inquisitor Lavellan Fanfiction.

Summary: +18 (Rated explicit) Lavellan is tired of the rumors that she hears around Skyhold regarding her relationship with Solas, and with all the gossip surrounding her at the Winter Palace. It's nobody's business, and besides, she's done hiding.

There's 3 chapters, with chapters 1 and 3 containing smut, and there's fluff through the whole fic. Chapter 1 is set in Skyhold and chapters 2 and 3 are set in the Winter Palace.

Find chapter 1 and chapter 3

Lavellan hadn’t been at the Winter Palace for more than ten minutes, she hadn’t even gone past the gardens and into the palace itself, and she was already fed up with people. They stared at her with no shame, neither had they any shame to talk about her as if she weren’t there, not caring that she heard their venomous comments.

Some were doubting she was actually the Inquisitor, considering she was dalish, while others had no problem calling her a savage elf. She wanted to snap at them, make them eat their words, and it was probably obvious on her face. Josephine was hovering near her, looking half-apologetic for what they were saying, half-alarmed that the Inquisitor may talk back.

Solas moved closer to Lavellan, though he didn’t touch her. He’d kept his hands to himself since approaching the palace, and Lavellan knew that both he and Josephine didn’t want the Inquisitor’s reputation maybe taking a hit by rumors of her and the elven apostate. Lavellan understood and yet, it was difficult to agree.

“Don’t concern yourself with them,” Solas told her quietly. “Not worthy.”

Lavellan took a deep breath and nodded. She could do this. She’d done worse and faced enemies more dangerous. She’d walked out of the Fade alive, twice. She’d survived all that, she could not only survive this but come on top too. She’d trained with Josephine, and so no matter she felt revolted by it, she’d play this so-called Game as she’d taught her and come out victorious.

“I’ll go first, say I’m the bodyguard,” the Iron Bull said, stepping in front of her and Josephine, and behind Cullen, who seemed rather uncomfortable too. “So everyone can look first at the big, mean qunary and be too busy to talk bullshit about you too.”

As so many times before, Lavellan felt a rush of affection and gratitude for her qunary friend. He wouldn’t have to suffer all this, the ball, the looks, and the talks, Lavellan wouldn’t have asked, but he’d offered when he’d seen her worry.

Dorian had offered too, and he had joined Josephine in her preparation of Lavellan for this. He said he too had experience with balls and mean gossiper aristocrats, and with people saying horrible things about you to your face, and that he knew how to navigate that world. Lavellan knew it to be true, but like with Iron Bull, she hadn’t wished Dorian to have to go through this, she knew people would give him a hard time for being tevinter and a mage. He’d insisted.

Everything was a mess and she hated where she was, but Lavellan had to admit, she’d good advisors and companions, and better friends. She was grateful for it.

Dorian was right behind her, seeming unpreoccupied and relaxed, though Lavellan wasn’t sure how much of it was facade. Two women were staring at him with wrinkled noses while clearly talking to each other about him. Dorian first gave them a polite nod, then a wink, which seemed to ruffle them more.

“Aaah…just like being back home,” Dorian said with mocked cheerfulness. “Just stand proud, Inquisitor, but be charming and polite…they’ll have it harder to attack you then, and it’d make them madder.”

“Let’s get inside,” Josephine said quietly, her polite smile not faltering as she endured comments about the Inquisition, greeting people and navigating Lavellan and the others through them. “Leliana’s already there, and we better keep an eye on Gaspar.”

*

Once inside, things hadn’t gone better. So much gossip and mean-spirited conversation, along with so many people wanting to talk to the Inquisitor about this and that. There were also those who refused to acknowledge her, like she were blighted. Lavellan didn’t know what was worse, and there was still no word on the potential infiltrators threatening the empress' life.

At least, she’d gotten to see Leliana playing the Game, she seemed so different from Skyhold, and she encouraged Lavellan to gather more gossip. She said it was leverage against nobles and it’d help them in Court, but Lavellan thought she enjoyed the gossip too, even if just a bit.

She’d also had the chance to meet Josephine’s sister, nice yet so different from her, and to hear her talk about Josephine’s childhood was as delightful for Lavellan as mortifying for Josephine.

“Everything alright, Inquisitor?” 

Josephine asked as she wandered towards her yet again, after she was cornered by some nobles who seemed to believe she ought to do something about the ideas their elven servants may get now that the Inquisitor was an elf.

She’d walked away, which was not polite, but it was better than whatever she may have said to them, she didn’t think she’d have been able to keep it nice. If she’d opened her mouth, Josephine’d have probably had a heart attack.

At least they were not openly ogling her and lusting after her like the group that had cornered poor Cullen. He seemed so uncomfortable and out of place…maybe she should make up some emergency and rescue him. 

“It’s bad that I wish assassins would show up already and all this can end?” She said, and Josephine’s sister let out a giggle. Lavellan knew she didn’t understand why she didn’t enjoy the ball, though, she was elated to be there.

“Everything’s calm for now,” Josephine said, looking around as she smiled and waved politely.

“Yes, our people haven’t reported anything yet.” Maybe she could go ask Cullen again, but she had no desire to try to navigate the people gathered around him. “Do you think I could go back to the hall and gardens, talk to the others, try to find something? I’m of no use here.” She was getting antsy with the waiting and so many eyes and sharp tongues on her.

“Sure, but be back when you hear the bell, don't be late, please Inquisitor.” It sounded more like a command than a polite request. Lavellan liked it when Josephine got bossy, she jokingly called it “polite threatening.”

“Promised.”

*

Outside the main ballroom, there was gossip and staring too, although less eyes were on her as people seemed engrossed talking to each other.

Lavellan saw Solas near a window, leaning against a column, glass in hand. He seemed more at ease and content than she’d expected. She made her way to him, trying to blend in and not attract attention.

“Hey.”

“Inquisitor.” Solas gave her a polite nod.

“How are you? Are you being treated well?” Lavellan could ignore the comments about her, even if they made her mad, but if they talked badly about someone she loved, she wasn’t sure she could keep it civil much longer.

Solas shrugged and smiled. “The Orlesians don’t quite know what to make of me. I try not to give them room to critique the Inquisition on my account.” He lifted his drink to his lips. “The food and drink are excellent, however, and the servants are happy to refill my glass.”

“Why’d you have them introduce you as the Inquisitors’ elven servant?” Lavellan asked, it’d annoyed her.

“Am I not but your servant, Lady Inquisitor Lavellan?” Solas joked and Lavellan huffed, rolling her eyes.

She couldn’t help a small smile, though, she loved it when Solas’ eyes wrinkled when he was amused sometimes, like now, but there was also something else in his eyes, that reminded her of how he looked at her when she was at his desk…Lavellan better not recall that if she wanted to keep her composure.

“Well…someone did call you ‘the Inquisitor’s pet mage’ so…” She tried to joke back, but it made her grimace, she’d wanted to use an anchor blast on that gossiper couple, if that was even possible. “Seriously, though, you could have just told them you were an Inquisition mage.” There was already gossip about the Inquisition employing apostates anyway.

“Have you seen how these people treat their elven servants?” Solas said and Lavellan nodded, it sickened her. “They act like they’re not people. Then they’re careless, talking about everything around their servants as if they can’t hear them. I’d hoped they’d do the same around me, that they’d say things they wouldn’t in front of you and your advisors, so maybe I could learn something useful for you. Leliana agreed,” Solas explained. “Sadly, I don’t have the look of one of their servants, so it’s not working.”

“That's smart.” Lavellan had to admit it, but she still hated hearing people call Solas her servant.

“If you want to find something useful, pay attention to the servants,” Solas said, raising his glass, and one of the servants came to refill it, although she avoided the Inquisitor’s eyes. Solas took a sip of his wine and relaxed against the column again, looking around the room, seeming so calm and collected, Lavellan was envious with how on edge she’d been feeling.

“You seem more comfortable with a grand Orlesian ball than I’d have expected.”

“I’ve seen countless such displays in my journeys in the Fade. The powerful have always been the same, only the costumes change.”

“Oh, that’s right, your Fade balls and dancing with spirits,” Lavellan half-teased. “So… you’re dancing with me tonight, right?”

Solas sighed. “I wish. But you need to win these people over and dancing with an elven apostate will win you few favors here. Perhaps later, when this is over?”

“Later…” Lavellan arched an eyebrow and leaned closer to Solas, lowering her voice so nobody else could hear her. “So, when this is over, you’ll come to my room and we can dance, then?”

Solas leaned towards her too. “Perhaps,” he said quietly, looking at her in a way that made her heart almost skip a beat, and warmth spread through Lavellan.

They hadn’t done anything like that night at Solas’ rotunda again. With everyone busy preparing everything for the ball, eyes and ears everywhere, and so much of her time devoted to it, for the last few days, they’d been lucky if they got a moment for themselves.

Then, during the journey to the palace, Solas had kept his distance. Lavellan understood why but she didn’t think it mattered, pretty much everyone accompanying them seemed to know about them, and the nobles at court were going to gossip anyway.

At least, they had the Fade. Lavellan wasn’t sure how it worked, but whenever they both were asleep, more often than not, either one of them seemed able to wander into the other’s dream, and so they could spend time together, away from everyone else.

Lavellan was pretty content letting Solas walk her around the Fade, to snuggle to him while he told her things about it, but she couldn’t wait for the chance to be alone with him out of dreams again too.

It might not be proper, sneaking Solas into the Inquisitor’s bed, but she didn’t care. She felt silly butterflies fluttering in her belly at the thought of it…whether things turned more intimate or not, at least she’d try her best to sleep next to Solas that night.

Solas looked to the side and pulled back and away from Lavellan, straightening. She looked in that direction too and noticed a couple of nobles eyeing them with interest. She was about to tell Solas that she didn’t care that they might stare and talk about them, but probably Solas what right, whether she liked it or not, that evening she needed that people’s support.

“I hope you enjoy the ball, Inquisitor,” Solas said, dismissing her, and Lavellan tried not to sigh. “Don’t let me take more of your time.”

“I’ll see if I can find anything useful,” Lavellan said, back to business…they had a job to do there, after all, preventing a murder seemed more important than mingling with nobles showing off like peacocks. “Be ready, I’ll let you all know if I find something.”

Solas nodded and Lavellan turned to leave. “Hunt well,” Solas said as she walked away, and Lavellan couldn’t help her smirk at him.

She looked around to room. Some nobles were talking to each other, seeming quite busy to pay attention to her. She should try to eavesdrop on what seemed like an important conversation. Others were trying to pretend that they were not looking and talking about her, while others openly stared.

She spotted the Iron Bull by the end of the room, eating some of those bittersweet nuts, and she approached him.

“How are you doing, Bull?”

He grunted, popping another nut into his mouth. “These nobles keep trying to mess with me thinking I don’t know what they’re doing. If we don’t find something to kill soon, I may use one of their skulls as my new fancy mask.”

Lavellan knew she shouldn’t, but she snorted a giggle. “I feel you.”

“Yeah, I see how they look at you, and the bullshit they say to your face,” Iron Bull scoffed, shaking his head. “Any news?”

“Nothing regarding the assassins. You’re the Ben-Hassrath, tell me what you’ve seen.”

She was half-joking, but she trusted the Iron Bull instinct and experience for this. She didn’t think any assassins could wander around without him noticing it, just like she trusted Solas and Dorian would notice it if there was something magical going on.

“I’ll tell you what I’ve seen.” the Iron Bull's serious look turned amused. “I’ve seen you and Solas, just right now. You two start making out? Not even me and my horns can distract people from it.”

“Iron Bull!” 

Lavellan scolded him with a hissed whisper, even though she knew it was her fault that she had leaned a bit too close to Solas, her mind full of daydreams...probably the Iron Bull didn’t have any trouble reading all her thoughts about Solas just by looking at her. 

“Please don’t start, I have enough with Sera and Dorian.”

“I don’t judge, boss,” the Iron Bull kept his friendly teasing. “You deserve a good tumble later on for dealing with this vipers' nest.”

“Shh!” Lavellan hushed him, embarrassed and worried that someone might hear him, but she couldn’t help the silly giggle that escaped her lips. Would Solas think too that she deserved a good tumble? “Stop it!”

“Alright, alright…but I have nothing of use for you.” Iron Bull shrugged. “All I can tell you is who hates who, who fancies who, who’s sleeping with whom…”

“Tell all that to Leliana, she seems to think all this gossip will be useful for us…I think she enjoys it too.”

“Got it, boss.”

*

By the end of the evening, Lavellan had dealt with several attempted assassinations and several actual murders, she’d been asked once again to decide on things that’d affect people way beyond her reach, and politics had once more changed.

Yet, to her amazement, the ball kept going, now celebrating what was supposedly a victory for Orlais. Lavellan couldn’t understand these people. But sure, most of the victims had been servant elves, so what would the Orlesian nobles care for it, beyond being understaffed. This place still sickened Lavellan, even if she’d tried to play The Game to win, and she succeeded.

She was now at the balcony, alone, feeling tired and done, hoping she’d mingled with the nobles enough, she didn’t think she could keep her polite mask much longer. She’d just finished dealing with Morrigan, whom Lavellan still didn’t know what to think about, when Solas walked into the balcony.

“I’m not surprised to find you here,” Solas said, placing a hand on the small of her back. “Are you alright, vhenan?”

Lavellan nodded. “I’m just tired. I think I’ve done enough chatting and pretending around to win these people’s favor and support for the Inquisition.” She didn’t want to let her advisors down, but she didn’t think she could keep going with it for much longer that night.

“You did.” Solas nodded with a smile. “I heard some people saying how delightful the Inquisitor is.”

“You’re kidding.” Lavellan frowned but Solas shook his head no. “Oh, then, they meant delightful for a savage elf.”

Solas chuckled, shaking his head again and pulling her close with the hand on her back to give her lips a soft kiss, and Lavellan felt like she was able to relax for the first time that evening. When he pulled back, he vowed at her.

“Dance with me, vhenan.”

No matter how tired she was, Lavellan couldn’t help her smile and the butterflies in her belly. “I’d love to.”

Solas smiled too, pulling her close, and for a while, they danced together to the muffled sound of the band, coming from the ballroom. Lavellan’d have happily danced with him for the remaining of the ball, perhaps with stops here and there to kiss him again, but Dorian’s voice interrupted them.

“Nice form, I wasn’t expecting you to know how to dance, Solas,” he teased and Solas brisked, pulling away from Lavellan. “It doesn’t suit the whole hobo apostate thing you have going on.”

Solas glared at Dorian and Lavellan knew he was about to snap, so she talked first. “Shut it you both, no mage bickering at the Winter Palace.” She tried to sound as commanding as Josephine.

“It was a compliment.” Dorian shrugged with a teasing smile.

“I’m not putting up with two tipsy mages arguing,” Lavellan teased back, but who knew, if they started with their who’s got the biggest staff contest, they may send the whole place into the Fade somehow.

“I’m not tipsy!” Solas huffed, sounded almost offended, and Lavellan tried not to laugh but she couldn’t help her snort.

“Yes, you are.” She smiled, reaching to cup Solas' cheek. “But I think you look adorable like this.” Solas looked like he might snap but all he did was lean into her touch as she caressed his cheek, proving her point.

“Please, have some decency, I’m still right here,” Dorian said in mocked offense. Lavellan knew he didn’t judge or mind their relationship, and she knew she could count on his support.

“Did someone send you to come fetch me?” Lavellan sighed, her smile and joking tone has gone at the idea of having to go back inside.

“Afraid so.” Dorian gave her a sympathetic look. “Some have noticed your absence and are inquiring Josephine about it. Still, she didn’t want to force you back if you don’t feel like it.”

“No, I… I’ll be back in a moment.” Lavellan sighed. She was the Inquisitor, her advisors and companions shouldn’t have to deal with inquiring people and worried or plainly nosy nobles. The night was almost over, she could keep going for a bit longer.

“Besides, it seemed you owed some dances?” Dorian asked, smirking and chuckling at Lavellan’s grimace. “I’ll get going, I might need to save Cullen, I heard someone trying to convince him how marriage with his youngest daughter was the best plan of action.”

Lavellan couldn’t help her sympathetic smile. Poor Cullen was having a horrible night, he’d hated every second of it, without even the chance to escape the nobles to fight the assassins.

“Please, go save my commander.”

Dorian vowed to them, half joking but equally charming anyway, and he turned back into the palace.

“We should get back too,” Lavellan said regretfully, taking Solas’ hand as if for moral support and giving it a gentle tug. “I’ll talk and dance with whoever I have to but save my last dance for you, come on.”

Solas let go of her hand. “We shouldn’t. You just earned these people's favor, if you’re seen with the elven apostate now and they talk-”

“They’re already talking,” Lavellan interrupted. She was tired of everyone acting like they had a say on her love life or if she was allowed one. “I’m pretty sure. That orlesian couple who’s always at Skyhold’s hall is here, and they’ve been talking about us for a while, I’m sure they’ve been happy to gossip about us to anyone willing to listen.”

She’d always found that couple nosy and annoying, but the Inquisitor couldn’t really ask the orlesians nobles to leave without causing some ruffle.

“They’ve been talking about us?” Solas seemed half-surprised, half-horrified, and Lavellan tried not to smile.

He usually knew everything that was going on, he always had an answer for everything, yet he seemed so clueless about it, Lavellan had to wonder where his head had been.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “At first it seemed we weren’t interesting enough, being just these two savage elves…” She mocked an expression of disdain, like the nobles had been wearing when they first saw her at the palace, and she was glad when Solas’ eyes wrinkled. “They much preferred a highborn scandal.”

At first, Lavellan hadn’t really realized they were talking about her, but from then on, she’d noticed them staring at her when they thought she wasn’t looking, whispering and quietly giggling, and so she’d caught on…it wasn’t surprising after the rumors at the tavern, but annoying nonetheless.

“But then it seemed we caught their interest. Apparently, there’s been ‘exchanges’ between us’.” She was still not sure of what they were even talking about, and she shrugged when Solas arched a questioning eyebrow. “Apparently we’ve been exchanging gifts of a short, betrothals even.”

“And I had no idea we were!” Solas pretended to be shocked and Lavellan laughed, although she felt flustered that people were gossiping about betrothals, and she was glad Solas wasn’t asking about it. She wondered if it might fluster him too.

“They’re just nosy gossipers,” Lavellan said, trying not to dwell on the actual gossip. “But…with them around, I’m sure people’s talking about us.”

“I am sorry, vhenan, the Inquisitor’s reputation-”

“Stop with that and don’t be sorry,” Lavellan interrupted him. “I am not sorry for one of the very few good things in my life right now and I don’t care what people think about it, I’m not going to hide.”

It seemed Solas was going to say something, some sort of emotion seemed to go through his eyes at her words, but he didn’t, and instead, he leaned to kiss her.

“You know,” Lavellan began when their lips parted. “In my clan, you should only exchange gifts with your family and your spouse or betrothal.” Of course, as so many other social rules, more often than not they tended to ignore it and give gifts to friends. “And kissing someone you’re not bonded to? Tsk, tsk…If these rumors reach my clan, I'm in bigger trouble than with these orlesians hearing them,” she joked.

Solas smiled softly at her joking, but he seemed pensive, as if her words had given him thought, and Lavellan half regretted telling him about it. She couldn’t help but wonder, though, what would her clan make of Solas and their relationship… She’d not seen them in so long, sometimes she wondered if she’d ever be back. 

She didn’t want to think about it right now, she had enough on her plate, and so she reached for Solas' hand again and put on a smile.

“Come on…time we went back to charm these people.”

*

NA:

You can think they went have and behave all proper or you can think they went back and...held hands sometimes, so scandalous, maybe even danced. I hope she danced not only with Solas but with Dorian and Iron Bull too, quite the scandal, but she might be throw out of court.

I worked hard on this fic, it was out of my comfort zone, and I hope some of you can enjoy it, please check the other chapters if you missed them and thanks for taking the time to read this.

If you liked it, please let me know in a comment, and as always, reblogs are more than welcome.

I'm not usually a smut writer, it's not my thing, I'm usually a fluff, hurt/comfort person, but I don't know what Solavellan has done to me.

I hope they can have their happy ending, but I'll have to write it if they don't.

Excuse my English, it’s not my first language.

[wannab-urs]

Outtakes - Gin's Faves

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Here's a list I never thought I'd draw attention to: my favorite fics. I don't like leaving people out, so I never intended to make this an outtake. I'm posting this to show you all why I love this fandom. I've read well over 600 fics now, and sometimes they stick with me. I have no rhyme or reason for why a fic makes this list, but these are fics that drew me deeper into the fandom or reminded me why I love fic so much. I hope this has the intended effect. I'm not trying to hurt anyone's feelings by leaving them off, I'm trying to highlight some fics that altered my brain chemistry. Anyway, I'm rambling so... without further ado, here are my favorite fics.

Seams Joel Series by @fuckyeahdindjarin

Consent Dieter Series by @fuckyeahdindjarin

Grays Frankie Series by @fuckyeahdindjarin

Palomino Jack Series by @fuckyeahdindjarin

starstruck Dieter series by @ezrasbirdie

I Think of You Din Series by @prolix-yuy

Sex Worker!Frankie AU Frankie Series by @prolix-yuy

Stay on the Screenplay Dieter series by jazzelsaur (AO3)

Psychomanteum Dieter Series by @whatsnewalycat

In an Instant Joel one shot by @mishasminion360

In the Dark Ezra Series by @frannyzooey

Celestial Navigation Dieter Series by @write-and-buried

All our candles are burned out Dieter/Frankie one shot by @psychedelic-ink

I Only See Daylight Din Series by @millersdjarin

A Little Lipstick Never Hurts Max P/Dieter series spacegayofficial (AO3)

Losing My Religion Din Series by @oonajaeadira

Between the Raindrops Frankie Series by Jazzelsaur (AO3)

A Girl Walks Into A Bookshop Ezra Series by @oonajaeadira

Step Dad!Joel Joel series by @toxicanonymity

Cognitave Dissonance Jack Series by @prolix-yuy

Good. Things. Take. Time. Pedro ATS Series by @oonajaeadira

Hokaanir Riduurok Din one shot by @proxima-writes

buried Jack series by @something-tofightfor

Pretend Alleyways Dieter/Marcus M series by @radiowallet

Of Gorgons and Gardens Din/Ezra series by @concussed-to-pieces

Beskar Doll Din series by @justagalwhowrites

A Savage Place Joel series by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Feral Woman Joel series by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Mr. Miller joel series by @tremendum

I know it when I see it Joel series by @bageldaddy

Be-All and Endor Din series by @djarins-cyare

Sundown Joel one shot by @bageldaddy

Notes on Tutoring Dave York series by @honestly-shite

Deliver Me From Nowhere Joel series by @atinylittlepain

When My Time Comes Around Joel series by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Cosmic Oddities Din/Joel series by fromthewhales (AO3)

I'll Leave a Light On For You Max Phillips one shot by @oonajaeadira

The Infinity Cube Marcus P/Various series by @littlemisspascal

Somewhere Beautiful Din series by @peetiespetals

the dress Dave York series by @janaispunk

Ezra's Journal Entries Ezra series by @littlemisspascal

Cabuorir Oberyn/Din series by ToricTailor (AO3)

[morningstarwrites]

Hey, I love of saints and sinners so MUCH! I usually dont interact with authors but I needed to tell you that your story is like the literary equivalent of the songs Accidentally in love by Counting Crows and I want you by Savage Garden. It has summer time vibes and it’s beautifully awkward and sweet, like neither of them know what they’re doing. It’s a great story!

AW! Thank you so much!

Omg, I went to check out the songs and the lyrics made me blush to the roots of my hair 🫣 I'm so touched that my fic reminds you of those songs!!! I hope you'll like the rest of my story 😌

[zablife]

My Sun, My Moon and All My Stars-Part 1

Luca Changretta x OC (Aurora Sabini Changretta)

Summary: Luca and Aurora Changretta come to the UK to avenge the murder of Luca's brother and father. However, as their volatile marriage unravels, events take an unexpected turn.

Author's Note: This has been on my mind since I created the moodboard ages ago. And it's been requested in several forms, the most recent being a lovely anon who wanted to see Tommy with an American mafia girl. OC Rose Solomons belongs to @raincoffeeandfandoms. Prequel has been posted as phone calls in two parts here and here. I would def recommend reading that before starting this fic! One more part coming soon!

Warnings: language, domestic violence, mention of blood, use of ethnic slur

☀️🌙✨MASTERLIST

Luca stood pointing at a map with his forefinger, tracing a path from the garden to the center of Arrow House, mumbling in a low voice to his men. Thunder rumbled overhead as Aurora made her way into the room, unnoticed by everyone, skirting the perimeter of the room as she listened carefully. When she’d heard enough she spoke up from the back of the room, voice even and measured to show she was in control as much as her husband. “Non sono d’accordo, Luca.”

Luca’s head shot up as he searched between the faces to find his wife, though he thought he’d caught a hint of her perfume moments earlier, taunting him as he attempted to strategize. 

“It’s too risky to approach him at home again,” Aurora declared, stalking toward the desk with cigarette in hand. The smoke parted the men before her arrival at the table and she stamped out her cigarette a bit too forcefully before joining her husband where he stood. Although she hadn’t been invited to give her opinion, she’d been listening to every word, silently judging the ludicrous plan Luca was suggesting.

“Don’t you remember what the intelligence said about his family? They’re gypsies, fucking savages,” she emphasized. “And he’ll be expecting us this time so he'll have even more protection,” Aurora said with a dismissive shake of her head. Luca’s face and neck reddened at the scolding tone of her voice, his blood boiling instantly at the brazen way she dared to usurp his power.

The air grew thick with their silence and as Aurora’s eyes scanned the room, she noticed not one of the men looked in her direction. They shifted uncomfortably as Luca reached for a matchstick, placing it between gritted teeth.

A low growl emitted before his words, causing everyone to stand at attention once more. “And what would you have me do, tesoro?” he said the pet name without any hint of warmth, but Aurora did not back away. In fact, she stepped closer to her husband, standing just below his shoulder as she placed a hand to his forearm gently. 

“I’m only asking that we consider a few more options,” she said diplomatically. Then she reasoned, “There must be another way to get to Tommy Shelby. His sister’s home in London or perhaps one of his factories. We’ll have to wait for him to come to us this time.”

Luca removed the match from his mouth as she spoke, lighting it and held it perilously close to her face as he taunted, “We smoke him out, principessa? Is that what you want?” he asked moving even closer, the flame in danger of catching her loose curls on fire.

Aurora didn’t blink as she watched the flame dance before her eyes. She could feel the heat close to her skin and her pulse quickened. “Basta cosi!,” she warned with raised eyebrow.

As lightning flashed outside the office window the spell was broken, Luca blew out the match with a dark chuckle. Turning to his men he concluded with a wave of his hand, “You heard my wife.” Then rolling up the map before him with haste he added, “We’ll pick this up tomorrow when everyone’s rested.” Everyone filed out, but Matteo and Enzo remained to ensure nothing else was needed for the evening. Aurora remained at the window as Luca instructed, “Seven o’ clock sharp, you understand?” 

“Yes, boss,” Matteo and Enzo replied, trudging toward their rooms. It was only their second night in England and they had not yet acclimated to the time difference. They felt the exhaustion seeping into their bones, the relentless demands weighing on them heavily. 

Before they could move more than a few steps down the corridor, they heard the shouting begin. As the sound of glass shattering broke the crescendo of voices, Matteo ran a hand down his face, a hint of irritation as he sighed heavily. “Do you have the number for the hospital?” he asked his associate.

Enzo nodded slowly. “And the morgue,” he added solemnly, eyes lingering on the doorknob. He didn’t want to listen to the distinct sounds of Luca’s blows striking the object of his ire or Aurora’s muffled cries, but he would have to stand watch until it was over to know how to proceed. 

Luca tired easily tonight and Aurora limped from the suite thirty minutes later, hair disheveled to hide the bruise forming across her cheekbone. She fell once, picking herself up from the hard wooden floor with a sniffle and Matteo and Enzo turned from her as though they hadn’t seen her in ruin, a familiar routine of make believe.

“Let’s get some fucking sleep,” Matteo said when she disappeared into a separate room.

Enzo had just closed the door to his room and kicked off his shoes when the phone began to ring.

“Enzo, what’s going on? Luca hasn’t phoned,” Mr. Sabini grumbled.

“Luca’s been…working on strategy,” Enzo fumbled, thinking of the fight he’d just witnessed. He didn’t dare mention it to Aurora’s father though. Out of everyone who knew of their tumultuous marriage, Antonio Sabini was somehow unaware of his daughter’s plight. 

As if on cue, Antonio asked, “How’s Aurora?” 

Enzo gulped as he thought of a reply. “You know, she’s got her ideas,” he said truthfully.

“That’s my little girl!,” Antonio answered proudly. "She's got a sharp mind and she's good under pressure!" he boasted. "Mark my words, Enzo, this vendetta will end as quickly as it started now that Luca has my Aurora by his side. She won't lose any of our men either because she's much more delicate than he is with these affairs you see. Luca's always been too temperamental," he mused.

"Yeah," Enzo agreed quietly, hoping Mr. Sabini was right.

“Keep me informed. I want to know everything,” Antonio said sternly. “And keep Aurora out of danger if it comes to that.”

“Yes, sir,” Enzo reluctantly agreed, unsure how he was going to keep the promise. 

“And Enzo, buy her blue hydrangeas tomorrow,” Antonio ordered. “They’re her favorite. I don’t want her feeling homesick,” he added softly, the fondness of a memory seeping into his voice and making it much quieter than before.

“Of course,” Enzo said, replacing the heavy receiver in the cradle and falling into bed, only to be awoken an hour later by the sounds of lovemaking in the room next door.

—————————————-

At seven the next morning, Aurora entered Luca’s office, smiling to herself as she held a large bouquet in her arms. All the men in the room turned to drink in the sight of her glamour, a trait that lived on in her from her exceptionally beautiful mother. Enzo and Matteo exchanged knowing glances as they traced the lines of her face, noting how talented she’d become at hiding the swelling and bruises. 

Although it sickened them to watch, she bent low to capture Luca’s mouth in a tender kiss, pulling away to breath a near silent “mi dispiace” against his lips. For reasons known only to her and Luca, they always fell back into each other’s arms. It was as predictable as the rising sun.

“I know you are, baby,” he replied, turning her out of his lap. 

“Grazie, amore,” she said sweetly holding up the flowers and stroking his cheek adoringly.

Luca knitted his brow, a hint of confusion noticeable, before he glanced up at his wife with a smug grin. “Of course, sweetheart. If you’ll excuse us, there’s business this morning and I think you had your say last night.”

Aurora nodded obediently and went to put the flowers in water as though in a trance. As soon as the door had shut behind her, Luca’s expression changed to a deep grimace. “Which one of you assholes got flowers for my wife?” He leaned forward onto his elbows, awaiting an answer.

Soon Enzo spoke up with a slight tremble in his voice. “It was me, but it wasn’t because of last night, Luca.”

Luca narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck did you say to me?”

“Her father asked me to get ‘em,” Enzo clarified with a slight cough, suddenly remembering his lines in the play they were subconsciously rehearsing at any given moment.

“Figlio di puttana!” Luca said, smacking the desk with his palm. “He spoiled her and now look how she acts!”  He shook his head with an indignant scoff, turning to look out the window. “Thank God she married a man like me to keep her in her place, right?”

———————————————

“We aren’t in Darby’s territory any more. Where are we going, Luca?,” Aurora asked as the car bumped along the narrow roads. Luca turned to look out the window as though he didn’t hear, second guessing his decision to bring his wife along to the negotiations with the mad baker of Camden Town. However, Aurora would not be ignored. She had played the dutiful wife for weeks so as not to insult his manhood further, but every attempt at moving closer to Tommy Shelby had failed, resulting in multiple casualties. To make matters worse, every man lost was a member of her own family, brought from New York to aid the Changrettas in their vendetta. The idea of losing more men sickened her and she began to consider the possibility that she would have to challenge her husband once more.

Then Luca spoke up, but he only offered a sliver of information. “We’re on our way to Camden Town, alright?” he said before settling back into his seat with a sigh.

Aurora was raised at her father’s elbow watching the deals he made and how he researched his enemies. However, there were things she’d learned on her own as a result of being the only woman in a room full of men. How you had to demure and make them think an idea had been their own. She’d learned the art of manipulation and weaponized it early on as a means of survival. Today called for such an approach.

“An alliance with the Jews? That’s clever,” she praised, hoping her guess was correct. Running a hand along his knee seductively, she waited for Luca to confirm her suspicions.

Luca turned to face his wife, a surprised look on his face. “And how do you know about Alfie Solomons?” 

“He’s connected to the east Boston Jews. But, Darby knows him, of course. Says he’s unpredictable and violent,” Aurora added wearily.

She watched the muscles in Luca’s jaw tighten beneath the shadow of his fedora, knowing he didn’t like Aurora involving herself. Rubbing two fingers against his chin thoughtfully, he dismissed her concern. “I’ve spoken to your father and he approves. That’s all you need to know,” Luca said firmly.

“I wish you would tell me more about today,” she cajoled.

“No, amore. Not this time,” Luca said, clasping his large fingers over her gloved hand and giving her a squeeze that bordered on painful reprimand.

As the car jerked to a stop in front of a dilapidated building in Camden Town, she turned to her husband and took once last desperate chance as they exited the vehicle. “Luca, let me speak to Mr. Solomons. A woman’s touch to the negotiations might be just the thing to keep him from erupting,” she said innocently.

This infuriated Luca and he pulled her back, making her stumble on the rough cobblestones. “Like hell you will. This is my deal!” he spat.

“That concerns my family name and my blood!” Aurora retaliated, batting at his chest with her fists, unable to control herself further.

Luca’s eyes blazed with fury, striking her with full force and causing her to fall to the ground. Landing on rough stone, she sliced her arm as she hit, immaculate clothing ruined in the filthy street.

“Get the fuck up,” Luca commanded through clenched teeth.

Aurora winced involuntarily as she pushed her body forward, feeling the pain in her arm throb as soon as he placed weight onto her hand and blood trickle from her nose. “Vaffanculo!” she yelled, placing her fingertips to her chin and thrusting them toward him. 

Luca leaned down and dragged her to her feet, fingers digging into her flesh as he swore, "You make any more trouble for me and I swear to God you'll die here, Aurora. No one will know the difference if I tell them the Shelbys did it," he hissed in her ear as a small woman with dark hair appeared before them. 

“Can I help you with something?” she asked, looking the couple up and down, hands on her hips with more authority than someone her size ought to have. 

Luca released his wife immediately, straightening her clothes as he painted on a charming smile. “She fell on the cobblestones,” he explained smoothly. “I’m here to see Alfie Solomons. Is he in?” he inquired as he stepped forward, seeming to forget his wife in distress.

“Depends on whose asking,” the woman replied, glancing at Aurora with concern. 

Luca removed his hat as he introduced himself. “I’m Luca Changretta,” he said, extending a hand.

Thoroughly unimpressed by his charisma, the tiny woman tilted her head at him. “And who is she?” 

Luca coughed to cover his embarrassment. “This is my wife, Aurora. She’ll be staying outside,” he said with a pointed look at his wife, who stood, cradling her arm.

“If you want to see my husband, I insist this woman come in as well. She requires medical attention,” Rose said sternly. 

“If you insist,” Luca said, pursing his lips. 

“I insist,” the woman said with a definitive nod. “I’m Rose Solomons, Alfie’s wife. Come in,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“Darling,” Luca said with a sneer, extending his arm toward Aurora.

Aurora pushed past him and followed Rose inside. Luca followed two steps behind, removing a match from his pocket and chewing it ferociously. He didn’t like being humiliated by the Solomons woman and made a mental note to make Alfie pay dearly for it.

As Luca was shown to Alfie’s office, Rose took Aurora to a separate part of the distillery. Her interest was peaked now that she’d witnessed something between husband and wife that felt unsavory. The Solomons’ liked to make it their business to know everything about their associates and this felt like something worth noting.

———————

Rose expected someone quite different from the woman she was meeting today. She’d heard Aurora Changretta was a tigress, someone who never gave an inch to her enemies. However, the woman who stood before her bloodied and broken was not in a position to argue. She might listen to the plea on Rose’s lips so she began in earnest.

As Rose handed over a flannel dipped in cool water, she admitted what she wanted. “I’ll be blunt, Mrs. Changretta. My Alfie has cancer. He’s riddled with it. The doctors say it’s probably from the gas during the war,” she explained with furrowed brow as though she didn’t understand or believe the words that came from her lips. However, Aurora knew them to be true. They were the admission of someone who loved deeply and had not yet come to terms with an imminent loss. 

“I’m sorry,” Aurora responded. “But I don’t see how I can help,” she admitted.

Rose cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders, rising to her full height. “You can get that man out there to go home. Leave us in peace for the days we have left,” she asserted.

Aurora bit her lip to keep a bitter laugh from escaping. Instead she just shook her head. Taking a deep breath she turned to Rose and spoke slowly to make the other woman realize her predicament. “You think I tell him the ways of the world? No, he doesn’t answer to me,” she admitted, dabbing at her wounds. “He has very little use for me these days,” Aurora admitted in a soft whisper.

"I thought your family ran New York?" Rose asked slightly confused.

"And now it's my husband so you see we're bound," Aurora replied with a look of resolve.

Rose took in the sight before her, bruises covered by layers of make up, bones badly healed over time. The limp when she walked inside and the arm she cradled gingerly now. This was a woman who knew suffering and yet there was tenacity in her hazel eyes that couldn't be denied. It was this strength Rose appealed to now.

“You’d die by his hand? Because that’s where you’re headed, love,” Rose warned, recalling her own difficult past. “Won’t you try?”

Aurora paused for a moment, a trickle of bloody water running down her elbow as she washed. This went against everything Aurora had ever been taught. You never spoke against your family, no matter what happened. Her parents ingrained that in her at an early age. However, her parents’ marriage had been one based on love and respect. No matter how many times they reconciled, she and Luca did not carry the same affection.

As she sat in the damp distillery, listening to the distant sound of machinery, she thought of her future with Luca and his intention to crush her beneath him became abundantly clear. He didn’t care for her as he once did. When the money and the resources were gone, he would dispose of her.

Finally Aurora mumbled one word into the darkness of the small room, keeping her voice low in case Luca was nearby. “How?”

Rose inhaled a sharp breath, chin rising suddenly with renewed hope to meet Aurora’s wide eyes, full of questions and doubt. She knew how hard it would be to ask this of kind of trust from a stranger, but if she could convince her to take the first step, the rest would fall into place.

“We get you to Tommy Shelby,” Rose said confidently.

Aurora shook her head violently. “No, please. He’ll kill me.”

“He won’t. He’s not Luca,” Rose promised, rushing the rest of her speech for fear Aurora might bolt in fear. “This vendetta was started by the Changrettas and your husband is using your family to fund his war. Now he’s asking my husband to help. It won’t stop unless we say so. We can stop him, Aurora. Will you join me?” Rose asked, reaching for Aurora’s bloodied hand.

Aurora’s lip trembled thinking of crossing Luca, but she had had enough. If there was one thing her father taught her it was to fight for her own interests and she knew she still had fight within her. 

“Yes, I’ll help you,” Aurora agreed on a shaky breath, reaching for Rose.

“We’ll protect you, I promise,” Rose said, intertwining her fingers with Aurora’s stained fingertips. The blood that tainted her would soon be washed clean.

————————————

It had taken another week and several clandestine phone calls before Aurora could steal away to meet Rose. She’d convinced Luca that she needed medicine for her cuts and he allowed her to leave the hotel though she knew she didn’t have long. Rose knew a man who could help them meet in neutral territory, but it would be brief as Luca sent someone to watch over Aurora whenever she left. With that in mind, Aurora stole away one afternoon wondering if this was all a mistake.

The bell above the door of the chemist rang out and Aurora took a deep breath, scanning the small shop for Rose. The tiny woman stood in the corner, observing a box as though she were another patron and when she spied Aurora she beckoned to her. Aurora felt her heart thundering in her chest as she followed Rose through a narrow doorway, descending a dark staircase. However, it was far too late to reconsider and she marched ahead with as much courage as she could muster.

Aurora soon found herself face to face with Tommy Shelby who paced the length of a small, dimly lit room. She knew him instantly from photographs and descriptions of his deep blue eyes like two pools that could drown you if you stared too long. The moment she entered, she was mesmerized by him.

“You killed my wife,” Tommy said, a stillness coming over his features when he caught sight of his enemy. Aurora sucked in a breath, recognizing the inherent danger facing her. Violent men all had the same deceiving comportment, a snake coiled and ready to strike. 

“Tommy, please....” Rose interjected in a pleading tone, willing the meeting to continue. Rose glanced at Aurora and noticed a visible change in her demeanor, a hardening of her exterior as she refused to show any kind of weakness.

“Luca killed your wife. I only tried to kill you,” Aurora said defiantly, head held high.

A moment of silence passed as Tommy considered Aurora. Then she spoke again, "You misunderstand, Mr. Shelby. I'm trying to end this. It was never my fight," she said softly, feeling the weight of every life lost in service to her and the family.

“If this wasn’t your fight, why the fuck are you supplying your husband enough money and soldiers to overthrow the British empire, love?” Tommy countered.

“Loyalty. I hear that you’re like me when it comes to your family, Mr. Shelby. You would do anything to protect them. I didn’t agree with my husband, but I promised to protect him….”

“Do you honestly think he’d do the same for you?,” Tommy asked, blue eyes icing over to match the chill in his voice. He knew he was being cruel, but he had to test her in this moment to see if she would crumble.

“I have no illusions about our marriage,” Aurora confided on a low breath. She forced herself to make eye contact as she said, “That's why I'm here. Rose told me you might be willing to strike a bargain.”

Tommy scoffed, turning away from Aurora and she worried what she’d been told about his mercy was false. 

“Fucking hell, Tommy. She’s here and she’s willing to talk. Isn’t that enough?” Rose asked.

Tommy turned with a look of warning, “Alright, give him up.”

“What?” Aurora asked.

“Give up your husband and we’ll call it even,” Tommy demanded.

Aurora swallowed harshly, considering the choices at her disposal. Stay and see more bloodshed or end it with one final betrayal. It took only a fraction of a second to see the choice she had to make. 

“An ambush,” Aurora agreed quietly, fixing her gaze on Tommy. “But we have to make Luca think you aren’t expecting him. That he can take the shot.”

A smug look came over Tommy's handsome face. "You are as ruthless as they say, aren't you?" he commented. Then just as suddenly the amusement in his features disappeared and he turned stone faced once more. “How do I know I can trust you?” Tommy asked.

Aurora began to laugh bitterly.

“That’s fucking funny to you?” Tommy asked.

Aurora shook her head as a tear fell from her cheek, the enormity of her decision causing her to fall into a momentary fit of insanity. “He married me and he saw cashmere, cologne, red racing cars…All I wanted was love. It wasn't supposed to be like this,” she sniffed as she looked away from him, trying to catch her breath and regain composure. She pushed the pain away and felt her anger rise up in its place, “I just want out, you understand? I want out from under him," she confided, her whole body beginning to shake. 

Rose approached her and covered her with her shawl. “It’s alright, Aurora. You’re going to be alright,” she promised, looking to Tommy.

“Artillery Square, two days time,” he said with a satisfactory nod. 

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

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[rapha-reads]

IWTV rewatch

(s1 finale… Ready for pain and blood? Let's do this. *grabs tissues*)

Season 1 episode 7 [The Thing Lay Still] - part 1/3

- Oof, opening with the Moonlight Sonata, how to put you right in the mood.

- Daniel side-eyeing Rashid/Armand…

- [Daniel] "Can an immortal meet mortality?" - weeeell, to paraphrase our favourite rockstar, "the sun or the fire might kill me, but then again, it might not".

- [Louis] "Decapitation. He confided that to me one blood-drunken night in Bâton Rouge." - and then Louis proceeded to never forget it. I want to know more about their nights of hunting and partying. There's like, 80 miles (is that roughly 100km? I'm French, I don't know miles) between NOLA and Bâton Rouge, even if they're vampires, that's still a little trip that could be special when they have all of New Orleans to hunt (an anniversary? A date? A special performance of Macbeth or Puccini? Someone needs to write a fic)…

- [Louis] "Add to the toxic air a new ever-present paranoia, and now, you are with us." - kinda wish I wasn't tbh. "The toxicity, in my city"… Ahem.

- [Louis] "Lestat de Lioncourt. 179 years in the Savage Garden. 148 years the blood-drinker, the bringer of death… the deer come up the trail." - ooof, first point, Lestat, or at least, Louis' version of Lestat in this recollection, oozes danger and predator. He looks, feels and moves dangerously. And acts unhinged. His words heavily accented. Go figure if he really was that scattered and angry at that time, or if Louis' anxiety, trauma and guilt color the scene that way.

Second point, another mention of the Savage Garden! Made by Louis this time, so one could imagine that Lestat told him about it, that they had a conversation or more about the subject during those 30 years together, given that the theme is a Lestat special.

- Ooooh, the unholy family moving and acting together as one, totally in synch! Say what you want about how toxic they are for each other, it can't be denied that they are a family that knows each other by heart.

- Hey, who turned off Moonlight Sonata? Now I'm left wondering if it was extra or intradiegetic music. A disk playing in NOLA in 1940 or in Dubai in 2022? Can't decide.

- [Lestat] "Enough! Two in one night. Dolls, Bibles, letters become torches and pitchforks. We have to leave this place. We have to leave New Orleans." - should have left 10 years ago when Grace decided to kill off Louis… I wanna say better late than never but given that people are actually openly seeking your house to ask for healing and whatnot… Y'all are in danger. And obviously it's Lestat so there's no leaving discreetly. Gotta make a show out of it.

- Looooove Daniel getting distracted by Armand's presence. Cannot wait for some more Devil's Minion.

- Hello social commentary, segregated tramway, another slight to Louis and Claudia. I love the layers.

- [Claudia] "'You share a coffin with him.' [Louis] 'I don't talk in my sleep.' [Claudia] 'You share a heart with him.' [Louis] 'I can cut it off!' [Claudia] 'No, Louis. You can't. You spend an hour with him and you're breathing in sync together.'"

Thank you for confirming that they've still got it bad for each other, Claudia. Love the way the heartbeat starts getting louder, love the way Lestat can feel Louis looking at him and immediately looks back.

[Claudia] "'He'll know. It'll only work if you give in. Give him all your heart and I'll do the rest.' [Louis] 'I can't do that. I'll lose myself in him.' [Claudia] 'Leave a little shelf inside there for me. I'll jump back in and pull you out before I kill him. Can you do that for us, Louis? Louis?' [Louis] 'Yeah, I can do it.'"

*screams* First the wink and Lestat obviously seeking Louis' attention. Then Claudia directly asking Louis to keep a part of his heart for her, all that she's ever wanted, to be put first. Then her overestimating her pull on Louis and underestimating the intensity of Lestat and Louis' relationship. And then Louis very clearly knowing he cannot resist his feelings for Lestat no matter what. And finally Louis outright lying to Claudia saying he can pull it through while already knowing it will destroy him, have you seen his face in the last shot before leaving the tram? He knows he can't but he'll still try and maybe do it, but he'll lose a part of himself, and he's already grieving for it.

Then again. That's 2022 Louis describing the scene and the conversation, with the hindsight of 80 years or more (I'm bad at maths) of knowing what he's lost and how he lost it and how much of himself he's lost. Maybe 1940 Louis wasn't thinking of that at all.

*screams a little bit more* Maybe if y'all learn to openly communicate, we wouldn't be currently plotting a murder. Maybe.

- [Louis] "'What about Greece? Cradle of Western civilisation.' [Lestat] 'Sun worshippers, hot springs…. Those Who Must Be Kept.' [Louis] 'What was that?' [Lestat] 'Nothing.'"

Yeah, absolutely nothing. Don't mind that. It's really not important. Not at all about to come back and bite you all in the neck.

Things that mean nothing for show-only and everything for book readers… *jumps around the room in excitement*

Do we think Marius is still in Greece in 1940? If Lestat still meets him around 1789-1790, it's been a century and a half, he's definitely moved them somewhere else.

Love how Lestat's face goes vacant and momentarily dreamy when he starts thinking about Akasha. You can tell she still lingers in his mind.

- [Claudia] "'Bach. Always back to Bach.' [Lestat] 'Bach is beyond you.' [Claudia] 'Yes, the music of the master race is… not made for these mongrel ears.' [Lestat] 'You irritate me. Your very presence irritates me.' [Claudia] 'I came to make peace with you, Uncle Les.' [Lestat] 'Mm. Sister, daughter, infant death, you must think me an idiot.' [Louis] 'Could you two please just…?' [Claudia] 'Musique française pour les mains françaises ?'"

Pleaaase I love them. Toxic mother-daughter relationship, it's like looking into a mirror. Love all of Claudia's punches. Bailey's French is really good. And love how Louis immediately moves in to turn the pages for them.

- Oooh, so the party idea is not Lestat's but part of Claudia's murder scheme? How delightful!! Like father like daughter I guess, how they resemble each other so much. And love how Lestat starts by being against it and then gets slowly seduced by the idea.

- Oh, goddamn fucking bloody Tom Anderson is still bloody fucking alive. Kill hiiiiiim, please kill him. Wonder why he hasn't led a mob to their doors yet, with how he literally has known them since 1910 and has a pic showing them still as they are. Too chicken, Tom? Or too New Orleans, rather not know and keep going as is? Oh, I see, tempted to make your own deal with the "Devil". Ha. Idiot.

- [Louis] "The weird brothers and their doll-like sister were coming out." - I just like this line. Tells about a whole story hidden behind the main story.

- "Let the flesh instruct the mind." - now that is one hell of a line.

- Lestat playing his bloody Marie-Antoinette fantasy is simultaneously so bad taste and so hilarious.

- Their outfits are GORGEOUS. And the white is making Louis' green eyes even greener.

- [Louis] "The blood was everywhere. The veins and arteries of a few hundred hearts ringing out like air sirens, drowning out the rhythm section of the hired band."

I love how Louis' narration is almost inaudible beneath the sounds of heartbeats.

- Lmao, Lestat has groupies everywhere he goes.

- [Louis] "A cascade of feelings came over me as I watched him sponge up the adoration. I wanted him dead. I wanted him all to myself. The fasting was a mistake. I wasn't thinking clearly. Something was off."

You never think clearly around Lestat, Lou babe. Case in point, the besotted face you were just making at him, that he was returning to you (where are Sam and Jacob's awards), and the fact that suddenly you can't even tell Claudia's mental voice from - oh, a wild Antoinette appears. Yeah, something is off.

- When can we get rid of Tom Anderson. Soon? "It's got to be one of those tricks that you and your fag pederast satanic trio got in your pocket." Ugh, he looks so proud of his dumb line. Please tell me we're draining him soon. Thank you Louis.

- Aaaah, a balcony scene, aaaaaah! Aaaah, the lightning of cigarettes, aaaaaaah! Aaaaah, Lestat being emotional and genuine, aaaaaah!

Time to sing Sam Reid's praises:

"I'm going to miss this place. There's not an inch of this city that wasn't built from the fierce wilderness that surrounds it. Hurricanes, floods, fevers. The damp climate on every painted sign, every stone facade. High windows, through which enamelled bits of civilisation glitter. Silhouettes emerging, wandering out to catch a silent flash of lightning. The silky warmth of summer rain. Desperately alive… and desperately fragile. The hunger has me too, it seems."

*pterodactyl screech*

It's the way his voice wavers with barely restrained emotion. It's the tears glittering in his eyes. It's the way he never stops looking at Louis. It's the way New Orleans was, is and continues to be a metaphor for him, for Louis and for their relationship, "I am she, she is me".

The way his voice breaks on "desperately alive", because at the end of it, that's what Lestat, little Wolfkiller, who refused Magnus' bite and was forced into the darkness, who rejected the idea of a coven, who gazed upon the Mother of all vampires, Lestat who is constantly struggling to run away from his pain, trauma and loneliness, that's what he is, desperate and alive and desperately alive. And so afraid to show his real self to Louis and be rejected for it that he immediately makes a joke out of his deeply genuine moment.

And the way Louis refuses to engage with this moment also says a lot about where Louis is at at this stage. Refusing to give in fully, rejecting the true emotions, running away from both Lestat's love (because that's what it's about) and his own love (the shame and the guilt and the fear)… Refusing to open up his heart and thus forcefully closing down any door that could be opened.

Imagine for a moment that Louis had answered Lestat's feelings in truth? What would it have changed, in what ways? Or would it not have changed anything, because neither he nor Lestat are in control of the narrative at that point and Claudia holds the power? And what would Louis responding in kind and giving in to Lestat's depth and his own emotions look like? It would be interesting to explore it…

ep1 | ep2 | ep3 | ep4 | ep5 | ep6 | part 2 | part 3