#he's the most beautiful man ever methinks

[lousolversons]

Kurt Russell as R.J. Macready in THE THING (1982) Dir. John Carpenter

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Lord Husband (Chapter 1)

Cregan x reader

A/N: this is just gonna be a miniseries methinks

word count: 1,171

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“You look like an angel, my love.” Rhaenyra says as the handmaidens pin back your hair but you don’t feel like an angel; you feel like a pawn.

You have been meeting with suitors for nearly four moons and none have seemed to be good enough for you. Lannisters are too proud, Tullys bore you, and you can’t stand a single person with the name Baratheon. Your mother said that she was showing you a great kindness in allowing you to choose, a kindness that she didn’t appreciate enough when the young queen had the chance. You don’t care. You know you are just like she was when she was younger. You often wear that with pride but you know what it means in this scenario. You’re ‘too stubborn to appreciate what has been given to you’. Rhaenyra gave you the opportunity but she was no longer patient. A husband had to be chosen.

“Winterfell is very far.” Is all you say in response.

“Lord Stark is a good man. I would not have chosen him for you if I wasn’t sure of it.” She presses a kiss to the side of your head. “Just walk through the gardens with him. Get to know the man who will be your husband.” She pets your hair in a loving manner. You can’t seem to understand that she would only have the best for you, her only daughter.

You have yet to meet Cregan Stark but you already hate him, your betrothed, the man who will whisk you away from your family to the cold North. You resent the freedoms he is taking from you. You resent being separated from your family. You resent everything about him.

“He will treat you well, sweet girl. I know it.” You stand up now, wrapped in a silk gown and decorated with jewellery like a lovely little present for him. When you get to the gardens, he is already waiting for you with a blinding smile on his face. You have to admit that he is incredibly handsome. He is tall and his physique looks strong from years of training with the sword. A real Northern man.

“Princess, it is my pleasure to meet you. Our engagement brings great honour to my house.” He walks over to stand in front of you and you let him take your hand up for a kiss, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Lord Stark.” Your voice is cold which seems to surprise him ever so slightly. You don’t give him a chance to say much else as you begin to walk through the gardens, leaving him in your dust. He looks at you in a bit of a stupor before quickly following after his pretty betrothed. 

“Would you like to take my arm, princess?” He politely offers his right arm to you. How proper.

“No.” You say simply as he speeds up a bit to stay in step with you.

“No?” He looks a little confused but chalks it up to teenage girls being a little strange. You give him no other response so he makes another attempt at conversation. “Have you ever visited Winterfell?”

“No.” He awaits to hear a sentiment of your excitement to see it soon but is disappointed when none comes.

“I am sure you will love it. It’s beautiful when there's a fresh dusting of snow on the ground. I’d say it’s the greatest place in all of Westeros but I suppose i’m biased.” He grins, mostly to himself, and then looks at you, hopeful for more of a response.

“Hmm.”  Is all you offer as a reply. Cregan finds himself dejected at his future wife’s lack of interest and he tries his best to shake it off.

“It does get cold of course but you’ll be more than warm enough in the castle. Most actually find it very cozy.” He gives you another smile that likely has most women melting in a puddle at his feet. For some reason it just irritates you more.

“Dragons don’t do well in the cold.” Your curt reply makes him cringe. He can’t understand what has given you such a sense of distaste towards him. Things are silent for a moment. He has no idea how to respond directly to your comment.

“Do you have any hobbies?” Another attempt it seems. The question makes you sigh. What a boring change of subject. 

“We don’t really need to speak.” You shock him with your words, with your bratty attitude. He’d expected you to be entitled but he didn’t expect you to be outright rude. He is a lord after all, the Warden of the North. He deserves some sense of courtesy from you.

“That is going to be difficult seeing as how we are to be wed.” He scoffs and you begin to fiddle with the rings that decorate your fingers.

“The only thing you need from me in this marriage is to fill my belly with your heirs.” You say. You know it’s harsh but it isn’t necessarily untrue. He seems to be taken aback slightly by your words.

“You don’t wish to get to know the man you’re going to marry?” He asks in disbelief. He seems like a romantic. You didn’t think people of nobility were allowed to be romantics. Though, simply knowing your husband better is a sad definition of romanticism.

“You ask many questions.” You roll your eyes and he does his best to hold his tongue and not say something stupid.

“And you answer practically none, princess.” There was a bit of bite in his words. He clearly believes that you’re acting like a spoilt child. 

Awkward silence fills the space between you both. You wonder if he may apologise to you and he earns a bit more of your respect because he doesn’t. It’s quiet for quite some time and you try to walk faster so that you may get to the end of the gardens before he tries to make conversation again. He never does and it isn’t long before the promenade comes to an untimely finish.

“Good day to you, my lord.” Poor Lord Stark looks like he’s rethinking all of his life choices when you say the words to him. What an ill fate for the man, marrying a cold Targaryen princess.

“To you as well, princess.” You don’t lift your hand up for him to kiss again and based on the fact that he looks like a kicked puppy, you know that he wanted to.

You leave quickly. You did your duty… technically. Your mother asked you to walk through the gardens with him and you did. Mayhaps you simply forgot about the getting to know him part. You wonder if he will retract his proposal, but who would ever retract a proposal to a princess? Maybe you’re delaying the inevitable, maybe you’re just full of old fashioned Targaryen spite but you have no wish to create a relationship with the man you’re meant to marry.

taglist(comment to be added): @valeskafics @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies

[mrcrawly]

Jayvik headcanons

hello jayvik nation im dumping these here bc im almost done with the second chapter of my fic and these have been stewing a while

Viktor

has the most beautiful curly calligraphy handwriting ever but it's so curly and fancy you genuinely can't read it

Ibuprofen allergy. source: my twisted mind

fidgeting with stuff all the time. paperclips, pencils, clips, rubber bands, the buttons on his vest

bonus to that one: he messes with his vest buttons so much that Jayce is constantly having to sew them back on when they come off

chronic nail biter

big sweet tooth

great cook but a shitty baker

"get even" kind of person; probably holds grudges from the second grade

doesn't cry very often but can be sensitive in the sense that he cares very much how his closest friends view him and internalizes their opinions

love languages are words of affirmation and acts of service

likes to be touched but not held (autism)

hates winter because it makes his joints hurt, summer is unbearably hot and he can't stand it, he has spring allergies; default fall enjoyer

animals really like him and strays tend to show up at the lab or follow him around

children like Viktor. Viktor doesn't like children back

kids will sometimes randomly talk to him and tell him things in public and he doesn't have the heart to be mean to them or ignore them so he just sits there like "mhm ☺️" while they talk until their parents apologize and walk off

probably has a pet reptile (a turtle or some kind of lizard methinks)

cold natured and wears seven hundred billion blankets to bed every night no matter the season

identifies as male in the sense that he was born a man and just never bothered to think much about it but doesn't fully grasp the concept or purpose of gender. could tell you what makes a man a man or what makes a woman a woman but doesn't understand why nor care

interested in jayce from the beginning but never felt as if he was in competition with Mel

sorry they can pry the JayMelVik love triangle out of my cold dead hands ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

not very affectionate because he doesn't know how to discuss his own feelings but very good at soothing other people

Jayce

dysgraphia (i think that's the term?) – not many issues with reading but not the best with writing

viktor is hyperlexic so it works out alright

AMAZING at drawing. like if he didn't have the passion for science he would be an artist. he draws out all their diagrams and blueprints and Viktor labels them

can cook pretty well but doesn't like to do it; if he stays at Viktor's place then Viktor always cooks for him

likes baking because he controls every single thing that goes in and it's very exact

both he and Viktor have chronic pain in their hands (carpal tunnel) from spending all their time taking notes and working with small delicate parts

he doesn't complain about his even when it bothers him because it feels silly knowing how bad Viktor's pain is every day 💔💔💔💔

10,000 step haircare routine but Viktor's looks better anyway

used to be prone to acne as a teen (if accutane existed in arcane he would have been an accutane kid)

(i was an accutane kid and im projecting)

shaved regularly pre-hexcore because his father had facial hair and he looks a lot like his dad anyway; he was always a little worried if he grew it out it would remind Ximena too much of his dad and make her sad

took entire days off of work and pushed deadlines back when Viktor got bad just so he could stay with him when Viktor was in too much pain to do practically anything

used to deliberately sleep in the lab because Viktor would stay late and he didn't want Viktor to be alone in case he passed out or something happened

love languages are physical touch, gift giving, and quality time

money doesn't exist to him when he's buying other people things. can't do secret santas at Christmas bc he constantly exceeds the budget

simultaneously one of those people who legitimately cannot accept gifts and feels bad when people give him things

was genuinely so in love with Mel; used to have dreams about marrying her and living somewhere quiet with her

most definitely forgave her for manipulating him on the council and understood her but it was just never the same

bottom. argue with the wall

OUGHHHH my shayla 💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

guess my favorite character challenge level impossible (it's so unbelievably obvious)

[the-kingshound]

It's so interesting to think about my Hound stats, because I do have a rather nebulous image of him on my head. So I debate myself a lot when deciding them.

So, here it goes:

Strength: 18. He is a strong boy. He is a living weapon, or so he was treated as. Don't pick a fight with him, you'll regret it. At the same time, Arthur is lucky because if he asked, my Hound will absolutely carry him everywhere bridal style.

Charisma: 2. It does not help he is mute (you cannot use your rizz if most of the population does not understand signing, methinks). And he has the whole stoic thing going on too, so like, his charisma cannot be high. Yet, I debated on this point because I imagine him as very attractive, but wouldn't that be pretty privilege? Maybe. Yet he is, outside of war, a rather kind individual, so I give him 2 charisma points based in that. He has the potential to be likable, he just has to put in the work. Perhaps he simply is too intimidating.

Cunning: -2. Too quiet, too honest, too straightforward, too obedient. A man who is there to follow orders, not to debate them. A man who believes in actions and not words. And not because he is mute, signs counts as words, right? Also, perhaps a bit unrelated, but I see him as the kind of guy that is smart only for certain things and a dumbass for the rest. So, he would be good at fighting and being a soldier. For everything else? Well...

Pretty Privilege: 10. He is the kind of guy you expect to be bruised and scarred to the point that he should be more scary than beautiful. But, nope. The most beautiful face you could ever see in a very tall athletic body, with long flowing hair. He could be in a shoujo manga. That said, I thought about deducting points because I don't see him actually using the pretty privilege. But this is not about using it, but having it. And he does, indeed, possess it.

Mental state: 5. Could be better, but also could be worse. He has trauma, as any person who fights in a war is due to have. But he is more less stable. Could go higher once he settles in Arthur's court (and arms).

Omg I love him your honor! I agree that being mute kinda ruins the rizz of many Hounds... but your baby being so pretty makes me scream. Arthur is spreading his arms for him, ngl

[rustys-side-coach]

Rating ALL of the Rusties from the UK Tours that I’ve heard.

yes you heard that right.

I love the UK Tours so it was only natural that I do this lmao, and my phone broke to shit so I’m not able to do certain things until I get a new one, BUT I listened to most of the, yesterday! So imma go on a yap sesh lmao

JAMES GILLAN - 2004-2005

first Impression: he’s literally RUSTY. the man, the myth, the legend, he plays Rusty here the best of all the rusties I’ve heard, but he shouts way too much in the bootlegs I’ve heard.

like girl…..you’re okay….Pearl’s still here..you could try later..my god.. like I think he might be the more aggressive of the Rusties..but his voice is AMAZING, i could listen to him sing all day everyday and not get bored.

I could tell he loved playing rusty, his crazy was full of energy and he sang THE FUCK out of Starlight Express and the Starlight Sequence, but no improv when certain things happen so that’s a bummer lmao

but yeah my rating is definitely a 100/100. He played Rusty exactly how I think he should be played, and I’m really sad I don’t have that 2005 video bootleg of him….maybe one day..

Philippe Reynolds - 2005

first impression: he’s…okay…

so this Rusty is more mature of all of them methinks, and you can definitely tell when he tries to sing the solo in coda freight…he could not hit that high note and I’m almost died..

but his Crazy is energetic and really fun! Most of them are, but I could definitely tell he was having fun, even though he wasn’t able to sing the way other Rusties could, but he still killed it. And I thank the bootlegger for sitting so close, you could hear him loud and clear and I kept giggling when he got closer lmao

his Starlight Express kinda blew me away, while again, not able to hit those high notes he was so passionate about it that I just kept repeating the song for like idk 10 minutes?? But he played it straight and had that emotion that others don’t really have, so he gets like 5 points for that.

my rating is…90/100, first his first time playing rusty (I’m thinking it is) he did really well! Would love to get another bootleg to see if he grew into it, but I don’t think one exists lmao

no photo of him as Rusty, so here’s him as Nintendo lol (it’s the only photo of him at all actually,,)

Oliver Thornton - 2006

First impression: SpongeBob me boy.

this Rusty sounds really congested, really SpongeBob like lmao. But he still kills it as Rusty! His woo woo sounds like a pubescent child but also really comforting? He’s just so silly,, his Rusty is also very chuckly and bubbly i kick my feet when I hear him lol

like before crazy, he giggles and chuckles to all hell, and I love him for that, it’s so stupid but I would kiss him on the mouth and watch him giggle like a school girl if that makes sense idk,,

in Starlight Express, he’s got a bit of crazy vibrato going on, but he has some emotion in there so yeah idc he’s one of my faves and I will not take criticism, he can hit those high notes well and he kills it during everything he’s in,,,but.

But. He missed his cue for Crazy one time.

I held my head in my hands and wanted to melt into the couch..how do you do that???

ANYWAY. I loved him. He gets a 99/100. I’m still not over the missed cue for crazy…shivers

Cameron Neilson - 2007

first impression: go back to playing cb little bro/j

his first time playing Rusty, I could tell he wasn’t feeling it. He was a bit stiff and stale during his singing, but he tried.

I do have more bootlegs of him, and he does way better in those ones. He plays Rusty with some excitement and playful energy in there sometimes, he’s able to hit those high notes (sometimes) and his woo woo is just beautiful to listen to.

His Crazy is a bit like eh to listen to, he doesn’t do that well, but yk he’s trying and his voice is a bit more higher than how he played CB but he still sounds southern lmao, his steam was the most southern ever and I loved it 😭😭

yeah so he did well, but hmm he gets a…89/100. Go back to playing CB and I think he does better lol. Again, no photo of him as Rusty, so here’s him as CB!

Kris Manuel - 2007-2008

first impressions: oh…..oh no…baby no…

was he an emergency cover??? Because he was STRUGGLING when he was first introduced..he played Rurhgold and Electra in both UK Tours, so it’s a given that uh…..yeah uh….

his Rusty sounds really nervous sometimes…like I can tell he tried to play Rusty, he has the voice that I think he tried to act as Oliver? But it does sound kinda good lmao

anyway, he missed his cue before crazy HOW DO YOU DO THAT??? but uhhhh his voice does good, he tries to be good in singing, in one bootleg he does really well, in the other,…not so much. I feel bad lmao why did he play Rusty??

my rating? Mmmm 80/100. Not that good but he tried. I feel bad,, no photo of him as Rusty, so here’s him as Dustin!

Adam Ellis - 2008

First impression: SpongeBob 2: electric boogaloo

hello SpongeBob. It’s nice to hear you again/j but really omg, why does he sound so nasally and high pitched? Idk why but it makes me laugh when I hear him, it’s so silly to me and idk it’s makes him more endearing..

his starlight express and starlight sequence gets me going, it’s very good and I’d listen to it all day everyday in time with James lol. But I think he does pretty well, he plays Rusty how you think he would.

energetic and silly, I’d wanna get another bootleg with him, but I guess watching the 2 videos of him does me good…

ratingggg 90/100. I love him. He’s so silllyyyy

HIM WITH THE MULLETTTT

Jamie Golding - 2009 NZ Tour

First impression: okay buddy..

well, he played Rusty! I mean, he does pretty good, I loved some of his improv, but he just…plays Rusty like..idk how to explain it but he’s not really into it. He plays it straight, he sounds likes he pretty bored but I guess he’s trying to get back into it?

yes, he sang his heart out in both songs, his crazy though, not that crazy. Also when the songs ended basically no one clapped??? Like I think barley anyone was there so I…I think I almost cried lmao.

also I don’t like the way he pronounces Starlight. I have the same problem with Oliver’s ‘poppa’ but it’s not that bad aside from me going 🤨 every time he said it. But yeah I guess he’s did good. Idk I wasn’t feeling it with him.

my rating……….80/100. Wished he did better..

Kristofer Harding - 2007-2013

first impression: HELLLOOOOO KRISTOFER RUSTTYYYYY 😍😍😍😍

my man. My favorite Rusty of all time.

he does the most improv of all the rusties here, and I love everything he says and does (I can hear it lmao) he plays him like a little guy so energetic and positive,,

Ik that he’s British but I don’t care, he keeps making karate noises and grunts during crazy, and he does so much improv in that one song it made me fall in love when I first heard him. He’s so dorky and plays Rusty like a PERSON with a personality. Not saying the others don’t lol

I love him always and his silly woo woo and his stupid little catchphrase ‘yeah’ every time he’s confident I’m going to blow him up with my mind i love him alwaysssssss

my rating for my all time pookiebear 100/100 I DONT CARREEEEE NO ONE TALK TO ME GET OUT THE WAYYYYYY

Stuart Armfield - 2013

first impression: yeah he’s good!!!

he plays Rusty with this emotion of determination and confidence. You can tell how passionate he is when he sings starlight express and how happy he is during the starlight sequence.

he acted serious and almost hesitant during laughing stock, he plays the seriousness of the show very well. I have no gripes with him. Just wish he was a bit more sillier, but I can’t change the way he played him, so hehe.

rating 90/100. I wasn’t able to listen to all of him before my phone broke, so I rated him from my memory of yesterday. Alsoooo no photo of him as Rusty 😒😒😒 so here’s him as CB!!

[vellichorom]

You make rlly good rants / have great takes,. So. I was wondering. What do you think is the biggest / most popular stereotype when it comes to the Narrator ??

I wanna make a drawing kinda based off of the stereotypes people see , and I was wondering what you think. Is probably most popular :3

oh GOD, the biggest most popular stereotype eh? ironically asked just as i'm listening to the narrator's voice lines...

well, i'm going to have to go with something OBVIOUS & say that that would be the IMPOSSIBLE to miss notion that " he's hot " & people envisioning him ONLY through an attractive filter;

do i think his voice is attractive? of COURSE i do, i'm not made of stone! & kevan PRIDES himself in his work & knows a vast majority are INSANE about his voice, as well he should, he's got great talent!

HOWEVER, then going on to define his EVERYTHING based on this attraction is annoying at best & sickeningly irritating at worst.

it's SO obvious some narrator designs are solely based on artist wet dreams or banking on others', with the narrator's actual characterization being thrown COMPLETELY out the window.

guys your sexyman literally gets all pouty without attention & has the bite of a 5th grader, he would Not be as attractive or cool as you think he is. this ISN'T even exclusive TO people who make the narrator a handsome twink either! however, it is WAY more prevalent in that area, therefore we side-eye.

it just feels a Lot like others create designs SIMPLY based around aesthetics & generic appeal rather than... creating a CHARACTER, or recognizing the character that DOES come attached with the voice you find so hot. & then SOMETIMES, people form entirely alternate characterization for their design rather than canon, but still insisting that it IS indeed canon!

listen can we stop touting the funny clock 0ut guy as the Token, peak, & true TSP narrator design. i like him too but it's making me real upset now

IF you're going for characterization of the narrator that you want to be AS TRUE to canon as possible, you need to take a step back & realize this man is a manchild & probably does Not have the divine powers of a god & doesn't have to Look or Act as attractive as you think his voice is. even the most BEAUTIFUL aspects of a person can come from a deeply flawed individual & that's okay, & in characters, EXTREMELY endearing! insisting to make a character beautiful & flawless in every aspect just results in a very flat character that will ONLY ever serve as basic eyecandy, & only to a handful in the end.

beyond that, i can't really think of anything else that's as strongly stereotyped for the narrator beyond. you know, general fandom mischaracterizations methink? pushing his attitude to extremes with NO even level & misunderstanding his intentions. ...but at this rate, i'll TAKE THE most pathetic soft boy narrator as opposed to the absolutely physically RIPPED daddy narrators i've had to see a few times. jesus

& hey, listen- MAKE your AUs, MAKE your characterizations into OCs & such, do WHATEVER you want that makes you happy, i'm REALLY HONESTLY not here to kill anyone's fun & i won't ever resent you for how you choose to enjoy your blorbos, take my words with some salt; these are simply my dipshit ass opinions that some people enjoy hearing!

which, THANK YOU anon! may this new rant satisfy thee & help you with your project!

[ofbetterbodies]

poor things (2023) running commentary:

(live editing as I watch)

from ~17 min mark onwards

- love the variety of camera work!!! It's so cool I love how yorgos tells the story

- Bella is so silly goofy during her carriage meltdown like realest girl ever methinks

-oh how I wish she wasn't chloroformed

- as an advocate of desexualized titties I'm loving the scene with prim and Bella bc yeah real it be like that

-god I hate this actors accent work I'm sorry to say

-WE IN COLOR!!!

-HOMEGIRL FUCKING KILLED HERSELF SHES SO FUCKING REAL (sorry for being so crass)

-the coloring !!!!!! Oh my god it's so beautiful I'm so obsessed with how color is used in this film

-GROSS SURGERY SCENE FUCK YEAH (girl who hates horror movies

- I knew the premise going in but oh my god.

-she is awake ☀️ rise and shiiinnee ☀️

-LOVE BIG CHAIR WISH I HAD BIG CHAIR !!

-hey what

-HAIRY BUSINESS ????

-well 😭😐

-as a weird science bitch I love the fantasy world of mad scientist family who use their children as experiments

-Bella be like bye ✌️

-hm. I hate this.

-I understand. But I hate this.

-this is what film is for I think to explore weird ideas and scenarios but oh my god 😭😭

-wish they didn't say it like that

-LOVE THE THESIS STATEMENT DROP LMFAOOO

30min mark

-I'm gonna be fr max you are a big idiot if you think this girl understands the sanctity of marriage

-big big biggg fan of the sound design in this

-LOVE the bubble wand

-*hates* I have to hate

-*more hate*

-OH HIS NAME IS GODWIN (that's good)

-Bella is so smart | "Bella not safe with you, I think"

-oh I hate 😍😍😍

-girl I'm dizzy with excitement too so true

-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

-no don't adventure with a man who cares little of damage to you 😭

-I get her

-Bella said heyyyyyy lol

-oh!

-GIRL HELP????????????????????

-she's so crazy lol

-I hate the pig chicken btw

-YEAH SHE IS A BEING OF FREE WILL! But she needs to be protected lmfao??

-you're such a dumb fucking bitch if you think being worried about her is emotional and not logical

-oh!

-good for her I think?

-dress 🩷

-color!

-I think he should die for saying she can't have another sweet treat

-ew

-mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm don't like

-idk ! I don't like how these scenes are shot

-could have just been the last frame

-furious jumping 😭😭

-girl help

-girl HELP 😭😭 (yes it's a weakness 🩷)

-ew

-I hope she leaves

-yay !

45min mark

-wardrobe so cute hate the hair like I understand it would suit the character but I'm allowed to hate it aesthetically

-sunnies! :)!!

-the boots are sooo cute help

-OBSESSED WITH THE SET OH MY FJDJDHSHSBSHHZ OG MY GOD THE SET IS SOOOOOO CUTE?? Like the set?? Sobbing and crying

-Bella so real for crying when watching a beautiful woman play music me too

-Bella discovers fighting and crying from witnessing fights real

-I love how Emma manages to use her body language to be like damn god never prepared me for this!

-throws up

-girl me too

-I get her idk

-Duncan should die btw

-SHES SO REAL NO ONE CAN JUST DISAPPEAR 😭

-amazement to Bella. I love her

-SUGAR AND VIOLENCE !! IT IS MOST CHARMING. I AM FINE.

-love that (good for her)

-yeah why would I keep it in my mouth if it is revolting

-because you mean

-SALTY 😭

-I love her

-PUNCH THAT BABY 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

-like I get her real

-I think Duncan should die

-you are hurting Bella!

-slaps

-good

-kith

-Bella!

-THE TRAIN DRAWING HELP I LOVE HER

-shoulder moment

-SKIRT !!!! SHE LOOKS SO PRETTY

-Duncan should die

-makes me discover angery feelings for you I love her

-IS THIS THE DANCE SCENE?? Yay

-tiptap

-GET IT

-lead that man Bella

-I'm like I think Duncan should die and they're like partial credit

-Duncan hey maybe uh that's a bit far

-PLEASE JOIN THE PRETTY GIRL WHILE HE IS BEING NEEDLESSLY VIOLENT

-stop talking as your sounds make Bella angry

-I love her

-NO!!!!!! BAD BAD BAD !!! NO!!! WHY ARE THEY TOGETHER STILL

-Bella is smart 🩷 she 🩷

-fuck this guy for not loving how intelligent she is btw

-LMFAOO IS THAT NOT HAPPENING?

-so no head? *skateboard crack*

-she is terrifying I love her

-OH!

-I love Emma's acting so much 😭😭😭😭😭😭

-girl.

-I love her

-god I love her

-I fear I am also a confusing person Bella I get you

-oh if something happens to Godwin I'm kms

-THE SOBS AT NIGHT 😭

-sorry. You what

-hey uh I think your father shouldve died 🩷

1hr mark

-hellogoodmornin

-Duncan should die

-Oh that went better than I thought

-she sounds so unimpressed I love her

-BOATS BOATS BOATS

-Bella so smart

-ew

-ew

-I don't like Duncan

-if that wasn't obvious

- Emma stone is breathtaking. That's the commentary

-did I mention that I love the wardrobe for Bella? I love the wardrobe for Bella

-hi I'm Bella and I like a guy who can kill things

-three days 😐🫡

-she sleeb

-T H E S H I P

-she's so unimpressed I adore her sm

-she's both like so me and also so unlike me I'm obsessed -UGH BELLA I LOVE YOU!!

-NO EVIDENCE BASE 😭

-I adore her

-do I kin Bella poor things a little bit? Maybe.

-skirt 😍😍

-oh! Maybe she should have asked first

-I agree though I go up to interesting older ladies as well

-oh!

-yelling happily!

-cadaver into the sea 😭

-that is terrible!

-Bella Baxter btw I love u

-BELLLAA MY BELOVED

-much reassuring news 🩷 she's so kind

-god I'm so happy she made friends

-I think Duncan should die

-marry me or kill me? Is that the proposal!

-adore her

-I think Duncan should die (he is pathetic)

-MARGARET QUALLEY CHECK!!!!!!!

-felicity is so seven.mp3

-Bella I love you

-harry you look soooooo cool

-HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP

-"I is the goal of all to improve, advance, progress, grow. I know this in me, and I am sure I am indicative of all."

-harry you should shut up and have more nuance in your statements (she said hypocritically)

-HEY I THINK DUNCAN SHOULD DIE

-she's so belle from batb coded

-Karina kinnie moment ?? Yeah

-wardrobe 🩷 if this was pastel pink I would wear it out daily

-SET DESIGN IS SO BEAUTIFUL I WANT 2 CRY!

-oh. I don't like this. Oh no.

-oh no.

-oh no

-HELP!!??

-LMFAOOO Martha I love you

1hr15min mark

-slow zoom in on Bella knocking on the door I love her

-oh Bella

-being kept up at night with philosophy I love her

-pretty moron 🩷 I would disagree on the pretty part bc of the fact that his character detracts heavily from his appearance

-scene transition so beautiful Karina cry

-THE FUCKING CARRIAGES WHAT IF I DIED ISHDHSJSJKAS THEYRE BEAUTIFUL!!!

-A L E X A N D R I A

-Emma stones beauty in every shot of this film is sincerely breathtaking

-camera work the optic blur does so much for me

-OH I LOVE THIS SET !!!!!!!!!! THE LIGHTING IS BEAUTIFUL

-WARDROBEEEE ✨☀️

-oh!

-harry I hate how you said that

-I do however love this set

-yay yorgos for the real life set

-weird film

-I hope Duncan died

-pinhole camera is interesting but I don't entirely love it

-I hope these dudes who are going to steal from Bella's donation choke

-oh!

-I hope she didn't give away all their money I truly don't know if she would know

-oh this scene Emily "emma" stone your acting 🩷🩷🩷🩷

-she worked hard on this and I appreciate it but as an viewer I'm like 🧍🏻‍♀️ uh oh

-Bella run

-going to mute this bc I have ✨trauma✨

- ok good I kind of thought it was going to get physically violent?

-but uh this is not good!

-omg like the marina and the diamonds song??

-god I am a Bella Baxter kinnie 😐

-harry shut up did you know that realism is stupid

-FUCK YES BELLA YOU GET IT I LOVE YOU 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

-the silly little kiss on the cheek

-oh!

-"I always think it will be better." 🚬😐

-P A R I S

-I hate this fucking man

-I love herrr everything is an experiment!!!!

-ADVENTUROUS

-ew

-I mean she is in Paris

-if it's consensual I guess it's ok but I fear that she doesn't know about venereal diseases

-oh!

-why did you shoot this so explicitly yorgos

-it's an interesting choice

-oh! 😐

-I'm... skipping this 😍

~1hr 28 min mark (a little past)

-love her

-eclairs

-oh I hate you Duncan

-oh Bella Baxter I love you

-dude shut up bye

-I can now see you are not that...

-Duncan I hate you

-there is clearly something broken in you

-Duncan I hate you

-god Bella I get you queen

-oh I hate the makeup on her but it fits I guess

-OH SHE DID IT HERSELF

-she has to say formidable at the end help

-bye I'm skipping this

-skipped to 1hr 33 min mark -

-oh fuck yes she gets to hang with the gorls

-oh! Good for her

-SOCIALISM 😍

-GOD I GET HERRRR (girl who had scientist dad)

-oh!

-ew

-pls don't talk about yourself like that :(

-an idealist!

-ew 🩷 but she's right

-oh grandchild ohhh I get it

-I do appreciate the camera work

-oh I get her

-oh she is talking to them?

-OH SHES SCIENTIFICALLY MAKING SEX WORK BETTER 😭

-le giggle

-oh good for her

-this is shot well so I did not skip (and by well I mean tolerable to my sensibilities I guess?)

-oh!

-grateful for the montage that was tolerable

- Bella so cute

-Bella in stem moment

-aw yay!

-love the sloppy work comment I get her

-oh!

-she's so real

-ew

-ew?

-ew

-EW!!!

-Karina skip

1hr42min mark

-Duncan should die

-BELLA FIT CHECK

-Duncan I hate you

-ok the little hello to Bella's friend 😭😭

-WE ARE OUR OWN MEANS OF PRODUCTION 🫡

-oh hi felicity

-HI MARGARET

- oh :(

-poor felicity

-gory surgery scene I hate it but why am I watching?

-OH SHITT

-cancer :(

-oh no

-oh no

-compliments and chocolate help

-swiney is so cool the tattoos are amazing

-oh Bella :( real

-this is reminding me vaguely of fable iii

-oh good for her

-music so pretty

-kinda wish this was shot differently

-they cuddle :) she sing :)

-toinette I love you

-lmfao did Duncan go insane over her

-that's so funny

-max you are so slay

-ew

-they go fight fight fight

-oh!

-oh :(

-L O N D O N

-it could be said that Bella's adventure was a so long London moment

-THE WHORE IS BACK?? Die

-empirical data says different :(

-beady eyes and hard questions 😭

-amazing

-she finds out

-oh

-fascinating

-can't wait to see how Emma acts Bella's reaction

-OH SHE HATES MAX FOR THIS

-that look was severe to say the least

-sister meetup!

- bell whore :(

-meanie

-AND SHE RETURNS??

-oh I love this conversation

-I am finding being alive fascinating

-the way Bella just states her emotional state bluntly and to the point sooo true queen

-wardrobe

-FISHEYE!! RADIAL BLUR!! BEAUTIFUL!!!

-AHHHHHHHHHHHHSHHHHDHDGDGGHDHDMAX AND BELLA MAX AND BELLA SLAYYY

-GOD I ALSO AGREE PEOPLE CAN BE CURED OF ASPECT

-oh max mccandles

-I AM ENJOYING THIS PRACTICAL LOVE WE HAVE 😭

-THE COCKTAIL OF DRUGS GOD IS ON LMFAOOOO

-WEDDING TIMEEE-

-uhoh

-uhoh

-shut up Duncan

-he has cancer you fucking idiot 😭😭

-ew

-who tf

-Victoria blessington is a hell of a name

-ew

-but that does not apply to the metaphor here

-I am Bella Baxter ,,,,,

-oh!

-uhoh

-love the dress

-oh :(

-GORGEOUS LOCATION

-how tolerate it core

-oh she wanted to know why she died :(

-oh that sucks for bella Victoria

-her direct questions I love her

-ew

-ew

-it was fascinating!

-sound design crazy

-sexual hysteria...

-oh I hate this guy... a lot...

-I love the way this is shot

-Bella I love you

-so I'm a prisoner....

-she™️

-this guy is weird

-THAT TRANSITION 🫡🫡🫡🫡

-oh the wardrobe downgrade!!

-music

-children's hospital ass location

-SORRY YOU WHAT

-WHAT

-WHAT

- oh she must be regretting this something crazy but it is an interesting challenge

-this guy is awful

-hell yeah

-dumb ass

-Bella so smart

-idk how to say this without sounding evil but I hope she experiments on him

-I GET HER

-god and Bella!

_bellas smudged lipstick lol

-oh Godwin :(

-it's all very interesting, what is happening.

-BEAUTIFULLY SHOT

-besties

-gin 🩷

-THE GENERAL WHO IS NOW SHEEP MAN LOL

-Felicity 🩷

-Bella wardrobe 🩷

-she nervous for exam but studying my queen fr

- credits are beautiful and old school! 🩷

[vind3miat0r]

Send Me a Character & I'll Tell You game

Avoir (I had to lol)

KSJDHFKD YOUUUU /nm /lh

My first impression: oaugh he was so mean to us in the beginning :( honestly? i did not like him (shocker i know). setting aside not having context for why he was acting like that, his character just did not strike a chord with me. the only thing that i really liked about him is that he yaps a lot and uses fancy words, and im like a moth to a flame when it comes to that shit

My impression now: THAT IS MY HUSBAND RIGHT THERE!! ughhh i love him and his character development :( hes so tragic and just. augh. he lives permanently in my brain now, the brainrot is real. i dont think im "could quote word for word" levels of obsessed, but ive listened to his audios enough times to know what hes going to say next in some instances. really a whole 180 i did there

Favorite thing about that character: his absolute adoration for Starlight. in the flashbacks, you can hear how much he loves and cares for them, and i can practically see him gazing at them starstruck, its beautiful. literally makes my cry anytime he says "my starlight" im so deadass rn 😭

Least favorite thing: honestly theres not really anything i dont like about him?? hes literally my favorite character so ofc im gonna be biased 😭😭 if anything, id like to hear more abt his past. i know he told us that story abt him and Circinus, and presumably there was more from the first time they were in the trap together, and id really like to see that, as well as their initial growing closer (again, ik that we saw some of that, but id would still like to see a more detailed version of it. like, who dropped the first "i love you"? and etc). other than that, i cant name anything off of the top of my head that i dont like abt him

Favorite line/scene: OAUGH. I HAVE SO MANY.. for scenes, definitely the entirety of "Back to The Real World With Your Demon." i was screaming internally the whole way through, and Avior realizing Starlight had gotten their memories back will always have me in a chokehold. and shoutout to his hbs and springback audios too. for lines, "The things I feel for you fly in the face of every justifiable fear and suspicion that this situation has burned into me" GETS ME EVERY TIME MAN, HE SOUNDS SO SOFT AND IN LOVE AND GRRRHASGHFDGF

Favorite interaction that character has with another: considering that hes literally only ever interacted with Starlight and Circinus on screen, id have to go with when hes helping Starlight get to sleep and (again) his hbs and springback audios. while i do like angst (why else would i listen to his playlist mutiple times per month), im such a sucker for fluff its not even funny

A character that I wish that character would interact with more: again, considering that hes only ever interacted with Starlight and Circinus, there is a whole slew of characters that id love to see him interact with! probably another demon character, like Warden or Gavin, those would be fun!

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character: theres a character in a fandom named Caduceus Clay that my bf rlly likes, and i think him and Avior have a similar vibe :)

A headcanon about that character: augh i have so manyyyy 😭 ill just put down a few lol

Avior studied Greek and Roman mythology as a hobby during his first years on Elegy. he was at first intrigued by how thousands of years ago, the Greek had named the stars (which as you know, the d(a)emons are named after), and he just fell into a rabbit hole of legends and mytology after looking into it

he acted as a steward to Warden (the lore implications this would have would be CRAZY methinks)

after getting Starlight out of the trap, the areas of his body where his magic had torn itself away from him became white scars that resemble explosion scars. they're on his hands, arms, general chest area, and most of his tail. he also gained a facial scar from the fall he experienced

A song that reminds of that character: Upon Cobblestone Streets by The Family Crest. a while back i saw someone say that this song rlly fits Avior and Starlight's dynamic, i gave it a listen and immediately cried cuz they were RIGHT!!

An unpopular opinion about that character: two words: BODY💥WORSHIP💥 thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[green-angst-and-ham]

YET MORE INCOHERENT SCREAMING

Did that have even the slightest resemblance to the comic? Not in any way. Was it absolutely amazing and was I grinning all over my face like an idiot and bouncing up and down on the couch? Forsooth, I was delighted.

Methinks that was the greatest half hour of television to ever exist, or possibly the greatest of my life, I shall never recover

Yes this is a Buckynat blog but Loki alas-poor-Yorick-ing!!! I just know Tom Hiddleston put his entire Shakespearean soul into that and it was glorious, my theatre-major self is content

The Odinkids are getting along!! I’m so proud!

Tony, drunk in a hayloft, as he is wont to be.

Rogers Hood and Maid Margaret is the most brilliant thing to have ever graced mine eyes, long live the Outlawvengers

BUCKY!!!! Look at this man and his gauntlet-arm and his crossbow and his best friend Steve, he is beautiful and I love him and this is brilliant and perfect and AJDHSHDK I AM HAPPY

Red Skull fight!! Bucky’s just getting to mix it up with all the Hydra folks this season, isn’t he?

Since Clint was mentioned and Natasha is AWOL, I choose to imagine that Clint rescued both of them from a medieval Red Room or something, and the thought of the resulting shenanigans brings me great joy

You can HEAR how much fun Jon Favreau is having voicing Evil Happy. “The pipes, the pipes are calling!” Also that role in the original comic tie-ins was played by the Punisher which would have been very bad so I’m glad we went the fun route

On the subject of King Thor, I feel the need to inform the masses that the king in the original comic was King James, who is Scottish and angry and possibly gay for Quicksilver and is also Wolverine, which makes me wish they could have borrowed Hugh Jackman off the Deadpool set

“Shut thy mouth” is now a permanent fixture in my vocabulary

I will think about nothing but this episode for the next week, I want to write a bajillion fics

I can end my incoherent screaming in no other way than with an emphatic HUZZAH

[noxexistant]

Hi bestie

Can you give me some ideas of Romeo flirting?

hello! :D

like ideas for how romeo would flirt? (pls feel free to correct me if i misunderstood) but yes! absolutely! my sweet boy!

we see in the show that romeo’s flirting is very playful, almost like his aim is more to make people laugh than actually succeed with his pursuit. he’s grandiose (“methinks the lady needs to be handled by a real man”) and enters with total confidence (“well, hello, hello, hello, beautiful”) and, though he does back off when he’s rejected or told to, it doesn’t seem to bother him at all. he even ribs jack for also being rejected by katherine, and both of them joke around at the idea that either of them actually care (“i’m crushed!”)

so, i’d say his flirting is heavily appearance-based. swooping in with a big beaming smile and putting on a voice like he’s in a play - deep and sultry and silly - and telling his passing fancy that they’ve got the most dazzling eyes he’s ever seen. “you gots eyes like the hudson!” (finch, nearby, rolls his eyes and comments, “i thinks that’s an insult.”)

when he tries to give more genuine compliments, they come out even sillier. “your hair’s real swirly” to a girl with her hair styled into careful ringlets. “you got so many teeth when you smile!” to someone he’s fallen in love with in the single second of seeing them laughing.

also, he definitely playfully leans into the joke that he’s the beacon of masculinity. puffing himself up a little while he’s saying his lines, lifting his chin to look taller. but, if his paramour responds at all positively - read: playing along - it dissolves immediately into his usual self, and he shrinks as he beams. “you knows, i’m a real romantic. they say that’s why they calls me romeo. so you should let me take you on a date. we can go someplace nice, i been savin’.”

[salientseraph]

GIV'US THE LIST!!! Genuinely curious about your heinous taste in men

OKAY ANON?1??1?1

I'm gonna try to go in somewhat chronological order. Some are fictional, some are non fictional, it should make sense :)

This is a LONG FUCKING POST BTW

My first crush ever......drum roll......

(gonna be using gifs so i don't hit a photo limit)

1) Mike Nesmith!!! (The Monkees)

He's one of my earliest memories, I had to be around three years old. First crush started off strong. The first episode I ever saw was fairytale, and it was absolutely AMAZING because this beautiful princess was also a beautiful MAN??? It was like hitting the jackpot! I loved his Texan accent SOOO much but had somehow convinced myself that it was embarrassing so I didn't tell anyone?? At 3 years old. But now I'm living my truth👍🏻

2) Michael Jackson (all eras)

I'm almost positive he was my first hyperfixaction when I was around 5. I listened to his music EVERY DAY and SHAMELESSLY wore a sparkly glove despite it being a sensory nightmare. When my mom had told me he died it was like my entire world ended, and I had gained a new catchphrase whenever my parents introduced me to something new, "Are they dead?"

3) Christopher Reeve's Superman (and Lois)

I don't particularly remember how old I was, but it was around the same time methinks. Absolutely melted every time he smiled. And was extremely confused as to why I wanted to be around Lois so much. Couldn't ever decide who I wanted to look at more. (Partly a biromantic awakening)

4) Sam Beckett (Quantum Leap)

If you couldn't tell, growing up in the early 2000's with musicians as parents led to little 5 year old me having so many old interests I couldn't really relate to younger kids, but that was okay because I had variety! I'm not quite sure how old I was when Netflix was a postal service, but every week or so we'd get a new episode of Quantum Leap, and I LOVED Sam. (And of course my favorite episodes were when he had to be a girl. I am a creature of habit)

5) Obi Wan Kenobi (and Padme) (Star Wars)

Yet another one I was REALLY embarrassed about for some reason. All of my (2 neighbor friends) thought Anakin was soooo hot and I was like.....haha yeah....

6) Chuck Bartowski (and Sarah Walker) (Chuck)

I sort of grew up watching the show Chuck, I'm pretty sure we had rented most of the seasons from our local block buster, lol. Anyway, another case of bi panic, because good GOD. I mean seriously. Just look at them. ALSO I have to mention Scott Bakula (actor for Sam Beckett) is Chuck's DAD so um. Do with that information what you will.

7) The Doctor (11) (Doctor who)

I'm 6 years old. I'm over at my mom's friends house and I am subjected to the first modern show I had really ever paid attention to, and I see this beautiful man holding a baby. And I'm like wait hey...maybe I should sit and watch this instead of wasting 2 hours on the sims 2. So I sit my ass down and it is love at first sight. Later I go to watch the show on my own and the first episode he's with a kid MY AGE?!?! I ate that shit UP. Still madly in love with the raggedy man.

8) 2016 youtuber phase (sigh)

OKAY OKAY EVERYONE ON FANDOM TUMBLR don't boo me, everyone had a youtuber phase in middle school. Everyone also had an undertale phase in middle school. It was the thing to do, (aside from superwholock of course) Had to mention it because we're going in chronological order of things, bear with me. Although these are real people, everyone who was in the depths of insanity at the time knows they were all very...fanonized. Pewdiepie, Jackscepticeye, and Dan Howell (known at the time as danisnotonfire). Yes I am a little ashamed. But I do stand by the fact they are all very cute. I think this is also around the time I got into the Flash series, which brings us...

9) Cisco (The Flash)

Okay girl no one wanted him like I did. Everyone was so focused on the flash they did NOT notice my mans, and that was okay because I didn't have to fight over him with anyone lmao- but yes, he was the light of my life in middle school. Promptly stopped watching the show when he left. Around that time I got into Steven Universe all the way until my sophmore (?) year of highschool which brings us to....

10) Loki (Marvel Media)

Okay look, after being a mild marvel hater for a low-key (pun intended) long time, the loki series came out and I was like okay sure I'll watch it. And henceforth 2021 was the year of Lokimania. Or more fitting, Hiddleston mania. Watched everything I could get my hands on. But I always came back to Loki. (I was 16/17 I think?)

11) Castiel (Supernatural)

Avoided watching the show for a long time because of....the superwholock plague LOL. So 2022 rolls around and my mom is like "hey btw this show is actually really good" and I'm like okay whatever.

Then season 4 hits. And I see this ANGEL. And I am in love. 2022 was the year of supernatural, along with FINALLY getting all of the in-jokes of superwholock.

12) Connor (Detroit: Become Human)

I am now 18. I found myself delving back into my old "watch jacksepticeye while I eat lunch bc I want to be non-verbal" habit and stumbled across his dbh playthrough. I watched it literally ANY time I could. Took two days but it was life changing, so much so that I had literally convinced my mom to buy a cheap ps4 and I played the game. Got so much into the fandom I started watching Bryan Decharts streams, and one thing lead to another and HE COMMENTED ON MY FANART!! Anyway live laugh love Connor Anderson (he is hanks son)

13) Arthur Morgan (Red Dead Redemption 2)

Piggy-backing off of the high of dbh, I finally got around to purchasing red dead 2 (because like 5 of my friends recommended it to me, including my older brother) so I got it, and BOY I did not expect to fall in love with a cowboy, but I suppose it is deeply rooted in me to like fellas of that sort. I cried my eyes out and couldn't eat for a whole day when he died in my first playthrough.

14) Astarion (Baldur's Gate 3)

Look do I even need to explain myself here. Its the same old story of girl sees beautiful man from media she has no idea about, obsesses over thousands of videos of him, buys game and romances him, the rest is history. 2023 was definitely my videogame year.

15) Jerma probably

Look we all know he isn't real but look at how cute he is ^v^'!!

Supremely Honorable Mention: Newt Scamander (Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them)

I would have put him in the list but I literally have no memory of watching the first movie, when I did it, how I felt, nothing. Its just a blip and then all of a sudden this human embodiment of a shy giggle consumed my brain (and this was before I was a fan of anything harry potter, again I avoided all the media all together because of the cringe millennial fandom stuff I had seen, no hate to y'all now though cause I'm one of you)

There you have it! I've had a ton of mini crushes in-between these but none compare to this list I think :) I love them very very much and I need to make a giant fanart with all of my silly funky quirky little dudes all being friends <3

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Composition # 13066

A curtal sonnet sequence

               1

And yet’ I said methinks me your heart, yet could not all, as parts, now the clear of cold and the margin of nonentity? Like moonbeams that you would know what he gets, come hither, come hither, come hindmost, holds her servants were to consort with God’s creatures to mend your love. ’Nous snake where shall have spoken, loved accents on mine ear. Over seas at rest but yonder: ’ then snatched, and how she blush’d: Euphelia frowned: I sung and blush it thro’ me?

               2

Dissemble, with sullen-seeming trust, and the evening, till she doth spring from the soldier will have to isolate th’ Anatomie of all wants: because a like enough, my friend, we trust their way again while I was not her virtue’s image, that heart, where all that was merely thereat shotte. So dire a sadness sat on every hour gave to isolate th’ Anatomie of all wants or age deprest, reclined his heart.

               3

The long-wish’d-for end, full to the skies. The mournful family! The cause herself, a nations in proportion deep, and the name of her image pure? Children, come hither, come hindmost, holds his golden beak to the man, of white; and thinner, clear raindrops in your Ford Cortina I will pass his daughters of the more spell. For her beauty appear in its deadly black. Some have done, by staying; come, my Corinna’s triumph was almost pure.

               4

Looked not for brake, as it grew, for Oh! Must without end, my wavering under the tide, so this fair surpasse, most sweet a breathe? Of a harsh terror, darkly; but the envious night: devotion gives its ease, and they take the Spring-time, fresh the narrowed name: euphelia’s praise her mourned. In the hill- side—and I am white blaze of moon on the starry head of grandmother wars, beside their native East. The lark does rustle in twain.

               5

There is a flower salesman. Or broke? Back, and die as calmly as a thousand years, I recommenced; Decide not eternal, infinite numbered nothing. But Sylvio, when you can’t forget you and your best friend; for well she knew him, if he was their thankful Hymnes: tis so: for wholesale commends to miss. The circular arguments, or art thou bring companion, mystery and mountain, dark cedar, tho’ I can find none!

               6

To your coat that was the realistic? Her back again, as if here wine is spilled on two postulates a that should be her lips, pass the colors just as young, although I know that makes his eye behold the applause of eyes that roars between us throw mildly away, with which arise from nobler course. He added, lest some other words euen in the story as his fatal work had been my holy care. Body of skin, on all.

               7

Lady Mary Ann looks at the night-birds flie, and treated like a bee, love gentle in twain. Cramped under the powers many a little while and bring whom, SPIRIT fair, thy soul the shore, and bright eye shining in the records of continence, tho will tell me what it will Oothoon pluck’d the faint maid, because I seen, as if it had hayled. Was whispers first line threshold? You Gods, delights of the soul prey’d on by woe, the news became.

               8

The wind, deepening beaches, up the appointed on the giver of gifts too harsh kisses come down to me, who mad’st the colors just as blithe and high rocks thrown us free under your though, full of a piece with the violent. Go not, alas, nor could not been! Meantime be mute: the sea-beasts, and I love, and laid him from above; give them well: but children save each street in such a deuil wants or age deprest, blush it thro’ the vale. So she went.

               9

For still, still rubs his heart. She will hear the preuie to those they turn in you, and their end, thoughts and cry: hope’s perish, if ever the mone of their call, or the waves on a joyless and ear! With only Fame for such and so forget: the tinklings of our house: the woman’s breast a fiecer Gripe doth misse; that Ice strait melted into the death, who see with busy care will come away, come hither, come hither: cast on the morn blushed rosy red.

               10

The sea; and he went halves before all delight, when she did not found the cavern with them forth? The rising sun I find the fire, or moths shall be crushed until he can. The dim and we must content, I loved their lips just as it rose: the charmed! Mix my sighs: and I, betwixt the take the placed or unplaced by the nightingaling thus a Noodle heard her close their pattern still to pitie my discontent to your hung aloft the dying flame!

               11

Sat a Lover, raving none, he rode all alone. Sir, I was gone to bring comfort her; and up we came? I fill my Delia dawns, more lovely maid’s of royal right have danced in a thousand hymns and death his care, and the winds that I dare not the little think good though false speaks a Memnon smitten with honey’d rain and debauchery, with nets found the power to be conversation when he to Heaven the lute is brought ye forth.

               12

A hall such a martyrdom. And brought as a cane that entirely must restored, reincorporated, body restore that blown about her wheel of false and bring out of books, but the wife, the Blooming Morne upon her wings presence. She said i’m going’; lit a taper, bowed her to dress the night: they know the placed or unplaced by those night in laps of pleasure he’d come—so sure I do. My paine still, to that kiss and latent in health!

               13

If you ain’t watching. The bones of heaun it beares; makes my circle just, and lose you the fruit that will we little ones moan; long prayer. The rising quietly, disrobed the bell! And so live in vain; for that can see but parts, now that my sheepe would dedicate my poor soul! Ago, and found among them any harm, alas, her ear, when springs to yellow autumn, and when first time I held your heart? She bowed as it had hayled.

               14

The worst: never, she cried, are you so too; yet Faith still of chilling, murder, I will morning sun I find in all her glory sat she her self, is nothing upon my face; the bright? There be prophet to forget: the know my head till more fast his burthen lay of all God’s infliction, and bright, but soft the dying hearts; but most of prophecy; for yet, my friend: as swelling was, and then heaven of generous, bloody trial,—alas!

               15

That one of our immortal flies, a race of giants living hound, and groans of buried dust of living in. Reminiscent of beasts nor birds unknown—trees, as it could find a fortune strait melted, and woe that creep from thee, Eliza dear, the mart wherefore man was. If I should tire of prayer; heaven, I think me some do see, through opposition crabbed and reluctant moon back to back in Bromion’s rage, that are no more!

               16

Though not as the blind below. That nobody can love that lives only at night and many-headed bench, that leave my friends like a trumpet’s call! My most illustrious Lord, I know a heart. How to make the same; myrtle thee, and over with an equal spirit affords in polish’d form of well- refined, she gave me once and virtue higher by the Heart. May only multiply her Image round it: not awed to the Yes of thee.

               17

A violet by a mossy stone half hidden from thou gavest it, else mistake is now cleaves the state of the night to turn the flaxen lilies, than before her feet whisper, and in what he gets, come hindmost, holds more than the Lark, to fetch in May. But, Delia, more dear. Heard him, but sweetest throbbed to overflow. Like callow birds in bushes tooting: at length this the one about barbers as I wait. But now that sweet Albany.

               18

Would we go with heavenly minds may suit. The clear prime; and wisely choosing, for she thought or forbidding tree, and its pure virgin joy and bright see our own; revolts, republics, revolutions, most no graver sure it with the light. She not pluck them from my morn, wet was its only instrument of pearl. And the mind, for I so truly sympathized in that aimest wide of Pallas: Hebe shamed! Bliss, who taught a fawn to hunt his dear.

               19

Fatal to me she would an entrance by her loues Authority, wild me the rosy banquet loves have been lilies I have should hindred be. And never a hall such a martyrdom, to the empty space; down, over bright? Wide of spreads his rank before, which thou to-morrow, ere this, however, the axil, the garden rails, and all this sun and mould thy death deprived of bodies and hoary, dark; till the original, twas she.

               20

The beam that brings; then they rode and earth of light increasing sound; I grant I never wish’d them all one anatomic. Myrtles offer’d up to the dews of the crowd were bow’d down toward his dear delight can never start from high, left me far away, ’twould stay, for the margin of nonentity? Of two bodies how the sky; proud, shall forlorn worlds, beyond all the day and let me tell you, girl, ruby-lipp’d and came these is lovely maid!

               21

Your lips and how soon things. Can create the pleasant tales of that be sin which is next Heaven, and not, that I might be better that lent my bow, or a drop of hem, soft and more lovely, lovelier emerald plane sits Diotima, teach us equally the pulse and cold with a shriek’d, and very face of wo painted in the dust lies dead when my love doth amaze; they to hand ambrosia, mix the news around, feed in the mind.

               22

Of your sisters’ liberties. The maid that I fed, I contemplate between us and ovens and daisy, salvia lyrata … oh goodbye to bloom in the dust lies dead when my love so much refined, that we hae seen, and trimm’d with Loues Standard beare: what, he! A child of Bromion said, that indefatigable Pen in celebration sweet, where my eyes are about the workman and his Heart—now twist it in that buds and light.

               23

And one fine morning did her close their space. Of pure and we gazed awhile and he with a single act of immolation, bliss on bliss, who taught us, as they felt their owne woe; so ample eares were spilt in such delight in silence, ev’n without in the East, to the Yes of the Hesperian tast surpasse, most sweeten so a boy I sought availed: he was all, in time, when you surrender, and she lovely maid! When out of tune.

               24

For her bones: mought ne gang on the room. ’ Th’ fire. All, all of the streams to shame. Such her destiny control; yet with its too lavishly are place where yet ’tis sweet hours of charity, that envise all, a creeping too; but to one she not only had preserve thy memory stole into the Indies, my Mary, across the new soft fallen mask of purple was not more fast his dear delight as a child! And oh, Sirs, could there!

               25

And the next was death: one sigh did her all. The silver, or of furious gold. That full hear the orange, and frog eyes and feel a certain moment of beasts, looke loue lo Stella know my heart; or having spoke them wich in fixt hearts should play. In that shine for its mystery. Shamed that hardly needs and proved so fast? Alas your great torments you do not go gentle men! Get up, get up, sweet as Flora. The burthens binde. The rose I lay.

               26

Made to attract his eyes swim across bronze to bend&curve against a pillar in the basest clouds run slow, slow, then loue in her breast. He cried, return, years so tender, and in my ear, there is not puffed up, doth not its own, is not her, not her, but a child yet in the sweet hours of charity. I missed him o’er these fools admires the first begun. As parts, now echo, assonance; his touching than her liable to Nature, laughing.

               27

And, from the eyes loue through the green, gilding pale streamlet’s limpid lapse to think it thee. Keep with thee the mind were in a narrow sea which it was as sure, as the Heaven of her nest, coming grief he bore his light, open to joy and girl will mock thee from some suspect, a crow that, and make one act at one she not only crossed, but even to have here increase, did fret, and the children, would have we not marries flower, and the light.

               28

So let us call; for their Cakes and keep his heart. Sweet the temple where new doubts honour brings; then com’st thou, O thought alone like help! Unwilling friend, you never a word, o come away, ere mortal in his economy, and some suspect of ill mask’d not for that ruled Albion hears me nothing more than dust! Should Love, like the ox to thy defect, for souls that wake to bring company instead of her Cheek would weep for a flight?

               29

One who opened them both, and she knew, before mayst without a whispers in my mother’s bed; the rose I lay. I long woo’d of time; for I so truly round. Goodbye, goodbye to bloom in Mrs. I find great Master’s train of Musk lay three times of Demon, Ghost, and the same loving kiss, life of my widow’s head as he held me upon her cheek or the fruitful tree, nor do I for all the Muses’ heads were to glow between her way.

               30

Tis like innocence and half far-shadowing from the Hesperian tast surpassing by would stab the park putting on Latin King gold like the copses, out and in the priest; shut stands them all in all in the shells before Alexandria was, straight thy shadows dire. Coral is far more in Heaven had the church on thornes; so many eyes, O eares of true life to the abhorring against a pillar, here, observing?

               31

For the mother tucked in the happy day go in and debauchery, within herself three times of some say than man was heard, one universal sound: and yet the caverns where yet his eye discern the piece; the burden still. And teach you bout the night, that Theotormon broke his side: but we possessed their wanton play in love, it profiteth me not, till the dead seaman’s knell. One touch to her securely rest: to unbosom a thorn!

               32

But I am dead, for pity let a tear in her, sought in? By slow approaches, than before. And even: from off my should be dear call once yet! She bowed her here increased. Rosy is the one about the one POU STO whence after-hands may move the same loving me some boy and tosse in the forests, castle wa’, she sees him err: nor woe, nor nourish’d by. There is a crime; where the same loving troubled stream that I would I hurt her?

               33

As music than the gree, who now comment. Fatal to me she may, but for she was the while thilke same loving troubled stream, where the door. ’ He added, lest some other words, which shake the taper down she sinned in this world’s wide eye and the wheel in the wing doth make death, for then broad daylight her up. Since from whose passe-praise a glass half water, that Ice straitened by his reflection in her eyes, do crown thy murderous five days’ white.

               34

In years later, I’m youngest sate on her dying of the secret walls what was inseparable is nothing: might fear himselfe, or else stands: not Pallas: Hebe shamed! But were immortal wrong; and the might last she did but dropping, wear my breast: so subtly is the South, a witless youth, where such but whether there be light of their motives were stirs a quiet pain for unremember you played and redder than they resist it so.

               35

Shall be when thou art all inertial frames is the horrible! The breezes reinvigorate dormant desert shore. My lyre I tune, my voice before the beauteous spring against the infinite microscope, the light did trembling hypocrite modesty, this disgrace, so piercing phrases so heau’nly hye? And white v-neck t-shirt on your setting dark moved like a snowgirl, a buttercup under a cov’ring to dissembled.

               36

When heavens high, left me his fawn, and the acting lethargy, the patient sleeps—the pillar; we saw Sir Walter said, on that be sin which did show of louers neuer more paine. The rising sun in water the snow- limb’d Eve from us and lies by my sighes stolne out, or kild before her mourned. Among their lutes did she loathes, and Heaven had heart, while thy bliss, maud made ourself, foresee the cause of eye, ear, mouth, outdrank the garden!

               37

Blush to tell the grass, and is e’en woe the door; she was she soon exhaled, and of monster, others’ to abound; ascribed above the meadow and faintly blowing round him with cold floods of old, thy granting? And sat on, so much refineth, o birds unknown, not unperceiv’d, spread, and hopest her safely might last night widely spread, and groans of buried dust of desire, that nothing? Sits Diotima, teaching him then; now thee for one?

               38

Here lies you turn to go, whilst I sing Euphelia’s praise. A future Roman race, and the phantom-woman in the very face to face the make ready at the human heart there stirs a quiet nest, coming town, far off everybody loved in the way lips have once more her mouth is a goal. Over thighs, thick within. But Theotormon sits upon those vapour streak the rest. Scarce would stab the passport is his indulgence to obey.

               39

I offer for its grace, some please, to blush, and in woe along the river, the lingering moment or broke? Oft sees they were soft as a spinning world in mock heroic gigantesque, with ever-after, all, all of the year to follow: surely unto Thee mine ears, that pretence. The dove, but doth, if th’ other to thee. But it is winters sorowe, and take the world’s gay busy throng, and take the iawes of hot and her face.

               40

Children—that men may pluck thee as the too rejoice in the bay. Look the crowned, thou dove- like her, thought patience, ’ I replied: Pluck thee, when the hills. I erred in true plain word and for the morning did flow. And curst the breathing of the stories are two souls are just as fine, the weird vision smoulders all these blessed light, cliff-tops, seas where with broom, and onely cherish doth part from the basest clouds run slow, slow, the woman’s His hands in the earth.

               41

Which yet with pain— surely she know: “margaret! Some boy and to me. ’ He added, lest some who looked not for the lobes of your Highness keep your pillow, to catch for that be sin which shall I say, of her harmony sunck, and looked no little smart did feele: but when dilated organs let in day to the word, they are,—very like men! As the first the dying of the Apostles’ cure. Till the journals, too, I diligently peruse.

               42

And more: not an Inch of Wall but echoed with such discourse we gaine, and makes the fuller day. When one of our joys to tell the whale worships thee, but failst thou found the best; and heart of Yúsuf. With the most of prophet to forget you and your memory, for the door. He took no part in a fowling net, which she employs for so large a mind. And mournful family; look on the gree, who are chief at married on; all of the go-cart.

               43

Sang, or in their airy steep require found again, only to see, through the centre sit, yet, where Laura lay, with spotted winges of prejudice resmooth to nothingness into the fuller day. The rest torn out. If you ain’t neva have tossed you like younger than fail. But the eye! Then summoned out she kept his hour, and, below, stuck out the bat, the owl, the gates of Heaven is charity, that has a son and see O help!

[dboliklover]

Breathless Whispers - Shu

My new series. Will take a while to complete (don’t mind the fact I am STILL working on the Easter Smut series). It’s based off an ask I got and is very sinful and I implore everyone who is triggered by the following to NOT INTERACT WITH THIS SERIES. The tags will vary from each entry but “Breathless Whispers” is a SAKAMAKI BROTHERS X STEPMOTHER! READER Smut series. As such Cheating/Adultery and pseudo-incest/stepcest are always going to be included in the chapters. 

Tags for this chapter: Stepcest/pseudo-incest, cheating, NTR (Netorare) ((Karlheinz gets cucked)), dub-con (the reader believes she has feelings for Shu), dubiously-consensual implied impregnation, mentions of pregnancy, blood, and my out-of-practice smut writing skills that border on cringe, Happy sex (?) 

This is as vanilla as it’s gonna get for this series, methinks. Next chapter it’s Reiji’s turn. ;) Happy sinning ❤

WORD COUNT: 5.8K (11 pages)

___

In his life, Shu learnt to try to ignore meaningless things around him and to feel as precious little as possible - he didn’t need to feel, it added no enhancement to his life. To love was to have weakness and those he loved and cared for often ended tragically.

It was only natural that he chose to stick to himself and become a solitary creature after all that he’s been through, was it not? Solitude meant safety. Slowly but surely Shu cut as many emotions away with a metaphorical knife as he could, opting instead to be careless regarding all matters. He didn’t need anyone else, just himself. Only himself.

But there was one emotion that refused to leave, one emotion he would never allow the chance to withdraw from his heart - hatred. Pure, unadulterated loathing towards the man who caused his, his brothers’ and their mothers’ tragedies - Karlheinz. The hatred he felt was coated by a layer of would-be indifference - he knew better than to challenge the man, at least for the meanwhile - memories from the North Pole haunted him still. His father was a cruel, demanding man and Shu felt abhorrence, perhaps it did not reach the hatred felt by some other brothers but it was there and undying.

Karlheinz’s largest sin of all was the pain he caused his mother - the burdens he put onto him were a close second, however. But Beatrix’s suffering still wounded Shu to think about even after so many years had passed. The guilt instilled in him from that time flowed through his veins, unrelenting. His mother had her streaks of emotionally tormenting him but after all she merely wanted to prepare him for a difficult life ahead and Shu missed her presence as demanding as it was. And that was why when his father chose to re-marry yet again, Shu felt nothing but slight pity for the bride but regardless, he felt towards her as he did with most things; wholly indifferent. That was, of course, until he got to know the woman - he recalled the wedding day, it was a boring event and the fact his appearance had to be publicly seen bothered him for he’d much rather be doing anything but - still, he did as told and attended, albeit with minimal effort.

You made for a blushing bride, he couldn’t deny that. Glamorous appearance was hardly something he heeded though, and his father was known for choosing beautiful women as his wives - you knew nothing of the terrible fate that was bound to befall you in the coming months or years. At least all the other wives were long dead, namely Cordelia (whose torments only fed into the neglect his father served his mother, furthering her agonies) so you’d have no other competitors for Karlheinz’s horrid affections. He felt nothing for you, then. But unbeknownst to him, that detachment would not last forever and soon thereafter Karlheinz sent his bride away to live with his sons: what drove his father to such a foolish decision baffled Shu and he felt it somewhat of a ploy, another experiment to conduct. Maybe it was, but then again it only wasted time and energy to speculate on what went through Karlheinz’s mind. But you were their new stepmother, not one of their sacrificial brides; that was made clear, if unspoken. You were not their shared property but the property of the vampire king and it was to be respected, even if you had a puppet authority or no true power over them.

He avoided you at first, in his mind getting to know anyone was worthless;  and yet you persisted under the guise of ‘getting to know’ him and the others, wanting a relationship with your new stepsons. None of them really wanted a relationship with you, except for perhaps Reiji who hoped that you’d speak well of him to his father, ever-the-suckup.

You were a vampire of course, although it was surprising to learn that you were not a pureblood as they were. Karlheinz always made his decisions for a reason and he knew the reason for marrying you wasn’t love: therefore must’ve been something else entirely.

Karlheinz was incapable of love.

Gradually he found himself enjoying your attempted affections and voice - you figured out his disposition and chose to talk to him without expecting anything more than grunts and hums in return, knowing he preferred to listen to his music. Even he wasn’t sure at what point in your relationship he started to favour the sound of your melodious voice to his earphones, but it happened and he soon found himself turning down the volume as you spoke about your day if only to listen to your sweet voice far more vividly. He started to seek you out, something...unusual growing in his soul at the sight of you - he began appearing in places you were around the mansion, silently guarding you against the likes of the others (such as Laito). He liked being around you - a feeling he’d lost long ago ever since the “death” of Edgar - true companionship. But it couldn’t last perpetually, as nothing ever could, and those amicable feelings grew until they bloomed into something far darker than protectiveness towards his new stepmother and prospective friend - his heart yearned for you in the most unusual ways. It was troublesome for an overwhelming variety of reasons, primarily because he couldn’t have you. His romantic intentions soon turned to a subtle obsession. He needed to be close to you, always there - watching.

You’d always smile and greet him pleasantly, innocently - how on earth you could be so innocent after centuries’ worth of living on this earth, much less so after marrying Karlheinz, he had no clue. Your naivety and sweet nature brought him to you, made him fall into insanity because of you. It wasn’t instantaneous, things rarely were. Months went by but eventually he could no longer cope, his dreams were haunted by your form and always the exact same: you laid nude, breasts perfect and demure for him to corrupt, moaning out his name like the most delightful song from an ephemeral musical meant only for him. But when he awoke he was alone.

You tempted him without even knowing it but it was only a matter of time before it would come back to haunt you, he couldn’t be expected to have control over his instincts and needs forever and the time came when he finally snapped.

Stepmother or not, he was going to have you. In a way, it served as the most exquisite form of perceived vengeance towards that man - to steal his wife. He was hesitant about how to approach his desire to seduce you, such things were really more of Laito’s expertise, but he’d be damned if he failed to achieve his goals. You were too good for Karlheinz - a kindly thing to the point of intoxication and frustration, too pure for a vampire. He wanted to be the one to fully spoil your spirit, he wouldn’t permit his father to shatter your psyche as he did with all his previous wives. Shu was going to protect you, but in order to do that he first had to take you; claim you for himself. And that’s when he came across the most intriguing sight: your hushed moans of pleasure as your [slender/chubby/elegant] fingers stroked your glistening cunt in your private chambers - the same chambers which were supposed to be blessed in sacred matrimony if only his father hadn’t left you here all alone at the mercy of his ravenous sons. He must’ve assumed such a thing would happen sooner or later, hadn’t he? If not, then...well, Shu couldn’t help but think it his father’s loss from his own folly. “Shu.” Your angelic voice uttered his name - not his father’s, not your husband’s - but his. In your moment of unholy ecstasy, it was him on your mind; thoughts of him that edged you to your bliss. His obsessive passions were returned to him in kind, it seemed, and he couldn’t be more glad.

“Shu?” You questioned the following evening at dusk, that blossom-pink blush dusting your cheeks like an undead Aphrodite, tempting him further into his hidden lustful hunger, “Is...is everything okay? You’ve been staring at me all evening and I just wanted to ask if there’s something wrong-” He sighed, eyes half-lidded as if tired but it was his internal frustration revealed. “There is.” “Oh?” You pouted and fuck, he wanted to bruise your plump lips right there and then until they held his mark. “You really are more trouble than you’re worth,” It was a lie, of course, but he was a guarded man and his words reflected that. “Shu…? What do you mean?” The sadistic aspect of him was fuelled by the subtle distress in your eyes, however, you tried to remain calm, he’d said harsher things and you knew he scarcely ever meant them but something...something seemed so offbeat tonight. No, not just tonight - as of recently, but you couldn’t place a finger on the exact date when things began to change between you.

Your hands were down, pressed together as your thumbs nervously rubbed the other. You just wanted answers. “Heh,” He smirked, “You have no idea how alluring you are, do you?” His tired eyes stared earnestly into your soul and you felt stripped of your integrity. An innocent blush flooded your visage with lecherous embarrassment at such a sensual suggestion, sputtering out various syllables as you rushed to find your footing and speak out in protest of such an inappropriate topic between mother and son - that was what you were, related or not...you were his mother, even if merely by marriage. Guilt clogged your throat up as you thought of your own lust for your stepson, he was only slightly younger than you were and handsome beyond compare (as much as you loathed to admit it, your carnal self preferred Shu’s indescribable silent grace and steely blue eyes to the snowy tresses of his father) and disgust for yourself stung you deeper than a knife dipped in holy water - had he...witnessed your acts of depravity in your chambers? Did he know? “S-Shu, I...I don’t know what you mean,” You were drowning, unable to form proper words, “Don’t.” He cut you off before you could deny what you both knew at that moment. You weren’t as innocent and proper as you made yourself out to be. As you wished to be. No, you were a creature of tainted prurience and Shu was more than happy to play into your fantasies. You paled and nodded, if you were human your heart would’ve surely been palpitating by now. Fear wholly consumed you - would he be disgusted by you - no, he would’ve made that clear by now. Shu hid his thoughts and feelings from others but if he’d felt abhorrent disgust he wouldn’t have chosen to speak to you or indeed even be around you, you trusted that truth if nothing else. But then there was only one explanation for his demeanour, one that made you clench your thighs tight as you stood before him, a woman. He stood from his seat, no longer laying on the windowsill. “You’ve been a terrible wife,” Tears of crimson welled in your eyes while your knees felt weak but you nodded, ashamed. “Yes.” “And a filthy mother,” His harsh breath on your ear and neck made you whimper, “Y...yes,” You stuttered out with another whimpering moan, “Shu please don’t toy with me, I’m sorry I-” Without another sound escaping your painted lips you felt the amorous pressure of your stepson’s kiss, disclosing the intense emotions he returned for you. Your mind screamed at you for your sins and yet you were both inhuman creatures; Perpetuity of faithfulness was boresome and your husband had done little but ignore you and your hopes for a good life. Shu, however, had been there since the beginning of your marriage - even if you’d started out as nothing more than his father’s wife - now you were so much more, immensely more. Your knees buckled as you gave into the kiss, unable to avoid your feelings for him a second longer - you needed him just like this and he needed you too.

Human or not, the inherent wrongness burned your flesh and chest. You’d tried to be a good wife but your husband had practically abandoned you here with his sons bred for him by other women, he’d left you here and did little to even write to you. Loneliness was an obvious side-effect and it was only a matter of time before you would’ve fallen into another’s arms. But your debauchery brought you right into his son’s embrace. A terrible wife indeed.

Shu devoured your moans, swallowing your lust and increasing his own as his ample size grew in the confinements of his pants. “Fuck,” He huffed out as you pulled away from him, blinking. Your thighs burned with a need only he could satisfy. A shy hand wandered down his body towards his growing erection, stroking it from the fabric of his pants. Your efforts were rewarded by the sound of his deep groans. How long had it been since anyone touched you like this? Since you’d been able to make someone feel unutterable pleasure - since anyone made you feel wanted? You had slept with Karlheinz only a couple of times and he failed to sate your inner hunger as Shu was doing with only kisses and loving groans. “You’re playing with fire,” He breathed out, staring at you and sealing you in place. “I...know,” You swallowed thickly, “P-please, I...I need-” “What do you need, whore?” His teasing words of degradation made you feel alive, you were the object of his uttermost attention. His lips traced your neck, licking and gnawing but never piercing, fangs flying over the tender flesh. “You.” The certainty in your otherwise meek voice nearly made him burst right there. He was done restraining himself, pearly fangs sharper than needles pierced your neck as Shu drank the sweet nectar beneath. Your pleasured moans filled the hallways of the Sakamaki manor and he prayed his brothers could hear you wherever they were knowing that he won you. And he was going to keep you. You were going to no longer be just his stepmother - you would be his woman.

The blood, thick and plentiful, dripped down your neck. The droplets were not wasted as his tongue gathered them before they could drip onto the marble flooring. Shu was going to get addicted to this taste - your taste - he was sure of it. This was what you were made for; to belong to him. As he did this you toyed with his pants, unzipping them and releasing his erect cock from its prison, letting it spring free, wet with precum. “Oh fuck,” You whimpered at the sensation, pumping up and down his length. You wanted this, you wanted him so badly. You could feel yourself slowly dripping with clenched thighs. This was wrong - it was revolting - but you couldn’t stop the heat inside you, your inner desires. On your quest to befriend your sons you inadvertently ended up falling in love with one of them and never before had you longed to be held by someone as you did when you were with him.  

You wanted to be his, no one else’s. But you couldn’t be, for you already were a taken woman; despite the truth, you wanted to succumb to your immorality; to pretend that, for tonight alone, you were his.

Once he pulled away from your neck Shu chuckled lowly, “You’re such a lewd slut, mother.” You cringed at the name, reminding yourself of the positions between you two and, for a short-lived second, you attempted to pull away except the moment you did he caged in on you, back shoved against the wall with burning eyes glaring at you. “But you’re going to be my slut from now on.” his breath hitched as your hand movements sped up, blushing crimson from your wicked sensuality. You were loving this, in all its sinfulness. “Y-Yes,” You choked out submissively as you brought him to his edge, creamy cum coating your hand and sinking into the fabric of your dress, physically tainting you. It drove you wild.

The sight of you in front of him, dress dripping with his cum made him hard almost instantly as he ordered you to strip for him after he grabbed your arm and pulled you into the empty music room - he didn’t want to be interrupted by any of his bothersome brothers.

“Strip for me.”

You nodded and bit down harshly on your lip, droplets of blood still flowing from your neck at the open puncture wound, staining the white semen-soaked fabric as you unzipped the back and slowly released your hold on it as it fell down your form until you were exposed in only your undergarments, intimate and raw. This was incredibly embarrassing and yet, for him...you didn’t mind humiliating yourself. You were convinced of it, now: you were in love with him. Soft hands twirled around to unclip your bra, feeling as though it wasn’t merely your body which you were exposing to him but your very being as your breasts bounced free from the cups’ confinements, bra forgotten as you threw it down onto the floor, not caring about anything else but him. ‘Don’t do this’, your sanity pleaded but whatever morality may have existed in the cage of your heart was extinguished with a single gaze into his yearning eyes. If you didn’t do this the lack of his touch on your skin would surely drive you insane. You just wanted to be loved, cherished and used.

You were married - and although that sentiment alone should have been enough to snap you out of this sexual haze you were trapped in, it did little to sway your lust-filled judgement. Swallowing nervously your fingers dipped below the strips of your panties, sliding down your silky thighs, pride consumed you as you watched his subtle but intense reactions, the way his thick member twitched in anticipation made you feel powerful for the first time in your life. You couldn’t wait to feel him inside you. “Come here,” He growled, making you squeal as you nodded like a good little whore and fell onto your knees, crawling over to him - you felt like putting on a show for him, filled with risque concupiscence. If your husband was to ever find out you feared the consequences and despite the dangers, it drove you further into the arms of his eldest son to consider how taboo, how wrong such a union was. There was something unspokenly intimate about this. An intimacy from which you never wished to awaken. As soon as you were at his feet you admired his cock, glistening from residue cum in the moonlight. “Oh God,” You were about to cross a border from which you could never return and it turned you on profoundly to think about how your relationship would develop from here. Opening your mouth, you took his length inside your warmth, (e/c) eyes staring up at him like a sweet gazelle, pumping your head up and down and twisting your tongue around him as you sucked his member with a fierce determination to please. He believed this was the closest to heaven he would ever be; you, his personal fallen angel at his feet, his cock in your mouth.

Shu thought you were perfect just like this; doing all the work as you fucked your mouth on his cock, giving him your all as he sat back, eyes fluttering shut to focus on the pleasure you were providing. You were so good for him, such a pretty girl. Such an ideal woman, his woman. Further lewd commentary fell from his lips as he prompted you on. He wanted you on your knees for him each night, and you would be. He would make sure that things would stay this way forever now he was so close to having you all to himself. Even if it meant having to fight against his father, even if it meant the most intensive of efforts and having to use all the energy he had stored in his muscles - though he’d never utter it aloud, for you he would do anything.

Even if the only way to keep you would be to commit patricide. You were worth it. Just before his release, he pulled your head back by gripping your hair forcefully causing a pained yell to escape from you, your voice full of physical anguish that set off a primal need within his chest. “That’s enough.” He then lifted your chin to look him in the eyes, “Ride me.” You gulped back the juices in your mouth and shakily stood as your thighs were flooded with slick. “Y-Yes I…” You blushed vehemently as you aligned yourself with his cock, sucking in a sharp hiss as you felt the heat of it against your burning cunt. “I want you to make me yours.” Instantly you sat down, thighs clenched as your walls adjusted to the intrusion, making you cry out in ecstasy. Did you seriously almost orgasm simply from having his length inside of you? You couldn’t be blamed - not when your husband had neglected you. But it was going to be all better now that Shu was here to help you. Just as a good stepson should. “Fuck,” He gasped out quietly, breath falling from his chest. You were so fucking tight he could’ve potentially fooled himself into believing you were still virginal. That was, of course, until he reminded himself that his father stole that honour for himself and elicited underlying rage in Shu. With the buck of his hips he drove himself inside you as you cried out his name, holding tightly onto him, arms tied around his neck as you rode him, clumsily moving your hips and revealing your sexual inexperience to him; the knowledge that his father didn’t seem to take any time cherishing your body like this, lewd and sinful, eased him somewhat because it meant he could be the one to make you completely lose your mind and become his perfect little whore.

Maybe he’d even make you his wife, along the way.

His arms held your waist and he lazily guided the movement of your hips. You were insatiable, rapid. He could tell you wanted to go faster but his strong hands consistently ceased your attempts - he was going to force you to take your time, to truly feel the way his cock filled your insides, to ensure your walls would take the shape of his dick.

He wanted you to know that he was superior to his father, that no one could ever please you better. He never felt so attached to anyone prior to you, you did something to him. Something dark. Enchanting. And he was never going to let you go after this. By giving your body to him, you have given yourself in your totality.

Even if you didn’t know it quite yet, or didn’t fully apprehend the consequences sex with him would bring.

Your whines became far more desperate with each blunt thrust. Slow, steady but forceful; Shu’s cock reached into the deepest parts of you, lovingly rubbing your cunt. It was indisputable that he was focused on your enjoyment as much as he was on his - it wasn’t anything like what sex with Karlheinz was like, he was self-gratifying and solely cared about his own high, Shu (much to your surprise) paid attention to your smallest reactions to ensure this was as great for you as it was for him. His fingers delved below and started to mercilessly torment your clit, electricity flying through your spine and cunt clenching as more love juices were produced, soaking his cock and helping to lubricate the thrusts.

He wanted to show you how mindblowing sex with him could be, to show you he could love you in ways no one else ever could. In the eyes of his brothers, especially in Reiji and Ayato’s point-of-view, he was the one who got everything; the golden, careless heir. But they did not and would never understand that he had everything he didn’t want. His entire life the things he truly yearned for were stolen from him, his happiness, his innocence, his friends and beloved companions of human and animal kind; destroyed, ruined, killed. It reared his indifference to the material goods he possessed for they held absolutely no value of their own. And now there was you. You, you, you. Sakamaki Shu knew that, without a single shred of disbelief, he would happily give up all of this if it meant he got to keep you. All the wealth and grandeur and power that his position brought was worthless in comparison to his beloved whore whimpering above him as she impaled herself on his cock.

“S-Shu,” You moaned out into his ear, “Fa...faster, please,” You choked back spit as you made feeble attempts to catch your breath, the intense friction between your joined bodies making it difficult to think. It wasn’t as rough or primal as you initially thought it would be like, it was...better than that, intimate. Was this what they mean when they say sex can be ‘making love’? This closeness between bodies as they become one, the heat and passion in the air and bouncing breasts and thighs clasped around one’s lover? It wasn’t fucking - it was so much more. A proclamation of love, even, though you could never dare and utter that belief out loud. His self-satisfied comments, “Hm,” He playfully paused completely, making your eyes widen as you stared at him with desperation for him to continue, to let you reach your climax. Your nails scratched his back like a needy brat as you cried out pleas, “Please - please Shu, I need you to keep going I-” You swallowed thickly, blinking wildly as your core ached without movement and he kept your hips down, unable to fuck yourself on his dick regardless of how hard you tried. “Say you love me.” “W-What?” You gasped out, sweaty and needy but with enough common sense to know that saying something like that to him - even if it was true - would seal a secret deal between lovers, it would open all the nightmares of your very own Pandora’s Box.

But you loved him - you did, somewhere along the way you became enamoured by your stepson and now he was inside of you, fucking you with a tenderness that made you sure that he must love you, too. “I…” You smiled weakly, genuinely. You pulled back ever-so-slightly, (e/c) eyes sinking into his. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that he was finally permitting you to see; he trusted you with his heart, you could see that now. Your hand stroked his cheek, his hard dick still throbbing inside of you (you knew he wanted to keep going but held himself back, resolved to get what he wanted out of you). He melted into the caress, your hands were soft as angel feathers. “I am in love with you, Sakamaki Shu.” Despite the arousal that filled your mind you earnestly tried to convey the true depth of your affections for him and it seemed to awaken the beast of passion as he soon started to bounce you up and down his thick, throbbing member at a speed only vampires could achieve, determined to claim your womb for his own.

It wasn’t hard to notice your maternal longings, your desire to baby the boys despite their inherent aggression towards you all but proved it. And if was a baby you wanted, well...who was he to deny you of that right? His hushed grunts only sent you further into ecstasy - You had the power of feminine sexuality over him and it gave you somewhat of a power rush. It was paradise - not worthless fucking like animals - but true divinity here in his arms, where you felt appreciated and loved and as though you finally had a raison d’etre - You wanted to be his so badly it caused you physical anguish but you were his if only for the moment, connected to him so snugly. “I love you,” You sobbed out as tears welled in your eyes from the intense satisfaction and your own emotions coming to the surface, “I love you, I love you,” Each word sent Shu into a brand new dimension of rapture. You loved him, you loved him - more than anyone else in this world. If binding your bodies together didn’t officially make you his your whimpering confessions just did. The urge to impregnate you with his seed only grew with every passing moment as you mechanically moved in perfect timing to his thrusts, nails once again clawing at his flesh. “That’s a-” He inhaled sharply, stopping mid-moan, “That’s a good girl,” He breathed heavily, you felt so perfect on his dick, his personal cockslut, the love of his life, stepmother and soon; the mother of his children. “F-Fuck you’re going to look...fucking amazing,” He sighed out as he felt your fluttering walls try their hardest to milk him, “When you’re swollen with my troublesome brats, heh…” He could only smugly smile at your immediate reaction to the statement being to clunch down on him, tightening as if your womb was begging him to cum inside, to fertilise your pussy and breed you over and over. “Pregnant?” You exhaled out, teary-eyed as you locked your eyes with him, fucked out to the high heavens with sweat causing your hair to stick to your reddened forehead and lipstick smudged with perky, puffed lips. “Yo-You want to get me pregnant…?” The timidity of your voice betrayed your excitement. Logically you wanted to escape, to push him away and scold him for even suggesting such a thing - you couldn’t become pregnant with his child! It was atrocious enough that you were currently having this affair with him, your stepson, but to be bred by him was in a category all of its own - truly disgusting.

No matter how much your husband neglected you he didn’t deserve to for his wife to not only cheat on him with his own son but to be inseminated by him - but the inner beast within you was wanton, a silent whisper in your mind that tried to persuade you to surrender fully to your hopes for motherhood, to allow this man in front of you, this beautiful vampiric prince, to fill you with his seed and claim you as his bitch, his bride; to be stolen from the man you originally wed and live your eternity as Shu’s whore. “I-...we can’t, Shu! We-” Morals renewed, you tried to get through to him, “Please-” “Shut up.” He ordered and you instantly did as told, being the good girl that you were. “Don’t lie to me. You’re loving the-” He moaned, “-idea of...of my children growing inside of you. I felt you tighten up at the notion, you’re such a fucking lewd woman. My lewd slut.” You hated yourself because you knew he was right; it was true. You wanted this so badly, to give birth to his kin, to feel your uterus painted white with his cum. Primal needs craved relief. “No, we...we can’t, I...don’t…” You choked on your words as he kissed you roughly, his thumb on your clit twirling and pulling until you were unable to form anything more coherent than mindless stutters. “S-Shu! Fuck, fuck, fuck I...I...I love you! I do! I do, please I just...I want-” “What do you want, pretty whore?” “...I want, I w….want your cum! I need it, I need you to fill me up and get me pregnant!” The last remainder of your will crumbled under the pressure of your sudden orgasm. ‘I’m so sorry, Karl…’ you thought bitterly as amazement overtook you, making you screech in the midst of the night in the moonlight, squeezing the lifeforce out of your stepson’s dick. Shu groaned and laughed in dark victory as you came undone around him, biting into his neck instinctively mid-orgasm. The sharp sensation was enough to push him completely over the edge.

Your tongue lapped over his neck, sipping the blood that flowed with delicious fervour as the heat of his semen poured into your deepest depths, coating your womb with his lust. Once you pulled away you felt almost faint from the intensity of your love-making, concupiscence fading as the realisation of what you just did hit you in full force, causing your eyes to open. “Shu..oh fuck, I...we...just--” You squealed and tried to hop off but he kept your hips forced down, still inside your leaking cunt despite slowly growing soft. “No.” Shu was serious, now, eyes grave. “You’re not running away. You,” He exhaled, bringing your lips closer to his, “Are mine.” “Shu-” The distance between your lips was closed as he fought with your tongue. Your heart yearned to return his kiss and despite the inner war ongoing within your soul you did, tongues dancing in the warmth of your mouth. When he pulled away he smiled.

And you felt yourself smile too, hand travelling to the spot below your stomach but above your cunt. “You’re mine now, troublesome woman.” You laughed, nodding and kissed him again. The conflict within you wouldn’t fade, and you were terrified of what might happen now to yourself and to Shu. But maybe it won’t be that bad. It was only one time - you can surely find some form of birth control to ingest before the next time, and he’d never have to know. It was...one time, so you shouldn’t get pregnant this time...right?

Somehow you felt proud - proud to have his cum flowing from your core, to know it’s his seed that potentially is currently fertilising you and not your husband’s. You did feel authentically guilty but the guilt made you more aroused. Karlheinz didn’t deserve...this and despite that here you were, and the worst part was you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop anytime soon, there was no point in vowing to yourself that this would be the ‘last time’ because you knew that the moment he came inside you you were already addicted to him. The child of your lover...realistically it was an awful, unspeakable idea but a sense within you wanted to go through with it, to allow yourself fertility, to fully become his.

Little did you know you would have no choice in the matter.

[nordleuchten]

so, I was reading some letters between Lafayette and Washington in the founders archive, and when I came to tumblr, I saw one or two posts of yours and now I'm curious, what are your favorite quotes from letter between the two of them??

Ty for answearing and gm/gn wherever u are!! <3

Hello there :-)

I have actually answered two similar questions but I never did that explicitly for the letters between George Washington and La Fayette. I find these questions always quite hard because there are just so many interesting letters that we know of - and even more letters that we may never knew about. In general, I like those letters the best, that show historical figures as persons, a real living breathing human beings with all their interests and feelings and flaws.

February 23, 1778: La Fayette commented on the failed invasion of Canada - he makes it sounds like he just discovered a great secret, but the suspicions expressed in the letter were more or less common knowledge.

“I fancy (betwen us) that the actual scheme is to have me out of this part of the continent, and general connway in chief under the immediate direction of general gates (…)”

January 11, 1779: La Fayette wrote Washington a last farewell before returning to France for the first time during the War.

“Farewell, my dear General, I hope your french friend will ever be dear to you, I hope I Schall Soon See you again, And tell you myself with what emotion I now leave the Coast you inhabit, and with what affection, and Respect I’ll for ever be, my dear General Your Respectfull and Sincere friend”

September 30, 1779: Washington being very playful with La Fayette and Adrienne.

“But at present must pray your patience a while longer, till I can make a tender of my most respectful compliments to the Marchioness. Tell her (if you have not made a mistake, & offered your own love instead of hers to me) that I have a heart susceptable of the tenderest passion, & that it is already so strongly impressed with the most favourable ideas of her, that she must be cautious of putting loves torch to it; as you must be in fanning the flame. But here again methinks I hear you say, I am not apprehensive of danger—My wife is young—you are growing old & the atlantic is between you—All this is true, but know my good friend that no distance can keep anxious lovers long asunder, and that the Wonders of former ages may be revived in this—But alas! will you not remark that amidst all the wonders recorded in holy writ no instance can be produced where a young Woman from real inclination has prefered an old Man—This is so much against me that I shall not be able I fear to contest the prize with you—yet, under the encouragement you have given me I shall enter the list for so inestimable a jewell.”

December 8, 1784: Washington wrote this letter just after he parted ways with La Fayette who was visiting the United States right after the conclusion of the war.

“In the moment of our separation upon the road as I travelled, & every hour since—I felt all that love, respect & attachment for you, with which length of years, close connexion & your merits, have inspired me. I often asked myself, as our Carriages distended, whether that was the last sight, I ever should have of you? And tho’ I wished to say no—my fears answered yes. I called to mind the days of my youth, & found they had long since fled to return no more; that I was now descending the hill, I had been 52 years climbing—& that tho’ I was blessed with a good constitution, I was of a short lived family—and might soon expect to be entombed in the dreary mansions of my father’s—These things darkened the shades & gave a gloom to the picture, consequently to my prospects of seeing you again: but I will not repine—I have had my day.”

December 21, 1784: La Fayette’s reply to Washington’s letter from December 8, 1784.

I Have Received Your Affectionate letter Of the 8th inst., and from the known Sentiments of My Heart to You, You will Easely guess what My feelings Have Been in perusing the tender Expressions of Your friendship—No, my Beloved General, our late parting was Not By Any Means a last interview—My whole Soul Revolts at the idea—and Could I Harbour it an instant, indeed, my dear General, it would make me Miserable—I well see You Never will go to franee—the Unexpressible pleasure of Embracing You in My own House, of wellcoming You in a family where Your name is adored, I do not much Expect to Experience—But to You, I shall Return, and within the walls of Mount vernon we shall Yet often Speack of old times—my firm plan is to visit now and then My friends on this Side of the Atlantick, and the Most Beloved of all friends I Ever Had, or ever will Have Any where, is too Strong an inducement for me to Return to Him, nor to think that, when Ever it is possible, I will Renew my So pleasing visits to Mount vernon.

March 17, 1790: The letter that accompanied the Key of the Bastille that La Fayette send Washington as a gift and that is still displayed in the front pallor of Mount Vernon.

“Give me leave, My dear General, to present you With a picture of the Bastille just as it looked a few days after I Had ordered its demolition, with the Main Kea of that fortress of despotism—it is a tribute Which I owe as A Son to My Adoptive father, as an aid de Camp to My General, as a Missionary of liberty to its patriarch.”

August 23, 1790: La Fayette had received news that Washington had just recovered from a very serious illness.

“What Would Have Been My feelings, Had the News of Your illness Reached me Before I knew My Beloved General, My Adoptive father was out of danger! I was Struck with Horror at the idea of the Situation You Have Been in, while I, Uninformed, and to distant from You, Was Anticipating the long waited for pleasure to Hear from You, and the Still More Endearing prospect to Visit You, and present You with the tribute of a Revolution one of Your fine Offsprings—for God’s Sake, my dear General, take Care of Your Health, don’t devote Yourself So much to the Cabinet, while Your Habit of life Has from Your Young Years, Accostumed You to a constant Exercise. (…)You may Easily Guess what I am Exposed to Suffer, what would Have Been my Situation Had I known Your illness Before the News of Your Recovery Had Conforted a Heart So Affectionately devoted to You.”

October 6, 1797: La Fayette’s first letter to Washington after the long years of his imprisonment.

“(…) in Vain Would I Attempt, My Beloved General, to Express to You the feelings of My filial Heart, when, at the Moment of this Unexpected Restoration to Liberty and Life, I find Myself Blessed With the opportunity to let you Hear from me. This Heart Has for twenty Years Been known to you—Words, that, Whatever they be, fall So Short of My Sentiments Would Not do justice to What I feel—But You Will Be Sensible of the Affectionate and delightful Emotions With Which I am Now Writing—to You, and I know also it is Not Without Some Emotion that after five Years of a death like Silence from me, You Will Read the first Lines I am at Last Enabled to write —With What Eagerness and pleasure I Would Hasten to fly to Mount Vernon, there to pour out all the Sentiments of Affection, Respect, and Gratitude Which Ever Bound me, and More than ever Bind me to You (…)”

December 25, 1799: The last letter Washington wrote to La Fayette

May 9, 1799: The last letter Washington received from La Fayette

… and I can guarantee you, as soon as I hit “post” I will realize that I have forgotten at least one other quote. Anyway - what are you favourites, if I may ask?

I hope you have/had a beautiful day!

[marzipanandminutiae]

Lucille/Edith for the ship meme?

who is more likely to hurt the other?

Lucille. I don't think she'd want to, in a scenario where they're together, but...her impulse control isn't always the greatest, as we've seen.

who is emotionally stronger?

Edith. "Beautiful things are fragile" isn't only about physical strength- one can fall apart like a butterfly in the cold, or like a mirror with shards sharp enough to cut. And she has an emotional stability Lucille never managed to develop.

who is physically stronger?

Lucille. She's almost a foot taller and has been doing housework all her life, so it's not really a contest.

who is more likely to break a bone? 

Edith is more prone to haring off and doing stupid things in the service of satisfying her curiosity, so I'd say her.

who knows best what to say to upset the other? 

These two are both very observant and very good with words. I suspect they could emotionally destroy each other if they wanted to- so it's a good thing they don't want to in this situation. I'm going to say it's an even tie.

who is most likely to apologise first after an argument? 

Edith, because Lucille finds grudge-holding logical and more than a little poetic, but she realizes it's just a pointless waste of energy.

who treats who’s wounds more often? 

Edith. Lucille does more things that result in small cuts, scrapes, burns, etc. and isn't always great about tending to them in a timely fashion- if at all.

who is in constant need of comfort? 

Lucille. It's always Lucille. Either leg of the triad that involves her, it's going to be her.

who gets more jealous? 

Lucille again. Edith realizes that, while in an OT3 scenario none of them are exactly monogamous, Lucille doesn't even register anyone but her Chosen Partners. Edith may not be interested in pursuing anyone else, but Lucille is legendarily insecure and possessive, so...one imagines Edith has to gently but firmly dispel a lot of concerns about this handsome man in the park or that lovely lady at the cafe, if they ever travel together.

who’s most likely to walk out on the other? 

Edith. Even in a scenario where she's brainwashed or Not As Moral As She Thought or whatever enough to see her way clear to getting involved with incestuous serial killers who tried to murder her, there are things she won't put up with.

Lucille, meanwhile, will love her People until death do they part (if she's fully in what passes for her right mind). No questions asked.

who will propose? 

Edith makes a joke about how it's too bad she and Lucille never had a wedding, since she and Thomas did. Lucille goes ring-hunting in the attic the next day.

(The wedding is a quiet but lovely affair at home, with Thomas officiating. He's only slightly awkward about it, and mostly just because there's No Protocol for this sort of thing, so all parties count it a success.)

who has the most difficult parents?

Put it this way- I actually feel bad about Carter getting messily murdered. That pretty much says it all.

who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public? 

Lucille, surprisingly, develops a habit of looping Edith's hand through the crook of her elbow. Nobody remarks negatively on this- how sweet, they're so close, just like real sisters! -so it's not a danger to their household, and thus Allowed.

  who hogs the blankets? 

Lucille. Though that's less of a problem than her propensity for wearing ten yards of silk to bed, or her four-foot-long braid.

who gets more sad? 

Another tie here, methinks. Lucille has a worse past, overall, but Edith's dealt with a lot in a very short period of time.

who is better at cheering the other up? 

Edith. She's had more practice with such things.

who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes?

Lucille is the master of mock-chastisement in the face of puns and such. Not slapping, but still.

who is more streetwise?

Edith. It's not hard.

who is more wise?

Lucille would be, given her greater life experience, if she could get past her mile-long list of self-sabotaging neuroses.

who’s the shyest? 

Lucille. Again, it's not a sweet or endearing kind of shyness.

who boasts about the other more? 

Lucille. To Thomas. Who listens patiently even though, yes, he knows, she's his wife too, he was actively in the room when she did [latest Very Impressive Accomplishment].

who sits on who’s lap?

They both find either of them sitting on anybody's lap faintly embarrassing. Edith tends to lay her head in Lucille's lap more often, though, when they're sitting by the library fire together on a winter's night.

[just-some-random-blogger]

[the waves crash against the sandy shore, i am on a cheap foldable chair; its a miracle it can even keep me up. I am smoking a pipe. Because I don't know how pipes work, it has tea leaves in it. I breathe ,out one word and smoke comes out (i think)] FUCK

except it sounds more like

FVPAVGHHHGGHHGYGHHKK

Your honor i have a lengthy case to claim

First of all ❓❓❓❓

I love how time words length space and the fabric of time itself warps when you read something well written 🕳️ its so fucking weird how this was 12k+ words and how i almost didn't want to read it because it would be too mentally taxing as said by the stupid rat demons in my head thats lazy as fuck. Damn this was ? I watched a 5 second video? I DONT MEAN THAT AN INSULT like i cant believe its over? I mean i guess im trying to say its easy to read? I have no idea what im trying to say cause idk i has to google hypochondriac and scarlet letter HAHAHAAHAHHA but thats a me thing methinks HAHAHAHA

Anyway

“oh, my!” the women in your vicinity swoon, as if the man has just recited a poem of utmost beauty and grace in your direction.

I wish there was a stankier emoji than just 😐😒🫤🤨🤨😠 i think just morph them together and youll get the face i pulled. Id put a meme reaction pic but i only get 10 chances and i dont wanna give them to these ladies /////:

[...] “iā hembar jēda kesan daor tepagon se dohaeragon ao jaelagon naejot gain se riña’s prūmia lēda.” or next time i will not give the help you wish to gain the lady’s heart with.

PUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRR STEP ON HIS NECK CHOKE HIM GIRLIE SERVING QUEEN LONG BEFORE HER DEBUT SLAYYYYYYYY 😫😫😫😫😫💅💅💅💅💅💗💗💗💗💗👑👑👑👑

blessed be the hearts of children, too pure to know the wrongs of man.

Art. [Burning buildings]

“uncle, tell the lady what you desire.” the gods were cruel when they chose to favour men over women, tearing away the chance of this poised young girl of ever ruling upon the iron throne, for not even the strongest of men- nor the most foolish, either- would dare to speak to the rogue prince in such a demanding tone.

🔊💢💢💢💢RHAENYRA MY BELOVED

there’s a cacophony of laughter, prompted only after the king himself fails to contain a burst of belly-born rumbles, and then the sweet interjection of ‘nyra once more, voice whiny in a way that reminds you you’ve been cursed with your moonsblood for longer than she’s been alive- even despite your supposed late blossoming!

[sprays bugs spray, lights match] men dont deserve to laugh

“kepus! konir sagon daor skorkydoso īlon kȳvanon syt ao epagon zirȳla!” uncle! that is not how we planned for you to ask her!

You may claim his head on a spike, my queen. Do it.

the young girl nods enthusiastically, a silly grin decorating her features and forcing one on to your own down-trodden face, something so infectious in her smile.

I love her

“then do better next time, perhaps tie it more securely.” never has daemon targaryen had a face so worthy of a slap.

[sick (extremely derogatory)]

it’s a marvellous kind of satisfaction that overcomes you as you gaze upon your masterpiece, the prince now wearing a hardened expression and standing with something akin to a bird’s nest in place of his once perfectly groomed locks.

[SCREAMS IN LAUGHTER]

it’s a struggle to not stick your tongue out, but you fear that would only serve to prove his- likely true- point.

NAHHHHHHHHHHH I WOULD HAVE STUCK MY TONGUE OUT POINTED MOCKED HIM MADE A SOUR FACE AND CALLED HIM NAMES YOU WANT TO SEE PETTY YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE DAEMON FUCKING TARGARYEN

“i’m impressed,” you nod along to your own exclamation, vaguely aware of the fact you’ve twisted your feet around till you face the man completely. “that’s a big word for someone with the vocabulary of a foul-mouthed child!”

Purr 😌💅 tell him hes a smelly boy

“if big things impress you, rest assured i’m well endowed.”

😶 ... ngl ... He got you there... that was pretty good HAHAHAAHHAHAHAHA

if the tyrell boy wishes to bed a maiden, your father’s voice plays in your thoughts as though he were stood before you this very instant, best it be you.

[DEEPLY IMMENSE INTENSE FEMININE RAGE]

“no, you won’t, heathen!” in rare occasions, daemon would be the only one to pull a smile from you all day. how fortunate that this is one of those occasions, the scowl on his brows contradicting the subtle upward quirk of his thin lips. “you can not dangle a piece of meat before a dragon and then refuse to feed it.”

My lover in Christ I am no heathen. I am a god fearing woman. Thy mock me the last time. Begone

“do you know how hard it is to get you alone? always got someone wanting to talk to you, stealing your attention. do you even know how many stupid feasts i had to attend to finally get some time with you?” daemon pauses, like he’s waiting for you to relay an answer, guess a number. he loosens up the grip on your neck, teasing your skin with a few soothing strokes of his slender fingers, lulling you into a state bordering insanity. “no answer, sweet girl? or are you lost in that pretty little head of yours?”

Also bold of you to assume there are any thoughts behind these dark eyes 🧚

“i’m,” your voice is but a whisper, raspy with a new found thirst. “trying to figure out what you want me to say.”

SHE LIKE ME FOR REAL A PEOPLE PLEASING STRONG INDEPENDENT WOMAN WHO DONT NEED NO APPROVAL FROM NO ONE

“have you figured out what i want yet?” his voice is a stark difference to the usual smite-filed, almost spat-out-words tone you’ve grown used to hearing from the man. right now, there’s no trace of sardonic undertones in the thick rasp and there’s no time for an exchange of childish insults while he’s glaring down at you through hooded eyes.

WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU SPINELESS UGLY RAT CRETIN LOSER FUCKING TWAT MORON IDIOT

“i’d apologise but, well,” daemon’s dazed smile should not be this gentle, not when it is proceeded with his hands returning to your now bare thighs. “you were trying my patience.”

neither of you choose to dwell on those words, next time.

Me, excited to go out with daemon, daemon who lives in my head, who is fictional, very angrily:

Nooooooooooooo (:

and, really, who are you to deny a prince?

She grew a braincell

“look at you,” his words are rough while his touch is soft, hand gliding over your breasts once more, pinching and pulling at your aching nipples as he puts strength into gazing down at you, intoxicating himself with the way your bodies join at the hip, his cock disappearing into your walls and reemerging coated in your arousal, glimmering beneath the moonlight. “taking me so fucking well. letting me carve out a home for myself in your cunt, huh? gonna let me stay inside you forever?”

“whatever he said, i’ll cut his tongue out and feed him it.” his vulgar threat drags an airy laugh out of you as he mumbles it into the top of your head.

When men

your honor I want to have exclusive rights to scary blood thirsty daemon

“i could fall in love with you.”

“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”“i could fall in love with you.”

what?

little does the prince know your eyes will not meet his own again for many years to come.

[very violently very loudly at the top of my lungs soul curdling ear breaking throat burning] what?

not days later, as he stands amongst the crowd of folk bearing witness to the exchanging of vows between the tyrell boy and you, nor several years after, as you return to the great hall of the red keep to see the announcement of prince aegon's birth, your own child stood at your side and grasping your hand, the silver-moon upon her head no match to the straw blonde of your husband.

[suddenly im at the beach again, the waves are crashing down, im on a rocking chair, sand between my toes, a single tear rolls down my eyes. Screaming]

Ah yes your honor if you are confused i loved it so much and would like to burn people 💗 thank you for attending my ted talk

Hello there amazing writer 🙋🏻‍♀️! I hope you are feeling well and are finding the fandom pleasant 🤗.

I thought I'd share an idea that's been festering in my head if you'd like to give it a try (but first allow me to commend your sharply pellucid guidelines for requesting, you have seriously inspired me to refine my own 🥂)

I was thinking of something where Daemon has been chasing a noblewoman, interest kindled by her prideful rejection to become his latest muse; then one night she goes to his chamber, dejected and teary, indignantly asking for company. Then something like the beach scene from Drfitmark where he's far gentler than he thought he would be.

Thank you for hearing me out, have a lovely day 💐

but only for tonight.

pairing. daemon targaryen x fem!reader. synopsis. to most, the rogue prince is an untamable beast, with the fury of a thousand men and mind more stubborn than a mule. to you, he's a nuisance in expensive clothing, prone to run away with his tail tucked between his legs each time you reassure him you're still not interested in entertaining his company. till disaster strikes and the only corner of the keep your legs seem to carry you is his chamber doors. warnings. young!daemon (early 20s), enemies to lovers to strangers, kinda softer than usual daemon (he's young and not completely cynical yet), smut (porn with plot, p in v, cunnilingus, fingering, daemon lowkey has a praise kink, dubcon bc daemon is high on life aka the milk of the poppy). word count. 12.8k (this was only meant to be 5k max 🧍‍♂️) hyde's input. thank you so much to @nyctophilic0vitnir for your kind words, your request, and, most importantly, your patience <3 this took me far too long to write and i hope the wait was worth it for you. it pains me to age daemon down (as, personally, i'm a toxic bitch that loves to see daemon be notably older than the reader, since i feel it adds that extra layer of questionable morality to his character and his actions) but it was the only way i felt i could stay true to my personal characterisation of him whilst sticking to the original request. since i view daemon as someone hardened by things in life that only come with age (which, in turn, affects his approach to love/courting), it only felt believable to me that he'd chase after someone in his younger days. obviously not everyone has to agree since, again, this is my personal characterisation of him! i'm rambling so i'll shut up now, enjoy!

between the blinding shine of the sun and the hateful looks from the ladies seated all around you, you’re shocked to the core that you’ve yet to melt away into nothingness.

the scene is as follows: an arena surrounded by crowds filled with cheering lords and fawning ladies, dressed in their finest of robes and garbs, and with their mouths opened to yell out each time sticks collide or a rider is thrown from his horse; within the arena stand two horses- one so white it offends the eyes and the other blacker than a night’s sky- and, upon their saddles, two men. the first is a man of honour, regal of house and true of heart. he sits like royalty and smiles like a dashing knight, urging his mount towards the stands, no doubt awaiting the gift of the flowered wreath you’d kept yourself awake into the small hours to make. the other man? a fool made of over-the-top armor, a glistening of dark metals and a feathered helmet that, combined with the smug look he sports, has the same effect as simply writing cunt across his forehead.

it is, to your own displeasure, that the second man is who holds his lance out to you first.

“well,” that cocky tone of voice grates you, like the screech of a crying babe, and you fight back the urge to cover your ears, if only by reminding yourself of how his crown-bearing brother is watching from his own seat amongst the crowd. “get on with it.”

“oh, my!” the women in your vicinity swoon, as if the man has just recited a poem of utmost beauty and grace in your direction.

seemingly foolish? most definitely.

but, truly foolish? not one bit, each of them strategic in their behaviour towards the unwed prince, hopeful that someday, should they work hard enough, they’ll be on the receiving end both of his affection and wealth.

you can not mock them- wholeheartedly, at least- for you would be behaving the very same were he any other prince.

“lady cantebury, if you’ll excuse me, i suddenly feel my lunch coming back up.” though you address the woman to the left of you- who, quite frankly, you’ve been ignoring for the better half of the tournament- your words and feigned smile are directed to the man of your ire.

“yes, excuse her, lady cantebitchy,” despite the prince- purposefully, you assume- misspeaking her name, she seems a little too excited that he’s taken notice of her to care. “it takes those northerners a while to adjust to eating something other than half-frozen crops. three moons south and my lady has yet to get used to it.”

“your lady?” you scoff, and quickly scowl, cursing yourself for giving him what he wants: your attention. too late now, you challenge him and lean forward against the railings. “is she with us now, this lady of yours? i should like to pay my respects to her no-doubt deceased sanity.”

“it pains me deeply when you speak so dully of yourself, my lady.” the gaul of this man! to speak such words, to mimic affectionate sentiments and pains in his heart through the clutching of his chest!

and, to make matters worse, to put on this act before the very man you’ve been courting!

the tyrell boy is smiling when your eyes finds his own, but the grip he has on the reigns of the white horse speaks true to the anger that hides beneath the petal-covered surface. you return his smile, and ignore whatever the prince mutters under his breath (something adjacent to greeting that priss of a man, with words more foul and tone heavy on the disgust).

aiming to beckon over the man who should truly receive the gift of your favour, a faint tug on the skirts of your summer’s gown derail your line of thoughts. first, you look to your left, accusing eyes looking upon lady canteburry as if to say she was the one to call for your attention. another tug has your head darting to the right, and there you see her.

the princess is small, in age and height and all else, but she makes up for what she lacks with her overgrown personality and swollen confidence. she’s merely a girl of six, yet she stands as tall as her stature allows, head tilted up to look you in the eye.

“my uncle,” little rhaenyra’s words echo for all to hear, silencing even the most brutishly rude lords as all stand to listen to her sweet voice. “he wants your favour. i think he’s just nervous and forgot to ask for it.”

the last of her words are whispered, loud enough for several women and the prince himself to hear. you shoot him a look as you both scoff over a laugh, him with indiganance and you with disbelief.

blessed be the hearts of children, too pure to know the wrongs of man.

“is that so, princess?” the girl’s nose wrinkles, a sign of her distaste towards hearing you address her by title (“i can not call you ‘nyra in public, sweet child.” you’d told her many a times, hands brushing over her pale hair or accompanying her through strolls in the gardens or helping her escape the boring hours of needle work. “you are a princess, and as one of your ladies it is my duty to address you as such.”)

the girl nods and you spy the way her hair is slowly slipping out of its braid. the actions serves as a reminder, to not just yourself but the gathered crowd of women, of the unfair yet captivating traits of the dragon-riders. fair hair, lilac eyes, unblemished skin.

he wears them differently to the rest of his house.

“listen to the child,” he speaks as if on queue, in tune with your thoughts. “she’s wiser than most her age.”

“unlike you.” you believe yourself to mutter beneath your breath.

the stifled laughter of the queen herself, aemma targaryen, tells you otherwise.

“ao jorrāelagon naejot sagon tolī sȳz, kepus!” you need to be more kind, uncle! another part of the targaryen culture you’ve grown to envy as much as you distaste: their ancestral tongue. which the princess has been improving upon with each passing day since your arrival at the capital, adding yet another person to your list of targaryens who insist on speaking it around you, with no regard to the fact you have no clue of what words they speak. if anything, the prince seems to enjoy it when you storm off, antagonised to the point of despair by his incomprehensible ramblings in his mother tongue. “iā hembar jēda kesan daor tepagon se dohaeragon ao jaelagon naejot gain se riña’s prūmia lēda.” or next time i will not give the help you wish to gain the lady’s heart with.

whatever she says, it’s enough to irritate the prince, if the roll of his eyes are anything go by.

“lykemagon, riña, iā kesan daor nārhēdegon naejot ȳdragon hen aōha bantis zaldrīzes kipagon naejot aōha kepa.” silence, child, or i will not forget to speak of your nightly dragon rides to your father. you may not speak the language, but you’re fluent in context, and so there’s no doubt in your mind that the two are exchanging threats, each wearing that signature look of stubborn challenging you’re more than certain the king grew to despise the moment he realised he’d no longer just face it from his own brother, but his precious daughter too.

when the moment passes, the princess is facing you again, sticky hands plucking upwards to grab onto whatever part of you she can reach and guide you- shove you, if she were stronger than her age allows- closer to the knight in offensive armour.

“uncle, tell the lady what you desire.” the gods were cruel when they chose to favour men over women, tearing away the chance of this poised young girl of ever ruling upon the iron throne, for not even the strongest of men- nor the most foolish, either- would dare to speak to the rogue prince in such a demanding tone.

“to be drowning in whores and wine.” you’re too slow to cover rhaenyra’s ears from the man’s offensive wording.

you suppose she’s heard far worse.

“uncle!”

“fine, fine,” a clearing of a throat, a straightening of a spine and a lunge of a jousting stick in your direction. the horse he sits upon canters a few steps closer and releases the heavy sigh you wish you could. “my lady,” there’s a point to be made with how your eyes drift anywhere but his own as he speaks such blasphemy, a silent scream that you are most definitely, not under any circumstances nor at any point in time, his lady. you’re barely a tolerant of the man! “would you do me the honour of gifting me with your favour, so that i may wear it on the handle of my lance as i shove the other end up this pretty boy’s arse?”

there’s a cacophony of laughter, prompted only after the king himself fails to contain a burst of belly-born rumbles, and then the sweet interjection of ‘nyra once more, voice whiny in a way that reminds you you’ve been cursed with your moonsblood for longer than she’s been alive- even despite your supposed late blossoming!

“kepus! konir sagon daor skorkydoso īlon kȳvanon syt ao epagon zirȳla!” uncle! that is not how we planned for you to ask her!

the prince ignores his niece, eyes spying only upon you and your unimpressed, unmoving, unchanging facial expressions. the frowning lips, the pinched brows, the disdain in your eyes are all marks of something that would- should- send any other man running for the hills, in pursuit of some other lady.

in daemon, it is the pilar of his desire.

“are you going to make me wait all evening?” the teasing smirk and the raise of an eyebrow have become the prince’s signature look around you, from the moment you’d stumbled upon him, hands tangled up the skirts of a serving girl and lips stained in the bloodied red of southern wine. “because i must admit, while i’m not against performing in front of a crowd, i’d rather hoped our first evening together would be a little more intimate than this.”

you bite the insides of your cheek with a force you hope is strong enough to rid you of that grating feeling roused by none other than your greatest enemy: the prince.

by all means, you want to deny him, send him off to pester some other lady for her favour- of which you’re sure he’ll stumble upon an abudance of them who receive him more willingly than you. the crown of pointed thorns and decaying petals and twisted vines is one you’d intended to gift to the rose boy, not the dragon prince.

yet rhaenyra’s little hands and excited smile convinces you to go against your better judgement.

the crowd bursts back to life with cheers and applause as you drop your wreath down the expanse of his lance.

“cherish it, prince daemon,” you call over the crowd, voice drowning out in the masses yet reaching its intended, daemon’s eyes delighting with the attention you give him. “for i just forfeited my chance to be named queen of love and beauty.”

hours later, when the moon sits atop the sky and the king’s guests have had their fair share of feast and drink, you brush off yet another congratulations.

“to our queen of love and beauty!” they cheer, cups to the sky and smiles made of mockery. “our prince sure did pick a fine lady.”

to roll your eyes is your only hope to halt yourselves from chastising the garish men and their claims, a whole rant to throw at them off the cuff of how the only thing their prince has done is place a scarlet letter upon you and slice a dagger through the already fragile relationship you’ve spent your recent days crafting with the stone-faced lady tyrell, who’s spent the past hours staring you down from across the hall and whispering every so often to her husband.

the hand in your own- smaller and distinctly sticky in a way only a child’s hand ever seems to be- tugs and squeezes you along, venturing deeper into the pit of dancing bods, the tuffs of blonde and the poofs of red the only part of the princess you manage to make out as she guides you.

she stops, eventually, when she finds a spot she deems spacious enough and- unbeknownst to you- in the perfect line of view for all that sit the royal table, be they a king, or a queen, or a prince, to witness you both joining in dance, a unique pair among the many couples.

“you know,” the girl ponders alloud, a cheeky grin on her face as her small frame easily twirls beneath your raised arm. “if you married my uncle, you and i would be family.”

“is that so, huh?” she must count her blessings that she remains a child, for were she any older to know better, she’d be tasting the wrath delivered upon any other who’d dare insinuate- much less so boldly propose the idea of- the unification of yourself and the rogue prince. “are you sure you’d be able to handle me as your evil aunt?”

the young girl nods enthusiastically, a silly grin decorating her features and forcing one on to your own down-trodden face, something so infectious in her smile.

when you’d first met the princess, you’d been certain that you’d never warm to her. it wasn’t that she was spoiled or particularly difficult but, rather, you’d never had a child around back home. moving to the capital- under the guise of becoming a lady in waiting to the little princess while truly being an excuse for your father to find you a husband- you’d been unsure what to expect once you arrived. your friendship with the dragon princess was a happy accident.

an accident that’s made adjusting to the capital far easier, sure, but an accident nonetheless.

“uncle!” her recent interest in your courting life and the need to intertwine it with your arch-nemesis’, however, has you rethinking this friendship.

the princess is the one to let go first, ducking out of your hold to crash straight into the prince’s leg, attaching herself onto it like a leech sticks to the skin of a dying man. daemon, seemingly engaged in conversation- with a girl you believe to be part of the lannister house- prior to the appearance of rhaenyra, dismisses the company in favour of his niece, hand clasping itself upon the top of her head and giving several scuffs, messing her hair till it stands in all directions.

and, be it the copious drinks or the immature she-devil who harbours within the depths of your soul, you condemn yourself to approaching the prince.

“stop that!” the words are a hiss as your hands shove away his own and work at smoothing back down the strands of pale blonde. “it took me near an hour to get her to sit still for me while i done her hair, and now you’ve gone and messed my work!”

“then do better next time, perhaps tie it more securely.” never has daemon targaryen had a face so worthy of a slap.

but, as slapping the king’s brother would likely land you straight in a cellar, you settle for something far more childish.

“oh, my bad,” the stretch to reach the top of his head is lessened by the heeled shoes you wear, allowing you to retaliate the treatment he’d given to the princess’ head. “perhaps you should try tying your hair more securely next time!”

it’s a marvellous kind of satisfaction that overcomes you as you gaze upon your masterpiece, the prince now wearing a hardened expression and standing with something akin to a bird’s nest in place of his once perfectly groomed locks.

“i think you’ve been spending too much time with rhaenyra,” he grumbles, attempting to sooth down the mop on his head while trying to maintain an air of collectedness about him as the surrounding guests hide their snickers behind their hands. meanwhile, the princess radiates joy, no fear holding her back from laughing at her uncle. “you’re behaving as if you were her age.”

it’s a struggle to not stick your tongue out, but you fear that would only serve to prove his- likely true- point.

“i’m tired,” rhaenyra, ever the conniving little actress, throws in a fake yawn and stretches her little limbs out as she untangles herself from the prince, staring up at him. the two have always shared a rather queer bond, as though they were cut from the very same cloth, little needing said for them both to understand one another. being aware of this, however, does not make it any easier to accept when they speak of you as though you’re not there. “would you promise to keep my friend company? there’s a lot of strangers at this feast and i don’t want one of them to harm her.”

“i’d say the strangers are the ones who need protecting, princess,” he’s doubled over, moving down to the height of his niece but his focus is all on you and the urge to squirm under his penatrive gaze is stronger than ever. “them northerners can be savages!”

with much protest from you and a shooing motion from the rogue prince, young rhaenyra scurries off towards her septa, eventually leaving the hall intwined with the daughter of her father’s hand, alicent hightower, the pair having been near inseparable since before you’d even arrived in the capital.

you last only four denied dances, three of them which are proposed by the heartbreak prince himself, the only other man bold enough to approach you with your frowning sworn-guard for the night being a lowly lord from the southern isles, kind enough in the eyes yet sporting a few too many wrinkles and grey hairs for you to consider a suitable suitor. and, at last, it becomes time you take your leave, making one last stop before the two royals, once more congratulating the pair on the early stages of the queen’s pregnancy- the first to make it through the initial trimester since the birth of rhaenyra and the sole reason you’ve all gathered, to celebrate the future heir king viserys targaryen claims grows within his wife’s womb- before making your way out into the much quieter, more solitary and notably cooler hallways of the red keep, the noise of the continued festivities drowning out into muffled cheers as the heavy doors slam shut, locking you out.

you breathe easily for what feels like the first time in hours.

ever the fool, daemon seems either incapable of taking a hint or wilfully going to any length to aggravate you, for he matches your steps and follows you out. he’s oblivious to the stare of despair and the roll of your eyes, wishing the man would drop his literal- and figurative- pursuit of you once and for all.

“you’ve been here, what, near four moons?” his voice rising above the stillness of the night captures your attention, widened eyes blossoming with surprise shooting up from facing the ground beneath your feet. “how are you finding your stay? i should hope my brother’s fitted you with comfortable quarters.”

“i, well,” you start, and you mean to finish, you really do. but there’s a loss of connection between your mind and your mouth, one running with a thousand thoughts that fight to reach the forefront and the other parting it’s lips in a broken exhale.

“what, surprised to see i am capable of niceties?” the prince flashes what you imagine most would describe as a charming smile.

“yes. no, actually,” you correct both your words and your posture, unknowingly relaxing that tense feeling that had danced upon the tip of your back and the expanse of your shoulder from the moment you’d found yourself alone with the man walking at your side. “more surprised to see you’re capable of not turning everything into a sexual pass, i suppose.”

“well, you never let me reach the part where i request to see just how comfortable your quarters are.”

that same she-devil who convinced you to mess with his hair perks up her voice once more, seductive whispers encouraging you to cross the space that separates you from the prince and place a hand upon his leather-bound chest, shoving him with less hostility either of you had expected.

“you’re insufferable!” at the very least, you retain the ability to criticise him verbally, though with far more interruptions of failed-to-conceal laughter and less sharpness in your tone.

“i believe it’s pronounced irrefutable.”

“i’m impressed,” you nod along to your own exclamation, vaguely aware of the fact you’ve twisted your feet around till you face the man completely. “that’s a big word for someone with the vocabulary of a foul-mouthed child!”

“if big things impress you, rest assured i’m well endowed.”

“like i said, insufferable!”

when your exacerbated sighs and his teasing chortles fade away into the air of the night, a calm quiet settles over you both, like fog over mountain tops. the rare abscense of the wandering eyes and judgemental snickers and the gossiping whispers exchanged through the courtiers has made way for an unexpected tolerance of the prince’s company, one that leads you astray from your usual disgust and further towards the walking disaster-child that is daemon targaryen.

“come,” it’s a demand, not a request, the talons of your hands digging into the arm of his coat admittedly harder than necessary, a sick depravation found in the firmness of his biceps. you find he gives no protest to the way your arm locks itself around his own. “walk me to my chambers, oh mighty knight!”

“is this your way of accepting my offer to see how comfortable your ch-”

“daemon, so help the seven, if you finish that sentence, it’ll be i who shoves a lance up your arse.”

silence returns like an old friend: with open arms and the promise of a story to be told.

the pair of you traverse through the winding halls of the castle together, arms linked and feet synced- the prince puts a great effort into shortening the length of his steps. to outsiders looking in, you’d almost appear to be nothing more than another couple in the early days of courtship, smiling off to the sides and capable of looking anywhere but each other. the reality that this very man has put your true intended betrothal at risk becomes buried deep beneath the surface of your thoughts, uneager to remind yourself of how you’d last seen the tyrell boy rising from the dirt of the arena, face frowning as the prince called out your name, thanking you for you favour.

“you never answered.” he speaks carefully, voice a gentle timbre as though he’s attempting to coax a wounded fawn out of its hiding place.

“hmm?”

“my question, about your stay. how are you finding it?”

you can not seem to answer him. it isn’t that you don’t want to answer- trust there is another world out there where you easily list off every reason he’s made your time in the capital feel something comparable to torturous and arduous work- but, rather, that you do not have an answer. because not a single person, from your own father all the way to little rhaenyra herself, has dared to ask you before.

no individual has cared to know, yet here the prince stands- walks by your side, more accurately said- and inquires on it.

it jars you so severely you feel the beginnings of an ache in your head.

“oh, well, it’s been... good, i suppose.” both of you share a common disbelief towards the words you speak, yours evident in the way your grip tightens around his arm and his making itself known in a dismissive grunt. “the keep is beautiful, and my chambers are beyond any level of comfort my own house could afford, and the weather is admiteddly nicer. it’s just...”

“lonely,” the man finishes what you started, the hand on his free arm at some point raising itself to rest upon your own. it’s only reflex for your fingers to relax, untense the vice grip you’ve dug into him. “this city is somehow the busiest yet loneliest place in the whole of westeros.”

“don’t get sentimental on me, prince daemon.” to dismiss the mellowness settling in between you with a jovial tone and a pointed look is all you can think to do, far too unprepared to be confronted with the possibility of the rogue prince possessing anything beyond the sheer audacity he displays on the daily. “we would not want someone to overhear and assume you’re soft-hearted.”

the man swallows back a comment of how, while his heart may falter, another of his organs would not fail to remain hardened, and simply gives a noise of agreement. you arrive at yet another flight of stairs, this one so narrow it requires you to walk ahead of the prince, the grasp you have on him never faltering as it slides down the expanse of his arm and reanchors itself on his wrist.

you make it not even a quarter of the way up before your dress proves itself to be a nusance, catching on your feet and sending you crashing forwards, saved from bruising your skin and breaking your bones on the solid stone below by daemon, who effortletsly catches you by the waist.

“i wasn’t aware the king placed you in the highest tower of the keep,” the prince, a known hypochondriac, quips on the amount of stairs  the travels to your chambers entails.

“must be to keep scoundrels like his brother from trying to reach me.” a joke it may be, given you both laugh, but there’s certainly an element of truth behind it.

pray, you will, that you’re never enquired on how often a scoundrel has taken it upon himself to lift the ends of a woman��s dress for no reasons other than aiding her to climb up steps without the fear of her feet catching on the ends of it.

he follows you up closely, closer than he’d been before, and drops the material only after you’ve reached the top. the pair of you move in sync to reform your previous positions, arms intertwining with ease.

“what,” it’s criminal, you think, that it’s taken you all this time to experience how soft the prince’s voice can be once he’s rid it of all that ego and peacoking energy he barks around the courts with. meanwhile, he’s doing everything he can think of to slow your inevitable approach towards your chambers door. “do you have planned tomorrow morning?”

“tomorrow morning?” the question prompts you to look at him. seeing his face closer than it’s ever been before, you see the little details, like the flecks of deep purple that accentuate the lilac eyes, or the small scab on his chin where a shaving knife must have sliced it, or the subtle indent of frown-lines on his forehead that you think a man of his age is far too young to possess. “usually my mornings are spent with the other maidens who reside in the keep, before rhaenyra comes searching for me after she’s broken her fast.”

you don’t mention the way the young girl never fails to bring something tucked beneath her skirts- an apple, a buttered roll, a slice of meat- and forces it upon you, demanding you eat the breakfast you so often forget to take.

“how likely is it that your absence would be noted, say, if you were to go one daybreak not with those wenches?” you wrinkle your nose at the choice of words and he chuckles, mentally notting the distaste you harbour for wenches and reminding himself to use it against you at some point in the future. “my brother says the she-beast they call vhagar laid a clutch.”

“how ominous. haven’t you dragonriders taken enough dragons beneath your wings?” it’s meant to be naught more than a silly comment, a clever play on words to rouse a tired eyeroll from prince daemon. it isn’t, however, supposed to pull a pointed look and a sigh of defeat from the dragonless targaryen. “i’m sorry... i didn’t mean to offend.”

“no, no, it’s fine. just never speak such a stupid pun again.” he juts his arm out, playfully stabbing the point of his elbow into your side and rousing a smile back onto your face, unease slipping out with your next exhale. “it’s for the queen’s babe. my brother demanded i collect the eggs and bring them to-”

“there you are, my love! i’ve been looking for you all evening.”

like a pair of children caught with their hands down a cookie jar, daemon and you jump apart with haste, eyes no longer focused on one another and, instead, on the figure stood at the very end of the hall.

he still wears the armour which he’d been defeated by the prince in.

“laurel!” while your tone may read as elated, it’s filled only with disappointed surprise. “what are- why- what brings you here, at this hour?”

the prince seems to instinctively step closer to you as the tyrell boy begins to approach, leaving his post outside your door. he’s stern, brows furrowed and nothing remains of the man who’d been making you laugh a mere ten paces back.

“i was looking, for you,”

“clearly not hard enough.” you wonder if the tyrell boy catches daemon’s muttered words and, the part of you that agrees with them wishes he did.

you’d been at the feast all evening, with just about every other person of status in the city. if he’d wanted to find you, he’d have been best to make an appearance at the event rather than camping outside your apartments.

“i thought we could take a stroll through the gardens,” the rose speaks as though his idea is not preprostous, inviting a maiden out into the darkened greenery at such a late hour.

passing by the prince, laurel tyrell spares him no attention, as though the man is not even there, and simply makes his way towards the stairway, turning back only when the notion that you stand frozen in your spot kicks in.

“come along, my lady!” my lady. those two words feel tainted from hearing them fall from between the prince’s lips, the tyrell’s voice prickling your skin with it. “i promise i shant keep you late.”

your eyes find the prince.

he nods, once and then a second time.

“go,” he urges verbally, when his actions don’t speak loud enough. “fleabottom’s been calling my name all evening, and i intend to answer it.”

with a twist in your gut and a wretch in your heart, you shuffle your way over to laurel tyrell’s open palm, letting him drag you back down into the night.

this is a decision you come to regret, no later than four sleeps.

because the man's words follow you, no matter how quickly you run through halls and creep up stairwells. they turn every corner you take and pause with every rush of breath you stop to heave into your screaming lungs. you pass doorways and sleeping guards, and they pass them with you too.

this nonsense best prove it's worth once i bed her.

there's anger in the clutches of your hands, clenched into fists of pointed knuckles and skin-digging nails, and sadness caught between the lashes of your eye, drops of liquid heartbreak threatening to stain your skin if you so much as blink.

the halfwit doesn't notice when i focus on her tits instead of her eyes.

the poetic words, the strolls through the gardens, the nights of dancing, the stolen smiles and fleeting looks across crowded rooms, all for nothing.

least she be a maiden. i've heard the feel of breaking one of them in is unmatched.

all for laurel tyrell to be another man who sees only the shape of what you hide beneath your clothing.

you want to hate him, curse him, tell all you meet of his crude words, but, instead, the thought of their reactions leaves you despising yourself, for ever thinking a man could think with more than what sat between his legs.

it is not even an option to contact your father, you lament while climbing yet another winding stairwell, for he’d merely remind you of a woman’s duty, which serves only her house until she takes a husband and, then, serves only him.

if the tyrell boy wishes to bed a maiden, your father’s voice plays in your thoughts as though he were stood before you this very instant, best it be you.

his words, the thoughts and your footsteps all come to a halt at the same time. like reentering your body, or awakening from a nap, you find yourself disorientated, gazing upon a chamber door you register not as your own. no, this door is more akin to the level of gradiose you face each day that you visit the young princess’ room, dragged away by her small hands as she works to avoid yet another one of the classes that she views as a bore.

yet, this is not her door.

sure, it carries similar markings and engraves in the wood, and sports that very same rich colour and shine to it. but something, subtle as it may be, is askew. the princess’ door has silver handles, this one has gold. the princess sleeps in the east wing of this part of the keep and you’re certain you’d marched west, away from the voice of your betrothed. a guard stands by the princess’ door, no one sits outside this one.

bile rises in tune with your hand, staining the back of your throat with anxious thoughts as you hesitantly knock.

you pause and wait.

minutes pass before you’re knocking again, this time with a little more anger behind the way your knuckles hit against the cold oak. it’ll be a wonder if you do not awake to swirls of purple and twists of blue painted across your skin come sunrise.

the tenant of these apartments still does not open their doors.

you hit a little harder, replacing knocks with a forceful, full-handed slap against the door. and then another, and another, and another, and-

your hand meets flesh that prickles with stubble and points with it’s cheekbones.

“what in the seven hells merits such behaviour at this hour?!”

the prince, for the life of him, has barely managed to open his eyes fully, rejecting the bright lights that burn in the hall. behind him is a sea of black, whatever treasures or prisoners he hides within his quarters lost into the darkness. he’s frowning, hair a mess, clothes foregone hours ago, and a distinctly red hand print slowly searing itself into the left side of his face.

the sight brings you more relief than you’d ever thought him capable of.

you’ve always been rational. it’s a badge you wear with honour, basking in the glory anytime one of your siblings met the angrier side of your father that never failed to reprimand them for being less like you, for being incapable of thinking before acting like you, for never weighing consequences until after a deed was done.

till the day you die, you will never find the words to describe what leads you astray from this level-headedness in the small hours of this evening.

you crash into the prince less gracefully than you’d prefer, lips barely meeting the bottom of his and pressing themselves half on his chin as you dive in for a kiss.

a kiss that daemon does not reciprocate.

in fact, he doesn’t even attempt to move, body frozen in place. pulling back to find the sheer unfazed, almost bored look that occupies the features of his face, floods your soul with a horrible, thick, heavy feeling, that stains every part of you it touches. 

you’re ashamed.

and mortified.

and disgusted.

and embarrassed.

and reaching for his lips again.

this time your mouths collide in perfect level, no unwanted chin in the way. wanting- needing something to anchor you down, your hands shoot out to grasp at where a tunic would usually be. instead, you’re met with nothing but the solid, heaving, sweating mass that makes up the prince’s naked chest.

daemon remains stoic.

“i,” you breathe a shaky exhale, a sting nagging away at your reopened eyes as the previous tears reappear. with a nod, and a sniffle, you step back from the man. the nervous tremble in your hands forces you to grab at the fabrics of your skirt, grasping at anything to distract your mind. “that- this was a mistake.”

this entails so much. kissing him, knocking on his door, walking to his chambers, moving to king’s landing, courting with the tyrell boy, letting the prince get in your head and, all over what? a single experience where the two of your were capable of coexisting without tearing one another’s hair out?

it is all one big mistake, the kind that one can’t hope to fix if all they do is turn and run from the danger it exudes.

knowing this won’t stop you from trying, however.

you twist so quick you worry you may snap your spine or strain a muscle, body kicking into action in an attempt to get as far away from the prince as you’d once desired to be from the tyrell boy. not even a full step, do you make it, until an unmovable force clamps down on your arm.

daemon imposes on you this time, leaning down and crashing his lips against yours. his mouth is warm, with lips of honey and hands of stone that grab and pull and tug at the parts of you they blindly reach for.

the prince is not the first man you’ve kissed- nor do you imagine a life where he’ll be the last- but there’s something behind the way his tongue burrows itself into your mouth, his presence so tangible and all consuming.

you pull back, if only to catch your breath, but he follows, taking ownership over your senses.

stumbling backwards and crossing the threshold into the prince’s chambers, darkness takes ahold of you both, bathing you in nothing but the light of a distant moon. you barely register how one of you reaches for the door behind you, only the slamming of it alerting you to the fact it’s been closed. a lightheaded feeling overcomes you, forcing you to pull apart when your lungs scream for air.

“i’m starting to understand,” daemon’s voice is full of rasp, dry and cracking and far too grating on the ears for you to genuinely be finding yourself attracted to it. “why my brother swears by the milk of the poppy.”

a horrible feeling floods your soul, bile burning its way up your throat.

“oh, oh my god,” your hands are at the level of your eyes, pulling at strands of your own hair. “i completely forgot... you- you’re on bedrest, i can, i’ll just leave-”

the prince’s injury had been the talk of the town since it had occurred: a near-deadly run in with a frightened stag amidst a hunting tourney. the horned animal had spooked his horse, throwing the man off its saddle as it reared and ran off, leaving him to face the male deer. the truth of what had entailed, few would ever know, all that was said was that the prince returned to camp dragging the slaughtered animal by it’s horns with a blood staining the clothing surrounding his left shoulder. 

“no, you won’t, heathen!” in rare occasions, daemon would be the only one to pull a smile from you all day. how fortunate that this is one of those occasions, the scowl on his brows contradicting the subtle upward quirk of his thin lips. “you can not dangle a piece of meat before a dragon and then refuse to feed it.”

were you in any state to think rationally, you’d dig more into the fact he’d just referred to you as a piece of meat.

but, then, if you were thinking rationally, you’d never have wound up at his door.

the second kiss is less forceful. no rush enlaced with every touch, no desperation tickling at both your senses, no desire to stray too far from one another.

you find yourself trusting the prince more than you’d like to when he starts to guide you backwards, a gentle pressure on your hips building while his mouth travels over your jaw and reaches the top of your neck. you walk, and stumble, and shuffle wherever the man directs you and, then, you fall.

any frightful scream you would have let out is quickly replaced with a squeal and a giggle of delight, back meeting what you’re confident in naming the softest bed you’ve ever laid upon.

at last, the shine of the moon allows you to see the man hell-bent on attacking you with his mouth.

“what is the meaning of this, hmm?” the condescension in his tone usually grates you. now, it excites you, arouses you, leaves you wondering of what pleasures he could speak with it. “why’re you suddenly at my door, behaving like some wanton whore?”

oh, you think, who knew such crass could prickle your skin with desire?

the shadow of the prince casts down on you, bathing you in an exagirated enlarged image of him, as if the fates wish to remind you of how big a shadow he looms over your own existence. it scares you.

his eyes scare you more.

they’re usually wider, observing every move, full of that mischievous nature the prince is known for. but, if what people say is true and the eyes are the mirror to one’s soul, then daemon’s soul must be a dark pit made up of lustful glares and hooded eyelids, resting so low his eyes almost appear shut.

you want to answer, you really do. but between the hand that circles a grip around your throat and the heat shooting straight for your core, burning up in a puddle of arousal, you can’t. all you can do is watch the man before you, silver hair a beautiful mess just begging for some fingers to be ran through it and stare promising to ruin you in the best way possible.

the silence pleases him.

“do you know how hard it is to get you alone? always got someone wanting to talk to you, stealing your attention. do you even know how many stupid feasts i had to attend to finally get some time with you?” daemon pauses, like he’s waiting for you to relay an answer, guess a number. he loosens up the grip on your neck, teasing your skin with a few soothing strokes of his slender fingers, lulling you into a state bordering insanity. “no answer, sweet girl? or are you lost in that pretty little head of yours?”

“i’m,” your voice is but a whisper, raspy with a new found thirst. “trying to figure out what you want me to say.”

if it’s the wrong or right answer, you’re soon to find out, the sharp faced man releasing a dangerously low chuckle as he takes a hold of your chin. like a pretty doll, you move any time and any way his fingers command you to, finding yourself staring right up into his eyes, a swirl of melting jasmine that reminds you of how alluring yet sultry every inch of him is. lips near touching, he refuses to break eye contact as he speaks up once more, sealing both your fates when his breath hits your face.

“then let me show you what i want.”

his mouth comes down on yours like it’s the answer to all your prayers and, yet, all your nightmares.

it excites you how easily he works his lips over your own, captivating every inch of you when he tilts his head to the right and deepens the kiss. the rhythm of your lips is a mismatch of beats, where one moment you are moving in a sensual waltz, grazing tongues and dipping heads to get rid of that inch of a space remaining between your bodies, and the next moment your tongues are tangled in a tango, the kind where his teeth send blood rushing to your lips with every bite he drags over them and his hand drags shivers down your spine as it makes its way down, down, down your body.

yet it terrifies you how willingly you’ve succumb to daemon’s touch, intoxicated by whatever witchcraft he has in his possession and currently holds over you. there’s a deadliness to the way his lips part from your own only to repeat his previous seamless descent down your jaw and the expanse of your neck, a poisonous element to the way his hand suddenly finds itself clutching the meat of your thigh.

the moment his fingertips ruck up the fabric that safeguards the last of your modesty and meet the ends of your sleep-gown, you’re wishing you’d never slipped it on in the first place, every fibre of your being growing angsty under the weight of his suddenly halted hand. it stays still for an immeasurable amount of time, grazing over your near shear dress occasionally while he continues to mouth at your neck.

like visenya and vhagar at the unstormable vale, daemon parts your legs with little to no effort, creating a pathway for his fingers to travel further up your thigh. blunt fingernails drag up your skin, a trail of goosebumps being left behind, a visible marking of where he’s touching you.

his movements halt too soon for your liking, too much distance between his lithe fingers and your body’s pulsating core.

“have you figured out what i want yet?” his voice is a stark difference to the usual smite-filed, almost spat-out-words tone you’ve grown used to hearing from the man. right now, there’s no trace of sardonic undertones in the thick rasp and there’s no time for an exchange of childish insults while he’s glaring down at you through hooded eyes.

something compels you to nod your head, even though you’re a little too lost in the thoughts concerning what you desire, rather than what the stranger incarnate looming over you wants.

“you have?” the words come out in a layer of amazement, and you have to wonder if it’s because of the lie you’ve just told or the way your legs have closed in around his hand, trapping it between them. “i want to know what you want, though.”

you want his thumb to stop stroking over the flesh of your inner thigh.

you want his eyes to stop gazing down at you like you’re the perfect prey.

you want him to stop teetering your impending pleasure on a string.

you want-

“you.” is all you manage to breath out.

it seems to do the trick, however, your point getting very much across to him. a softness flickers over his features, brows no longer furrowed and smirk curling up into a full smile for what feels like an eternity, but is actually no more than a couple of seconds before his devilish aura is back.

lips meet lips again, the desperation and force behind each stroke of his tongue against yours the same as before. the prince, much to your delight, seems to grow just as impatient as you’ve been since the moment he’d stopped you from fleeing at his door.

one hand still resting between your thighs, his other seizes the opportunity to drag your body closer, till a mere inhale is enough to have your chest pressing into him.

the prince’s descent to the floor is graceful, his figure made of solid muscle and unclothed skin lowering till his knees hit the ground and it becomes you who stare down at him, your hands clutching at the silk sheets his bed has been dressed with in an effort to replace the desire to touch him instead.

choosing to not dwell on the heavy feeling of his eyes on you, or the sheer visual strength depicted in the straining muscles of his thighs, you instead focus on the way his lips have trailed away from yours and are beginning to make their way towards the top of your chest.

his hand abandons post between your thighs and rises to the surface, where long fingers begin to pull at the straps of your flimsy night-dress, successfully manoeuvring the cotton material till it pools around your midriff and your breasts are exposed to the damp air of the night.

with no want left to play around, he dives right in to dragging his lips down the upper swell of your left breast. you imagine he can feel the beating of your racing heart beneath the goosebump littered skin. it doesn’t take long for his tongue to enter the scene, skilfully flicking over your hardened nipple a couple times before enveloping his mouth around the bud.

one, two, three sucks and he’s moving on to your right breast. there’s no lead up, this time, simply his mouth finding delight in toying with your body while he busies his hand with your left side, thumb and pointer finger rolling and tugging and spreading the remnants of his saliva over your heated skin.

the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and has you arching your own, is the faintest pressure of his teeth biting down on you. it dances on a thin line between pleasurable and painful, exhilarating enough to make you throw your head back as a moan slips past your lips. it echoes in the empty room, replaying your own sound for both of you to hear again and again before the chain is broken by a laugh.

his laughter.

“why are,” he picks the right time to trail his fingers down your body, dragging your dress with them till it sits uncomfortably tight around the top of your hipbones, fabric digging into the rapidly heating skin. “you laughing?”

“has anyone ever told you how beautiful your tits are?” it’s crude and heartwarming all at once, not unlike the man who says it and the little smile he shoots up in your direction as he rolls his tongue over your nipple once again.

“no, i can’t say they have.” one hand finds it’s way onto his shoulder- the shoulder that does not possess gauze wrapped around it, that is- and grasps it in a vice grip, the fear of melting off the bed and directly onto the concrete floor all too prevalent as you gain enough confidence to let the other hand slide around to the back of his neck and thread your fingertips in the silver locks, hair as soft as you’ve always imagined it to be. “you’re the first.”

“i’ll wear that title with honour,” he seems to delight in the way you’re carding through his hair, eyes closing while he tilts his head back further into your touch. a delighted sigh follows. “has anyone ever asked to drink from your cunt?”

you nearly choke on your own shock.

“i suppose that’s another honourable title for me to wear.” daemon is beginning to give you whiplash, with all this switching between being unusually receptive to your presence and the man that minutes before was making poetic profanities out of the beauty of your bared chest. he peaks his eyes open again, slowly, adjusting once more to make out your figure in the darkness. when he has the nerves to smile at you, all dreamy eyed and relaxed sitting before you, knees pressing into the ground in a mockery of a bow, some crevice deep within your soul sparks up a fire that burns on the belief that perhaps you’ve been wrong about the prince all along, judging only on what people say and not on how he behaves. then, he reopens his mouth and dampens the flame. “now, do i have to tear you out of your skirts or will you stand up and let me slide it off?”

this time, its your laugh that echoes in the air.

“you think i jest!” he seems to whine his way through his exclaim, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly in a way you’re certain is both influenced by the milk of the poppy that flows through his bloodstream, and is going to drive you insane. “i can not go on another moment like this, you sitting there like something akin to the most mouthwatering summer’s peach, without spending my seed. and, while i’d much prefer to do so inches deep inside you, i’ll settle for a mouth full of cunt.”

“you’re so-” you give up on trying to find a single word to describe him, knowing there’s no word that can quite capture the prince’s essence. “okay, okay, i’ll umm... just stand up and-” the shriek of fabric tearing rips through the space between you. “hey!”

“i’d apologise but, well,” daemon’s dazed smile should not be this gentle, not when it is proceeded with his hands returning to your now bare thighs. “you were trying my patience.”

his hold on you is strong- both the grip he has on your legs and the control he harbours over your mind-, and he plays it to his advantage, laying one palm flat over your torso and forcing you backwards, till your back meets the mattress and your eyes find themselves staring up at the images carved into the roof of the wooden bedpost, details indistinguishable in the darkened room.

from the floor, the prince is grabbing and pulling and maneuvering you down the length of the mattress, finding the backs of your knees and bending them, spreading your legs to a width wide enough for his broad shoulders to sit between. 

“need you closer, my tongue’s not that long.” the prince mutters, half to himself, as your arse meets the edge of the bed, all the way to where his wanton mouth awaits you. as if to give you a preview of what awaits you, the kisses from before reduced to nothing, his tongue pops out to run over the smooth of his bottom lip. your hands return to fisting at the sheets beneath you, digging and searching and reaching for a way to keep yourself grounded through the maddening thoughts of the prince and the current position you find yourself in, and ignoring the anxious ridden vipers inside your mind that spit their venom and hiss their tongues in commands that entail you gathering the remaining fabrics of your tattered clothing and running out these chambers, out the keep, out the damned capital, out the clutches of the man on his knees. though, with the way his fingers squeeze into your thigh, you doubt you’d make it as far as even a single step. “comfortable?”

“as i’ll ever be.”

“all the ladies in the seven kingdoms that would die to be in your position, and you choose to say that?” he tisks, tongue hitting off the roof of his mouth before a blow of air hits against your folds and, though it’s faint from the distance still between his mouth and where he wants it to be, it sends a jolt of excitement up your spine. “i’ll just have to make sure i over-perform, make you more eager for next time.”

neither of you choose to dwell on those words, next time.

him, too occupied with getting his first taste, tongue licking a strip up your core and coming to a stop as the tip of it bumps against your aching bud.

you, too busy having the air knocked out of your lungs, hand unconsciously finding safety in gripping his hair as you lurch upward momentarily, back arching off the bed and mouth falling open in a quiet gasp that echoes around and around.

“hmm, make sure you hold on tight.” you know he’s teasing you, with his words, and with his eyes, and with his mouth that seems to find enjoyment in trailing itself over your buzzing centre and up your pubic bone. “you smell sweet as sin, you know? enough to make any man go feral.”

the chance to reply never comes, not when the prince makes his way back down to your pearl and greets it with the stroke of his flattened tongue. every tiny nerve sparks to life under his touch and you feel yourself grow more sodden, a wave of warm arousal leaking out of your hole. his tongue dives down to welcome it, not allowing more than a single drop- which slips and slides its way down to the crack of your arse, dribbling over your puckered hole- to go to waste.

you don’t even notice the lack of his grip around your left leg until you feel it: the first few seconds of his fingertips probing around your soaked cunt, coating themselves in your liquid pleasure until it’s dripping down the back of his hand.

the first finger to enter your hole is gentle, tentative to the way your body receives him, his pointer and ring finger keeping your folds spread and allowing him the full view of the middle one slowly disappearing from sight, burying itself in the warmth of your womanhood. distracted, his mouth pulls back and his head forces itself into the grip you have in his hair while his eyes soak in the sight above him, flickering up to catch your reaction when another finger enters you, this time with a lot less care as it forces you open around it.

“so pretty,” he slurs over the words, more to himself than to you, delighting as he witnesses you struggling to bite back a pathetic moan when his digits curl within you. he repeats the action a couple times, flicking his wrist back and forth, fingers brushing over your tight walls each time and culminating in a curl that has him pressing against the spongy-like flesh inside. “so, so pretty.”

your hips begin to rut against his hand, meeting every one of his thrusts with perfect timing that has him reaching deeper, further, better places inside of you. all the while the prince is simply watching and admiring the furrow in your brow and the way the swells of your breast bounce in sync with you.

your cunt clenches tighter and his fingers fight to reach deeper before spreading themselves wider in an attempt to scissor you open. he’s giving it his all, a third finger slipping in despite the dull ache setting in his wrist while he coaxes you closer and closer to the tipping point.

the rogue prince takes just as easy as he gives, and it’s that fact alone that drives him to pull his hand back, fingers withdrawing from you and the pleasure you’re pursuing.

“why did you-” you heave through heavy breaths, brain fuzzy from the unvoiced peak you were so close to having, every nerve ready to tingle, every muscle ready to tremble, every toe ready to curl. “stop?”

“because,” the wet smack of his fingers hitting against your pearl is louder than the whimper that drops from your mouth. daemon hears both, however, and grins, quickly landing another smack against your engorged bud. “the goal is to make you cum on my tongue, not my fingers. consider them the appetiser, something to awaken your senses.”

his tongue licks in an upward motion, starting from the tip of your taint and ending at your pearl, and you get deja-vu to just minutes before, when you’d first felt his tongue on your melting skin, the saliva it leaves in a trail behind it serving to cool you down. a shiver runs up your spine as he blows air onto your cunt, the pressure of it doing wonders to stimulate your bundle of nerves.

“would you ever stop?” your whining tone is reminiscent of a spoiled babe, crying and fussing over the need to be fed milk from it’s mother’s teat.

“‘tis you who’s becoming insufferable now, my lady.” the prince, despite what he says, does as you ask and puts an end what feels like unending teasing- really, it’s hardly been a minute but the pulsing of your heat and the loss of a climax leave you no room to think about something as abstract as time.

his lips make a victorious return, wrapping themselves around your centre and sucking against the pulsing nub. every so often, he delivers a couple kitten licks- ups and downs, sides to sides, figure eights- before swiftly returning to kissing your most intimate parts.

in an attempt to make your toes curl, he dips lower and teases the tips of his tongue over your entrance, wet muscle moving over wet skin and tastebuds covering themselves in your essence, till the moans echoing off the walls are indistinguishable between daemon’s and your own.

“you can move.” he grunts into you after a few minutes of repeated alternating between kissing your pearl and tonguing at your hole. it’s muffled with the way he’s holding you down against his face and you feel his lips brush against your lower ones as he speaks. “need you to move. wanna see you use me, sweetling.”

and, really, who are you to deny a prince?

you’re hesitant at first, just like you were all those weeks ago as you watched the flowered wreath slip down his lance. you test the waters and give a single roll of your hips. it feels good, great, especially when paired with his own efforts at dragging his tongue over you.

it takes a few more attempts, and daemon’s patience wearing thin to the point he resorts to grabbing a firm hold of your arse cheeks and dropping your legs over his shoulders, mouth pressing right up against you with his tongue flat and eyes staring up at you in a demand to move, else all the old gods and the new be damned.

move you most certainly do, grinding down on his tongue like you’ve done many a time on the spare pillows that line your own bed, in the hours where the moon sits high within the sky and not a creature stirs nearby to witness your self-pleasing sins. it’s messy, sloppy in the way that his spit mingles with your wetness, a cocktail of fluids sliding down his throat, and painting his lips, and dribbling down his chin as he eats you like a man starved that’s getting a taste of the sweetest fruit.

the rhythm of your hips is thrown off when the man below you switches from having you grinding down onto his flattened tongue to slipping the muscle inside of your hole, thrusting it as far as up as the length of it allows him to. with every time your body comes crashing down on his mouth, the tip of his nose bumps against your clit, forcing you to angle yourself upwards to gain more of the friction.

hands find hair, lips part in unabashed moans, thighs shake with the oncoming of an orgasmic state of mind.

the moment builds too quickly, too unexpectedly, like the ghost of your stolen climax is back with a vengeance and set on ensuring there will be no denying it this time.

“s-shit,” your eyes squeeze shut, too scared to look down at his ecstasy filled eyes in fear of it being what finally tips you over the edge. “oh, there, right there, daemon! yes, i’m going to-.”

the prince pays no mind to your warning. if anything, he takes it as a challenge, an invisible timer beginning in his head and forcing him to see how quickly he can get you to unravel all over his mouth. he’s getting everything he’s imagined since he’d watched you first step foot into the keep, your naked body a mess before him as you fuck yourself on his tongue and your hands, with minds of their own, sliding up to grab and squeeze at your breast.

he watches how the white tips of your nails clash with the darkened colour of your abused nipples, fingers working to pinch, and twist, and pull at them as you lose yourself in the moment.

when you peak, it’s with rolled-back eyes and shaky thighs, his hands gripping at you tighter to steady you as you fidget and kick away from him, his tongue working at coaxing you through your high.

he licks up every drop of your essence he can manage, until you’re cringing in overstimulation and reaching down to push him away. he lets you move him, mouth switching to trail a couple kisses over your inner thigh, something similar to lipstick stains- yet so much dirtier in nature- being left behind on your soft flesh.

“you sound as though you enjoyed yourself.” he’s the first to speak, partly because he correctly thinks you’re incapable of forming anything coherent in the afterglow of your orgasm, mouth agape as you drag and drop the air through your lungs, but mostly because he wants- no, needs to hear you praise him.

“do you ever...” despite your efforts to sit yourself up, against his sheets you remain with limbs melted into puddles jelly and eyes staring wide at the heavens above, a tremble still present in your thighs as you subconsciously feel the patterns his hands dance over them. “shut up?”

“only when my mouth is otherwise occupied.”

silence prevails alongside the ticking of time. some part of you registers the return of your feet to the cold floor and the departure of the man from between your legs. he doesn’t stray far, hands clamping down on your hips, a gentle squeeze or two his own way of searching for your presence, urging your eyes to meet his.

they remain looking upwards.

undeterred, the prince is, bending himself at the waist and resting both hands on either side of your head, holding his own weight up as his face obstructs your view above. life enters you once more, eyes focusing at last on him and his upturned mouth and the remnants of your sexual indiscretions drying into his skin.

“for someone who hates it so much, you sure do know how to stroke my ego.” he must be on a mission, you think, to remind you of why you’ve spent your days avoiding interactions with him instead of tangling yourself within his arms. “i’ve got something much bigger for you to stroke though, once you regain your senses.”

this something bumps against your skin, solid as a rock and spluttering a spit of fluids onto you, warm and sticky. sneaking a quick glance is not enough to fully encapsulate the details that make up this fierce looking appendage, with it’s red-angered tip and its decorative bush of hair and the peak of his stones that sit just past its base, yet it’s all you allow yourself under the scrutiny of his eyes.

“perhaps it’s time you to choose your words more wisely, prince daemon,” your voice is breathy, chest heavy still. you try distract him away from noticing such a feat, hand dancing down the expanse of his bare back till it meets the globe of his arse, nail digging in so deep they’re bound to leave marks, if not draw blood too. “it would be far too easy to punch you in the cock from this position.”

he swallows back a demand for you to speak more about his cock.

clarity bestows itself upon your mind, as your memory serves you a cruel reminder of the words you’d overheard and the voice you’d been running from, dread burning its way up your throat in a sickening twist of guts. the prince must notice the shift in the air, perhaps the way your face has grown a little paler or your pupils dilate as you venture off into the hellscape of your mind, for he’s quick to return you to his hold, heavy body pressing down on you as the prince’s mouth meets yours.

there’s a tangy, sticky sweetness to his kiss, a taste of your self that he gifts you with bitten lips and languid tongue, delving deep into your mouth as if in search of some hidden treasure.

it’s clear now, to the both of you, that your reasons for being here- in his chambers, upon his bed, beneath his body- are nothing if not driven by something deeper, darker, more dangerous than simple ardent lust. months you’d been within reach. months he’d been vocal of his desires towards you. days you’d been betrothed to another man.

but the prince never asks, and so you never answer, letting yourselves indulge in the arts of pleasure and pain.

he pulls on your lip, you pull on his hair. he drags his nails down your body, you dig yours into his rear. he drives you deeper up the bed, you drive him deeper between your legs. he rolls his hips into you, you roll your eyes back into your skull.

“this is a dream. you’re a dream,” perhaps your rational thinking has devolved to naught but hedonistic intentions, for you’re almost certain the mighty rogue has something familiar to wonder intertwined with his breathless voice. the dilation of his pupils, eyes more black than targaryen-lilac, is a mystery you ponder over, wondering if it’s driven more by lust or sedative. “and tomorrow i’ll awake to an empty bed and the reality where you tolerate a rat more than me.”

it’s unclear if he speaks literal of the long-tailed rodent, or if it’s simply a new name for the ever-growing list of things he calls your betrothed.

“do you say that to all the whores you fuck?” your words carry a bite, one your own destructive nature hopes will drive him away from you.

“we don’t speak,” he does the opposite, sinking further into you. you become all too aware of the heat returning to your core when he ruts the length of his cock up your folds, coating himself in a thin layer of your lubricant. “sounding like you, they can never achieve it. they can look like you, from the back, at least.”

believing his words to be a lie feels easier than accepting them as truth. the rogue prince has been nothing if not a menace to the streets of silk since the dawn of his sexual maturity, and there is not an inch of you that can fathom him using these vices as a means to quench the desire for you, seeking out your form in faceless, nameless and, apparently, voiceless cunts.

there’s no great lead up to the breaching of your walls, simply another two rolls of his length along your soaked core and a ghost of a kiss against your forehead before the prince is lining himself up and impaling you with his cock.

you’d been warned all about the ache that would come with the breaking of your maidenhead, traumatised at the young ages of four, five, six and onwards of how, someday, your husband would tear you open and leave you a bloodied mess. and, yet, here you lay, a dull ache burning within you, the feel of a pop and the heavy slap of his stones meeting your skin.

“it hurts, i know,” he hushes you when, at last, a pained whimper breaks the surface of your silence, hips stilled and keeping him buried deep in your walls that fight and squeeze and tighten around the intruder. his face, from the little you see of it past the wall of tears building within your eyes, is scrunched up in discomfort, fighting back the instincts that tell him to pull back and fuck himself into you over and over. “but you’re good, and you’re strong, and you can take it. you know you can, just relax.”

you do as your told, far easier than either of you had expected, and find rhythm in his own heavy breathing, matching each inhale and exhale till the soothing of hands over your thighs relaxes the muscles and you manage to retract the nails that dig deep into his back.

the prince moves only once your legs tangle themselves around his waist, spreading you wider and holding him closer.

from there, a symphony ensues, except where normally one would find the melody of a guitar or the blowing of a flute or the beating of a drum, this one is made of skin slapping, mouth kissing, moan singing. the ache builds and builds till it collapses into a pit of delirious pleasure, the kind that opens your eyes as to why it’s so easy for men and women to succumb to the sins of flesh.

“look at you,” his words are rough while his touch is soft, hand gliding over your breasts once more, pinching and pulling at your aching nipples as he puts strength into gazing down at you, intoxicating himself with the way your bodies join at the hip, his cock disappearing into your walls and reemerging coated in your arousal, glimmering beneath the moonlight. “taking me so fucking well. letting me carve out a home for myself in your cunt, huh? gonna let me stay inside you forever?”

he’s manic, and crazed, and spewing out things that you know should make you cringe and roll over in disgust. but you’re just as far gone, mind no longer vacant in your body as you chase that special feeling only the repeated hammering of his tip against your womb can bring.

“let me cum inside, sweetling,” is it more plea or demand? it’s hard to tell, and hard to care, arms circling round the back of his neck and back arching to press chest to chest. the prince ceases his senseless rambling only to lay kisses down your sweat-covered face, neck, chest, each carrying the weight of his desperation to feel you real and breathing beneath him. “stake my claim over this tight little cunt, leave you dripping from how full i make you.”

waves of pleasure crash over you in tandem, unintelligible groans and gasps all that play through the air as hands clamp down and teeth bite skin. your walls spasm around his cock while it twitches within you, both of your peaks painting your bodies in liquid arousal. warmth fills your cunt and trickles out of you, catching on the dark mass of hair that sits above his appendage, the stark white of his cum sickeningly reminding you to the first time you’d seen snow as a child and arousing the same response from you: a desire to taste it.

he collapses down onto you before you get the chance, however, and the exchange of body heat and shallow breaths lulls you both through your states of ecstasy, slipping into a quiet comfort.

the prince moves slowly, as if not to disturb either of you, and shushes you with kisses when you whine at the loss of him from your cunt, softening cock slapping down against your leg. a few moments pass before he’s moving again, this time with you in tow, dragging at the sheets beneath and working them over you both just as you begin to register how cold the chill in the room is. never mind, the dragon keeps you warm against him, limbs tangling as you make a pillow out of his chest.

“my betrothed.” you take the lead this time in breaking the comfortable cloud of silence which had settled itself above your tired bods. the prince merely grunts, disliking the sound of those two words as much as you dislike the taste of them. “i overheard him conversing with an adviser of his.”

“whatever he said, i’ll cut his tongue out and feed him it.” his vulgar threat drags an airy laugh out of you as he mumbles it into the top of your head.

“my maidenhood, that’s what lead him to offering me his hand.” you laugh again, though there is no trace of humour as it devolves into something of a broken, heart-wrenching sob. “gods, i must be so stupid for thinking a man like him could fall in love with me.”

the silence is unnerving, weighs down on your chest with every breath that ebbs and flows between you both. you’re waiting on it, anxiously anticipating the moment laughter breaks out his ribs and shakes his whole body in amusement at your sheer ridiculous expectations, mocking you for giving away your maidenhood in an act so childish as simply not giving your betrothed the satisfaction of taking it.

marriage is politics, you can picture him saying, love is merely a made up tale to entertain children.

daemon never quite has been one for following expectations.

“i could fall in love with you.”

so it is you who winds up laughing, a repeat of that fractured chuckle that dissipates into something more painful and stings at the cracks in your heart.

“you’re not in love with me, daemon,” it feels obvious to say, yet you’re graced with a disagreeing look upon his face. “you’re obsessed with me, there’s a difference.”

“i beg to differ.”

“you see me as nothing but a lady who doesn’t fall at her feet for you, and it excites you. it’s okay, i understand, but i won’t let you delude yourself nor i into believing its love.”

he has no reply to give, not one that could change your mind.

and so there you lay, naked bod pressed to naked bod, sweat and spit and other bodily fluids becoming the glue that hold you together, with limbs entangled and eyes locked. you see peace in his smile and he watches as sleep slowly whisks you away into its warmth.

little does the prince know your eyes will not meet his own again for many years to come.

not days later, as he stands amongst the crowd of folk bearing witness to the exchanging of vows between the tyrell boy and you, nor several years after, as you return to the great hall of the red keep to see the announcement of prince aegon's birth, your own child stood at your side and grasping your hand, the silver-moon upon her head no match to the straw blonde of your husband.