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itskindofidontknow · 2 months ago

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What dreams know about love?

Chapter 16

Dream of The Endless/Morpheus x Love!OFC

Summary: The Queen of Love has grown used to the absence of her husband, the Dream King. After banning her from the Dreaming, they only saw each other when Morpheus summoned her for social or marital duties. He would go decades without calling for her, enamorated by a variety of mistresses. It broke Love's heart. Not that her husband cared. However, after being imprisioned for a century, The Dream King wants to regain his Queen's love. She doesn't believe him, not after centuries of neglect. The question is: Can dreams repair a broken heart?

Tag: Established relationship, arranged marriage, regency romance, eventual happy ending, angst, morpheus is a dick prepare to hate, love is eoster from west germanic mythology, typos are to be expected

TW: Abortion as an option, light violence between sisters

If I forgot any TW, please let me know!

The lake shimmered beneath the gentle rays of the afternoon sun, its surface dotted with the occasional ripple where a stray leaf or bird’s feather met the water. Surrounding the lake were tall trees whose branches swayed lazily, offering shade from the warmth above. The breeze was soft, warm tender even, brushing through the reeds at the water's edge. It was a typical summer day and one could easily hear the buzzing of cicadas all afternoon. It was a place designed for peace, a sanctuary of nature where the muses often congregated for lazy leisure and might enjoy each other’s company undisturbed by the chaos of gods and mortals. And yet, tension now held the air hostage.

What was meant to be an afternoon of gentle persuasion had already turned sour.

Calliope sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, her gaze fixed stubbornly on the far side of the lake, with her back turned away from her sister. The gentle overture from Polyhymnia, the eldest of the muses, to begin the conversation—one that every muse but Calliope knew to be the very purpose of this gathering—had met with quiet resistance. What began as a moment of peaceful indulgence, as Polyhymnia softly brushed her hair in that familiar sisterly manner, soon transformed into a posture of defiance, quickened by the shift in the air, her sisters encircling her as if she were some creature ensnared. Their expressions ranging from concern and frustration.

“She is a spoiled child who saw something she could not have and worked in a devious way to take it!” Calliope’s voice rang out, raw with the emotion she could no longer suppress. Her dark eyes flashed with fury, but beneath that fiery surface, tears glistened, threatening to spill. Her sisters had ambushed her, invited her under false pretenses to what she believed would be a tranquil afternoon. Instead, they had brought their judgment, their warnings, and she could no longer bear the condescending in their demeanor.

“Sister!” Polyhymnia’s tone was sharp, her face marked with the effort of maintaining composure. “Do not speak of what you do not understand.” Her dark brows knitted together, and for the first time in this conversation, her regal calm began to waver. She had promised herself, and the others, that they would approach Calliope with reason, that their words would be tempered with love and concern, the way that was always the best to talk to Calliope, the only way to make her listen. But how difficult it was when faced with such stubbornness, such blindness.

Polyhymnia’s figure, always elegant, now felt rigid. Her dark, braided hair, so carefully woven into a crown, stood in contrast to the loose, windswept strands that framed Calliope’s tear-streaked face. Both sisters, mirror images in appearance, now seemed so far apart.

“What is there to understand?” Calliope spat, turning to face the older sister, even if it felt almost unbearable. “She got what she wanted, didn’t she? She trapped him, and Desire helped her. They plotted together to force him into this—this cage of a marriage!”

At this, Polyhymnia’s lips thinned, her patience unraveling thread by thread. But before she could form a response, Erato stepped forward, her eyes burning with righteous anger. "Is that the sweet lie Oneiros has been feeding you?” Her voice, sharp as a blade, cut through the air between them. Erato’s cheeks flushed with the heat of her own frustration, the kind that only sisters can invoke in one another. Though a few years older than Calliope, she moved with the restlessness of youth, her steps quick as she paced in front of the group. “Does he truly make you believe he is some victim of love, poor and powerless in the hands of a scheming queen?”

Polyhymnia sighed, casting a glance at Erato—her warning unheeded. She had told her sister not to let her closeness with Lady Love cloud the conversation. Erato and Calliope always had friction between them, disagreeing on even the most mundane topics, and Polyhymnia was clear that Erato should not let the emotions of the heart interfere with the delicate matter at hand. But now it was too late.

Her devotion to Lady Love had always made her the first to rush to protect the queen, and judge anyone that dares to speak ill of her. It could almost be compared to the devotion of cupids, although they would not like to be compared. And it showed now in every line of Erato's body.

“He is not kind to her, Calliope. Oneiros treats her with cruelty,” Clio interjected quietly, her voice steady, calm—too calm. She emerged from the lake, her red hair dripping as she wrung it out with slow deliberation, as if the conversation was but a trivial matter.

Calliope’s breath hitched. That calm tone unnerved her more than Erato’s fire. Clio, ever the pragmatist, always seemed to know more than she let on, as she was a specialist on every subject in the universe. And Calliope always believed in her sister's wisdom, now however it sounded as over-the-top pretentiousness. The younger muse looked up at her, seeing in her sister's expression not malice, but pity. And that, she could not abide.

“And what of it?” she replied, her voice now cold, detached. “He is cruel because she deserves it. He punishes her for what she took from him. A fitting retribution for all that she has deprived him of.”

In an instant, the air seemed to still. Polyhymnia’s breath caught, and the others exchanged startled glances. Then, with a sudden, sharp movement, Polyhymnia’s hand connected with Calliope’s cheek, the slap echoing in the quiet, idyllic scene. Not even the buzzing of cicadas could be heard.

Calliope’s hand flew to her cheek, stunned. She had not expected this. Not from Polyhymnia. A deep sense of betrayal flooded her, mingling with the stinging pain of the slap. She opened her mouth to speak but found no words, only a raw, wounded silence.

Polyhymnia’s chest heaved with the effort of regaining control, her hand still trembling slightly from the force of the blow. She never raised her hand to any of her sisters, she never resorted to violence and her immediate instinct was to hug Calliope, and beg for forgiveness. A quick glance at Clio, who locked eyes with Poly, gave her the strength to keep her stance. This was bigger than Calliope’s feelings. This was for her own good. “You defend a man who punishes his wife, and for what? A fleeting love that cannot last?” Her voice softened, but the steel remained. “This affair... it must end, Calliope.”

“She deserves it,” Calliope whispered, her voice barely audible, her pride still clinging to the remnants of defiance. Her sisters exchanged glances, even Euterpe, Melpomene, Thalia, Terpsichore, Urania who let the older ones guide the conversation, sitting on the side, realized with the exhausted sigh of Poly. They were no longer listening to her as a sister, but as a threat to their way of life.

Clio stepped forward, her eyes hard. If love and gentleness didn’t resolve, maybe rationality would. “And what of us, Calliope? What do we deserve? The wrath of the Queen of Four Loves for your defiance?”

The muses all knew what that meant. Lady Love’s sisters, the Ladies of Emotion, were known throughout the realms for their beauty, gracefulness, the embodiment of every form of feeling— They were good sisters, and loving nieces to the Aunts, but they were also known for their ruthless and unforgiving nature. Each had their way of exacting revenge. Honesty and Pride were quick to act when their husbands strayed, they had a tendency for the drama, crafting the bloodiest violent scenes as lessons to their husband.

Not that it worked, as their husbands were equally kin on bloodshed, feeling more proud and enticed by their wives. It is what Lady Honesty called “games of love”. Melancholy and Happiness had more long-term provoked suffering, playing with the lovers' emotion until they themselves ended their lives. Love didn’t agree with her sisters, and they would often fight when it came to discussion. Love used to say that they should punish their husbands for the infidelity, not the affairs they search for. Her sisters always disdain her opinion, saying that she would understand when she got a husband of their own.

Eoster promised herself to her if it ever came to infidelity, she would punish her husband and hold no ill against their lover. But more than often she broke that promise, and hated Calliope and referred to her by despicable names when fighting with Morpheus. Eoster knew it would elicit a reaction from him, she would have his attention, and after she hated herself for it, to reach so low, and found herself wanting her husband to defend her honor against the gossip and awful whispers that called her frigid and unfit, as he defended Calliope’s to her. But even in her lowest moments, Aphrodite never thought to resort to her sisters’ tricks and games. The muses however couldn’t know this, they couldn’t be certain, and they couldn’t risk it. It was for Calliope's own good and survival.

“If Lady Love chooses to punish you…,” Clio said, her voice now edged with fear, “She may be softer, but do not think her heart will remain unscathed by your defiance. She may not draw blood as Pride and Honesty do, but she can withhold her blessings, and with them, the very inspiration that keeps us alive.” Calliope’s sisters feared not just for her, but for themselves. They could not afford to anger the Queen of Love, the one who controlled mortal desires, the very prayers that sustained the Muses’ power.

Polyhymnia’s eyes hardened, her voice unwavering. “The mortals pray to us because they are moved by Love, Calliope. The songs, the poems, the art—it all begins with her. And if she turns away from them, if she takes away that spark… what would become of us?”

Calliope’s heart sank. She knew the weight of those words. Without the prayers, without the devotion of mortals, the Muses would fade. And it was all tied to Love, the queen whose influence stretched farther than even they could see.

“Oneiros won’t allow her. He promised me…” Calliope began, but her words sounded hollow even to her.

“Promised you?” Clio cut her off with a cold laugh. “What good are his promises when our very existence hangs in the balance? He will protect his queen, his soul, not you. You are a passing affair. She wears the crown.”

Polyhymnia stepped forward, her voice firm but tinged with sorrow. “You must understand, Calliope. This is not just about you or your heart. This is about all of us. We cannot risk losing everything for the sake of your… infatuation.”

Tears welled in Calliope’s eyes, but this time, they were not born of anger. They were tears of realization, of betrayal. Her sisters—her family—were not standing by her out of love or concern for her well-being. They were protecting themselves, preserving their own power.

Melpomene with her melodic voice, spoke for the first time, without directly facing Calliope, her tone different from all the others, she didn’t seem like to be talking directly to them, but to an invisible audience preaching a prophecy, her voice was distant “When push comes to shove, he will have one choice only. And she is the one sitting by his side, wearing his crown. She is, and always will be, his queen.”

Calliope looked at each of them, searching for a sign that they still cared for her, that their words came from love. But all she saw was fear—fear for their power, for their survival. They used the worry for her as an excuse to veil their desire of self preservation. The bond they shared, as muses, as sisters, had been broken, replaced by cold practicality.

She stood, feeling the sting of betrayal heavier than the slap across her cheek. She had lost her sisters.

—------------------ Calliope sat at the edge of the bed, her thoughts swirling as heavily as the storm outside the window. Her fingers rested on her belly, a gentle gesture, yet one laden with uncertainty. The Three stood before her, their dark chitons contrasting sharply against her pale gown, their presence an embodiment of fate and finality.

“My child,” the Mother began, her voice both tender and admonishing, “I feel for your tears, but you were warned. You were advised against this.”

Calliope had hesitated to summon them, but the silence of her sisters and the weight of her secret had driven her to desperation. She could no longer bear the burden alone. Weeks had passed without her monthly bleeding, and as the truth of her condition settled in, fear took its place. Oneiros had to know—yet how? How could she speak of the life growing inside her when the very act of creating it was shrouded in betrayal?

She could almost see the dream she once had, seemingly a lifetime ago, before the complications. Calliope watches them from the window from the same bedroom she sat now. A child wrapped in Morpheus’s arms, eyes like the starry skies of the Dreaming, cherished by the Lord of Dreams, as Morpheus would cradle him with the same tenderness he once held for her. How Morpheus would love him, their child, his child. She knew that, just as surely as she knew the stars would continue to shine. A father of stories would fill their child’s nights with tales of the Dreaming. In another life, perhaps, it would be a perfect future. But perfection, Calliope now knew, was fragile.

“It is the last time,” said the Crone, disapproval dripping from her lips as if she had already judged Calliope’s heart. “That is what she said, the last time,” echoed the Maiden, sitting beside Calliope and placing a compassionate arm around her shoulders.

Every breath Calliope took seemed to make the room smaller, as though the air itself was pushing in on her. “Please, my mothers, what shall I do? I crave your guidance.” A blessing it should be. A blessing that belongs only in that perfect life in her dream life.

Because the moment the universe learned of this child, the whispers, and gossip would become insufferable. A scandal, which according to Oneiros, was all that Love wanted to avoid. The Lady of Love herself floated through socials with her sweet, brittle smile and gentle manners. But a child would be different. No amount of feigned ignorance or public pleasantries would quell the storm that would follow.

Calliope knew little of Eoster beyond her public mask—preaching love, displaying polite affection for her husband, always by his side, with her hand holding his arm, in a way that grated on Calliope’s nerves. She expected to see a fracture in her facade or regret, but the Lady of Springs was always composed. In private, Eoster was miserable; Calliope knew this. And yet, despite her misery, the queen had never directly harmed her. She didn’t torture her by any means. But could she trust that?

Eoster might not harm the child, but Calliope didn’t know that. What guarantees did she have, besides Morpheus' word?

And worse— She could see the future as clearly as she could feel the weight in her womb—Morpheus loving their child, yes, but unable to silence the outside judgment. He could not protect him from the scorn of entities, nor from the cruelty of his own family. What would be his place in the universe? The opinion of others might not be relevant to the Dream King, but to a child, it might shape their future.

“I see it,” Calliope whispered, her voice trembling. “I see the life we could have. The child would be so adored by his father, loved as no child could dream to be loved. But...”

Her voice faltered as the weight of the decision pressed down upon her.”My mothers, What would you have me do?” She repeat the question, craving for an answer, for an solution made by others. If she kept the child, he would be a source of joy, but also a source of endless conflict. Their son would grow up knowing he was not entirely welcome, his very existence a reminder of the broken vows of a True Marriage. Would Eoster ever allow Calliope’s child to feel love? Or would she punish him by devoiding him from the feeling? An empty shell, never satisfied, never knowing what is missing.

“It is not a question of what we would have you do,” replied the Mother, her expression softening as she seated herself beside Calliope. “It is a question of what your heart will allow.”

Calliope’s gaze fell to the small cup in the Crone’s hands. The tea was warm, fragrant, almost inviting. “Poppy for a dreamless sleep,” said the Mother. “Peony and safflower to ease your pains, and honey to sweeten the bitterness.”

She stared at the cinnamon-colored liquid, her heart pounding in her chest. How easy it would be—just a sip, and the terrible weight that had settled in her bones would lift. Maybe in a few decades she would tell him. What would he think of her then? Morpheus would forgive her, embrace her, soothe her pain, but beneath that forgiveness would always lie a wound—a wound that would never heal, because she had taken away something he would have loved beyond all measure. He would always feel betrayed, even if he never said it aloud.

The Maiden’s voice broke her thoughts. “What pains you now will not pain you any longer.”

But Calliope’s hands were already trembling. Could she live knowing that she had denied her child the life he could have had, the father who would have adored him, all because she feared entities whose whole lives revolve around gossiping and whispering lies? Could she truly carry on, lying beside him, pretending as though nothing had happened?

She looked at the tea again, the weight of her decision pressing down harder with every passing second. She imagined again her child in Morpheus’s arms, the life they could share together. But then the universe’s whispers crept in—the cruel, cutting judgments, the sarcastic jokes and mean laughs, the reminders that their love was hurting love itself.

The Mother’s voice broke through her thoughts, gentle yet firm. “A child can be a blessing.”

“And a curse,” added the Crone, her tone far less comforting. “What the Dream Lord gives to one, he denies to another.” Calliope closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She had made her choice, though the weight of it bore heavily on her heart. “I will talk to Oneiros,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

The Three exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. The Mother spoke softly. “Guard your heart, for his answer may not be what you wish it to be.”

“And yet,” the Maiden added, “perhaps it will be.”

Calliope swallowed hard, fear and hope warring within her. Whatever path she chose, it was clear: there would be no peace. Whether she kept the child or ended its life, the scars would remain forever. Yet one thing she knew—she could not bear the weight of this choice alone. Morpheus had to know, and together they would face whatever came.

But the final words from the Three echoed loudest of all, chilling her to the bone. “Remember dear Calliope, if you keep this child, it will never be entirely only your son. It belongs to the Dreaming, and tragedy follows the Dream King.”

—------------------ They had a home, the Dream King and Calliope. It wasn't a palace, like the one in the Dreaming or the one in the Garden. It was a quiet home nestled within a secluded glade, where the trees whispered ancient secrets, and the light filtered through leaves in soft, golden dapples. It was their escape from both their realities. And Calliope and Morpheus were content there, the best they could, taking the circumstances. The land around them was pastoral, untouched by time—wildflowers spilled across the meadow, and a gentle stream wound lazily through the valley. It was a place that seemed to belong more to myth than reality, where dreams and reality blurred together, a sanctuary for their love.

In the early days, the thought of ending her pregnancy had never truly surfaced in their conversation. Calliope’s worry were clouded by the unexpected emotion by her so often introspective king. Morpheus had cradled her growing belly with tender reverence, his dark eyes softened by the love he felt for the life within her. Orpheus grew in their little bubble, they had built dreams of their son, untarnished by the harshness of the universe beyond. And Calliope had been cherished, adored by the Lord of Dreams as if nothing else mattered.

But no child can be forever protected, and Orpheus grew into a fine gentleman, and gifted of music. He was enamored by life and nature, and soon, against his mother’s wishes, started to frequent socials, only from the greek pantheon, which Aphrodite was usually absent. His charisma and harmonic voice, inherited from his mother, soon made him a dear guest at any greek social. Both Calliope and Morpheus forbade him from going to any universal manifestation meeting. Until one day his eyes turned to a girl that always ran way, but in early spring, decided to stay longer than usual, to celebrate the spring solstice and the good fortune that came from mortal’s abundant harvest.

And from a young love, the promised tragedy came.

“I am going to kill her!” Calliope's voice, raw from endless weeping, cracked with a fierce determination as Morpheus appeared, his presence still and impenetrable as ever. Her face was gaunt, cheeks hollow from the toll grief had taken. She had not truly slept since Orpheus' death, haunted by the cruel fate that had befallen her son.

Morpheus stood there, watching her, his expression unchanged—a figure wrapped in shadows, the weight of the Dreaming ever present in his silence.

“My beloved, calm down,” he said, his voice low, distant. But the words felt empty to her, hollow like the chasm now carved into her heart.

“Calm down? She killed him, Morpheus!” Calliope’s fists clenched, her eyes wild with fury. “She used that girl—Eurydice! She took him from us on the day of their wedding, trapped him in darkness. Our dear boy…”she wailed, her voice thick with sorrow. “He will hate the Underworld. He loved the sun, the earth, the very breath of life. And now... now, he is lost, forever entrapped, his soul, his poor soul.” Her sobs broke free again, as though the tears would never end.

Morpheus said nothing. He simply held her, as he had done countless times before, letting the storm of her grief rage while he remained the silent center. Rain began to fall in the Dreaming, clouds swirling above, a reflection of Calliope’s inner torment. He, however, was removed from it. His thoughts drifted to the Garden, to the figure of Love, serene in her eternal role, utterly unaware of this grief. He hadn’t seen Eoster in what felt like an age. The thought of her, oddly, surfaced now, perhaps jealousy of her unremarkable week. The bond was quiet, it has been for a few thousand of years.

Calliope’s tear-streaked face turned up toward him. “Promise me you will bring her to justice. Promise me that you will make her pay.” Morpheus’ eyes darkened. “Calliope... Eoster had nothing to do with this.”

“How can you be so sure?!” Her voice broke with disbelief. “There was a mortal girl, Morpheus. He followed her because he loved her. Loved, Morpheus. Does that sound familiar to you?”

He averted his gaze, jaw tight. “I warned him. I told him not to pursue Eurydice.”

“And that is all you have to say?” Her voice trembled with rising anger. “You warned him?” She scoffed bitterly. “She despised him. She despised me. Her sisters, her aunts, her cupids, her circle of protégés—they all called him a bastard behind your back, they shunned your son. Who do you think allowed that?”

“They needed no permission to behave as they did. Eoster does not control them any more than I can control the tides of time. She would not—”

“Why are you defending her?” Calliope’s voice was raw with accusation. “Orpheus’ blood is barely cold, and you’re here defending her! Why are you not feeling this? Why are you not seeking justice for your own flesh and blood? He was your son!”

Morpheus’ voice hardened, though his expression barely shifted. “Do not mistake my restraint for indifference. I grieve our son. But I will not be ruled by madness.” “Madness?” she spat. “Is that what you call a mother’s grief?” Her breath caught as she trembled. “How can you be so... How can you not see that she is responsible for this?”

His voice was ice, unyielding. “Eoster would never harm a child. She is the queen of love, of family. She would not break her vows so easily.”

Calliope's laughter came sharp and bitter. “Easily?” She whipped a tear from the side of her eye” Wouldn’t be the first time she’s bent her ‘sacred vows’ to get what she wants.”

A brief flicker of emotion crossed Morpheus’ face—something too fleeting to grasp. He inhaled deeply, grounding himself in the calm he always maintained. “Do not speak of what you don’t understand.” It was difficult to explain the bond, how he could be certain that Eoster had nothing to do with it. How he could vouch for her innocence even after years of not seeing her. How he knew her nature even if he didn’t properly know his wife as one often does.

“No. You’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you can stand there defending her—defending the woman who has scorned us since the day of that accursed marriage, who has despised your son from the moment of his birth.”

Silence.

Something dark and cold settled in her gaze as she looked at him.”Oh, I see” Calliope let out a sharp, mirthless laugh, one that sent shivers through the cold air. “She’s pregnant, isn’t she?” Her voice dropped to a low, venomous whisper. “That’s why you don’t care. She’s carrying your heir—your legitimate heir.” Morpheus’ brow furrowed, his face set like stone. “Calliope, that is not—”

“That’s why!” she cried, interrupting him, voice rising in hysteria. “That’s why you defend her! You have a new child to look forward to, a new legacy to secure. You won’t accuse the mother of your ‘legitimate’ heir, will you?”

His voice, usually a command in the realms of dream and reality, faltered for the briefest of moments. “Do you hear yourself? I know you are in pain, but do not twist this into something it is not.”

Her eyes blazed. “When push comes to shove, you’ll have only one choice.”

“What?” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but filled with a deep, unspoken sorrow.

“You’ll choose her. The one wearing the crown. Sitting by your side.” Calliope’s voice was cold now, final.

Morpheus moved closer, trying to reach her with words, with a touch—but she recoiled.

“Get out,” she demanded, her voice barely audible.

“Calliope, please...”

“Get out!” she screamed, her face twisted in grief, in rage.

Morpheus stood there, the weight of centuries pressing down on him, but his expression remained impassive. He gave a small nod, turned, and walked away.

Even as the pocket sand wrapped him, Calliope’s heartache echoed through the emptiness, and Morpheus was left to face the terrible truth—he could not bridge the gap between them. She would always hate him, see him as the one who could not protect their child.

And somewhere in the depths of his silence, he knew she was right.

@secretdreamlandmentality @littlemoistcarrot @lokigirlszendaya @notyourwildestdream @roxytheimmortal

#the sandman #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless fanfic #morpheus x reader #morpheus x wife #morpheus x ofc #dream of the endless x reader #lord morpheus #eoster #queen of love #sandman netflix #what dreams know about love?#dream of the endless #tom sturridge #the sandman masterlist

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armoniadelalmaconangeles · 2 years ago

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Disfrutemos de la belleza de la entrada de la Primavera

Ostara o Eoster, es una divinidad celta que simboliza el renacimiento y la fertilidad por eso se la representa junto con los conejitos o liebres. Otro símbolo es el cuerno de la abundancia. Festejemos este renacimiento, tomemos la luz del sol, disfrutemos de la belleza de esta época del año y seamos fértiles en acciones y pensamiento. ¿QUÉ ES OSTARA? Festividad de la fertilidad asociada al…

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lower-haight-holler · 2 years ago

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blueishspace · 3 months ago

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I did a Sandman Au might as well do a kinda of American gods au while I am at it.

New Gods

Mumbo - New god of machinery.

Grumbot - New god of the internet.

Scar - New god of the "green" world. (Ecology, both genuine and shallow and all in between)

Cub - New god of advancement.

BigB - New god of gaslighting.

Joel - New god of content.

Joe Hills- New god of Tumblr. (Like, c'mon)

Scott - New god of media.

Old gods

Grian (Grian) - Old Clceltic sun god.

Stress (Eoster) - Old norse dawn and spring goddess.

Pearl (Luna) - Old roman moon goddess.

Lizzie (Thalassa) - Old greek ocean goddess...kept alive by thalassaphobia alone and became more monstrous in the process.

Keralis (Veles) - Old slav underworld god. Almost completely faded hanging out of spite and a few remnants still in polish/russian folklore.

Cleo (Osiris) - Old egyptian life and fertility god. Chosen because they were sliced into pieces and then sewn back together as a green zombie in the mythos which fits perfectly with them.

I'm out of ideas so...suggestions?

#trafficblr #hermitblr #traffic smp #hermitcraft #american gods

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thedevilsown · 5 years ago

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It’s that time of year when we see the Easter posts where people claim Easter was originally pagan and is named after either Ishtar or Ostara/eoster.. both of which are incorrect.

We get the name Easter from Easturmonath, April.. the month in which the Paschal season normally takes place. Bede a Christian monk in the 8th century recorded this in his History of the English Church and People. Bede said he believed Eostre was the name of a pagan goddess whose month was Easturmonath (April). Such a goddess has never been recorded or heard of before he mentioned it. It wasn’t until the 18th century that Jacob Grimm, a linguist and folklorist said that it must have been a goddess, and named her Ostara, before that Ostara was never mentioned. There are no actual recorded stories of such a goddess changing into a hare, ever.. Eoster, again was never mentioned in any pagan source or ever recorded before Bede.

I’m not a pagan, I am a witch.. I do not celebrate such a holiday, Easter is all I have even known, and it’s the holiday I celebrate, even though personally I don’t care for it... I’m not big on pastels.

Witchcraft and paganism is full of misinformation and completely fabricated folklore, it’s not easy truly understanding something that by its very nature is shadowy. While we do have many pagan faiths well documented, just like Christian we have rampant mistranslations and a lot of cherry picking, and again.. even completely fabricated things which are now passed around as facts.

Whether you’re a Christian, a pagan (neopagan), Wiccan, a witch... theistic or non.. please take the time to try and properly research such histories. Whenever you come across anything, look into it.. there’s so much you can learn. I myself learn new things everyday, find things I once thought of as fact to be completely wrong, or find validation of stories I once heard, and find roots to such histories and knowledge.

We have a wealth of information at our fingertips now, literally anything we could ever want to know we can.. use those tools, harness that power.

There is no greater gift than that of Knowledge.

Also... You can totally celebrate Ostara, it is now a thing.. I’m not saying you can’t, or shouldn’t. But understanding the facts and histories behind such I feel is important. Lots of new things are created all the time.. it doesn’t have to be old and ancient to be valid. Own the truth. Wicca isn’t old or ancient, many know that now, the witch cult hypothesis has been discredited and disproven by all scholars, historians, and anthologist on the subject. Wicca still a perfectly valid and respectable path for many. But the misinformation and lies need to be stopped, I could go on and on and on about the overwhelming misinformation out there.

So Happy Easter, Chag Pesach Sameach!, and Have A Blessed Ostara!!

#ostara #eoster #wicca #pagan #easter #witchcraft #history #paganism #traditional witchcraft

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a-s-fischer · 2 years ago

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This, and the Ishtar/Eoster/Easter discussion reminded me of something I want to talk about, and that is how Roman religious syncretism worked, and how it still works, as something baked into almost every branch of Christianity.

So Christianity has this story it tells itself about its origins and way it works that goes like this: all of the good parts of Christianity come from Jesus, who is the bestest most compassionate boy, and all the bad parts of Christianity, whatever an individual Christian might decide those bad parts are, come from Judaism. Those bad parts are the result of failing to properly follow Jesus's teaching, and to prune away bad Jewish ideas. If you've heard anyone talk about the cruel Old Testament God, or about how Jesus was like so Progressive compared to those Pharisees, these are manifestations of those ideas.

Of course none of this is true, Christianity and Judaism, while both are flawed, those flaws tend to be very different, and very very few of Christianity's flaws have their roots in Judaism. But what this does is, as you might guess, fuel antisemitism, and also what it does, is become an assumption that can easily remain in a person's bloodstream, after they have stopped being Christian, or get into their bloodstream if they've never been Christian, but had lots of contact with Christianity.

And this is how you get neo-pagans, wiccans, and even people from extant, contiguous, polytheistic cultures, who will say things like, "those ancient Israelites are responsible for Christianity's burning need to convert everybody, and destroy all other religious cultures". Or more subtly they might say that this is the fault of monotheism. The idea here is that in the halcyon days of the pagan world, nobody cared what you believed or worshiped, or was trying to force anyone else to believe or worship anything, because gods were permeable and worshiping one god did not mean that you did not worship another. This absolutely not true; conquering people's frequently tried to impose the worship of their gods over the conquered, stamp out local traditions, or co-opt the gods of the people they've conquered. The Persian Empire was pretty famous for not doing this kind of thing, in contrast to most other empires of the time, and meanwhile the Jewish people are not a universalist religion, don't care what non-Jews do as far as religion and worship, and don't seek converts.

But the idea that monotheism and the intolerance of those ancient Israelites is what caused Christianity to become the juggernaut of cultural destruction that it would eventually become, is really common, and really annoying, so it behooves us to examine where this tendency in Christianity actually came from. And the answer is the Roman Empire.

As @athingofvikings rightfully points out, Christianity shares a lot of its DNA not with Judaism, but with the Roman religious system, and at its most basic level, it's a creature of Roman syncretism. The Roman Empire really liked its syncretism. The Romans famously syncretized their gods with the Greeks so hard that we refer to it as the Greco-Roman pantheon, and the Latin and Greek names for those gods are frequently used interchangeably in the Western world. And to be fair to the Romans, Roman syncretism probably developed as a means to deal with the fact that as the Roman culture was getting its feet under it, the dominant player in the region was in fact first Classical Greek city-states, and then the Hellenistic states.

But anyway, the Roman Empire really had two ways of aproaching the religions of the newly conquered, or really any of the religions that they came into contact with. The first is the one that said, "hey, you have a cool god or goddess, who is new to us, and we want in on this, so we're going to take this god or goddess back with us and worship him in Rome now, and anyone else in the Empire who wants to worship them too totally can". This is the kind of syncretism that people who want to claim that the pre-Christian polytheistic world was a haven of religious tolerance, like to talk about. But Rome had another kind of religious syncretism that they were also big on, and this was the kind that said, hey we see that you are worshiping your god, and that god is really our god, but you're worshiping him under the wrong name, and with the wrong rituals, and if you've been worshiping him under the right rituals you wouldn't have lost to us, so now that we have conquered you, we are going to teach you better, whether you like it or not.

If that sounds familiar, yeah, we'll get there.

As long as Rome stayed in the Mediterranean and Black Sea basins, this worked out pretty well for them, because almost all the people they encountered had already either had extensive contact with the powerful Hellenistic states, or were part of a Hellenistic state, meaning that just about everybody that the Romans conquered for the early part of their empire, was to an extent, Hellenized. Which means, they were either already worshiping the Greek gods, or they had already synchronized many of their local deities with various Greek gods, so they already had practice worshiping their gods alongside Greek gods, and adding Roman names was basically Plug and Play. and it wasn't that hard to add the deified emperors, and the divine embodiment of Rome to the register of deities being venerated. This got more dicey after Romans ran out of Mediterranean and Black Sea Basin territory to conquer, but Rome still stuck to this pattern and did mostly okay.

Except there was this one people, on the Eastern Mediterranean coast, right in the Greek Hellenized stomping ground, who were absolutely not down with Roman syncretism or their state religion. This isn't a surprise, since they also weren't down for the Hellenistic version of the same process. In fact, attempts to force the worship of the Greek pantheon onto them, led to a revolution, which you might know is the Maccabean revolt, in which the Judeans kicked out the Seleucid Greeks, founded their own Hashmonian dynasty, and ruled as a non Hellenized state, firmly asserting their own religious and cultural identity as what we now call Jews.

But then, the Romans exploited a succession dispute in Judea's ruling dynasty to get all invadey, which caused the Jews to get all revolty, but sadly this did not work as well as it did against the Seleucids, and in spite of multiple revolts, Judea remained firmly conquered. But this whole experience gave the Romans time to do their whole "hey let's all get syncratic with your gods and our gods" shtick, only for the Jews to give them a resounding no, and a "how about you shove your Greek pantheon and your deified emperors right up your asses".

The Romans did not react well to that, but since the Jews had made it very clear that this was a hill they were willing to die on, and the Romans really weren't, it was a lot more trouble than it was worth to try to force the issue. But this sure as heck didn't make the Romans like the Jews, whose repeated revolts were extremely expensive, and their refusal to get on board with a Roman state religion, and insistence on maintaining their own separate religious identity, was really weird and creepy as far as the Romans were concerned and also they did this thing where they mutilated their penises.

Meanwhile, The popular cult of the Goddess Cybele, whose worship really took off in Rome, involved her priests ritually castrating themselves, which really brings home the fact that it was not actually about circumcision for the Romans.

But anyway, the Romans really did not like the fact that the Jews would not get all syncretic with them, and join the Roman State religion, and while they were putting down revolts, sacking the temple, killing this one kind of kooky preacher name Jesus, exiling us, and renaming our province after our traditional enemies, they also occasionally got all persecutey on religious grounds, about that whole refusing to worship the deified emperors thing.

Meanwhile, this little offshoot of Judaism, worshiping that kooky preacher, separated itself out from its Jewish origins, and started making its way into the Roman cultic marketplace. It had a major disadvantage, in that to be a devotee of Jesus, a prospective convert would have to foreswear worshiping all other gods. While for the most part, Romans didn't expect everyone in the Empire to worship every god who was part of the pantheon, as previously established, they really didn't like it when people foreswore worshiping the deified emperors, and participating in specific aspects of the Roman state religion that they believed insured Roman prosperity and continued military victory. Belonging to a specific cult dedicated to a specific god or group of gods, and spending most of your spiritual energy involved in worshiping as part of that cult, was all well and good, so long as you also did your bit engaging in the rituals of the Roman state religion. So periodically, the Romans also got all persecutey towards the Christians.

But unlike the Jews, the Christians were not adverse to new people picking up their god and worshiping him. While it was really difficult to convert to Judaism, and there were really stringent standards, the same was not true of Christianity, which welcomed converts, and so gathered a group of religious seekers, many of whom had previously belonged to other Roman cults, and they brought aspects of those cults into Christianity. In short, Christianity was becoming syncretic. if Christians wouldn't worship Dionysus, they would give Jesus some of his aspects. if they wouldn't worship Isis Osiris and Horus, ideas from the Isis Osirus Horus cult would get folded into the Christian holy family. If Christians couldn't worship Mithras, they would bring Mithraec elements into their cosmology. If Christians couldn't also belong to an Orphic cult, Jesus would start to take on some very Orphic aspects.

So at this point, Christianity is one Roman cult among many, and it probably would have either stayed that way, or eventually fizzled out, if it weren't for this guy named Constantine. a few years before, emperor Diocletian split the Roman empire into two, and then into two again, with each half being ruled by a senior Emperor called an Augustus, and then each Augustus having a junior Emperor called a Caesar, who ruled half of their empire. this was supposed to make it so that there was less for each Emperor to rule, and each Emperor could be more flexible, and try out new things, and then the best things could be spread to the entire empire, and also each Caesar and Augustus would be able to respond to military threats more easily, because they were four of them. But really of course what it did was make for lots of Civil Wars. But anyway, Constantine was the son of one of the Caesars, the junior emperors, and he wanted to rule the whole empire. strictly speaking, he was not entitled to become a Caesar just because his father was a Caesar, because Caesars were appointed by their Augustus, but he had an army, and he knew what to do with it. And right before his final victory over his last opponent, he made a fateful decision, to march under the sign of the Christian god.

It is unclear in retrospect how much he hedged his bets, and tried to play it so that he was marching under the sign both of the Christian god, and of Sol Invictus the unconquered sun. But either way, he at least made it so that praying to the Christian god would count as the same as participating in the traditional Roman state religion, and would eventually flat out replace the former Roman state religion with Christianity.

And once Christianity was the Roman state religion, it started acting like the Roman state religion. It had already started getting really comfortable taking on the elements of other religions, and now that the Church had institutional power, it was thrilled to go around doing that whole "we see you are worshiping the wrong way, with the wrong name for your god. we're going to teach you better at the point of a sword" thing that Roman state religion liked so much. It started looking a lot like, "you can keep venerating Brigit, but she's a saint now, not a goddess, and belongs to the whole Church", or "You can keep worshiping Isis/Cybele/Pacha Mama, but now you have to call her the Virgin Mary".

Meanwhile, the Jews were still kicking around, and the Romans, now calling themselves the Christians, went, "Hey, Jews, we made a syncretic version of your religion, will you join us now? Huh, huh, huh?" And the Jews were like, "No Roman State religion, we still don't want to date you. Also that thing you're doing, isn't Judaism, and it's really weird, and keep it far away from us." And the Christians were like, "Yeah well you're mean, and ugly and you smell bad." Seriously, those are all actual antisemitic canards, and every time I hear them, I can't help but think wow, you guys really cannot get over the fact that we wouldn't go to prom with you. But anyway, the Christians had a very measured response to this refusal by the Jews, and by measured response, I mean over a millennia and a half of brutal antisemitism. Which was a continuation of several hundred years of Roman antisemitism.

And this is why Christianity is the borg, and also (one of the reasons it's) really weird about the Jews. And when people blame the Jews for Christianity being the borg, it really feels a lot like the Romans mugged us and stole our clothes, and then ran around mugging other people while wearing our clothes, only for the victims to look at those clothes and go, "I have been mugged by the Jews," meanwhile the Jews are standing here in our underwear going, "We were mugged too! What are you talking about?"

If you're trying to unpack and heal from Christian religious trauma, a thing you really need to understand (if you don't already) is that you were probably misled about Judaism a lot. Christianity generally tries to paint itself as the self-evident successor of Judaism, and one of the ways it does this is by painting Judaism as Christianity Without Jesus.

In reality, Judaism is practiced very differently from Christianity, and Jews have a very different relationship to their Bible than Christians have to theirs. Just about everything you'll hear about Judaism from Christians is total hogwash - literally, it's Christian propaganda. Christianity as most of us know it was shaped by the Roman Empire's political agendas, and that's a huge reason why it's the way it is.

#a s fischer added #jewish

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scifrey · 5 years ago

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A @bloomgin cucumber cocktail and @andrewlloydwebber's #JesusChristSuperStar. Seems a good combination for #GoodFriday and the start of the celebration of #Eoster and the renewed fertility of #motherearth. https://www.instagram.com/p/B-0jzHcA-_f/?igshid=ga5hrkyfg0jg

#jesuschristsuperstar #goodfriday #eoster #motherearth

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itskindofidontknow · 7 months ago

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What dreams know about love?

Chapter 6

Dream of The Endless/Morpheus x Love!OFC

"Lord husband" Love made herself present as soon as she entered his bedroom. If it wasn't for the peeling wallpaper, dust and decaying state of everything, the queen wouldn't know time had actually passed since their last private encounter. Things tend to stay the same in her husband’s palace, which was almost laughable since dreams are convoluted and always changeable. She entwined her fingers against her belly, her green eyes facing her husband, a very formal demure, but then, everything between them was formal.

Morpheus was discussing with his new raven, Matthew, as she recalled. Both speaking in internal voices. She didn’t hear what was the subject and they abruptly stopped when she arrived, her husband jumped at his feet, hands regally clasped together, looking like a young Austen Hero anxious in seeing his loving lady. Love never saw her husband so promptly to receive her. "Forgive me, I was not aware you were in a private audience. I shall leave you to it. I can return another time. Matthew." She apologizes, lowering her head to Dream and acknowledging the raven, as he awkwardly made a curtsy. It would actually be a relief if Morpheus dismissed her. She could return to the Garden and call it a night. Heavens knew she needed to sleep everything off.

As she turned her back to leave, her husband's calm but demanding tone made her stop. "Stay.” A calm order. A husband shouldn’t order his wife around. One of the oldest ingredients to make a disaster of marriage. Everytime she saw mortals, when the husband started to order the wife around, she knew it wouldn’t be a happy story. And rarely, Love was wrong

The brunette queen didn’t get offended by his commands, not anymore. In early years of union, she found deeply offensive the things he would say and do to her. She would silently weep, but now they did nothing. Before she could turn and nod in agreement, he hesitantly added in a softer foreign tone “Please.” Words that Love thought her husband would never say “Matthew is already leaving." Morpheus justified, his hand indicating the door to the raven, the pair quickly shared a knowing look.

If he ever made an effort to be in her company, Eoster couldn’t remember.

But then again, he was touch-starved. Men do impressive and uncharacteristic things for women’s good graces when they want something.

" Very well." With a tired sigh, turning her heels, she made her way to the bed as the white tulle of the camisole danced behind her. Sitting at her usual spot, the edge of the bed, stretching her camisole, crossing her heels with an upright posture, distracting herself, or better, avoiding looking at his direction, running fingers through the braid’s loose curls. The familiar soft mattress and dark satin covers were nostalgic to Love, better companions than her husband ever was.

“Have a good night, your majesty” The raven said it right before the door closed behind him, Matthew knew from his human years the sad truth behind that beautiful empty solemn face of the Queen. The dutiful wife, the classic stepford smiler. Forever upholding the shambles of marriage she couldn’t leave, being blamed by a misery she didn’t provoke, haunted by the shadows of mistresses she doesn’t know, obsessive trying to understand where it all went wrong.

The raven was thankful for not having to stay with them for any longer. Tension rose through the roof as soon as the royals got together. The boss never mentioned a wife, and yeah, Dream was not exactly Mr. Open Feelings, but a little warning that a boss lady was in the picture would've been nice. Back in the throne room, he saw in her face the accustomed embarrassment when the raven didn’t recognize her by name.

Lucienne didn’t help with any explanations, repeatedly saying that it was ‘complicated’ and that ‘They absolutely shouldn’t meddle between the King and the Queen’. That he got just from seeing their early interaction. And Marvyn said something in the lines ‘Look kid, all you need to know is to treat her well, and avoid the boss after they fight.’

Matthew didn’t want to assume Dream was to blame, but things were pretty obvious. First, the lady boss mentioned affairs, which are never good. Second, earlier, when they were retrieving the dreamsand, Morpheus remembered, with an unusual urgency, that he had to go back and see his wife, like he wasn’t used to going back to her. A new habit that he wasn’t yet on track. And the third, and final strike, that confirmed that his boss fucked it up: He was being uncharacteristic caring, like he wanted to make it up for a mistake, and the queen was not buying it. The woman barely showed any expression when he asked her to stay or said ‘please’ which, knowing Dream of the Endless, was shocking.

Matthew might be a bird now, but he knew that if the boss was expecting a little fun time with the boss lady, well, he was going to be surprised by the fun I-have-a-headache time. And by the look of his queen, he might get that for a long time. That wasn't the face of a woman ready to forgive.

As for him, the raven was relieved and grateful to the Queen or he would be in literal Hell right now, retrieving the King’s helmet. They would still go, but at least not now. Maybe Matthew would have some time to fly over to Lucienne, so that she could put some sense in the king’s head before just going to Hell. A better strategy maybe.

Love would’ve remained in complete silence, until hearing the sound of unfastening belt, her usual queue to lay down, and try to find something to do with her time, while Morpheus found his pleasure. That was how they usually did it. Silence, muffled growls, dull whimpers, cleaning cloths. “ My presence might be in one of your books. I retrieve my sand amidst a final encounter of two lovers.” If Love didn’t know better, she would’ve thought her husband was trying to awkwardly make small talk. He wandered through the room, before standing in front of her. One side of Love wishes for a fight. It burned her throat, wanting to question him when he missed one of his precious little toys, but instead, she answered distantly, her lips pushed in a forced discreet smile while looking up to him “How fortunate”

Before even leaving the Garden, she knew he had visited Johanna Constatine. Due to the woman’s line of work, it made sense that he retrieved his sand from her. Her knowledge of Constantine and Dream’s encounter was not because of curiosity of the queen. She long learned to avoid pain, meant to avoid sniffing around her husband’s private encounters. Her heart felt relieved that he didn’t immediately look for comfort in another woman’s bed. A feeling Love couldn’t escape, as much as she wisely knew it would only hurt her.

Dream went to Johanna because of his sand, and he stumbled into a misfortune story between two lovers. One that had her life tormented by the occult, and the other, tormented with addiction. Poor Johanna and Rachel, doomed from the start, at the end of their tale, however, an unusual substance was what brought them together for a final reunion, and was also responsible for the second one inevitable fate: Dream sand. And in those pages, there was her husband. The responsible for giving Rachel a peaceful death, dreaming of love. A painful story, with a bittersweet ending.

He could’ve let her die a painful death, especially after abusing his precious sand. Sand that was stolen, and traded. But he graced her with a peaceful ending. If she didn’t know that the books from her library were always a raw portrait of lovers' entwined lives, Love would’ve thought they mistaken Morpheus for another anthropomorphic personification. Normally, he would let the mortal agonize in the end, a fair punishment for her sins. But this time, he showed empathy. That puzzled her more than she was willing to admit. Even worse, it made her uncertain of his unchangeable nature. Pondering that maybe, there was a small, but real hope.

Love dismissed those thoughts lightly, turning her attention back to the raven haired king, dangerously close to her, knees touching each other, both staring at each other in a silence that spoke more than words. Morpheus hesitantly touched her face, lightly caressing her cheek, she watched him as a wild animal near his predator, not able to predict what’s next. “You look beautiful” He softly whispered, lips curved in a small smile. A foreign intimacy. She shriveled at his touch, turning her face away “You don't have to woo me, to lay with me” She couldn’t stand his gaze, not when he was looking at her with such kindness, it hurted more than he could ever understand. Years after years she yearned for that kindness, for the soft touches, and he denied her. Now she felt insulted by it.

It was a laughable attempt to fix something long broken. Morpheus might reshape dreams and nightmares, create and rewrite stories, but he couldn’t erase her pain, he couldn’t pretend he made it impossible for them to be happy. He decided on a loveless marriage. Love has done everything she could and couldn't to make him happy and gained nothing but scars she did nothing to earn. The King of Dreams always had to be the miserable tortured lonely figure under the pouring rain, tricked and trapped.

“Forgive me, my lady, for misleading you” He cleared his throat steeping back, giving space to his wife, she could sense his uneasiness, some unusual red in his face, but his stoic front remained “I have no intentions in bedding you I-” Impatiently, she got up from the bed, walking to the other side of the bedroom turning to him, taking a deep breath “Lord Husband, we have been married for centuries now, in this time you only summoned me to your chambers when you wanted to bed me.” ‘And when there were no mistresses available’. She wished to say, but decided to avoid what would lead to a heated argument “That is not-" He started to defend himself, but Love was tired, she put a hand in her head trying to calm herself to not scream, sternly looking at him.

Both could feel the tension rising again, prelude to another fight " Yes, it is, husband.” Love signed hands dropping in defeat, tired of debating what is not up for debate. “I am beyond flattered by your remarks, but I am exhausted, if it pleases you, bed me, if not, I won't further bother you, and would appreciate being excused. Elijah is expecting me, I told him it would be brief." Love enterwind her hands against her front, assuming a stiff posture.

“You won’t be spending the night.” He concluded. The first time Morpheus said this to her, he briefly informed her about how their life in private would be: Separate rooms, separate beds, separate lives. This time, a hint of disappointment in his voice, as he expected that she would want to stay. Love had no idea why he thought she would like to.

Even if it wasn’t a question, Love answered. “No, I won��t. My room is probably still, in dreadful conditions”. Shattered glasses, wine stained sheets, pillow feathers everywhere. Their worst and final quarrel, it was a dreadful day and devastation followed closed by their screams at the sound of thrown glasses. “You can sleep here.” He mumbled softly and Love was certain she had imagined it. Not knowing if he was suggesting or demanding it, she tested the waters “So kind of you, husband” The grip on her fingers got tighter, her knuckles almost white in tension “But I would rather not. I would like to do your bidding and return to my realm.” If it was a demand, he would have been livid by the rejection, but it wasn't a rejection if he was merely politely suggesting, as one suggests, a friend to spend the night during a storm.

He slowly nodded "Of course.” So he was indeed suggesting. She could hear the engines in her husband’s head, as she let out a breath of relief. He wasn’t used to his cold apathetic and formal wife, and she wasn’t used to his new caring and respectful persona. Old Morpheus would’ve already been finished with her, and if they had half of the conversation they had, he would’ve humiliated her to remember her place. And Old Eoster would’ve already showered him with wet long kisses and giggles just by the spark of his attention.

“If you may, I would like to show you something.” Love looked from his face to his hand, now pointing to the door he opened. She didn't remember if her husband ever gave her so much choice in their relationship. It was frankly, overwhelming.

She wondered what would happen if she just said 'no'.

" Outside the bedroom”. He saw the obvious suspicion in her eyes “Is that your bidding?” He made a way so Love could exit first, “Yes, it is”. The woman avoidantly walked past him, still waiting for the catch.

As soon as both were in the corridor, he offered her his arm, and she politely denied it, by looking away. Once again, he surprisingly didn’t get offended by her denial. Why he was in a good mood to accept such defiance was a mystery. His realm was destroyed, his toys missing, and his wife apathetic and dismissive. No reason for being this nice. “Follow me" he walked a few steps in front of her and Love followed the dark figure of her husband, keeping a safe distance. They didn't talk much during their short walk, and Love took the time to assess the damage in the palace. There was no real destruction, but a real abandonment.

She guessed that was what happened when the monarch didn't attend the realm, probably what happened to Lord Destruction's, her brother in law's realm. The idea of abandoning her realm, her creations, the sole base of her existence was a brutal one. Sometimes the job overwhelmed her, but never enough to consider leaving it all behind to its own luck. " How are the plans to rebuild the Dreaming?" She asked, wanting to shove away those thoughts of fleeing away.

Also she was curious to know if he actually had any plans to rebuild his realm, or if he expected her to hold the solstice festival in a palace of deplorable conditions, dust all over the hallways from columns that were flaking "Why are you asking?" Love frowned at his tone "Am I not allowed to ask about it?" He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut, cursing himself very aware of the thin line between passive aggressiveness and a straight heated argument. "That is not what I meant, lady wife"

Everything between them was a prelude to a fight. Morpheus and Eoster have never been on the same page, and they never stopped to try to get there. Both in such different headspaces that they were incapable of going through one conversation without misunderstanding each other. "You did not seem interested before in my quest to find my sand, I gather you weren't interested at all" He explained, if Dream looked back, he could see Love rolling her eyes "Well, I am interested in knowing the conditions I am to hold the Solstice Festival, husband.” The spite when calling him, sent Morpheus shivers. “If your memory fails you, It is one of the most important and prestigious festivals in the Garden, my apprentices debut on it and-” He turned to her, interrupting. "Worry not. I would not want to embarrass you " Love stretched her lips mumbling a ‘That would be a first’, lowering her head in a respect that didn't match her sharp answer " No? I am honored by your gracious newfound concern with my emotional distress". Love starred in defiance, walking closely past him, staying a few steps ahead.

Both returned to the silent walk, as they walked side by side. A few minutes of walk went by, until he opened two french doors with a single pull "We are here, my lady".

Love couldn’t hold her gasp.

Her Garden. Not her realm, but her garden in the Dreaming, ‘The Queen's Gardens’ as the dreamfolk would call. She forgot about it. The beautiful blooms in shades of red, pink, white, lilac, the sweet fragrance mixed with rain-washed earth, "It's the only part of the Dreaming that remained intact." He said it, stepping aside to let her enter. Of course it didn't fade. It wasn't Dream's powers that fueled it, but Love's. It has grown wild in her absence. Untamed nature, untrimmed, tempestuous, but full, strong, with deep roots.

She could see from the corner of her eyes, her husband admiring the red roses, reaching to touch one "Be careful, husband, spurned roses, grow sharp thorns" She said while admiring the long lilac cascades of Wisterias, that formed an arc at the entering, working their way into the crooks and crannies of the naked brick walls. Hyacinths, Carnations, Daisies, Roses, Casa Blanca Lilies in vivid colors, painting the gloomy field of the Dreaming, all fully grown and abundant. She slowly walked, tumbling in some weeds that had grown between paving stones.

It always gave her a warmth visiting her gardens after a long time. That nostalgic feeling, that makes the heart fuzzy but hurts the chest thinking of the time that went by. Her long skirt dragged through the damp floor, but Love didn't mind. " It was my first gift to you, a sanctuary were you could remember your home" Love allowed herself smile, inhaling the darling aromas, sitting in the stone bench made for two, that was almost covered in bold vines "And I love it, a white canvas I could not wait to show it to you when I finished it. Those-" She pointed at the other side of the garden, where Morpheus could see the nightly blooming flowers. “Moonflowers, Evening Primroses, Jasmines, Queen of The Night, all bloom at night. It was supposed to be a sigil of our love. The intersection between my springs and your nights.”

Love stared at the small water fountain, a few steps away from her, in the center of the garden, it still worked, as the sound of falling water filled their ears. Moss had grown around its base and aquatic weeds violently invaded the bowls although some water lilies still float. “I wanted it to be a small garden where lovers could dream and find each other here. I was so proud when I finished, I thought that…” A tight knot in the base of her throat, oh the naivety! She swallowed hard. “That if you could see how much I was devoted to it, you were going to see how I would be capable of caring for you, for your kingdom." Her mind lost in memories, remembering the thrill of her heart and the disappointment soon after realizing Dream would never come. "But you never came."

" But your creations did. Your nightmares. I have no idea how they found me, but they did. I pity their souls." She remembers Gault. The first time Love saw the nightmare she was almost tiptoeing, carefully walking, afraid of touching anything, afraid of destroying its peacefulness, its beauty, but eyes sparkling seeing the garden. "Tormented ones, forever hunted by their own craft." At first, Gault didn't stay much, jumping at her feet at the first sight of the Queen. But after some visits, and Love assuring the creation she couldn't change anything in her garden (not even if she wanted to), Gault started to walk with the Queen, learning about each flower, and before you know, Gault was helping water and trim the plants. In exchange, Love would get bits of her mind, she was interested in understanding how nightmares did their jobs, and if the burden was not heavy.

The Corinthian took a while, and Love often had to pretend not to see him sneaking into her garden. She didn't want to scare him away, but was anxious to get to know another of her husband's creations, especially the one she heard was one of his most 'perfect' ones. Although she could not fathom the idea of a perfect nightmare, being horrified by the thought of its meaning.

Even suspicious, Love welcomed the nightmare into her small greenery, after all, she was his Queen. "I think that here they had some peace, a small idyllic paradise, where they could just be a part of." Love liked to think she helped ease the pain in their hearts.

To be a dream was easy, everyone loved what you did, humans were eager to be around them, to meet them. To be a nightmare was a heavy burden. Eoster was no longer smiling when other memories, their terrible confessions, the pure agony and duality in their existence, came to her. How they could not wish for more, but needed to help mortals overthrown and face their fears. "I took advantage of those poor nightmares. '' Love confessed, a single tear rolling through her cheek, as her chest felt heavy " I lure them with kindness, something so foreign to them. Easing their heavy hearts with softhearted words, listening to their afflictions to masquerade the emptiness of my days, to fill my loneliness, knowing that my hands were tied.” Morpheus stood quiet, he knew she was talking more to herself than to him. He didn’t know. His obliviousness angers him. “I've never promised anything, of course, but maybe I should've. I should've done something." The king tried to cut her, knowing that trail of thoughts wouldn’t bring anything other than distress " My Lady, I…." But she continued, as more tears roll freely staining her face " If I did it, if I had the bravery to face you, if I wasn’t fearful you would toss me aside and isolate me more than you already did, maybe they would not have been gone, maybe they would not had left me here".

The Queen stayed in silence for a few minutes. Morpheus knew she was lonely, but never would have imagined how much it affected her. Loneliness was an old friend of the king, one that he grew used to. His Queen had loneliness imposed on her. No wonders she was moping in the corners in their first years of marriage. Morpheus didn’t share any royal duty with her, he didn’t allow her to go back to the Garden, and still got irritated when she looked for a little sympathy and was not content. The realization felt heavy in his chest: He made his wife a gilded cage, a bigger one than his glass prison but still, a cage. The nightmares, who would’ve thought, were a companionship for her, the only thing she had.

"I…"

In a sudden movement, the queen got up to her feet, cleaning with the back of her hand the stained tears.”Is that all? Did I attend to your bidding? May I return to my realm?" Morpheus felt an urgency to keep her, if she could just allowed him to do better, to find the right words…" Already? Don't you wanna…" She started to walk away, walking past him almost elbowing her husband. Love was almost at the door when she turned her heels, and forgot about poise and demure. "And you didn't give this for me to have a ‘part of home', husband, you gave it because you were annoyed by my constant ‘nagging' about the Garden.”

" That is not…" Again, she cut him "I heard you speaking to Lucienne, don’t deny it." Love heard both in the throne room, she remembers Lucienne asking the king if his wife liked the gift, and he dismissively replying that liking or not, at least she would stop nagging. That made Eoster furious. At the time, she kept her poise, after all she was eavesdropping even if it wasn’t on purpose, but now, it made her beyond furious. It made her enrage.

He spoke highly of himself as she should be grateful for a piece of 'her home' in his realm. Like he was this benevolent king. To Hell with that. "I didn't need a garden, I didn't need my home. I needed my husband. I needed us. I needed to make it here, our home, together. And you couldn't be bothered by it. You were too busy showering dear Calliope with your never ending passion!"

Love swore to herself she would never bring that woman’s name again, but that was exactly what he was doing and how he spent his time. Morpheus reacted quickly rushing toward her, like she cursed all of his siblings together. He got closed to Love, threatening look in his eyes, finger in her face" Don't you bring her into this." Love raised her eyes, facing him with the same intensity, not taking a single step back, slapping his finger down "Oh, but I will. You were so unbothered, that you put a child in her. Her, not me, not your own wife." The only one that could give him a legitimate heir. The flowers wither with her words, petals falling dry, the vibrant greens fading into paling browns.`”Not even to give me something to alleviate my pain, something to love. No. And you didn't even have the decency to hide him!"

How he ruined public events for her, where she needed to endure the looks of pity, the whispers that stopped as she got close, Love having to smile through it all, like she was an airhead that could not see what was under her nose. Speaking of love, devotion, like a fool. Having to walk around parties hanging in her husband’s arms, being forever polite, kind, elegant, excusing his moodiness, not showing a single regret or insatisfaction. It cut through her like a knife. "I was in pain! Tricked by…Calliope and I were togeth-" Morpheus caught himself justifying the unjustifiable. He promised to himself that he would condemn his wrong doings, he would agree with his wife, but out of habit, he dismissed her feelings, as his were the priority. He also did not like to be put against the wall like she was doing, calling his sins out in the open. Love was never one to do such things.

"What about my pain?! My suffering? Did my lord ever think about it? " She was openly crying, fighting the tears trying to speak, avoiding the whimper in the back of her throat "I did I-" He lied, stumbling to find the words. "No, you did not. Don't humiliate yourself by underestimating me with your pitiful lies. You gave me a garden.” She said spitefully, hands loudly falling between her side giving up. “Somewhere you could shove me away without judgmental looks from your subjects or your siblings." That was the truth, one that she hid for centuries, always repeating the narrative that he gave her the garden to be close to her home. "That's not- '' Again he tried to retrieve the narrative.

Maybe she would have listened if he wasn't trying to justify instead of owning his actions. How could she forgive him, if he was still trying to play the helpless tortured victim? Love was done, she turned her back to him, "Goodnight husband" Walking away at a fast pace. Morpheus watched her leave, as he felt something tickling his hair. Reaching for it, he saw a red petal with brown marks, the velvet touch was now dry and crumbling as he looked around, he realized the garden was now dead.

@secretdreamlandmentality @littlemoistcarrot @lokigirlszendaya

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smolvenger · 2 years ago

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The vibes here are so beautiful!! And I love the references to Eostere and Midsommer!!

Dancing With The Devil || Part One

Summary: You've burned for him for centuries, but you know he sees you as nothing more than a prize to claim. Still, you play his game of teasing and innuendo, but never give in to how badly you crave him. That is until an innocent smell of a flower on Midsummer leaves you with no other choice.

Genre: Fluff, eventual smut in the next part, angst if you squint

Loki x f!reader

Word count: 4.3k

Part Two Loki Masterlist

AN: This is quickly becoming the length of a dissertation, so I'm splitting it into two parts to make it a little easier to read. This first part is the build-up and I will try my hardest to have the second part posted later this week! It doesn't follow canon but does mention Thor visiting Earth during Thor 1.

He was doing it on purpose.

For over an hour you had been strolling aimlessly through the crowds in the royal gardens, the silk fan a constant in your hand to provide even a modicum of relief from the late morning sun. Yet, a full hour later, you still hadn’t caught sight of him. You would never admit to him, of course, that your furtive glances around the grounds had been in search of him - always your eyes searched for him - but his absence weighed on you like an anchor weighs a ship. Your parting words to him at the Ēostre celebrations had been a teasing declaration that he wouldn’t survive not seeing you again until Midsummer, words you were quickly coming to regret as the minutes continued ticking on and Loki remained absent. How badly you wished it was something you didn’t even notice.

“The palace looks wonderful, doesn’t it, my lady?” Astrid’s sweet voice floated faintly to your ears over the chatter of the crowd. Ever loyal, she had followed along only half a step behind while you had wandered through the crowds, feeling decidedly like a predator that was stalking its prey.

“Hmm?” you answered, half distracted by what had looked like a familiar flash of emerald green in the distance. It wasn’t him. “Oh. Yes, it does. I doubt anyone celebrates the summer solstice as brilliantly as Her Majesty,” you replied vaguely, continuing your aimless stroll through the gardens.

In truth, you had noticed little of Frigga’s handiwork Since stepping through the palace gates your sole mission had been locating Loki. Not to run gaily through the crowd and leap into his arms, heavens no, but to pin him in the corner of your eye, to know exactly where he was as you both resumed your centuries old game of teasing, flirting and innuendo that had come to define your relationship. You wanted to continue making him want you without being able to have you.

“And the smells, my lady!” Astrid continued at your side, taking a dramatic breath in. “I hope this is what Valhalla smells like.”

You smiled fondly at the girl. New to your service, it was her first time attending the Midsummer festival and her wonderment was close to infectious. It was impossible not to follow her lead and breathe in the summer air, perfumed with a heady mixture of honeysuckle and lavender; the Queen’s favourite flowers.

“Wait until we reach the food stalls in the lower courtyard. Then you’ll really know what Valhalla smells like,” you told her, her wide excited face making you briefly pause in your search for Loki.

On any other occasion he would have sought you out by now. Like two magnets, you always managed to find your way to each other no matter how big the crowds or how solemn the occasion. Briefly, you felt a firm pang of worry in your chest. Perhaps he had grown bored? Perhaps he had found some new young thing to occupy his time? It was Loki after all.

“It is good to see you here, my lady,” a voice greeted you from behind, one so comfortingly familiar it brought an easy smile to your face.

“A pity that the same can’t be said about you,” you replied lightly, letting Thor close the distance between you both and envelop you in an embrace.

Effortlessly, he swayed you both from side to side. “The warmest heart on Asgard, yet your words cut like the ice of Jotunhein.” He said, though not without a friendly squeeze of your upper body.

Relinquishing your hold on him, you gazed kindly at Thor’s handsome face. “You know I love you dearly, even if you do disappear off-world for months without even a letter. Does our friendship mean nothing to you?” You teased him, taking his arm and allowing him to escort you through the crowds, Astrid faithfully at your heels.

Thor’s face broke into a proper grin. “You heard about that?”

A bark of laughter escaped you at how genuinely surprised he sound, as though Asgard had spoken of nothing else for the past few months. “I’m sure the entire Nine Realms heard about that!”

He shrugged carelessly. “What is a Prince without a little adventure?” he offered, his blue eyes twinkling at you.

Eagerly, you waited for more, waited for him to bring up what the entire realm was saying had happened on Midgard. Thor, though, offered you nothing more, content to simply stroll along in silence and take in the bustle of the fesitivaties around him. Soon, the manicured grass under your feet merged into ornate stone as he led you through the high archway into the lower courtyard. Behind you, you heard Astrid’s tiny gasp as she was presented with an array of food stalls spread out across the wide space.

“Mother really has outdone herself this year,” Thor spoke almost to himself, his eyes turned up to the brilliant blue sky above him. Frigga had enchanted hundreds of flower buds to float just out of reach above the crowds, making the entire courtyard feel like the inside of a kaleidoscope.

Impatiently, you clicked your tongue. “You’re really not even going to mention it?”

He turned his gaze to you, his face the picture of innocence. “Mention what?”

“What happened on Midgard? Your mortal?” you prompted him. “Did you really fall in love with a Midgardian?”

Thor’s face instantly softened, his wide grin melting to a soft smile. It told you everything you needed to know. “I did,” he answered simply.

“Aren’t they very…dull?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Thor laughed, a great booming sound that caused a few small children to look in your direction. “I once thought the same.” He admitted, slowly shaking his head. “But…not Jane. She’s clever and brave and fiery. Much like someone else I know.”

You gave his arm a small squeeze. “And the Allfather? What does he have to say about it?” You turned your gaze to study him, seeing the small lift of his eyebrows and how his smile began to falter.

“Father thinks as you would expect. He sees her as nothing more than a passing phase that I’ll soon forget about, but I’ve learned not to let his opinion define me any longer. I promised Jane I would return for her and I intend to keep that promise, no matter what Father says,” he replied, sounding more determined than in all the centuries you’d known him.

Thor had steered you both towards the grand fountain in the centre of the courtyard and, gladly, you perched on its edge, the weak spray of cool water providing welcome relief. “You always were unfailingly honourable,” you said as he sat next to you. “Do you remember when we were children and you accidentally pushed me off the rocking horse in your nursery? Your nurse thought it was Loki but you refused to let her blame him. You could have stood by and let him take the heat but you didn’t.”

He laughed fondly at the memory. “He got blamed for so much already that I couldn’t. He isn’t as indestructible as he’d like people to think he is.”

“And how is he? Loki?” you asked, trying your best not to show how even saying his name had your heart speeding up.

“His engagement was announced last week. Didn’t you hear?”

Your heart plummeted to your stomach and the colour quickly drained from your face. “What!” Your voice was too loud, but you didn’t care. Cold fear washed over you, freezing the blood in your veins. This was why he had been avoiding you all day.

Thor’s huge hand came down hard on your knee as he let out another boom of laughter. “I am teasing, my friend!’

Instantly, your whole body relaxed. “You are an ass, Thor Odinson,” you grumbled, pushing his hand off your knee to make your point.

“You have my apologies,” he said kindly. “But, unless you both admit that you care for each other, one day I may not be teasing when I tell you that. You’ve loved each other for centuries. Aren’t you tired of pretending differently?”

You gave a small “tsk” in response. “I didn’t realise we had a new god of love? When did that happen?”

“You’d be wise not to let Freyja hear you say that, even in jest,” Thor replied seriously. “And do not try and deflect from the question.”

“I’m not deflecting, only remarking upon the man who once went through women as I go through new gowns now advising me on love.”

Instantly, you regretted your choice of words. “So it is love we’re talking about you’ll admit that?” Thor pressed, smiling at you again.

“It is not,” you replied firmly, beginning to grow frustrated.

“Do not lie!” Thor said through another rich laugh. “I saw you both at the Ēostre Ball. You couldn’t stay away from each other for longer than five minutes.”

“Thor, it is a game! Nothing more,” you said, a little more sharply than intended. “A way to make a festival or feast a little more exciting. You know how Loki loves chasing things that he can’t have. It’s only a game,” you repeated.

Beside you, Thor was silent, his gaze trained on a group of women gathered around a silk stall. For a moment, you thought he would let the conversation die, but luck had never been your friend. “From where I stand it looks like you are a great deal more to my brother than just another chase,” he said plainly.

Snapping open your fan, you ignored him, focusing on the cool air hitting your burning cheeks. It would be foolish, and not to mention dangerous, to let yourself believe there was any truth to Thor’s words. “Would you mind bringing me some mead?” you asked, bringing the conversation to an end. “It’s…it’s very hot.”

Thor considered you for the briefest of seconds, but you refused to turn to him, to give him any opportunity to mention Loki again. You had already said too much. “Of course, my lady.” He patted your knee affectionately. “I will be back.”

You watched him weave easily through the crowd of people, his blonde head towering above everyone else. When you were sure he was definitely out of earshot, you turned to Astrid who had been sitting quietly by your side, looking longingly at the food stalls.

“You don’t tell my parents about what I just discussed with Thor,” you told her firmly, perhaps a little too firmly when you watched her eyes widen and jaw go slack.

She nodded quickly. “Of course not, my lady!”

Reaching into the pockets of your gown, you pulled out a small handful of gold coins, pressing them into the girl’s hands. “Here, go and buy yourself something at one of the stalls. This is a day for you to enjoy as well,” you encouraged her kindly, needing to keep her on your side.

If it were possible, her eyes grew wider. “My lady! You are too kind! Thank you!” Her face was alight with joy as she made her curtsey and hurried off.

You could only hope that you had successfully bought her silence. Much like everyone else on Asgard, your parents had their own misguided opinions on Loki. They hadn’t expressly forbidden you from consorting with him, but your mother had warned you before your very first ball at the palace all those years ago that he was more trouble than he was worth.

“There is something not quite right about him. He schemes constantly, always hungering for something. You’d do well to focus your attention elsewhere, sweet,” she had said.

By “elsewhere” you knew she had meant Thor. A silent social climber, she had set her aspirations on her eldest daughter entrapping the Crown Prince and cementing her path to becoming the next Queen of Asgard. Her aspirations for you would never come to fruition, though. In spite of their distaste for him, or perhaps because of it, you had been drawn to Loki instead of Thor. It had been Loki who had led you in your first dance that night, who had taken you for air on the balcony when the Great Hall had become too stifling, and who had grinned wickedly at you when you refused to let him kiss you.

“That’s something you’ll have to work for, my prince,” you had teased him, voice sickly sweet as you had leaned out of his reach.

“Eventually, you will give in,” he had replied confidently and, kissing the back of your hand instead, had escorted you back to the festivities.

That night had been the beginning of your game. You knew he didn’t want you, not really, he only wanted the chase, spurred on by how you always left him dangling at the very last second. His past conquests had all given themselves easily without a fight. You, though, had resisted, had played his game. It was going to be the death of you.

“You’ll give yourself a hemorrhage if you keep thinking so hard,” his voice, smooth and rich as velvet, suddenly reached your ears.

He stood to your right, towering over you and mercifully blocking out the sun's intense rays. “Something you don’t have to live in fear of then,” you replied, the dark mood that had been threatening to engulf you vanishing instantly with his appearance.

Loki narrowed his eyes playfully at you. “My brother has deserted you?” He asked, turning his gaze in the direction that Thor had set off in.

“Only for a moment. He’s gone to get some mead.” You answered, nodding vaguely in the direction of the stalls.

“He’s been sidetracked then. I passed him talking with Fandral on the way over.” He turned back to you, extending his hand. “Please allow me to make up for my oaf of a brother’s unseemly lack of manners,” he said, his eyes sparkling.

You pretended to think for the briefest of moments. “I suppose Midsummer is the appropriate time to perform acts of charity,” you teased, easily accepting his hand.

“My thoughts exactly,” he said without skipping a beat.

You made a face in response, tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow and allowing your fingers the small pleasure of caressing over his bicep through the rich material of his clothing. While holding Thor’s arm had done nothing to you, touching Loki felt electric, your fingers on his arm not being enough. You wanted to be swept up in him. You wanted him to overwhelm your every sense. You wanted him.

“That gown is enchanting, my dear,” Loki spoke softly, guiding you both in the direction of the multitude of different stalls that filled the courtyard.

Turning your head you found his gaze already on you, sweeping over you from head to toe. Vainly, you fought the heat that was beginning to rise to your cheeks. “It brings out my eyes, don’t you think?” You responded with an overenthusiastic flutter of your eyelashes.

Loki’s gaze dropped a fraction. “Amongst other things.”

Acting scandalised, you pretended to pull up the front of your gown. “Are you daring to insinuate something improper, my prince?”

Loki let out a snort of laughter, making you bite your cheek to stop from doing the same. “As though you of all people are concerned with appearing improper. Didn’t you once tell me that your first…ah…encounter happened between the Ancient Magic shelves in my mother’s library?”

Your jaw dropped at his audacity, a spluttered laugh quickly following suit. “And as though you of all people can make judgement when you were caught on two separate occasions in the stables with both the Ambassador’s daughters!’

“And weren’t you caught with one underneath the stairs in the upper courtyard during the Midwinter celebrations?” He shot back, quirking one perfect eyebrow at you.

For a second you were struck dumb, unaware that anyone, least of all Loki, had heard of that little rendezvous. “Well, at least I made sure she was comfortable and not taken like some breeding mare,” you replied haughtily. “Where have you taken your latest conquests? To the pigsty in the servants’ quarters?”

Rather than appear offended at your remarks, Loki only laughed, a deep warm sound that made your heart flutter. You wished you could always make him laugh so easily. “There haven’t been any,” he answered honestly, the barest hint of what you almost took as vulnerability glinting in his eyes.

You didn’t let it deter you, though, raising your free hand to soothingly rub his arm. “Poor thing. Have we been dealing with a little impotency lately?”

He didn’t falter. “Why don’t I take you behind one of these stalls and you can ascertain for yourself?”

You looked away, feigning interest in the passing flower displays so he wouldn’t see the smile you could no longer fight. How many times when you had been backed against a wall had you imagined it was his waist your leg was wrapped around rather than some random footman's? How many times when you were being bent over or turned around had you pictured his face as opposed to whoever was hiking your skirts up around your waist? Too many to count.

“That would be giving you what you want too easily, wouldn’t it?” you replied sweetly, gently squeezing his arm.

“Or perhaps it would be finally giving in to what you’ve wanted for so long,” he teased.

Laughter bubbled in your throat, making you throw your head back. “It’s good we’re outside, my prince. I fear the palace is becoming too small for your big head.”

“Eventually, you’ll give in,” Loki replied as he always did, but sounding a lot more confident than you would like.

You replied only with a breathy “mhmm,” humouring him while you stretched to inspect the collection of flowers displayed on the foreign plants stall, not missing the subtle clamping of his elbow to his side to prevent you from fully letting go.

With one hand you fingered the pale pink petals of one flower, sure you knew what it was, but not entirely certain. “Is this echinacea?” you asked the old lady behind the stall. She nodded her confirmation. “Can you make me a few pouches, please?”

“Are you feeling unwell?” Loki asked as the old lady bustled around preparing your pouches.

“No.” You answered, extracting your hand from his elbow to pull some more coins from your pocket. “My mother uses it in her healing remedies. It’s always beneficial to have too much than not enough.”

“Your mother knows healing magic?” he asked while you perused the other flowers on offer.

“She does. She’s been teaching me for a while. Nothing that can help with your big head, I’m afraid,” you added cheekily. Loki nudged you with his hip. “I don’t think there’s any other’s she’s in need of,” you muttered, more to yourself than Loki. “Chrysanthemum? No, she has that. Calendula? I don’t think so.”

You moved around the stall with Loki following closely behind. “Will you be attending the ball tonight?” He asked, reaching around you to inspect a vibrant blue plant.

“Of course. I have a long list of suitors to keep happy,” you replied, not giving him your attention.

You heard him sigh. “Must you always tease?”

“Must you always ask questions you already know the answer to?” You finally turned to him, bringing an orange flower to your nose.

His frown quickly became a smirk. “There’s no need to ask, then, if you’ll save your first dance for me. Adoring me as you do the answer is quite obviously yes.”

For a second you let your teasing subside, hearing in his voice the need to feel wanted no matter how hard he tried to disguise it. “You’ll always have my first dance, Loki. You know that.”

Satisfied, and with a faint pink blush colouring his cheeks, he turned back to the sea of colour of the flower stall. You followed suit, your eyes drawn suddenly to a flower that loomed larger than the rest and sat protected under a glass dome. It was vibrant red, the colour of spilled blood, and, unless your eyes were deceiving you, it was pulsing.

“I’ve definitely never seen this here before. It looks…menacing,” you said, not sure if Loki was even still listening. Your natural curiosity won out, though, and you reached out to lift the glass dome carefully from over the flower's petals.

Almost instantly, you realised why it had been there. The second the red petals came into contact with the air, the stigma released a puff of red dust to your face. “Oh!” You closed your eyes on instinct. “That’s…potent.” The smell of the dust was overwhelming and like nothing you had ever come across before. It was sickly sweet, like the smell of some of your mother’s strongest remedies, and so overpowering it almost turned your stomach.

A fit of coughing overtook you as the dust assaulted the back of your nose and throat and your eyes quickly began to tear. Almost in tandem, a raging heat swept through you, hotter than even the hottest day on Asgard, and leaving your body tingling in its wake.

And just as quickly as it had come on, it left.

You felt Loki’s hand on your back and when you opened your eyes his face was hovering in front of you, concern etched in every line. “Are you alright?” he asked, his eyes scanning your face.

You could only nod silently, too enraptured by his face so close to yours. Had his skin always looked so soft? “So soft,” you murmured, half the words lost in your throat. You had been attracted to him for centuries, but only now were you noticing the small flecks of brown in his green eyes and the faint freckle on the tip of his nose. He wasn’t just attractive. He was beautiful.

A crease formed between his brow and his hands moved to clasp your shoulders. “Are you sure you’re alright? Do you need to sit down?”

With ease, you pushed his hands from your shoulders, a tingle of electricity coursing through you at the contact with his bare skin. “I’m fine. Relax, you won’t have to dance with any broomsticks in my place tonight.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “You’re fine.”

“I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you.” You replied, retrieving the small pouches the old lady handed you and storing them in your gown. The initial brain fog that had come with the flower's release of dust had somewhat abated, but you still felt a little…off, likely from the sickening smell it had spurted over you.

Taking Loki’s arm you rejoined the crowds milling around the courtyard, noticing just how firm the muscles in his arm were and picturing them rippling under your fingertips, how they would flex as he eased into you…

“Will we be in the Great Hall tonight?” you asked quickly. Of course you would be in the Great Hall, but something had to distract you from mentally undressing him. You had so far succeeded in suppressing your want for him, knowing it would only ever end in your broken heart, but today was putting all your resolve to the test.

“Must you ask questions you already know the answer to?” He threw your earlier comment back at you, turning to face you with a smug smirk.

Lightly, you nipped his arm. “I only want to prepare myself for when you inevitably corner me on the balcony like some deranged wolf stalking its prey.”

“Much like how you prowled the gardens earlier in search of me?” He shot back, leaning closer against you as you passed a gaggle of women, the action making a shiver course through you that he, thankfully, missed.

“I was not…” you began, but quickly gave up at being unable to think of a plausible lie, or at least, one that the god of lies wouldn’t be able to see right through. “You’re insufferable,” you huffed.

Loki leaned in closer to you, his forehead almost touching your temple. “Don’t fret, my dear. It will be our secret how much you burn for me,” he murmured in your ear, causing goosebumps to erupt on your skin.

You knew he was teasing, knew he viewed you as nothing more than a prize he would one day claim, but his words, coupled with his enticing proximity, had a faint stirring start between your legs. The resolve you had steadily built up over the many centuries was somehow falling apart brick by brick and you were heading down a dangerous road that would only end in anguish. If you gave in, if you allowed Loki to claim you as his prize, he would only toss you aside once he had his fill. He had been such a constant in your life, a source of so much genuine happiness, you weren’t ready to let that go.

Before you could offer any opposition, or even tease him again about his ever growing ego, one of Frigga’s many messengers was striding towards you both. “Your Highness.” He bowed to Loki. “The Queen requires your presence in the upper courtyard.”

Loki glanced to you, as though seeking your permission to obey his mother’s summons. “I will find you later. Yes?”

“I’ll likely be with one of my many other suitors, but I’ll try to clear a space for you.” You said, giving him a teasing smile.

“I’m sure you’ll find some time for me.” He replied with a mischievous wink, taking your hand and pressing it to his lips. The faintest of whimpers spilled from you at the feel of his warm mouth on your skin, making a smile twitch on his face. “Enjoy the festivities, my dear.” He said mischievously, giving you a small bow.

You watched him disappear into the crowds after Frigga’s messenger, idly rubbing your fingers over the spot on your hand he had just kissed, and feeling a fire begin to flicker inside you.

Tags: @cake-writes @sineads-art @mochie85 @gloriuspurposee @christineblood

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