#void gets excited by mundane things

[shouts-into-the-void]

My new apartment has a dishwasher, this is the first time I've ever had one, and OH MY GOD???

[swordgrace]

𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘 — 𝐈.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ daemon targaryen x otto’s wife!reader x otto hightower.

synopsis: as the young wife of otto hightower, your joy is threadbare, and your husband is absent. when you have a chance encounter with the rogue prince at the heir’s tournament, you become entangled in a web of desire that you cannot get out of.

SERIES — 1/?

༺ FORMAT: one-shot — not requested, part of a series.

༺ WORD COUNT: 11.5K.

༺ WARNINGS: SMUT!, dubious consent / mild coercion, infidelity, cheating (on otto), legal age gap (for reader/otto and reader/daemon), inexperienced reader, otto is an absent husband, seduction, sexual tension & yearning, reader is sexually repressed, loss of virginity, risk of getting caught, choking, biting / marking, begging, groping, scratching, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, finger-fucking, p in v sex (unprotected), multiple positions, possessive daemon, mention of child death.

༺ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I am so incredibly excited for this fic series, I feel like it could be a good one! I really appreciate all of the support I’ve been getting on the Aemond fic, another one will be coming up soon! Hello to all of my new followers, I am so excited to have you all here! Please enjoy this part, it’s a big one, but it sets the stage for future parts!

𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 — you often saw inklings of it in Alicent’s eyes whenever you held her gaze, and noticed the subtle twitch of her mouth with any attempt at conversation. It always fell short, a relationship that had no ounce of potential, nothing to kindle it.

Sometimes, you wished that you could hold her hands, cuticles raw, and tell her that you were one and the same. It always made you uncomfortable to contemplate the closeness in age between you and Alicent, and the longer you dwelled on it, the more bitter you felt.

You were only three years her senior — one-and-twenty, married to her father, Otto Hightower — the hand of the King. Marriage was a concept that you were groomed for, and to be wed to a man of such stature and importance was a great victory for your house.

Otto was an absent husband, at best. His proceedings as Hand left him occupied, and whenever he did return to you, he was often burying himself in whatever business the King had assigned him to. Otto often took much of it on himself, with little time left for you.

You were nothing more than an accessory — a beautiful accessory, at that.

Otto had little desire for another child, and for that, you were eternally grateful to the Gods for allowing such a thing. It was a rarity for a man of his station to take up a wife with no intention of children. In all actuality, he simply missed his wife and yearned for her presence.

Whatever you were, you partially filled the void, but it would never be the same.

There was an emptiness within you that intensified as each day passed, a gaping hole in your body that simply collected dust. You were nothing more than a shimmering jewel for Otto to reveal in the public eye, but put away when it was all said and done.

It wasn’t a horrible existence, but you were unfulfilled. Life felt mundane, and despite the lavish and privileged setting you dwelled within, everything seemed gray, as if you were simply gazing out of a window, seeing the happiness of everyone else.

The more time you spent toiling over your woes and steeping yourself into self-resentment and hopelessness, the more restless you became. You didn’t want to keep pushing yourself into that fray of unhappiness, not when it weighed upon you so heavily already.

Appearances were sacred to Otto, who insisted you join him at the Heir’s Tournament, a celebration to usher in King Viserys and Queen Aemma’s newborn child. A joust and seven days of feasting and revelry were upon you, a routine affair whenever royal children were born.

In the Tower of the Hand, surrounded by a flock of fussing handmaidens, you smoothed your palms across the deep emerald gown, silk soft underneath your fingertips. Your beauty was unmatched — the rare jewel from the North that Otto Hightower had stolen for himself.

It would be a long day, yet the sun shimmered down upon King’s Landing and the Red Keep — a good sign of the festivities to come. You were the picture of a true maiden, not an imperfection in-sight, thanks to the handiwork of your numerous handmaidens.

A knock at your chamber door alerted you to your husband’s presence — it was always stern and rigid.

“Come!” You called, peering at yourself through the large mirror of an upright vanity. The only thing that happened to be missing was a stone around your neck, but you had an impressive array to choose from.

Otto stood within your doorway, always so formal and calculating. He was a difficult man to read — you had been wed for a handful of months, and he was still that way after all this time. “Hm.” He appraised you with a stoic gaze, unwavering and indiscernible.

Sheepishly, you turned for him to see, folding your hands together. “Is this suitable for the Tournament?” You inquired, the colors of your regalia that of House Hightower — emerald with gold embellishments.

In Otto Hightower’s eyes, you would never measure up to his first wife, his true love — but you were perfectly adequate, and that was all you needed to be. He stepped forward, staring down at you with an inkling of warmth within his eyes, tracing a finger across the soft slope of your jaw. “You look resplendent.”

That singular grain of warmth was something you would hold onto, and you mustered up enough of a smile to press a chaste kiss against Otto’s cheek. The gesture was brief, yet even the Hand himself seemed perplexed by it. You wanted to show affection, but Otto never seemed interested in reciprocating.

His kind words were enough to appease you, prompting you to smile as you bowed your head. “Thank you, husband.” Pleased by this, you made sure to string a necklace of peridot around your neck before Otto offered you his arm. It was a courtly procedure — nothing inherently affectionate about it, as you expected.

The walk to the tournament grounds was a lengthy one, but it gave you time to admire the buzz of the Red Keep. The excitement for the birth of a new Targaryen heir was palpable, felt by all you passed. Otto was always stalwart, with a pensive and unreadable expression.

Both you and Otto joined Alicent and Rhaenyra in the stands above the jousting grounds, with crowds of common folk and nobles alike joining in the rancor. Alicent seemed less than thrilled to see you, but you weren’t met with her usual icy indifference.

“Lady Hightower,” King Viserys greeted you with a kindly smile, prompting you to drop into a curtsy. “I am surprised to see that Otto brought you along. It is good to have you here.”

“It is a beautiful day, my King — I certainly hope this favor shines down upon you and your family.” You replied, offering the King a pleasant smile. Admittedly, you were rather excited to see a joust — it was good to be outside amongst your peers, not hidden away within the Tower of the Hand.

Your manners and pleasantries, the eloquent way in which you spoke to others, was a quality that Otto did admire about you. You were soft and kindhearted, possessing all of the gentle traits of a young maiden, a Lady in the making. If it weren’t for such qualities, he might’ve favored you a little less.

As you sat beside Otto, he remained rigid, gazing down upon the field. His eldest son, Gwayne, was amongst the many competitors preparing for the Joust. You had met Gwayne on a handful of occasions, and whilst he did not harbor as much bitterness as Alicent might’ve, he was still rather obtuse about your presence.

You had learned to develop a thick skin — as much as you desired to be friends to both Alicent and Gwayne, you were not their mother. You never wanted that role, either. Motherhood, especially at your young age, sounded most undesirable.

Admittedly, you were enamored with the horses, too — the beautiful beasts that carried their riders to glory, or otherwise. Your love of animals was well-known, something that Otto occasionally treated you to.

Prince Daemon Targaryen, brother to the King, rode out upon a steed as black as the dusk, bearing the Targaryen crest upon his shield. The draconic motif of his armor and helmet had made him appear fierce — a most intimidating competitor.

Otto seemed less than pleased — you knew that your husband despised the Prince, and the feeling was mutual. In your brief encounters with Daemon, often in Otto’s presence, their disdain was palpable. It was all vitriol and hatred, a constant battle for who could obtain the upper hand.

Knowing that Daemon chose Gwayne to joust to spite your husband made you somewhat apprehensive, but admittedly, sometimes you felt that Otto deserved to have his skin crawl at times. You didn’t like it for Alicent’s sake, her brother in harm’s way, but you had to stake in it.

The Prince rode forward, parading around the length of the field before he approached the royal stand, jousting lance held high. His lips curled into a lopsided smirk, and suddenly, you found that he was looking directly at you — those violet hues of his held your bashful stare.

“Lady Hightower,” He called, loud enough for those to hear it. Alicent began to stand, but Daemon shook his head. “Not you, my Lady.” He gestured toward you with his lance, sneer subtle and his eyes full of intrigue and the desire to make Otto Hightower squirm.

Visibly surprised, you looked to Otto, who seemed entirely displeased — but he wasn’t one to make his weakness known. “Otto, should I …” You trailed off, glancing toward the small table with your favor sitting atop it.

“I am fairly certain that I can win these games with ease, by having your favor, Lady Hightower.” Daemon spoke loud enough for all around to hear, inviting an audience — in all actuality, he simply wanted Otto to bear witness to charming you. “Would you do me the great pleasure of granting me your favor?”

Otto grimaced, countenance beginning to simmer with anger, deep below the surface. He bristled, jaw unnaturally tight. His fingers curled into a fist, yet he had no intention of denying you such an act, if you so desired. This was a tournament, after all — and any reaction that he gave, Daemon would indulge himself in.

Startled, you looked to Otto for approval, yet he offered you none. Reluctantly, you rose to your feet, retrieving a wreath of beautiful blossoms — gold, ochre, and shades of pink. You stepped toward the terrace’s edge, meeting the handsome visage of Daemon Targaryen, with his lance ready to receive your favor.

“Where has your husband been keeping you all this time, my Lady?” Daemon questioned, loud enough for only you to hear. Your breath hitched within your throat at his brashness, lips parting slightly as you cradled your favor between your hands.

Instead, you dipped down, offering the Prince a sheepish smile, wrought with some confusion as you tossed it onto his lance. “Good luck, my Prince. I hope to see your victory in this joust.” You nodded, keeping your formalities intact before you curtsied, swiftly clamoring to find your place beside Otto.

Daemon smirked, his gaze hot enough to melt right through you, if you let it. It never left you, even when you ascended the steps to sit beside your husband, the Rogue Prince ensured that you writhed beneath his watchful eyes.

Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, Daemon’s incendiary stare was something that you were so unaccustomed to — Otto never looked at you that way, as if you were a treasure, something to be coveted. It left you to mull over your thoughts for the entirety of the tournament.

The carnage that ensued was typical for a joust, especially one with so many warring factions. Men tore one another from their horses, dueled in the dirt, bashed skulls in. The tangy scent of copper filled the air, one that had unfortunately become ingrained in you.

It brought you back to your youth, as you recalled your sister falling from her steed, head crushed to nothingness upon the rocks. The scent of blood would always loom over you like a black cloud for as long as you lived.

Otto glanced toward you, reaching for your hand as he gave it a subtle squeeze. He did not offer any words of reassurance, lips a thin, pensive line before one of the Maesters stepped in behind him, whispering news into his ear. His expression changed instantaneously.

Something was wrong — you could feel it in your marrow.

Alicent looked to you and Otto, and you saw her fingers, picked bloody and raw, and you felt nothing but sympathy. When Otto immediately stood, letting go of your hand, you watched with a furrowed brow as he momentarily disappeared — King Viserys was long gone, absent for a majority of the Tournament.

It was only when Daemon Targaryen and Criston Cole began to duel, that your attention went elsewhere. You watched in subtle awe as Daemon fought, clad in black armor and crimson scales, the colors of House Targaryen. Dark Sister in his right hand, thrusting at the Dornish Knight with an unholy vengeance.

At last, when it ended with Daemon haughtily retreating from the field, you wondered where your husband had gone, disappearing altogether. He had left behind guards to escort you back to the Red Keep, but his absence left you feeling more afraid of the walk back.

Nonetheless, you gathered your skirts, knowing that Alicent had long since left with Rhaenyra. You didn’t worry for her safety — as long as she was with the Princess, no harm would befall her.

“The Hand advised that we take you back to the Keep at once, Lady Hightower.” One of your guards prompted, ushering you towards the stands as the pair assisted you in getting back down. There was a sense of urgency in their steps, but you were confused by it. Had something happened that required Otto’s immediate attention?

You descended the steps from the stand, finding yourself in a sea of nobles and commoners alike, attempting to return to their homes and daily lives. Your guards remained vigilant, assisting you in pushing through towards the stables. There was a quieter path there, a shorter way to the Red Keep.

“This way, my Lady.” One guard made way, allowing you to go first as you made it to the tournament stables. Many of the Knights, those that still drew breath, were collecting their coin and saddling their horses, preparing to make an exit. There was one horse in particular that caught your eye — Daemon’s steed, as black as night.

The Prince himself appeared from the obscured view of the tent, and you nearly scuttled away at the insistence of your protectors, but Daemon saw you first.

“Lady Hightower,” Daemon greeted you, voice often tinged with something sly, a hint of arrogance. Those violet eyes of his bore down upon you as he approached, still clad in his armor. There were smears of dirt upon his face, flecks of crimson, yet it did not detract from his beauty. “Have you come to praise my victory?”

The guards who stood at your flank seemed less than thrilled with this interaction that was forming. They seemed to dislike Daemon as much as Otto did — and you wondered if there was an influence present.

“We are merely passing through, to return to the Red Keep,” Your soft gaze flickered toward Daemon’s horse, admiring its flawless dark coat. “Your horse is beautiful. It served you well through the tournament.”

Daemon noticed that flicker of admiration and happiness within your eyes, coaxing the stallion closer with a mere tug of the reins. He brought it close, close enough for you to touch. “He is yours, if you want him.” His words might’ve struck you as sardonic, but Daemon appeared to be genuine in such an action.

As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t accept such a gift — and when would you have time to ride, anyway? Otto would never let you past the Keep’s gates, let alone into the forests beyond. “That is too kind of you, my Prince. I am afraid that I must decline — it would be unfair to have a horse that I cannot give any attention to.” You sighed, your features somewhat melancholy.

Fascinating — quite the ironic parallel to your own situation. If you did not see the amusement in it, Daemon most certainly did. “How thoughtful of you, Lady Hightower.” He hesitated, lips twitching into a rather mocking smirk at his next words. “Where is that charming husband of yours?”

You should’ve been offended on Otto’s behalf, especially with the Prince’s contemptuous tone, but you felt nothing. You couldn’t retort, mouth becoming dry as you cleared your throat. “My husband found himself preoccupied with duties as Hand, my Prince. He needed to leave.”

Daemon scoffed, lip curling slightly as he glanced toward your guards. “So he left you with this pathetic display of protection?” The Prince immediately drew the ire of the guards, who seemed less than pleased with Daemon’s remarks. “I could gut them before they could draw their swords.”

“Is that a threat, Commander?” One of your guards hissed, grip tightening upon the pommel of his shortsword. The weight of the scenario made you nervous, prompting you to direct your gaze toward Daemon, whose mouth was upturned in an amused smirk.

“Hardly. It is a promise.” Daemon retorted, hands interlocked atop the pommel of Dark Sister — a legendary blade of Valyrian Steel. You knew that your feeble guards were no match to a swordsman of Daemon’s caliber.

Before steel could be brandished, you immediately extended your hand, anxiousness welling within your heart. It frightened you to be so close to potential violence, but you had some station. “Enough — all of you!” You quipped, hands beginning to quiver.

Daemon chuckled, seemingly perplexed by your sudden display of authority. He did not dispute your call for peace, staring at your guards with a narrowed gaze. “If you are seeking better company than these fucking imbeciles, I will gladly escort you to the Red Keep, Lady Hightower.”

You shouldn’t — Otto would be so displeased.

Every fiber of your body screamed at you to turn away Prince Daemon’s proposal. It was improper, and you knew that your Lord husband would become cantankerous if he were to find out that Daemon was near you, let alone providing passage back to the Red Keep.

He could sense your hesitation, born out of loyalty to your withering husband, Daemon assumed. The conflict that danced within your eyes was one that he wholly intended on manipulating — you were much too sweet. The Prince clicked his tongue, awaiting your response.

“It isn’t a difficult question, my Lady.” Perhaps, his tone might’ve put you off just a little bit, but he was confident that you would accept. Daemon regarded you with those lilac hues of his, calculating and sly.

“Yes,” You interjected, much to the disdain of your guards, “but my guards will stay with me.” It was the smartest option — if you were left alone with Daemon, you feared what rumors could be spun from such an action. You were naive at times, but not completely stupid.

Daemon knew this — he knew your intentions, but he also knew his own. With a sardonic laugh, he readied his belongings, gesturing to take your leave onto the cobblestone streets. “Do you have such little trust in your Prince?”

A ripple of heat fluttered over your features, subsiding just as quickly as it came. You twisted your hands together, fingers interlocked as you fell quiet. Daemon’s salacious reputation followed him like a shadow — violent, promiscuous, and arrogant. It was common knowledge that the Prince possessed crude interests.

“It is not that, my Prince. My Lord Husband will wonder why the guards are at the Keep before I am. I do not want him to worry — he has enough to attend to as it is as Hand of the King.” A threadbare excuse, at best, but much to your relief, Daemon let the matter rest, for now.

The violet-eyed Prince let out a scoff at that, yet he elected not to fluster you further. Your announcement of Otto’s station was most amusing, as if he needed reminding. He joined you, walking side-by-side as you made it onto the noble path back to the Red Keep. It was a safer trek than taking the commoner’s route.

Silence filled the gap between you both, with your guards tailing you and Daemon, ensuring that no one interfered with such royal affairs. He was growing quite bored with the lack of conversation — especially with someone like you. You were interesting and new, something to be inspected.

“Isn’t it the duty of a husband to attend to his wife?” Daemon questioned, attempting to toy with you. He thoroughly enjoyed getting under Otto Hightower’s skin, but admittedly, he did want to know more about you. You were beautiful — a pretty maiden hanging upon the Hand’s arm; he wondered how that came to be.

Your jaw tightened, causing your frustration to brew as you held your skirts within one hand, continuing to make your way up the steps. “Why are you not in the Vale with Lady Royce, if that is what you truly think?” You quipped, somewhat unnerved with how he picked apart your marriage.

Otto wasn’t attentive — if anything, he only became attentive when appearances mattered most. There was no desire nor genuine interaction outside of that. You lived a very lonely life, even if it seemed so wonderful and lavish on the outside.

Daemon chuckled, bemused by your fiery retort. You became so flustered whenever he successfully managed to poke and prod at you. “I’ve no interest in my Bronze Bitch,” He replied, his tone dripping with an underlying venom, “The sheep in the Vale are prettier.”

You huffed, brows furrowing together. This seemed like a horrible idea, allowing Daemon to escort you back to the Keep. He was crass and unpredictable, yet you couldn’t help but find some merit in his examination of your relationship with Otto.

“I am sure that there are plenty of worthwhile subjects in your City to keep you satisfied, my Prince. This isn’t the Vale.” You exhaled, exasperated and agitated that Otto had simply left you at the Tournament grounds.

He could sense it — your repression, the twinge of desperation laced within your voice. Daemon didn’t expect any wife of Otto Hightower to be truly sated and satisfied, but you were the true picture of a jewel locked away in a chest, or hidden beneath mounds of soot. No one had bothered to truly see you as you were.

Emboldened, Daemon knew that tempting you with pretty words could have consequences — fortunately for him, he didn’t care in the slightest. “The only worthwhile subject is standing before me.” He countered, lips twitching into the ghost of a smirk.

A shiver ran down the length of your spine, heart galloping just a little faster when Daemon brazenly showered you in his silver-tongued sayings. You hadn’t been spoken to in such a manner before, and as much as you should’ve countered it, you didn’t.

Heat crept through your features as you kept your head down, chewing at the inside of your cheek. “I do not know what you speak of, my Prince.” Your reply was weak, soft spoken as you continued on your path back to the Red Keep. You didn’t want to reveal just how warm it made you feel.

“I believe you do,” Daemon mused, stepping close enough to you to ensure that the guards wouldn’t eavesdrop. “Surely, your Lord Husband has offered you such pleasure before, has he not?” His Valyrian timbre made your breath hitch within your throat.

“Prince Daemon,” You were in disbelief at his brashness, at how forward he was being with you. You didn’t want to indulge him — yet part of you did. “You must stop.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, strained and throaty. The silence became overwhelming as you made it toward the gates of the Red Keep.

When his name rolled from your tongue, Daemon’s lilac hues glistened with something indiscernible. He enjoyed the way you said his name — trembling and uncertain, as if he had revealed some horrible truth to you. Instead, the Prince stared at you, looking toward the gates.

“As you wish,” Daemon’s arrogance wafted from him like a thick haze, enough to permeate your immediate space. The Prince opted to shift the subject matter to something more appropriate — for your own sake, of course. “I suspect that I will have a nephew, soon enough.”

Daemon sounded indifferent, as if the prospect of a nephew wasn’t at all a pleasant idea. It would make him lower in the ranking of succession, you knew this. Otto had made multiple campaigns against Daemon to keep him from reaching the Iron Throne. Their rivalry was petty, as far as you were concerned.

Your steps slowed, keeping pace with Daemon as you made your way to the gates of the Red Keep. “You don’t sound very jovial, for an uncle.” You replied, and your observation seemed to catch his attention. “King Viserys is your brother. Are you not excited?”

A scoff escaped him as he stared at you, violet hues narrowing at your perceptiveness. “Is that how I seem to you, Lady Hightower? Devoid of joy?” Daemon smiled disparagingly, perching a palm atop the pommel of his blade.

Swallowing the slight lump within your throat, you detected his shackled fury, and you did not want to provoke the dragon any further. “My apologies, your Grace. I did not mean to be presumptuous.” You replied, fingers curling into your skirts.

“Of course you didn’t,” Daemon mused, lips twitching into a sardonic smirk. He seemed to believe you — though, part of your line of questioning felt personal, in retaliation for his jabs about your Lord Husband. “Have you been permitted to see the Dragonpit?”

Of the many places in King’s Landing, Daemon often longed to be on the back of Caraxes — or with his blade driven into any that crossed his path. You hadn’t been to see the Dragonpit yourself, considering that a lady of your station could never go many places unaccompanied.

“No, my Prince.” Disappointment danced within your voice, pace slowing again to keep in-step with Daemon. “I would love to see it, if allowed. Dragons are gorgeous creatures, symbols of your strength.” With a soft sigh, you looked to the Red Keep, looming overhead.

Daemon stepped closer, in close quarters as he looked down at you, noticing the subtle hitch within your throat. “Hm,” He glanced at your stalwart escorts, lilac eyes flickering over your pretty countenance. He dipped closer, lips ghosting near the shell of your ear. “Should your husband release you from your shackles, I could show you.”

A strange wave of gooseflesh crawled along the length of your spine, brows furrowing together as you recoiled, as if being scorched. You looked to Daemon with bewilderment, lip curling slightly as you regained your composure. “Your offer is a gracious one, your Grace.” You murmured.

It often shocked you how reckless Daemon was — abrasive and careless with his position. He could bed whomever he wanted, fuck and fight whenever it best suited him. It wasn’t a possibility for you, a noblewoman married to the Hand of the King. Part of you wished you could be afforded the liberties of a man like Daemon, but it was merely a fantasy.

Silence drifted between the both of you, enough to bring you some discomfort as you heard the doors to the Red Keep creak open. Daemon’s incendiary stare never wavered, never faltered as he kept his eyes on you. Your guardsmen were less than thrilled, but kept quiet as the two of you stepped into the hall.

“This is where I bid you farewell, my Prince.” Your voice was shrewd, nothing more than the soft lull of a mouse. Daemon regarded you with the ghost of a smirk, bowing before you as any gentleman would.

“I look forward to our next meeting, Lady Hightower.” Daemon replied, glancing toward a group of Targaryen guards that made their way to him. Your own escorts were happy to take advantage of the gap in attention, whisking you away into the depths of the Red Keep.

The atmosphere had shifted, from jovial and celebratory to eerie and desolate, somber — servants and nobles alike seemed riddled with melancholy, their heads hung low. Whispers of a fallen heir touched your ears, and then you understood why Otto had left in such a hurry.

Queen Aemma and her newborn son were dead.

You remembered what the air smelled like, the day of your sister’s funeral — you recalled the swaying of golden grass against stone, those in-mourning unable to stifle their tears. It was your mother that had wailed the most, draped across the terrace where her body lay, cloaked by a funerary shroud.

Now, the memories seemed to dance along the fringes of your mind, standing within the open plain far from King’s Landing, along the coastline of Blackwater Bay. Salty air peppered your flesh in soft kisses, eyes stinging with the onslaught of tears.

The despondent look on King Viserys’s face had harkened back to your youth, moments that still haunted your steps. You stood beside Otto, who appeared resolute despite the tragedy, but even you could see the wisps of empathy that flickered across his countenance. Stoicism was his forte, but even death could break the strongest man apart.

Daemon appeared somber, violet hues occasionally drifting toward his brother, the King, who let out a muffled sob as Rhaenyra set the funeral pyre ablaze. Dragon’s fire would return dragons to ash, to the great beyond. You admired the strength of the Princess, even through dour moments like this.

Once the burning of Queen Aemma and Baelon had ended, what nobles were left gathered amongst themselves to pay their respects, to the deceased and to the King. Viserys seemed indifferent, so far removed from the moment as his subjects offered their condolences.

Otto’s hand pressed into the small of your back, the first comforting gesture that he’d offered, completely unprovoked. He dipped down, enough to murmur words reserved for you and him. “The King will need my council during these dark times,” He uttered, “Now more than ever.”

You nodded, knowing that it implied Otto would be less present than he already was. His lips briefly graced the crown of your head before he slipped past, stepping towards King Viserys and Rhaenyra.

Standing alone, you opted to wander, venturing away from the melancholy gathering and toward the sea of wheatgrass that danced with the saltwater breeze. The scent of the ocean filled your lungs, made them whole — it was far better than that of King’s Landing.

Rays of a dying sun sparkled down upon you, licking your flesh with a comforting warmth that you savored. It was enough to make you exhale, eyes fluttering shut as you imagined yourself worlds away, or perhaps sailing out to sea, where it was only your hands that guided you.

The evening breeze jostled your tresses, blanketing your face with its softness. The tears that had prickled your eyes no longer made residence there as you hastily wiped them aside, hands wringing together before you.

Footsteps reverberated from your left side, as the shape of Prince Daemon came into your view. Despite the whirlwind of emotions he’d left you with earlier that day, you were inclined to place them aside. His dark tunic, lined in dragonscales, glittered beneath the waning sunlight.

“I am deeply sorry for your loss, Prince Daemon. I cannot imagine the pain of losing two of your family in one day,” You murmured, lips forming a pensive line as you looked at the Targaryen. He was unusually quiet for a spell, which prompted you to fill in the void. “I hope that your brother will recover.”

“He is the Dragon,” Daemon echoed, hands folded in front of him. “He will endure.” As for the Prince, there was some discomfort knowing that such a bloody fate had befallen Aemma. His sister-by-law had always been a devoted wife and good mother, and such a loving woman was difficult to come by. “My sister was a good woman.”

You had met Queen Aemma on multiple occasions, and she was pure — softhearted and kind, with a gentle visage that was sure to put anyone at ease. “She was,” You lamented, echoing Daemon’s sentiments with a threadbare smile. “And a good Queen.”

That was something Daemon could not argue with, violet hues finally shifting away from the horizon and onto you, a picture of beauty. Even in black tapestries, the color of mourning, you were still rather enchanting. Tenderness blossomed from within you, a soft heart — it was enough to temper Daemon, for just a moment.

He searched your visage, able to detect the growing dolour that became etched into your features. Your eyes glistened with unshed tears, many that threatened to spill over as you twisted your fingers together. “The last funeral that I attended was that of my sister,” You uttered, facing Daemon with a bitter smile. “I hoped that I would not have to attend another.”

A sister — Daemon was somewhat inquisitive regarding the finer details of your life, but he did not want to pry at the present. “Unfortunately, you will find that death is constant and unyielding,” He offered little consolation, but it was the hard truth. “Though, I trust that you will endure, just as my brother will.”

Daemon was often harsh and crass, always a realist with little desire to pull the wool over another’s eyes unless it was for personal gain. He knew that you were sweet, too malleable for this world — he hoped to see you blossom into something strong. With Otto Hightower for a husband, any woman would become as tough as steel.

Part of you wished for flowery words of reassurance from Daemon, but you found none — just a stoicism with an inkling of empathy. Though, you weren’t expecting much, and Otto would be of little comfort, too.

“You are more than just a wife, if you choose it. Do not allow yourself to sit underneath his boot forever.” Daemon murmured, boldly stepping inward to get a better look at you. Your subdued nature was partially Otto’s fault — he blamed the Hand for your sheltered demeanor, for your loneliness.

A brief stirring sensation erupted within your chest, and you looked to Daemon, a singular tear spilling across your forlorn features. “I do not have your luxuries, my Prince — I cannot bed whom I want, go wherever I please, abandon my husband — duty is everything. It may not mean anything to you, but it means something to me.” You quipped, your voice hushed yet strained.

Daemon huffed, lips curling slightly, as if to express disdain. Part of him understood your deep-rooted frustration, but perhaps he simply wanted to pass on his recklessness to you. “Quite presumptuous of you to assume that I care little for duty,” He replied, easily crawling beneath your skin. “You can do whatever you please, once you stop being so afraid.”

You nearly recoiled from him, clearly stung by the attack on your character. His assumption of your fear made you bristle, nostrils flaring as you turned your face away to mask the swell of anger. “This is where I leave you, Prince Daemon.” You hissed between gritted teeth, hands curled into fistfuls within your skirts.

He found your irritation to be somewhat perplexing — you were so repressed, tangled within your devotion to Otto and constant desolation. Daemon said nothing, merely watching as you retreated into the shadow of your Lord Husband.

You wouldn’t dare look back at Daemon — even as you felt those lilac hues pierce your defenses, you refused him, and made your way back with Otto.

If it were up to you, you would never see Daemon Targaryen again.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 — there was no joy to be found anywhere. With the King’s son and wife deceased, the idea of succession was called into question by the small Council. Part of you felt disgusted by the suddenness of such a meeting, especially while the King was in mourning.

Otto cared little for such things. It was imperative that an heir be chosen — or produced yet again, by means of a new betrothal for the King.

Despite the melancholy atmosphere of the Keep, your thoughts remained disorganized and scattered, preoccupied with Daemon Targaryen — and that was a dangerous thing. After his whispered inquiry of pleasure, his berating of you at the funeral, you could not rid him from your mind no matter how much you tried.

Any attempt to flush the Prince’s brazen advances out of your mind were met with a powerful resistance — the other half of you that had little desire to forget. In all honesty, you wanted to know what it was like to be coveted and sought-after, to feel true pleasure, understand its intricacies.

The other half demanded that you reject him, unleash your shackled wrath upon him. He vexed you like no other had before — he far exceeded that of Otto. Daemon had crawled beneath your flesh and taken up permanent residency there, and he would continue to do so unless you plucked up the courage to put a stop to it.

That night, you couldn’t sleep — Otto was nowhere to be found, meeting within the dead of night with the rest of the small Council. Even if he weren’t caught within a meeting, he seldom came to bed with you. He was often in his study, mulling over books, writing letters, attending to matters that didn’t involve you.

You were never involved in much of anything.

Frustration festered within you, rising like the swell of an encroaching tide. Clad in your evening gown, you retrieved a candlestick, slipping out of the Tower of the Hand and into the corridors of the Red Keep. Midnight strolls were not an uncommon thing for you, but this one proved to be more than just elusive sleep.

Your path led you dangerously close to the Small Council chambers, but as you approached, a figure stood outside of one wall, leering in through the tiny gaps. Light slipped through, providing faint illumination onto the face of Daemon Targaryen.

The Prince had been eavesdropping, curious to know about their intentions for succession. Should Viserys pass, the Iron Throne would fall to Daemon — but they wouldn’t allow it. Otto, in particular, was rather vocal in the push against Daemon as the rightful heir.

Daemon turned, craning to peer over his shoulder. Those shadowed, lilac hues drifted across you, your supple form glad in some lace-laden nightgown. Your hair had been pinned-up when he saw you last, and now, it was freed from its confines. He found you to be a visual feast for the eyes — beautiful beyond compare.

In the background, you listened to the squabbling from the Council members, the infighting over who would become heir. It disgusted you, the manner in which they conducted themselves — the Queen and her son were deceased, and the only thing that preoccupied them were the rights of succession.

The silence that lingered between you and Daemon was necessary, necessary enough for you to hear the numerous slanders that your Lord Husband hurled at the Prince. Their hatred continued to fester, and for as long as Otto Hightower lived and thrived in a position of power, he would plague Daemon’s every step.

At last, Daemon stepped away from his eavesdropping, moving towards you instead. “Looking for your husband, Lady Hightower?” He questioned, his voice rich as it dipped lower, hushed and soft enough for only you to hear. The narrow corridor you stood within was as silent as a crypt, not a guard in-sight.

You shook your head, lowering the candle toward your chest. Warmth brushed across your exposed collarbone, and you glanced at Daemon, lips parting slightly. “I could not sleep,” You confessed, teeth gnawing at your lower lip. “I suspect that you are here for a different reason.”

Concealed within the listless shadows of the corridor, Daemon took a step closer, nearly within arm’s reach. His mouth curled into that familiar, cheshire smirk — and it worried you. “What reason would that be, my Lady?” He questioned, head canting slightly.

The calculated way in which he stalked towards you left you feeling somewhat unnerved, hand cupped around the flickering light of the candle. Whatever look he had in his eyes, it mirrored the one he’d given you at the Tournament earlier that day — incendiary and lascivious.

“To see if you will ascend the Throne.” Daemon’s ambition was well-known — and sometimes, his ambition drove him to recklessness and ruthlessness. You knew about his displays of violence as Commander of the City Watch, his prowess with a blade.

Daemon scoffed, continuing to press closer to you, looming above you. The candlelight flickered across his sharp visage, basking him in an orange glow that touched his violet hues. His lips remained permanently fixed into a perplexed smirk, his hand reaching to grab your chin.

As if scorched, you jerked away, brows furrowing together as you glowered at him. “I do not want to see you anymore,” You mumbled, shaking your head with an air of defiance. “You’ve angered me.”

A sardonic chuckle escaped him, enough to further your agitation. It pricked away at your flesh, giving way to a layer of perspiration as it crept along your spine. “Angered you, is that it?” Daemon questioned, attempting to make you writhe. “If you truly wish to be rid of me, walk away — go back to the Hand’s bed.” He challenged.

Your heart slammed within your sternum, lip curling in disdain as you shook your head. The tension crackled between the two of you, one charged with a dangerous desire and anger — two overpowering emotions. “All you care for is the throne.” You whispered, yet your words held no merit at all.

It was something Otto would’ve hurled at him, and you were not your husband — you were far from it.

It was a feeble attempt to bait Daemon into anger just as he had so easily baited you. He was not quick to fall to your ploy, and instead, he happened to stare at you as if you were everything he’d ever wanted. It made you shiver — no one had looked at you like that before.

“You think me so singleminded, Lady Hightower,” He uttered, thumb tracing along your jawline. “I have little interest in the Throne.” In an unexpected move, he dipped forward, lips ghosting around the shell of your ear. “I am far more interested in you.”

Goosebumps cascaded down the length of your spine, and fear rippled through you at Daemon’s close quarters. You were terrified of someone seeing you with the Prince, and you stepped back, wrenching yourself free from his grasp. “This is inappropriate, my Prince. I am afraid you are experiencing a severe lapse in judgment.”

As you began to retreat away from the Council chambers and into the darkness of the corridor, Daemon followed, a predator trailing after prey. He cornered you into an alcove, his chuckle bemused and sardonic.

“My judgment is sound — the only judgment that will be called into question is your own,” He challenged, pinning you against the smooth stone of the wall. His hand cupped your hip, keeping you locked into place. “My poor, sweet Lady Hightower, left untouched and without a lick of attention from your dutiful husband.” Daemon clicked his tongue.

You shuddered, attempting to squirm and ward Daemon away, but he simply kept up his pursuit. “Please,” You whispered, fright filling your startled heart. The Prince’s lust had grown astronomically — all for you, this hidden jewel now within his grasp. “We can’t, Prince Daemon. Someone might see.” You urged.

Daemon seemed unconvinced, lips hovering above your own, tempting you in the most unholy way imaginable. That strong hand that held your hip began to knead into the flesh there, desiring to feel your bare skin. “Fuck everyone else.” He uttered, hot breath fanning across your countenance.

A soft whimper escaped you, and every fiber of your being cried out for him — you wanted this, wanted him to show you what true pleasure felt like. You watched as he inclined his head, blowing the candle out with a faint grin, leaving the both of you in darkness, save for the moonlight that pooled within the halls.

“I can’t, I don’t …” You whispered, voice mousy and meek, yet your resolve was crumbling away, revealing your soul, bare and angry. Part of you loathed Otto for never showing you affection, never indulging in desire, yet the other half of you yearned for the Rogue Prince to steal your virtue. “Daemon.”

It was guilt that had consumed you, initially — the guilt of betraying your husband, despite his lack of desire towards you. You never had anything for yourself — perhaps this could be the one thing. A clenched fist pushed against his chest, but you were weak.

“Why continue to wait for something that will never come, hm? Toil over a man that doesn’t want you?” Daemon questioned, his voice dropping to a sultry octave, a purr that raked across your spine. His hand began to gather your gown, bunching it up to allow him easier access.

“You — You vex me,” You whimpered, knowing that you were simply a rabbit trapped within the maw of a dragon, and perhaps, that was where you wanted to be. “You don’t want me.” It was a valiant attempt to talk yourself out of it, to convince yourself that you were unwanted.

Daemon peppered a string of hot kisses along your jaw, grabbing at your chin to tip your head back. “You don’t know what I want.” He murmured, his stare shadowed with lust. He kissed the side of your face, forehead briefly resting against yours as you considered the sin that you were about to commit.

It was liberating when you no longer thought of sin, and simply thought of your own needs and wants.

His unspoken pressure finally broke your carefully-constructed barrier, and you leaned upwards, rocking forward until you crashed into him. You dropped the candlestick, yet it made little noise. Your lips, soft and compliant, melded with his own — domineering and triumphant. Need blistered through, and he kissed you with such blazing passion.

You felt his other hand shamelessly move toward your neck, flexing underneath your jaw as he kissed you over and over again. You hadn’t experienced such passion before — and you never wanted it to end.

Daemon coaxed you closer, countenance one of sheer lust and possessiveness. His thumb traced across your lower lip, hand snug around your throat before he looked elsewhere. “Fucking is a pleasure, for a woman as it is a man,” He uttered, noticing the hitch in your throat. “I am certain your Lord Husband never bothered with it.”

Abashed, you shook your head, reveling in the sensation of his hand firmly kneading into your hip. “No, my Prince. He did not,” You paused, your hand finding its way to his chest, fingers curling into his tunic. “Would you show me?” It was a fine line, a perilous one — but you did not care, not anymore.

You hadn’t felt desire quite like this in your life — but you wanted it, more than anything else. The void within you, repression tangled up into a ball wound so tightly that it might explode — Daemon stoked the fire, and he seemed eager to let you come undone. You wanted Daemon.

In High Valyrian, he spoke one word. “Māzigon.” Come — Daemon’s hand slipped around yours, urging you away from the small Council chambers and into the depths of the Red Keep. Your trek led you to unfamiliar parts of the castle, some left untouched and unused.

The dust-laden doors led you to a small study, sparsely furnished, yet all Daemon truly needed was a surface wide enough to bear your body. There was a chaise lounge, with a thick direwolf’s hide serving as the rug in front of the darkened hearth. The remnants of an old, four-post bed sat off within the room somewhere, just as dour as the rest of the room.

No one would find you here.

Moonlight pooled through the two large windows, enough for you to see his porcelain, perfect features, tinged with silver. His platinum tresses turned to white, violet hues drinking you in with a ravenous hunger. Rapture and lust, a smoldering desire to make you give into him.

Daemon’s hands cupped either side of your neck, thumb pressing into the underside of your jaw at the other flicked against your lower lip. “Tepagon ezīmagon nyke,” He purred, towering over you as he dipped down, kissing along your jaw. “Take off your clothes.” His command was stern yet dripping with carnality.

If it weren’t for the sheer intensity of the moment, you might’ve become flustered, but instead, your hands flew toward the ribbons and ties of your gown. You shrugged the lace-laden shawl aside, allowing the garment to simply drop around your feet.

Your body was perfect — Daemon wanted it all for himself. If the Hand would not indulge in you, then he would. The Prince let out a low hum, admiring your silky flesh and delicate curves, hand skimming from the hollow of your throat to your breasts.

“For this to be hidden away for so long,” Daemon uttered, hand moving to greedily cup your breast. It elicited a sweet gasp from you, unexpected yet exhilarating. “Is a fucking crime.” He growled, and without another word, he moved to kiss you, like fire washing over you, all-consuming and devouring.

Instinct drove you as your hands clamored to the nape of his neck, tugging at the silken crown of pale tresses there. Daemon seemed pleased by this, teeth grazing along your lower lip before he bit down, eliciting a whine from you. He thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of you underneath his palm — as soft as velvet.

His tongue lapped across your lower lip, soothing the ache brought about by the sharp bite of his teeth. He kissed you hard, lips parted, the action warm and wet — he imagined tasting something else, head clouded with the unshakable haze of lust.

“Daemon,” You whimpered, abandoning all titles and formalities. He no longer referred to you as Lady Hightower — that wasn’t who you were anymore, not to him. One of your palms dropped to his chest, hesitantly fiddling with the ties of his tunic. “I want to see you.”

Perplexed, the Prince kissed your throat, head canting to one side. “Have you seen a man before, jorrāelagon?” He questioned, partially bemused yet curious to hear your answer. His affectionate High Valyrian caught your attention, causing a small tremor to roll along the base of your spine.

Sheepishly, you shook your head. Otto had never bothered to bear himself at all, and to some extent, you could understand — he was aging, and the attraction was most certainly slim. “No, I haven’t — but I’d like to.” You shivered when Daemon pulled you close, palm cupping your hip before it brazenly traveled to your haunch.

Any sliver of space between the two of you became nonexistent, replaced with heat and tension, bodies entangled into one. Your digits danced along the collar of his dragonscale tunic, imagining what strength and prowess rested beneath.

Instead, he peered at your wandering fingers, brows briefly lifting as if to encourage you. “Go on, then.” Daemon coaxed, his voice somewhat gravelly and pitched lower, interlaced with a burning desire. He watched with rapture as you slowly unfastened the ties and buckles of his tunic.

Daemon thought about being rough — grabbing your throat and fucking you into the lounge without a second thought, but he wanted to explore you. Your repression wasn’t your fault, and he felt some sense of triumph in fucking the wife of the Hand.

He shrugged his tunic aside, letting the garment fall to join the pool of lace and silk upon the floor. He was pale and well-muscled, a vision of perfection. Your hands began to glide across his broad shoulders, and then to his chest and abdomen.

Admittedly, Daemon savored the sensation of you touching him, exploring him — something about it was sickly sweet. “Have you touched yourself before, my Lady?” Daemon asked, pointed and unwilling to go without a direct answer.

Flustered, you nodded, seemingly embarrassed in regards to such actions. “Yes,” You exhaled, skin hot to the touch. “I know I shouldn’t have, but —“ Daemon stopped you with a kiss, hungry and needy, teeth nipping at your mouth with a subtle growl.

“Afraid that your Lord Husband will admonish you for it?” The Prince smirked, violet eyes glinting with a twinge of humor. Your expression reflected a whirlwind of emotions — from desire, lust, and embarrassment to a flicker of sadness and frustration. Daemon decided to leave it all alone and focus on you.

He coaxed you toward the plush velvet of the chaise lounge, sitting down with an unceremonious thud. Daemon was quick to collect you into his lap, all perfect and spread for him. A lustful silence filled the void between you both as he kissed your neck, calloused hands gripping the swell of your hips.

“Allow me to rectify your husband’s wrongs,” Daemon chided, kissing along the hollow of your throat, teeth sinking into your sensitive flesh. You moaned and whined, writhing atop him, chest pressed against his. “You are beautiful.” He said with such assurance, causing you to shudder.

Daemon’s ring-adorned hand snaked along the length of your body, finding the apex between your thighs, warm and slick with arousal. As soon as his thumb and forefinger slipped past your folds, you lurched forward, letting out a gasp of surprise.

The sensation was foreign yet pleasurable, like an electrifying jolt rolling down your spine. His mouth relentlessly assaulted your sweet flesh, leaving behind a myriad of bites and less than desirable markings. Your scent — a concoction of lavish perfumes and oils — invaded his senses like a thick haze.

His digits deliberately explored your cunt, every touch eliciting some strangled sound from you. You felt his fingers tease your entrance before sliding back towards your clit, flicking across that sensitive clutch of nerves. Your heart pounded within your chest, slamming against your breastbone like a drum.

“Daemon,” You moaned, back arching as you absentmindedly leaned into the Prince’s embrace. One of your palms molded itself to his bicep, the other continued to clutch at the nape of his neck. “Please, don’t stop!” With a needy whine, your hips rolled forward, attempting to gain a lick of friction. You wanted him to keep touching you there — forever, if he could.

His thumb languidly circled your clit, other digits sliding against your cunt. You squirmed and careened forward, insides hot as liquid warmth pooled between your thighs. It felt incredible — it was everything you’d ever wanted and more. Nothing could compare to the bliss that rolled through you.

The Prince continued with assailing your flesh, kissing his way across your collarbone, dipping low enough to find the perfect swell of your breasts. A low rumble resonated through Daemon’s chest, one of clear approval as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, kissing and sucking on the hardened peak.

A strangled whimper escaped you, one of clear delight. You hadn’t experienced any of this before — you wanted more, as much as Daemon was willing to give you. You gasped when his teeth dragged across your breast, causing you to jolt forward.

Ensuring that you would be well tended-to, Daemon sank his fingers forward, vigorously tracing across your cunt as his thumb did a majority of the work. Ripples of bliss rolled across your body in waves, and you rocked forward enough to ride his hand.

“Daemon!” You moaned, feeling his mouth drift away from your chest to the hollow of your throat. His teeth were sudden and sharp, nipping and biting wherever he pleased, one hand steadying you atop his lap. The other began to snake towards your neck, calloused digits able to feel the pounding of your heartbeat.

You whimpered his name as if it were the only word you knew — and for as sinful as it felt, you found yourself abandoning all sense of care and propriety. Daemon made you feel incredible, in ways that you had merely dreamed of.

As Daemon traced two digits along your slick entrance, his lilac hues fell across your visage, searching for any signs of hesitation. You felt the brief pressure, one hand comfortably sitting at the nape of his neck, the other gripping at his shoulder.

Deliberately, he began to sink two fingers inside of you, watching as your countenance blossomed into a look of bliss and startlement. Daemon soothed your worry with a kiss, head canting to one side as to deepen it, and you followed, flesh crawling with warmth.

A soft, smothered moan escaped you as he gingerly eased both digits in and out of your tight cunt, enough to make you gasp. The sensation was foreign yet incredible, enough for you to rock forward, brow furrowed in concentration. Daemon continued to litter your neck in kisses and bites, hand groping the swell of your plush hips.

“There she is,” Daemon growled against the hollow of your throat, lips traveling upward until they collided against yours. It was a messy, hot kiss, one that made your stomach slosh with molten heat. “A woman deprived of pleasure.” He murmured, prompting you to kiss him again, needy and desperate.

Some sliver of you knew how wrong this was — the infidelity, the disloyalty to your Lord husband, the selfishness that weighed upon you — you should’ve been aghast. Yet, in the heat of the moment, you thought little of it, content to let Daemon Targaryen finger-fuck you into a blissful oblivion.

You were lost to your own ecstasy, thoroughly reveling in the myriad of sensations you were now getting to experience. “Daemon,” You sighed against his mouth, feeling his teeth briefly scrape across your lower lip. “I want more.” A groan escaped you as his digits began to still, thumb circling your clit.

As he slowly removed his fingers from your tight heat, Daemon brazenly groped at your breast, pale brows furrowing together as he began to untie the laces of his trousers. You steeled yourself, feeling a brief pang of anxiousness strike at your gut. You knew that it was supposed to hurt, and the very thought frightened you.

“More?” Daemon echoed, the shadow of lust dancing within his eyes as he deposited you onto the lounge, hands seizing your ankles as he dragged you to the precipice. Without pause, he sank to his knees, broad and beautiful between your legs as he kissed your thigh. “You’ll have to beg me for it.”

You exhaled, sharp and excitable as your hand fell to the edge of the chaise lounge, nails digging into the wood and velvet. “Please,” You whispered, shifting atop the cushion as Daemon bit at your soft flesh. “Please, Daemon!” The sound that left you was pathetic — simpering, even.

He enjoyed hearing you whine — it was a stark reminder of what Otto Hightower could never have. Daemon’s mouth maintained the barest hint of a smirk, pressing a string of kisses toward the warmth between your legs. You were silk and saccharine beneath his fingertips, feverishly warm.

The first stroke of his tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, a sensation that set you ablaze. Whimpers turned to ash within your throat, flesh unnaturally hot — you melted beneath Daemon, and that was exactly what he wanted.

A shiver coursed down your spine, hips canting forward toward Daemon’s mouth. His breath was hot, warm wisps of air fanning out across your slit. It was heavenly — you nearly forgot yourself, moaning his name as you fisted the cushions on either side of you.

His hum was satisfactory, tongue dancing along your weeping core, drinking you in like a fine wine. The cool, silver bite of his ring dug into your hips, his grip ironclad, enough to leave bruises behind.

If Daemon had it his way, he would bruise you again — in the light of day, able to see his marks etched into your flesh, knowing that they were his creation. Possessiveness swelled within him, an ugly and festering thing — he wanted you terribly.

Pleasure rippled through you, consuming every fiber of your being. Daemon’s mouth found your clit, suckling at the clutch of fiery nerves. You gasped, nails digging into your palm, thighs attempting to rub together, kept apart by the Prince’s broad shoulders.

“Daemon,” You moaned, your jaw falling slack as you rolled forward into his maw. A soft huff escaped you as his tongue caressed your cunt, returning to assail your clit again. It was bliss overwhelming, prompting you to reach for his shoulders. “Daemon!”

Tension furled within the pit of your stomach, a familiar knot of ecstasy that brought you closer to the edge. Daemon’s mouth sluggishly receded, peppering kisses and love bites along your inner thighs. He licked his lower lip, violet hues threatening to burn through you.

Your chest rose and fell with the throes of excitement, skin prickling with anticipation. Daemon kissed your hip, moving to stand between your legs. He loomed over you, physique eclipsing all inklings of firelight — a shadow of desire.

He stepped back toward the mound of furs, silently gesturing for you to follow. “Lie down.” Daemon purred, his voice more of a lascivious command instead of a question. With a simple pull, he loosened the strings of his smallclothes, gaze hooded.

A whimper nearly erupted from your throat, never coming to fruition as you stood from the lounge, following Daemon’s lead. You slipped down onto the furs, with only the moonlight as your guide. Your legs parted for him, expectant and waiting.

The loss of one’s maidenhead was often rumored to be an intense and bloody affair — it no longer frightened you like it used to. Daemon stepped out of his leather trousers, bare and statuesque before you, a porcelain god come to claim you.

Moonlight bathed his flesh in a sea of silver, pale rays dancing across his ivory complexion. There was something calculating and predatory in the way he moved, a confidence that few possessed. He sank down, crawling between your legs as he reached your mouth.

Lips clashed again, a dance of desire as the head of his cock brazenly brushed along your slick cunt. Daemon was sizable, to be sure, a man with a plethora of experience. You shuddered when he planted a hand beside your head, the other gripping your hip.

Again, the head of his length threatened to split past your folds, oozing with tendrils of precum as he kissed you once more. It was ravenous, with all the ferocity and vigor of a dragon as he prepared to rock his hips forward. His broad physique kept you spread apart, molten heat churning within your belly.

Daemon finally snapped his hips forward, cock sheathing itself inside of you with little resistance. You gasped, the intrusion somewhat painful and discomforting at first, but he made sure to distract you, pressing hot kisses along your neck. He wasn’t gentle, leaving behind evidence of his affections in the form of flourishing marks.

His cock bullied its way into your cunt, stretching you in new ways, a different sensation from his fingers or yours. Daemon grunted, a huff escaping him as he allowed you a moment to adjust, grow used to the feeling.

Your countenance blossomed with pleasure, gaze a touch smoldering as you found Daemon’s visage. Those violet hues continued to devour you, a visual delight to the Rogue Prince as he fucked you. It wasn’t as rough as he typically was, opting to spare you from the brunt of his usual debauchery.

He found a rhythm, each movement succinct and sharp, hips driving forward as his cock buried itself within you with each thrust. You moaned, feeling the occasional dull ache of pain as you surrendered your virtue to Daemon, nails digging haplessly into the muscle of his shoulders.

Part of you forgot about decency and honor, trampling it into the dirt as Daemon speared you with his length. Friction grew between the both of you, flesh against flesh, perspiration building along your brow. Heat openly oozed between you, cunt slick with arousal.

The angry lines of your eager nails raked over Daemon’s shoulders, the remnants of your sin. He seemed to be savoring your roughness, throat reverberating with a myriad of grunts and softer, subtle groans.

“Turn over.” Daemon huffed, able to detect a flicker of confusion within your gaze. Admittedly, seeing your pretty face contort into one of bliss as he fucked you was rather enticing, but he was chasing after his release.

Silent, you did as he asked, turning over onto your stomach. Something about the newfound position made you shiver with anticipation, and you gasped as Daemon grabbed your hips. He lifted half of you from the furs, hips pressing into the swell of your backside.

He guided his cock back to your slit, thrusting inside of you as he assumed a quick, needy pace. Daemon’s palms squeezed at your hips, layering over the already-formed bruises from earlier endeavors. He split you asunder; a clash of lewd noises filled the room, accompanied by your intermingled sighs of passion.

You moaned, hands scraping across the direwolf hide beneath you, gripping at the furs as Daemon plunged himself into you. His motions were repetitive, intensifying in their erratic pace as he grunted. You were perfect — the noises that emerged from you only served to encourage him, unbeknownst to you.

Liquid heat oozed between your thighs, arousal spilling onto Daemon’s cock. You were teetering along the brink of a blissful oblivion, feeling your pleasure mount. Daemon’s hand slithered between your legs, thumb rolling over your clit to give you some stimulation.

It was as if the dam had shattered, consumed by the squall of lust as you whimpered. A myriad of wanton sounds escaped you, followed by a rush of warmth that surged to your cunt. Daemon growled, feeling your slit tighten around him, your release an incredible one.

Daemon followed suit, painting your insides with his milt — a dangerous game, but one that he enjoyed playing. He removed himself halfway through, coating your thighs and cunt in ropes of his seed, enough for you to feel the heat of it.

He huffed, noticing the faint trembling of your thighs, rattling like leaves as you attempted to recuperate. You had little time for composure, knowing that you needed to return to the Tower of the Hand before your Lord husband emerged from his council meeting.

The Prince did not adopt your swiftness, watching with a tempestuous stare as you retrieved your clothing, flesh sparkling with perspiration. You did not want to leave, but you feared discovery — you feared what would happen if Otto were to find out about such nocturnal proclivities.

“Going somewhere?” Daemon questioned, knowing fully well what the answer would be. He happened to redress himself in his smallclothes, observing you with the ghost of a smirk.

“I must return to the Tower of the Hand,” You mumbled, slick between your legs. The combination of Daemon’s spent and your arousal proved to be sticky and uncomfortable, but you would endure the walk and clean yourself up as soon as you could. “I cannot be seen.”

Daemon scoffed, dismissive of your concerns, though he allowed you the courtesy of dressing and preparing to depart. “Still worried for your husband,” He mused, stepping forward to caress your cheek. “How sweet.” It was cajoling, but you cared little.

“Daemon,” You began, but he stopped you with a kiss, eyes twinkling with a semblance of mirth. He held your face between his calloused palms, thumbs gingerly gliding along your cheekbones. “I do not … I do not know when I can see you again.”

A bemused hum escaped him as he cocked his head to one side, feeling your palm press flat atop his muscled chest. “Already thinking of the next time, my Lady?” He purred, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “Perhaps, when next we meet, it will be at the Dragonpit.”

It was far away from prying eyes — what better place to let feelings run hot than the seat of dragonkind at King’s Landing? Even then, Daemon knew that any future trysts would be difficult to achieve, if they were to continue.

You kissed him — a sweet gesture, one that was chaste and ladylike. Daemon could not allow something so brief, seizing your chin to kiss you again. Your head was spinning with so many things, to the point of feeling so very overwhelmed.

“I have to go.” You whispered, squeezing Daemon’s forearm as you passed. Your state of dress was somewhat uncouth, but you had no time. You made sure to keep quiet as you slipped into the gap between doors, stealing another look back at the Rogue Prince.

Violet hues remained indiscernible, though his expression was telling — the very same incendiary look he’d given you at the Tournament. “Until next we meet, Lady Hightower.”

@ copyright — all works belong to swordgrace, please do not copy or translate this work onto any other platforms or accounts.

[charmedreincarnation]

How to use reverse psychology to get your desires

Hey y’all, this is for the people who feel utterly exhausted by their spiritual journey. Whether you’re struggling to manifest your dreams, tapping into the void state, or lucid dreaming every night, I totally get it. But you can use your frustration to your advantage.

So, I’ve been really into reverse psychology and that’s what this “technique” is. For those of you who feel stuck or frustrated, this might be just what you need. Your annoyance could actually become your greatest ally.

Keep complaining. Script it out, affirm it, vent it to your friends, but just the opposite of what you’re already saying. Say things like "Ugh I'm so tired of always easily slipping into the void state" or "If I lucid dream one more time, I'm going to lose my mind!".

Here's an example of how you can do it:

"Bruh, I'm so done with waking up in the void state. Each morning is the same story - I'm tired of it! And let's not even talk about how I lucid dream every single night. It's exhausting being conscious all the time, and it's starting to annoy me and tire me out. I just want one peaceful night without lucid dreaming or getting into the void state. Is that too much to ask? I can’t even escape the void state with lucid dreaming!”

You can apply this same principle to shifting as well. Express your frustration:

"Why does my subconscious always feel the need to wake me up in my dr 🙄For once, I want to focus on my cr. If I wake up in my dr one more time, I swear... Can't my subconscious for once let me wake up in my cr?"

Even visualize yourself waking up in your normal bed and plead with your subconscious to let you wake up in your cr for once.Channel your current frustration into not waking up in your dr to always doing it. You should end up feeling frustrated when you actually go to bed, trying to NOT be successful for once.

Make it realistic too. honestly? I'm just so tired of shifting with ease. It's gotten to the point where it feels mundane. There was a time when struggling with the void state was actually exciting, it kept things interesting at least. I know this might come off as a "ugh, I'm too pretty everyone hates me" pick-me-girl moment, but seriously, I could do with a little less success in the shifting department. Y’all wouldn’t understand how hard it is to be successful 24/7. Genuinely be annoying about it lol.

So, go ahead. Complain. Vent. Be frustrated. You’re way too successful with manifesting and shifting and need a break. I get it, shut up. We don’t care.👍

[glacierclear]

Having some mad fuckboy!Leon thoughts rn

After he's unlearned all the stuff he taught himself and is basically done with the whole fuckboy thing oh man he would be SO soft. Holding your hand? Check. Cuddling at his dorm? Check. Being more gentle and loving during sex? Also check.

Also, stealing his hoodies. He'd melt for sure

oh, for sure. healed fuckboy!leon would be a SIGHT TO BEHOLD.

he wouldn't be perfect...

progress isn't linear. he'd stumble a lot. make a lot of mistakes and backward steps. you would need to be patient. you would need to be careful. especially in the early stages. because damn, he's trying. he's trying so hard. and you need to acknowledge the effort, even if it's hard to see, because any praise towards this will mean so much to him.

it'd come out especially on his bad days. he's more impatient. short-tempered. lashes out over seemingly mundane things. you'll need to be firm but not demeaning. catch his tells, his habits, and figure out the real reason he's behaving the way he is.

you'll need to slowly teach him the true depth of his words. that they hurt you just as much as they hurt him. he's unfamiliar with the idea of accountability, so you need to teach him about consequences. let him know you're upset and angry at him. but just because you're upset doesn't mean he's irredeemable. he'll assume any pushback is you ending things permanently. he needs the space to fuck up and forgive himself.

and damn it all, he's the jealous type. possessive. protective as all hell. it's toxic, and you need to teach him boundaries. it'll be tough. he worked so fucking hard to get you, doesn't he deserve to have you the way he needs? but no. you need freedom. he'll learn eventually, but be prepared to send a lot of "im safe and i miss u" texts to him when you're out with friends.

speaking of toxic. the toxic masculinity will be hell to unpack. sometimes it's nice! he insists on you being passenger princess. he insists on picking up the bill (well, once you're actually dating). he doesn't mind taking care of spiders (and fine, just because you asked nicely, he won't kill them). but...the bads get real bad.

displaying any kind of vulnerable emotion is like pulling teeth. when he's nervous, scared, anxious...he'll take it out on others. or himself. early progress will be made when he's blackout drunk and spilling everything to you. he reveals the deepest, most fragile parts of himself on these nights. it's like he's an entirely different person. and the next morning he'll do his best to sweep it all under the rug, but you have to fight for it. accept him and love him despite how "totally fucking lame" he acted (his words, not yours).

that being said. the good parts? oh yeah. Boyfriend Material 100%.

he'd do anything for you. anything. don't even say shit as a joke because he'll do it. at a certain point he doesn't even care if his friends think he's being stupid. you're his whole world. he'd wear stupid t-shirts for you. go to that concert you're dying to see even if he thinks the music sucks. he'll bash his head into a wall and learn to bake french pastries if it'll get you to smile. through hell and high water, he'll follow.

and yeah, he weans himself off social media. stops posting thirst trap photos and cuts ties with his sneaky links. but the lack of external validation is felt, and it kind of falls on you to fill the void. clingy won't even begin to describe what he is. he'll resort to begging. he will. late to work in the morning? that's not his problem. you're staying in that damn bed and you are cuddling him. you think him wearing tank tops in the middle of December is just a dumb mistake, but you catch on quick when he starts to shiver and needs to huddle you for warmth. "you want me to die of hypothermia? c'mon, babe. get closer." and yeah. those ice cold hands are going straight on your stomach. have fun.

part of the excitement will come from truly learning who he is as a person. most of his herculean facade is a persona. he doesn't actually like beer. he likes dry whiskey and refined clear liquors. he doesn't actually enjoy parties. the crowds make him nauseous, and he can always blame it on the alcohol. he's not actually all that into sports. you figure out he has a well-loved public library card and he knows the mystery section like the back of his hand. he's vibrant. shockingly intelligent. gets that light in his eyes when you nudge him about his interests. it'll be hard to get him to admit it, but his favorite part of the week is huddling on the couch watching nature documentaries with you.

and it's a two-way street. he remembers everything about you. early on in your relationship you casually assume he'll never keep track of the important dates. that's the stereotype, right? you couldn't be more wrong. birthdays. anniversaries. doctor's appointments. your fucking dog's yearly vaccine. he won't necessarily go all-out, not until you're more of a long-term thing, but what he does is meaningful. sincere. you won't get $500 of flowers and chocolate for valentine's day, but he'll abduct you from work, drive you out far, far into the countryside. lay out a patchwork blanket and stare at the night sky. he brought your favorite brand of pita chips and sneakily worms a gift box in your hand. it's that stupid $15 thing that's been sitting in your online shopping cart for weeks that you could never justify buying. and yeah, he'd appreciate a blowjob under the stars, but seeing you happy is enough.

and you could never begin to imagine how loving and passionate he can get during sex. it's totally different than his usual flavor. casual hook-ups and one-night stands are merely a fraction of his power. he tends to avoid intimate gestures on those nights. no eye-contact. hardly any kissing. he likes it rough and he likes it fast. but with you? he takes his time. commits your body to muscle memory. his gaze is intense, and he watches every reaction, trying to map out your flesh like a cartographer. he'll happily make out with you for upwards of a couple hours before you even begin the real foreplay. and you always cum first. always.

oh, but if you're not a fan of PDA...he might be a problem. he's proud of you. you're the hottest thing on two legs as far as he's concerned. he'll have no issue grabbing your ass, wrapping a hand around your waist, kissing along your neck, whispering the most obscene things in your ear. it's not even to make a point. there's no rhyme or reason. he just wants to. and you're right there. and what right does the world have to tell him to stop? does it make people uncomfortable? who cares. he'll lay off if it really bugs you that much...but if he catches anyone staring at you too long he'll ramp it up. it's almost aggressive. you turn to scold him, noticing how his eyes aren't even on you. he's staring at someone else. someone who's looking at what's his.

he's a yes man, too. if you need restraint and careful guidance in your life...he's not the one. he'll support any weird, out of the blue hobby you want to pursue. if you even joke about quitting your job he'll egg you on. "i'll drive right up there and tell your boss i'll fuck his wife!" and you have to talk him down. he'll punch the sun for you. he'll be behind every impulsive purchase. every 4am trip to walmart. every instinct to feed your id. any "little treat" you want to have he'll get it. because you deserve the best. if you ever want to have a stable bank account you need the be the voice of reason. because it's not gonna be him.

yeah. he'll have a lot of problems. don't worry about that. but, at least with fuckboy!leon, you'll almost never have any doubts that he loves you. once you manage to pin his heart on his sleeve, it's there for life and it'll always be yours.

[rite4fun]

soft hands

heyyy 🤪

i started this in the midst of my other writings- forgot about it and then i recently found it again and fell back in love with it so.. here it is finally!! // also my first request ever which is really exciting and special so i hope this doesn’t disappoint, i’ve spent the last two days perfecting it so if there is mistakes- idk man I have to stop looking at it before i go crazy 😭

requested by: @endlessvoidd

an angsty/fluffy/!!smutty!! fic based on this song - i.e. my interpretation into this.

18+ content

••

love is a fickle thing.

coming in many forms but always ending in similar fashion: heartache.

atleast that’s what it felt like to you. it was as if the whole world remained stagnant while your own went up in flames. but that’s what pain does to one, isolating them so only they feel as if there was no one else who could ever feel the way it made them.

this pain often took the shape of another human.

one that claimed another name, promising safety and care but never keeping to their word. it was a cycle they used, a ruse to get you under their control and you fell for it everytime.

a faux charming smile mixed with poisoned sweet words held in devilish hands.

your colorful heart so open for loving that it made you vulnerable to the ones who were willing to hold it. their rough hands gripping so tightly till you’d bruise only black and blue.

so now as the whole world burns, you had found solace in your own. it no longer felt like you were underwater, suffocating in the abyss of darkness that always seem to swallow you.

you’d been pushed to your limits, forced to become stronger and bolder in your decisions. you had too- in order to survive this new world where the only thing that mattered was living to see the next day. it was no longer a place that required such care or attention to minuscule feelings like love.

until you met him. daryl dixon.

someone with no smile, spoke very little words but otherwise soft hands.. someone who you never thought you’d fall for, especially in this seemingly mundane world.

but here you were..

it was like those pieces you left behind had come crumbling back into existence.

the colors of your broken heart, blooming together for another and no matter how hard you tried to deny the feelings, they would always be there, lingering into every touch, every gaze, every moment you had with him until it became too much to bare.

but even then, you’d do nothing.. never to push or pull him, you’d take whatever you could get because even without him reciprocating any feelings, it was the happiest you’d ever been.

••

violet, the selfless lover.

sweat glistened over his muscled arms, his sleeveless shirt accentuating his broad shoulders before dipping at his waist and hips that shift as he fiddles with his belt.

a familar sight: his back turned to you.

you lie in bed in the aftermath of your indulgences. the only covers having survived your rushed intimacy were the thin sheets that you pull up to your chest, shielding parts of yourself that he has already seen but now, not in a fit of hurried passion, it felt too vulnerable.

especially now, in the moments he quickly slips away into the night, void of live beings and caped into darkness.

your eyes flutter shut, ears catching the light sounds of his shuffling as he gathers himself. you swallow the suffocating words, the ones that ask him to lie back down with you.. to hold you, love you, touch you.

just this once, stay.

you repeat the words over and over in your head, hoping that somehow he would suddenly be able to read your mind but like clockwork, you hear him pause.

his motions freezing as you feel his gaze struck on your body, casted in the moonlight revealed from the open shades of the window that releases the heat of the room. you always wondered if in these moments he ever thinks about it.. staying.

laying down beside you as his hands caress the parts he had once gripped tightly in desire. your head upon his chest so you could listen to his heartbeat thudding softly against your ear. his arms wrapped around your frame, caging you in protectively.

but alas, it’s only seconds later, he’s moving again.

you steady your breathing, fighting every urge to twitch and allowing him to believe you have fallen asleep. you really aren’t sure who you do it more for: him, so there are no awkward goodbyes or yourself, so you don’t have to endure the pain that comes with his departure.

he always leaves though so your troubles never really vanish so you guess, in a sense it’s more for him.

you remember the first time it happened, after traveling together for so long with tensions high whenever you were near each other- it seemed inevitable. grappling at one anothers bodies in haste as you fought to stay quiet in hershels now cleared out barn.

embarrassingly that same night, you had expected something different. that it meant you no longer had to tip toe around the supposedly feelings between you both- except it appeared one sided when he left hurriedly after your secret escapade.

then you supposed it should have remained a one time thing but something kept pulling you both back towards the other and as time passed with more people added to your group, you figured you two would grow even further apart but no-

it wasn’t like he ever seeked you out but it was almost like he was always waiting, finding hidden spots wherever to succumb to your primal states before parting and acting as if you weren’t just moaning each others names in bliss.

maybe that’s the reason you continued to hold on so tightly, he kept coming back and despite his inability to show anything but desire towards you.. it felt like enough.

you felt like you could make it enough.

so you would act like it was all just a passing fleet of passion when it came down to it.. for him.

you can hear his steps around the room before a new pressure of weight covers your body, the welcomed warmth of the duvet setting your heart to burn.

only to be sizzled out by the sounds of his descending steps as he leaves the room, shutting the bedroom door softly before making his way down the stairs and out the front door, locking it with the spare key.

you sit up, gripping the thin sheet around your body as you move to stand at the open window. the streets remain dark but if you squint your eyes enough, you could make up the shape of his body, moving easily through the pitch black night.

the physical distance he puts between you rivals the emotional one that always sits heavily in your chest.

you watch as he approaches his home, the porch light turning on, making his body freeze at the bottom step for only a split second before he’s moving again, disappearing under the porch awning and eventually into the home.

your own home remains silent, quiet, still. completely void of anyone and anything but your soft breaths.

with the loss of some members of the community and the consistent rebuilding, new homes were becoming available. you once resided with the grimes family, michonne, carol and daryl.

until rick approached you all, offering you a place of your own. even before the world went to shit, you never lived alone. having a roommate of sorts or living with a boyfriend, and even when things got rough, your parents invited you in. the idea was unnerving, especially after living in close quarters with your newfound family. it was a change and you couldn’t understand why it made you so unsettled.. but a lot of things have changed since before and you assumed that everyone was trying to settle in more firmly, the grimes family deserved that more than anything so you figured you’d try.

maybe you, carol, and daryl could move into one home together?

but it was never spoken as an option, so you stood with shaky legs in the back of the living room as everyone looked to you in confirmation. you had refused to make eye contact with any of them, especially after carol piped up that daryl was welcome in her new home. isolating you without notice but you didn’t blame her, how could you?

there was plenty of chances for something to come of you and daryl but it didn’t. it wouldn’t, it seemed.

that leap of possibility lingered at arms length, yet felt untouchable.

so you agreed, following rick as he guided you to your very own home, placed conveniently right across the street from carol and daryls new home.

seemingly a physical representation of your inner battle, so close yet so far.

blue, the understanding lover.

there’s an overwhelming amount of yearning in your body as you watch him caress her forehead before pressing a soft kiss to it.

his hand is gentle in his touches, even from afar you can see the way in which everything he does is tender towards her.

for a second, you too, can almost feel the ghost of his touches, equally as soft but less loving and your heart aches at the thought.

you feel a bit ridiculous at being jealous of a baby. a sick baby at that.

“you ready?” your attention is pulled from the bittersweet scene to the woman that’s approaching you.

“‘course, you?” maggie hums with a grin before following your gaze that’s found it’s way back onto him.

“he’s always so good with her, hm?” you can only nod mutely, that ache beginning in your heart, falling to the pit of your stomach as you watch him conversate with rick who gently holds his babygirl in his hands- daryl loves on her with an equally soft touch.

one, your body desperately craves.

despite his hands physically being rough from the countless amount of hours he spends working with them, he had a way of knowing just how to handle you: so soft with the right amount of pressure to still excite you.

the only part missing was the consistency; the knowledge that he was yours as much as you knew he owned every bit of you.

even if he didn’t know it.

you shake your head as if it will physically rid your hopeless thoughts, changing your regard for checking your pack and making sure you’re prepared for the run.

shortly after everyone splits in farewells, six of you pile into a black suv for the trip. you settle in the furthest seats with maggie, rosita and tara infront of you as glenn drives with daryl in shotgun.

an unfortunate sickness had fallen on the community, not yet as severe as the one that had tragically taken place at the prison- but whatever it was spread fast and had sent a dent into the infirmaries medication.

so a pharmaceutical run was needed, especially after little judith herself fell ill.

the six of you volunteered, immediately finding a small community pharmacy close enough that had been scoped out as potential. it was a no brainer when it seemed nearly abandoned, very little walkers surrounding and every bit as hopeful as life could give right now.

upon arriving to the building, you split off into groups of two. you had expected to go with tara but found her already linking and walking off with rosita- and you’d never break up the dream team of maggie and glenn so.. you found yourself left with daryl.

there are very few moments where it’s ever just you two like this, without that fire burning between your bodies. you aren’t sure if that was just dumb luck or something daryl arranged so he never had to be with you alone. either way you never questioned it because sooner or later he would be in your bed, pressed skin to skin as you shared sharply sweet kisses and the feeling of being unwanted vanished.

green, the caring lover.

“shit” daryl curses as you wrap his leg is gauze, covering the wound he inflicted when a shelf fell onto him.

there’s an alarm blaring over your heads and the familar ghastly groans pounding on the pair of front doors that the rest of the four lean against to keep them out.

“did anyone check the back door?!” rosita yells.

“could hear them clawing at it too but i think it’s our best choice.. didn’t sound like too many but if we wait any longer, that could change” glenn speaks through his teeth as his feet slide against the linoleum flooring.

daryl winces when your rushed hands put too much pressure and you mutter a quick apology, “i can clear it”

“nah” you look up at him as he brushes off your offer.

“i don’t think we have much of a choice daryl, i can do it” your voice is quiet against the harsh banging, “we can’t wait it out, they can see us through the doors”

“i said ya ain’t doin’ it. jus’ let me think of somethin’” he makes to get up, his leg nearly collapsing under him in pain but your quick to reach out, grabbing onto his waist to steady him. you’ve never had your hands on him in this way, it feels different yet familar- heartwarming even as you brace his body against yours.

“well, can you think faster because i don’t know how much longer we have until they push through us!” rosita smarts at him, agitated with concern by the situation.

you lift your head to the flashing red lights above then twist it to the back of the pharmacy, “it looks like the alarms are set only upfront, they will be more attracted here than in the back.. i can do it”

you go to release daryl hastily, going to make a break for the back but he grabs your arm, clear irration oozing into his words, “are ya hearin’ me? … you three hold ‘em doors, we’ll let ‘em in one by one”

you stare in disbelief as everyone listens- tara and rosita holding onto one door while glenn has the other, maggie coming to stand next to you readily with her knife in hand.

your attention is then drawn to daryl who pushes your helping hands away in attempt to steady his stance alone, finding a comfortable balance as he readies his own knives.

the echoed alarm has nothing over the sound of your own heartbeat through your ears. there’s mild annoyance that builds in your stomach, in result of daryls doubt of your ability to do anything by yourself.

you find your feet moving backwards on their own accord, watching as they all follow directions but it’s not going to be enough against the growing dead outside- getting close enough to consider a horde. one of them slips, allowing two walkers to stumble in and as maggie and daryl are distracted, you take your sudden leave.

sprinting towards the back before anyone can say anything. the relentlessly pounding is just as loud and the hinges of the back door rattle but the piercing siren has lessened, giving you enough head clearance to search the back room for something to hold against the door. you plan to use the same tactic except it’s just you against the many that stand on the other side.

it’s the only way you can think of to ensure that everyone makes it home with the supplies, a hell of a lot quicker too.

the only things in your vincity is shelves stuffed with random boxes but it will have to do. you yank some down, hoping to lessen the weight of it before you’re shoving at it.

“come on..” you grunt in frustration but with one final harsh shove, it collapses over with a loud bang- a heavy box toppling down along your arm, cutting open a clean laceration from your inner elbow to your wrist, “fuck!”

ironic enough the fallen box now lays crumbled at your feet, busted open and spilling out its contents of bandages. there isn’t time to perfect the wrapping of your arm, nevermind control the consistent bleeding that quickly seeps into the cloth but it works for now.

adrenaline runs through your veins, keeping the pain to a minimum as you drag the shelf to the door, angling it so that it only has a sliver of space to crack open once it hits the fallen piece of metal.

your body feels heavy, exhaustion settling into your bones from this trip already. the idea of crawling into the warmth of your bed, sounded better than ever but it’s not time yet. there was still work to do and your people needed an out, you’ll be damned if daryls remark held you back from a potential opening.

you heave a deep breath, turning the knob just so the door is loose before backing up and readying your knife.

the first few walkers stumble through the crack one by one, easy enough to take out. in a short amount of time, you’d killed a dozen or so and you’re beginning to wonder how many more reside outside the door as you begin to tire out. there’s a pause and no more push through but you can hear them, their monstrous groaning floating through the crack.

you decide to take a breather, dropping your arms in fatigue but it’s the wrong time to rest as another walker squeezes through, having been forced through by another that stumbles in quickly after. you shove tiredlessly at the first one, gripping the second and collapsing to the ground with it as you stab it in it’s head. your knife is a lost cause inside the skull of the walker and you scramble back as the second one stumbles after you, it’s unstable body crumbling ontop of yours.

you have your hurt forearm rested on it’s neck as it’s teeth snaps at you grossly while the other hand pushes at it’s forehead. it’s been awhile since you’ve been so close to a walker like this. since arriving to alexandria, you and maggie worked along with deanna on building a new brighter future for the community.

as time passed, you found being inside the walls wasn’t so bad and the only time you itched to be out was when daryl would be gone on his weeks long recruiting trips.

he is what made alexandria feel more like home to you.

his insane judgement of character made you feel safe, so if he found that trust within those walls- so did you and every other person in your group.

that’s why you needed him to get back, why they all needed to make it back. alexandria would never be the same without him- without any of them.

you internally scoff at your overly ridiculous thoughts, even as you sweat so close to death itself, all you can think about is him.

but with thoughts of getting him out safely, comes a newfound strength as you let it’s forehead go, the walkers head dropping dangerously closer to your face as you scramble for the gun on your hip.

it’s a clean one shot before your throwing the walkers body to the side with a grunt, scurrying back in fear as your heart thuds painfully in your chest.

no matter how many times you’re faced with this new reality, it never fails to scare you shitless with the constant reminder of how living isn’t a promise and looms so dangerously over your head- or directly in your face.

a refreshing soft breeze comes from the cracked door, snapping you from your building anxiety and you hastily crawl to it, pulling it open more and finding the alley clear.

you smile in relief and as much as your body screams to rest, you’re running to grab the others to make a swift escape before anymore walkers can show up.

red, the passionate lover.

the thunderous clouds open for the loud torrents of rain creating a solemn ambience among the community.

similar to the way you feel as you lay on the couch, shades open to watch the droplets that hit the window before sliding down.

freshly showered with a clean bandage on your arm, wrapped in a sweatshirt far too big for your figure and fuzzy socks, you wallow in the warmth of your own home.

there’s a pounding at your front door that interrupts your thoughts, one that could almost rival the thunder released from the sky.

you pull a thin blanket from the couch, wrapping it around yourself as your sock covered feet slide across the wood flooring to the door.

pulling it open, the sky’s weeping shower is louder but what takes your attention is the soaking wet man that stands before you.

“daryl?” head to toe, his body is drenched. his clothes clingling to him, dripping onto your front doorstep. his hair beginning to wave as the tips leak water onto his shoulders and face, in which you finally take in his exasperated expression, “what’s wrong?”

“wha’s wrong?” his tone is full of frustration, “let’s start with tha’ stunt ya pulled earlier today, hm?”

confusion covers your features, your fingers gripping the blanket tighter around your body when a gust of wind and rain blows through, “what do you mean?”

daryl huffs, a hand coming up to swipe over his mouth roughly, “i mean.. ya makin’ a stupid decision tha’ could’ve costed ya, yer life!”

“what?” you can tell your inability to make sense of the conversation only frustrates him more but given that last time you saw him, you guys were fine- as far as him ignoring you, nothing seemed out of the ordinary and now he shows up at your home to yell at you? so yeah, you had a right to be a little confused.

“dun’ play dumb, i told ya the plan and ya ran off! decided playin’ with ya life was the way to go instead!” although it was just hours ago that you laid face to face with death, it felt like days and you no longer cared to linger on it anymore as you stand within the safety of alexandria.

“i made a choice. you have no right to insult me! it saved us, didn’t it?!” you hadn’t expected him to praise you for what you did, but his response to your actions that helped you guys make it back safely was unbelievable, had it been anyone else-

“at what cost?!” clearly you aren’t understanding what he’s saying as he grows more agitated by the second.

“what does it matter? it’s over daryl!” you grip the blanket in one hand as you toss the other out in annoyance.

“ya shouldn’t be risking ya life lik tha’.. fo’ anyone!”

“well i did!”

“why?!”

“because that’s what you do for someone you love!” your chest heaves with rattling breaths, “i-i wasn’t thinking about me, i just knew you had to get out, that’s all i cared about.. you getting home” you turn your head as you feel tears burn in your eyes.

it’d be silent if not for the rumbling downpour coming from the sky above as if the universe too, was upset.

“… ya love me?” bewilderment makes up his otherwise timid tone.

but you can’t face him, the humiliation of outing yourself too much to bare so you just nod your head abashedly, tear-filled gazed locked on a chipped part of the doorway.

“look at me” you can see his body move closer from the corner of your eye but you make no move to change positions.

body aflamed with embarrassment, frozen in time as your mind races through every outcome of this situation. all ending in familiarity: your heart laid crushed in the open, bleeding the many colors it holds. it’s like you can feel the ache of longing that follows as you rethink every moment you guys had together, clinging to the memories to cope with the overwhelming sadness that withers into your chest.

there is no time to mourn something you haven’t lost yet when a pair of hands cup your face gently, forcing your gaze to the sharp blue eyes of daryls.

the distance between your faces closing as his thumbs absentmindedly wipe the tears from under your eyes. the rise of your heartbeat causes your chest to heave with your deep breathes mixing with daryls as his body sways closer. his eyes never leave your face, taking in every inch as if he still can’t believe the words that you uttered so effortlessly in your emotional fit.

“ya mean it?” with your gazes locked, you can finally take in the hidden vulnerability that lies in between his mumbled words. unable to speak with the lump that settles into your throat, you can only nod feverishly in his grip but it isn’t enough as he shakes his head, “say it again” but you respond with your own head shake, finding it hard to grasp onto any words. his rough thumb brushes over your trembling bottom lip soothingly, his tone soft yet encouraging, “ya can, baby.. say it again”

the pet name slips from his lips seamlessly, breaking your resolve as your hand releases the blanket and instead, both reaching out to grip his forearms with soft dry sobs of the words over and over.

i love you. i love you. i love you.

daryl is quick to match your distress with comfort, wrapping one arm around your waist to hold your body flush against his, “i know, i know, i know.. ’s okay baby”

you allow yourself to fall into his arms with a light flush to your cheeks from embarrassment, so quick to fall apart at the slightest coaxing but you needed this. him. you needed him to understand just how much you felt for him and how overwhelming it all was.

his arms are strong, encompassing you in his body heat that lights a fire in your own. your arms snake around his neck, pulling his face closer and it’s enough for him to finally slot your lips together.

despite the growing fever of desire, the kiss remains slow but your grips on each other tighten as he shuffles your bodies into the house, shutting the door all the while keeping his lips attached to yours.

one of his hand slides down your body, gripping your thigh as a signal for you to wrap your legs around him, which you do with a quiet huff.

with blinded knowledge of the layout he takes you to the living room, laying your body gently on the couch.

you shiver at the lack of contact and his piercing stare as he takes in your delicate state. your hair fanning behind your head as the oversized sweatshirt you wear hikes up to your upper thighs, your legs bent yet closed innocently- revealing just the cusp of your bottom to him.

your eyebrows furrow at his longing gaze, poking his leg playfully with your sock covered foot which he grabs. you meet his sharp blue eyes and that growing fire in your stomach heightens at the hunger that lingers in them.

he seems to want to take his time, enjoying the sight of you but the need in you burns painfully for his touch.

tilting your head, you look at him from under your lashes, fluttering them prettily as you reach your hands out towards him.

he comes easily, settling over your body- it should bother you that his clothes remain wet and cold but it soothes your otherwise hot skin when his broad frame settles between your legs.

you’re pulling his lips to meet yours again, letting out a gasp at the sensation, sometimes you forget just how good you guys are together.

having spent years learning how each others bodies work; he knows exactly what touches will have falling apart while gasping his name and you know just how to move to have him desperately coming back for more- you two work together like a well oiled machine.

he lifts off of you, a whimper escaping your throat, “‘s okay baby, jus’ gotta take this off” he’s only able to swipe his signature vest off before you’re sweeping your upper body up to help him unbutton his sleeveless top, “eager, ain’t ya sweethear’?” his hand brushes pieces of your hair behind your ear, finger sliding down your neck and hooking into the crew of your sweatshirt.

you ignore his truthful remark, settling for pushing his shirt off his shoulders before pulling him back over your body, his bare chest pressing through the thick material of your own top yet you feel like you need more.

“more..” you squirm under him as his hands softly wander over your covered frame.

daryl only hushes you, his rough hands sliding under your sweatshirt, meeting the soft skin of your lower stomach, dipping up at your waist, tickling at your ribs until his fingertips skim just under your breasts. you arch beautifully into his hands, eyes hooded in lust as he watches your lips part in a quiet gasp.

your own hands grip at his muscled biceps, fingernails digging in- in anticipated pleasure. your body rolls, thrusting your hips into his in a desperate search of something to ease the throbbing pressure building between your legs.

he seems to take pity on you, lowering his body until he’s eye level to your stomach. his hands bunch up the fabric of your sweatshirt, lifting it just enough to reveal your belly button.

he places kisses under it, a warm and gentle peck that has you sucking your stomach in at the gesture. your hands grip his as you look down, his unruly hair falling into his face, slightly covering his now darkened blue eyes that glanced up every so often to enjoy the way your features contort in bliss. his lips remain on your skin, pressing sloppy kisses wherever he deems fit as he travels up. he keeps up with the lifting of your top, every new layer of revealed skin is left with heated, wet kisses that the air cools over- the sensation of it all, sending a thrilling shiver throughout your whole body.

you can’t seem to control your hips, bucking everytime daryl stops and takes a nibble at your skin before licking over it soothingly.

with your sweatshirt finally bunched under your pits to reveal your breasts to the open air, nipples hardening at the change of temperature. daryl kisses in the valley of your chest before humming to himself when he gets his lips around one of your nipples, his scruff scratching over the soft skin while one of his hands finds your other breast, calloused fingertips running over the nipple.

the change of position has daryls hips pressed right against yours, his jean covered bulge digging into your thinly covered core. a simple roll of your hips has your eyes rolling back, a choked gasp releasing from your mouth at the newfound pleasure.

daryl has switched to the other nipple, giving it the same attention as the last before he can’t take anymore of your quiet noises- lifting up to take your lips into another biting kiss. his hands grappling to rip off the sweatshirt over your head as he settles back on his haunches, only a sliver of blue visible in his eyes as he takes in your body - only softening a little as they gaze over your bandaged arm.

your legs settle over his thighs but the more he stares, the more unsure you become and you find your knees turning in- in an attempt to hide the most vulnerable part of yourself but daryl doesn’t let you get far, immediately gripping them to push them back out. one hand holds the crease of your knee, keeping your legs apart while the other slips down to your covered core, fingertips dancing over the wet patch of your panties.

the same way he seems entranced by your figure, you can’t take your eyes off him. on normal circumstances, he never took his time: seemingly too overwhelmed with desire to play things out, only taking exactly what he came for and never lingering after.

now though, his hands eagerly pause to truly appreciate whatever details he’s found of your body. his eyes lost in the way you move, the way you look.. finally he gets the chance to fully indulge the parts of you he never got to take advantage of in your unspoken situationship.

you huff as your hips press more firmly into his hands, daryls eyebrows raising in amusement at your clear impatience.

“jus’ wanted ta look at m’ girl” his mocking tone only burns the flames hotter in your body, “tha��s wha’ ya are, hm? mine?” he pushes your panties to the side, your dripping core pulsing in anticipation. he drags his fingertips through the wetness, collecting it before spreading it messily over your lips. he barely skims over your clit but the teasing has your senses on high and you find yourself unable to stop the twitch of your hips, “say it” his motions stop, fingers hovering over you as you meet his darkened gaze.

“i’m yours” your voice is broken, meek and so so beautiful to him, “please, ‘m yours”

maybe another time you’d feel embarrassed about being so desperate but the softness of his hands: the loving way he tends to your neediness has you on cloud nine.

“mm, ‘ve got ya” his gravely voice is only getting deeper, rumbling deep into his chest as he allows two thick fingers to slide into your pulsating hole. after years of being together, your body takes to him easily, opening to accommodate his digits.

“yes…” you hiss as you toss your head back, legs twitching as they threaten to close around his hand, a weak attempt to lock in the pleasure somehow.

daryl only grunts before his fingers are moving, hooking them everytime they slide out to target your gspot, thumb brushing against your throbbing clit. his pace is slower than normal, dragging out the sensation until you forget your name.

your impending orgasm is closer than you thought, his previous teasing ministrations having more of an effect on your body than the rushed ones you’ve endured before- not that those weren’t good but this, this felt stronger and harder to hold back.

as if sensing the same thing, daryls fingers pick up the pace until a slight squelch of your slick is heard over your gasping moans.

“gunna come fo’ me?” it’s sort of useless of him to ask as your eyes threaten to fall into the back your head, your body rolling into his hand uncontrollably and the obvious mewls of pleasure that spill from your lips- yet, you answer in a clumsy nod.

daryl doubles down in his actions, somehow shuffling even closer as he keeps his fingers inside of you and only thrusting deeper with curled fingertips, thumb messily moving over your sensitive clit.

the choked out moan you let out breaks in half into a high pitched squeal, knees helplessly knocking together while your hands reach out to grasp any part of the couch, you could get your hands on as your high hits.

“tha’s it..” the words are more of a growl as daryl watches you fall apart, your cries a muttered mixture of his name and sobs of pure pleasure until your left sinking into the couch with watery doe eyes, flushed cheeks, messy hair, and the heavy rise and fall of your naked chest.

his fingers only linger inside you for a moment more before pulling them out, lifting them to his mouth in a seemless action. he hums happily around his soaked digits as you whimper at the sight, shaky thighs opening back up despite your still throbbing core.

his hands fall to caress the smooth surface of them, eyes lost in the mess of your cunt until your hands reach out, fingers barely tickling over the bulge in his jeans. his hips push forward more and the response is enough for you to lift up, scrambling to unbutton his jeans and hurriedly pulling his cock out from his briefs.

he sits heavy in your palm, angry red tip with decorative blue veins down his shaft. your mouth waters at the sight and you go to lean forward, prepared to make him a mess as much as he did you but a hand grips the back of your head, fingers tangling into your hair to tilt your eyes up at him.

your eyes are lust blown and so very eager, only to twinkle with confusion at his next words, “i’ll come too soon”

you pout, “want you too”

at your indignant tone, he cracks a small smile. hand coming up to cup your chin, thumb brushing softly over your lips before falling onto your tongue when you open your mouth- keen on showing him exactly what he is missing out on when the slick muscle swirls around his finger, cheeks holllowing sharply as you bob your head sinfully.

you can feel his cock twitch violently in your hand, your own thumb swiping over his tip to the oozing precum that continuously drips out.

entranced by you, it takes daryl a second to fully pull away: enjoying the suction of his digit and the soft pull of your hand on his cock but he finds the control to back away.

your eyesbrows pull together in confusion, a flash of hurt covering your features when he stands up from the couch- a sudden doubtful feeling that this isn’t what you thought it was settling into your head.

“not going anywhere, jus’ takin’ my jeans off sweethear’” his reassuring words ease the tension in your body as you melt back into the couch. his briefs come down with his jeans, revealing his familiar broad body to your eyes, except now, you’re able to fully take him in: fully appreciate his scars, his muscles, his tattoos.. everything that makes him- him. the many reasons you’ve found yourself falling for him before you could even catch yourself, “wha’s that look for?”

you hadn’t even realized you were staring at him a certain way as he settles back inbetween your legs after helping you disgard the last few articles of clothing on your own body.

you squirm under his tickling hands as they graze over your body in a loving manner, you release of sigh of bliss at the motions. his fingers dancing around your waist until you look back into his eyes that hold a questioning gaze.

“just.. love you” you shrug nonchalantly, breaking the intense gaze as your fingers reach out the fiddle with the ones still at your waist- an uncertainty to your already fragile tone.

an obvious fear that you may say the wrong thing, running him off to the hills after getting only a sliver of what could be.

your not sure what to expect but it isn’t his fingers tangling into yours, locking them together and squeezing to gain your attention again.

his chest presses against yours as he leans closer to your face, pecking your lips softly a couple of times before mumbling the words bashfully against them, “love ya too”

you’re at a loss of words, gasping softly as your hands untangle from his to grasp at his face, fingers brushing the stray hairs away so you could get a clear look of his face.

his sight lowers, staring more at your chin in obvious embarrassment, alongside the flash of red that spreads over the apple of his cheeks.

you bite your lip in hopes of curbing your amused smile but you can’t- too overjoyed with his words as you force him to look at you and as if seeing the clear happiness of your own features, he fights to hide his own.

“say it again” you sweetly mock his words from earlier, making daryl rolls his eyes playfully, grumbling as he shifts above you. the new position having his cock pressed against your core- sending a thrilling shock of heat through both you as if you had forgotten where you guys were.

a gasp releasing from both of your mouths as you move against one another, searching for that pleasurable feeling again.

you’re just finding a good rhythm, timing the roll of your hips perfectly with his so that the head of his cock nails your swelling clit everytime but he sits back- an action that has you whining in protest.

“quit tha’” he slaps a hand on your thigh, your body jerking at the delicious sting it brings, before he is guiding his cock to your slick hole. your senses are in overdrive after your first orgasm, the slow stretch of him pushing into you is a tad overwhelming as you reach out for one of his hands. his expression softens, his free hand rubbing soothingly up and down your thigh, even leaning over to press a little kiss on your knee.

your eyes are closed, chest heaving in deep breaths as you feel him enter you inch by inch slowly. in a normal fit of hurried passion, driven by nothing but lust, these moments are easily skipped over. fast paced with only one goal; release.

but now, as you grip onto one hand, his other softly grazing over your body with the odd kiss: it’s nothing but in the rawest form of love.

the simplicity of intimacy.

pressed all the way in, you find your body quickly morphing around the intrusion of him and your eyes finally open, finding his own on your face.

“‘kay?” physically feeling his small loving touches give no justice to the way his eyes glimmer fondly, a small hint of relief in them as if he has been waiting equally as long for you as you have for him.

maybe he has.. maybe his lack of emotions was a protective wall around his heart incase you didn’t truly feel anything for him- other than the odd fleeting need of release.

but you do, you always have and you try your best to convey that through your own expression while nodding to his question.

he chooses in that moment to move, sliding his cock out and slowly thrusting back in.

“ah..” your lips open in a blissful gasp, hips rolling down to meet his.

“yeah?” his tone is soft, hand coming down so his thumb could rub at your swollen clit, the shock of pleasure having you clench around his sensitive cock: a reaction that has him groaning, body slouching until his naked chest rests against yours, his face falling into your neck as his thrusts become more desperate.

your free hand comes to rest on the back of his head, tangling into the unruly strands as he bites at your collarbone with growls of pleasure. your still linked hands press further into the couch, now next to your head as this new position only allows your bodies to slide against each other but it’s enough. your sensitivity bringing your second release faster than the first while daryl heads for his first one after holding back for so long.

his hips stutter against your constant rolling, an attempt to make this last a little bit longer but you only torture him further- intentionally squeezing your walls around him.

“fuck” he pants hotly against your neck, “‘m gonna come if ya don’ stop”

“want you too” you huff back as your motions double down, the combination of your cunt clenching around his thick pulsing cock and the consistent sway of your body against him only pushes him closer to coming but he no longer fights it.

your stomach is tightening in heat as you yank his hair, forcing his head to come out from your neck, teeth clashing a bit clumsy as you pull his mouth to yours.

“do it” you egg him on, lips barely brushing his as he grits his teeth, “‘m yours, yeah? show me”

your bodies slide easily with the building layer of sweat on your skin from the amount of exertion you both use to challenge the other.

“fuckin’..” daryl presses his lips harshly against yours before his hips jerk sharply as he cums, groaning loudly and dropping his forehead on yours as he pants through the buzzing pleasure.

the sight has you nearing your own orgasm, gasping brokenly as you feel his cock twitch, painting your walls white and claiming you in a primal way that sends tingles from your stomach to your toes.

“please.. ‘m so close” you beg prettily as daryls orgasm passes, his attention immediately focusing on your approaching second one as he thrusts shallowly: so deep you feel him hitting spots that bring tears to your eyes, momentarily blurring your vision.

the quick build up has you babbling nothing but nonsense and the odd slip of his name. he has to lean back to take in the enticing vision you’ve become, head thrown back with your eyes shut tight, pink plump lips open to let out the most delicate sounds.

both of your hands now hold his biceps in a deathly grip, trying to find something to ground you as your high gets closer.

daryl tips forward to bite playfully at your chin, “look at me sweethear’”

you whimper before complying, dropping your head down heavily to peer up at him through wet lashes. he holds the eye contact as his hips increase in pace and force, now with his hands free: one settles next to your head, balancing his body above you while the other grips at your waist, pulling you down to meet his.

your second orgasm teeters on the edge of release and it’s like daryl can sense it, leaning down to connect your lips once more before mumbling against them, “‘m girl looks so pretty, hm? tha’s it… gonn’ come one more time fo’ me? promise i’ll take care of ya, let me see sweethear’.. told ya i love ya”

the heartfelt words send you over, your hands pulling him closer as you arch up into him. your eyes roll to the back of your head, cunt clenching tightly around his sensitive cock and thighs trembling around his hips. your cries of pure joy are followed by dry sobs as you try and catch your breath after such an intense high.

daryl is quick to meet your fragile state, petting your hair down as he places small kisses all over your cheeks, nose, corner of your lips, chin, neck, anywhere he could reach as you go through the full motions of your orgasm.

when your body drops heavily back into the couch, your eyes are shut in exhaustion, fully residing in his sweet pampering. the ticklish feeling of his scruffy beard against your neck has you giggling breathlessly, which only results in him groaning in response as you unconsciously squeeze around him.

he lifts to fully pull himself out of your body, both of you hissing in mild discomfort. for a split second as he removes his body completely and stands, you expect him to begin putting his clothes on, preparing to take his usual swift leave but instead he reaches under your body, lifting you bridal style.

“daryl!” you squeal as your arms wrap around his shoulders, an amused smirk falling onto his face as he carries you up the stairs to your ensuite bathroom in silence.

your next actions are equally as quiet, him leaving to grab towels and clothes while you use the restroom and begin the shower. standing infront of the mirror, you take in the new lovebites that scatter around your naked body, luckily in spots you can hide easily. a flush taking over your features even more when he appears in similar fashion: completely nude with scratches and nail indents- a true mess you’ve made of one another.

he hides a coy smile as he saddles behind you, taking in the mere sight he created upon you. you shiver when his hands settle on your hips before slipping to wrap around your front, pulling your back into his chest as he pressing a soft kiss on your shoulder.

all of his motions tender and loving- something you’ve yearned after for years from him.

and it’s finally happening, a little quicker than you thought too but maybe a little bit of coaxing from both sides is all you guys needed to fall into the right rhythm.

you feel a bit ridiculous that it took this long but the reality of it happening now, you can’t seem to linger on anything other than pure happiness as he holds you so closely.

his blue eyes peek up from behind your shoulder, “‘kay?”

your eyes sparkle with newfound warmth, “i’m okay, you?”

he playfully nibbles at your shoulder, tightening his hold on you even more as you laugh delightfully in response.

the shower is quick, intimate, soft and loving. both of you tending to one another as if you’ve done it for years and maybe you have in your own odd ways- daryl always keeping an eye out for you on supply runs, making sure you had enough for dinner even if it meant giving up some of his, bringing back things he knows you’ll like but gifting them anonymously while you loved him unconditionally, selflessly more giving than taking, accepting his many flaws and mistakes, understanding when he needs space, caring for him in all the ways he would allow you from afar.

he felt like he had a lot of making up to do but once again, you didn’t care as you laid upon his naked chest. freshly cleaned with minimal clothing on, your bodies lay above the sheets, basking in the cool breeze that flowed through the cracked window of your bedroom. the aftermath of the storm bringing glimpses of sunlight and light wind.

a certain calmness relaying over the both of you.

your leg was thrown over his hips, warm body pressed entirely to his side as your head rose with the slow rise and fall movement of his chest, the beating of his heart thudding softly in your ear as one of his hands softly rub your back, the other splaying across his own stomach, loosely wrapped around the wrist of your hand that continues to trace hearts on his chest.

if there was a way to touch you, he was doing it- enjoying the fact that you too, wanted this and diving head first into everything clumsily but oh so sweetly.

the heavy weight of his arms around your body and the warm consistent press of his hands was only a constant reminder that this was infact real.

he was here to finally just stay.

and while you know that this only the beginning, that both of you had to have real, long, uncomfortable conversations about your feelings- this was more than enough for now.

just you, him and his soft hands.

[noyasaur]

Hi, I was wondering if there was a way to better view my DR as a reality and not a "dream"? And how to strengthen my intention/assumption of waking up in my DR?

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

hellooo! i do have some things that will hopefully help you :)

🪐 HOW TO VIEW MY DR AS A REALITY AND NOT A 'DREAM'

first off, just a reminder that when we shift realities, we merely just become aware of a reality that we already exist in. we are experiencing another real reality out there- not some dreamworld, not a dream-like world, and not a daydream world; but it's real. real life.

if it helps, when going about your daily life here, take a moment every now and then to pause and really think about how life feels here. analyse your senses and think to yourself of what you're feeling, touching, smelling, seeing, tasting, and hearing. just like how we live here and how real everything is, that's how real it is in your dr. the realness of everything you feel here, is how it will feel in your dr. for example, if you're brushing your teeth and you pause for a moment to really take in the moment of you brushing your teeth and everything your feeling with your senses, remind yourself that this is how it's going to feel like in your dr, if you're brushing your teeth, for example.

do your daily tasks and compare the two. take a moment and do a little sense-check. remind yourself of everything that you're feeling right now in that moment, is how you'll be feeling it when you do it in your dr as well.

another thing you can do is try instead of thinking about all the cool things you're going to be experiencing, things that might be super different and unattainable in this reality, think of the boring, mundane things you'll be experiencing. think of the simple things: the simple things that make you happy, the simple things that you'll get sad over, any mundane or boring tasks you might complete. the boring days in your dr.

you're going to have moments where you're going to be bored out of your mind, maybe even mindlessly scrolling on your phone or even watching television. you're going to have moments where nothing extraordinary is happening at all, and you're left there by yourself to try and feel the void of boredom growing within. you might even have a moment where you drop your ice-cream on the floor :(

in your dr, the weird and spontaneous will happen. the boring and mundane will happen. you will experience moments of adrenaline. you will experience moments of happiness. you will experience moments of sadness. think of these other moments that will happen in your dr, aside from the exciting and extraordinary to help you realise that these things will happen in your dr, just as they do here :)

🪐 HOW TO STRENGTHEN MY INTENTION/ASSUMPTION OF WAKING UP IN MY DR?

setting intention is honestly a lot easier than we let on. it is something us just mentally deciding to do that thing, and then doing that thing later on. however, sometimes we can run into bumps where we don't exactly fulfil our intentions.

this can come from a place of hesitation, procrastination, or even just having weak intention setting from the beginning- especially if you're the time of person who tells themselves they'll do this specific thing and then they never end up doing it 😭

luckily, it's quite easy to strengthen your intentions and assumptions!

for intention, i recommend during the day, you practice intention setting. just simply set intention for something any ordinary daily task you'll do, and then get up and fulfil your intention!

for example, if i set intentions through affirmations, i'll mentally speak out: "i intend to go and make a cup of tea," and then after saying that i would wait a bit (you don't have to), then go and make my cup of tea! ta-daa! intention fulfilled 🥰

for strengthening assumptions, you could also do the same thing above for strengthening your assumptions. you could just assume something really basic that you know is to be true, and keep doing that as 'practice' so when you assume you'll wake up in your dr, it'll become a natural assumption because you know and have seen how your assumptions are true, and so will this one.

you could also practice using the law of assumption on 'small' manifestations. incorporate the law into your daily life. for example, if you have work that day but you don't want it to be busy, you could assume that it is going to be quiet all day and then boom! when you see for yourself that your workplace actually was really quiet, you'll be able to gain some trust and confidence in your assumptions (btw i've used this and it works like a charm for me! all my days at work for have so far, been sooo dead and quiet hehe).

also, developing some trust and confidence in yourself can help you to trust yourself and the intentions you set! doing all of the things above can help you develop this too, but working on your own confidence and trust in yourself is important too. trust goes a long way.

affirmations help as well! don't be afraid to affirm your confidence and trust in yourself, affirming that you will fulfil your intentions, or affirming and persisting in your assumptions too! affirmations are a good way to remind you of what you already have or what you will fulfil, and you can use affirmations to life yourself up and develop confidence in yourself!

it may require a little bit of effort, but it's sooo worth it in the end!

to be honest, i'm not fully satisfied with my answer but i hope this helped regardless! and if not and you're looking for any more tips or information on these things (strengthening intention + assumptions) then check out the resources below!

good luck on your shifting journey and i wish you well :D

- saturn ♡

🪐 RESOURCES:

setting an intention - https://aminoapps.com/c/desired/page/blog/setting-an-intention/47Wq_PwtYu23jZnmgBpB7VdV131epvN4ga

all about intention - https://aminoapps.com/c/realityshifting/page/blog/all-about-intention/pXXz_34NHQuqJJd45zdQ7P3gGE6KQ8WJwJd

the law of assumption + how to use it to shift !! - https://aminoapps.com/c/desired/page/blog/the-law-of-assumption-how-to-use-it-to-shift/Ypvl_8Mtbu4J78YxmMv3n1xBLGg10gboa

an exercise to strengthen your imagination and experience the "assumption" STATE (loa neville stuffs if you're interested) - https://www.reddit.com/r/NevilleGoddard/comments/vc9iy8/an_exercise_to_strengthen_your_imagination_and_to/

[sierrawitch]

Manifestation of the Spoken Word

by autumn sierra

Manifestations aren’t always the product of ritual, or even a spell. Many times witches and people outside the community akin manifestations to actions bringing about the desired outcome, whether magickal or mundane. In my case, I did nothing but use the spoken word.

We as a people vastly underestimate the power of language. Whether we see it as inherently magickal or as an amazing evolution of ancient communication, language has a very important role in each life and in many ways. For someone living in the mundanity of our world, language is a means of communication and an outlet for creativity, an escape from the outside and a retreat into the vividness of the imagination. It’s also used to further education and community.

In witchcraft, we understand that language is all these things and more. We understand that in order to speak, we need to first think about what we’re going to say, and in order to do that we must conjure thought from a void within ourselves. In conjure or manifestation work, something is created from nothing, or at least by using limited tools to achieve the desired outcome. Some use tools like herbs and crystals, coins and fire. In my case (and in the case of others I’m sure) the tools were whittled down simply to the spoken word.

For the past few weeks, among my numerous hobbies I began practicing sewing and tailoring for my own growth and benefit. My younger sister realized I was doing this, and asked me to tailor her clothes, which then turned into paid commissions completely transforming old clothing into new pieces for her wardrobe. Doing all of this by hand, I often exasperatedly cried out “if only I had a sewing machine!” or “just wait until I get a sewing machine”. I said things like this over and over, usually in frustration and with fatigue, but also in excitement of the possibility of what I could achieve without needing to stitch everything by hand.

Was it my pure intention to manifest a sewing machine? Absolutely not. I did no fancy ritual work or spell casting. Nothing was set in motion physically for me to obtain one. I even recognized that I needed to put that want on hold for lack of space! And yet, my words became the catalyst of my desire. My frustration, hope, and pride in my own work fueled those words and suddenly, I found myself waking up to a text from my aunt. She had found a sewing machine at a yard sale. It was selling for $10, when it originally retailed for $130-250. She offered to give it to me free of charge. Flabbergasted, I accepted, and within the afternoon it was in my hands.

Have I found a place for my new sewing machine? No. But I have realized the immense power of the spoken word. Not only were thoughts conjured from a void within me, but my purest desires fueled with emotion were put out into the world. They were spoken of over and over again, until they came to fruition 2 weeks later.

The power of the spoken word is not limited to your native tongue. Magick is attached to languages of ancient times, like Latin, Gaeilge, Gàidhlig, Egyptian, Greek, Chinese, Ainu, Inuktut, and many more through tradition, culture, and generations of ancestral knowledge. By incorporating ancient language into witchcraft practices, we connect with those who came before and call upon the wisdom of the living word in whichever circumstance we find ourselves in. They can be used in prayer, ritual, offering, spell work, ancestor work, deity work, and manifestation. Simply using the language imbued with history and memory to commune with the world around us is magick.

So even if you’re not trying to manifest a sewing machine, consider how the words you speak so passionately could affect your life. They say “be careful what you say” and “be careful what you wish for”. Little do they know just what can be spoken into being.

[lifeofpriya]

jannik when sending him memes throughout the day-"this reminded me of you" from small but comforting gestures please <3

i feel like this prompt would be so cute & funny with jannik bc hes so chronically offline 😭

PLSSSSS he's such a goofball 😭

Meme Magic

wc: 2.4k

"You're so predictable," you chuckle, scrolling through your phone as you sit in the crowded café. The screen lights up with the latest meme craze, a playful jab at the overconfident gym-goers that always make you laugh. It's a perfect match for Jannik's dry humor. You hit send without a second thought, knowing it'll brighten up his otherwise mundane training day.

Moments later, your phone buzzes with a response. It's him, Jannik. His simple text reads, "Haha, spot on," followed by a string of laughing emojis. The connection you two share is palpable, even when you're miles apart. His rare moments of downtime are often filled with your digital banter, a silent language that's become your love's secret code.

The café's aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the low murmur of conversations meld into the background as you contemplate your following meme selection. You navigate through your collection, pausing on a video of a cat playing a piano. It's ridiculous, but you know Jannik will get a kick out of it. You hit send and watch the loading icon spin, feeling a strange mix of excitement and fondness. It's these little things that keep the spark alive, even when the flame of your relationship is tested by the relentless demands of his tennis career.

Your phone buzzes again, and you eagerly grab it. "Sorry for the lag," Jannik texts, "just finished a killer workout. This was the perfect pick-me-up." His words warm you like a sip of hot chocolate on a cold day. You imagine him in the training facility, towel draped around his neck, sweat glistening on his forehead as he tries to catch his breath. The mundane scene is a stark contrast to the glamour of the courts, but it's the reality of his life, and you're proud to be a part of it.

The day passes in a blur of shared laughter and inside jokes, each meme a thread in the tapestry of your long-distance relationship. You can almost feel the weight of his exhaustion, his muscles screaming from the constant pushing of his limits. Yet, he makes time for you, for this, because it's the little things that keep you both connected.

As the afternoon sun streams through the café windows, casting a warm glow on your laptop screen, you stumble upon an old photo of you two. It's from one of the rare occasions when he wasn't training, a stolen moment at a local fair, both of you grinning ear to ear as you share a funnel cake. The sugary scent of the fried dough still lingers in your memory, making your stomach rumble. You decide to send it to him, a reminder of simpler times and the promise of more to come.

The reply is almost instant. "Miss you," he says, his words a gentle caress in the digital void. You feel a pang in your chest, a mix of happiness and longing. Despite the miles between you, the bond feels as strong as the strings on his racket. You respond with a heart emoji, knowing that words sometimes aren't enough to convey the depth of your feelings.

The café's ambiance shifts, the chatter around you growing louder as the afternoon rush hits. The barista calls out orders with the finesse of a sports announcer, the clinking of cups a symphony of caffeine-fueled productivity. Yet, your world is small, contained within the glow of your phone screen.

You scroll through the archives of your shared moments, each image more precious than the last. There's one of you two at the beach, the sea breeze playing with your hair as you both laugh at the waves.

You tap the send button and wait. The anticipation builds as the message goes through. It's like sending a message in a bottle, hoping it reaches the one person who understands its significance.

This time, his response is slower. The minutes tick by, and the café's sounds grow louder in the silence. The whir of the espresso machine, the clank of silverware, the occasional laughter of the patrons—it all seems to crescendo around you.

Finally, your phone buzzes. "Can't wait to see you soon," Jannik writes, his words bringing a smile to your lips. The beach photo had hit home, reminding him of the stolen moments of joy you two shared. It's not just the memes that keep you connected; it's the shared experiences, the quiet moments when the world outside the bubble of your relationship fades away.

The café's chatter fades into the background again as you continue to scroll through the digital scrapbook of your relationship. Each meme, each text, each photo is a breadcrumb leading back to the heart of what you have together. You realize that even though you're not physically together, your bond is stronger than ever.

Your thumb hovers over the screen, contemplating what to send next. You decide on a gif of a puppy chasing its tail, knowing it'll make him smile. The send button feels like a tiny bridge, spanning the gap between you two. You watch the message soar through the digital ether, carrying with it a piece of your heart.

The minutes stretch out like a tightly pulled rubber band, and you find yourself lost in thought, recalling the first time you met Jannik. It was at a charity event, and you were both equally uncomfortable in the sea of unfamiliar faces. Your eyes had locked on his, a silent acknowledgment of shared awkwardness. You remember the moment like it was yesterday, his shy smile and the way his eyes lit up when you laughed.

As the café's bustle crescendos, you're snapped back to reality by the vibration of your phone. "Thanks for the laughs," Jannik texts, along with a winking emoji. "They're keeping me sane during these never-ending workouts." You can't help but feel a sense of pride that you're the one bringing a smile to his face, a beacon of light in the grueling world of professional sports.

You look around the café, the faces of strangers a blur as you focus on the digital thread connecting you to your partner. The air is thick with the scent of brewing coffee and the sweetness of pastries, but your mind is with him, in the antiseptic-scented training room where he grinds through his daily routine. You wonder how he finds the strength to keep going, to push beyond his limits day after day.

Suddenly, your phone chimes with an incoming call. It's him, the name on the screen bringing a flush to your cheeks. You answer, and the sound of his voice is like a cool breeze, a sudden relief from the café's stuffiness. "Hey," he says, his tone warm and tired. "I had a break between sessions and I just had to hear your voice."

You can almost feel the weight of his training day lifting as you chat, his voice growing more animated as you recount the mundane details of your own day. The café's background noise fades away as you become lost in his world of serves and volleys, his passion for the sport evident in every word.

"So, how's the book you're reading?" he asks, his curiosity genuine despite the exhaustion seeping through the line. You're surprised he remembers, but then again, he's always had a knack for the little things. You tell him about the plot twist you never saw coming, and he listens intently, his occasional laughter echoing in your ear like music.

The call is a welcome reprieve from the solitary scroll through social media, a chance to hear his voice, to feel his presence. You can almost see his eyes light up with interest as you discuss the book's protagonist, the parallels to his own life on the tennis tour. You share a moment of silent understanding, the kind that comes from knowing someone so well that words aren't always necessary.

"I've got to get back," he says, his voice tinged with regret. "But I'll be thinking of you." Before you can respond, he's gone, leaving you with the echo of his voice and the cold metal of the phone against your cheek. You realize with a start that you've been smiling the entire time, lost in the sound of his voice.

You sigh, slipping the phone back into your pocket. The café's sounds rush back in, the symphony of coffee cups and laughter feeling a little less lonely. You decide to stay a while longer, ordering another drink to savor the lingering warmth of your conversation. The barista nods with a knowing smile, the silent witness to your daily ritual.

As you sip your drink, you can't help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. You're not just sending memes; you're providing a lifeline to a world outside the relentless grind of his training. You're the reminder of why he fights so hard, why he endures the pain and the pressure. You're his escape, his normalcy in a life that's anything but.

With a newfound energy, you resume your meme sending. This time, you choose one that perfectly encapsulates the absurdity of your situation: a cartoon character juggling flaming torches with the caption, "When you're trying to balance love and a professional tennis career." You hit send and watch the message shoot off into the digital void, a silent confession of the juggling act that is your relationship.

A few moments later, your phone lights up with his reply. "Story of my life," he says, accompanied by a crying-laughing emoji. You know he's feeling the weight of his next match, the expectations of his coaches and fans heavy on his shoulders. But in this small interaction, you've managed to alleviate it, if only for a moment.

You lean back in your chair, the cushion sighing beneath you, and consider the gravity of what you do. It's not just about the memes; it's about being there for him in the ways that matter. You're his confidant, his cheerleader, his anchor in the storm of fame and competition.

As you scroll through your feed, you come across a meme that's so Jannik it's almost eerie. It's a picture of a cat in a tuxedo, holding a tennis racket with the caption, "When you're so fancy, even your workout gear has to match." You laugh out loud, the sound echoing in the café. The barista glances over with a smile, and you wonder if they know about the world-class athlete on the other end of your screen.

You hit send, and the message zooms away. The anticipation is like waiting for the perfect serve, the moment of suspense before the point is scored. The phone buzzes again, and this time it's a photo from Jannik. It's a selfie, taken in the locker room mirror. He's wearing his training gear, but he's accessorized it with a pair of sunglasses that are definitely not regulation. The message reads, "I see your fancy cat and raise you one cool Sinner."

You laugh out loud, drawing a few curious glances from the café patrons. The sound feels good, a release of the tension that's been building as you juggle your own life with the demands of his. The meme war has become a part of your daily routine, a silent battle of wit and love that you both cherish.

You decide to up the ante. You scroll through your collection and find a masterpiece: a meme of a dog playing tennis, the ball bouncing off its nose in a perfect parody of Jannik's fierce serves. You add the caption, "When you're so good, you don't even need paws to play," and hit send. The message zips away, a digital declaration of your support and playfulness.

The response is swift. "Now that's the kind of competition I can handle," Jannik texts back with a smiley face. His sense of humor is one of the many things you adore about him. It's what keeps the two of you afloat amidst the chaos of his career and the vast ocean of your long-distance relationship.

The café's ambiance shifts again as the afternoon turns to evening. The scent of freshly baked cookies fills the air, mingling with the lingering aroma of coffee. The light outside fades to a soft orange hue, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. You're lost in your thoughts, smiling at the image of Jannik's face when he reads your latest meme.

Your phone buzzes once more. "Got to go," he says. "Big match tomorrow. Thanks for keeping me sane." His message is followed by a heart emoji, simple yet significant. You know the pressure he's under, the sleepless nights and the endless hours of training. Yet, he makes time for you, for this digital connection that somehow feels more tangible than the distance that separates you.

With a sigh, you look out the café window. The sun is setting, casting long shadows over the bustling street. The world outside seems so far away from the intimate bubble you've created with your phone. You feel a strange mix of pride and anxiety. Proud that you can be there for him, anxious for the match that looms on the horizon.

You text back, "Good luck tomorrow," followed by a string of crossed fingers and tennis ball emojis. It's your silent cheer, a digital good luck charm that you hope will reach him in the solitude of his hotel room. You know he appreciates it, even if he's too tired to respond with more than a thumbs-up.

The café's lights dim slightly, signaling the approach of closing time. You gather your things, the warmth of the laptop and the phone a stark contrast to the cool evening air that greets you outside. As you step onto the sidewalk, you catch the distant sound of a tennis ball bouncing on concrete, a reminder of the world Jannik is immersed in.

The city's pulse beats around you, a symphony of honking cars and chattering pedestrians. You miss the rhythm of his life, the predictable routine of his training days. You miss the smell of freshly cut grass and the thwack of rackets that echoed through the stadiums you'd visited together. But here you are, in this bustling urban jungle, sending him memes and sharing laughs across the vast digital divide.

As you walk home, the streetlights flicker on, casting a warm glow over the sidewalk. Your mind wanders to the upcoming match. You've seen the highlights of his games, the way his forehand slices through the air with the precision of a fighter pilot, the way his backhand sends opponents reeling. But tonight, you won't be in the stands, your voice lost in the sea of cheers. Instead, you'll be watching from your couch, phone in hand, ready to send a flood of supportive emojis and love-filled messages.

[dual-cetacean]

Choas Energie vs Prism Energy.

Heyo! I've been in a funk for some time and feeling stilted. So why not do something different and just air out some ideas and thoughts I have about Sonic Prime? I've always wanted to do a deep dive or write some fun headcanons but never found the courage to do it. After agonising about it for some time, I realised that this is Tumbr, and I have nothing to lose by posting my thoughts here.

One, I fucking love the idea of Choas Energy being the reason why Shadow cannot enter the gates except for Ghost Hill. Ghost Hill still has traces of Sonic and Shadow's old world, a graveyard with roaming phantoms spouting the same rhetoric over and over again. With nowhere to escape the grey haze, it is not surprising Shadow preferred the Void over the hollow husk of Green Hill. (And well, to make sure he was able to catch Sonic and drag him down from his adventure to face the music of his actions)

Throughout the series Choas has been something revered, ancient and mysterious. The mugful of the Sonic Universe gathers the seven mystical elements and defeats the bad guy of the game kind of shenanigans. The very idea that it works against one of the most powerful wielders of said energy is pure irony. Especially since the one who goes Super is allowed to go through these worlds.

Beyond this point, there will be spoilers for the last season of the show; please do not continue if you still have to finish it.

Sonic was the last part of Paradox Prism; of course, as long as he ran fast enough, he could break the boundaries of the world. The Prism energy negated the Choas Energy. But not without a price. Without Nine's tech, Sonic was unstable (Sonic's subtle need for Tails shines through, which is only natural as that is his little buddy! I am so glad the series emphasised Sonic's unwavering trust in Tails, which transfers to Nine. Like his best friend becoming his worst enemy is such good grub. I was fed by the tail end of the series. Pun intended)

One contender is that because of the nature of the incident, Sonic cannot control his running. It is as if he is in a constant state of stop, go, stop, go because the energy inside him keeps reliving the same action over and over again—a loop, if you will.

Or, and this is more fantasy than fact, the Prism and Phaos energy inside of Sonic were clashing with each other and making it impossible to get anywhere without zipping all over the place. Perhaps if it had gone on for too long, Sonic's body would have taken a toll from the constant stress his body is in. I mean, we did not see Sonic eat or sleep in the show (which I suppose makes sense as the show barely had time to focus on such mundane things. Nine drank a juice box, though, which good for them), so I am only guessing that Nine's invention and his determination is what kept him upright. That and time distortion, which is canon! But a detail that is easily forgotten among the more exciting things.

But more about that later, finishing my thought about Choas Energy. the last bits of Choas left are Sonic, Shadow, and the Choas Emerald Shadow accidentally dropped in the Void (it appeared back in Shadow's hand in the final after Green Hill was restored, but I wonder what that means for the Shatterverse if everything has been set back to its 'original state'). It is only natural since the Paradox Prism used Mobuis as its template to create the other worlds (and so also Sonic's pals and Doctor Eggman, Big was also splintered, so that means close proximity to the Prism was not needed to become split. What a shame we did not see any other characters from the cast Cream and Cheese or the Choatix). It would use its own energy to replace the missing Choas Energy.

After all, the shards act like emeralds in the sense that they supply endless power. However, their capabilities lay in manipulating their surroundings rather than Choas, which amplifies the power inherent to the user. (Only the Choas Council used their shard like a battery, which is unsurprisingly uncreative of them) I am not a Sonic veteran, and I am probably wrong about this, but the Choas Emeralds do not seem to react to just about anyone. Maybe it is because we only saw it interact with the important characters of the show rather than the background characters, but Prism Energy seems to be more responsive than Choas. Maybe because the changes were made so recently? Or is it in the Prism's nature to be so easily manipulated? Neither do the shards of the crystal have a master emerald to soothe them or act like an anchor. It is all quite interesting. There are so many holes in the Shatterverse. Without Sonic interfering, I am sure the whole Shattverse would have collapsed in on itself, as its nature is to be unstable. None of the characters are balanced because they are born from splinters. They become their own people eventually, but it is in their nature to be unsatisfied and seek what makes them whole.

The last fun headcanon I have is that Choas is corrosive to the worlds the Prism created. For example, when Shadow performs a chaos blast, it is a big explosion because that is the nature of a blast. What if, if he were to use it, the explosion is intensified and corodoes everything it touches? I am uncertain in which canon Shadow uses chaos abilities without the emerald (or maybe that is something Fanon came up with. ), but it could be a reason why Shadow did not use Choas Blast or Spear during the events of the show. Besides, well, there had to be an even playfield to make the story engaging. So, Shattverse gates repel Shadow because he is a walking toxic vile. With only one leak, his life force can eat up the fabric from which the worlds are created. It certainly is a fun idea to write with.

Kinda makes me wonder what would have happened if Shadow brought the Choas Emerald inside one of the worlds or Choas Controlled within its bounds. Hmm, that is a delicious idea to write for.

As for time, I have not exactly calculated how much time Sonic actually spent in the show trying to restore his world. I can't even remember if he was ever knocked unconscious, which could distort his sense of time further. But in Season One, when Sonic meets back up with them, Nine mentions that he's been gone for a while. For what was at most an hour or four for Sonic could have been days or even weeks for Nine and the rest of New Yoke. I seriously need to rewatch the show for the details, but time distortion is a big thing I've been playing with in my writing. The idea of time flowing differently in every world is fascinating to explore. And *rubbing hands together* good angst fuel.

Anywho, I`m glad I got that off my chest. Please tell me if you want to hear more of my ramblings or ideas! That's how I know people want to see more of it. Bye! ヾ(*^▽^*)

[blorbo-from-the-cosmos]

hiii i read your post on how you entered the void! congratulations! the fact that you entered after trying for 3 years🥹 I had some questions! I hope you answer🥹

Did you manifest anything?

Did you twitch while entering the void?

P.S. I’m in my 20’s as well. I’ve known about void since two years. (i’ve not been trying to tap in since 2 years though) I want to tap in because i want to revise some situations also i love how the void sounds. So calming and peaceful. I know i’m so capable of tapping and getting everything i want.

(I’ve been so close to tapping in, my head gets heavy, i feel like i’m floating. I twitch too. But then it’s all the same. These symptoms and i don’t enter, i persist though. This whole thing goes on for an hour.) Although i don’t care about the old story. I’m assuming that i enter the void instantly!

Do you remember or have any idea as to how long it took you to tap in? Just asking cause i’m curious🦋

MOST IMPORTANTLY Do you have any tips/advice or just about anything to share as i will be entering the void tonight?🥹 i can’t wait to come back and share my success story with you🥹

thank you sooo much for the ask 😭 yes 3 years later I finally did it and in retrospect it’s so much easier than I ever could have hoped, but I’m in a weird way glad that it took this long because honestly I feel like I just needed all the change that happened in the last few years of my life to really appreciate the void and understand what it is that I want and truly desire 🥹 so, to answer your questions :

I didn’t manifest anything!

I had the intention to, but once I realized I was in the void I honestly just felt such a deep sense of relief and freedom; it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I realized I didn’t want anything because just being there and knowing I made it was enough, so I decided to just enjoy the sensation. I do plan to go back into it to manifest my dream life of course, but just in that moment it felt like I really just wanted to appreciate my accomplishment over anything else 💖

Yes I did twitch and move around!

I adjusted and turned and even when I felt myself falling into the void I felt that sensation of a weird twitch/jolt through my body. I didn’t care at all tbh, like I acknowledged all these movements and even intentionally moved around but I kept my priorities on focusing on the third eye area. Eventually, when it came to that final twitch, I interestingly enough felt it from a place beyond my body. I’m not sure if that makes sense, but I felt like my consciousness acknowledged that I moved, but I was so detached from the physical reality that I felt it almost like something moved nearby me as opposed to my own body (kinda like when someone sits on your bed when you’re laying there and you feel the bed move, but it’s not your body that moving) :)

I honestly think it took less than 15 minutes max?

I can’t say for sure because of course I was kinda not really fully conscious nor was I counting the seconds, but it was definitely a process that took a good while. If I had to guess I think maybe around the 5 minute mark I was feeling symptoms, then somewhere between the 10-15 minute mark I felt that weird body twitch and then the next thing I knew I was in the void. It felt a lot shorter than that honestly, but I definitely don’t think it was anything less than 10 minutes tbh

Most Importantly!!!

First of all, I love having another person in their 20’s who can relate because same 😭 I also plan to revise my old story and honestly give myself a lot of the things and experiences I feel was deprived of my inner child, so I am so excited for you to enter the void and manifest all of your hopes and dreams 💕

I think my biggest piece of advice would be that there is no “right moment” to enter the void. Like I said in my post, the day I entered was entirely mundane and there was no special moment where I magically felt in my soul I would enter the void. I simply woke up and decided “you know what, I’m gonna enter the void tonight and that’s that.” I looked myself in the mirror in the morning and said to myself/my subconscious in the mirror that I was going to do it, and then I went about my day. I didn’t even think about it, I didn’t affirm, and I went to bed and shifted into the void!

It’s not about being in a perfect state or doing xy&z in order to make it or blah blah blah, it’s really not.

I’d compare it to completing a task, tbh, like when you wake up in the morning and go “I’m going to take out the trash because they pick it up tomorrow.” You don’t need to think about it 24/7, you might remind yourself every now and again throughout the day “oh right, gotta take out the trash,” but you don’t need to worry about taking out the trash. The trash isn’t going anywhere, and yeah it would suck if you didn’t take it out because then it’ll just sit in the garbage bin a week or however longer, but eventually it’ll be collected whether you do it today or not. You’ll take it out and sure, maybe you’ll think that you could’ve done the task sooner or made it easier on yourself, but it got done and now you can at least feel relieved that it’s no longer on your to-do list so you can focus on your other tasks instead.

So that’s my ramble! Thank you so much for your questions and I hope I answered them well enough! I’m so excited to hear your success story anon, please please please share it with me because I am genuinely so hyped up for your success <3

[astrxlfinale]

"You know, Caelus..."

For once, Cradle isn't in the process of doing anything heinous. Instead, this time around, she's sitting upside-down on a nearby chair, starring at him. Those ever-piercing red eyes scanning his features. She's gotten to learn some interesting things about him lately.

"I really can't tell if you really want me or really hate me."

Head-tilt, like somehow it'll just manifest across him.

"Which is it?"

There's a conscious pause as Cradle's curiosities drew away the silence. As always it felt as if that look of her's was studying him, or rather, maybe some innate or unknown quality well beyond him. Caelus truly had no damn clue as his mind always found the stress to be upon the mundane matters. How she wove together situations that intends to draw him to some haphazard cusp of insanity. A low click of the tongue follows before the enigmatic woman is drawn to his full attention.

Her daring question would serve as a bridge that garners his attention, prompting him to really gaze into the hidden madness tucked within this maelstrom of despair. Despair. That very word finding itself holding endless connotations, shades, and just about whatever else to truly enact whatever twisted wishes of gratification it could elicit. At least, once more, this is how the Trailblazer comes to recognize it.

"And all of a sudden that's what is catching your attention? None of the greater goal business?"

"...." It leads him into a moment of contemplation as he peers into that scarlet abyss. His mind flowing backwards to the many insufferable moments they've shared together. Days he wanted to slam her somewhere, other days kick her to the stars until she becomes one such sparkling example. Not to mention those ways were she somehow, someway gets his heart to race in some agonizing, thorny sense of excitement.

Every single sign in the goddamn world was screaming how this circumstances was no good. On the other hand? Such signals were exactly why he moved, positioning himself properly in order to grasp an instant of that elusive figure of her's. No hesitation, no further thought, he'd allow actions to supply that answer as the warmth of his lips immediately crashed upon Cradle's. It was a fit of frustration and impulsive decision making. Truthfully?

This was no different than kissing the damn void.

Yet even the state of his Stellaron could elicit some branch of warmth, existence into that Great Darkness and it'd hold a physical medium of their lips grazing heavily against the other. That fleeting moment where his unconsciously established grip upon her hair loosens, prompting him to ease back while a not so content fire burned within his eyes.

"There. Your damn answer, much as you get on my damn nerves."

@sercphs

[ghostblazewrites]

Melodies Of The Sky Intro

BASIC

genre: young adult, magical realism

status: working on 2nd draft, posting on wattpad

key themes: art, poetry, descriptive writing challenge, celestial symbolism, nature, mental health, sun & moon mythology, music, unlikely friendship, romanticizing life

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.♫⋆⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.♫⋆⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.♫⋆⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

STORY

In the heart of an unassuming town, Lavender embarks on a personal journey of self-healing, only to find herself entangled in a myth that spans centuries and generations. Everything begins with an encounter with an enigmatic boy, setting in motion a celestial narrative that may connect to them more than they thought.

CHARACTERS

Lavender (she/her)

Lavender let out a sudden laugh. She was like a princess. She felt like one. Her kingdom was this never-ending field of mayflowers, and her crown was made with her own hands.

age: 15

Kind, unique, and a daydreamer, Lavender finds beauty and joy everywhere she goes. While not having many friends, she loves being around people and she adores deep connections. She’s very creative and expresses herself with art, music, and poetry.

quick facts

INFP

bad ukelele player, but is great at piano

has a gray tabby cat named willow!

morning bird, she loves waking up to the sunrise

favourite colour is blue

Eli (he/him

"You- you have to feel it. The story. You have to play with your soul and your body and your heart and your mind. You have to love each chord." He picked up his guitar. "You have to immerse yourself in a story and forget mistakes." 

age: 15

Quiet, gentle, and compassionate, Eli is a soft-spoken individual who has a talent for music and a passion for poetic words. He is dramatic like Lavender, always looking to make metaphors and poetry from mundane situations. While he seems aloof or shy on the outside, Eli quickly gets adventurous, excited and spontaneous about the things he cares the most about.

quick facts

INFJ

obsessed with the Lakelily myth of 'Eclipse'

has a dog named Luna

loves playing electric guitar

favourite colour is green

trans boy

night owl- loves midnight walks

AESTHETIC

moodboard

FACTS

☾𖤓 i started this book in may 2023, the absolute low of my mental health- it was supposed to be a quick descriptive writing prompt exercise to get my mind off of things...and quickly became this beautiful story.

☾𖤓 music is a huge part of mots- every chapter has a lyric :D

☾𖤓 the plot is pretty vague, i'll probably go into detail about it more in another post but the mystery is why it's so fun!

☾𖤓 third person, in lavender's pov (except for the prologue)

☾𖤓 the story is set in Lakelily, Ontario (no, i'm not just making every story set in canada whattt)

LINKS

pinboard

spotify playlist

wattpad

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.♫⋆⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.♫⋆⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.♫⋆⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

hope you enjoyed, if anyone reads this lol!! i'm so happy and proud of melodies of the sky and hope to post the 2nd draft to wattpad more often. if you want to hear more, please tell me idk whether i'm shouting to the void anymore

[oflowtides]

⸻  JACOB ELORDI. HE/HIM / have you ever heard of VAMPIRE’S DIET by 3oh!3, well, it describes ARMITAGE ‘TAG’ JACKSON to a tee! the twenty six year old, and TRUST FUND BABY was spotted browsing through the stalls at portobello road market last sunday, do you know them? would you say HE is more snotty or more CAPTIVATING instead? anyway, they remind me of being able to be yourself around the right people, champagne parties on yachts, a constant air of superiority and a deep resentment of the family name, maybe you’ll bump into them soon!

time in notting hill: twenty years (went to a fancy boarding school for five years)

People say money can’t buy happiness, and while that’s true, it could at least fill the void.  Of course Tag was spoiled rotten as a child, given everything he could barely dream of, but that didn’t really make up for the fact that there were only a handful of years his actual mother took interest in him as a child.  Nannies were employed before tag turned eighteen months and after he was four - there was a short window of time where he was a cute accessory, but it wasn’t particularly long.

Tag’s father started to take an interest in his son around the time he turned ten.  The family name of Armitage was passed down to every first born male, and while mixed it up a little by changing middle names so they didn’t get into numerical territory, it still carried a heavy burden.  Luckily, Tag seemed to enjoy most of the things his father wanted to show him how to do or bond with him while doing.

The one plus side was the girl who lived a few blocks away - while he often avoided the people who weren't in his neighborhood at the behest of his parents insisting that they would all just use him for his money at status, Willow wasn't like that at all. She seemed genuinely interested in the things Tag had to say or wanted to do, and he found that whenever they spent time together was the only time he could really be himself and not the person his parents expected him to be.

This would also be an unexpected downfall - the Jackson patriarch mistook Tag’s eagerness to have any sort of parental bond as an excitement to learn, and when he was thirteen, he was shipped off to the same boarding school his father attended.  While he did learn a lot there - both in education and personal relationships - he was absolutely miserable being away from the family home, his best friend, and the house staff who he spent more time with than his own family.

Coming back to Notting Hill was like letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.  Unfortunately, he had a much more privileged attitude about him, but Tag was happy to be back home.  He often spent time out by the sea, having been gifted his own yacht when he returned and graduated with (faked) perfect grades.  He prefers to spend his time dawdling around town, completely disinterested in finding a real job, his entire life funded by his parents.

Tag, while snotty and a little ‘better than you’, is actually very sweet at heart, just a byproduct of the environment in which he was raised.  He no longer lives in the family home, having a place of his own but it is entirely funded by his parents.  He’s dismissive, but curious, so as long as you put a unique spin on something mundane, he’ll be ready to jump into it with you.

[the-hornedwitch]

Utinam Ne Illum Numquam Conspexissem

Part Four: No Good no Bad, only consequences.

AN: Again, what I write and talk about is strictly my experience, from my perspective. I know what the books say or do not say, they aren't always right. Take what I say with a grain of salt, or what resonates with you.

As I've stated in previous posts, I started noticing media, posts, and music related to Lucifer. The pagan woman in me, took notice. The girl who believed in magic and the gods got excited. So, I did that little makeshift candle ritual, and like I said prior. He showed up. What I haven't talked about, or tried to in the most convoluted way, is how He lingered.

Due to various things, such as memory and perhaps fear of being called crazy, I've held back. A great deal of it has to do with putting my experiences into words. Most of my life, my spiritual experiences were shunned or waved off. Plus, I often question my own sanity, and do not want to come off as one of those nut cases that sees signs and synchronicities in every little thing. That being said, back to Lucifer.

He lingered, I had dreams (which i've talked about before) I often felt like i was being watched, especially at work. He continued to pop up in my algorithm, friends would bring Him up in conversation, I felt compelled to put His sigil on my car. I got sucked into that silly CW turned Netflix show. I started greeting the dawn for no particular reason, other than The Baphomet Codex had said He liked early morning ritual. Fellow satanists on Instagram shared information on Him, and spoke of rituals they'd done. I was enamored. Then He said Hello and I lost my ever loving shit. Which If You've been following my previous posts, is right where I left off last time.

Yes, He said Hello. Gulp Nah, wishful thinking. Yep.

I honestly can't remember much after that, covid happened, we went into lock down, I still did my rituals, my husband and I started hating each other. It's all a blur. I felt myself slipping back into that unhealthy woman I had been years ago. Lots of arguments and rage occurred. I wanted My husband gone and far away from me. When my husband eventually left, I felt some relief and freedom, but my life became very confusing. I started having break downs. I felt awful, and I slowly started to realize, after discussing a few incidents with outside people, (My Therapist, trusted family, and friends) that I had been in a rather toxic and possibly abusive relationship. The last few years flashed across my third eye, like a PowerPoint presentation. All the red flags I had ignored, all the boundaries I let get crossed, the disrespect I let slide. All the while Lucifer sat in the background, legs propped on a desk, (He likes to present human) clicking away at slides. “You have a listing problem Sweetheart” Click “Gave you plenty of opportunities” Click “Shined My light on the subject” Click “But you don't fucking listen do you, little girl?”

He likes to make His point.

As I worked through the emotions, and consequences of my decisions. I sat in the Void and came face to face with all the parts of myself, I resented and hated. He stayed and listened. Pointed out the things I did not want to hear but did so in the most supportive and loving way. As my soul broke, He held me close. Whispered firm words of understanding and support. There came a point, however my rage surfaced, and I lashed out. Shut myself off from Him and refused to listen. My tantrum was answered with a very hard smack from the cosmic belt.

The thing about Lucifer, that I feel many overlook, or do not understand, is His capability, and talent at intervening with the material and mundane world. As other practitioners will share, our Dark Lords have offices. Lord Lucifer, being a Crowned Prince, has reign over many realms and Offices. Being both a Dark Lord, and Angelic Being, His power is immense and profound. His will is simply that, His. He will enact His will as He sees fit, and when He damn well feels like it. He does not answer to the magician or practitioner, you do not command Him. He is the one in “charge.” And there I was, a simple human, whom He had called priestess, having a five-year-old level tantrum. Because I was mad that my life was falling apart, that I wasn't getting what I wanted, as quickly as I wanted. Boo Hoo.

After one intense emotional break down, followed by a "string of this is so unfair". I was searching for a meditation track to calm down. I believe I had looked up binaural beats, which I had gotten into at the time. As I scrolled, I found something that caught my full attention. A hypnosis track, one with His name in the title. So, Click I went. The voice I was introduced to hit all the right notes. (I have an awful attraction to how men speak.) I soon found the Hypnotists page and Patreon. All geared towards various fantasy, with many BDSM themed tones, coupled with meditation tracks. It is rather delightful. I am very familiar with what hypnosis is and isn't.

After a few days, to a week of actively listening. (I binged ok) My meditations with Lucifer changed. His presence became more prominent, there were a few instances I was touched (Sensually, grabbed, and pushed). Trance became easier and easier to fall into, without the assistance of cannabis or alcohol. There were times I would be in the kitchen listening to music doing dishes, and there'd I go, straight into the ether. stuck between a strange half-awake half asleep, and He'd be there. I awoke at night from extremely erotic dreams that left me wanting. I started questioning my reality again, not sure if it was the Hypnotist or Lucifer. I panicked, was very rude to the Hypnotist for not being able to answer my questions and lost myself in the sauce of psychic awakening.

Brain fried, emotions raw and soul torn open, Lord Lucifer stood over me and patiently asked, if I was "done, and have you learned how to behave?" Our relationship continued in that manner for a while. I was pushed to the edge of the void again, and again. Made to look at all the things I hated about myself. (He truly is amazing at alchemy and transmutation.) I'd go between hypnosis and meditation, going deeper within myself as much as I could. There were a few times I lost myself and broke in ways I didn't know where possible. However, Lucifer was there every step, even when I couldn't “feel” or hear Him.

The word surrender frequented my thoughts, meditations, hypnosis, and social media algorithm. (I try not to trust the algorithm, sometimes though) I approached Lucifer during our morning conference, asking why the word continued to present itself. His answer was like everything else He ever tells me. Double meaning laced with undertones. “You're a smart girl, you'll get it”. Yes, He makes you do the work and assigns the most grueling homework at times.

I eventually figured it out and it took moving from my home in California, to Arizona. It gets better, I moved to Arizona, on a “whim” to a man's house, that I had never met, and only talked to for a few months. Crazy, I know. The thing is this man understood. He knew of Lucifer, He knew Lilith, Sammeal, Hekate, Leviathan, and the other Seventy-two Lords of Hell. In ways I had never known anyone outside of myself. We had a connection, that neither of us could really pinpoint or deny. As life on the Left Hand Path proves to me time and time again, nothing ever works out exactly as you plan. It's the nature of this reality, from chaos comes order, and vice versa. There are lessons to learn, and as I said before, Lucifer loves to make His point.

There are behaviors and choices I tend to make in regard to men. Most are not the best choices, nor the healthiest choices. And while my friend is a rather decent man, our initial concept of our "relationship" wasn't what we had anticipated. Plus, Lucifer likes to make a point, and He did so with both of us. Humbled and shock up my friend in his dreams, while making it very fucking clear, WHOM I "Belonged" to. (A story for another time perhaps)

I broke, I cursed Him, yelled at Him, said I hated Him (No you don't sweetheart) “You are the Devil, and I should have never trusted you” Screamed from my soul more than once. Much like before I was taught yet another lesson in regard to respect and gratitude. This time Asmodeus paid me a visit. Still took me time to work through my frustration and anger. Then it all just clicked, like it often does. I had been searching, yearning for something deep and meaningful. I looked for it, behind doors that lead me to heartache and pain. I went into a lifestyle looking for it, gave sacred parts of myself to men who were not worthy of it. Who couldn't comprehend what I was or offered. “Desire leads to surrender; surrender leads to power” yes i know thank you Jared Leto. I surrendered to Lord Lucifer in ways, ancient Priestess did to their Gods. In the way a submissive surrender to their Dom, “Lucifer take the wheel”. I had done this long before realizing it. In ways I hadn't noticed. Through my rituals, my words, my actions, how I honored Him in meditation, how I approached Him in conference. I instinctively gave into Him, followed, and listened (Still working on it). Gave my mind, body and soul to Him. Promised myself to Him, Devoted myself to Him. (As I type this, I continue to have the neatest little synchronicities through the music I have playing.) All the “bad” things that happened were simply the consequences of my actions, or lack of. Yet at the end of it all He was always there, to pick me up, dust me off and set me back on course. His love can come off as cruel, but Their love is beyond our human understanding.

I hid from the title of Priestess; thought I was undeserving of it. thought I was undeserving of His love, attention, and adoration. As I've sat and gone over my experiences these past five years with Him, as I allowed my thoughts and feelings flow into this writing, I've come to accept this. I may not have a church (I do have a discord) or be some high magician with a grand following. I am His Priestess; I see and Love Him for all that He is. Angel, Dark Lord, sadistic asshole, Devil, all of it. Call me crazy, call me a liar, call me delusional, I probably am. At least I accept and know where I stand now. I know who I am.

[saintetheldreda]

can we just talk about the experience of listening to lost and time and space pls like i dont have anything smart or new to offer but i swear even the completely mundane and typical experience of just listening to it makes me feel like i might pass away so can we just talk about that pls

cause it fills me with so much wonder cause its about how things begin and things transform and things grow and how you can tell yourself youre done this is hopeless youre going to stay right here and let the cosmos twirl but your heart will still pull you forward even without you touching it at all and guys that is so magical

cause i love how it fires up with those scales of notes like the music is just wandering up and down not knowing where to go and all this white noise and then the instrumental melody kicks in and its this swaying sort of sound that reminds you so much of that feeling you get when youre looking up at the stars and it hits you how confusing life is and how lost you are and that feeling is so real but we don’t get to feel it all the time cause youre always trying to be something and do something and i love how lord huron put out this song just to be like. hey lets slow down for a second and give that feeling the appreciation it deserves

there is something so truthful and honest about that state of feeling totally lost and tiny in a massive confusing universe when you get those moments where you have the humility to admit that and the the song just shines with that honesty there are so few accoustic instruments in this album cause the otherworldly electronic thing is the whole vibe and i love it cause it makes the guitar really stand out here the warmth and honesty and fondness for this lil moment of existential clarity makes it sound so prescious and rare. and it makes me feel so fucking demolished when i think about how this is the beginning of the album where he has got his heart broken and hes everything and its the most at home he ever sounds and then it finds its opposite at the end of the album with emerald star where found all that he wanted but its so sad and its like he never should have been ashamed of feeling lost in the first place that is a beautiful and true part of the human experience AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

BUT this state of lostness could never have been the whole story cause it’s beautiful but it’s also so sad and i love how the melody of this song sounds like it is totally caught between these two overwhelming impulses, this dreaminess of the sort of swaying pattern it has where you think you might just fade into the stars but also that part that goes dun dun dun like when he sings “far off place” or “pure black void” you know the part i mean?? its like. it starts off so dreamy. but there is this ambivalence in it. theres something mysterious and new that just creeps into it and it makes me feel so feral and excited and fascinated cause it captures this sense of being caught between two totally different worlds youre right on the precipice of something and i dont know why but i always get this feeling that whatever the person in this song is about to do is going to change everything, forever, its going to be one of those choices youll look back on one day and thing about how everything could have been different and thats so exhilarating and real

and its so incredible and magical to me how the melody is saying all of this while the person singing the song is talking about how hes lost in time and space and hes aimlessly drifting and all these things about how small he is and how little he matters and youre like oh my GOD youre right in the centre of something and you don’t even realise it!! and it makes me think about how any of us could be stood right at the beginning of something incredible right now and we don’t even KNOW isnt that crazy??

like. its like there are things in the song that the song doesnt even know about yet and there are parts of this person that he has no IDEA about he still thinks he’s the “stay right here and let the cosmos twirl” type wait till he hears ancient names pt ii he is capable of things so different to how he has ever imagined and that makes me want to cry cause that unpredictability and the things that catch you off guard and the magic of it all is so much of what makes life worth it

and i love how ben schneider sings it so soft and gentle like the voice just melts into the music cause its not trying to impose itself or anything. but then the melody slowly builds and gradually gets more and more layers like it is getting stronger and stronger and i fucking love it when the drums kick in guys they add so much they sound so good and the way that this song builds and grows is honestly its most endearing quality to me there is something so full of hope about that sense of progression and healing you get from it and then 

you get that “if i dont find her gonna tie that noose” where the music cuts and its just the voice asserting command over the whole music for a moment and its like hes grabbing the microphone leaning into it and looking you dead in the eyes and then the instruments come back and i am OBSESSED with this part cause our lil dude has changed so much. and he doesnt realise it!! that might be the most magical thing about this song, how it is so clear he isnt even trying to move his heart forward but something mysterious and true and outside of him is pulling it, like the singer is lost but the music has other plans - just like how the lyrics put it, you stay still but the cosmos wont stop twirling

hes still singing “don’t know who i am, don’t know where i am” and hes like. yeah im an aimless drifter most of the time, but in those times when i find something i really care about, i can and will fight for it. like ill sing it all softly and gently but when i tell you about what might happen if i don’t find her, you better fucking listen. im still an aimless drifter, buuuut maybe except for this one thing. and he thinks that isnt that big of a difference but we’re like !!! excuse me that makes all of the fucking difference? like the way he just breezes past his “if i don’t find her, gonna tie that noose” while we’re all just left reeling in the fallout of how cool that part sounds i love this so much

also i havent been relating this to the movie cause even though i loved the movie i didnt really understand it so i havent really formulated views on it however i feel like it is so funny how well this feel of the song manifests in buck how buck in the movie is like. yeah i can talk to ghosts not really a big deal and its up to us to be like ISNT IT????? yeah im gonna track down a woman who told me she doesn’t want to be with me to see if she wants to be with me (???) yeah im gonna bury this random guy in the desert (???) buck’s trademark endearing obliviousness to everything that makes him strange and wonderful is so so lost in time and space. i also feel like there is something very noir detective about this, being casually troubled, and i wonder if that is one of the influences they drew from 1960s noir for this album but i dont really know much about noir cinema to venture that point

and THEN we get to the end of the song and i love how this song ends so much cause we have had this whole song of building, of steadily growing in certainty, layering and becoming more and more definite and then it just... blurs. all of this definiteness gets overtaken by this steady stream of white noise and on some level it sounds like you are hearing his dream flood through and the noise of it take over everything, but for some reason i personally have always liked to think of it  as the moment where weve had this beautiful trajectory from hesitancy to certainty and hes finally made his decision hes ready to go he has packed his car, but he cant go until he has thought about every single reason not to go. he thinks of everything at once here, kind of like your life flashing before your eyes before drowning, thats what the white noise is. and its only once he has thought about everything that he can go, ok, im ready to let everything go

and then the white noise gently fades into this slow quiet melody, and its a little bit sad and a little lonely and so beautiful and again im not smart enough to know how to read this so im just gonna talk about the way i like to think about it and i feel like once he has let everything go, he needs to take one moment of looking back to process it and accept it. thats what makes the letting go real, you know, this moment of saying, what i am leaving behind, what i have lost, perhaps the innocence and slowness of the life before this sort of great all-consuming love he feels, that was good. and i might never find that again now. things have changed. its this sad nostalgic moment that gets played out through the melody. and the sadness was the last thing he needed to make it real

then never ever kicks in and the journey BEGINS

the transition from lost in time and space to never ever is one of my favourite movements between songs of all the music i listen to. its like having wind in your hair that sense of trajectory and momentum it gives you is like flying. i love how we go from a song of conflicted impulses in lost in time and space to a song of single-minded heart-off-a-cliff conviction. i love how never ever is the dun dun dun dun dun dun dun that sort of baseline of repeated tones and the way the singing comes at you straight and direct set against lost in time and space’s swaying up-and-down sort of melody i love it so much

everyone say thank you lord huron

[autumnalwalker]

Find the Word Tag

Thank you for the tag, @sam-glade.

My words to find are sun, people, stone, fly.

Passing the tag to @void-botanist, @skyderman, @avocado-frog, @oh-no-another-idea, and the usual open tag.

Your words shall be moon, alone, shout, & sway.

Sun: Empty Names Side Story - There Are No Dogs At The Dog Park

“Well, I know that sometimes you can see the moon during the daytime and I didn’t know if that would…” Sarah trails off in a mixture of nerves and embarrassment, “do things to me?”

Eris nods, understanding.  “Yeah, I get that.  But nah, from what I’m told as long as the sun’s up the most the moon’s gonna do to ya is make you a bit restless.  Maybe amp up your hearing and smell a little bit while making colors weird if you’re real sensitive to it.”

“From what you hear?” Sarah starts at the realization.  “You mean you’re not… not a…”

“Werewolf?” Eris finishes her question with a grin.  “You’re allowed to say it, you know.  But nah, I just show up once a month to provide a pair of opposable thumbs while you all have fun running around under the moon.  My job’s mostly to drive you all out to the middle of the Sanctuary just before sundown, help steer anyone that wanders off away from the fences, and pick you all up in the morning with a change of clothes.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume.  I just -” Sarah cuts herself off, realizing there’s no good way to end that sentence.

To her relief, Eris just laughs.  “It’s fine.  You’re not the first to make that mistake and I doubt you’ll be the last.  And honestly, it’s far from the worst thing I’ve been called.” 

People: The Archivist's Journal, Day 240

In Maiko’s case, this was the most excited I’d ever seen her.  As she was guiding us along, pointing out the past few day’s observations she was actually grinning, smirking even at times with the anticipation of revealing a great surprise.  And as I put the pieces together she even joined me in a rapid back and forth of what all this could mean.

She took it as proof that there really had been other people living here once besides the Village we all knew.  Possibly her people.  She was finally, finally on the right track.  Now she just needed to figure out where they went from here.  

She really might not be alone.

It was the look on Lin’s and Cass’s faces behind her that made me trail off mid-sentence from talk of planning future return visits and further searching for former inhabitants or, more likely, their descendants.

None of us voiced it, but once I stopped and took a few seconds to think about it, it was obvious.  The unspoken question that cast a shadow over our walk back to Iole’s hut and the evening’s dinner.  The implication that Maiko seemed oblivious to in her renewed hope.

The Village has been around forever and seems to be eternal.  But there was once another Village, and now there isn’t.

Could the same thing, whatever it was, happen again, this time to ours?

Stone: Empty Names - 3 - Dance Partners

The girl did not think about what she was doing when she called out.  Not the first time to get the couple’s attention, and not the second time to warn them of the unnatural thing coming from the water.  Nor did the ramifications on her own safety cross her mind when she picked up a stone and threw it at the creature that was coming faster now toward the couple who was too busy screaming to run.

Such thoughts came after the stone collided with the creature’s head, causing it to recoil momentarily before turning to set its sights on her.  The moment between realizing what she’d just brought upon herself and turning to flee was the first time the girl ever swore aloud.

Fly: The Archivist's Journal, Day 262

It felt good.  There’s something mundanely magical about how gravity slackens its grip on you in the water.  Well, of course that’s not what’s actually happening, but buoyancy can make it feel that way.  The closest one can typically get to flying.  And even when you’re not truly swimming, but just standing in water up to your chest or shoulders it’s easy to imagine that you’ve temporarily gained a heretofore unpossessed grace and poise, now able to balance on a single toe as you strike poses you’d be unable to hold on dry ground.  “Jumping” and delaying your “landing” simply by pulling your legs up under you.  Even the resistance of water to your movements can contribute to the feeling if you work with it instead of against it.  Make your movements even and deliberate and the enforced slowness takes on a quality between performative and meditative.

On the other hand, trying all that in the ocean with waves instead of a still body like a pool or lake rather detracts from the mystique.  Hard to be graceful when every few seconds you get pushed about and dunked with salt water.  Still, I made a sort of game of it, searching for a rhythm by which to move my body and adjust my stance to sway with the waves.  I wasn’t particularly successful and I’m sure to any outside observer I would have looked ridiculous, but I enjoyed getting lost in the moment.  That joyful focus on and union with my own body that let me forget the sorrows of the mind for a time.