#EXACTLY!!! LET HER HAVE DOVES IT'S WHAT SHE DESERVES!!!!

[nerdygirlramblings]

Off to See the Wizard (10)

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Giving an update on the mission is both easier and harder than you anticipated when you told the team you were willing to try being theirs. Before last night, you knew these were life or death situations they were getting into, but now, you can't bring yourself to meet John's eyes as you detail how dangerous the landscape they'll be dropped into in three days is.

"So until someone is able to find and take down whatever is cloaking the satellite signal, I have to send you in blind and-" Kyle reaches to where you have a hand braced on the table to steady your nerves. His warm hand on yours draws your attention.

"Doll, we've done this blind before. You were on the other end then and got us all out safe. We know you'll do it again," he says gently. Across the table, Simon grunts his assent.

You take a deep breath and look at the your men. Each one meets your eyes. No one shows fear. No one looks worried. Meanwhile, beads of sweat keep rolling down your back. "I just...I mean, how..." The air rushes out in a huff. "Is it always like this? This fear?"

John's chuckle rumbles in his chest. "The fear never goes away, dove. It's a little easier when we're all tapped because we know we're together, no matter what happens. But when Laswell sends one of us on a solo mission, it's hard." His smile softens as he looks at you. "And even though we're all together now, knowing we're leaving you behind it's going to make this hard. But it also gives us every reason to come back home. To be with you the way we want to. The way you deserve."

After lunch is another call with Laswell, this time to solidify decisions for dropping the boys into their mission. She carefully pokes at the information you shared the day before, but you don't give her any ground. While you don't normally shy away from sharing your love life with her, there's something different about this. You know that this mission and its outcome will change things. You're not sure how you feel about all of that just yet.

What you do speak with her about however is another way to keep track of the boys while they're radio silent. You know her team has been coming up with some new tech, and you prod her about the ability of one thing in particular. As you start digging, she understands exactly what you intend.

"I can have four in your hands in twenty-four hours, but you've got to be the one to convince the boys to use them."

Normally, you'd worry more about how to do that, as hard-headed as your men are. But you are absolutely not above a little emotional manipulation, and if this tech can do what you think, it's another way you can help keep them safe.

The barracks feel as tense as they did the night you found out all the boys were together. It's nothing to do with a secret this time, just the impending op. You still need to get them to agree to Laswell's tech, so you suggest an outing off base.

"I'm sure none of you are thrilled with the idea of nothing but MREs for the foreseeable future, and while the mess is great, I like a little variety too. Let's say we head into town and you show me some of your favorite spots?" You hold your breath and watch the silent conversation between your boys. "You could consider it our first real date," you say coyly, "something for all of us to keep close while you're on the mission." You know you're manipulating them but silently pray they agree.

Soap frowns slightly, there's small furrow between Simon's brows, and Kyle sits stiffly. It's clear they're not thrilled with the idea of going off base, and you remember how protective they were at the pub, but your ask was so innocent, you know they're going to struggle saying no. John clears his throat, looking between you, plea clear in your eyes, and the rest of his men. He's their captain, so it'll be up to him in the end.

When he huffs out a breath, you know you've won. Simon cuts his eyes to you and you smile sweetly, keeping any vindication from it. You really are excited about the idea of spending some quality time with these men now that you are all on the same page about what you want. You don't let yourself think about how this might be one of the only times it happens.

You spend the drive to town again wedged in the middle of the back seat between the two sergeants, but because of last night's decision, tonight each man has a heavy hand on one of your knees. The difference in their personalities is clear in the way Kyle rubs gentle circles into the side of your knee with his thumb while Soap slowly slides his hand as far up your inner thigh as you let him. Before his wandering digits get too far, the car stops and the engine cuts off.

Kyle slides out and John leans in and offers you a hand. He tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow as he takes off down the main street he'd pointed out last time. He steers you past the pub with the leering barman and to the open storefront of a little restaurant off a side street. Had he not brought you over, you'd never notice the place. The walls are cream and images of deserts and mountains in white frames line the walls. There's Arabic script painted on the wall below 'Kashmiri Sindabaat,' which seems to be the name of the place.

There doesn't seem to be an employee about, and there's no one at any of the tables. You pause for a moment on the threshold despite the shop's entire front being open and spilling onto the sidewalk. John gently tugs your arm, and you trail after him, looking over to see Simon at a table in the back left, facing out at the road. There's no corner booth here, and the boys didn't take the table against the wall, so Simon's facing any incoming threat, and the open seat next to him is probably for John. Soap and Kyle are already seated across from him. You watch the silent conversation they have about where to put your chair, eventually putting it next to the other empty seat on Simon's side.

Once everyone's finally seated, an employee materializes out of the door behind you, genuine smile on her face. She's an older woman, threads of silver winding through the dark expanse of the braid that drapes over her shoulder.

"My boys! You're back!" she cries. Clearly they're regulars here just like the pub. John smiles back and Soap winks. Simon tips his head with a, "Hullo, Miz Miriam."

Kyle looks up at her and introduces you. "Oz, this is Miss Miriam. She and 'er daughter run this place. Best Pakistani food outside of Kashmir, right, Miss Miriam?"

The woman blushes and motions at him to stop. She reaches her hand down, saying, "Pleasure to meet you, Oss."

John picks up where Kyle left off, telling the woman, "Oz's just transferred to base. We've been showing 'er where to go if she needs anything, an' when she said she was tired of the mess, we couldn't think a' a better place to bring here than here."

You let the others order for you and the table, and when Miriam ducks into the back, you sit for a moment, letting the warmth of the boys' conversation flow over you. When you feel a bump from your left, you look over at Simon. "Look like yer a million miles away," he says. Glancing around, it's clear the others have noticed your distraction too.

A breath to steady your nerves helps you start. "I spoke to Laswell this afternoon. I was, am, worried about you dropping in blind and having no way to reach you until you're able to find and disable whatever is preventing satellite signals and GPS."

"We told ya, doll, we've done it before," Kyle says, smiling.

You wave his comment away. "I know, I know, but being here instead of in D.C., being with you, makes it feel more dangerous than before," you tell them. "And I hate that." Your lips twist in a frown you try to smooth out quickly. "So I spoke to Laswell and had an idea."

The look John cuts at you feels knowing. His fingers start gently tapping the table. "And what is this idea you had to butter us up to tell us?"

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks at being caught. There was no use beating around the bush now. "Her team has developed wearable RFID trackers, and she's overnighting a set."

"Wot?" Simon asked, and Soap jumped in with, "Like a dog, lass? Ye think so highly of us." His crossed arms and sharp tone conveyed his frustration.

Kyle looks confused, and John has stilled beside you. "Wearable?" Kyle asks. "How so?"

Whether he intended it as an opening for you or not, you seize it. "It's sort of like what Soap said. A little. You can microchip a pet in case it gets lost, but you it only works if the pet is scanned by a chip reader. You can't open an app and find Fido if he's roaming the neighborhood."

"But ya can with an Air Tag," Kyle says leaning forward.

"Yes, exactly," you respond. "But those are bulky." You lean forward and drop your voice. You don't need someone overhearing this, even though it isn't actually classified. "Somehow, Laswell's team got Air Tag tech into something less than a millimeter thick. It goes on a pulse point - your body acts as its power source - and can be hidden under prosthetic skin."

Soap's put his elbows on the table as you talk, and there's excitement in his eyes when he asks, "Like special effects stuff in films?"

You can't help but smile. "Exactly like that," you tell him. "It'd go on before you leave and so long as there are any radio towers in the vicinity, which even black sites have, your location would report to me."

When you lean back, you feel a strong arm behind you. You know it's John because the hand on your shoulder canters you towards him. He brushes a quick kiss against your temple and murmurs, "Clever girl."

Miriam appears a moment later with a woman who looks to be a younger copy of her. Both women are carrying several dishes, which they put in the center of the table. John looks at you and says, "We'll continue talking about this when we get back to base, yeah?"

It's not a ringing endorsement, but he's not shooting the idea down either. You dig into your meal with hope your idea can keep them safe. So long as they agree to it.

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[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 20 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)

Chapter Trigger Warnings: Angst, feels, abuse, Dead Dove: housework (ugh, housework!)

Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi

Alastor drove through the dirty streets, rain puddles splashing under his tires as the towering iron gates grew closer by the second. It had been a while since he had been out here. Too long, really, but she would understand. Life got busy. Life moved on. Still, it was on days like this that he couldn’t help but think of her. 

She had always loved days like this, heavy dark skies that gave way to pockets of sunshine, the scent of rain thick in the air. She loved the sound of rain and water dripping off the roof after as the world shimmered in the patches of sunlight. She loved the mist it left behind. 

Alastor parked, stepping out of the car into the abandoned lot. Weather like this kept what few visitors there may have been away, but that was alright. He preferred to visit in solitude. It was only when the area was empty he could really connect with her. Alastor straightened his coat before slowly walking through the once neatly manicured paths. Weeds and grass had overgrown in places, encroaching on crumbling stone pathways, but it wasn’t unexpected. 

Time marched on, after all, and left these residents where they lay. 

He hummed her favorite song as he walked down the winding path, listening to the click of his shoes against the stone walkways. There was no reason to look around or ask for directions. He knew exactly where he was going. Alastor paid the other residents no mind as he made his way to his destination.

He slowed to a stop in front of her and knelt, brushing the dirt and leaves from where she lay with gentle hands. 

“Hello, Ma.” Alastor whispered, voice naked as he slipped his coat off, spreading it along the ground. “It’s been a while. How have you been?” 

Alastor waited for the answer that would never come as he sat with his back leaning against the raised surface of her tomb. Birds chirped in the trees, singing their song to celebrate the end of the rain, greeting the bright patches of sunlight. 

This plot had cost him a small fortune when he purchased it and the tomb she rested in now, but it had been worth every penny. It had nearly bankrupt him, but it was worth it. It was worth it because she deserved it. 

She would have yelled at him at the time, if she could have. She would have pulled his ear and waved her finger in his face as if he wasn’t a head taller than her. Him growing into a man never stopped her from mothering him. It all worked out, in the end though.

“I’ve been good,” Alastor said as he leaned against the cold stone, water seeping into his shirt. “I got that evening time slot. Can you believe it? Everyone but you said I never would, but it happened. People want to hear me, Ma. They want to listen to me, enough of them that I’m making it.” 

He waited again, eyes on the clouds floating high above as he imagined her praise and the look of pride on her face. Just one barrier between him and her he could never cross. 

Could she see him now? 

How much did she know, now that she was up there? 

He hoped she couldn’t see him when he wasn’t visiting her, that she couldn’t hear him. It was better if she knew and saw what he had told her. Let her have hope for as long as he lived. Let her hope he would join her up there. 

“Ma?” He whispered, voice thick with emotion and accent, sounding so much like the boy he had once been. “Remember when you said I’d find someone?” 

Alastor’s head thumped against the cold hard stone as light rain softly sprinkled down, clouds choking off the rays of sunlight once again. It was a mistake to leave the umbrella in the car, but he couldn’t be bothered to get up and walk all the way back to get it. Hopefully, the rain would stay light. If it didn’t, oh well. 

“I laughed at you for saying it.” Alastor’s accent was as thick as his voice as he spoke, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed the lump he swore was in his throat. Anyone walking by wouldn’t recognize it as the same chipper smoothe voice that graced the airwaves five nights a week. “Turns out you were right. There really is someone for everyone. I found her, Ma. I found her.” 

The rain picked up, drops gathering on his glasses. Alastor pulled them from his face and tucked them into the jacket pocket, reminding himself to be mindful of them lest be break them. Cold rain peppered his face as he leaned his head back again, letting his eyes take in the unfocused mounds of the clouds. 

“I think you’d like her. She’s kind, Ma. She sees me and dosen’t care. She’s so warm and open. Her laugh is like music, better than that jazz you could never understand why I loved so much.”

Alastor closed his eyes as the rain grew steadier. Drops rolled down his cheek and temple as he let them was away the day. His chest felt tight. It was a tightness he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Ma, she’s married already. Big fancy house, but she’s not happy. He’s running around on her. You can forgive me for…” He hesitated. There was no one around to hear him say it. Saying it wouldn’t change anything. Not saying it wouldn’t make it any less real, either. “You can forgive me for falling in love with a married woman?”

Water ran down his face as he closed his eyes. His chest was so tight and his head swam. Rain soaked into his shirt and pants, a cooling contrast to the fire in his stomach that he didn’t know what to do with. 

“She’s not happy,” he whispered. “He hurts her like Pa used to hurt you and I- I’m not sure how to fix it. What do I do, Ma?” 

Alastor waited again for an answer that would never come, listening to the gust of wind that picked up, whistling through the tombs and headstones. Rain splashed off the top of the tomb behind him. 

“Tell me what to do, Ma,” he pleaded into the silent cemetery. He waited for an answer he knew would never come. Never again would his ma stand over him and tell him what to do. All there ever would be to answer him was the echo of her voice in his head, the ghostly memory of her words. 

“You’re right,” he said after a while, “I should introduce you.” Alastor stood, folding his coat over his arm as he stepped back onto the path. Looking back over his shoulder at the tomb, he smiled. “I love you, Ma.” 

Your ears rang loudly in your ears as your head smacked against the faucet, pain cutting through the fog. It radiated through your back as you lay crumpled in the bathtub, blindly looking up at the man you married as blood trickled down the back of your neck. 

Laurence’s face was red as he screamed at you. The words themselves floated away from you, lost, stolen away by the ringing in your head. Everything was both far too loud and not nearly loud enough for you to hear it clearly. 

He’d been so easy to live with the last few weeks. What set him off today? Swimming through the fog, you tried to remember. Eyes rolled in their sockets, struggling to focus as your head lulled to the side. 

Your eyes landed on the splatter on the mirror. Only a few drops, but a few days old. 

Oh, that’s right. You had fallen behind on your housekeeping. 

“I’m sorry.” You didn’t hear the words as you spoke them, but you tasted the blood on your lips as they formed them. “I’ll do better.” 

“Fucking right you will.” Those words reached your ears as he wiped the blood off his hand onto a white towel. You hoped it wouldn’t stain. If it did, he would beat you for that, too. 

“I’ll do better. Please, Laurence, don’t hurt me anymore.” 

He grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the tub, not caring for how your legs banged against the hard surface. You struggled to get your feet under you as he shook you, blood from your freshly split lip running down your chin. 

“You’re lucky I’ve got a meeting.” Laurence threw you against the wall. Blood smeared against the soft blue wall, your hair spreading it like a paintbrush. He loomed over you, large body pinning you in place as he groped your breast. Did he know he was smearing the drops of blood into your chest? The nightgown strap hung limply off your shoulder, letting half your nightie hang low on your chest, threatening to expose your breast to his eyes.

“Please,” you whimpered, “I’ll do it all. I swear.” 

Laurence squeezed you with a bruising group, fingers digging into flesh and fat, nails scraping against the bones just under the skin. He yanked you up off the wall and dragged you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Hands that promised nothing but pain pulled at your nightgown, pulling, ripping, exposing as he threw you on the bed. 

“I was promised a fucking wife, but this is all you’re good for, huh? Just a whore in bed? Can’t even keep the fucking house clean?”

You struggled as he pulled you to your feet, only to slap you with the flat of his palm, sending you to crumple again. Laurence did something then that he had never done before. He spat on you. Saliva splattered against your still healing ribs as you waited to see if he would strike you again, breaking their delicate healing or if he would force himself into your body. 

“Please,” you whimpered, eyes clenched closed as you curled in on yourself. “I’ll do it all. I won’t let it slip again. I promise. Please.” 

Alastor watched as Laurence turned down the alley known for seedy deals. He hadn’t expected to see your husband while he was following another target, learning their routine and what makes them tick, but he wouldn’t complain. Two birds, one stone, if Alastor wanted to double his hunt, that was.

He considered it for a moment, eyes cutting between the blond man who he’d love nothing more than to spill the blood of and the original target. Possibilities ran through his mind, calculations and evaluations of risk. Then he put it all away. 

If Laurence was out and about so early, that meant you were likely already starting your day as well. Alastor abandoned his hunt with a hum, instead electing to hit the markets. You likely had enough on your plate as it was. He certainly wouldn’t add lunch to that list. 

Alastor checked, making sure the basket hadn’t spilled in the trunk. The blanket was tucked over the tarp, keeping the tools of his hobby hidden from view. He didn’t really think you’d look in the trunk while he unloaded it but it was better to be safe than sorry. 

The blanket was thick, hopefully thick enough to keep any residual moisture from the day prior’s rain from seeping through the fabric. One last deep breath and Alastor closed the trunk, taking a moment to straighten his coat and run his hand through his hair. 

He took a quick look around before meandering through the park, watching for anyone watching him. It was, as it always was, deserted, but he couldn’t be too careful. The last thing he needed was to be sloppy. If he was, that would cause trouble for you. 

Alastor made his way through the thin strip of forest, taking his time to pick out a different path. It wouldn’t do to wear a noticeable path through the woods, even if it would make it easier for you to walk. He had to be careful, be mindful. 

Standing in the shadows, he watched as you sat out back, working laundry through a washtub. Your movements were stiff as you worked the bunch of white fabric in your hands over the washboard again and again. 

Something was wrong. You were moving wrong. Your shoulders slumped and your hair fell around your face. The dress you wore looked old, ratty. It was a cleaning dress if he had ever seen one. 

You were so absorbed in what you were doing that you didn’t notice him step from the treeline. He watched you wring out the water from a white shirt, surely one of your husband’s, before setting it in the basket, moving onto another shirt. 

He hated the fact that it wasn’t his shirts you washed or that it wasn’t his home sitting behind you. Modest though his home was, he would invest in a mechanical clothes washer for you if you were his. If you were his, you wouldn’t be sitting alone doing the washing. 

You startled, flinching back as Alastor stepped into your line of sight and crouched down. The witty remark he had on his lips died as he caught sight of the red on your face and tearstains on your cheeks. Tears glittered in your eyes as he reached out for you, hand resting softly on the cheek, still angry from the force of the slaps of the man who got to call you his wife. 

“I can’t today,” you whispered, eyes cast away from him, though you still leaned into the comforting touch. 

“What happened?” Alastor’s voice was soft as his thumb ran carefully over the deep split in your lip. 

“It’s nothing.” You looked everywhere but at him. “I let the housework fall behind. I deserved it. I- I should have been a better wi-”

Alastor’s fingers curled under your chin as he softly made you face him. “Look at me,” he asked as your eyes fluttered everywhere else still. He continued when your eyes stilled on him, “You never deserve how he treats you.”

You sat in silence, eyes trapped by his warm brown gaze, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. It wasn’t fair. It was a cruel joke played by some God you didn’t know if you believed in at that moment that he wasn’t your husband. 

“Does it matter?” you finally asked. “How he treats me?” 

“Yes,” Alastor said softly, “If he treated you well I could walk away. I would walk away and let you be happy.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked, fear gripping your heart at the thought of Alastor leaving you. It was wrong how deeply you cared for him, but he had taken up residence in your heart. 

He shook his head, soft brown hair once again fluffy but straight shifting with the movement. “If he’s angry that you’re behind on the cleaning, let me help you.” 

“I couldn’t possibly-” Alastor took the basket of washed shirts and small bin of line pins and walked over to the clothesline as you protested. With the humidity in the air and the overcast skies, the sooner the clothes hung the better chance there was of them drying. 

You sighed and dumped more clothes into the bucket and set to work scrubbing while you watched Alastor pin shirts on the line. It was wrong how you wished you were scrubbing his shirts. It was wrong how you wished it was his wooded log where you sat behind. Was the fact that you wished it was his small, warm home sitting behind you going to sentence you to hell? 

Were sins committed in your heart and head enough to damn you?

“Scoot over?” Alastor asked as he tossed his coat to the ground behind you. You scooted over and watched as he unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up, tucking the cuffs under the arm garters that wrapped around his biceps. 

“What are you-”

“If we both scrub the clothes, they’ll get done faster.” Alastor knelt, hands slipping into the sudsy water along with yours. He glanced at your wide eyes and laughed, “Come now, I know how to wash laundry. Believe it or not- I even clean my own home.” 

“Why?” The word was little more than a whisper, carried to his ears by the slight breeze. 

“Well, if I paid for a cleaner than I’d have to let them into my space. They’d probably be a woman and that would open up to rumors, even if I didn’t have a distaste for having people in my home. Ma ensured I knew how to keep house and I simply don’t need to spend the money on those services.” Alastor spoke, knowing full well that’s not what you meant. It was an easier question to answer, though.

“Why are you helping me?” You clarified as he wrung water out of a hand towel. Every move you made was slow, measured, and you kept your voice low.

“Well,” Alastor said as he set the towel into the basket and began scrubbing one of your nighties without a thought to the indecency of him even seeing the item, let alone touching it. “If we both do the cleaning, we might get it done by lunch. Unless you’re expecting him back before dinner, we can whip a cold dinner for you to have on the tabel for him and then we can still spend some time together during lunch.” 

“What makes you think we can clean the house that fast?” You asked as you worked the water out of the last dress. 

“I’m an unattached man who doesn’t hire help and works much of the afternoons and evenings. If I wasn’t efficient at it, I’d spend all my time not working doing housework instead. How would I ever have time to spend with you if I wasn’t?” 

He was right, though you struggled to wrap your head around it. He was as efficient in his housework as promised. The man made quick work of wiping dust off of surfaces on the main floor while you tackled the same task upstairs, moving at a careful, slower pace as you went. 

As you finished wiping down the bathroom, you heard Alastor climbing the stairs.  “I’m in here,” You called. 

“I brought the broom up.” Alastor held it out as if there was a chance of confusion. “Wiped down the kitchen too. The floors still need doing, but I figured that would be last.” 

“You’re doing too much,” you protested, drying your hands on the skirt of your dress as you joined him in the hall. Pain throbbed in the back of your head, but you ignored it. It was nothing compared to injuries of the past. 

“I’m doing what I want to do,” Alastor said, leaning into your space and placing his lips against your temple in something you struggled to tell yourself was anything less than a chaste kiss. “Nothing more and nothing less.” 

Your brain stopped working as you watched him lean the broom against the hall, just before your bedroom doorway. He opened your linin closet as if it was his own and pulled out a set of sheets. Everything except the pain in your head felt so perfectly right.

“I’m grabbing a fresh quilt, too.” Alastor called, carrying the stack of linin into your bedroom without a care for propriety. 

“Why?” You asked as you followed behind. 

“There’s blood on this one.” Alastor said simply said. He didn’t need to say more. The way his jaw clenched, and the muscle jumped, said plenty. 

“It must be from when I-” you hesitated as he pulled the quilt from the bed, “tripped.” 

“And split your lip on the soft bed, I’m sure.” Alastor balled it and the sheet up, letting the pillows scatter as he stripped the mattress of linin, revealing bloodstains you never could quite clean. “You know, I know he hurts you. Why lie?” 

Alastor’s fingers lingered over bloodstains. Usually he found the color of dried blood to be lovely, but knowing it was yours turned his stomach. The bed should be a place of rest, of refuge and comfort for you, not a place of terror and pain.

“I- I’m not sure.” You looked down, ashamed. “It’s easier if I don’t think about it. If I don’t admit it, maybe it won’t be real?” 

Alastor hummed in response, “Do you want to make up the bed or start this wash?” 

You were thankful he let the topic die. “I’ll make the bed.” 

“Wonderful,” Alastor said, bundling up the bedding he’d rather set ablaze than scrub. “I’ve got pasta on the stove. While I was in the kitchen, I prepped for a pasta salad.” 

He did not wait for forgiveness nor ask for it as he walked out of the room, letting you scowl at his back. It didn’t matter to him that you thought he was doing too much. What mattered to him was the sandwiches waiting for them in the trunk of his car. The sooner the domestic chores were done, the sooner they could be off. 

On his way out the back, he paused for a moment to stir the pasta. While he loathed the idea of investing in a new stove, he had to admit the control over cooking provided by a gas stove was a wonderful improvement to his woodstove. If you wanted it, he supposed he could justify the investment for his kitchen. 

He made quick work of scrubbing the bedding and hanging them to dry. With the last of the washing done, he upturned the bucket and let the water run across the ground. 

On his way inside, he paused for a moment to drain the pasta and toss the simple meal together. Would it be enough to keep Laurence off your back? He didn’t know, but he hoped it would at least be a start. 

He poured hot water from the kettle he had set on the stove into a bucket and grabbed the mop. By now, you were likely finishing up sweeping upstairs, judging from the sound of your footfalls above him. 

On his way up, he met you in the stairwell. The thought of how beautiful you looked again struck him as he turned at the foot of of the stairs. The domestic beauty of a wife was never something Alastor understood but seeing you, sweat damped hair at the nape of your neck and flushed from the work you’d seen to, he understood it. You made a beautiful wife. 

“I’ll mop real fast and then we’re done up here.” Alastor brushed by you, being more mindful of not spilling the mop water than keeping any sense of proper distance between you. He froze when he felt you against his body, looking down at you as you looked up at him, cheeks flushed. 

It would be so easy, so natural to just lean down and…

He shook his head, pushing the odd urge away. Perhaps he would indulge in it sometime soon. Resisting the strange desire was getting harder, but it wouldn’t happen here. 

Pulling you away from your home so much was causing you problems. You were in pain. The dried scab of blood at the back of your head told the story of a struggle you hadn’t spoken of, even though you had tried to hide it with your hair. He knew he had to swallow the disgust and spend time with you in Laurence’s space if he wanted to not cause you more problems.

Laurence’s home would taint no firsts, though. Alastor was determined not to allow that to be the case. 

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[moonstruckme]

Congrats on 1k love!!! Im so happy for you, you deserve all the love 🩶

Could i request a ravenclaw!reader who's a little volatile (i suppose like dark acadameia) that the slytherins have kind of adopted (because shes volatile not violent and they think its cute). But shes been in a relationship with Remus on the down low and they realise at a halloween party?

I imagine Remus as an angel while reader is a devil and the slytherins were already concerned by the costume but then they notice you and Remus and just loose their marbles. Barty's having a meltdown, evans im shock and Sirius is cackling because Regulus is trying to stand tall but Remus is so much bigger than him its just impossible.

Anyway, tysm for your wonderful self and feel free to twist this however fits you, love!!

Hi lovely, thank you so much! I'm assuming you meant this to be for the Fade Into You part of the celebration since it's a specific reader, and also I don't know the Slytherin boys very well so I feel like my characterization could be wayyyyy off but I hope this is alright!

join the party

Remus Lupin x Ravenclaw!reader ♡ 930 words

You’re dancing with your friends when your drink is plucked suddenly from your hand. 

“Hey!” You spin around to find the thief, and then your tone changes completely. “Hey, Remus, you came!” You crash into him, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. Remus hugs you back the best he’s able, a drink in each hand. “And you wore your costume!” You grin as you pull away, resting a hand on either side of his face to admire how soft and sweet he looks in seraphim white. “Is that glitter on your cheeks?”

Said cheeks grow warm under your hands. “That’s Sirius’ touch.” 

“You look very pretty.” He grins, and you stand on tiptoe to whisper sweetly in his ear, “Now give me back my drink, pretty boy.” 

Remus’ smile doesn’t waver, but he becomes a tad more serious about the eyes. “How many have you had?”

“Oh, don’t be such a drag, Lupin,” Barty pipes up, coming up behind you to sling an arm around your shoulder. “She’s fine, and not that it’s any business of yours, but we won’t let anything happen to her.” 

“She just seems like maybe she’s had enough,” Remus replies, and his tone is far from unkind, but there’s an edge of admonishment to it that has Barty bristling noticeably. He turns back to you, voice softening. “What do you say, lovely, want to go sit down for a little while?”

You look at Barty, who raises an eyebrow at you. Behind him, Reggie stands with his arms crossed, looking bored with the whole thing.  

“I won’t be gone long,” you say in apology, and Barty scoffs disgustedly, but releases you. 

“Fine, go play with your costume buddy,” he says. “We’ll be here when you get sick of him.” 

You take Remus’ hand in one of yours, flipping Barty off with the other. 

“Are we really going to sit down?” you whisper hopefully, and Remus chuckles. 

“Yeah, we are. Sorry, sweetheart, but you’re not exactly walking in a straight line right now.” 

You grin, tugging at his hand playfully. “That’s just ‘cause I’m a rebel. The boys would never let me hang out with them if I walked the straight and narrow.” 

“That so?” Remus hums, pulling you down onto a couch beside him. “Have I mentioned how nice you look yet? You really do.” 

“I’m not supposed to look nice.” You roll your eyes, shuffling closer to him. “I’m a devil, Rem. I’m supposed to look hot and salacious.” 

Remus graces you with a smile, brushing a piece of hair from in front of your eye. “You do look hot, but you look nice too. I don’t think you can help that one, dovey.” 

“Yeah?” You bat your eyelashes, moving into his lap. Remus’ eyebrow quirks up slightly, cheeks glittering with the movement, but he doesn’t stop you. “Is it just that I radiate sweetness?” You kiss his jaw. “And patience?” Remus’ cheek is faintly pink where you press your lips. “Innocence, certainly,” you tease, breath hot on his ear, “but what else?” 

“Dove,” he whispers, “I think your friends are watching.” 

“Hm?” You look up, and sure enough, Regulus, Barty, and Evan are standing just a few feet away by the punch bowl, expressions ranging from bewilderment to abject horror. “Oh. Oops.” 

“I—I can’t,” Barty sputters. “I can’t be seeing this. Are you plastered? Get off him.” 

You don’t, but Remus does it for you, standing and setting you on your feet as Regulus stalks forward. He stops with his arms crossed in front of the two of you. 

“Is this who you’ve been ditching us for lately?” he asks you. 

You start to reply, but Barty talks over you. “No.” He shakes his head. “No, there’s no way. There’s no way.” 

Others have started migrating toward you to watch the show, among them Remus’ friends. Normally you wouldn't care, but Remus is beginning to squirm, so you try to calm things down for his benefit. 

“You guys are overreacting,” you say, as peaceably as you’re capable of. “As if it really matters what house my boyfriend is in.” 

“Boyfriend?” Barty despairs, and you should have known better than to think anything could quell his dramatics once they’ve begun. “God, as if the costumes weren’t bad enough, you have to throw lovey-dovey terms like boyfriend around.” 

A peal of laughter sounds from somewhere nearby, and you look around to find Sirius, eyes already wet with mirth as he watches his younger brother. “Reggie,” he manages between giggles, “are you trying to look taller than him?”

Reg raises an unimpressed brow, and anyone who didn’t know him well might not notice the flicker of embarrassment in his gaze. “Don’t be stupid,” he says, but his posture is better than you’ve ever seen it, his neck elongated in an attempt to look Remus in the eyes without having to tilt his head. 

“Reg.” Sirius swipes under his eyes. “You may be taller than me, but you’re never gonna get all the way up there.” 

“Alright,” you say decisively, taking Remus’ hand and proceeding to push past Regulus’ stiff form. You shoot Evan a half-apologetic look as you go by, still standing frozen like he’s been stupefied, and Barty follows your movement with eyes blown wide. “Just for that, we’re going back to you guys’ dorm, Black. And we’re going to fuck, loudly, all night.” You shoot your most winning smile in his direction, even as Remus’ face takes on a fiery hue beneath the white glitter. “I wouldn’t recommend coming home. Goodnight!”

[luveline]

Hi Jade! Congratulations on 40k (deserved deserved deserved!!!!!)

Can I plz request some KBD Steve and Reader for 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐛 ?

Maybe they’re on a rare date night and they love getting to be alone together but they do miss their babies!

tyvm <3 kisses before dinner —dad!steve and mom!reader go on a date (for a little while). 1.3k

"Are you sure I don't look really stupid?" you ask as Steve opens the passenger door.

"You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," Steve says simply, hand out to help you from the car. You smile and take his hand. You've done it hundreds of times, but you remember the first. 

"Woman," you correct without irritation. You've been together for almost ten years and you have four children. Four. "I don't think many people would say I'm a girl anymore."

"Ah, but you're my girl," —Steve laughs as you laugh, pulling you from the path of the door to close it and lock it— "so forgive me. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. 'N' I love white on you, as you know." 

You laugh more at his formal talking and fold your arm between his. Robin has made it so you can wear a white dress without fear of stains, agreeing to have your four girls for the day. Though day is a gentle term, because you don't expect anybody to be able to cope with children that aren't theirs for more than a few hours. You suspect you'll have four or five hours (Robin is well-trained and, more importantly, extremely loving toward your children) before one of them has a meltdown from missing you. 

Dove is the likely perpetrator. "She's really moody lately," you say, knowing Steve will get exactly who you mean as you begin walking from the parking lot and down the street to the coffee shop. 

Sure enough, he covers your hand where it rests in the crook of his arm and says, "She's in her terrible twos. But maybe you should be spending a little more time with her." He isn't judging or criticising you, just making an educated assumption. "Heather steals all your attention." 

"You can call her Heather as much as you like, but it isn't her name," you say, nudging his chest. 

"Can, will, is. I think she just misses you." Steve sees you squinting in the sun and offers his sunglasses. You lift your head and let him slide them up your nose, more for his touch and attention than a real need for them. It's a surprisingly sunny day in late September, the wind blowing warm on your bare legs and arms. "You know you're her favourite." 

"Do you ever worry that it's 'cos I don't see her enough? I mean, I'm home now, but that's only for another month. What if… like, what if I work and she grows up missing me so much she resents you?" 

"Do you think that's gonna happen?" Steve asks genuinely. 

"No. I dunno." You turn his face to yours in the middle of the street. You've changed a lot over the years. Being pregnant does that, but so does ageing, and living. Steve looks at you like you're charming, like the fact of your existence alone could make him laugh. You look at him the same. "You know, you get more handsome all the time." 

You kiss him. Steve closes his eyes and follows your lead. He bumps the sunglasses with his enthusiasm, and his kiss grows softer in apology. 

"She'll be okay. But you need more time together. And Avery needs more time with me, and Bethie needs less time in my lap–" 

"I can't see that happening," you say. "She's your pest." 

Steve hears the fondness in your voice and presses his hand to his chest, leaning back. "My girls," he says. 

You pass him back his sunglasses and look around. You and Steve have a favourite coffee shop slash smoothie place that serves all manner of hot snacks. You would've gone for lunch, but you promised Bethie you'd make her special toast (French toast) and might have been too greedy about it. Steve is a slammer for food even now, his metabolism doesn't slow, and you figure he'll have grilled cheese with his smoothie or a cup of soup. 

You didn't tell Steve you couldn't manage lunch, he just knew. He can read your mind these days. You love it more than you can explain. 

"Nice flowers," you say, pointing at the florists. 

"They don't have your favourite ones ever," Steve says, hand on your shoulder to hold you out of his line of view. "They're nice though, the white ones." He points at a bucket on the low sill. "Do you want those?" 

"No, I'm just saying they're nice," you say. 

"Come on, let's go get some. I should've got you some anyways, that's the point of a date." Steve offers his hand. You take it shyly, not so secretly pleased at his insistence. 

You stand in the cool air of the flower shop hand in hand, picking out flowers. It starts with Steve trying to buy you flowers, you buying him flowers, and then the two of you spend forty minutes picking flowers out for the girls. Avery loves roses, Bethie isn't picky so long as the buds are impressively big, Dove couldn't care less about flowers and little baby ‘Heather’ sleeps and eats solely. You get Dove a small bunch of pink peonies and decide to share your bouquet of white flowers with the baby. Steve gets a mixed bouquet and doesn't protest. 

You have too many flowers to take with you to the coffee shop. You both refuse to admit what's happening until you're back in the car. 

"Are we really doing this?" you ask. 

"Why, think we should've bought flowers for Robin?" 

"I think the thank you movie tickets and the chocolates and the five minute hug you forced her into was thank you enough, but maybe we should've." You beam at him. "I mean, are we really going home? We didn't even make it to the coffee house." 

"We could take these home and put them in some water and come back…" He scratches a hand through his hair. "I miss them more than I thought I would. We've been glued together for a month, and I can't stop worrying about the baby." 

"I miss them too," you admit. 

You and Steve get drive through, and you kiss and murmur stupid shit at each other in the car outside of Robin's house for a perfect ten minutes, until Avery throws open your car door to scream hello. 

"I'm so happy you're home so early!" she shouts, scrambling up the foot well and straight into your lap. "Did you have fun at your date?" 

"Well, we were late leaving the house because I realised Dove's been drawing pictures on my button downs, and I almost crashed the car and scared mom half to death because the sun was in my eyes, and we were distracted looking at flowers for years and now we're home," Steve says. 

"So yeah, we had fun," you say. 

Steve leans over to kiss you. Avery laughs and shoves her hand between your faces, "Guys, I think Aunt Robin needs help, the baby won't stop crying and crying and crying and Dove tipped her drink all over Beth's pink dress. I think on purpose." 

Robin is very very sorry, and she didn't even call you guys, so why are you back? But she's grateful to be released. Not nearly as much as the girls are to see you guys. 

Robin is a great aunt, but you have clingy kids. 

"Mom!" Bethie shouts, pointing down at her sodden dress with a wobbly lip. "Look." 

"Aw, sweetheart, I see it. I put spare clothes in your bag, let's go get changed, okay?" 

You and Bethie leave hand in hand to clean up. Steve juggles the three remaining children dextrously, the baby against his chest, Dove's shoulder under his hand, and Avery crowding his other side. He's barely in the living room. 

"Hello," he says, kissing one little head after the other. "Hi, honey. You okay?" 

"Did you at least have a good two hours?" Robin asks sympathetically. 

Steve nods happily. "We did. Really. Next time I think we might even make it to the coffee shop." 

[lady-raidia]

🕊️The Dove and The Masked King: Part III

Pairing: Baldwin IV. x female!OC Prologue, Part I, Part II Read here: Wattpad, AO3 The room was still when Baldwin returned from the gardens. It always was. The only people who ever visited him privately were either Tiberias, a royal physician or sometimes his sister Sybilla. No other would have dared to disturb the leper king in his private chambers. And he was glad about it. Or at least he thought. Today, the silence in the room was much more heavier and gloomier than it’s used to be. 

He let out a sigh for no one to hear, sitting in the shadows of his chamber, lit only by a small iron lantern. His skin was pale and marked by the slow decay of disease, itched beneath linen wrappings. A truly painful reminder that he is beyond saving, a dead man walking. A living corpse that only lives in the shadows but has to wed something so … gleaming and beautiful. A woman with hair like sunshine. 

Since he arrived back in his chambers, his thoughts were filled with her and only her: Amicia.

The way her hair caught the light of the moon, her shy smile, the softness in her eyes. And most importantly: There was no fear on her face. She was reluctant, yes, distant even. But she did not look at him with disgust. She looked at him as if he was just a normal man. No leprosy, no mask, no kingly titles. And it moved something in him, something he can not quiet name. And exactly that frightened him.

Another sigh escaped his lips before he rose from the chair he was sitting on, slowly, painfully. The joints of his knees throbbed beneath his robes and the skin along his back was sensitive. He walked to the far wall of the chamber where the windows opened toward the garden, and he leaned against the sill.

The moonlight spilled across the marble like spilled milk and the cold wind was brushing over his skin, making it feel less painful.

How long had it been since he had wanted something?

For years he had trained himself not to want because wanting was dangerous. Desire led to attachment, and attachment to pain.

He had seen it in his sister Sybilla, married to a man she once loved, now bound in a web of resentment and ruin. He had seen it in his mother, in the priests, in the nobles who clung to power and pride. Desire made fools of kings and he can not allow himself to be a fool. He already had this cruel illness that is taking over his body. He can not let his mind be swayed as well.

And yet...

Back in the garden, he wanted to stay with her, talk to her until the sun rose. It felt so natural to talk to her, her voice felt like balm on his aching wounds. He wanted to ask her more about how she was faring in Jerusalem so far, about Lysara, something no one really knew about the kingdom. Wanted to ask about her interests, her favourite color. But these words could never leave his mouth. 

He clenched his hand tightly around the edge of the sill until his knuckles ached.

No.

She did not know what he was. Not fully.

She had not seen the scars, the swelling, the slow rot beneath the silk. She had not smelled the tinctures or seen the way his fingers trembled with pain. She did not know that his body was more tomb than temple. 

What would she think if she did?

Would her kindness remain?

Would her smile falter?

Would her soul pity him?

He could not bear it. He had fought too many battles, worn too many masks. He could not risk hope. Kindness was nothing he deserved, because he had nothing to give. And Amicia … he can only pray that she will not despair in this god forsaken country. 

***

Morning light spilt through the high windows like gold dust, warm and pale. Jerusalem awoke early. By the time Amicia was dressed, the palace was already alive with movement, preparing for the day and for the wedding that is only two days away now. Pages rushing past with scrolls, guards changing post, clerics humming low prayers in the halls. The silence during the night is heavy, but the noise during the day is making up for it.

Today, she wore a gown of deep blue silk, modest but soft, with embroidered sleeves that fluttered like seafoam. Her hair was braided and pinned with delicate silver threads, though she hadn’t asked for such decoration. It seemed her overenthusiastic maids had taken it upon themselves to present her as a queen-in-waiting. But it made her feel like a figure carved from glass, that was made to put on a shelf and then to be admired and forgotten.

Still. She smiled at everyone while she passed through the halls, eyes watching every step she took. She offered kind words to the nervous maid who spilt water on the marble. She laughed gently at the scribe who forgot her name and called her “Lady Angelica” instead. She even helped picking up the oranges from the floor one of the young kitchen helpers had spilt while running down the halls.

But inside?

Inside, she felt unsettled.

Unsettled by the court, the people reigning over it. Unsettled by the eyes hidden in shadows that watch closely what the future queen is doing. Lysara may not have been a paradise, but it seemed that Jerusalem is less forgiving when it comes to mistakes. 

Amicia shakes her head while letting out a soft sigh. “Everything will be alright.”

To distract her thoughts for a while, she decided to visit the garden. It was beautiful by night, and she is sure that it will be even more beautiful by day. With her head bowed low, she tried to walk through the palace without anyone noticing her, if that is even possible. She knew that people watched her, but she tried to ignore them and firmly made her way down the corridors until she reached a staircase that would lead down into the garden.

The sun stood high, and the heat was something Amicia was not used to. Still, she wandered down the path, roses, lilies and all kinds of flowers blooming everywhere. “This is what heaven must smell like.” She mumbled while she stepped closer to a rose bush to admire the red petals. 

"Enjoying the heat?" a voice said, light as silk but edged with steel.

Amicia turned, feeling caught by doing something she should not have done.

Sybilla stood a few steps away, her gown of deep crimson catching the light like a dying sun. Her dark hair was braided intricately, a jewelled circlet resting atop her head. Beauty radiated from her, but so did a certain sadness, tucked behind the sharp tilt of her mouth.

Amicia curtsied respectfully. "Your Highness."

Sybilla waved off the formality with a graceful flick of her fingers. "We are nearly sisters now, are we not? Titles are tiresome."

Amicia straightened, unsure how to navigate this sudden meeting. Sybilla’s gaze wandered over her, not cruelly, but measuring.

"You are very lovely," Sybilla said after a moment. "The court will adore you. For a time."

Amicia swallowed, but did not answer straight away. "I hope to serve Jerusalem well." It was a measured answer, one that she always gave when nobles talked to her and asked her questions. She can not say what is truly on her mind, it would be too dangerous. But maybe when she is crowned queen and married, she will dare to speak more freely. To be more like Amicia.

But Sybilla only laughed at her answer, not unkindly, but with something weary beneath it. "Serve? My dear, Jerusalem does not want service. It wants entertainment. Saints bore them and sinners amuse them."

Amicia lowered her eyes briefly. Is she trying to test me? "Then I hope to bore them terribly."

That earned her a real smile from Sybilla, a flash of teeth, quick and genuine. "You have a tongue," Sybilla said approvingly. "Good. You will need it if you want to survive Jerusalem."

There was a pause, filled only by the sound of birds flying above them, the wind that is lazily dancing over their skins. 

Then, more quietly, Sybilla added, "He is not an easy man, Baldwin. But he is a good one, even if he wants to hide it behind a mask."

Amicia looked up to see if Sybilla was trying to mock her. But there was no mockery in her voice, only a kind of old pain, and perhaps ... lingering loyalty. Loyalty for her brother or loyalty for the king, she can’t quite tell. 

"I see that," Amicia said softly.

Sybilla studied her for a moment longer, then, with a small sigh, stepped back. "Be careful," she said. "Of the court. Of the smiles. Of those who claim to love Jerusalem most."

Amicia curtsied again, this time not out of duty, but out of something closer to respect.

And as Sybilla turned and disappeared into the rose garden’s winding paths, Amicia realised she had glimpsed something rare: not a princess draped in gold and power, but a woman carrying grief like a crown no one could see. She saw her brother getting weaker and sicker with every passing year, while her own husband, Guy, is openly thirsting after the crown. Even though the princess of Lysara can’t read minds, she is pretty sure that Sybilla is torn apart. Between her love for her brother and the duty she feels towards her husband. 

Amicia stood still, not moving an inch, while thinking of her conversation with Sybilla. The warm breeze stirred the heavy scent of roses, but the peace Sybilla had left behind was already slipping away, making way for the footsteps that slowly approached.

She turned, expecting a guard or a maid, telling her off for wandering alone through the palace. Instead, she found herself face-to-face with Guy de Lusignan.

Speak of the devil. On the inside, she rolled her eyes, feeling annoyed before he could even open his mouth. On the outside, she remained composed, smiled even. 

He was dressed impeccably in a dark blue tunic embroidered with silver, a sword belt slung low at his hips. His smile was sharp, the kind that showed teeth but no warmth.

He swept into a shallow, mocking bow. "Your Highness."

Amicia dipped a polite curtsy, instincts already whispering caution.

"I must offer my congratulations," Guy said, straightening. "The court already sings of your beauty. And your ... delicacy."

The way he said the last word made her skin crawl, but she forced herself to smile even wider. To pretend she is feeling shy by hearing his words.

"You are gracious to say so," Amicia replied, keeping her tone even, her gaze steady. She had been raised among wolves, even if her homeland had worn a more civilized mask. 

Guy circled her slowly, not quite close enough to break propriety, but close enough to unsettle. Like a predator measuring his prey.

"It is a rare thing," he mused, "for Jerusalem to welcome a new queen with open arms. Especially one so ... untouched by the world’s cruelty."

Amicia said nothing. She refused to rise to the bait. 

Guy smiled wider, sensing the stiffness in her shoulders.

"You must be careful, my lady," he continued, voice dropping into something low and almost intimate. "This city devours innocents. Especially those who think beauty alone will shield them."

"I do not intend to hide behind beauty," she said quietly, but with enough confidence to make him stop preying around her. "Or anything else."

He chuckled, a dark, humourless sound. 

"Good. It would be a shame," he said, "to see you broken too soon." He came a step closer, raising one of his hands, hovering over her cheek but not touching it. “The wedding is in two days … if the king rejects you afterwards … you know where to find me.” And with that, he turned and left. Amicia’s mouth was wide open from disbelief, and she could not move or think for a couple of seconds. 

“That little impertinent bastard …” She felt furious, and if courtesy would allow it, she would run after him and slap him in his face. But if she did, the whole court would turn against her, so she has to take his little comments. For now.

While she walked back to her chambers to get ready for the evening, she realised with a quiet certainty that Sybilla’s warning had not been a vague caution.

It had been a prophecy.

***

Amicia did not say a single word since she had left the garden, still feeling angry about Guy's impertinence. Her maids tried to make her laugh, to make her feel more at ease, but nothing really helped. This evening, she will not dine alone, but she will join the nobles in the grand dining hall. Another performative act where she will be watched and tested to make sure that she can truly carry the title of the Queen of Jerusalem. She knew that Guy would be there, so the food was already spoiled before she could even touch it. But her brother will also be joining, and that made her look forward to it.

The hall was a blur of gold, laughter, and wine.

Silks rustled, goblets clinked, and foreign tongues danced through the air like blades: Arabic, Latin, Greek, French. The feast was meant to be a celebration of union. Of kingdoms joining. Of peace being sealed in veils and vows.

But one seat remained empty.

The king’s.

Amicia sat at the high table in a gown of deep rose and pearl, her shoulders bare beneath the soft fall of her veil. Jewels glittered at her throat, but her eyes were quiet, watching every movement like a chess player in the first round of war.

To her left sat Tiberias, calm and observant, his wine untouched.

To her right … the empty chair.

"Will His Majesty not be joining us?" asked a plump bishop across the table, dabbing his lips with silk. His tone held curiosity laced with judgment.

Tiberias answered before she could. "The king’s health demands solitude at mealtimes."

"How convenient," the bishop murmured, not kindly. Amicia’s fingers tightened slightly on her goblet, but she didn’t answer. The only light in this room was Tiberias, who tried his best to entertain her and her brother, Maeron, who sat across the table, looking at her with a sorry smile. He wished to be seated closer to his sister, but since he is the Crown Prince of Lysara and here as a representative of his father, he has to make sure to be on good terms with the other nobles. 

Amicia understood without even speaking to him, even though her heart broke a little, knowing that he would be gone after the wedding, and she did not know when she would see him next.

Despite her worries her fears, she kept a brave face, and the meal progressed as if nothing would matter right now.

Dishes arrived in waves, dates wrapped in lamb, spiced rice, figs in honey. The wine flowed freely, and the conversations grew louder.

It was then that he arrived.

Guy, court darling to some and snake to others, approached with the swagger of a man who believed himself God’s gift to the crown. He bowed low before Amicia, but there was nothing respectful in the way his eyes trailed up her figure.

"My lady," he said smoothly, "how radiant you look tonight. One might believe Jerusalem has been kissed by heaven itself."

Amicia smiled politely. "You are kind, my lord."

"I am honest," he said, flashing teeth. "And delighted that His Majesty's absence allows the court a proper look at its future queen."

"His Majesty’s absence is regrettable," she said, voice cool. "I know he would be pleased to celebrate with us if his strength permitted."

Guy chuckled. "Yes … strength. A pity, truly."

Tiberias set his goblet down with a little more weight than necessary.

And Guy ignored him.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to create the illusion of intimacy. "I imagine it must be a strange thing, marrying a man you’ve barely seen … let alone touched."

Amicia met his eyes, her face still composed, but there was steel now behind her calm.

"And I imagine," she said sweetly, "it must be a stranger thing, being so fascinated with another man’s bride."

Tiberias choked on a laugh.

Guy blinked in disbelief, then smiled, too wide, like a jackal. "I meant no offence, of course."

"Of course not," she replied. "Because offence requires wit."

He bowed again with anger in his eyes, before he quickly turned and sat down next to an already drunk noble. All while Tiberias could not keep his laugh. “You are one kind of woman, and I drink to that.” He raised his goblet before chucking it down, and Amicia just watched him with a smile. 

"Is he always like that? Guy, I mean" she asked after he placed down his goblet. 

Tiberias nodded once. "Worse, when he drinks."

"And His Majesty trusts him?"

"No. But politics makes strange bedfellows. Guy was necessary a couple of years ago to strengthen the king's military. But it turns out to be his biggest miscalculation.” Amicia just nods, while her gaze wanders over the face of the nobles. They were laughing, toasting to each other, while their wives sat next to them, heads bowed down and quiet. 

"I wonder," she said softly, "how many people in this room are hoping the king dies."

Tiberias was silent for a long moment, unsure of what answer. Then, in a voice too low for anyone else to hear: "More than you want to know, Princess. And fewer than you fear."

[delusionalwriter02]

Insta as Nobara's GF

<3 liked by KugITgirl, YujiandSukuna and 548 others.

Yn : i like the way you kiss me @.KugITgirl

KugITgirl : you're the best kisser

↳ Yn : lie

↳ KugITgirl : don't start, you know I'm better at this game

↳ Yn : mayyyybbeeeeee

↳ Maki_yum : wow you lost so fast girl

↳ Yn : can't compete with a master

↳ Satoru_thegoat : somebody called me ??

↳ Yn : clearly not

↳ Satoru_thegoat : well well well, i'm the master of everything

↳ Shokolate : being humble too ?

↳ Satoru_thegoat : of course

YujiandSukuna : OMG I LOVE THIS PHOTO (well i'm the one who took it so it's normal)

↳ Yn : Thankkk you Yuji, Sukuna too apparently

↳ YujiandSukuna : we decided to put those little signs when sukuna talks

↳ Megumi_F : parenthesis ?

↳ YujiandSukuna : YES EXACTLY

↳ KugITgirl : without being rude Yuji, we can already know when you talk and when Sukuna does

↳ YujiandSukuna : you're stupid if you think you're THAT smart

↳ Yn : see ?

↳ YujiandSukuna : yes maye ( well I DECIDED TO DO THAT SO WE DO THAT)

KugITgirl : you're so bossy

<3 liked by Megumi_F, Satoru_thegoat and 857 others.

KugITgirl : SHE TOOK ME TO THE DAMN FASHION WEEK OMG OMG OMG @.Yn I LOVE YOU SO SO MUCH

Yn : don't be fooled, she's running everywhere like a crazy dog

↳ Satoru_thegoat : SO YOU TOOK MY CARD AND DIDN'T EVEN INVITE ME ??

↳ Yn : SUGURU SAID IT WAS OKAY

↳ Satoru_thegoat : @.Geto_OG YOU TRAITOR??????????

↳ Geto_OG : She wanted it to be a surprise, what was I suppose to do ??

↳ Satoru_thegoat : INVITE ME

↳ Geto_OG : We'll go to the next one

↳ Satoru_thegoat : thank you.

Maki_yum : I really picture her running everywhere it's too funny

↳ Yn : my legs hurt

↳ KugITgirl : but there's sooooo much to see

↳ Yn : we'll do everything love don't worry

↳ KugITgirl : I hope so

↳ YujiandSukuna : WILL YOU MEET JENNIFER LAWRENCE ???

↳ Yn : I don't think she's here sorry

↳ YujiandSukuna : FUCK IT

<3 liked by Geto_OG, Shokolate and 834 others.

Yn : he's so getting old lol

KugITgirl : THIS PHOTO IS EVERYTHING

↳ Satoru_thegoat : WOWOOWOWOW YOUNG PEOPLES DON'T MAKE FUN OF YOUR TEACHER

↳ Geto_OG : They are not wrong

↳ Shokolate : you look so stupid

↳ YujiandSukuna : denial is a river in egypt

↳ Satoru_thegoat : I'm done

KugITgirl : love I was thinking, what do you want for your birthday

↳ Satoru_thegoat : with that attitude YOU'LL GET NOTHING

↳ Yn : I want Gojo to admit he's getting old

↳ Shokolate : you know you'll never get that

↳ Yn : then I want vacations with everyone

↳ Shokolate : oh fuck yes vacations, have I ever told you you're my favorite student ?

↳ Maki_yum : But we can't all leave ?

↳ Geto_OG : You sure can, let me organize that

↳ Megumi_F : Can Tsumiki come ?

↳ Geto_OG : Of course she can

↳ InuMAKI : YES LETS GO SOME WELL DESERVE VACATIONS

↳ Kento_N : I agree, it'll take off some stress

↳ Satoru_thegoat : some ? it's my mission now, you'll come back without ANY stress

↳ Kento_N : Good luck with that, you're my main stress reason

<3 liked by Tsumiki_F, KugITgirl and 673 thers.

Yn : we'll be a fine line

KugITgirl : I love you dove, thank you so much for everything, life is good because of you

↳ Yn : don't make me cry please my mascara is not dry, I love you so hard

↳ Tsumiki_F : you're the cutest couple

↳ YujiandSukuna : (all lovey dovey OK WE GET IT YOU'RE IN LOVE)

↳ Geto_OG : Little demon come over here, I'll teach you some manners

↳ YujiandSukuna : (IN YOUR DREAMS OLD MAN)

Satoru_thegoat : soooo Kento is the stress still there ?

↳ Kento_N : You almost burned the whole kitchen, you let them swim without supervision, you fight with Sukuna on a daily basis and you lost your ID 6 times

↳ Satoru_thegoat : buuuuuut

↳ Kento_N : The stress is maybe a little lower

↳ Satoru_thegoat : I DID IT

↳ Shokolate : weren't you supposed to erase it ?

↳ Satoru_thegoat : even for me, it's impossible

Maki_yum : Panda I swear if I find one more bamboo in my bed Imma lost it

↳ PANDAA : I'm honest, I don't know how it got there

InuMAKI : YUTA LETS REDO THE BEACH AND BIRD SCENE

↳ Yuuuta : OMG YES YOU PLAY ARMIN I PLAY EREN

↳ InuMAKI : LETS GO, MEGUMI YOU PLAY MIKASA

↳ Megumi_F : In your dreams

Hey! Hope you liked it ? I don't know why but writing Nobara was harder than I thought buuut I'm happy with how it come out, thank you for reading!

with love <3

[itskindofidontknow]

What dreams know about love?

Chapter 12

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: Sexual content (+18)

“Tell me he at least gave you a good fuck” Love almost chokes on her tea when Lady Honesty spoke. “Honesty!” They barely sat with afternoon delights and tea, at the table under the white marbled gazebo covered in lilac wisterias just outside the palace, a sceneary worthy of protraits. Love hadn’t seen her sister in a while and forgot that Honesty was never kin on pleasantries, she preferred going straight to the subject. Some, like their Aunt Prim, did not approve this kind of behavior, saying that Honesty may have the look of an ethereal nymph with her long black as night locks gently curled and an intense purple stare with full lashes, but she had the tongue of a demon.

Love always thought that it matched perfectly with her sister, she didn’t shy away from controversy, often getting the truth behind any second intention or misleading speech. Honesty constantly repeated that if someone wasn't going to say what they really meant, then there was no point in having a conversation.

Eoster found it truly entertaining to see her in action. It was never boring to have her sister at the table. And she truly needs some of her high spirits to distract her from Morpheus, the Dreaming and all that mess.

Love just didn’t expect that Honesty would want to talk about exactly what Love wanted to avoid.

“What? I am only asking what everyone has been wondering”. The sister shrugged it off, while taking a sip of the lover's tea. And Love raised her eyebrow “And who, might I ask, are those ‘everyone’?” She perfectly knew who, but wanted to see if Honesty was going to out them. “Your dear sisters who have been crazy worried for you.” Love bited her lip at the judgmental look her sister was giving her. It was a bit of her fault.

She did not answer their letters, nor went to the gathering they often held, or went to visit their offspring when they recently were born. All her sisters have children by now. She knew she should’ve gone, after all she was named godmother of most of the newborn children. And of course she was beyond happy for them. But, at the same time, however, she didn’t have the strength to see them. None of her sister's marriages were perfect.

Well not perfect as Love defines a ‘perfect marriage’ but perfect in a deviant way.

Their husbands were avid cheaters, but so were her sisters. Although they would constantly complain about their husbands being stupid mules with barely a sense of direction, and their kids being clingy brats, anytime Eoster saw her sisters with their spouses and offspring, she could feel a genuine love. They were not unhappy. Messy, yes, but not unhappy.

And she knew it was selfish, but Love couldn’t stand being with them. Her sisters were blessed with love and she, the Queen of Four Loves, stuck in a loveless union. What did she ever do to deserve such cruel fate?

“I don’t think my intimate life has anything to-“ Honesty didn’t let her finish slapping the hand on the table, almost spilling the tea “ He didn’t! Fuck, I just lost fifty years in servitude to Pride. I hope you are happy, Love Dove” How could she be angry with Love when Love herself had nothing to do with it?! Besides the fact that her sisters were betting about her intimate life made her furiously blush and brutally exposed. How was she, the most discreet of her sisters, with the most antisocial of husbands, the one with a marriage that was a hot topic among everyone she knows?

Of course none of them had an Endless husband.

And of course, if they were betting on it, they were discussing it, and Love remembers quite well when they were all maidens how graphic and detailed they would talk about the tender intimacies of other entities. Just thinking that they might be discussing her like they did with those poor entities made her want to hide her in the most isolated room in all the Garden and never come back.

“I didn’t tell you to do a foul bet with Pride. And you should know better not to bet with her.” Her older sister Pride was addicted to gambling and the only reason why it wasn’t a problem that required intervention, was because Pride would always win. That was how she got married. Winning her husband on a bet.

‘And they are still in a happier marriage than me’ Love often thought. Honesty pretended not to hear the scolding tone in the brunette’s voice, taking a bite of a delicious sugar coated cake while explaining her betting plans “The odds seemed in my favor. You, lonely, faithful, in a cold large bed on the Dreaming, wet dreaming about those long pale fingers sliding under your silk nightgown, caressing your tights, pushing your undergarments out of the way, that deep soft voice saying how he missed your cu-”

“ Honesty!” Love interrupted before she would describe the most coarse of actions. Looking to the nearest weapon of choice, a napkin, and angrily throwing at her sister. Eoster would never admit to her sister, but that description was vivid in Love’s imagination while alone, in baths, after Elijah finally left her to soak under the water. Very similar thoughts would creep in her mind. Morpheus surprising her at night with an intense drive of passion that he couldn’t contain and only Love could take care of, how desperately he needed her, how she was made for him.

She knew it was cliché, hell, she invented those clichés, but was it wrong to want to live them, to deeply desire them? They are not supposed to happen to mortals, but to inspire them to get a love as close as possible to those. But Love? She was supposed to have a cliché romance and the most passionate of all marriages. She was supposed to inspire mortals and entities with her marriage. That was the reason she waited to get married, to find that exact someone who would write new clichés with her or inspire her!

Love shook her head, trying to physically get away from those thoughts. Her sister was largely laughing, almost threatening to fall off the chair, even after a napkin attack “ I’m teasing, I am teasing! I guess we can’t ever count on our Lord of Dreams to do anything right. Not even his most sacred duty.” Marital Duty. Love smiled before taking a sip of her tea, not realizing her sister stopped laughing and was looking over her with a very analytical attitude “ Unless-“

Love tilted her head “Yes?”

Her sister snapped her fingers and slammed her hand against the table, making the entire tea set threatening to fall. Love would’ve killed her if any piece broke, since it was a gift from Lady Death. One of the few Endless siblings she actually liked. It was supposed to be at the Dreaming, but Dream never cared about those gifts, so Love kept them in the Garden, where she could actually use them. After all, why have a tea set in a place where there was no one to have tea with?

“Oh, Love, you cold heart bitch! You didn’t let him fuck you senseless back to happiness!” Love eyes widened at her sister, a thought went across her mind if it would be appropriate to stuff one of those sweet cakes into Honesty mouth until she choked with her words. Probably way more appropriate than continuing with this conversation.

“ My stars, you are spending too much time in Aesir!” The nordic pantheon was known to be nothing but an unmannerly pit. “As Lady of the Four Loves it’s my obligation to tell you that the Lord of Dreams could not do anything to bring me happiness.” Love stated but as the words left her mouth she was not sure that was entirely true.

She fixed her posture and put an annoying curl behind her ear, shifting in her seat. The Love Queen told herself the reason she was bothered was because this wasn’t an appropriate talk to tea time, and any of her cupids could hear and gossip around.

But the truth was more selfish than she wanted to admit. Desire always joked that she looked uptight, tense, frigid. Love never took the offense to heart, it was annoying but she always took that as a way the sibling had to embarrass Dream and his abilities as a husband, especially since Desire considered Love an easy little thing to please. And that wasn’t a guess from the Queen, Desire told her more than one time to her face.

Now she wondered if someone could actually tell just by looking at her that she was never fulfilled or satisfied with any of her private encounters with Dream. Like she had a tag in her forehead with a written trope of ‘unhappy stepford smiler’. Love carefully made herself to always look bright and full of energy and happiness in every single social she had to attend, so entities would not even think about her being miserable. Of course, they knew about the cheating, but not about the unhappiness. Or did they know? And pretend not to out of pity?

Honesty shrugged it off. “Of course he can’t. No husband can, really. Do you think Wodan makes me happy? No, but my stars, he makes me feel good while trying.” The brunette Queen furrowed her brows, her sister smirked knowingly. Eoster didn’t believe Wodan didn’t make Honesty happy. Between threats of death, poison and tries of sacrifice, what her older sister called ‘love games’, Love knew if her sister wasn’t happy she wouldn’t put up with Wodan.

Of course, what he does to keep her happy was not a mystery to anyone, their love making were famous and spoke to it in its frequency, volume and duration. There was a reason they were no longer invited by anyone in their right mind to spend the night in another’s realm for a longer festivity.

And Love could be Lady of Eros, supportive of passionate nights and devoted spouses, but thinking of her sister and spouse made her nauseous. She didn’t spare an unladylike groan throwing her back against her chair “Spare me the details of your marriage, I can feel the tea in the back of my throat.”

Eoster never liked Wodan from the first time they were introduced, she knew exactly what he was: a rake, a brute, a classic god of war, thirsty for bloodshed, unfaithful, who saw naive maids as conquests, luring them with false promises of love until he had them exactly where he needed them, and then, discarted them, and moved to another.

A terrible match to Honesty, who Love always saw as witty, independant, enlightened, smarter than her sisters. She always thought Honesty was too smart to fall for the cheap rough charm of Wodan and would prefer someone that was an intellectually worthy adversary.

Besides, Wodan previously tried to court Love. “Court” would not be the proper word, since in the first five sentences they exchange, the norse god began a very pleasant discord on how some other gods (and he highly suggested other Love’s suitors) considered a lady’s place to be at the childbed, but he truly believedthat a lady’s place was in a man’s face, and he continued his lovely discourse describing how mortals were calling the act of cunnilingus the ‘devil’s lunch’ and how it may be but ‘yet is a fabulous meal any time of the day’, giving Love, who was vigorously blushing and praying for a way out, very suggestive looks. He only gave up when Eoster threatened to destroy all the harvest from mortals who worshiped him, if he ever spoke to her again.

An uncouth rake that Lady Honesty happened to fall in love for.

Love constantly questioned her sister's good senses and sanity, and Honesty dismissed Love, using her older sister tone: ⅔ condescending ⅓ full of mockery by saying ‘You are the one that likes them all broody, intellectual and sensible’ or ‘ I didn’t marry to have deep philosophical discussions’.

Love would defend herself by saying it wasn’t a preference for 'broody, intellectual and sensible'. She only wished for someone she could have a conversation with beyond the bedroom. And Honesty argued that that is what sisters are for.

And when arguments got heated, Honesty would throw in Love’s face that her husband might be all what Love disaproves of, but at least he married her out of his own desire and heart, she was invited into his life and he treated her like his queen. Unlike Dream, that on paper seemed all that Eoster wanted it, but was forced to welcome an univinted wife into his life and treated her like an unpleasant clingy mistress he got tired of. ‘If you wanted an Endless so desperately, you should have invested in Desire or the Prodigal one. You could’ve convinced him not to leave’. Even that, Honesty made it seem like Love’s fault. When fights like this would occur, they would spent decades without talking to each other.

The dark haired lady shifted in her seat, acquiring an older sister posture ready to lecture her reluctant younger sister. “Well you should listen. As your older sister with a senior marriage, it is my duty to teach you the ways of husbands.” Love rolled her eyes at ‘the ways of husbands’ as they held mysteries beyond the surface to be analyzed and discussed. Love could feel the torture that was yet to come “Oh, please!”. They had very different marriages, with very different husbands, whatever advice Honesty had, it wouldn’t work on Morpheus.

Wodan was a god of war; he yearns for a conquest, for the thrill of it, Honesty only needed to play hard to get for a moment before he is challenged, moving worlds to have her back.

Morpheus was lord of dreams, nightmares and stories. He didn’t yearn for any conquest. If she played hard to get, he would just move to someone more interesting. That was why even in discomfort Love never denied him in the bedroom, because at least she would have him there, not with someone else. He could think about others while inside her, but, at least for a few moments, he was with her. He was hers.

At least, before. Now, she could not understand what her husband was planning, let alone, wanting.

Honesty pretended to not listen to her sister's complaint “A repentant husband like yours will try anything to make his wife happy.” Love stubbornly refused to give in to Honesty. Even if Morpheus did go the extra mile to try to have Love live in the Dreaming again. “And you, my darling, should take advantage of that.” Love was about to ask Honesty if these so-called “advantages” included losing two realms to Morningstar.

Her lecture was interrupted by Matthew, the raven, flying over, dropping a letter with Dream’s seal, landing on top of Love’s porcelain’s plate.

Excitement, happiness, eagerness, all those feelings that were conditioned by the arrival of a letter, rose in Love’s chest at the same speed they were crushed, leaving her speechless. Color dropped from her face, and she looked at the envelope as if it was a ghost from the past, making no mention of opening it.

She knew it was ridiculous, to want to escape a paper. But she couldn’t stop wanting to disappear, run as far away as she could from that single stupid piece of paper.

Love received thousands of these same letters but written by Desire. Maybe the raven cackled something about the letter being from the Dream King, since the queen was behaving strangely towards it. Matthew could swear she threatened to jump away from her seat, when she saw the letter, like he was dropping a literal bomb on her lap.

She couldn’t answer him. She couldn’t take her eyes off the letter. A single letter made her feel small, a young Queen again, pushing her lips in a smile every time a dove was seen in the horizon. Love remembered running desperately down the stairs, wanting to beat down every cupid that wanted to deliver her a letter that would made a marvelous day in the Garden thanks to the Queen’s humour. Sometimes running so carresslesly, that she would rip her flowy dresses on pointy corners. Love didn’t care. She wanted to be the first and only one to read his words.

Looking at the seal, she couldn’t believe how she was deceived. Of course her husband’s seal would be deep purple, almost black. It suited him. Very different of the scarlet one Desire used. She should have known. How didn’t she notice it before? Was she that naive? Did she close her eyes for the truth? The clues must be all obvious as this one. Did she suspect through all their court but wanted to go on with it anyway? Was it loneliness? Was it desperation of not finding someone like she dreamed of, so she clenched her fists into fantasy, hoping for it to become true?

Did she conspire with Desire and told herself she was an innocent maiden in all of this?

Love’s head hurt.

Honesty dismissed the bird. Since Love seemed to be too stunted to move, and her sister was not the most patient woman, she took matters into her own hands, hovering over the table and grabbing the letter trying to break the seal with a desert knife.

That was enough to make Love wake, and jump over the table, dropping a few cinnamon cakes on the floor, and sugar syrup on her dress, trying to get the letter off her sister's hands. Whatever was in the letter, if her sister read, all of her siblings and their spouses would know, and in a snap of fingers, the whole universe would soon know too.

“Give this back!” Love screamed while attempting to get the letter from Honesty hands, that jumped away from her sit, trying to push Love away with one hand and open the letter and read the cursive with another. “Your husband's cursive is awful, I can’t read this! Damn, Love! Stop! Stop smothering me! You’ve gone fat! Out! Out! Let me read it!” The dark headed woman struggled, was grabbed by the arm by her sister to keep Honesty unable to escape. Love was now with her knees smashing down a tower of strawberry cupcakes, throwing her left arm and torso over Honesty trying to reach the letter on the free hands of her sister.

And for goodness sake Love hated those long arms of Honesty!

“It is not yours! Give it back! It must be something serious”. Honesty in a poor attempt to get free from Love, use the letter as a weapon, hitting Love with it. Probably thinking that a paper cut would made her take a few steps back. She clearly did not saw the stupidity in doind this “Than. It. Is. Better. That. I. Read. It.” Honesty said every other punctuated with a paper hit “You are too sensib- Damn it!”

With a now-or-never decision love took an impulse and throw herself in her sister’s hand, successfully grabbing the letter, as her sister took a step back to get away from her, due tot the now free hand, Love had no one to hold her free fall, and she hugged the air, falling with her face to the grass. She quickly ignored the pain and scanned the letters.

His cursive was really terrible. Different from the rounded vows, heavy pressure that Desire used. His writing was fast, pointed consonants, narrow “L” loops, slanting to the left. Even the writing was obviously different.

It was a short letter, direct but she couldn’t make sense of what he wrote. Actually, she could. But those words in a sentence coming from an invitation from her husband made no sense.

Honesty thinking it was taking an eternity for her to read the message, couldn’t contain a needy and demanding “Well?”

She was almost asking again or going to her sister to a second round in trying to get the paper from her. Love was paralyzed, before dropping the paper on the floor, looking at her sister and saying “ He wants us to go for a parade. In the Dreaming.”

Honesty frowned. Love was delirious that was it. “Parade? For what? Does he think it is great doing escape from a mortal after a millennia in imprisonment?” It was a century. Love didn’t know why she felt the impulse to correct her. It didn’t make a difference. Well it did. A few thousand years of difference. But she shouldn’t care. She didn’t care.

“And I heard if it wasn’t from a small mistake, he would still be there. Great achievement.” Her sister was sarcastic but right. His return was not from great victory, it was an escape. It didn’t make sense celebrating. But Dream didn’t want to celebrate his return.

“No. He says that he wishes us to parade through Dreaming, since we didn’t have a parade for the marriage.” A parade meant Love would be shown off to the dreamfolk, an introduction to their queen, so the people would get to know who the Dream King was marrying. It would have made sense, a few centuries ago.

“But you are not newly wed.” Honesty pointed out the obvious. “ I know”. Love could only answer. What did he want? To make her feel guilty of not helping the dreamfolk through all the years of his imprisonment. Well if he did, she would make sure to tell them that he was the one who forbade her to come.

“And you know the Dreaming, obviously” Honesty said, trying to make sense of the letter. Maybe he created new territory and wanted to show Love. The Dreaming was always changing, didn’t someone tell her that? It wasn’t stable like some realms due to the nature of dreams and nightmares. “Of course.” Love hesitated answering a bit too long. Enough to make Honesty suspicious.

“You don’t, do you?” Honesty knew the expression of a liar when she saw one.

“ I know the palace.” Love annoyingly answered. It was a blessing and a curse having a sister that was honesty herself, able to tell a small, minuscule half-lie from the truth. And Love couldn’t understand why Honesty was pushing her lips in a smug victorious smile “ And he wants you two to go on a romantic parade through his realm. Sounds like-“

Love raised herself from the floor, feeling a sting on the left leg, the one that hited the ground first, she ignored the pain, not realizing she was raising her voice to convince her sister that this wasn’t a romantic tale of some sorts “I don’t want a parade!”

The queen’s eye widen with realization, the permission to Elijah leave earlier, hitting her strong like a quick in the stomach. Suddenly the meeting made sense. A piece of a puzzle finally found! “Do you think that is why he asked to see Elijah?”

Her sister frowned, unable to understand that connection. Was Dream conspiring with a cupid and for what? Take over the Garden? Isn’t it already his? By marriage? Did he went insane after imprisonment? ‘Does he know how natural gossipers Cupids are?” Honesty just hoped she eventually would hear what this audience was about “Did he have an audience with Elijah, your Cupid? Why? Were you unavailable?”

Love grabbed a napkin from the floor, walking back to the gazebo, whipping out the sugar syrup from her champagne dress “No, I was here.” She answered while passing by Honesty, “ Of course it’s the parade. Since when does Dream know how to plan anything?” Besides, of course, their doom. Love spoke to herself making sense on that meeting, and the invitation. She just didn’t know why Elijah didn’t tell her.

Honesty bited her tongue not to tell Love that he obviously wanted to surprise her, feeling that her sister might kill her if she speculated anything good of Dream’s intention. Love might be Love but she felt her dear younger sister could stab a man (preferably her husband) if anyone suggested that he could do anything slightly amorous. Better to stay in safe territory. “And when is it?”

Love sighed. “ Tomorrow”. Don’t they get better and more important things to do than parading? Besides that amount of time together, after everything. It would be a disaster for both of them.

“ My stars! And do you have a dress?” Honesty took her hand to her chest, as having a dress was the most urgent life-depending matter at the moment.

She also thought that her brother in law 's desperation for her sister's good favors was quite smothering. If Wodan prepared a parade in such a short notice he would be parading alone, a woman needs time to decide her wardrobe.

Love rolled her eyes, not knowing how a dress was more important than the fact the Dream wants to parade around the Dreaming! “Is that what you are worried about?” Since when her sister was this frivolous? Or since when is Love not that frivolous?

“Well, forgive me for wanting the dreamfolk to see you in your best.” Honesty looked down on her sister wearing a loose fit champagne dress in a thick fabric that looked more like cotton, pushing her lips down, in the opposite of a smile. Love looked like a maid from southern France, not a Queen “Not whatever peasant phase you are going through now. You need to look like a Queen. I never would thought thatit would come from me of all people to tell you that”

Love’s eyes sparkled with a glimpse that worried Honesty because it meant she had an idea. And by her state, that wasn’t a good one. “I do have a dress. I do” Love smiled childish before running through the lavender garden, straight to the palace. Her sister followed her trying to keep her pace, but her small heeled shoes did not allowed to go a lot faster. Both passed through some of the palace staff who wriggled out of the way to not be knocked out, or surprise to see the Queen running around like a child, something she didnt do for centuries.

As soon as Honesty got to the door at Love’s bedroom, she saw her sister taking the dust off one of the most atrocious crimes any seamstress has ever sew. “Oh no you don’t.” Honesty took large steps grabbing the outfit from Love, holding it in front of her sister, so she could proper see what she was choosing. “Have you gone mad? You are not going to wear this awful looking thing that Aunt Temperance gave you. No, I forbid you.” Eoster quickly took back the piece before her sister would throw it on the flames. Rationally speaking “It is very traditional and a wedding gift. It is more than appropriate. And I think it is rather… Happy. Isn’t that what he is planning on making me? Happy? According to your great knowledge of husbands?”

She look confident and pleased with her witty response. Love had one of the most extensive wardrobes. She was the one that always impressed with her choice of dresses. Always on theme, always dazzling. From all her sister's gowns that never saw the light, why use this one?

Honesty scoff trying to appeal to REAL reason “It is medieval and makes you look like a fairy godmother missing only the wand with a star on the point. And that hennin. Please don’t tell me you are wearing that hennin.” She shouldn’t have said it because Love threw the dress in her pink bed and disappeared into her hat closet, appearing back wearing the pointy silk garment with a long veil falling in her back. “A fairy. Good. Might remember him of Titania and bring back some memories.” .

Honesty eyes open wide to the mention of one of her husband's former mistresses. Honesty didn’t know she knew about others. Love always seemed to be most resentful of the muse. Honesty couldn’t blame her. Calliope was the one that bore her husband’s cub, and Love never got pregnant. It caused quite a talk at the time.

Whispers and jests began to rise questioning if Lady Love was as warm as lovely, or if she was as frigid as beautiful.

Honesty would not waste her time arguing with those who were making awful hypotheses about her sister, but she sure did put Wodan to shut them up. And the dark haired lady was pretty convinced that their Aunts helped in shutting the rumors down. All the help was needed since her husband either was completely oblivious to gossip or he did not care what it was being said about his Queen.

Dream could impregnate Love anything he wanted to, have a proper heir, something his wife could love and that would love her back. It would even make it easier for him, if the problem was her being too clingy and noisy (not that Honesty believed it was the case). Hell, husbands did that all the time to get rid of their wives without breaking the marriage. But he chose to impregnate the other woman.

A boy that would later die for love.

A cruel fate but a well-deserved punishment for Morpheus. Not only Love’s sisters would agree on this, but most of the lovefolk.

“Titania would not be caught dead in that pink mess' ' Honesty snapped out of her thoughts turning to her sister that ignored the comment and sat down at the bed stretching the fabric of the dress. “Well if he is so willing like you said, he won’t mind. He will appreciate my company.” Honesty rolled her eyes, sitting at the bed. “And will you be a company to be appreciated?” Honesty was too smart for Love’s tactic of vague words. She knew her sister would not make the slughtest effort to be a good company.

“I will abide to my duty.” She shrrugled her shoulders, looking down at the dress corset a mix of dusk colors, majority pink but tones lilac and blue sprinkled across it.

Honesty throw her back against the soft mattress giving up any tries to convince her of other clothes and other attitudes. Speaking freely, giving her opining even if it risk to be choked down with the atrocious dress petticoat “My stars, Love. He is trying. Don’t try to make your marriage more difficult than it is.”

Love dropped her childish face, looking her sister dead in the eye, she sounded hurt. She was feeling stab by her own sister. Honesty seemed to be taking Dream’s side on this. Like she forgot everything he did. “I tried, do you not remember? Years of trying. And now you expect me to drop at his feat because he suddenly remembered his wife is not part of decoration but actually his queen, and he might start treating her like one?”

It gutted Honesty to tell her that. It hate her to not be able to give her words of comfort, to take her away and find her another husband, since her sister avidly deny any lover. She wished Love didn’t fall into a trap setted by that awful Desire. Honesty wished a lot of things to her younger sister that she could not do it. Love was stuck in a True Marriage. The only way to be free from it was a walk in Lady Death’s realm, which Love had no interest in doing.

She knew Love was feeling corned into a place she did not like it. It was not about sides. It was about reality. Their roles, their duties, their differences. “Love, you know it is different for them. And you suffered so much through your marriage why tire yourself more? Could you not just enjoy his tries? You do not need to forgive him, just let him adore you.”

The brunette eyes were wet with tears she refused to let them drip through her cheeks, but she looked to Honesty with disbelief like she could not believe how her sister, her closest sister, did not understand her feelings, or the situation.

“He hurt me, Honesty.” She clearly said. “More than you would like to imagine.” Honesty might be older, but Love often thought that she was oblivious to miserable marriage real struggles since hers seemed like a game with no losers.

This time Honesty raised her upper body angrily answering her sister that patronized her. As she was a naive nymph oblivious to the problems of the universe. “What? Cheating? Dragging other goddesses, stars and nymphs to your bed? While you pretend not to hear their screams while taking polite tea with your ladies-in-waiting in the other room? Taking you when he couldn’t find anything better to warm his cock? Pain in your lower stomach that you get drunk to forget? Crying yourself quietly to sleep because he doesn't like the sound of your whimps and you know that he will leave your bed if he hears your cry and you prefer his cruel company than a cold bed, because at least you can pretend that if you shared a bed, you are happily married? Please sister, don’t patronize me.”

Love thought in reply that Dream never complained about her crying because they didn’t share a bed, as a statement that her situation was even worse, But was it any winners in this scenario? Was it really worse?

She didn’t reply, winking a few times, taken aback by what her sister was describing. “I didn’t know Woda-“ If he did do such things, Love was right in hating him from the start, which did not bring any rush of pride that she thought she would get from being right. After all it meant her sister was in pain, and not only that, she was a better stepford smiler than her.

Honesty dismissed this with a gesture “Wodan wouldn’t dare. He is a good husband.”

Love rolled her eyes when she saw Honesty smile. “He is an uncouth rake. Weren’t you trying to curse him last time we spoke?”

Honesty shrugged it off. Cursing husbands was a passtime to her sisters. “Probably. He is a good husband, not a perfect one. Besides the point is: You are not the only miserable wife in the cosmos, and I am very good listener.”

Love threw herself in the mattress along her sister “You are a very good gossiper”

“Potato, Potatoh” Both of them smiled at each other, and Honesty lied back turning to her sister, looking compassionately at her face, raising her hands to let her thumb caress her sister cheek. Love delve in her touch. Beautiful green eyes and thick lashes, a smile curved in full pink lips. Her sister was beautiful, she was the most beautiful of the siblings, although Honesty would never admit that to her.

It pinched Honesty’s heart that she could also see the eyebags underneath her eyes, the purple from terrible slept nights, and the lack of glow she had when they were maidens. She wished she could offer some way, some path of a crazy adventure to restore some secret gem or magic dust, a visit to a sea witch, an offering to the Fates, anything that a brave warrior or a pure heart heroine could pursue in order to gain her happiness or at least freedom.

But the truth was they weren’t any of these things, and these weren’t choices available to them. They had duties, obligations to realms, to subjects and mortals. They were bound to them. They could turn their unberable suffering into bearable, misery into contempt. Honesty couldn’t give her sister a magic sand to make her pain disappear, but she could advise her in not hurting herself more.

“ Dove, don’t go on a crusade to punish him and hurt even more of yourself. An Endless like your husband does not have a heart to be wounded.” If he did have a heart at all, which most of the times Honesty doubted. Love sighted sarcastically, rolling her eyes at her sister, repeating her words empathically “An Endless like my husband wasn’t supposed to be locked away for a century by a mortal who barely understood what he was doing.” Which wasn’t a lie, after all wasn’t he trying to trap Lady Death?

Honesty couldn’t help to laugh with her sister “Touché.” She took a minute, both starring at each other eyes in a silent understanding of caring. Love and Honesty could have entire conversations just by deeply looking at each other.

As a spell broke, Honesty took a deep breath before taking an impulse out of the bed, returning to her usual bored and sophisticated tone of voice “I must go now Love Dove, thanks to your hate for orgasmic bliss, Pride waits with who knows what plans for poor me.”

Love frowned confused, raising herself from bed “ I thought she invited you for cricket.”

Honesty fixed her hair with a dramatic wave.

“The torture already began. If I don’t make it, remember me, dear Love”

——————

The parade was everything Eoster loved. She did not expected so many dreams and nightmares that wanted to see her, and give her flowers. They knew that Eoster was goddess of spring, and flowers apparently were the only suitable gift they thought of. She was not expecting to be received with such a warm embrace from them. Even the most awful nightmares seemed to be in their best behavior just to have a chance to exchange a few polite words with Eoster. Morpheus was clearly tense when Love was exchanging pleasantries with the nightmares, after all he was their creator he knew what they were capable of. He had no idea if Love had any knowledge superficial or deep about what they would inflict in a mortal's head, how they would even turn anything they hold dear into an awful horror during their sleep. But she acted with such kindness and gentleness that Dream questioned if she knew, she wasn’t parading only for dreams.

“Those were nightmares.” He said in a matter-of-fact tone, while she was delivering her bouquets to Elijah. The cupid and Lucienne were a few steps behind them, giving them some privacy. She looked at him as if he was oblivious to reality “I know, husband. Even nightmares deserve kindness. “ She said between smiles and cheerful ‘thank yous’ “Do you have any objection to kindness to nightmares? Maybe I should send them straight to the darkness, like my lord husband. ” Love ironically spat with a smile plastered on her face before turning her back to him, the veil of the henning slapping his face, as she continued her walk.

The parade was not what the Dream King imagined. He did not count that so many of the dreamfolk would appear, and that they were eager to see Love up close and talk to her. She seemed in her most natural environment. He was dressed in his usual black attire, and Love was dressed as a fluffy sunrise. A gown with voluminous skirts mainly pink but the fabric reflected lilac and blue depending on the angle, puffy sleeves, a tight corset that made her breasts more apparent than she wished, and her high hennin with a long veil, that she was using as a weapon to slap Dream any opportunity she had.

She looked like a child’s idea of a tooth fairy.

Their day started with a light fight, of course, since Dream had planned to go in an open carriage through the Dreaming, but Love insisted on going by foot. It ended when he argued in favor of her feet and she replied that he was never concerned about her well-being and he did not need to start now. The carriage would give them more privacy, which was what the king intended, just like Elijah suggested. But the queen, suspecting of what her sister said, was avoiding any situation where they would have the slightest of privacy. She even avoided holding his arm while parading. Only doing it when it was extremely necessary or it would look like she was publicly avoiding him. She did not need the dreamfolk to start enquiring about her marriage.

A part of Love was constantly thinking of her own words. ‘He hurt me’ countless times of being cold, stoic, uncaring, making her feel guilty, undeserving of love, having his way with her because it was easy, not caring if it was unpleasant to his wife or not, and she drank to forget it and drank to let it happen. ‘He cheated on me’, dragging every lady that showed the slightest interest in him to their bed, to their realm. ‘He humiliated me’ Having a muse pregnant, never wanting to share a life together, making her cry in empty hallways wrapped in sheets, condemned to live in eternal misery.

Strong arguments and memories, undeniable truths that kept them separated and her heart close.

Another part of her, one that kept opening a small creek in her heart and was fed by the way he kept starring at her during the parade, anytime he thought she wasn’t looking, how his face brightened when he saw her in the ‘atrocious pink dress’, the warmth of his hands when he guide her down the stairs before the parade. She could have denied it and walked by herself, but being alone with him, no Elijah, no Lucienne, it clouded her mind, and before she knew it, she was thinking how soft and warm his hand felt against her and awakened recent memories of his hands holding her face. How she suddenly wished he would do it again, have him close, inches away, feeling the familiar warmth of his breath and his touch. How she hated to feel cold when dropping his hand, to walk in front of him, to give away fantasies. The sweet words of his promises. The yearning. A new beginning. A start over. Hope.

“We will see three more dreams.” Love winked, lost in her thoughts realizing that the dreams and nightmares were scarce now. And Elijah and Lucienne seemed to be discussing an important matter that had both of them checking their notes in their respective notebooks and pointing to the horizon. Dream offered his arm to her and Love crossed her fingers resting them against her corset “ I thought all dreams and nightmares were invited to our parade. I do not believe any of them would risk your wrath of not coming to it.” She might fantasize about a husband she could love but it would not mean she would would be easily swayed by her real one “ Besides I am exhausted”

“ I did offer you a carriage, might you remember” Morpheus didn’t see when the answer slipped from his lips. Arguing with her came so easily. Love was not drunk, she was difficult and stubborn when drunk but he could tell the difference even after centuries apart, this was his sober wife that although didn’t disobey or cause any scene during the parade had been exhaustively petty, offering disguised insults through passive aggressiveness comments.

Love widened her gaze to Morpheus, groaning loudly, reaching for her skirts, turning her back and walking away. She would depart to the Garden immediately. And when he opened his mouth to appeal to reason, Love turned back fluster in angry “ Might I remind you, lord husband, that you wanted a marriage parade that I immediately agree, doing once again your bidding, performing my decorative role as your wife, and now I wish to return to my Garden.”

“Love, please” Morpheus walked a few steps close to her, not enough that she would feel threatened but enough that she could hear him. Love didn’t know what shocked her more, the fact that her name was dropping from the lips of her husband for the first time, without any title before it, or the fact that he was pleading. And Morpheus remembers quite well the words of the Cupid ‘don’t summon, invite her’. He cleared his throat and assumed the posture of a gentleman, one hand in his back and the other extended to her “Will you be kind enough to accompany me? Those dreams aided during my return. Besides, I would be delighted with the pleasure of your company. “ She took a second looking from his eyes to his hands before accepting it. “Any subject that aided my lord husband in his return, deserves my deepest gratitude.” Love stoically replied, a hint of tiredness in her voice. Morpheus looked at her trying to read any emotion, but Love did not look back.

Lucienne and Elijah were nowhere to be seen. And Love tried not to think about them being alone, she specially tried to avoid the thoughts that kept creeping in her mind about their last encounter in her quarters. How close they were, she could have kissed him. Despite the hate and the hurt. She could blame them for fear of losing their realms. Take his coat and shirt off, feel his arms, slide the point of her fingers all along his defined marbled torso, hear he groan in pleasure, feel him under his pants, his desire for her, the warmth of his breath in her neck, his mouth against every inch of her body, his tongue across her painfully hard nipples, while his hand took the other giving both his indivisible attention. Love would loudly moan in pleasure, keeping her fingers in his hair and eyes locked with him putting her hand on top of his, showing how she liked to be touch, desperate to teach and feel him everywhere, but he would want to savor every piece of her body, trailing kisses from her chest to her belly, skipping where she most needed him only to open her tights wide, Dream would flustered, his eyes darkening in lust, contrasting the delicate moving of his fingers finally reaching where Love most ache for him. She would let him beg for forgiveness every night between her legs.

“Your nails.”

Dream made her mind snap away from her deviation. She was starting to feel warm for nothing. She immediately relaxed her nails, realizing she was digging into his arm. “Forgive me. My feet are starting to tire me.” She lied, Dream noticed the red in her cheeks, but couldn’t possibly think why pain in her feet were a reason to be embarrassed. Maybe because she didn’t want to give in that he was right in using a carriage.

The raven haired king kept quiet during their walk, mostly because it was a difficult walk. Love nails started to dig into his arm a long time ago, he didn’t think she was having any difficulties in walking, but they were digging deep. He promised to himself that the path to her heart if there was any was through courting her properly, the very traditional way of courting, being invited to picnics, dinners, tea, dances in ballrooms, letters, slowly trying to gain her favors. But he could not help to wonder those same nails digging into his back or in both of his arms, having Love under him, feeling a hot wave of white pleasure across her whole body, digging her nails to keep him unbelievably closed, like being inside her wasn’t enough. His pants were starting to feel tight, and he tried his best to focus on the way. Cain and Abel, and Goldie. It didn’t help that the side of her breasts kept constantly nudging against his arm and through the side of his eyes he had the perfect view of her low neckline, which was more evident thanks to the tight corset he wanted to free her from.

He knew he had long lost his right in imagining her like this, to crave her like air, but he did both.

The couple walked in complete silence, before reaching two decaying Victorian style houses. The ground was covered in dry leaves, and the air smelled like autumn, which for Love didn’t make sense. She was about to question if she was able to be grateful to the houses. When two short men appeared. One looked quite cheerful, as the other had a cranky face. They were similar but at the same time, very different. No one needed to tell her they were brothers.

“Cain, Abel, this is Queen Eoster, Lady of the Four Loves, Princess of Springs, and Ruler of the Garden of Lovers and The Dreaming. She is my wife and your queen.” Love could not remember if she was ever introduced by Dream. Everyone already knew who they were, and she did not know how to feel hearing him actually telling others that she was his.

The brunette queen opened a polite smile, “Blessing from the Garden, Cain and Abel. I offer you my deepest gratitude for helping my husband, in such dire times.” She could see they were lost, looking at each other for a moment, before desperately looking over to Dream, who probably indicated something that they should do a courtesy. And they did, a clumsy one. Eoster could tell the cheerful one was a bit startled, while the cranky one seemed to be looking from Love to Dream, unsure. She realized they looked like a very atypical couple.

Love opened her mouth to break the awkward silence between them, when the cheerful one interrupted her. “My lady, do you like gargoyles?” At the same time, the cranky one punched his brother in the arm. “Do not interrupt her, Abel! The lady was about to speak!” Love flinched at the sudden violence, trying to avoid any conflict. Dream seemed unfazed by the interaction. Was this normal? “No, please. I can not say that I do, Abel. We do not have gargoyles in the Garden.” The eyes of the man seemed to sparkle with that realization. “Than you must meet Goldie. Lord Dream gave her to us. She will always be Irving to me, but please do not tell Cain.” He grabbed her hand, passing through the fallen leaves, Love’s hennin got stuck in a tree, and she turned back to grab, she immediately felt a breath in her back. She quickly turned to see a golden gargoyle.

Gargoyles were supposed to be terrifying, at least according to stories, however this was anything but. “Oh- Hello, hi” Love stumbled into a tree branch, almost falling back, but she supported the queen with her head, stabilizing her before Abel made the introductions mistaken a few of her titles as ‘Lady of the Four Springs’ and ‘Queen of the Springs’ but, the main title he got right, which was Lord Morpheus’ Queen. Goldie did the better bow between the trio. “Goldie likes you… ou-my lady” Cain stepped into Abel’s feet after he took a time not addressing Love by the proper title. Love did not care exactly. Especially because she was starting to grow fond of Abel. Love kept petting the Gargoyle and decided to ask some curiosities of her “ Do you both prefer a more autumnal scenario?”

Cain and Abel look at each other, unknowingly how to give the right answer, so Love explains, circling her finger indicating the environment “The dry leaves, dry trees, everything in orange-brown tones. Autumn.” They still kept quiet. It was not that Love did not liked autumn, she found it quite tolerable, going to the mortal’s world during this season always was pleasant, but it was also quite depressing.

“Your houses have a lovely front, and the soil is good. I can make it spring for you. Don’t you wish for blooming flowers, a light warm sun, trees full of green leaves, soft grass, maybe some carrots for Goldie?” Abel eyes were sparkling, he looked to Cain in excitement, but Cain seemed unsure. Not a fan of changes, Love could sense. “It would be my way of expressing gratitude.” She made a small bow, and that she knew would convince Cain. He was proud, but he would not say no to Love, especially with Dream right there.

Dream! “Of course, if my lord allows it, to shape his Dreaming.” She turned to him, completely forgetting that he was there! Biting down her lower lip almost as asking for forgiveness before the fight. She only wished he saved the lecture when they returned, not here. “You are Queen of the Dreaming, if it is your wish then I have nothing to allow.” He said in the most peaceful manner. Love frowned, taking a second to digest it, trying to sense any hostility, sarcastic, passive-aggressiveness, but he seemed to genuinely mean it. She was Queen of the Dreaming. Love couldn’t believe it.

The brothers sensed how unsure Love was. Constantly looking over to the Dream King as if he would change his mind at any second. Abel was about to tell her that it was no trouble at all. Dry leaves and dead trees were fine. She would not want her to get into trouble, especially after being kind to him.

But as he was about to speak, a cold air came across them, Lady Love had her feet on the ground, her eyes closed, as the next breeze came it smelled like freshly cut grass, and spikes of green herbs started to grow as the tree foliage, damaged tree trunks healed, the vines that climbed against the outside wall of the houses, went from brown to a deep green, as the smell of jasmyne, roses, lilies and lavenders started to rose, the field blossomed. Dream kept watching his wife awakening spring, her hair got fuller, and her skin slightly glowed as she was bathing in sun, she looked more alive than he ever saw her, while the nature besides him blossomed, he could only look at her.

The smell of rain came next. “Forgive me if it is not up to your liking, it’s been ages since I last performed a small spring, especially in front of an audience. We better get inside.” Love put her shoes back, before going to Morpheus’s side, her eyes were a vivid deep green that he never quite seen before. “ It is coming quite a storm to completely awake your spring my dreams, I believe I got too excited. We better go inside, unless you want to soak under the rain.” She expected any of them to lead the way, but Cain and Abel were still fascinated by the awakening happening all around them, Abel was especially charmed by the trail of tiny flowers, growning where Lady Love walked. And Dream kept cursing himself for his lack of control, thinking about his wife soaked under the rain, her dress sticky to her figure, her curls untangled, falling to her waist, the fabric semi transparent, showing her curves covered only by her underwear, that if he remembered were always flimsy lace, “Which house, shall we go?” Love innocently asked, not knowing where Dream’s thoughts were nor the argument this would cause.

Cain argued they should go to The House of Mystery, and Abel wanted them to go to The House of Secrets. Love did not know if she should intervene, for her the houses looked the same, even their names. Weren’t secrets just mysteries waiting for someone to discover them? And isn’t a mystery just an obscure secret? And most importantly wouldn’t they offer the same protection of the spring rain that was about to come? Love intervened when she thought Cain had a murderer look towards poor Abel. “We shall have tea in The House of Mystery! And of course we will have dinner at the House of Secrets. Does that please both of you? Then off we go, gentlemen, please. ” This seemed to settle the argument.

Dinner? She did not want to have dinner and tea with Cain and Abel. Actually she didn’t mind the dreams or the gargoyle, but she did mind pretending to be a happy harmonious couple more than she had planned. But how could she stop the two brothers? Love let the two walk upfront, making the preparations, like a mother that let the kids close the door before fighting with a low voice with her husband. “Would you let the two of them kill each other? Do your dreams mean nothing to you?” She spat, passing her hands through her hair.

“Abel is the First Victim and Cain the First Murderer”. He answered as this was enough to settle her down, when he saw her face continued the same, he further the explanation. “Cain is constantly killing Abel, and Abel does not remain dead. Cain always buries him, but Abel is alive again by sunrise. Cain is trying to avoid killing Abel in front of you. Out of respect”

He did not mention that he was the one telling them to avoid bloodshed, since Love was not fond of manslaughter, nor was herself used to it. Love looked at Dream with disbelief in her eyes. Did he learn nothing with Morningstar? Did he not listen to her? “And you did not thought that was crucial to share with your wife?” Dream crossed his arms in his back “Lady wife, you did not ask any habit of my other creations, I did not think this was any different.”

Love blinked looking at her unfazed husband. Tall, dark hair, pale, and not a hint of annoyance. He was not lying, she could tell. Morpheus did not lie. But he was not being sincere either. Something in Love kept nudging her that he wanted this to happen. It could be insanity, she must be going insane after those days. Better ladies would already give up. But it could be true. Maybe he wants to spend time with her, convincing her that he has changed for the better.

Well, she would give him reasons to regret it.

—------------

Tea time was tense. Abel kept shaking his tea. Cain kept giving murderer looks to his brother that flinched and shaked even more. During a conversation, Dream tried to hold Love’s hand over the table and she abruptly took it away, not breaking eye contact with the brothers that were telling a story. The brothers pretended not to notice the queen’s anxiety, every plastered smile Queen Love offered, every rehearsed compliment, and those half-a-second-blink-and-missed coldly glancing at Dream as a warning. Near the end of the tea time, Love asked a question that changed the course of her later evening “ How did the name Goldie come to you? Was it both of your choices? My sisters and I could never agree on naming clouds, imagine gargoyles!”

Five minutes later, Abel’s blood spills in Love’s face, Dream’s coat, and the table cookies, their chamomile tea acquiring a pink color after a dash of blood mixed to it.

Four hours later, there was no dinner, Cain was outside burying Abel. And Dream and Love were settled in a bedroom that Cain fixed for them to share a night at the House of Secrets. This time it wasn’t Dream who convinced Love, but Cain. He said that they need to fulfill their promise and to wait for Abel to say goodbye.

“If that was the case, then you should have learned how to control your nerves better, Cain of the House of Mysteries.” She scolded the dream. Cain was taken aback by her response. He heard Lady Love was kind, beautiful, generous and very polite, no one said anything about her scolding, how it felt like it was disappointing and betraying a mother. Cain merely nodded with his head down. He was ashamed of something he had done his whole existence. How was that possible?

Love did not caring if her husband would later scolded her for it.

To her surprise he didn’t. At the moment, he looked a bit… impressed. Like he didn’t know that Love could scold or lecture her subjects. Her cheeks turned pink when she realized he was looking at her in awe.

Now, they were stuck in one bedroom. Neither she or Morpheus had the courage to ask for separate rooms. It would be one night. At a dream’s house. What could possibly go wrong?

Love tried to tell herself, as she walked to the couple’s bed, covered in old flowery covers matching the walls, it looked like an old room in a farm cottage. She stopped between the bed and the vanity, untying her dress. Love could not sleep in her gown, it was too big and occupied too much of a space.

She stripped down the gown, and marched away from the two petticoats Elijah put her on. The corset was the last piece missing and she was struggling with the tight knots Elijah gave. It seemed silly, but it has been centuries since she was the one undressing herself, she usually had a dream maid or Elijah to help her, even Lucienne helped her once. She was getting tired of trying to push the knot since it seemed to tightens it more. Maybe she could sleep in a corset. It would crush her ribs. Nothing much.

“May I?” She wasn’t surprised with Dream behind her, she heard his footsteps. Love just didn't expect him to come help her. At first she denied, saying it was fine. He did not move, of course he didn't believe her, a single person could not untie the amount of knots in that dress. He could not understand why Love still picked those laced ribbons type of dresses, but he had a feeling that if he mentioned anything, Love would kill him in bed. “Fine.” She gave up.

Love didn’t want Dream this near to her. She could feel his breath in her neck, and it sent shivers down her spine. She held her breath and become stiff under his fingers when they slightly grazed her skin over the cotton gown. Love could see his expertly hands working through the mirror in the vanity. Even with the corset getting loose it was getting harder to breathe.

Dream pretended to be well composed, but his breath was uneven, and he was sure Love would notice. His mouth was dried and he tried to ignore it, while trying to focus on the ribbon knots, and avoid gazing at the naked skin of her shoulders, the connection point between her neck, and how it moved with every small turn. How he wanted to close the space between them, and kissed and take her scent in, discard that corset and put his hand over her waist, embrace her, let her skin melt against his, as he would slide his hands under her gown, feel her silk skin against his fingers, mark her neck as his.

He turned his eyes to the mirror, trying to get away from those thoughts, especially since he was going to share a bed with Love. He might daydream about his wife wanting to give him her tender affections, but he knew that in reality if Love even suspected he was slightly aroused, she would put her dress back and sleep on the floor. And he didn’t want her to be uncomfortable because he couldn’t control himself. Sharing a bedroom was not in his plans. Spend time with her, yes, but this was pushing the limits.

His eyes crossed with hers, as she was staring at him working on her corset through the mirror. He continuously untied her corset, but he didn’t break eye contact, neither did her. Both of them played a dangerous game, until her garment fell into the ground.

“Thank you” Love shyly said, turning herself to the bed, getting quickly under the covers, even if her nightgown covered every piece of her body besides her shoulders and her ankles. She tried to focusing herself, remembering why Dream was an expert in untying dresses. ‘ Yours he wasn't untying.’ She sat on the bed, braiding her long hair. She didn't had to, but at least it would keep her mind away from her husband stripping in front of her. “If it pleases you, I can sleep on the floor”.

Morpheus suggested standing at the side of the bed. Love looked at him in a normal black cotton shirt and boxers that matched it. Thinking it was a good idea. But also seeing the ridicule of it. They were married. He had seen her naked before, she laid with him, he spilled his seed into her. But even if it sounded ridiculous, sharing a bed in nightclothes was far more intimate then everything they shared “We are married” She shrugged off, it was the answer to their questions, she opened the covers on his side. “Maybe you should have one and I the other”. She pulled one of the covers to her side of the bed, pushing one to leave on Morpheus' side. He looked hurt believing she thought that he would do anything to her during the night. Another sin to carry. That was the type of husband she thought he was. That was the treatment he gave her.

Love on the other hand kept thinking that she just didn’t want to wake up curled into his arms.

She would never have thought that Morpheus would do anything nonconsensual to her during the night, he had plenty of opportunity to do it in the palace, and never did. Why would he start now? With dreams just outside their windows that could hear everything. It would not give him a good look.

Morpheus did not argue with her, merely agreeing.

As soon as he fixed himself, Love blew out the candle in their bedroom. Laying against her pillow. It wasn't fluffy as the pillow from the Gardens nor stained with tears or wine like the pillows from the Dreaming.

It had an unknown smell that was not helping her sleep nor the sound of Cain’s shovel. She closed her eyes trying to shut her internal voices, thinking about the pink milky lakes in the Garden, the sweet melodies her protégés would play, the sound of waves hitting the shore.

It did not work. She turned to her sides, feeling Morpheus was too close or the bed was too small. She decided to lay looking at the ceiling. How many hours did she spent turning on bed? Was it already morning? She needed to sleep.

The more she looked at the ceiling the more she realized she wasn’t going to sleep even if she was tired. “Husband, are you asleep?”

It was an odd question to ask, she realized. She did not know if Morpheus actually slept. He was the Sandman after all, but did he get the chance to experiment his own creations? Or he merely crafts his realm and its people for others enjoyment and misery? Always looking outside but never living it himself.

Both had more in common than Love realized.

He took his time to answer her, and she believed he could be sleeping. “No, my lady. I am not.” Love nodded, even if he couldn’t see. She moved, sitting on the bed resting her back against the headboard “May I ask you a question?”

Morpheus mirrored her, sitting in the bed “Yes.”

Love frowned, already regretting the question. She could have just stayed quiet. “You have to promise not to be crossed.” She didn’t mean to sound childish as she sounded.

“I will not. You may ask.” She could not see in the darkness but could feel Dream smile when answering her.

Love cleaned her throat “How was it?”

“Pardon me?” He could not have listened to her, after all she whispered like a student afraid of answering the wrong question from the professor.

“How was it to be imprisoned all those years?” She took a deep breath, reuniting all the courage to keep this conversation.

“ Why the sudden interest?” Love definitely regretted asking it. She did not know why she asked. It just popped in her head. Maybe because he kept saying his imprisonment changed him, changed how he sees her. She wanted a better understanding. Or it was her stupid heart trying to find any excuses to forgive him.

“ I can’t sleep” She lied shrugging her shoulders

“And details of my imprisonment might aid you?” Love could not contain a roll of eyes.

She stayed silent, both of them. He was crossed, he lied, although he didn’t sound like it. Morpheus sounded more amused than crossed, but Love couldn't trust what she felt he sounded like. It was dark, her senses were frail. She couldn’t trust anything. She turned herself to the opposite side, preparing to lay back and try to sleep or impatiently count the seconds so the night could be over.

“ Lonely.” He took a deep breath. “At first I kept thinking about the Dreaming, how it would be without me, neglected, unprotected, the effects on the wakening.” The Sleeping Sickness. Of course. Love remembers bits of it. She thought it was just an unrelated name to a common sickness, but it rendered dramatic love stories, couples forever apart by a forever sleep. “Then I remembered that you were here and my thoughts turned to your work, if you were getting a hold of it, dealing with dreams and nightmares, my siblings.” He didn’t say but part of him was expecting to come back to war ground, the Dreaming infested with Desire. How foolish it sounded now. “ I thought I was only thinking about duties, about the continuation of things, but as time went by, I realized that among all of it, I truly kept thinking about you. I worried about the dream folk and the realm but I kept always coming back on you. If anyone was helping you understand the Dreaming since I retrieve myself from that duty, if you were tired of bearing my load, if you were staying at the Dreaming or at the Garden, if you slept in my quarters as you were the sole ruler or continued in your bed, if anyone dared to defy your authority. When I realized, I stopped thinking about the work, and kept losing myself in these few memories of you, that were so scarce but fed my hopes of return, your soft delicate hands over mine, your floral scent. I curse myself for not remembering your smile, but clearly remembering your tears, the sound of your cries. I vowed that when I get back, I would make my daily iteration to make my Queen smile, so I could never forget. And if damnation came upon me, at least I have your radiance to remember when walking through my sister’s realm, knowing that I am not responsible for only your tears, but some of your happiness.”

Love could not keep her eyes away from Dream. His hair was a mess, he had prominent eye bags. His queen could not remember if she ever saw him more human, and under the soft moonlight coming from the thin curtains, he looked more handsome than she ever saw him. And the vulnerability! She was a fool, she knew her sisters would scold her for having a soft heart but she didn’t think properly when she suddenly kissed her husband.

Her lips crashing against his, she meant to pull away in a second, hide under the covers, and pretend nothing happened, afraid he might reject her. But contrary to her anxieties, he quickly responded to her kiss, and moved carefully against her mouth afraid she might break away. Love shyly opened her mouth as he gladly slipped his tongue inside which elicited a needy moan from his Queen that she had not realize it came from her, nor the effect it had on her husband who desperately needed to hear the sounds he could get from Eoster and felt a dire need to have her body close against him, he curled his hands into her hair, as they deepen the kiss.

Love showed no resistance to dwelling in his touch, letting the burning sensation on her body take over. Morpheus pulled her to him, letting Love straddle his lap, her gown pooled above her mid thigh, partially exposing her legs. Her hands resting flattened against his chest, feeling his heartbeat underneath her touch. She can imagine how he would look without a shirt underneath the weak light. They break their kiss for a second as her hands cradle his face, and she rested her forehead against his, even with the low light both staring at each other, their silence being only accompanied by their dorment passion, their chest heaving in synchrony.

Their moment was a brief eternity, Dream kept looking from her eyes to her parted lips, and when Love gave him a gentle kiss as consent to continue, Dream wasted no time, tracing a path of wet kisses from her mouth to her collarbone, following to her pulse point as she tilted her head giving him more access. His lips were warm from their kiss but they sent shivers across her back as he nipped the skin of her neck. Love weakly moaned, her tights tensed pressing harder against Dream.

Her hands went to his soft raven haired hair, grabbing his locks into her fingers, to which he groan in pleasure and Love felt a electric wave through her body. She wanted more. His hand was on her stomach, she could feel how cold they were as his fingertips raised the hem of the nightgown, delicately as he wanted to indulge every second of it.

She didn’t stop her sleeves to fall from her shoulder letting the sight of the top of her breast exposed, a silent invitation to be touched. Dream’s hand went up to her body, feeling every inch of skin, the warmth of his wife, he couldn’t take his hands away from her, it would be a sin, a crime to do it. To have neglected her all those years, he was the one that deserved an eternity in Hell for his foolishness.

Love was unsure if the feelings from her body were clouding her eyes, but she could swear Morpheus was smiling at her, and she was smiling at him. His hand laid over her breast, his palm a warm pressure over her nipple. Love arched her back, moving her hips, pushing her breast more into his hand “Dream…” the neediness in her voice, his name dropping from it like prayer, and if he never wanted or needed worshipers before, he would be content to only listen to her prays. ”Yes?” The rasp of his voice mixed with eagerness, wanting to hear every single need his Queen had. He started circling her breasts, pinching her hard nipple, as she moaned with each touch as he was discovering what would make Love say his name again. She took one of her hands to the other breast, feeling it burning in desire for her husband’s hand. Her palms were not the same as his, she squeezed it a bit stronger than her husband, to mimic the pressure.

The Dream King was mesmerized by his wife pleasing herself, he stopped for a moment his movements just to see her, throwing her head back, and looking deep into his eyes, full of desire, as a whimp escaped her lips “Touch me”.

Both of them shared a look, as she put her hand over his, showing how she wanted to be touched. Love never saw Morpheus take so well instructions from her. He didn’t need to be afraid she was going to break, so she pressed his hands more intensively against her, Love needed his touch as one needed air, she needed to feel his fingers dig in her skin, and as he learn, and Dream was a quick learner, she let go of his hands, holding him by his shoulder and then his back digging her nails in his skin as she pressed again her hips into him, his breath hicks, letting his head fall in her shoulder, his hair tickling her cheek as he kissed her skin, letting love marks all across her collarbone. One of his hands went to her waist to keep her close, she could feel Dream harder under her and his length grazing in her entrance, when he bucked his hips to meet her, sending a wave of pleasure that she wanted to keep chasing.

”Do you like it?” He whispered against her ear, and she stopped for a moment, Dream looked at her, flustered and painting, afraid he might have ruined it. As he opened his mouth to apologize, she kissed him, whispering back “You never asked before.” It was not a spiteful reply, like the ones before, everytime he asked her something about her well-being. It was a lovable answer, full of hope and happiness, like Dream finally asked the one thing that mattered in all those centuries. As a response to his question, she rolled her hips against his, feeling his hard on, and he immediately met her in the same motion, Dream holded her waist down to keep her exactly where she was, and both couldn’t help but moan louder than expected.

After years of their date nights being a painful annoyance only making her feel dirty, having to clean herself and drink tea for pain the next day, she never thought she would get any pleasure from her husband's erection, and she might be wrong or the heat got to her head but she couldn’t remember feeling him so stiff before. And for Garden’s sake, knowing she was the one making him painfully hard, was one sweat reward she never expected to feel.

“The crimes that I blame you for, they mean nothing more to me, my love” His words were sweet whispers as they shared sloppy kisses, while caressing her nude thighs. She was already soaking for him, it was not in her plans to get so easily aroused by him. But how can she not want to make true of every single fantazie she imagined all those years? Especially when Morpheus' was being gentle and attentive, his touch was addictive, her body responded to it as it did not need her mind to decide for it. As it wanted to give all for him. To be drunk on his touch, on his mouth, on his voice.

It wanted to ignore his words, but they kept resonating in her ears. Her body keep screaming to forget, forget and forget, that it didn’t matter, that she would ruin this, what she deserves, being worshiped in bed by her husband. She could smile and let him kiss her pain away, ignore his meaning. In a few moments he would be inside her, Love could tell by the way they kept quickly escalating their innocent kisses, and it would be pleasant, fulfilling, passionate, everything she always wanted. And Honesty would be right, Dream would try to compensate for all the years of negligence. And they would be the couple nobody invited to stay for longer festivities. But her mind kept turning the gears, repeating that he did not say that she was innocent of their forced marriage, he only dismissed it as he was forgiving her. He could not possible mean it, right?

“Crimes that I did not commit.” She lustfully whispered in the middle of a high pitched moan closing her eyes and pressing her forehead against his as Morpheus left her breasts to give attention to her neglected core, circling and pressing a finger over her thin underwear. He knew he was the only one to touch her wet cunt, she never had a lover and although he knew she not only could but should have by the way he treated her, he couldn’t help to feel more turned on by knowing he would be the only one giving her the denied pleasure he punished her with. And how much pleasure he plans to give Love.

His touch was vastly different from her own. It was intense and extremely hot, his fingers where slender and longer than hers, and could reach new spots she would not dream in touching, her insides clenched for him. “My lady, you are dripping for me.” He said as soon as he pushed away her underwear, and pushed a finger over her slit, circling her bud as well as pressing against her entrance. She hated how his words made it more difficult to think, how she grinded herself on his finger to raise the friction. “Yes, only for you, my king”. She felt dizzy and warm and drunk on his touch, Morpheus was painfully hard seeing her getting off on his fingers complemented with her filthy words, he gifted her pushing a finger inside her dripping entrance. It easily slided like it was meant to be inside her, he curled it in his direction, feeling her walls clenched around his fingers, as she cried at the intrusion. For a moment she thought that maybe she could make him say what she wanted if her body and mouth worked to let him be completely drunk on her as she was on him.

But it wouldn’t be true. He would say it merely to seek relise, to have her. Which was exactly what love has been avoided for all of these years.

She resisted the urge to ask him for another finger, although her body craved for it.

Trying to sober herself up from his touch and his warmth. She needed to hear him say. She needed more than any carnal desire. She needed to be believed by him. ”Morpheus?” She said his name for the first time, and squeezed his arm. He looked at her puzzely, she knew by his face that he was about to ask if he did anything to displease her, since her pleasure seems to be his focus. She cupped his face and looked him in the eyes, repeating herself “Crimes that I did not commit” so he would have the chance agree and make her entirely his.

He look at her, the lack of his immediate response set her aback and his next words were the wrong ones “We can move past this” a tired whisper, a string Dream was throwing at Love expecting she would catch. He went to kiss her again, but Love turned her face. The heat among them was lowering, and a wave of cold air ran through them, the rift between them opening again.

Love couldn’t believe that those words spoken in a sweet whisper, while both were entangled in each others arms, could be more cruel than any of their screams amids drunk fights before. How he managed to break her heart more than it was already broken.

Her eyes scanned through his face in disappointment and realization. “You still believe on that, don't you? You are convinced that I conspired with Desire.” Dream saw that he was losing her again, he saw in her green iris something broke inside her. Something drift away and slipped through his hands.

He could have lied, said exactly what she wanted to hear, but he couldn’t lie to himself and he couldn’t disrespect his wife by lying to her. They would be one of those couples that pretended to be happy, shoving everything else in the basement, until one day it came exploding in their faces. Or worse, it could be used against them, which could led to catastrophic consequences.

Love didn’t move, she dropped her hands fatigued, but still staring at her husband. Like holding her stare maybe would make him change his answer. What a romantic and stupid want. Her eyes started to feel dry, and the more she blinked the more she felt tears starting to pool. She felt ashamed of her exposed vulnerability. Not only of her body and how it crave for him, how it was responsive and wanted to ignore his words only to seek a sweet white relief, but her soul, how she let it again be hurt by him.

She was no better than any naive maid who fell for Wodan’s cheap charm. “ I am such a fool”

“ We can move past this” he repeated himself because that was the only think he could say. It was the past. They needed to move on. He holded her face in his hands caressing her cheek, looking at her teary eyes, he broke her heart once more, he knew and she was slipping away again, he wanted to hold her, so he could hold this moment, hold themselves.

Love knew if she nudged against his touch for a single moment, if she let him comfort her, she would not be able to leave. So she snap his hands of her.

She raised herself from him, returning to her side of the.bed, raising her sleeve and pushing down her gown feeling glad it was dark so he could not see the tears falling from her eyes. She wished she could run from this bedroom, whatever promises she made, threw it all to hell and never come back, never see his face again. “Love, please…” he reached his hands to touch hers, but she snapped them away before he could even touch her

She abruptly cut him, a knot in her throat making it almost impossible to speak, her voice was shaky, unstable, she felt herself trembling. “We can’t move past this, we can’t have a future without trust. We can’t hope for it, can’t you see, husband? You don’t forgive. And don’t tell me your imprisonment changed you, because you can say all you want but the proof of your inability to forgive lives in Hell at this moment because she declined you. And even after our marriage, the girl still is tormented in hell, just because you hold your grudges.”

“And do you forgive?! Do you dare say you don’t hold any grudges?!” Her husband snaps at her.

“My grudges are justified and you know it.” Love said in a serious tone

“And mine are not?” Love saw his point, but she would not argued it with him, besides she did not want to give in

“ You can’t forgive her, and you can’t forgive me” Love said it in one breath afraid if she stopped, she would begin to cry. And Love did not want to cry in front of him.

“Love, it is not at all the same, you…I…” Morpheus tried to justify, but what could he say? That Love was his wife, and he would never submit her to such treatment? He already did. He did not sent her to Hell, of course, but he did put her to live in misery.

“Eventually, we will fight again or I will displease you in some manner, and you will turn back to this ludicrous idea of conspiracy, and use it as fuel to punish me in bed and in public, and I will use wine to ease the pain you carelessly inflict on me. And you will say that I carved my own fate when I decided to conspire with Desire. As you said over and over.” Morpheus stayed silent, he couldn’t argue with her, Love knew his behavior too well.

Tears rolled freely from her cheeks, and Love did not make any attempt to clean them up “I am glad you are trying to fix the pain you cause me, I can see you truly repent of it and I am awfully sorry that you had to go through a century of imprisonment to realize your mistakes, but don’t lie to yourself, Morpheus, you don’t forget, you don’t move on and you still believe I mislead you, that I plot with Desire.” She glanced over at him, probably her own tears on the way, but if she didn’t know better, she would say that a tear ran through her husband cheek.

His voice however, was the same “It does not matter to me, it is nothing”

Love screamed in response losing her posture and control “It is everything! And it does matter to me! How can you be so blind?! You still think that some part of me is a vile creature that trapped you and hold you into a loveless marriage and that I conspired with Desire to aid in your demise.“

And pulling the memories, a week after their first night together, when she thought she could not live anymore, Love went to him, in all her innocence and naïveté “I begged you to believe me, I wept, I got on my knees, desperately pleading to you believe in my word, to see reason, to read the false letters, to believe in your wife. And do you know what you did, do you remember it?” At the ocassion she threw at his feet the hundred of letters written by Desire. And Dream, sat on his throne frowning reading a book, glanced at his wife, after the pleads and all was left was his sobbing Queen, on the lower step of the stairs, head in her hands, covering her eyes, as she kept crying.

Love never knew how he could see her crying and do nothing at all. Because that is what he did.

He left. Morpheus remembered it. He thought that Desire had chosen a good actress to partner with and how she patronize him, by thinking he, Lord of Dreams, would fall for a trick as a beautiful damsel in distress, in need of only his assistance.

“You left.” Love said it coldly. How could he not see the pain, she was before?

And Lord Morpheus, who would have dream prefer the silence but when spoke, speak always so eloquent, kept repeating the only thing he could “We still can find way to be together”

Amidst a sob that Love did not mean to escape but it found its way to her mouth before her words, she decided to open her heart, because what else would he do? He couldn’t break her heart anymore, he couldn’t lose her anymore that she was already lost “I love you, Morpheus. I do. I have to say it now because I won’t be able to muster up the courage to say it again. Against every fiber of my being, every pure logic, even knowing you were not the one the wrote those letters, I still see those same traits that made me fell in love, you are dutiful to your work, to the mortal world and the dream folk, you deeply feel and care for those you love even if I never was the one receiving it, I could see. And it hurts, because you never believed in the sincerity of my feelings and I cannot believe yours are anything but starvation of touch and sympathy, I am a fool for even a second thinking otherwise, and I can not bear to risk being misled again. I simply cannot hold anymore pain”

He didn’t know why he tried to speak but he had to “Love, listen-“ he had to at least try to make her stop, to make him rethink. But the doors were closed.

Elijah said Lady Love’s heart was never closed to love, that was her essence, but he was not sure if her Cupid ever saw her like this.

The way Love spoke next, it was devoided of any emotion, any pain, it was a tired speech, but she spoke as it was not up for discussion. And how could Morpheus tried to argue with her?

“After the Festival, I wish to go back to the Garden, with my court. We will call it a holiday. I will not be coming to the Dreaming, unless under your calling, and I deeply expect my lord husband to be less inclined in calling me, and highly advise you to find a mistress that will take care of your needs, for I won’t willingly lay with you anymore.”

She slided under the covers turning to the other side, looking at the window, they both stayed silent. The sound of Cain’s shovel being the only noise filling the space. She heard his sigh in defeat, more wonded than ever before.

“ Very well, lady wife”

@secretdreamlandmentality @littlemoistcarrot @lokigirlszendaya @roxytheimmortal

[celtrist]

Was reading thru the tag and I'm curious now, on the off chance that Alastor IS able to break his curse, how would the other "love interests" react? I'm just imagining the kind of horror scenario for certain characters realizing that they have been doing some pretty heinous things to Alastor, versus some characters who, while not technically under the curse, still hold a really deranged torch for him . (It's vox.) But yeah, just curious about your thoughts.

I wouldn't say it's an off chance for it to happen (I'm definitely the type for as much as I like darker content, I do tend to need SOME sort of happy/bittersweet ending to be satisfied typically. There are some exceptions, but dead dove stuff does tend to need that for me) I don't remember who I did and didn't talk about, so forgive me for any repeats.

Everyone more or less feels immense guilt and horror for what they've done, simple as that (with a few exceptions of course). But I think most people in the hellaverse really aren't into the whole "unwanted attention" thing, so I think most would feel like shit about it. If not just sorta uncomfortable that they felt so strongly that way about THE Radio Demon.

Charlie would try to do as much as she could to make it up to Alastor, sorta too much honestly. I can see her accidentally being TOO reminiscent of "Obsessed Charlie" for Alastor's liking with her sorta hovering in concern and trying to overcompensate for what she's done. So Alastor wouldn't want to spend time with her as much. Vaggie would be the opposite to Charlie: Actively avoiding Alastor due to both guilt and genuine discomfort with him. I can see her having worries about actually being like that, or a potential to be like her obsessed version, due to how she knows she has the potential to be a murderous exterminator. But it's something she would bottle up and I can see her actively denying it as something she'd ever do with the forced fem, traps, and such. I can honestly see her and Alastor yelling about this, Alastor telling her to just ACCEPT that yes, she did do the awful things. It was her at the end of the day, even if a twisted version. Which, while that certainly can be up to debate, is more or less how Alastor saw the curse: Everyone WAS themselves, just a darker twisted versions of themselves.

Angel would feel like so much shit just because he'd feel what he did was a touch too close to what Valentino does to him, even if it's just one thing. I can imagine him having some underlying fear that he HAS done something to Alastor, but he was unable to remember it because of how often he got drugged/drunk WITH Alastor. It could certainly form a worry that Angel would have to deal with frequently "being another Valentino", which everyone has to assure him he isn't. Husk still would not like Alastor, but he also would not at all be happy with how he treated the guy. I feel like Husk would be embarrassed in addition to feeling guilty about his Obsessed-self, just due to it seeming kind of pathetic (the guy is in love with the man who owns his soul and treats him like shit is not exactly love story material). Husk knows when to keep his distance and let Alastor come to him if there are any points that his boss needs to talk it out or a begrudging shoulder to lean on. I can also see him asking if Alastor would rather make his own drink rather than let Husk do it, just so Alastor knows Husk hasn't put anything in as I think Alastor would still have a lot of paranoia post-curse in this ending. Husk still doesn't really LIKE Alastor, but he would certainly pity the guy. I think he'd honestly have mixed feelings about it because, Husk seems like the type to be like "Yeah, Alastor deserves the worst", but then also seems like he still wouldn't exactly wish the worst thing to happen (like unwanted advances or assault) to happen on his worst enemy. Funnily enough, where in canon Husk and Angel bond over being soul bound, I feel like in this ending of this AU they'd bond over feeling like shit for drugging Alastor and competing to do so when they were obsessed. I don't know if they'd have the same relationship as canon, but I do think they'd form some sort of friendship. I can see them trying to keep the other in check with the Obsession "withdrawals" or lingering effects. Like if Angel sees Husk unconsciously putting something in Al's drink, he stops him. Same with Husk, if he sees Angel doing something close to his old antics, he calls him out. I think everyone in the hotel tries to keep the others on track with that sort of thing, but Husk and Angel forming an agreement to help each other with it is something I can see happening.

Niffty is... well, she's Niffty. She's by no means dumb (at least I think she isn't personally, but she was described as not being very bright) but let us be real: she's a masochist and arguably a sadist to some extent. I think in all honesty, she'd be hard to read on how she felt post-Obsession. I can see her making comments about being jealous of Alastor having the curse ("Though, I could do without the girls. But all those bad boys-"). I think Niffty would more or less carry herself similarly as she does in the show, and I can see Alastor both appreciating and not appreciating it. On one hand, he does like seeing Niffty just as herself in full force and not receiving the pity party everyone else has for him. However, Niffty doesn't deny the things she's done in the past, and Alastor respects that as well. What he DOESN'T like is the total lack of awareness of disliking touch. While in canon he canonically doesn't like to be touched by others with the exception of Niffty, in this AU Alastor REALLY can't stand touch even by Niffty. I'm sure you can assume why. So Niffty just climbing on his person isn't something he's as tolerant of as his canon self. Niffty for the most part brushes off the obsession part. I can see her getting some moments of grief for Alastor, but I dunno. We'll have to see her more in season 2 to get a better grasp of her character, we just haven't seen her actually feel bad or have any real empathy yet so I'm not sure how accurate her just moving on from the situation is. I can see her having some guilt, I do, just not as immense as some of the others.

In this AU, Lucifer and Alastor never really got to disliking each other as seen in canon, at least on Lucifer's side. While Alastor was genuinely antagonistic to Lucifer, Lucifer during the curse was antagonistic in a more flirtatious way. As a reminder, Lucifer was under the impression that Alastor liked him as well and was just playing "hard to get" with him, enjoying the chase. Plus, Lucifer just didn't feel threatened as Charlie's father by Alastor because 1. He, in this au, would LIKE Alastor to be a father to Charlie. Just on account that he'd be in a relationship with Lucifer as well. 2. Alastor acts less "fatherly" towards Charlie in this AU. He doesn't even try to act it on the account that he knows any "affection" towards Charlie would've been taken as an affirmation of his "feelings" for her. And he didn't want to play into that to avoid any future uncomfortable scenarios. So post-obsession Lucifer I think, while definitely would get more genuinely mad about any off-hand comments made by Alastor about Lucifer's poor father role in Charlie's life, I don't think he dislikes Alastor as much as in canon. He would feel super guilty about it I think and genuinely try to give an olive branch of sorts to Alastor. I can see him withdrawing and keeping to himself as I'm guessing that's his go-to for dealing with situations like this (like think how Lilith's leaving made it so he kinda just stopped talking to Charlie and shut himself in). He'd feel super awkward with Alastor though, but I also imagine him to have the least amount of "lapses" into his obsession self out of everyone. So I can see, while not exactly being a fan of the king, Alastor going to spend time with Lucifer more often than you would think. I can actually see on one occasion Alastor still being so tired from being paranoid about the curse and just generally exhausted that he does actively try to push himself onto Lucifer, but Lucifer while very confused and awkward at first, does get to be stern with Alastor in that: - He wouldn't force a relationship Alastor doesn't truly want onto Alastor - Lucifer just isn't into him. I personally HC Lucifer as only being into women, so I lowkey would apply it to this AU, but that little nugget of knowledge can be left out for anyone who does not care for that idea, haha. Funnily enough, I can see Alastor and Lucifer growing to have a fairly close relationship post-obsession compared to most others. There's definitely an irony in me saying THESE two would have probably the best relationship concerning Alastor post-obsession. If you know you know lol

I don't think Vox or Valentino would feel bad. Velvette wouldn't either, but Vox already has a clear beef with Alastor (I imagine he'd just blame Al for making him act a fool), and Valentino is Valentino. While I don't think he'd be a fan having been "drugged" in a sense to love Alastor, I don't think that he'd be upset about his own actions. More than likely, Valentino would be curious about the curse and still want Alastor in bed with him as one of his whores. He's just, y'know... not as overt about it anymore? Especially since Alastor's energy would recover a lot more in this ending not having to deal with unwanted affection all the time anymore, so Alastor would be more likely to physically retaliate to that sort of thing. Velvette I think just would be frustrated and maybe a little grossed out that she "wanted" some old fad like Alastor. Of course, if she had managed to get him and dress him up like a doll for a bit, I'm sure she'd be interested in having him as some sort of model remembering how good he looked.

[electric-guillotines]

Mousetrap 🔪🐁

Rating: E Relationship: Celia Lede x F!OC Warnings: Graphic violence Tags of note: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Murder, Corruption, Collaring, Choking, Dom/Sub, Mommy Kink, and more

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While I work on larger projects, I also have some spicy offerings from The Price of Flesh, because the sapphics are fighting for our lives and Celia deserves more attention.

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“High flying businessman killed by kidnapping victim in corporate torture sex dungeon.”

It was the kind of thing headlines were made of, a scandal that no news publication could resist from the most prestigious and self-serious outlets to the salacious bottom-feeders in the tabloids.

Celia knew exactly which members of the house staff were all too willing to speak on Harold’s advances, his temper and need for control, cementing the idea of him as a perverse sadist. The irony wasn’t lost on her, but Harold was dead and she wasn’t, so the pig could be remembered for his worst qualities and rot.

Lying was as easy as breathing, she only needed the same smooth charm that let her survive a corporate boardroom. What rankled her pride and nearly tripped her up was playing the part of the abused wife, small and weepy and horrified, playing up her reliance on alcohol and shining a light on that thorny tangle of vulnerability–Celia almost preferred the prospect of death to exposing a weakness. Almost. But she reminded herself it was necessary to sell the deception and support Eden’s “emotional” testimony to the police. 

Part of her expected it to all come tumbling down the moment Eden was separated from her, out of sight, out of reach–out of her control. If Eden wanted to escape she could have, bringing Celia directly to the police was just a bonus, and the thought of being played because an especially endearing mouse convinced her to put the noose around her own neck…

It gripped her with a furious, icy panic–a feeling that melted the moment Eden walked out of the police interview and smiled at her.

It took a little time to sort everything out, but with seemingly nothing more to investigate, the case was closed in short order, allowing them to slip away from the entire situation without the prolonged scrutiny of a criminal trial.

The police loved easy answers, it made them look competent. The perpetrator was dead and the victim was alive to tell her side of the tale.

Which was how they ended up on the other side of the country in Vancouver. Familiar enough to start again while legal necessities were sorted through by a trusted lawyer.

Celia had contingencies in case things went nuclear with Harold, she’d always known they would eventually, that level of resentment and volatility couldn’t be sustained forever, she just hadn’t expected to do it so soon, and she had expected to do it alone.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about any of it other than surprised, maybe on edge, still waiting for the guillotine to drop, to be caught in the lie. For right now she–no, they seemed to have gotten away with it…

It was in this state of reflection that Celia found herself watching Eden shower through the half open door, lying on a plush hotel bed. She’d long since taken off her shoes and jacket. A five hour flight wasn’t exactly tiring, everything else leading up to it, however, the back and forth with the police, waiting with a pit of nerves in her stomach every time Eden left to sort out her own affairs, finally making plans to leave–she didn’t want to think about it anymore so she focused on Eden instead.

She wasn’t being creepy, Celia told herself, the fogged up glass made details fuzzy anyway, but it struck her that she didn’t really know what the other woman looked like outside the masculine office wear. Even the times they met to speak with the police and corroborate their story it seemed Eden preferred masculine clothing in general, a lot of blacks, leather, and silver.

It was never important before. Her mice were passing amusements, mannequins to dress up and break under heel—she hadn’t planned for one getting under her skin and nesting behind her ribs. Not to mention that her previous “guests” were men.

Men were always obstacles, ignorant overbearing pigs and smug self-important weasels who had never listened to the word “no.” But women—that was complicated. Other women were dangerous, jostling for the same limited space at the top, waiting for a chance to strike–women were threats.

Sex with men was an expectation, a tool to leverage if need be and rarely something Celia found herself enjoying but her enjoyment wasn’t the point. Men rarely bothered to even check, confident that just bestowing a woman with the “gift” of his cock was more than enough to get her going. Women had never crossed Celia’s mind in that context, not for any repulsion on her part but simply because it wasn’t a path that felt open to her.

The way Eden’s tongue felt against her, however…

She chewed her lip. She hadn’t been prepared for how good it felt. Even the way Eden screamed did something different to her, sending a hot flash of roaring hunger through her body.

Harold’s dying face crossed her mind again. Too white teeth turning pink, then red, eyes bulging as he pawed helplessly at the wet chasm where his Adam’s apple used to be. And Eden above him, face frozen in a wild rictus grin, eyes bright and piercing, and looking directly at her, asking so many silent questions at once.

‘ Do you like this? Have I been good? Are you happy with me?’

Taking another human’s life and all Eden could focus on was if she approved.

A tingling ripple of warmth rolled through her gut and sank lower, smouldering.

If her rational mind hadn’t kicked in Celia could have ridden Eden’s grinning face right then and there. Probably would have gotten Harold’s blood all over her thighs in the process as Eden dug her nails in…

Of course, it had occurred to her that Eden’s clever little trap wasn’t meant for Harold. Eden had no idea Harold would be there, that he even knew where they were–thus, the only logical answer was that she had fully expected to catch Celia .

The thought of Eden getting the wire around her neck elicited a somewhat bewildering response. A cold spike of dreadful realisation, yes, and a shivering upswell of heat as she imagined herself struggling against Eden’s strong body, soft lips and hard teeth at her neck, the wire constricting her breath yet not cutting into her skin–Celia shoved the thought away.

Harold walked through the door first. Whatever Eden planned, the pig was dead and she was free to carry on with her life, she could overlook the intent when the result was so obviously in her favour.

The water shut off and Eden stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel to start drying off. She paced by the door, arms raised to get the water out of her hair and leaving the rest of her body completely exposed to Celia’s curious stare.

She was pale like someone who worked night shift, with the build of a CrossFit enthusiast who didn’t care about fad diets. She clearly wasn’t trying to fit a standard set by the leering dogs in charge of everything, but she did fit nicely into a suit. Her ears had multiple piercings and the shoulder length mop of wavy hair on her head was dyed a pale violet.

Her nipples were pierced too and a scattering of gruesome scars across her body implied some kind of accident in her past—she wore them well.

What did Eden say she was before they met? A nurse? No, she mentioned driving a lot, always doing nights, responding to emergencies–a paramedic. That made sense, always on the go, rarely out in the sun.

Celia found herself lingering on Eden’s face, on soft lips, a Roman nose and deep green eyes…

Eyes.

Eden had caught her staring.

Celia pointedly ignored the way her cunt throbbed, turning away from the bathroom door with a scowl and embarrassingly hot cheeks like some flustered schoolgirl. She grit her teeth, pushing that girlish sensation down and away.

She needed to see how her Mouse behaved now that everything with Harold and their less than conventional meeting was behind them. Eden wasn’t her captive, freedom was there for the taking, had been for weeks now, and she’d already done more than any sane person would expect from her–Celia still wasn’t sure she understood why Eden did what she did.

But if this was how things were going to be, if Eden really was set on being with her going forward…

Another throb. She pressed her thighs together.

One step at a time.

[Continue Reading on AO3]

[cleolinda]

Weekend links, March 23, 2025

My posts

I had a spinal procedure on Wednesday (minor; except for seeing all time at once for a couple days, it's fine) and I'm half-resting for a few days after that. But I managed to get the next set of Silent Hill 2 commentary posts up—here's the masterpost for those. I'm currently finishing up the posts for the third video, and (knock on wood) I'll be recording Blue Creek, aka "I have to fight Pyramid Head again," sometime this week. 

Meanwhile, Ian's third stream is also up: "Last night we had our first Pyramid Head encounter, talked about the Schumanns, dove into the wild world of sample manipulation, got a crash course in diatonic vs. nondiatonic chords, and discussed possible interpretations for the coin puzzle." He's already seen my third video (the same level) and tells you exactly where I got my ass kicked.

Reblogs of interest

Some interesting indie games!

Kun'tewiktuk: A Mi'kmaw Adventure: "A fantasy adventure game inspired by Mi’kmaw legend and folklore. It chronicles the adventures of siblings Wasuek ('Flower') and her brother U'n ('Fog'). They get separated one summer morning and they go on an adventure through the spirit world to reunite."

Windstorm: The Legend of Khiimori: "Bond with your horse and tame the open wilds of 13th century Mongolia." ("The developers obviously put a lot of love into finally repping my people as Not Just Generic Bad Guys To Be Slaughtered in QuickTime Events, but the unabashed horse girls we truly are.")

Happy Miette Tweet Anniversary to all who celebrate

happy 10 years to wagon age oregons

Puffy is enough.

"hey gamers I’ve started watching star trek does anyone else see the romantic tension between captain kirk and mr. spock"

A Brazilian opossum being presented to Queen Isabella of Spain in the year 1500 from The Zoogoer v.15:no.1 (1986).

Poll: what font do you like to use most when writing?

"asking you about rothko . just ramble for a bit please"

"You’re just a mammal. Let yourself act like it. Your brain needs enrichment. Your body needs rest."

“you little fucker, I’m going to make a statement and then I’m going to take you out to the parking lot and beat your ass. What good does your pessimism do?”

When language transcends language

As I get back into perfume, I can't tell if I want to try Fairyland Bloop or not. I do not want to try Sécrétions Magnifiques.

"My mom accidentally joined a grieving support group (long story, she’s not grieving tho)" [and] "she says citrus tarts aren’t 'griefy' enough"

"I approve of powerscaling discourse only in utterly senseless contexts" ("Gordon Ramsay can breathe underwater. Can he fix The Chum Bucket")

Video

Wet Beast Wednesday: "sometimes you just gotta gghghghgh. mibph. breh. [sneezes] fibsh."

"Trio for Harmonica, Rubber Duck, and Belt in D Minor." "This is how clowns do BDSM"

Words of wisdom from Lil Nas X: "Stop trying to shit on your haters! Do it for you! Do it because you deserve it! Do it for YOU!"

"disability? more like check out dis ability"

Please enjoy the adventures of Dexter, Squidward, and Chicken Elizabeth Nugget at Carcass Acres

"it is once again… binturong appreciation hour"

For those of you who dont get to see fireflies. Yes they are real and yes they are gentle

The sacred texts

I'm not sure how an argument about kettles and tea turns into iambic pentameter, but

Personal tag of the week

Let's say jewelry, because I love the chocolate box pendant AND the Greek earrings AND the moonstone ring AND the garnet owl ring AND...

[rippersz]

The meat is cold.

«——..✞..——»

«——..✞..——»

(DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT) (Mentions of cannibalism, murder, slight glorification of both, etc.) (Larissa Weems x Reader oneshot)

«——..✞..——»

“She eats the hearts first, before they go bad— as all hearts will.” ~ Jessica D. Thompson

«——..✞..——»

“Are you going to eat me?”

You’ve asked her before but you repeat yourself anyway.

Larissa blinks. Long and slow. Sizing you up. Running her blue eyes over the length of your arms and stretch of your legs. Something flickers there. You briefly wonder if she’s questioning how fast you can run. You briefly wonder if she’s salivating over the thought of catching you.

“I didn’t plan on it, but now that I look at you closely, I think you want me to.”

You swallow.

She’s wrong, of course. She’s wrong. It’s just her own delusions. She thinks and perceives what she wants to think and perceive. Truth does not matter to a liar. The sweat on your palms says it all.

“I don’t.” Your voice is firm, but somehow it doesn’t feel like enough. Somehow it feels like-

“I don’t believe you.”

-like she won’t believe you.

“Why not?”

A weird heated pleasure fills you at the sight of her smirk. Red, curling, slight, full of undeniable mirth. She really does find you funny. She really does enjoy your time together; you’ve never doubted that.

But you should. You really should. You don’t want to be one of the sheep. You don’t want to play with the facade and finally accept her for what she is on the surface. You don’t want to know her as the school principal. You don’t want to die.

“Because you’re still here. And the door is unlocked.”

Yes. You knew that. She rarely locked it. Mainly because that wouldn’t be very professional, but also because she wanted to give others the option of leaving. Anxious or angry students, tired staff members, pleased parents… they could leave whenever they wished. You could leave whenever you wished. You could leave right now.

Then why aren’t you moving?

“Who is this?” You sniff, looking down at the plate in front of you, desperately trying to grasp for some control.

You agreed on dinner at some point. She took you up on it by surprise earlier that morning. The food, she said, was on her. The meal, cooked to perfection thanks to her skills, was supposed to be delicious. To anyone else, it would be. They’d have been nearly finished by now, praising her to the heavens and letting out little noises of appreciation. But you know what she is. And you know that you’ve never really been interested in eating people before.

“I don’t see why that matters,” is the smooth response you get - quickly followed by the clink of silverware and the cut of meat and the gentle hum of a woman satisfied. You can’t bring yourself to look up.

“…Did they deserve it?” You’re not sure of what else to ask - you just know that you don’t want to leave. You would never admit that out loud, never willingly, but it’s the truth. You are the killer’s favorite. You are safe. You are better than them.

“Doesn’t everyone deserve it at some point or another?” Her voice is light and airy- twinkling with a complete lack of care.

“No,” is your immediate sharp response. It sort of slips off of your tongue by accident, but when you look up to gauge her reaction, you’re surprised to see not even a hint of shock or anger. Instead, all that paints her eyes is intense recognition. Like she knew you’d say that. Like she knew you were a morally correct hero hiding a dark heart.

“No?” Her fork spears a piece of meat. ‘Sirloin,’ she’d said when you first sat down. Yeah, right. “Why do you say that?”

You fix her with a look. A very obvious look. A look with a tilt of your head. One that says ‘You and I aren’t the same Larissa, but you know exactly what I mean.’ One that says ‘Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to.’ One that says, secretly, ‘I don’t know. I just know that I’ve been told no good soul deserves death.’

Your mouth, on the other hand, says “Just because we all end up dying doesn’t mean we all deserve it. There are some amazing people out there that would have made the world better if they were still around.”

She seems to think over your serious response, rolling it around within her vast mind. While she formulates a suitable reply, her lips move with each chew of her steak - you try hard not to focus on that. When it comes to killers, good ones at least, there’s always that thing said about them: they’re charming; handsome or pretty; they’re alluring in a way that no “normal human” could be. Larissa Weems has never been the exception. She is no different. It can be disturbingly easy to get lost in the other things she has to offer. Like her beauty. Or her intelligence. Or the way her eye contact makes you feel like the most important, most recognizable, most wonderful thing in the entire world. You’d compare her to a drug but she is something worse than that. She is an aura. A feeling. She is something entirely different. You think it’s partly due to her outcast status. She’s not a ‘fur’ or a ‘fang’ or a ‘scale’ or a ‘stoner’. She’s not just regularly odd or eccentric. She’s not even mythical.

And yet?

And yet.

The very atoms in her body, the skin across her bones and veins and muscles, the makeup of her organs, can shift shape. Can adjust. The image is crafted in her mind and suddenly is mirrored onto her body. You’d never seen it in person, up close, but you know it’s true. You know it’s a wondrous thing to see. You know some sick desperate hungry part of you twists with the desire to watch her body become something entirely different. You know you want to see her in her element.

Whether it’s bloody or not.

“You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain… I think that sums it up perfectly. The longer a person stays in good health, the more bitter they become. No one truly wants to live forever, Y/n. You know this…,” Larissa pauses, taking a moment to slip her long fingers under and around the belly of her wine glass so she can take a sip. You watch as her throat moves with a swallow. “…And those who go against nature and insist that they do want to live forever, that they’ll somehow find the world to be better as the years go on, well…,” blue eyes suddenly move to you, slicing into your gaze. “They’re liars, of course.”

Of course.

Liars. Of course.

You know it’s the truth.

You hate when she’s right.

You hate when she knows she’s right. There’s that playful little sign in her eyes, glowing with satisfaction, glowing like the cat who captured the mouse.

“I hate you.” It’s a small whisper. A little defeat. Another start to the same cycle. You indulge her, you meet with her, you keep her secret, you dip into your own psyche and pull out your weird fascination with her mind. You go at it until you find yourself becoming tired of thinking so much. Then you tell her you hate her. Or you yell at her. Or you storm out or slam the door or just fall silent and allow for the excitement to pitter out into nothing. But eventually, every time, at some point, you let it die.

Only to revive it again. Only to get lost, once more, in her beauty and allure. Her stupidly literal killer charm. Her strange instinctive ability to easily slip out of trouble and cover her tracks. Not that there were many tracks to cover in the first place. She’s very very good. Worryingly good. No one suspects a thing.

You could fix that, though.

You could put an end to her reign of terror.

You could say one word, provide one sample of one of her dinners, drop a hint or two, and she’d be placed behind bars faster than you could blink.

You could save so many people.

You can save so many people.

You can snatch up a piece of the cold meat on your plate, walk right out of her office, and race down to the Nevermore van. You can do it. You’re not terribly fast but adrenaline pushes the human limit. And though you’re not human- seeing as you can control fire- you’re not too keen on burning her alive. Such an act would probably result in Nevermore’s demise as well - and that would break your heart.

Would Larissa’s death break your heart?

You look up from your hands and study her face. There’s a sudden tiredness there. It’s small, minuscule, but the lines in her skin look deeper and the weariness in her gaze looks shinier and the mask, you realize, has slipped. She’s frowning- not a lot but just enough. And she’s not looking at you. Well, she is, but not into your eyes like she usually does. No, no, she’s staring at… at your chest. At your heart. You’re sure she doesn’t have X-ray vision but some part of you wonders if that’s what she’s trying so hard to see. Your pumping life. Your beating force. If it expands and contracts for her and her only… or if it breathes to destroy her. If any of her interest, her fascination, even matters in the first place. She’s never told you why you’re so special; so important; so cherished, but that doesn’t deter her from her advances. From her fluttered lashes or easy smiles or husky laughs or occasional indulging conversation. It’s not seduction at its finest, but stalking at its lowest. Like she’s watching you through the underbrush and you know she’s there and she knows that you know she’s there and you both stand still because maybe, by some miracle, if you don’t move, you can enjoy the silent attention of each other for just a little longer. Because you can’t help but think that maybe if she were more normal and more caring and didn’t enjoy the taste of long pork over the taste of regular pork, you’d be able to somehow fall in love with her. Start a life with her. And not have to worry about her waking up one day and deciding that she wants to prepare and plate your kidneys for supper.

Would Larissa’s death break your heart?

You hear her clear her throat. You watch as she takes another sip of wine. You see her hand shake. You see the appetite she once had perish on her tongue.

“I hate you,” you’d said.

Did you mean it?

Will you ever mean it?

Why are you doing this to yourself?

Why do you love her?

Why does she not see it?

“I know,” is Larissa’s final response. Something dies behind her eyes. “I know.”

And the cycle continues.

«——..✞..——»

A swift dive into some stranger fic topics. I figure if Larissa were to be a ‘baddie’, she’d be a cannibal. I may make this part of a little series of scenarios. Hope you’re all doing well. - Rip x

«——..✞..——»

[youthereader]

Gator catches you.

PAIRING: gator tillman (fargo) x teenage fem!reader

SUMMARY: 2.4k. Gator finds you on the edge of town after he lets you get away.

RATING: e; NONCON, mentions of underage drinking and drug use, reader is an 18 year-old high schooler, unprotected anal sex, vaginal fingering, public sex, gaslighting, angst, dead dove do not eat

A/N: this took a much darker turn than the first part. I didn't plan on writing more for this character but a couple people wanted more. this is a dark fic, so if it's not your jam, turn away now.

Part 1. (Gator blackmails you.)

You sense that your friends are suspicious after Gator Tillman caught you and not them that night. They ask about what happened and you lie, saying you managed to talk your way out of it, he let you go with a warning.

They’re thankful, initially, because you never ratted on them, though they deserved it for ditching you. Then you feel them start to pull away from you, especially after you blow a couple of your male friends at parties. It’s not like you, and that’s the point. You’re chasing a high you can’t get from guys your age. You blow them, and they enjoy it, but what makes you a target from then on is how quickly it happened. Two guys in the space of forty-eight hours.

Rumors start around school and it eventually gets back to you, that you’re a slut now, and random guys that have never spoken to you before ask for your Snapchat and harass you in-between classes about hanging out on weekends. The attention is weird, and so obvious. You’ve never been known for anything before, and now you exist.

The emptiness you feel from hooking up since Gator frustrates you, but nothing is worse than how unsatisfied you feel every time you make yourself come. The relief is so fleeting, that within seconds of finishing you need more. No fantasy is enough, and you’re at it night after night, not sleeping enough.

Your grades aren’t suffering yet but your homeroom teacher asks to see you, expressing their concern. They say you’re not yourself, you don’t seem as happy. Honestly, you’re not. Things felt less complicated before. You used to not search the main road of town for anyone. You used to want to be invisible.

To let off steam, you go to a party with those same shitty friends, but this time some college guys are there with weed and pills. You smoke a little, but drink more, end up under one of them but don’t remember much of it. The next morning, a friend pulls you aside, a smirk barely hidden as she asks:

“You know we heard you begging that guy to choke you, right?”

The humiliation hits you and you shake your head. “Fuck off. I’m not into that weird shit.”

“Your kink’s your kink, dude,” she retorts, shrugging. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Shut the fuck up, because it’s not my kink,” you snarl, and her eyes flash with irritation.

“Whatever.”

The anxiety you used to feel when you thought you might have upset one of your friends doesn’t come on as strong this time. You don’t care if they decide to exclude you, not if they’re going to make fun of how you want to fuck.

All you care about is trying to find a way out of this funk, by any means necessary. You hang around one of the guy friends you blew, doing dumb shit that culminates in some light graffitiing. Not exactly your area of expertise, as it turns out.

You realize too late that you’re caught, your friend yelling to run away. In your defense, you’re a little high from a joint you shared earlier, so when the spray can you’re holding is knocked out of your hand, it plays in slow motion. It clatters across the ground in the alley you still occupy, and you turn around, fingers wrapping around your neck as you’re pulled to your feet.

Gator lifts you up, shoving you against the wall, knocking the wind out of you. You cough, hands going to his wrist. His gloved hand doesn’t budge when you try to scratch him off.

“You fuckin’ bitch,” he hisses, his eyes alight with amusement.

You can’t breathe, feet kicking him, but he’s stock still as he stares back at you, then glances at your handiwork.

“What the fuck,” he adds, sounding a little amazed. “Since when are you doing this petty shit?”

You can’t reply of course, and he pays you no mind, letting you go. You tumble, your knees breaking your fall, as he moves closer to the wall to inspect it. On the ground, you cough and hold your throat, sure you’re going to puke, but you don’t. The world spins regardless, righting itself in time for you to see him stalking you again. You scamper backwards, and Gator stands over you, hands on hips.

“If I find you by yourself again, you’re dead.”

You wonder what he means, because he’s not threatening arrest this time. Your eyes slip down his front and you spy the outline of his erection. Your fear enticed him again. The thrill that runs through you is like no other, and your chest heaves some more, the air not quite filling you enough.

“Gator –”

He walks away, and in a way, you’re grateful because you don’t know what you would have said to him. You lean against the wall, closing your eyes, your neck still aching.

-

You’re past caring. You can be friendless now, it’s not as if they were helping you to begin with. You go to school, you go home. You do nothing on weekends. You get isolated quickly, predictably. It would be sad if you were your younger self.

You walk alone everywhere when your house feels cramped. You don’t want your parents to worry, they’ve never been particularly invested in your social life to begin with. You slip out one afternoon and find yourself walking along the road Gator drove you down.

You think about him almost constantly, like a low hum in the background you can occasionally ignore, but it’s always there. The sun is starting to set later in the afternoon, the worst parts of winter are over. It’s not snowing anymore, but the air still is fresh, making your of your face tingle.

In your own world, it’s no wonder that a car pulls up by you. The road is otherwise empty, and you know who it is before you even look towards it.

Gator rolls down his window, calling out your name. You  glance his way, clutching the strap of your bag a little tighter, your face burning.

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” you call back, not stopping.

You’ve been waiting for him, for what feels like weeks. Maybe months? Years, if you’re truly honest? You didn’t know you needed him until now. This darkness.

“I told you you’d regret walking alone…”

You stop abruptly at that, glaring at him, and the car rolls to a stop. He gives a grin, takes a long drag of his vape. You say nothing.

“How come I heard you’re fuckin’ random guys for weed?”

“Why would you care?” you throw back. You cringe. “I mean, you’ve got no evidence-”

He smiles again. “I am the law, baby. But I mean if you’re doin’ shit like that, I might need to get checked.”

“You’re disgusting,” you snap, and turn your heel.

You hear him open his door but you walk on, not sure what you want. If he takes you to the station now, your reputation is hardly worth saving at this point. Must have been one of your so-called friends that started the rumor he heard. If he wants to blackmail you again, is there any point fighting him? You miss him, he fucked you up.

You can’t stop the anger that boils over, when he grabs your arm and jerks you back.

“I’m talkin’ to ya-”

He kisses you on the lips and you bite him on the lip, Gator pulling back with a yell, his fingers going to his lips. You freeze, terrified by your own stupid impulse.

“What the fuck? You fuckin’ bit me?!”

He grabs you by the neck and marches you back, shoving you against the hood of his car. His hips meet your ass and you can’t move, he’s way too heavy though you struggle against him. Whatever desire you have for him, when Gator is angry he is fucking terrifying. You have no idea what he’s capable of. He has a gun, for fuck’s sake, and you’re just some kid sister of his friend’s.

His hand is down the back of your pants and you shriek, his gloved fingers invading your cunt without preamble, the tears springing in your eyes. You grip him back, his low chuckle behind you.

“Fuck me,” he murmurs. “You’re over-complicatin’ this…”

You close your eyes, trying to reel it in, the fear… the pleasure beginning to coil in your stomach. You hear the harsh squelches of your cunt being worked, you hear his belt unbuckling–

“Gator, please…”

You blubber, your legs shaking as he yanks your pants down, ridding you of his fingers, only to pin you back down against the cold metal beneath you. He keeps your arms pinned behind you, and you can’t see what he’s doing, you’re forced to listen, to wait.

Everything careens forward as you feel him take a swipe of your juices and move further up, up, up to between your cheeks. You start to sob louder.

“Shh. Shut up!”

“Gator, wait. Wait, please, wait – wait – don’t -!”

He rubs at your puckered hole, the sensation making you whimper and plead. You’re not ready, you’ve never done this before. Your bare ass exposed to him, you’re completely helpless, and you know that’s what gets him off.

“You’re worth freezin’ my balls off,” he whispers, and you know what’s happening next, but you can’t quite believe it.

Not until the first push of the tip of his cock against your asshole, and you tense, whimpering as you squirm beneath him.

“Just relax. Relax!”

You grit your teeth, tears streaming down your face as you feel him push past the first ring of muscle. The pain is like nothing else in your life, and you go still, succumbing to it. He groans, chuckles in awe.

“Holy shit. Holy shit…”

He fills you up, then starts to move back and forth, slow at first. You feel stretched beyond comprehension, like at some point you’ll break. Like he’ll literally tear you open. It burns, until it doesn’t, your body turning lax Gator fucks you hard, but slowly. With each knock of his body against yours, you hear the slap of your skin, your cheek rubbing the hood of his car.

His hand on your ass cheek slips under, and you yelp at the feeling of his hand covering your pussy, brushing the folds as he never stops.

“I gotta-”

He replaces his hand again, having tugged off his glove with his teeth, and he starts to chuckle again, low and a little breathless.

“You’re so fucking wet.”

You don’t bother arguing, because you know you are. There’s no turning back, from how your body just won’t cooperate for you when you need it most. You feel wound tight, Gator on your throbbing clit as his hips smack against your ass.

He unexpectedly tucks his fingers inside your cunt again, the sensation making you tense up again. You wail as he works you, he’s no longer pinning you against the car to stop you from escaping. He dedicates himself to pleasure, yours and his, his thumb rubbing against your clit as he reaches the deepest parts of you.

You feel the sudden urge to pee, panicking. If you struggle, but even with your arms free, you can’t shift his weight, your hands blindly trying to reach behind to shove him off.

You give an almighty shudder and come hard, losing your vision. Your orgasm is long and intense, and like nothing else you’ve managed before. It almost hurts from the intensity of it. You blink back the world as you recover, your empty cunt twitching as Gator wrings his hand.

“Made you squirt…”

He takes hold of your hips and bears down, speeding up his thrusts. He doesn’t stop, and it’s hurting more, with your thighs soaked, his cock working in and out of you without reprieve.

“Can’t get ya pregnant, this was the only way-”

He makes a choked sound and goes still, half falling on top of you, and you know he’s come inside you without checking. You feel him pull out and you wince, and then there’s a trickle down your crack.

He steps back and you take the opportunity to pull your pants up again, panting like he is, leaning on the hood of his car. You’re still in shock, not pulling away when he grabs your chin and kisses you, tongue slipping into your mouth.

A beat later he changes his mind, taking hold of your front and pulls you towards the backseat. He opens it and puts you inside, goes to his door and slips back in.

He takes deep a lungful of air, sighing. You stare at your legs, your damp pants. Everything feels warm and sticky, and you’re sweating.

“You okay?” he asks, and you glance at him in the rearview mirror, perplexed.

“What?”

“You came, right?”

You look away. You know why he’s saying that. It’s to make it seem like he’s not guilty of anything. You swallow hard.

“I would’ve… done those things if you’d asked me to,” you say.

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

You go quiet, and you see he’s driving you home. You can’t believe this happened in broad daylight, thinking that would make a difference at all. Apparently not to Gator.

“Hey, I’ve been followin’ you. It was bound to happen sooner or later to you, since you’re actin’ so dumb and reckless. It’s better it was me than some other guy you don’t know-”

“But I don’t know you,” you retort, your voice hoarse with tears. “I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do. And stop cryin’. It’s a real turn-off.”

“You’re… fucking evil,” you whisper.

He looks at you, turning his head to glare at you through the partition this time.

“Hey, you got off.”

He turns back, and you travel in silence back to your house. There’s no car in the driveway, no-one is home yet. He doesn’t move to get out of the car, your eyes meeting in the mirror.

“You tell anyone, I’ll kill ya.”

You believe him, but you deflate with a kind of weariness instead of turning still with fear like he hoped.

“Yeah, I figured.”

He lets you out, and you walk to your front door without looking back. The kicker is that once he leaves, you take a long time to clean yourself up. You peel off your clothes, smell his come and yours all over you when you stand in the bathroom, the shower running already.

You savor each step of it, seeing pink water in the bottom of the shower. He hurt you, badly, and yet you feel that longing again.

He’s that high you need to chase.

if you're still here, thanks. 🖤 if you want more, hmu.

[rems-writing]

Thar he goes

Pairing: siren!Wooyoung x sailor!reader

Summary: Back on my OUAT bullshit lol

Warning(s): slight mentions of almost drowning, Wooyoung being clingy

Genre: Cracked out fluff

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society

"BRING BACK THE MERMAID!"

"AND WHAT?! YOU'LL WIN HER OVER WITH YOUR RAINBOW KISSES AND UNICORN STICKERS?!"

"MAYBE THAT'S WHAT WE KIND OF FUCKING NEED RIGHT NOW!"

"SHUT UP, YOU USELESS SAILOR!"

Ooh. You had enough of Regina's bullshit. You let go of the rigging and tackled the Evil Queen. Surprised by this, she tried to blast you away with her magic yet you were quicker and smarter. You placed a black leather cuff on her wrist and when she tried to flick her hand, no magic came out.

"HA! MAYBE NOW YOU'LL LEARN THAT ALL MAGIC IS USELESS SO FIGHT ME LIKE A WOMAN, BITCH!"

"WHY YOU - "

Regina tackled you but you sidestepped just in time for the Queen to actually tackle Mary Margaret (Snow White) instead. You cackled at the two women throwing hands at each other until you felt something sharp being pointed at your back. You turned around to see David (Charming) angrily pointing a sword at you.

"YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE! ARE YOU ON REGINA'S SIDE OR OURS?!"

"I'M ON THE SIDE OF LIVING, YOU BASTARD! DON'T POINT THAT THING AT ME!"

"BREAK UP THE FIGHT BETWEEN THE TWO OF THEM NOW!"

"LET THE SLAGS HASH IT OUT, YOU WHINY PRINCE! GOD YOU WERE SO MUCH BETTER WHEN YOU WERE ABOUT TO FILLET THAT BITCH!"

"DON'T CALL MY WIFE A SLAG!"

David charged at you and you sidestepped quickly once more, regretting it slightly when he ran into your captain by accident.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL, Y/N?!"

"SORRY, HOOK! WELL... NOT REALLY! YOU DESERVE IT!"

"FOR WHAT?!"

"FOR MAKING ME GO THROUGH THIS CRAP!"

Hook was now charging at you with his sword in his hand. Realizing the 'oh shit i fucked up' moment, you grabbed a rope and swung over to where Emma was trying to keep the Jolly Roger steady.

"EMMA, YOU'RE THE ONLY TOLERABLE ONE AT THE MOMENT SO I'MMA WARN YOU RIGHT NOW! WE'RE HEADING INTO DANGEROUS TERRITORY!"

"WHAT COULD BE MORE DANGEROUS THAN THIS STORM?!"

As if on cue, singing voices could be heard from the depths of the sea. The rest of the group stopped fighting and stood still as the singing voices grew louder and louder. Only you and Emma could resist the singing, which would explain the apprehension on her face as eight men appeared on the boat after a brief flash of lightening passed by.

"SHIT!"

You quickly ran down to the group and your eyes widened when you saw one of them reach out to caress Mary's face with webbed hands.

"HANDS OFF, SCALY MOTHERFUCKERS!"

You shoved him to the side and felt his catlike eyes pierce your soul.

"I'M SORRY! YOU'LL THANK ME LATER!"

You slapped her, then Regina, then David, and finally, your captain. Emma grew shocked as they tried to snap out of it.

"WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO THAT?!"

"IT WAS EITHER THAT OR THEY ALL DIE FROM EITHER DROWING OR A SINGLE BITE!"

"THEY'RE STILL HERE! WHAT SHOULD WE DO?!"

"PROTECT THEM AS THEY SNAP BACK TO REALITY! I'M GOING WITH THEM!"

"I'M NOT LETTING YOU GO WITH A BUNCH OF SIRENS!"

"JUST TRUST ME!"

With that, you dove off the ship and the sirens followed you in after, almost drowning you in the process when they dove in. The last thing you could recall was a mop of dark hair hovering over your sinking body.

---------------------------------------------------

"Unicorn stickers? Seriously?"

"Yeah. That's exactly what Regina said to Snow."

A high-pitched laugh, followed by other laughs, filled the hollow siren grove while you retold the story of how that mermaid basically caused chaos aboard the ship.

You didn't necessarily drown. You only pretended to drown so you could escape the chaos of those enchanted forest crackheads and your equally stupid captain. You felt scaly arms wrap around you and a chin land on your shoulder and you looked down to see your favorite siren with the witch cackle he emitted earlier.

"Yes, Wooyoung?"

"I want attention."

"But you already have it."

"Well I want more~"

His whines and pout made the other seven sirens groan in annoyance and you hushed them. The siren with the cat eyes then asked something.

"So what will happen once they stop Peter Pan? Will you help them escape Neverland?"

"Perhaps. But they seriously need to work together if the Savior wants to save that son of hers."

"Speaking of which, how did she not know that Neal's real name was Baelfire?"

"San, be for real. Imagine you're on a date in that Land without Magic and a man introduces themself with the name Baelfire. Besides, after going through that portal, he's gotta blend in somehow."

"Ok ok. Lemme follow up with this. How did August, or Pinocchio I should say, know that Neal is Baelfire?"

You thought about that for a moment before shrugging.

"Meh. Don't know, don't care. Anyways, lemme know if that ghastly crew of adult misfits find their way off Neverland so I can help my captain man the Jolly Roger once more. Maybe I'll find a way to get your siren asses to Storybrooke. That Ariel chick did. Might as well give you guys a place to live, right?"

The seven of them cheered while Wooyoung hugged you tightly.

"Thanks, doll." He said affectionately and kissed your cheek.

"No problem, Woo. All within a day's work I suppose."

[eclecticqueennerd]

Confessions

Part 3

*language, mentions of r*pe, kidnapping, mild gaslighting, brief mentions of smeggs, angst*

Butcher POV

You lot didn’t deserve how he’s been treating you lately, pushing you to the brink of exhaustion and then pushing some more. His need for revenge for Lenny caused Kimiko to almost die. No, that was her fault. She shouldn’t have jumped in front of Soldier Boy. Sure, Frenchie could have been killed but still, Kimiko will get better, she always does. At least y/n wasn’t hurt.

Oh y/n. He could list all the reasons as to why he fell hard and fast for you but there’s not enough hours in the day. Where he barked orders to the crew, you were there to keep their spirits up. When he fell victim to his thoughts of self-loathing, you were there to talk him off the ledge. You showed the boys loyalty when you finally got your revenge on the supe that killed your husband after finding out how high the Vought shit ladder went. You were support, humility, loyalty, kindness, knowledge, and compassion. Everything that Butcher wasn’t.

But then you had to go and become the very thing he despised. A fucking supe. In the back of his mind, he knew y/n was forced into becoming enhanced and that he shouldn’t have stormed out, especially after finding out how Homelander violated you. But even in the best of times, Butcher can’t control his anger. Despite how many times you’d tell him he’s not, he’s exactly who his father says he is.

*flashback*

When you were kidnapped by Homelander, Butcher went into beast mode. Anyone who had the smallest bit of information on where you were located was met with brutality that even made the boys nervous to be around him. When Grace told him that you were found and safe with her, he damn near dropped everything to drive as fast as he could to meet you. He had to see that you were alright. He needed to hold you and by doing so, would calm the waves of fury, sadness, and relief that was pulsing through his veins. He had to tell you that he loved you.

Grace refused to tell him your exact location, per your request. You should have just spit in his face, it would have the same effect. When the two of you were reunited, all the ill feelings dissipated as he finally got to embrace you. She’s fine, she’s here, my y/n.

“Where ya been dove, what took you so long?”

“Sorry, I wanted to stay longer to train.”

“You let some other cunt train ya? I coulda done it.”

The calm went as quickly as it came once new information came to light on how to take Vought down. Butcher never got the chance to confess his feelings.

While on missions together, Butcher wanted to but never breached the topic of what happened while you were kidnapped. He wanted you to trust him and tell him in your own time, as he did with you about Lenny. He was attentive to whatever needs you had; you did not want for nothing. As time progressed, he noticed subtle differences. You were quick to catch things falling off the kitchen table, you were finally able to open that jar of pickles you always asked Butcher to open, he purposely tightened it each time to make sure you’d come to him for help. One night you cut yourself with a paring knife while mincing garlic and the next morning,

“Hey, how’s the finger?”

“What about it?”

“Ya cut it last night making dinner.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did, I patched you up.”

“I think you dreamed that, Billy. See?” Butcher looks at your finger, “My finger is fine.”

“Huh, guess I did dream it.”

“Looks like we’ve been hanging out too much, you’re starting to dream about me dicing my fingers off.” Y/n was also increasingly jumpy around him even though he was as gentle as possible around her.

In hindsight, this should have been a red flag, but he's always been blinded when it comes to you. Now, piecing it all together it makes sense after you told him you were a supe.

“Hello, Earth to Butcher.” Maeve snapped her fingers. He came back to the task at hand, the Temp- V. Frenchie and Kimiko were at the hospital, MM quit the mission and went back to his apartment and tasked Hughie and y/n with finding Soldier Boy after he blew up a small building in New York.

“Did you even hear a word I said, Butcher?” Maeve asked. He shrugged,

“No.” Maeve scoffed.

“You should apologize to her.”

“To who?”

“Y/n.”

“You’ve got no business talking to me about y/n. How bout you just give me the Temp-V and fuck off?”

“Come one I know the two of you are fighting right now. She’s your friend and if you just tell her-“

“Who the fuck is telling you all this, eh?”

“Starlight.”

“Well, that cunt doesn’t know everything. I’ve got nothing to apologize for. I’ve done nothing wrong.” That’s fucking lie. Maeve threw the packet of vials on the couch.

“Fine, don’t take my advice. What do I know?” Just before Maeve left, Butcher stood up and offered her a drink of vodka.

“I’m 4 months sober you asshole.”

“Oh... Starlight never told me.”

“Like you said that bitch doesn’t know everything.” Maeve looks at the bottle and back to Butcher, she grabs the class and plops herself onto the couch. As the evening sky turned black, Butcher and Maeve busied themselves fucking on MM’s desk in the corner of the hideout.

“You know what Butcher? You’re a real piece of shit.”

Yeah, yeah, he was.

[kit-williams]

First Kiss

Male Lead(s): Ghosk, Tyberos, Raven Guard Trio, Tulio, Harram Female Lead(s): Rabbit, Ophelia, Dove, Psychi, Orichalcum Universe/AU: Warhammer 40k/Yandere Space Marine Canon Status: ??? Depends on the boy

note: Tyberos & Harram aren't exactly fluffy (Ghosk is questionable fluff) BUT YA'LL PICKED THE MOST QUESTIONABLE MEN FOR KISSES

Ghosk Ghosk looked down at her in his nest... fast asleep as his black eyes looked over her as he crawled over her just hovering above her like some sort of twisted spider. In the pitch blackness of the room he could see her in the darkness. "Rabbit." He whispered to her watching her eyes flutter open as his wings also encased around her as well... truly blocking out any light that could reach her.

"Ghosk?" She whispers out before holding her breath just feeling the much larger face hover right over hers.

He can hear her heart pounding hard in her chest as he snapped his jaws near her ears... he couldn't help but continue to terrorize her... she spoke so casually... he could punish her... he watched her flinch and her breath quicken.

"Ghosk." She whimpered with her voice so small... his tongue pushing against her skin as she let tears roll down her cheeks. "Please... you win."

He was a vile monster of a man... a heinous creature that practically lived off of fear and torment... but he got no sick satisfaction out of making her cower in fear... no delight in this torment. He sighed pressing his forehead to hers, "I'm sorry Rabbit." He hummed as he gave a cruel smile, "You still don't make me feel any joy in bringing you fear." He pulled away... his hands cupped her face using his thumbs to brush away his saliva and her tears... he was a coward... a cruel creature... he stared at her lips. He watched her face as she closed her eyes and relaxed in his grip... leaned into his touch.

He was a coward to not let her see his face... to see the uncertain look in his eyes or the tender smile... to let her see what affection he held for his rabbit... his bunny rabbit. He was such a coward... as his mouth pressed to hers. His clawed hands laced into her hair as he kissed her. And to his surprise... she kissed him back.

Tyberos Tyberos knew she was tired... she was sore from his affections... he was a brute and he knew it but it was something he couldn't help. She had cried out those hot tears of pain and betrayal when he confronted her with the truth that she had been handed over to his chapter. He hardly felt like an angel of the Emperor... he was a creature of the void. He was the Void Father for a reason... he made the hard choices and no amount of whispered apologies would return Ophelia to her ignorant life... he knew that.

They could have done it a different way... gotten her to give up her precious biology another way and far more willing... but Tyberos was tried. In a sense he was tired of swimming alone... even if she reluctantly swam with him... she was there and smelt like a blissfully ignorant planet... she smelt like naivety... she smelt like what they were suppose to be protecting. She was something that he wasn't suppose to have.

His maw refused to release it's bite upon the creature from the land lost in the middle of the ocean. He knows he doesn't deserve to gorge upon the flesh in front of him but he cant stop. No amount of whispered apologies will undo what he's done... what bites he's left on her flesh... what marks are his that will fade in time... if given the chance... he cant unhear those pleading shrieks of both fear and delight ripping from her throat like a drowning beast.

He sulked in the moment as he looked at her... his shame... his sin... the person who made something in his brain itch aberrantly. He licked her skin clean of her sweat... pressing his tongue against her cheeks... he pauses feeling her swipe her tongue against his and he pulls back before he feels her small hands pull her body back to his. Her lips pressing into the unruined portion of his as she whimpers and begs for some modicum of affection and in the dark of the void he gives he cannot stop himself from giving... and giving... and giving... till there was nothing more of himself to give.

Sor/Kazi/Moremo Kazi is the first to get a kiss from their Dove... it's not very hard especially after her man leaves... leaving her alone with them... he couldn't stop himself at first... stealing pecks and kissing her cheek till he caught her smiling so happily up at him with such hope in her eyes! Kazi couldn't stop himself from picking her up as she laughed in joy and then the tension between them broke. Oh yes Kazi got tongue that first kiss with Dove... he would have loved to have more.

Moremo steals his kiss from Dove early one morning as she tried to make him breakfast... but her skills weren't exactly in cooking. But she clearly had felt guilty over letting Kazi kiss her first and so she tries to make him food to the best of her ability but the way he just looks her down... just has that way over her... she can't help but get on the tips of her toes and give him a gentle kiss.

Sor is the last one to get the kiss from their shared darling... after her brushing so close to death she clings to him so fearfully. How heavy her tears are as she looks up to him for protection and comfort and how Sor gives it so easily. How eager their lips crashed into each other and he had to hold himself back from jumping her bones as her smell flooded his senses and he had to pull his lips away from hers leaving them both breathless. His body shivering as he watches their dove lick her lips of his saliva.

Tulio You frown as you can't figure out what to give to Tulio... he has given you so much! Gifts! Saving your life! How he tries to pry how much of your contract you have left... you can't let him buy your contract not even if he intends to free you... then you'd emotionally be indebted to him and that would just confuse you!

He is trying to figure out what is wrong with you as you were going to give him something but in your haste you had forgotten it and you didn't want to have him walk all the way back and he is chattering just his grass green eyes looking at your own so tenderly... you're confused as some of his actions feel romantic yet other times it is pure of heart and it makes you feel like a harlot.

You cup his face as he coos that nickname he has given you... and you feel your heart beat wildly in your chest as the concern on his face grows and you wonder if it's beating loud enough for him to hear. "Dearest Psychi what is-" Is all he gets out before you kiss him hard.

You feel him tense up and then his hands suddenly upon you as panic overwhelms you for a moment as you try to babble your apologies before his mouth is on yours again as you are cradled in his arms leaning fully back and you close your own eyes as you hope this will be a better make up gift for him then the small granite charm you had gotten him.

Harram He wishes he could say that his first kiss with Ori was a passionate affair... he's made sure every kiss since that first has been loving and not just out of instincts. But it was during her pleading her begging as he bedded her to help her rid of those Xenos hands.

He remembers the way her kiss seared his lips as her short nails dug into his flesh as sweat gathered between their bodies... the way she pulled her hear away to watch their repeated joining with glazed eyes and a slack jaw of pleasure... unabashed pleasure unlike that guilty pleasure she felt with the xenos.

There was no Xeno threatening Ferrum... there was no need to trick herself into feeling pleasure... it was just the two of them... and oh how backwards he has gone in this... courtship. Bedding her first then catching feelings... but perhaps he had already caught feelings the moment he saw her laying there.

Blood oozed out of a cut on her lip and their tongues danced together as they tasted iron... perhaps it was quite khornite the way he cut his own lip to smear his own blood in her mouth but she drank of it with pleasure in her eyes. She was made of iron... and Harram was hardly wrong about that.

Fluffuary Tag List: @bispecsual @the-californicationist @egrets-not-regrets @libraryshadow @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

[yuri-is-online]

Just finished ep 4 for Tokyo debunker and honestly out of all the anomalies we’ve seen so far, this one might be my favorite, I think it was really creative

When are we ever gonna see the day where the ghouls actually capture and anomaly LMAOO I SWEAR WE’RE ALSO DESTROYING THEM

I didn’t expect to see the Like dove so early this episode and it appeared twice which I was honestly surprised at

I already miss jabberwock bro, poor MC was just getting held at gun point so much this time around 😭 (also when Romeo sees the cut on your cheek and worries AAAA I WAS GIGGLING AND KICKING ME FEET SO MUCH)

Romeo is definitely my favorite out of the three (Taiga got some problems bro😭)

All in all I really loved the ep and it is a close favorite but jabberwock is still my No. 1 fav episodes rn

Taiga has got some problems and if he plays his cards right my mc could be one of them ♡

Hard agree about the anomaly design. It was very creative and cool looking! I am sort of curious about if we might see more instances of anomalies created by the happenings at Darkwick... it would be especially cool if that happened in Hotarubi and we could get some answers about why Taiga and Haku were together in the beginning because they're having the same problem...

Speaking of Hotarubi, I thought it was very interesting that Zenji was reciting the Crane Wife story... I forget the name of what exactly he is doing but I know it because it gets used in Monster Hunter Rise to introduce the new hunts. Here's an example with my favorite monster:

Anyway given that we've been talking about Towa maybe having once been an anomalous creature I thought it was interesting, interesting indeed...

Personally I think that the solution to the amount of guns MC has had put to her head in Book 4 is to give her one of her own. Come on Romeo give her a gun, she deserves it, I deserve it, we ALL deserve it for being forced to let Ritsu run roughshod over us in your book. I could see him doing it too, he was so soft on her by the end. I get that some people don't like guns but... Romeo teaching MC to shoot because he's worried about how little she's able to defend herself. He's really patient with her and super strict about it, but she'll be able to defend herself so help him.

Jabberwock is still the best book imho so far too. I don't know where I would rate the others though... I think I like Book 1 a bit better than 2? But that's because no Leo. I'll have to think on it a bit more.

Oh yes and the anomalies. Out of all the dorms the two who I think stand the biggest chance of actually capturing an anomaly are Hotarubi and Mortranken, one because they're allegedly goodie too shoes and the other because they're science brained morons who wanted to work with MC so they could do that from the start. But yeah... given our track record I won't hold my breath.