#and 'in love' as in the feeling or state of being profoundly connected

[talesofsymphoniac]

Being in love with everyone in a loveless way

[literatureloverx]

D A Z A I O S A M U

Dazai analysis [x relationship with his potential darling]

BSD Dazai x ideal type fem!reader

Disclaimer: MDNI, depression, melancholy, suggestive in general.

It would be better if you read THIS first.

I wanted to write NSFW head canons but guess who is in a soft mood? I’m going to write that in the near future. I promise. 🩵

No matter how much Dazai plays the role of “the player” and tries to distance himself from any deep connections to avoid being hurt, it doesn’t change the fact that he is a deeply wounded child.

He wears a mask of indifference and charm, yet behind that façade lies a heart ravaged by loss and abandonment.

“…anything I never want to lose is always lost. This is how it’s always been for me. Everything worth wanting is lost the moment I obtain it. And nothing I pursue is worth the cost of prolonging this life. The suffering.”

He feels that everything worth wanting disappears the moment he obtains it.

He didn’t feel anything until he learned to love, and only then did he truly understand the depth of his pain after losing the person he cherished the most—the one who, despite his brokenness, refused to abandon him.

The only person who ever loved him unconditionally; Odasaku.

His emotional state mirrors the chaos in his life: chaotic, uncertain, and perpetually in search of something he can never quite grasp.

In my opinion, his sexual behavior reflects his internal struggles—soulless, empty, and loveless.

It is desperate and fleeting, yet he remains too far removed from his true self to trust anyone with the full extent of his desperation.

The women he meets become mere distractions, tools to temporarily fill the void in his heart.

He yearns for connection and someone to understand his pain, hoping to be saved from his own darkness.

Dazai is secretly a romantic at heart, despite his flings and possible one-night stands that never satisfy his deeper longing.

These encounters leave him feeling more empty than fulfilled.

He has left “so many women crying,” as Chuuya puts it, because they cannot fill the void he carries within; they cannot bring him the solace he craves.

What Dazai truly needs in a partner is someone who can fill that void—not with superficial affection but with unconditional love and understanding.

If he had met his darling during his Port Mafia era, their story would be profoundly different, prompting a deeper exploration of that specific timeframe later.

Unlike Fyodor, who embodies an “all or nothing” mentality, Dazai strives to connect and to find something that might lift the weight from his heart.

Like Fyodor, he would either be entirely devoted to his darling or remain uncommitted altogether.

He would struggle with trust, finding it difficult to let anyone in and to believe in the possibility of lasting love.

Dazai would instinctively pull the “you can fix me” card at the beginning of the relationship, testing his darling’s resolve and kindness.

He would charm his darling with his wit and playful banter, but beneath that playful exterior lies a fear of vulnerability.

Dazai craves authenticity, a genuine connection that transcends the physical. In the presence of his darling, he would grapple with the realization that she sees the parts of him he hides from the world.

His darling’s unwavering support and compassion might frighten him, but she would also inspire a flicker of hope—a chance to feel, to love and be loved without fear.

As their relationship unfolds, Dazai would begin to experience moments of unexpected vulnerability, caught off guard by how easily his darling sees through his carefully crafted walls.

He would share fragments of his past—stories of loss, betrayal, and the darkness that lingers in his heart—creating a bridge between their souls and drawing them closer.

Dazai would wrestle with self-sabotage, often retreating into his old habits and pushing his partner away in an attempt to protect both of them. (My poor baby, I want to hug him.)

He would fear that his darling might wake up one day and realise that she deserves better than him, wrestling with his own insecurities.

As time passes, Dazai would begin to understand that love is not a weakness but a strength.

His darling would teach him that it’s okay to lean on someone, to share the burden of his past.

With every shared moment, he would learn to let go of the fear that had held him captive for so long.

Just when he begins to believe in the possibility of a brighter future, a haunting shadow from his past would emerge, threatening to shatter the fragile bond they’ve built. (I’m making some drama out of this)

A former associate from the Port Mafia might reappear, a reminder of the life Dazai had tried to escape, forcing him to confront his own demons. (I’m delusional but imagine this)

He would realise that he needs to take action and commit to the relationship, showing that he chooses his partner and their love.

Through it all, Dazai would discover that love is not just about finding someone to save him but about allowing himself to be vulnerable and to love in return.

He would learn that while the shadows of his past may never fully disappear, they no longer have to control him.

His partner would be his light, illuminating the path toward healing.

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. XII

going forward, I will be changing a lot of events. ik GRRM HATES to see me coming. Some will be small, others will be big. I want Daenys to play a much bigger role in the Dance, and take creative liberties on stuff the show did not show us or stuff that would be in s3.

tags: @beebeechaos @r-3dlips @emery-aka-emmy @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @hueanhdang @purple-1995 @fall-winter-heart97 @thelastemzy @saintkittykat @littleblackcatinwonderland @pedro-pascal-love @reyndaisy @theadharablack @thatkindofgurl @alexandra-001 i missed y'all its been almost a week

When Daenys learned that Corlys, her grandsire, was severely injured and may be on his deathbed, she was distraught. Her main concern wasn't for Corlys, she knew that since he survived such a brutal attack to his throat, he would endure well. Salt and sea, the Velayron man was. The sea did not take him that day, nor would it for many years. She did not forsee it, nor did she feel the impending doom of death when she thought of him.

The impending doom did not come from Corlys, who lie in a comatose state in Driftmark, but from Vaemond Velayron. The aura of black and blue surrounded him like a defensive shield, striking out when another got near. Never married or siring any legitimate children, Vaemond only cared for himself and his power-hungry interests.

While she resented being forced to come along to King's Landing while Rhaenyra defended Luke's claim to Driftmark, she was glad to support her brother. If anyone would make a good leader, it would be Lucerys.

She was vulnerable here, in the snakepit that was the capitol. Even in the crowd surrounding the throne, filled with the people who would testify either for or against Lucerys' claim, she felt many different eyes on her.

Alicent Hightower, her soft brown eyes hardened at the sight of Rhaenyra and her children. Every time Daenys glanced her way, even briefly, she looked down upon the younger lady with a scornful sneer. Similar looks were cast to Rhaenyra, who clutched her boys protectively. Daemon stood next to his wife, in between Daenys and Rhaenyra, respectively. An amused smile was placed on his lips during the whole precession.

Aegon Targaryen, who's gaze flitted around the room in ever-increasing boredom. Occasionally, he stared at Daenys, but with a blank look in his eyes that gave away his zoned out mind. He would rather be anywhere but here.

Helena Targaryen, who Daenys missed greatly in their time apart. Ravens had not been enough, she missed her company. Whenever Daenys met Helena's eyes, the bored look that Helena also held brightened, and she smiled across the aisle at her niece.

Aemond Targaryen, who's one eye had not left Daenys the whole time. The dark purple hue seemed to be a void of emotion, with Aemond giving away none of his feelings on his face. He had grown taller and leaner since their time in Driftmark. A true dragonrider. Daenys had only sent him one letter, apologizing profoundly for Luke's actions, sending him an embroidered eyepatch for good measure. An image of Vhagar, though condensed greatly to fit on the small black leather canvas. Aemond had never sent any letters back, to her knowledge. Perhaps he was looking at her with blame and distain, an emotion he didn't hide while looking at Daenys' brother.

Across the aisle, a ways behind Vaemond, who stood in the middle, Rhaenys stood with her ward Baela and her twin Rhaena. Through the years, Daenys had grown much closer to Rhaena since she had lived on Dragonstone with Daemon and them. They had grown to become true sisters, a strong connection between the two. Rhaena was quiet compared to her twin but grew more outgoing during her years at Dragonstone. Baela, during her ward with their grandmother, unfortunately grew distant with her sister and father unintentionally.

Rhaenys greeted Daenys with a hug and kissed the young girl's head during their walk inside the Red Keep. They exchanged many letters after Laenor's passing, bond growing from their mutual loss. Rhaenys was quite lonely, only having Baela on Driftmark for company while Corlys was out at sea for years at a time.

When Otto Hightower summoned Rhaenyra to vie for her son's claim, she began strong.

"I would start by reminding you all that twenty years ago, in this very room—"

The grand doors opened, revealing a guard who announced, "King Viserys Targaryen; King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the realm."

The court held their breath while Viserys staggered down the aisle. Bedridden for years, Viserys had not attended court in half a decade. Daenys grimaced at the sight of her grandsire, though she refused to look away respectfully. Alicent and her father stiffened at the sight of Viserys, thinking that they had the processesion going exactly the way they planned—in their favor.

Viserys would defend his firstborn, no matter what.

Rhaenyra gave her father a grateful look, relief coming from her in waves as she stood back to her original spot. The rest of Rhaenys' and Viserys' words were tuned out to Daenys. All she cared for was the betrothal announcements between her brothers and stepsisters. The rest was useless, knowing that Viserys would establish Luke as heir to driftmark firmly and without question.

Vaemond's yell tore her from her thoughts. "Her children...are BASTARDS!" He screamed to the courts, making Luke and Jace flinch in Rhaenyra's hold.

Daenys shuffled uncomfortably next to Daemon, while he stepped subtlely in front of her. "Say it." He hissed out quietly, urging Vaemond on as he clutched Dark Sister's black pommel.

Vaemond took the bait, turning to Rhaenyra spitefully. "And she. is. a whore." Every word was enunciated strongly.

Viserys, wheezing, stood from the Iron Throne with his dagger clutched in his bony hand. "I will have your tongue for that."

A sudden 'splat!' caught everyone's attention first. Helena gasped, covering her ears and shutting her eyes tight at the bloody sight. Daemon had cut off Vaemond's head, leaving it to drop to the floor, followed by the rest of his body. Daenys held a gag at the sight and smell of fresh blood, turning her eyes away from the gore.

Aemond, across from her, finally lifted his pursed hips into a smirk, eye gleaming at he stared at Daemon.

"Seize his weapons!" Otto Hightower demanded, though Daemon was swift to clean off his sword and sheath it again.

"No need." He said as if nothing had happened.

When Viserys started to shake and wheeze again, attentions were transfixed to the King once more. "Fetch the maesters!" Alicent called out, genuine concern cracking her voice. Perhaps the once good thing about the Queen was her love for her family and husband.

Rhaenyra ushered her kids out swiftly, leaving the room behind. Passing her uncles and aunt, Daenys glanced briefly towards each one.

Aegon finally held an amused expression, looking around the room for reactions and having no concern for his father's condition.

Helena, still covering her ears and turned from Vaemond, followed after Daenys.

Aemond held her stare as she passed, though he did not move so much as a muscle.

Daenys split from her mother and grandmother, telling them she would return for supper. Supposedly, the Hightower-Targaryen family would sup all together for the first time in years after Viserys rested.

Helena led her niece to a spacious and well-lit room by the hand. The floor was littered with toys, though it still appeared clean. Daenys gasped, met with the sight of two white-haired children quietly playing together on a rug.

Helena proudly smiled, removing her other hand from her ear finally and squeezing Daenys' hand. "This is Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. I know I've written to you about them, but I wished for you to meet them, too."

Daenys nodded enthusiastically, earning the attentions of the twins below. Helena and Daenys kneeled together, quite in sync for two ladies who have spent years apart, to greet them.

Daenys introduced herself as 'Aunt Daenys' although she was technically not. Jaehaera seemed to accept the new presence immediately, holding out a wooden wolf for Daenys to take and play with her, another carving of a dragon clutched in her other chubby palm.

Jaehaerys was decidedly more shy, crawling into his mother's lap while he watched his twin and aunt play. Daenys delighted in the activity, knowing her little brothers must be lonely back at Dragonstone, only in the company of their nursemaids. Helena and her chatted through the rounds of playing while Jaehaera dug through a box of toys, inviting Jaehaerys to pick new ones with her.

Hours passed and well into the afternoon, as Helena and Daenys took turns switching off embroidery pieces to find ways to continue each other's art and add to it (their little tradition since they were both young girls). Both were saddened to hear that they were summoned for supper, eager to finish their work before the day ended. Helena's original work was a centipede, Daenys had continuted the piece by making it weave through a field of grass and flowers. Daenys' started with a blue dragon, much like Dreamfyre, and Helena added a snowy white one intertwined with it, a likeness to Morningstar.

"Perhaps I could convince mother to stay an extra few days in the Red Keep, and return on my own on dragonback." Daenys offered Helena as they walked.

She hated the Keep, but never knew how much she truly missed Helena's company until she spent time with her again. She would bear a few nights here, knowing she could avoid everyone and only spend time in the nursery. Daenys was older now, a woman grown. Surely she could handle such things better.

"I should like that," Helena murmured, arms interlaced with Daenys as they walked towards the table. It was only half-filled with members of their family. A spot was left in the very middle for Viserys, occupied on the sides of his space by Alicent and Rhaenyra.

Aemond sat at one head, while Luke and Rhaena took the opposite.

The table seemed to naturally divide by sides, though Daenys chose to sit between Helena and Aemond rather than next to Jace, lest she also be forced next to Aegon.

Alicent offered to pray before they ate, to which Viserys complied with a pleasant smile for his wife. Having never prayed at supper before, Daenys sat awkwardly as others either clasped their hands and closed their eyes, or politely looked down at their plates while Alicent prayed for Vaemond to rest in peace. Daenys had chosen the latter, though she did so in a much nicer way than Daemon did. He held in a snort at the Queen's words, holding no regret for his murder.

The first to make a toast before dinner was served was Viserys. "My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins Baela and Rhaena. A toast to the young princes."

"Hear, hear!" Daemon was first to say in support. Perhaps he benefited the most. He would be King, then his firstborn daughter would be Queen right after through her marriage.

Goblets clinked in toast to the marriage. Many murmured their congratulations, besides the side that Daenys sat in. She felt out of place with her short cheer.

Viserys clanked his cane to the cobble floor, standing up on shaky knees while leaning against the table for assistance. "It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow. The faces most dear to me in all the world—yet grown so distant from each other."

He unclasped his golden half-mask, revealing a missing eye and half rotted face. Daenys struggled to hold her stare, not wanting to displease her grandsire or offend him. "My own face is no longer a handsome one. If it ever was." He jested weakly. "I wish you to see me as I am. Not as your king, but as your father. Your brother. Your husband. Your grandsire. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts." He pleaded with the people around him, earning either uncomfortable stares or bittersweet ones.

He sat with a heavy sigh, regaining his breath.

Rhaenyra toasted next, voice youthful and strong. "I wish to raise my cup to Queen Alicent. I love my father, but she has tended to him with unfailing devotion and for that she has my gratitude." She faced the queen with a reminiscent smile gracing her face.

Once Rhaenyra sat, Alicent was quick to take her turn. "I raise my cup to you and your house. You will make a fine queen. To further solidify our alliance and newfound love for one another," Alicent rubbed her husband's shoulder sweetly, smiling down at him. "I wish to propose a marriage. Though Aegon is already wed, as our eldest son, Aemond's hand remains free. As does your eldest daughter's."

Daenys stiffened in her seat, meeting Aemond's eye, which remainded composed and unsurprised. Had be brought this to Alicent? Or did Alicent demand it of him?

Viserys' face lifted at the suggestion, placing his hand over Alicent's and looking to Rhaenyra. Not even bothing to look at Daenys or Aemond. "I think it would be a most wonderful idea. Daenys could live here again, and perhaps all of you could come back, too." He hinted.

Rhaenyra was still in her seat, glancing between her father, Alicent, and the two seated at the end. Daenys held a pleading look in her eyes, urging her mother to not agree immediately.

Rhaenyra nodded subtly, sending a placating smile towards the two next to her. Beside her, Daemon scowled and rolled his eyes. "That is a generous offer. I will take some time to consider it."

Alicent nodded her agreement, sitting once more. Daenys forced her heart to stop its rapid beating, knowing her mother had delayed what might become her life's misery. Daenys would not mind Aemond much, nor living with Helena again. But Alicent and Aegon were two figures she could not bear to live with, nor the court that followed their Queen so blindly.

A silence filled the room, as everyone sipped their wine to the many toasts. Aegon lifted himself from his seat with a coy smirk, flitting to the space between Baela and Jace, whispering something that Daenys was not privy to. Jace slammed his hands to the table angrily, startling its occupants. He cleared his throat lightly while Aegon sat himself back in his seat.

Aemond stood, taller than Jacaerys at full height, staring him down from across the table. A warning to Jace that woefully went ignored as the younger started to speak.

"To Prince Aegon and...Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. As men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles." He raised his cup, concluding his shockingly nice speech. Daenys was surprised that he composed himself so well.

"To you as well." Aegon sighed, forced to politeness. Aemond sat, as Helena whispered beside Daenys.

"Beware the beast beneath the boards." No one else must have heard her, and if they did, they decided to ignore her. Helena didn't even seem like she realized that she spoke.

"I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. And perhaps, Daenys, if she does choose to marry my brother." She smiled genuinely to each in turn, a breath of fresh air compared to the tense atmosphere. "They'll be married soon. It isn't so bad, mostly he just ignores you—except sometimes when he's drunk." Her words were meant to be comforting to the bethrothed women, but she clearly had no affectionate experiences in her own marriage, so she could not offer such comforts.

Daenys raised her glass high to her stepsisters, following Helena's toast while Aegon melted into his seat. "Yes, to Baela and Rhaena. We will truly be sisters, soon." She grinned to them, earning raised cups back.

Viserys ordered the music to be started, and immediately Jacaerys stood to action. Daenys looked at him warily, wondering if he had meant his speech as a ploy to lower Aegon and Aemond's guard. He stood behind Daenys' seat, offering a hand to Helena. She took it, slightly confused, while he led to the dance floor from Aegon's side.

The two young aunt and nephew jumped and danced around the empty space near the table, with their parents watching on happily. Daenys watched, too, laughing and clapping at their display. Had they ever had a dinner go so well before?

Aemond stood next to her, sighing through his nose. He offered a hand out to Daenys, too. "I didn't think you would dance." She whispered to him, though did not reject his hand.

"I don't." He said simply. His hand was calloused from years of sword training, though unscarred from no real battle experience. Aemond led her past the young dancers, leading her into a more refined and graceful ballroom dance. Further from the table, they could speak lowly without worry of being overheard.

"Did you receive my letter?" Daenys started, avoiding his intense stare. Even with only one eye, he managed to share a similar look that Daemon had when looking at his niece. Possessive and controlling. He was a far cry from the sweet boy he once was.

"Just the one. All those years ago." He said, narrowing his eye down at her. "Though none of mine have been graced with an answer."

She faultered, "I was unaware that you sent any back."

Aemond pursed his lips, "of course. They must be keeping such things from you. Ever sheltered by Rhaenyra and Daemon on that rock, you remain."

Daenys, though embarrassed, knew he was right. She was quite sheltered, more than most ladies who were presenting themselves to court for suitors. But she did not need to trouble herself with such things. She didn't need a husband.

Daenys moved on, "who's idea was the marriage proposal? Last time there was one between our families, Alicent shot it down."

Aemond glanced at the table towards her family. "I did. My mother had a change of heart, perhaps. It would be beneficial to finally have a reason for our families to bridge this distance between us."

He sounded like he didn't believe his own words, like he was reading from a script.

"Indeed...though I doubt it would be so simple. Things never are between us." She sighed.

"They can be."

She scoffed lightly, looking to her mother and Alicent, who were conversing with soft smiles gracing their features. "They are in good moods now, while Viserys is here to be a deterrent. Even if we married, his death will split us apart."

"Marriage is sacred. Your husband and his children would be whom your loyalties lie with." Aemond stated.

"I would never choose a man over my family." She narrowed her eyes, pausing her practiced steps. "Is that what you want? My loyalties to be pledged to you and your family?"

He stayed silent during her barrage, only clenching his jaw as he listened.

"Or perhaps it is my dragon you want?" She challenged. "I thought you were above the manipulations of your mother and grandsire. Smarter than your dimwitted brother. I was wrong."

"Daenys—" Aemond started to speak, but she pulled her arm from his loose grasp and strided out of the dining hall. She had no reason to listen to his words. Years ago, she had sought a friend in Aemond, the one who shared in her torment. Now, she knew he was just like his mother, calculating and deceitful.

That night, as Rhaenyra and her family headed back to Dragonstone following a tiff between all of their children, Daenys did not dream of Viserys' demise. Rhaenys had stayed the night at the Red Keep alone, being locked in her guest chambers while Aegon was being crowned King. After her escape with the Red Queen Meleys, Rhaenys told Rhaenyra of the news.

Visenya was lost that day.

Daenys was unsure why she didn't see such a catastrophic event like the King's death—but for once she did not blame herself. She blamed the Hightowers and their lust for power.

🗡

Most of the day passed fairly quickly. Cregan and Daenys spent it in solitude, only each other as company. She thought of bringing Cregan back to Dragonstone and returning alone, but wished selfishly for some more time with her bethrothed before she left him. One more day together wouldn't hurt.

After their prayer with the weirwood, Daenys felt invigorated with the sunny weather the day had provided. She turned to Cregan, who eyed her excitement with mock suspicion.

"We should swim," she suggested to him, with an excited glint to her violet eyes.

"Swim? Do you mean at the God's Eye?" Cregan asked. It was the only body of water so close to Harrenhall, but she could always fly to another one of her choosing.

"Yes, I did say that I would bring you swimming one day."

"You said that you wished to." He corrected. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know how, I won't be the most pleasant company."

Daenys snickered, "perhaps I might ask Davos, then. A Riverlander would most definitely enjoy a swim on a day like this one."

He gave her a scorned look, pitful grey puppy eyes downtrodden at the mention of her choosing another man over him for company.

She grabbed his hand, giggling all the while at his expression as she led him outside. "I merely jest, Cregan. You can stay on the shore and watch me." She shrugged playfully.

Cregan hummed, looking her up and down pointedly. "In your dress? We have brought no swimclothes with us."

"I have my shift, I'll make due." She brushed his concern off, lifting her skirts with her spare hand to save them from grass stains. She'd hate to dishonor the lady who previously wore them, after all.

Cregan swallowed beside her, nodding. It's not like he hadn't seen her in her shift, or less than that, but the context was different—he was too worried for her life to concern himself with such frivolous thoughts. Now, both spending their leisure time together, they were free to do as they pleased.

According to courting and bethrothal customs, unmarried men and women shouldn't be without a chaperone. However, it was much too late for either to start caring for traditions.

The walk to the God's eye was brief, though the sun shining on them had earned thin sheens of sweat and flushed faces. Daenys was eager to get into the cooling water, oblivious to Cregan's mental struggles beside her. At the shore of the massive span of water, Daenys began to rid herself of her dress, folding it neatly and placing it on a rock, along with her stockings. Left only in a sheer white shift, she stepped into the water, turning to face Cregan, who was still fully clothed and avoiding eye contact.

"You're sweating buckets, Cregan." She stated, amused at his stubbornness. "At least take your tunic off and dip your feet in. It'll help you cool off."

While ladies were made to wear uncomfortable corsets and dragging dresses, Daenys was always grateful that at least they were cooler than men's many layers. Sometimes up to five or six for a day-to-day outfit, not even mentioning the ones presentable enough for court. Jacaerys oft complained about the heat of King's Landing back when they lived at the arid Keep, though he was relieved by Dragonstone's much more appeasing climates.

Cregan, with his thicker layers meant for permanent chills, must be near passing out. Perhaps she got too excited. They could've enjoyed a nice day in Harrenhall's walls. Maybe.

He obliged when she sent him a secondary beseeching look. He shrugged off his heavy tunic, left in a much lighter cotton undershirt. It hung off his frame much looser, allowing him to acclimatize much faster. The unbuttoned 'V' shape of his neckline hung much lower than that of his tunic, revealing the smooth skin of his chest.

Daenys turned back to hide her expression from him, knowing if he saw it, he would think her uncouth. She waded through the swallow water, soaking herself with the cold water. It was a great relief for the Princess, taking away the uncomfortable sweaty stickiness from her body and replacing it with fresh, cold water. Though she'd never swam in the Riverland lake, it still brought back many fond memories of her father Laenor, a simpler time when she swam almost every sennight. Now, it had been months since she last found time to.

With the water up to her shoulders, she dunked her head in and dived under, eyes quickly adjusting to the freshwater. Unlike the saltiness sting that the ocean always gave her, the lake was much more accommodating. By the time she had emerged, silver hair clinging to her body in the same way her shift did, Cregan was sat in the grainy sand, legs dipped into the water as he watched on.

He grinned when she resurfaced. "Refreshed, my Princess?"

"It would be nicer if you joined." Daenys mused, sharing in his light mood.

"I am perfectly content watching." He avoided her offer with a placating smile. Hands resting leisurely over his knees, simply relaxing in the sun and cooling water's contrast, Cregan really did look content. His face was free of worry, and his rigidly straight posture softened.

She hummed her acknowledgment, knowing she couldn't get him to swim with her this time. One day, she would succeed. Daenys did, after all, comvince an ever-stubborn man of Stark blood to ride a dragon.

After some diving and searching for whatever pretty trinket caught her eye, Daenys dained herself to simply float on top of the water, hands rested on her belly. In one of them, clutched protectively, lie a small grey pearl. In the sunlight, it gleamed a rainbow iridescence. In the shade of her palm, it was perfectly grey. It had taken her an umpteenth amount of tries to find, which she stopped counting after the seventh try, and perhaps a hundred dud pearls that she deemed unworthy. One thing she had learned during her escapades was that she had not lost her touch for the water, still able to hold her breath for long periods of time and open her eyes easily. Still, she was no match for her father's abilities. He took to the water like a true Velayron, disappearing under its depths for minutes at a time.

Daenys wondered when she would get chances to swim up in the cold North. Only when she visited her family, once they had reclaimed the capitol? Such sacrifices were the baselines of marriage for women. She would be more fortunate than most with her dragon as an aid to travel—most women who went so far for marriage never saw their homes again. Cregan clearly held no love for the water. How could he? He was not raised being surrounded by it, instead by mountains of snow and dense woods. She did love the wood, too. The serenity and quietness.

The sun had long since left her skin kissed with light brown freckles, the time apart from lengths in the sun having long since faded her previous ones. When she felt the heat start to irritate her eyelids, she opened them and squinted toward Cregan, who lifted his head from his arms and gaze from the gently waving water to her.

Daenys outstretched an arm lazily to him, beckoning wordlessly for assistance. Perfectly capable of swimming herself the few feet she was from the shallow sand, she felt knackered from the warmth and expending activity.

Cregan chuckled at her reaching, shaking his head teasingly. "You just swam laps around the God's Eye, I'm sure you can manage a few more feet on your own."

"Can't." Daenys said simply.

He raised a brow, smiling, "I'm sorry?"

"I'm incapacitated. Cannot move." She elaborated slowly.

He nodded, even slower, leaning back on his forearms. She forced her eyes not to leave his at the movement and sudden shift of his shirt. "I guess we're stuck here, my Lady."

"Seems that way."

They were at an impasse. One waiting for the other to give up. Stubbon Stark and conquering Targaryen. Eventually, one had to cave. Daenys was confident that she could stay in place for hours, even in the sun, while he would eventually burn up and regret even taking a step from Harrenhall's stone walls.

She relaxed in the water again, rolling the grey pearl between her fingertips idly. Cregan watched on, admiring the glow the sun provided her skin It was afternoon already, they had spent almost all day outdoors. Neither complained, though, for the much-needed distraction.

Daenys was reminded of the simplicities of life that the commonfolk lived. Not the ones in King's Landing, who often were criminals or victims of criminals, working day and night with little reward. No, not them. The ones who lived far from courtly society and its selfish royals. Those who lived in small villages far from big cities, who relied on one another and loved their neighbors like family. Worked hard on their family-owned farms and shops, retiring for the afternoon in their homes and laughed with their loved ones while they feasted on breads and cheeses their neighbors traded to them for handcrafted clothes. Those are the people Daenys envied, who lived full lives and never stopped to wonder what their life might be like in another's place.

She would be very content, she thought, to live a simple life like that. With Cregan as her swordsmith husband, and her as a fisherman. Both returning home at the end of their work days to a gaggle of children running around at their feet, squaking loudly about what they had learned that day. People would come nosing their way into their house over the evening, bringing food and smiles into the house while friends and family sat together. Sara and her husband first, living right next to them. Then, Daenys' mother and Daemon, bringing young Aegon and Viserys in their arms to play with their nieces and nephews. Corlys and Rhaenys, telling tales of how their two children were out enjoying a long voyage together on the open seas. The last ones to join would be Jacaerys and Lucerys, with Baela and Rhaena respectively.

The entire family would sit and talk of their days, as they had every night before that, and retell tales that all have listened to a million times before but never interrupt the joyous expression the storyteller held while speaking. The children would all have their own table, though eventually want to be a part of the adult's conversation and squeeze themselves on top of their parent's laps. The adults, after playfully scolding their babes, would still allow it with a gentle kiss on top of fluffy heads.

The perfect life. One that none of Daenys' loved ones could ever achieve.

The sound of sloshing in the water forced Daenys to focus once more, glancing up to meet Cregan's face staring down at her. Gently, he grabbed her hands and slightly dragged her close to himself, turning her to face him. She grinned up at him, "that was fast."

"I've enjoyed the view all day. I'm not so stubborn as to scorch myself for the sake of pride." Cregan chided. With a large hand resting itself on the dip of her waist, the Lord brought her to the shallowest parts before lifting her to her feet. "Now, is the Princess still too tired to walk, or does she require assistance?"

Daenys steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders, narrowly avoiding touching any bare skin on his chest, though it tempted her. His touch was hot on her waist, burning through even her wet shift. She felt breathless despite her lack of movement, forgetting to speak for a long pause of time.

"Daenys," he murmured lowly, brushing his thumb over the soft skin of her stomach. She was reminded of his size—a true testiment of his ancient Stark blood. Looking down at her past his straight nose, hands large enough to engulf her midsection from the curve of her waist to her belly buttom. From behind Cregan, one might not be able to see Daenys, his broad shoulders and height a perfect sheild.

The touch made her shiver, though she brushed it off as the wet cotton clinging to her skin. "I...Yes, I can walk." She finally managed to mumble out. He smiled once more, leading her out of the water by the hand, though he noticed she switched the pearl to the other to be able to grasp his.

"What have you found, my lady sailor?" He asked, leaning down to squeeze water from his trousers and half of his shirt.

She lifted her palm for him to see the grey pearl, showing it off like a dragon would show its prized treasure. Morningstar, too, had oft stolen whatever shiny thing caught her eye during flights, bringing them to Dragonstone's pit and waiting for Daenys to come down to see it. She had her own little pile of knickknacks, though some of the smaller ones lay in Daenys' chambers. Strangely, none of the others (apart from Syrax) had the same interest in material things.

He straightened, lifting the ball to his eyeline. Daenys bit her cheek to stop her grin from getting any bigger. It was a perfect match to his own eye. She only kept the pearl for the theory, being too far from Cregan to keep bringing little pearls back and bother him with silly comparisons. She simply went off her memory, which seemed to serve her perfectly.

"It's a...?" He left space for an answer, not entirely sure of it himself. Right, she thought. He'd never left the North. They don't eat much seafood there, so there's no cause to learn about sea life besides the few species of fish that graced their waters.

"I forgot, you've never been so far down before." She hummed. "A pearl. Formed in clams or muscles—I like to keep any that catch my interest."

"I've heard of them. Used for necklaces, right?" He asked, placing the pearl in her palm again after she twisted her own skirts.

Daenys nodded. "I've made a few of my own, though I can't wear them to court. Too juvenile, my mother says. Sometimes, I can put them into my hair, but the process takes too long to make it a common accessory."

"I'd like to see that." Cregan said softly, admiring the way she scrunched her hair to attempt to dry it quicker. With the retained water, the silver hair looked a darker milky grey. It made the purple hue of her eyes stand out more, especially in the daylight.

Twisting the bottom of her skirts, Daenys laughed. "My maid won't be happy to hear that. Perhaps I'll have to teach you how to put them into braids, if you'd truly like to see it."

He handed the pearl back to her once she finished. "I would be happy to learn, if only to ease the burden of your poor maid."

Daenys picked up her dress from its place on the rock, finding it pleasently warmed. She didn't put it back on, knowing it would only get wet from her shift. She'd have to be swift when returning to her chambers, lest Davos, Simon, or any of Simon's sons see her in such a state. Cregan did the same, carrying both of their clothes bundled up under an elbow.

As they walked, Cregan spoke up. "I have been to the capitol. Once, briefly, but that visit was enough to last a lifetime."

Daenys perked up, turning to Cregan as they walked together. "I've never seen you before. Was it recent?"

He shook his head. "Actually, it was for your nameday tourney."

She groaned. "Of course. I hated those every year, but my grandsire insisted that all of his children and grandchildren got a tourney for their nameday celebrations. Starks do not typically attend tourneys, seeing as they happen so often. What made you come?"

At her complaint, he snorted briefly. "I was one and ten at the time, two years before my father passed. He insisted that I was old enough to attend court at the capitol, and it had been many years since he had attended himself—the last being to swear an oath to your mother.

I was a young, excited boy who was ill-equipped to handle the secret meanings behind Southerner's words. I took everything literally, not knowing that everyone I spoke to was insulting me to my face."

Daenys hummed sympathetically. "Yes, it is a nasty habit. Whatever could they have insulted you for?" She asked, curious.

He blushed slightly, a tinging of red dusting his ears. "My accent, my looks, whatever they saw that seemed 'different'. Back then, I was all gangly limbs and height, not yet experienced in swordtraining. They hid such distastes in compliments, something I was not aware of until I told my father, and he warned me to both speak and listen carefully in the Crownlands."

"Your looks?" She was bemused by the implication. Surely, no one would find Cregan uncomely. Even in the awkward youth years. Or his accent, a small part of her mind said. His accent was perhaps her favorite part of Cregan, it made her mind go hazy whenever he spoke more than his usual curt sentences. Another Stark trait was to not speak more than necessary.

He shrugged, "Starks have prominent genes. We've always had dark hair, straight noses, long faces, and perhaps taller frames than most men. We are not bred to be pretty, like some are."

Her mind went to the peacocking men that were born and bred in the Crownlands and the places attached to it. Of course, ladies of the realm were meant to be pretty, and if they were not, then at least they were trained to act elegantly. Though, the men were often 'pretty' too. The Hightowers, for example, were a picture of good genetics. Otto Hightower's two children, Alicent and Gwayne, were both considered beautiful with their auburn hair and dark eyes. Though Gwayne was a knight, he was sought after by many. The two must have taken after their mother Alerie since Otto looked nothing like either. The Tyrells, too, were considered blooming flowers of beauty, well-groomed and mannered.

The Targaryens, Velayrons, and Daynes all held traits that the realm agreed to be most beautiful. Whores dyed their hair silver just to be paid more, and men sought after them twice as much as a regular looking woman. Tales were written of Valyrion women, even by those who've never laid eyes on one. Songs were sung by bards, poems written by romantics, gossip spread like wildfire when another was presented to court. Daenys had heard a few about herself, to her surprise. Though the realm did not hold her in high regard, her beauty was apparently taken the opposite. A song had once called her 'The Dawn's Light' for her silver waves and lighter-than-most violet eyes. A poem called her 'The Dreamer Reborn' but moreso as a statement than a compliment. She scarsely heard any gossip since her leave from the capitol, so any other poems or songs in her name went unknown. Similar to her mother, 'The Realm's Delight' she was given such titles as a young girl. Women did not earn their titles from great accomplishments but rather their looks alone, most of the time.

The Valyrion-featured men, too, were hauntingly charming in looks just as their female counterparts were. Aemond was considered a handsome young prince before being named 'Aemond One-Eye'. Aegon, too, was conventionally handsome when his mouth was shut. Daenys was quite unsure of Daemon or Viserys' looks, seeing as they were both no longer in their prime youth at the time Daenys was born. Though she was sure her father Laenor was widely known to be a charmingly handsome man, for his sailing adventures had proven him a popular figure to men and women alike.

"Perhaps you are not pretty." She started, smirking up at him. "No Northern men could be, with their laborious lives. Handsome is more fitting, I would say. Though mayhaps other ladies can only assume a Northern man to be a brutish and unrefined beasts of men, simply because they are unused to different appearences."

Truly, Cregan was taller and broader than most, even more impressive for his young age. He would surely make most Andal men question their own masculinity, to which the Andals would turn to insults to counter their insecurities.

Cregan hummed thoughtfully, holding an almost bashful smile. "Not many southern ladies would consider a Stark 'handsome'. Especially a Velayron. None from the North have married a Valyrion." He mentioned.

"We are the first, then."

"Indeed," he took her hand in his, forgoing joining arms for the warmth of their hands. His hand, even interlaced with her own, was calloused and large. Quite like a paw, she bit back from saying. Without his leather gloves that he had to don in the cold, she felt the safety of his protection right in his palm.

"How was the tourney beside the cold welcome you received? I remember that my father Laenor fought in it, as he only cared for those dreadful tourneys when it was one of our namedays."

A part of her wished to have met him back then. Perhaps she could have made a friend, her first one that was not of her own blood.

"More boring than I expected. As a boy, I wished to be a great jouster to show off my house pride, but it wasn't at all what I expected." He said. "Also, I was quite disappointed to find that the star of the tourney was missing from the Royal Pavillion."

Daenys blushed, unable to meet his amused look. "I only stayed to watch my father's joust. I made appearances, then left when no one's eyes were on me."

"Everyone's eyes are on you, Princess." He chuckled.

She nodded slightly. "Unfortunately. That is something I dreaded during those days. Who did end up winning that tourney? I forget."

Cregan shrugged once more, "I don't know either. I didn't stay til the end."

At her confused glance, he continued. "I got bored of watching men fall from horses. So, I wondered off to explore the 'Great Red Keep' I had heard so many things about. I got lost in the halls—which are much too big for one family, in my opinion—and stumbled upon the very princess that was missing."

Daenys furrowed her brows together, trying to recall ever meeting a young Cregan Stark. "I don't think I remember speaking to you."

Cregan shook his head. "I never found the courage to approach you. But I knew who you were, even from afar. You sat at a windowsil, overlooking the crowds of people. You looked so lonely, with that wistful look in your eyes."

"Why didn't you talk to me, then?" She asked him.

"I was scared that you might think of me the same way the other young ladies did. Though you looked lonely, you also had a peaceful aura that I could not dare to disturb."

She nodded her agreement. "I have grown used to enjoying my own company. Though, I have grown to enjoy yours, more."

He squeezed her hand lightly. "You shall not be alone anymore, ever. If I have a say in it."

They reached Harrenhall at a more leisure pace than they had left with. The sun was starting to set now, and their bellies were rumbling with hunger. Daenys and Cregan jogged through the halls of Harrenhall, luckily not running into any people on the way. They shut the door to Daenys' room behind them, giggling and laughing like a pair of juveniles sneaking under their parent's noses. Cregan and Daenys politely turned while changing together, underclothes long since drying during their walk.

Daenys sat at the creaky vanity she was provided, unbothered by the water rotted wood. If it worked, it worked. At least the mirror was clean. She worked to brush through her drying hair, a plain giveaway to her activities. Her hair was famously hard to dry, her vigerous routine for her hair alone taking hours each week. Without any of the oils and soaps that she had on Dragonstone, Daenys found that her hair dulled slightly in the North, only being restored when she returned home. She hoped it would not do so again at Harrenhall. Though she did not think herself to be a vain woman, she cared for her hair greatly. It was something she had grown for years, having not cut it since her father passed.

The last haircut she had was done by her father, who taught her how to take the best care of it and always styled it despite her maids being well able to. Daenys knew she'd eventually have to trim it again, but she'd prolonged it for years already in a weak attempt to keep his every memory.

The pearl sat next to the brush while she started to plait her hair up in a braided romantic tuck, which would leave no hair cascading down her hair. If it was all so bunched up, none would notice its dampness.

Cregan sat himself on her bed, tunic placed loosely on in his idleness. There was no need to trap himself fully in his warm clothing until they needed to be presentable. His eyes never left her as she threaded expertly through her hair, seemingly zoning out as he did.

She finished as fast as she could, perhaps a little sloppy. But, she didn't wish for Cregan to be left waiting in boredom too long. Daenys stood from her stool, turning to her bethrothed. She patted her hair down slightly, brushing over it to neaten it. "Im sorry, I worked as fast as I could."

Smiling patiently, Cregan stood and took her hands from her hair, kissing her knuckles tenderly. "Don't worry. I have never seen such perfection, my beautiful Daenys."

Taken aback, Daenys found herself utterly speachless. Where had that come from?

"Thank you, Cregan." She murmured, finding only enough propriety to unconsciously respond to a compliment. My?

His smile seemed to deepen at her pause, taking her by the same hand he kissed and leading her outside of the room. "Let's have our supper, I'm sure the other guests of Harrenhall are wondering where we are."

Daenys nodded, following at his side to the dining room. The halls had started to become familiar to Daenys, even though it had only been barely two days since they arrived. Around the table already sat the majority of Harrenhall's residents. Simon, of course, and his small family, who mostly stayed quiet as mice. Davos, who sat slouched back in his seat, spinning his utensil upon the table with a frustrated expression. Daemon, too, though he looked drowsy still. Slightly faraway, like he was in a permanent waking dream.

As Daenys passed him, he glanced up at her. His eyes cleared slightly, a nearly horrified look on his face. "Rhaenyra?" He asked, sitting up in his seat.

Daenys exchanged a glance with Cregan, staring down at her stepfather afterwards. "Rhaenyra is still at Dragonstone." She said carefully.

In their shared native tongue, Daenys could speak without giving anything away to the others in the room, who stared at them in bemusement.

Daemon squinted at her for a few more seconds, sitting back into his seat once more and blinking harshly. He nodded, saying nothing else.

Daenys needed to visit Alys again. Perhaps she would know something about Daemon's strange behavior. Or perhaps she was the reason for it. The tea was something she did not partake in and would not attempt to now that she saw Daemon's weariness. But, she would not yet point any fingers until she confronted the woman.

Daenys sat herself between Davos and Cregan, prepared to soothe the impaitients and frustration that she knew Davos was experiencing.

"It has been a full day, Your Grace." Davos shifted in his seat, restless. "I have not heard word of what you intend to do for my father in terms of the Bracken's treason."

Daemon rubbed at his temples. "I will fly out on Caraxes tomorrow. No later than noon. I sent a raven to Lord Willem already, he and the Bracken Lord will meet me in a sectioned place of my choosing."

"Are we to be privvy of this meeting? Or must it be held in such secrecy? Davos asked. Daenys agreed with him. Who knows what the combined tempers Willem and Daemon will bring together. Though she would not say that in front of Willem's own son.

"I will act alone." Daemon glanced at her. "As I have since I arrived in Harrenhall."

"What great that has done us." Daenys muttered. "We seem to be at the verge of turning swords against us rather than rallying them together."

"I will not sugarcoat my demands for a child, this is war." He spat back.

"Telling a boy to kill his grandsire for the sake of expediting his own control is certainly no way to gain loyalty." Daenys sipped her wine, not feeling a heavy appetite when no one else was eating besides Simon's sons.

Davos looked at her bewilderedly as if to ask if he really said that. Daenys smiled into her cup shortly, wiping it off her face before she set the cup down.

"What do you intend to do with the Brackens?" She continued.

"You need not concern yourself with my business. It will be delt with accordingly."

Daenys sighed quietly. "At least answer me this. Will you recruit or burn the Brackens?"

The room silented further. Daemon stared between Davos and Daenys.

"I will do what I must to obtain the best men for our Queen's cause." Was his answer. "While I fly out on Caraxes, you should pay a visit to the Tullys. To...ascertain their Lord's condition. Perhaps things have changed."

"Since the day before?" She scoffed.

Daemon gave her a harsh look. "We do not have time to wait for an old and withered fool to die in order to get the Tully bannermen."

"We certainly had time to wait for Viserys to die." Though her words were unnecessarily cruel, especially towards Viserys' own brother, Daenys couldn't find it in her to care. She was never close with her grandsire, but scorned the way his own closest kin abandoned him to the Hightower snakes' clutches.

"Watch your tongue." Daemon leaned forward in his seat.

"I would not let war change me."

"You've not seen war yet, daughter."

Daemon often called her that. Something he did not share with her brothers when he merely referred to them by their names. It frustrated Daenys, knowing he had no right to call her his daughter when he appeared so suddenly in her life. She was nothing like her stepfather. He was the last man who could be her father.

He's the one who got rid of Laenor. Manipulated Rhaenyra into sending the father of her four eldest children away. Daemon, alone, was the reason she mourned her father for years. Rhaenyra would never have done such a thing to her children if her uncle was not so cunning.

"I will not." She said finally. There was no room for argument in her tone. "Tomorrow, I will deliver the Master of War to the Queen's council, then return to Harrenhall and await the news you bring."

"Fine. Sit idly here as the council and I make moves to take back the throne. It is not like you'd be much use at Dragonstone, either." Daemon leaned forward in his seat, closer to the faces across from him before taking his leave to his chambers.

Seething, Daenys chose not to make a scene in front of the other occupants in the room. Instead, she quickly turned to Davos. "I hope to see you returning to your family soon, Ser Davos. I hate to see you stuck here for menial reasons, I think your father and Daemon will work something out with the Brackens on the morrow."

Davos smiled weakly. "It's only been a day and I feel my mind melting with the idleness. I wish to be on the battlefield, marching with my Aunt Alysanne."

She nodded. "I understand. We share that sentiment, at least."

Dinner passed by quickly, with Simon taking hold of the conversation and switching it to a more appropriate topic. Tension did not leave the air all night, however. When Daenys big goodnight to Davos, Simon, and the rest, she allowed Cregan to lead her to her chambers.

A distant feeling nagged at the back of Daenys' mind, as if warning her something would happen soon. It was a miserable impending feeling that she could not answer. "Goodnight, Cregan." She said before he could stop to check on her, knowing that look on his face meant he was worried for her.

She settled into her sheets, knowing that a dream was awaiting her. It was best to get it over with, to see it, and wake up again to be able to prepare for whatever would happen.

Daenys was correct. She had begun to get better at predicting when she would dream. This time, she was landlocked on a rolling grassy hill, watching hundreds of soldiers holding up Green Targaryen banners marching towards an unknown destination. Greenery surrounded her on all sides, through forests and healthy grass. She followed after the leagues of men, who did not see her, and mapped out every possible landmark in her mind. Eventually, the men reached a treeline where they stopped. For cover, most likely.

Men did not hide in forests from other men, but from a dragon's birdeye view.

Daenys spotted a large castle nearby, the destination that the men must have in mind. Behind her, more men rolled up with large crossbows that had to be dragged with multiple horses. The arrows they held were almost as tall as Daenys. Men from the castle were sent out to defend their home, a meager number compared to the ones marching upon them. But, like any loyal knights, they would all die protecting their Lord and his house.

Men did not hide in forests from other men, but from a dragon's birdeye view. Men did not need to kill other men with five-foot-long arrows. She saw Criston Cole, flanked by Ser Gwayne Hightower, and she knew. They were waiting for a dragon.

🗡

Daenys shot out of bed quickly, finding no time to dress herself in the dress laid out for her. It was just after dawn, the sun was already peaking out over Daenys' bed through the windows and cracks in the roof.

She rushed out to the dining hall, where Davos was whispering hushedly to Ser Simon. "Simon, Davos!" Daenys commanded their attention, making them both swing around on the balls of their feet to see their panicked Princess.

In her white shift, completely inappropriate for wandering strange halls, she earned stares with differing looks. Simon, with concern that only a father could hold, and Davos with a hand at his sword's pommel, ready to defend his Princess if need be.

"Princess?" Simon asked.

"In the Riverlands—What castle holds a tower slightly higher than the rest with a sphere on top?" She panted out. "Forests and grassy hills around it, it is slightly smaller than Harrenhall in size but longer."

The two glanced at each other, Davos answering first. "That sounds like Rook's Rest. It is right between us and Dragonstone. May I ask why, my Lady?"

Of course. Rook's Rest, a perfect spot for the Green's to take and cut off Dragonstone from the land.

"I must go. See to it that Cregan Stark stays here while I am gone, Ser Simon."

"But, Princess—!" She didn't stay, running off to Daemon's chambers.

She pushed at the doors, grunting when she was met with resistance. A clanging was heard, she knew he must have barred the doors with something. She continued to push and pull aggressively at the doors, eventually making the protective bar he put up fall to the ground. By the time she yanked them open, Daemon stood in front of the doors with a sword held high to her face.

"Daemon," She started, gritting her teeth. "You must come with me. We will ride to Rook's Rest, where an amush has been laid for Rhaenyra's dragons."

Daemon did not lower his sword, stuck in that same hazy mindspace that she had seen him in before. "Begone, witch. I will hear no more of this."

"Daemon!" She pleaded, stepping closer. "I need you, now. I don't know who is waiting or who Rhaenyra is sending. What if it is Baela, or Jace? Their dragons are too small and young to fight like ours—Come on!"

Daemon scowled at her, as if he were looking right past her. He stepped forward, too, til his Valyrion steel blade was touching her neck. "You are not Rhaenyra." He said, convincing himself that he was merely dreaming.

She swallowed harshly, shaking her head. She had no time to wait for him to find his own mind. Daenys would not be his mother, she couldn't stand idle as a dragon and its rider unknowingly flew to its own death.

She stepped away, nodding. "If I do not return, Daemon, you can tell your wife that you have doomed me."

In her own chambers, she hastily put on the dress that was laid out for her. A pale grey, resembling a misty morning like the one that graced the Riverlands this morning. It would be harder to see today, Daenys knew, she must be vigilant to guide Morningstar.

Morningstar flew with a vigor, right below the cloudbanks, to be able to see everything. It was a fast flight to Rook's Rest, passing over mountains of green trees before the fields opened up to the plains that the castle stood on. Below, men were fighting already. Shouts were heard from below as Morningstar crossed Cole's forces towards Rook's Rest, where she circled briefly.

She ran outside, calling Morningstar to her at the door. Caraxes followed, though only roared frustratedly as he knew he could not fly with them. They sensed her urgency and fear. On top of Morningstar, Daenys could see Cregan start to race outside, barely dressed himself. He shouted after her only when she shouted her command. Daenys glanced back at him apologetically, knowing he would advise against such reckless actions. She would not let herself be stopped, not this time. She waited too long for Jaehaerys and was only a minute too late to save the boy.

She tried to ignore the helpless look on Cregan's face as she turned away.

There.

It was Rhaenys and Meleys, coming from across the sea to defend Lord Staunton's keep. A breath of relief left Daenys, knowing that her mother had sent the most capable fighter she had available. "Grandmother!" She shouted over the men below, grinning at the sight of the Red Queen. Selfishly, she was glad it was not Jacaerys or Baela.

Rhaenys did not share her joy, instead falling into place beside Morningstar with a worried shout of her own. "Go back, Daenys! This is not your battle!"

In her grand dragonscale and steel armor, she looked just like a Queen. Her commanding presence solidified it even more so. "It is a trap, Rhaenys, I cannot leave you to face a dragon alone," Daenys told her stubbornly. She would not leave Rhaenys, there was no argument about it.

Rhaenys stared long and hard at her granddaughter, an image of herself and her niece. Finally, she nodded curtly in acceptance. It was futile to argue with the young Targaryen.

Together, they spun their dragons around to hover right over the plains. Dragonfire spit out from Meleys and Morningstar both, showering over the enemies in a display of glowing orange and blue. Screams of agony were heard as the fire spread from man to man, no steel armor able to save them from flames so hot.

Daenys cringed at the sounds and the smells. She was killing men by the hundreds, perhaps, it was uncountable over the distance and flames. Only weeks ago, she had wondered if she would be able to use fire against her enemies in such a violent way, now she was doing it without question or mercy.

They did not deserve mercy, but Daenys did not wish to kill. She held in gags at the overstimulating sounds and smells around her, staying firm and strong as Rhaenys was. Her grandmother did not flinch nor faulter, a confident Princess with her experienced dragon, a bond that could never be broken.

Repeatingly, the two dragons lifted and found new targets on any men who dared to still be out in the fields, and any who were too slow to retreat into the woods. When Daenys noticed a steady march of the majority of the men creeping out from their cover, she lifted her gaze to the skies. In the distance, a dragon was flying toward them at top speed from the direction of the capitol.

She squinted, meeting Meleys' turnaround from above the water. "It's Sunfyre!" She shouted to Rhaenys, who silently nodded and ordered Meleys to meet The Golden.

"Angōs, Meleys." She commanded her dragon with a fierce determination. The red dragoness roared in response, speeding up to meet the usurper. Morningstar, perfectly meeting her stride, trilled with excitement.

They were mere yards apart when Daenys heard, "Dracarys!" From Aegon. Immediately, Sunfyre spit his own orange dragonfire at the two. Meleys swooped down, taking the fire to her advantage, knowing it blinded Aegon momentarily. Morningstar flew up sharply, turning to follow behind Sunfyre. That fool.

In the midst of his confusion, Aegon turned his head every which way to locate his enemy counterparts, yelping when Sunfrye was grasped from below by Meleys. The Red Queen dug her sharp talons into the younger dragon's chest, digging deep gouges right through the scales. She tossed Sunfyre down, watching him fumble to steady himself.

Daenys found herself at an impasse. Sunfyre was too small to tagteam in a way that would leave Morningstar's ally unharmed. If either shot fire, they would risk hurting each other and not Aegon. Sunfyre managed to right himself, flying just over the grass and spraying buckets of boiling hot blood on Aegon's own men.

Sunfyre whined in pain the entire ascent back into the air. Daenys felt sympathy for the poor thing. It was only doing as he was bid by his rider. Meleys didn't let him get far, biting at Sunfyre's wing in the air and dragging him across. Morningstar finally took the opportunity to join, Daenys noting that bites and scratches were much easier to aim than fire. Her dragon latched onto the other wing's thin membrane, leaving Sunfyre unable to fly himself and instead hang lamely between the two beasts.

Sunfyre managed to angle his neck wildly, hanging on to Meleys' horn with his jaw. He tore it clean off of the dragoness, throwing it down to the ground. A deep grumble caught Daenys' attention as Morningstar let go of the bloodied and ripped wing. "It's Vhagar!" She shouted to Rhaenys, who turned to see the great behemoth approaching with Aemond.

"Thank the Gods!" Aegon shouted in relief, even as Meleys held Sunfrye's neck in a fearsome grip.

Morningstar sharply flew up to get out of the line of fire, howling out for Meleys to follow her.

A shout was heard from Aemond, though Daenys could not decipher it over the sounds of growls and wings flapping. Fire shot from Vhagar indiscriminately, shooting right at Aegon.

Was Rhaenys even the target for that? Daenys thought to herself, horrified at the sight below her. Sunfyre's ripped wings both caught fire, the blood exposing the insides enough to be lacking shield as they usually would. Rhaenys swiftly met Morningstar in the higher skies, watching with Daenys as the rider and dragon fell to the trees.

Vhagar continued on, Aemond not attempting to check on his older brother.

Meleys and Morningstar flew side by side, both riders turned to assess the situation. Panting, they worked to catch their breath. Daenys pet Morningstar's neck, checking her for injuries. Luckily, she went unharmed from her brief fight with the smaller dragon. Meleys had sustained few injuries, too, bar from the missing horn.

"Grandmother, we can keep going to Dragonstone. Or Harrenhall, even! Vhagar is thrice our size, we should get Caraxes and Daemon."

Her words seemed to go through one ear and out the other to her grandmother. Rhaenys sat straight and proud, ever a picture of grace even in battle. "I will not be leaving this battle, Daenys." She told her solemnly. "But you will. Continue on, without me." She commanded.

Daenys shook her head vehemently, shocked at the implication. "I will not leave you, grandmother. I cannot."

Rhaenys met her eyeline with a pleading look, though only got a determined one in return. "I will follow you into battle." Her granddaughter continued, blinking away watery eyes.

The Queen Who Never Was nodded, only once. "Angōs, Meleys." She murmured to her dragon, who made a similar hollow sound.

"Naejot, Ñāqatubis qēlos!" Daenys shouted, earning a more invigorated sound from Morningstar. Her blood ran hot, nearly burning through the saddle and Daenys' legs if they had touched the scales. She didn't want to back down, and neither did Meleys.

Rhaenys buckled herself into her saddle. Daenys narrowed her eyes at her grandmother but did not speak out against her. She simply followed her actions. She was the more experienced rider, after all.

Ahead of them, Vhagar had her back turned to them. Aemond has thought they fled when Sunfyre went down, they both had the speed to outfly Vhagar easily. He turned in his saddle, cursing. Roaring, Meleys sped up and angled herself to fly upside down, Morningstar quick to mimic her movements more clumsily. Both dragons matched their actions, moving to latch both of their feet to one of Vhagar's. All three dragons jerked at the stop, spinning in circles as if merely dancing in the air.

Though, the fire and roars told the onlookers otherwise. Daenys felt dizzy at being upsidedown and spinning, but held herself steady. "Do not fire, Morningstar! Bite!" She yelled her command, fearful of burning her grandmother. From this angle, it would be hard for flames to reach Aemond anyway. Flames only served to blind the other dragon. Morningstar grumbled but obeyed, forcing fire back down her throat. She bit at any green limbs or scales flying her way, finally managing to latch onto Vhagar's thick tail and biting down hard.

Beside her, Meleys clawed at Vhagar's chest successfully, searing blood running down all of the Dragon's scales as they spun. Vhagar roared in pain and anger, releasing a wave of hot flames into the air.

With Morningstar's grip on the tail's end, she lost control of her talon's grip and loosened it enough to lose it entirely. The now free claw kicked at Morningstar, sending her away and to find her grounding in the air again. Though, it did not come as a success to Vhagar. Lying limp in Morningstar's massive maw was nearly eight feet of her tail. Bit off entirely.

Though it would not kill Vhagar, she dragoness would never fly completely straight or as fluid as she once did. Tails were vital for balance. Morningstar trilled in victory as Meleys threw Vhagar to the ground, both flying up again as the larger was forced to get a running start in order to fly again.

Daenys panted slightly, seeing Rhaenys fly in sync next to her.

"Are you and Morningstar okay?" She asked, rising above the smoke and also out of breath.

She nodded, looking around her briefly. "I think so. Are you two?" Meleys had lost quite a bit of blood from her chest scratch, though did not look any less strong as she flew.

Meleys turned to Rhaenys, whining softly as she glanced at her rider. Rhaenys smiled solemnly, comforting her dragon. It did not go unnoticed by Daenys that she had chosen to stay silent rather than answer.

"Grandmother." Daenys said. "This is a victory. We have injured Vhagar greatly, and Sunfyre and Aegon might be dead as we speak."

Both turned to fly towards the open water, and Daenys breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She would take her grandmother home safely, where she could continue to advise her mother in Daenys' temporary absence.

They flew over Rook Rest's tallest tower, relieved to see that Vhagar had fled.

Meleys, ahead of Morningstar, was suddenly thrown up into the air. Morningstar roared and halted her flight with angled wings as the other two ascended high into the air. Meleys was trapped by the neck in Vhagar's maw now, unable to do anything but cry out in agony. As Morningstar flew up to try and meet them, hot blood poured down onto the dragon and rider. It burned, though Daenys forced herself to wipe it away and cover her eyes with a hand. Morningstar faultered slightly, blindly flying and shaking blood from her face.

High above Rook's Rest, Vhagar let go of Meleys, dropping her down to the shore. Go after Rhaenys or finish off Aemond from behind? Daenys had no time to think, she simply moved on instinct. "Grab her!" She shouted towards Morningstar, who swopped down and grabbed Meleys' heavy body by the sides. The dragon screeched in pain again, though still could not manage the strength to fly again. Morningstar grunted with the effort, barely able to carry Meleys in her claws. She would not be able to save Meleys. She was bigger than Morningstar and too heavy to be carried anywhere but the hover she held her in.

Rhaenys stared up at her granddaughter with apology already written across her face. She was content to die with her dragon, but heartbroken to leave her grandchildren and husband in the living world.

Daenys unbuckled herself swiftly, reaching down and maneuvering her body to hang off the saddle with all but a leg and arm holding her up. "Climb up, hurry!" She begged her grandmother, who was only attached to Meleys through her own buckle. Her hands were at her sides, already accepting her honorable dragonrider's death.

Daenys could not accept such a thing.

Daenys sobbed at the look, shaking her head. Tears fell towards Rhaenys, landing on or past her ashen face. "Grandmother, please—!" Vhagar had returned.

Morningstar was thrown by Vhagar's talons, losing her grin on The Red Queen. Daenys couldn't even watch her fall, spinning around in the air as Morningstar fought to find air. Above, Vhagar roared as Daenys screamed.

"Go!" She pleaded as Morningstar finally straightened out, immediately fleeing towards Harrenhall.

Vhagar did not follow this time, instead clumsily landing near Sunfyre's fallen spot. Daenys panted heavily, looking below and behind her desperately to spot Meleys. The dragon had fallen to the shores below, where the land met sea. So close to Dragonstone. They were so close to Dragonstone.

Daenys numbly looked forward, releasing her death grip on the saddle's handles. Red poured out from Morningstar's scaled side, revealing the damage Vhagar's throw had done to her. "I'm sorry, Morningstar." She whispered, leaning lamely over the saddle and staying like that for her entire flight.

🗡

Upon landing, Morningstar had been silent. Perhaps mourning Meleys just as much as Daenys was mourning Rhaenys. They had lived close together, flying often to Driftmark and Dragonstone as all the other dragons who got along did.

Daenys saw Caraxes waiting by the entrance, where she had left him. Weakly, she couldn't even greet the Blood Wrym as he called out for the dragon and rider. Cregan, too, waited for her. Dressed now, it seemed like he waited outside the entire time since she had left, with no way to follow her.

The thought vaguely registered in her mind as Morningstar huffed and leaned down. Through bleary eyes, she saw Cregan climb her wing and reach out to hold Daenys' face in his hand. He wiped a spot of blood from her brow, frowning.

Her sleeves had burnt off entirely, leaving small bits of fabric to conseal her modesty. The last thing she cared for at the moment, if she were honest. Dragon blood smeared across her as if it were her own: covering her face, hair, neck, arms, and dress. She did not have time to go to Dragonstone and don her scaled armor.

"What has happened?" He asked softly, working with the cuff of his sleeve to gently wipe away at her face. It was in vain, though, only working to smear it further when it had already dried. Daenys slumped her head into Cregan's neck, shaking her head defeatedly. He clutched her in his arms immediately, lifting her from her saddle and carefully bringing her down the wing and to the grass. He glanced at the wounded dragon behind him, who seemed to nod encouragingly at him as she continued laying down.

With only Ser Simon at the entrance, Cregan passed by the older man with a shared concerned glance. Davos had left after Daenys did that morning, to meet with Willem Blackwood and the Brackens before Caraxes and Daemon set off. Horseback was much slower, after all.

His return depended on his father's command, but if he did, it wouldn't be until later that night.

"Have someone bring food and a bowl of clean water to the Princess' chambers." Cregan told Simon, who nodded and went off to find a servant.

Daenys hung in his arms as if she were dead, despite being uninjured. She did not want to live, not with the sins that weighed so heavily on her soul. Three deaths, she was indirectly responsible for.

Two people Aemond had directly taken from her. Kinslayer, twice over. Mayhaps three, if Aegon did not survive his injuries.

Two deaths that Daemon did not intend for, but would be held responsible for by Daenys.

Luke, Jaehaerys, Rhaenys. The three names twirled around her mind like the ghosts themselves coming back to haunt her. She had finally learned to trust herself—trust her mind. And all she had gotten was a front seat view of the death instead of the ability to change it.

No, perhaps she could change it still. She just wasn't trying hard enough. She didn't push Rhaenys hard enough to retreat, nor fought Vhagar hard enough when she had the chance. Rhaenys died for her mistakes.

Morningstar almost did, too. Perhaps Aemond only gave her mercy to torment her with her guilt. He knew she couldn't kill him. Not like she could all those soldiers in front of the castle.

Ik I said Thursday for update day, but I got stopped a lot for various things. I hope this chapter didn't disappoint, wanted some cute and some action.

She was not a kinslayer, not directly. Even so, she had witnessed the deaths of four of her kin. Four would not be the last, not in this dance of dragons. It would not stop until all the dragons and their riders were dead.

🗡

Ñāqatubis qēlos - Morning Star

or Tubis qēlos, I was getting two different answers

Half of this chapter is me trying to make a cute day out. Beach episode! 😋 and procrastinating the process for the last half, which was a nightmare to write. Born to write whimical dreams and drama, forced to write dragons fighting to the death or whatever.

Will Cregan be mad that Daenys didn't come to him first? Left him, waiting for news of her death on dragonback?

Did anyone get the little Phantom of the Opera quote?

Every time I see Vhagar compared to other dragons, the reality of her ACTUALLY being the biggest is still so jarring. She isn't just a bit bigger by technicalities, but a behemoth compared to them. She makes Meleys, the third biggest in the world, look like a baby dragon compared to her. When she crushed those men to basically nothing with her hind foot, damn. Makes me wonder how big Balerion was and why every dragon after the Doom grew smaller and smaller. Probably due to some magic only available in Old Valyria, I would adore a show purely about the dragon country. I love dragons sm, I wish we had more live actions media for them 😪

Daenys talks about her perfect life with Cregan and all of their loved ones. I wonder how Winterfell functions as a society, being less formal than the south but still holding its own type of regality. I think the Starks in GOT were quite like the image she pictured, pre-show. Tight-knit though the siblings squabbled like true siblings do, but always having family dinner and telling each other about their days. They never got to get a normal ending, but I think if they had and the sons and daughters eventually married off, everyone would still visit Winterfell often to have get togethers and see each other. Take Ned Stark's parenting and compare it to Tywin, Robert, Stannis, etc. Very indifferent and detached, only seeing their kids as succesors and political pieces rather than kids to love and cherish.

Did Rhae Rhae name Daenys after her dreamer ancestor or after her father disguised with her ancestor's name, no one will know except for her (every time I type Daemon it trys to correct to Daenys PLS).

Daenys not wanting to seem thirsty for cregan, meanwhile he's getting the opposite idea and thinking she looked away because she was totally indifferent and he's like 🙁 i lost my touch (the winterfell ladies are DEFINITELY all over their Lord Stark) and maybe thinking she doesn't care for his looks, being a different standard of beauty from southern men.

Can you tell I love the gentlemanly hand kiss thing? It's a lost art, not even considered romantic most of the time and simply being a polite greeting or farewell gesture, but its so intimate in its own way compared to a hug or handshake.

ALSO thinking about Silverwing/Vermithor size difference. Silverwing is pretty small, like Syrax size. Vermithor is HUGE and is completely a different size category than the dragons below him including his lovely dragon wife. Syrax and Caraxes are similar sizes. It reminds me of that meme with the tiny male rabbit looking up at his humongous fem rabbit wife and its kinda reversed for Silver and Vermithor, and also mirroring Daenys and Cregan slightly with their size difference and color schemes.

One thing I've unintentionally done is make Daenys insecure about her being deemed mad and unsociable by others, but one thing she's never been insecure about is her looks. In fact, she doesn't deny when Cregan or a bard calls her beautiful or something of the like. I think that part of her character kind of ran away from me and did itself. Shes surprised when someone finds her tolerable to be around and seeks her conpany, but only happy when someone compliments looks. There's a lot of insecure MCs who worry about their looks (no shade to that, it makes characters more relatable) but I think Daenys hasn't been insecure of her appearances, only her actions.

I google a million stupid questions per chapter. This chapter's: can pearls be found in lakes? Of course they can, Cherry, muscles and clams still live in lakes.

[offhanddesign]

We need to talk about Oliver and the grave scene. (spoilers)

Barry Keoghan's improvisation in that scene completely changed Oliver's character and the film as a whole. It encapsulates a critical moment of emotional catharsis for Oliver, marking the first and only time in the film where he completely lets down his guard.

Throughout the film, Oliver maintains a distance from Felix, constantly holding back parts of himself, standing in front of the bathroom door but not allowing himself to enter. At first glance, it appears almost masochistic, but it's critical to understand that Oliver's feelings for Felix go beyond love. He's obsessed. It's as if he fears that getting too close to Felix could expose his true, empty self. And deeper than that, Oliver perceives Felix as something ethereal, akin to a living god. How could you even begin to approach such a being?

His confession in one of the last scenes with Felix where he admits that everything he did was to meet Felix's desires, underscores this guarded nature. Even in this moment of apparent honesty, Oliver is totally incapable of being fully vulnerable with Felix, as evidenced by his backup plan involving the drink.

In stark contrast, the grave scene is where Oliver's walls finally come crashing down. His open weeping, undressing, and act of penetration with the grave soil are profoundly powerful symbols of his extreme vulnerability and his unfiltered emotional state, now finally free of all societal pressures. As disturbing as this act may be, it symbolizes his intense longing for a deep, unfulfilled connection with Felix. In death, where Felix can no longer see or judge him, Oliver finally finds the freedom to express his true self and desires.

The act of penetration can be seen as a desperate, symbolic attempt to maintain a bond with Felix, a way to bridge the unbridgeable gap between life and death. It's a poignant and tragic manifestation of his grief, the complex emotions of longing and obsession he silently harbors throughout the film.

The grave scene is a turning point in Oliver's character arc, perfectly complimented by the finality of the grave beneath him.

Oliver loved Felix in the only way Oliver knew how to love Felix.

[aeth-eris]

scorpio moons aren’t mysterious because they want to be-it’s a natural defense mechanism. their emotions run so deep and intense that not everyone can handle it, so they keep it under lock and key until they feel truly safe. when they do open up, it’s raw, transformative, and probably a little intimidating... but also a connection you’ll never forget.

scorpio moons have this emotional x-ray vision; they can read people like an open book, no matter how hard anyone tries to keep things hidden. they just know what's beneath the surface, and faking it around them? nearly impossible. oddly enough, they're drawn to chaos or intense situations and people that push them to the edge. they don’t create drama intentionally, but a calm, predictable life often leaves them restless, like something essential is missing. if there’s no depth, they’ll either stir things up or keep it moving.

they have this complicated relationship with vulnerability, craving raw, soul-baring intimacy while fearing exposure. they’ll test you, push you, maybe even try to push you away-just to see if you’re really in it with them. but if you stick around, you’ll earn a place very few ever reach.

when it comes to loyalty, scorpio moons are all-in-but cross them once, and getting close again is unlikely. it’s not about grudges; it’s about survival. they guard their hearts fiercely because letting anyone in feels like handing over a part of their soul. they’re the shadow dancers, finding beauty in life’s darker aspects that others avoid, like pain, loss, and transformation. if you’re going through something heavy, a scorpio moon will be right there, unafraid to sit with you through it all.

scorpio moons can be emotionally intense to the point of being exhausting-for both themselves and others. they live in a world of extremes, where every feeling has depth, but sometimes this leads them to hold onto grudges or past pain way too tightly, almost like they’re feeding off of it. forgiveness isn’t their strong suit; once someone crosses them, it’s like an internal switch flips, and they’ll silently cut that person out for good.

their need for intensity can border on self-sabotage. they crave emotional highs and lows, and if things get too stable or predictable, they might unconsciously stir up drama just to feel that rush again. it’s as if they fear peace because, to them, it might mean a lack of depth. but this pattern can end up hurting people who just want a calm, steady love.

they can also be a bit manipulative in relationships. scorpio moons have a knack for understanding people’s weak spots and, when they’re feeling insecure or hurt, might use this insight to get the upper hand or control the situation. it’s like a defense mechanism-they’ll push buttons just to test loyalty or see how much someone really cares, often without realizing how destructive this can be.

scorpio moons are driven by a deep need to understand life’s complexities and uncover what’s hidden beneath the surface. having the moon in scorpio means that their emotional core is tied to scorpio’s intense, transformative energy, which makes them feel everything in extremes. they aren’t wired for light-hearted emotions; their experiences with feelings are all-or-nothing, which creates that intense, sometimes overwhelming inner world.

part of this comes from scorpio’s association with themes of life, death, and rebirth-it’s a sign that’s constantly in the process of shedding and regenerating. scorpio moons are almost emotionally programmed to seek out these transformative cycles, but it makes them feel like they’re living in a constant state of survival. this can make them fiercely protective of themselves and others but also hyper-aware of betrayal or disloyalty. because they feel everything so profoundly, they end up developing thick emotional armor, only letting people in if they’re sure it’s safe.

they’re also deeply intuitive, almost psychic, when it comes to understanding others’ intentions. this comes from a need to protect themselves from vulnerability. it’s like a sixth sense that lets them read people’s energy and motives without anyone saying a word. they pick up on power dynamics and hidden agendas in ways most people don’t, which makes them wary and, at times, even suspicious. the downside? this hyper-awareness of potential threats can make them closed off, always expecting the worst.

finally, scorpio moons have a complex relationship with control. because they experience emotions so intensely, they fear losing themselves in them. to counter this, they might develop subtle ways to control their environment or relationships, creating situations where they feel powerful rather than vulnerable. it’s like they’re in a constant dance with their own emotions, learning to balance depth with self-protection. it’s what gives them that air of mystery and emotional intensity that’s both magnetic and, sometimes, challenging.

[heathersdesk]

Scriptures for Going No Contact with Your Parents

Have a toxic relationship with your parents that is unsafe and unfixable?

Do you get violently sideswiped by I Am a Child of God or Families Can Be Together Forever, too?

I got you, fam!

My parents haven't really been parents to me since I was 12 years old. I was No Contact with my dad once he went to jail and we never reconciled before he died. I'm currently No Contact with my mom because she is a profoundly unsafe person, who now lives in a constant state of delusion and paranoia from all the drugs she has done in her life. Her refusal to get help and how badly she has treated me during her mental health crises throughout my life has destroyed our relationship. I made very deliberate choices as an adult to keep her at a safe distance from me, even before I finally went no contact.

God doesn't give everyone who has ever lived a loving and functional family. It doesn't mean he loves you less. It doesn't mean you don't matter, or you don't deserve better.

If you need some scriptures to remind yourself of that, hold onto these:

Psalm 27:10

Matthew 10:36, 12:46-50, John 7:5

Ephesians 6:4. This one is especially important if you have trauma surrounding "Honor thy Father and Mother." The mandate to follow this commandment (especially in a deferential traditional sense) is conditional on verse 4, a fact that some people like to conveniently ignore.

1 Nephi 21:15-16

You're allowed to be disappointed in your parents. God is not going to be upset with you for that. He's certainly not going to punish you for it, and being in conflict with your family is not in and of itself a divine punishment.

Take care of yourself. Know you're not alone in what you're going through. There are others at Church going through the same or similar things, even if you can't see it. And Jesus knows exactly how you feel, even in this. His family also didn't always understand or support him in who God made him to be. He existed in a state of conflict with his brothers for a season, a fact the scriptures acknowledge openly.

Why is this happening to you? Because it can happen to anyone. None of us are promised a perfect family that always gets along. Sometimes it'll have nothing to do with you and everything to do with the choices other people make to choose conflict over love, coercion over connection. That's not your fault.

Found family happens in the Church. If you need some found family, your congregation is a great place to invest in some. Tumblrstake can be a great place for it, too.

The healing that is needed for the recovery of some relationships won't come until heaven. If you're waiting for that day, you're in good company. Keep your chin up and be strong! We'll get through this together❤️

[bite-the-bloody-hand]

Setting aside the knee-jerk 'eeeeew you're in love with your cousin' reaction to Daeran's illusion in Areelu's Lab, I need to talk a second about what a profoundly telling character moment that is for both Daeran and Galfrey.

Daeran refers to Galfrey as the 'Queen of his dreams' and mentions it being twisted by demon logic when questioned. It makes sense that demons would immediately latch on to a psychosexual implication, but it's not about having a crush on her.

The desire to have Galfrey 'out of her armor' is the desire to reconnect with the last member of his family.

He mentions when you ask about his Mother that she was a 'real' mother as opposed to a 'Countess' mother, implying that she was less interested in raising him to be a Proper Noble and more interested in just being present as his only parent. This is indicated in the glimpses we see of his younger self at the party, and in his often-stated resentment towards the necessities of 'proper comportment.'

Galfrey also mentions how close she was to Silaena, referring to her as a 'real' family member, the only person she was truly close to. From the way both of them speak about her, Silaena Arendae was a central, stabilizing part of both of their lives. Galfrey also mentions what a sweet boy Daeran was as a small child, implying a much closer relationship than the current mutual polite revulsion. @thedosianexplorer surmised to me that it's likely Galfrey was once a beloved, comforting figure in young Daeran's life, and I agree. How could she be anything else to the son of someone she so loved? And how awful must it have been to both of them to have that taken away?

Losing the rest of their noble family was certainly a blow, but neither of them even mention their names. The moment Silaena died, however, that was when they were both orphaned. What makes it all the more tragic is the grief that could have brought them closer only served to completely sever their familial connection.

Galfrey has no clue about the true reason Daeran clings so desperately to enjoying life; all she knows is that he may have physically survived but the child she loved was very much dead with the rest of them - in its place an irresponsible, flippant, spoiled brat unwilling to fill the space Silaena left behind. Daeran has no way of communicating the truth to Galfrey, and acts resentfully towards who or whatever else she puts her attention towards, while flaunting his lifestyle at every opportunity.

His lifestyle, as such, is an Emperor's Wardrobe of red flags, but it's hard to see those flags through tunnel vision stained with demon blood. Neither of them are allowed to mourn, but at least Daeran can try to be happy. But as for Galfrey, thedosianexplorer put it best in this hypothetical line:

'How dare you let yourself be happy, I haven't let myself be happy since your mother died.'

The tragedy is that Daeran's need for secrecy and Galfrey's state- and self- imposed martyrdom has created an impenetrable armor between them, and I think is at the heart of the loneliness they both feel. The cruelty of that moment, where the dream of connection is twisted into a mean joke, still sits with me.

[prettysweetprettysweet]

i'm here to state the obvious again but the recent discussion about Lestat and Louis' grievous incompatibility made me think about how its as painful as it is because the central element that keeps them together is how much pleasure and happiness they take just from being in each other's company (when their worst flaws aren't inflicting wounds). they find each other to be intoxicating, beautiful, complex in all the most fascinating ways, and endlessly interesting, while also feeling profoundly irrevocably attached to each other, and they are constantly chasing those feelings despite the plethora of ways they obstruct each other's pursuit of a fully gratified and seamless co-existence. Lestat's constant need for validation through any means necessary, Louis' practiced ethics and behavior leaving Lestat feeling loathsome ugly and unwanted, Lestat's fear of losing Louis to insanity, Louis being terrified to love a man and to love a monster, Lestat either choosing to or being incapable of acknowledging Louis' unique struggles and continued suffering, Lestat's insidious instinct to perpetuate the same toxic patriarchal system in which he was raised and force his family to mold to it, Louis withholding affection to take back any semblance of autonomy, and mutual resentments that only compound...just one of these issues would be a death sentence for any other relationship, but they strongarm a path through it all for decades like they couldn't conceive of any other option, like their connection, devotion, and desire to have each other is such a taut unyielding cord that cutting it is not in the realm of possibility. all of this is to say, I truly cannot imagine loving another person so deeply that I'd be able to excuse all manners of crimes and injuries, both emotional and physical. their mutual adoration (and obsession) is incredible.

[rainbowmoonstonestories]

Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 21

Chapters: 21/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader  Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Tagging: @number-0-iz, @emarich7, @jaziona92, @bridkesby If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know.

You can also read this on AO3 if you feel more comfortable!

Experiencing the Dreaming in your true, awakened state was the most incredible vacation of your life—one filled with magic, wonders, and an overwhelming amount of love from the King of Dreams.

Author's note: This chapter is most likely the LONGEST yet, and while quite chill and romantic, it is extremely important for something that will come soon enough. Warning: highly descriptive NSFW content included!

Upon your return to the castle, Morpheus granted you permission to explore his home further during his absence. Though he promised you an exceptional experience in his realm, an urgent matter required his immediate attention. You abstained from inquiring, recognizing that the situation, whatever its nature, necessitated his direct involvement.

At the end of the day, the sky had transformed into a magnificent starry expanse, simulating a perfect night. Morpheus had ensured everything was set and well-organized for your stay, unwilling to leave you without guidance.

Unity Kinkaid shared her great-granddaughter's compassion and wisdom, making your time together in the library rich with meaningful conversations. She regaled you with fascinating tales from her youth and the life she lived in her dreams during her long sleep, an experience that, though imaginary, led to the very real creation of a Vortex child.

Unity's charm and warmth made the prospect of her inevitable journey to the afterlife profoundly saddening. Though the compromise spared a young life with many years ahead, it left you feeling unsettled, wishing for a betterI solution.

Even in that moment of great reflection, you found solace in the warmth of Lucienne's tea, the comforting aroma of books filling the air, and the welcoming presence of your companions. These simple pleasures heightened your appreciation for being awake in such an extraordinary world, experiencing the Dreaming in a uniquely immersive way.

Meanwhile, Morpheus braced himself for an impending confrontation, one that would stir up bitterness, anger, and disappointment. The clash was unavoidable, given the recent Vortex incident and your role in it. He strode through the dark corridors of his palace, his coat billowing behind him, until he reached the area housing his siblings' sigils. He made a beeline for the one he sought, his pace slowing as he approached the object. Disgust contorted his features as he gazed at the black heart—a symbol bereft of warmth or affection, its shape a cruel irony.

He then grasped it, holding it in his hands before speaking in his characteristic low, deep tone. It was a formality, a customary phrase spoken to seek approval, albeit unnecessary. Any semblance of respect or cordiality toward his sibling had long since vanished.

“Desire. I stand in my gallery and I hold your sigil. Talk to me.”

In that instant, red fog materialized within the heart, and Desire's face appeared on its surface, smiling in that languid way Morpheus could barely tolerate. “Why, sweet Dream, this is a surprise. Almost an event, I might say—”

Impatient with their response, he cut them off abruptly. “Good. I’m coming through.”

Desire's expression flickered momentarily, a brief flash of unease quickly masked by their typical nonchalance. “You are. But of course.” They lounged in their gleaming red chair, clad in a provocative black catsuit, legs elegantly raised. “You know you’re always welcome in my chambers.”

Morpheus stepped forward, his surroundings shifting from the opulent darkness of his castle to the bright, blood-red walls that enveloped the entire space, reminiscent of a human heart. He strode forward with measured steps, barely containing his seething rage. His clenched jaw and furrowed brow betrayed the intensity of his emotions.

“Lovely to see you,” they purred with a husky voice. “Can I get you anything you desire?”

They now lay on their front, facing the King of Dreams with a wide grin, their cat-like tail swaying sinuously of its own accord.

“I desire nothing from you, save some answers.”

“Ooh. Is this a test?”

“Unity Kinkaid should’ve been the Vortex of this era,” he began without preamble. “But someone took advantage of my imprisonment and fathered a child with her, knowing full well that it would become the Vortex, and I would be forced to kill it.”

Desire's unrepentant smirk and relaxed posture spoke volumes to Morpheus. Their bearing betrayed not even a shred of regret.

Not that he'd expect anything less from the one who consistently went to extreme lengths solely to wreak havoc on his existence.

“Was I really that obvious?”

Morpheus's face contorted in exasperation, a sardonic smile playing across his lips. “No. You covered your tracks remarkably well.”

“That’s high praise coming from you,” Desire replied, straightening up with effortless grace.

“What did you truly intend? That I should spill family blood? With all that would entail?”

Desire made no attempt to justify their actions. Instead, they snickered, a broad and proud smile forming as they reveled in the intricacies of their scheme. “This time it almost worked.”

Morpheus recoiled at such a brazen admission, despite having anticipated it. A faint glimmer of hope had persisted that his suspicions might prove unfounded. Now, it seemed, the die was cast.

“My sibling. We of the Endless are the servants of the living, not their masters. We exist only because they know deep in their hearts that we exist. We do not manipulate them.”

He advanced, circling Desire slowly, a movement laden with multiple implications.

“If anything, they manipulate us,” he continued. “And you and Despair, and even poor Delirium would do well to remember that.”

He halted behind Desire, who tensed visibly in their seat.

“Your meddling with the Vortex, attempting to bring about my destruction through Rose Walker… that, I expected from you. But to involve her...” His eyes narrowed, a storm brewing behind his gaze.

Desire chuckled nervously, feigning innocence. "Ah, you mean your little mortal lover? I must say, I was quite intrigued by her charm. I merely wondered what captivates you about her, and if she might be easily swayed."

Morpheus' presence loomed behind them, an ominous shadow. “You attempted to use her against me, but she did not fall for your games.”

Desire’s smile faltered ever so slightly. “She was more resilient than most. But come now, dear brother, surely you can’t blame me for testing the waters. After all, love and desire are not so different, are they?”

Morpheus’s voice dropped, a chill entering his tone. “Do not mistake your nature for mine. Love is not a weapon to be wielded.”

“But isn’t that exactly what you fear, my sweet Dream? That your precious love could be your undoing?”

"Your aim was to ensnare her in your schemes, to draw her into your web of deceit. You have underestimated her. She is far beyond your reckoning—as am I. I shall not permit you to transmute her feelings into something malicious."

Desire's grin widened. "What can I say? She's a tantalizing blend of vitality and promise, an irresistible temptation to one such as myself."

In a swift motion, Morpheus seized Desire's hair, yanking their head back as he finally snapped. He leaned in close, his face mere inches from their nose, eyes blazing with barely contained fury. “Mess with me or mine again and I shall forget you are family.”

A foreboding silence ensued.

“Do you believe yourself strong enough to stand against me? Against Death? Against Destiny?”

Desire's crimson lips pressed into a firm line, their shoulders quivering from the strained position, and from something else entirely.

After a tense pause, they choked out a reluctant reply. “No.”

Morpheus released his grip, roughly shoving Desire's head forward, then strode away. “Remember that next time you’re inspired to interfere in my affairs.”

"Oh, poor Dream. I really got under your skin this time, didn’t I?" Desire mused, though their brother had already returned to his own realm, beyond the reach of their taunting words.

Their toothy grin then faded, replaced by a more serious, menacing stance. “Next time, I’ll draw blood.”

The ominous declaration hung in the air, audible only to Desire in the unsettling silence of their domain.

You were utterly astonished, your breath caught in your throat and your eyes widened in disbelief. Morpheus had invited you to stay in his realm for what would feel like several days to you, though it would translate to mere hours in the Waking World. His intention was to provide you with a peaceful interlude, free from any tumultuous events and offering you an extended respite from your professional responsibilities.

To accommodate your stay, a private room had been meticulously arranged for you atop one of the castle's loftiest towers. Its walls were painted in velvety shades of blue and purple, the colors transforming subtly as if alive. They flowed into one another like liquid silk, creating a gentle, mesmerizing motion around you. In the center, against the back wall, stood a magnificent canopy bed. Its frame, carved from dark, polished wood, featured intricate designs that seemed to weave a tale of ancient dreams.

The canopy itself was draped with gauzy, shimmering fabrics that sparkled as if woven with stardust, catching the light from crystals hanging above like a chandelier. The bedspread, a rich deep blue with silvery threads running through it, created patterns of constellations mirroring the night sky outside.

Around the room, clusters of moonflowers bloomed, their petals pulsing faintly with an otherworldly luminescence. The air was infused with their delicate, sweet fragrance, which mingled with a faint, earthy scent from large amethysts strategically placed throughout the space. The crystals emitted a soft radiance, creating a soothing atmosphere that calmed the mind.

Glass doors, framed by heavy curtains that echoed the room's rich hues, opened onto a spacious balcony. As you stepped out, a breathtaking panorama unfolded before you—an endless expanse of the Dreaming. Rolling landscapes stretched from lush forests to serene lakes, all bathed in the pale glow of a gracefully arcing crescent moon. The stars seemed impossibly close, larger and brighter than you'd ever seen, as if you could simply reach out and pluck them from the sky.

On the balcony, a couple of chairs and a small table were arranged for quiet contemplation of the realm's beauty. Silver vines, sparkling like frost, entwined the railings. The flooring appeared to contain a living galaxy, trapped within its surface.

You were gazing at a true sanctuary, a place so magical and fabulous that you almost feared staining it with your shoes. Yet, no matter how many times you paced back and forth to admire it, everything remained incredibly pristine.

"Morpheus, I... this is..." you stammered, your voice quivering with emotion. "I'm completely at a loss for words," you finally managed, overwhelmed by the sight before you.

Morpheus, who had been observing you quietly from the entrance, offered a contented smile. "I gather you find it to your liking," he remarked, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

Your eyes lit up with joy, a wide grin spreading across your face. "Like it? Morpheus, I absolutely adore it! It's beyond anything I could have ever imagined."

He stepped forward, gently taking your hands, a gesture you immediately reciprocated. "You deserve this and more."

"You're amazing. I've said it before, but I feel compelled to reiterate just how incredible you are."

Morpheus's deep, cerulean eyes softened, his cool touch grounding you amid the surreal wonder of your surroundings. The faint light in the room reflected off his pale features, accentuating the timeless beauty of the Dream Lord. His smile, typically reserved, broadened at your words, revealing a rare glimpse of warmth.

"You flatter me," Morpheus replied, his voice like a gentle breeze that stirred the petals of the moonflowers nearby. "But the Dreaming is as much yours as it is mine. Here, you are not bound by the limits of your world. Let your imagination run free, for it is your dreams that shape this place.”

You shook your head. "No, Morpheus. It's your essence that keeps this realm alive. I'm eternally grateful that you've allowed me to experience even the tiniest fragment of it."

"All that I am, all that the Dreaming encompasses... it would be but half as vibrant without your presence within it."

You chuckled, planting a soft kiss on his cheek and giving his hands a gentle squeeze before releasing them. "I see. We could go on praising each other endlessly if we don't stop now."

Morpheus' smile persisted, a wordless acknowledgment of your observation. Indeed, he would express his admiration and love for you in countless ways, for as long as you lived.

Upon turning, your attention was drawn to an item that had escaped your initial inspection. A dark nightgown rested elegantly across the bed, its fabric decorated with tiny, shimmering filaments that also sparkled like distant stars. Approaching it, you marveled at its elegance, your fingers gliding over the smooth, luxurious material.

"Is it possible for me to stay here?" you inquired. "Wouldn't my physical presence in the Dreaming disrupt the natural order of the universe, or something?"

"I've granted you permission to stay," Morpheus assured. "The Dreaming recognizes and respects your reverence for it."

"The Dreaming is important to me."

"You are under my protection. While the Dreaming is not a place for mortals to explore in their waking, you possess a unique understanding of it."

Lapsing into silence, you began removing your shirt, the hem gradually rising past your arms, chest, and head. Morpheus respectfully averted his gaze, staring out at the dream sky as you changed. His consideration for your privacy was incredibly sweet and tender, especially given the number of times he had seen you naked.

You offered a sheepish smile, though he couldn't see it. Carefully, you removed your shoes, stepped out of your jeans, and deftly unhooked your bra, letting it fall to the floor. The ambient air caused your nipples to harden, prompting you to instinctively cross your arms over your chest.

For a moment, you longed for his eyes to caress your form, for him to reach you and envelop you in his embrace, to press his lips against yours, to lose yourselves in passionate intimacy. Ultimately, you realized that despite your desires, the moment wasn't opportune. You had endured a long day filled with ceaseless events, each more intense than the last. Morpheus intended for you to rest, and try as you might to deny it, you could feel fatigue creeping in.

You took the nightgown, slipping your arms through the openings, and gently pulled it on. As the fabric cascaded down your body, it felt as if a pair of soft, velvety hands were sliding over you, a sensation both comforting and ethereal. For a moment, you stood mesmerized, staring at the nightgown adorned with glittering stars. The celestial pattern flowed from the delicate straps to the black lacy hem that brushed your thighs.

Ready for bed, you moved your bare feet across the polished floor, its surface lukewarm against your soles. Morpheus turned to face you, his visage fixed upon you with a concentration that quickened your pulse. His eyes lingered, his expression a mixture of awe and adoration. For a moment, he was rendered speechless.

You smiled, a playful glint in your eyes. “What is it? Do I look weird?”

Morpheus moved towards you, coming to a stop mere inches away. "No," he murmured, his voice as soft as a gentle breeze. "You look exquisite."

A warm blush crept across your cheeks, suffusing your face with color. “You really think so?”

He reached out, gently taking your hand in his once more. "You are more beautiful than all the dreams I’ve ever crafted."

“You keep saying that.”

“It is true.”

You pressed yourself against him, nestling into the crook of his neck. "You make me feel so good about myself," you whispered. "Truly special."

"You are. Beyond words or measure."

"I wish I could stay here with you forever."

His fingers curled around the material of your nightgown, circling your waist. "You may return whenever you wish, my love. For you, the Dreaming will always be open."

Morpheus possessed a remarkable ability to ground you, instilling a sense of belonging wherever you went, provided he remained by your side.

And so, you inhaled his intoxicating scent, brushing the tip of your nose along his jaw and cheek, bringing your lips tantalizingly close to his. Your breathing quickened as your mind wandered to all the intimate possibilities awaiting you, right there in that room, on that bed, with your body adorned in that breathtaking nightgown.

You kissed him, slow and deep, your fingers weaving through his hair. It was a desperate endeavor to kindle his passion, to tempt him into abandoning his restraint. But you should have known better; his resolve was as unyielding as a mountain.

"My love," he breathed, his lips barely parted, your eyes half-lidded.

“Yes?”

"You need rest," he said, his voice a calming reminder.

"I need you, Morpheus. I want you so badly right now."

Your boldness surprised even you, but given your recent trip to Cape Kennedy and the partial destruction his realm had faced due to the Vortex, you'd hardly had time to savor his company.

Though undeniably tired, your crave for him surpassed your physical weariness.

He claimed your lips again, exhaling softly as his body tensed against yours. However, just as you thought he was about to fulfill your yearning, Morpheus pulled away.

“You don’t want to…?” you asked, your lips forming a disappointed pout.

"I do. But your well-being takes precedence. Sleep now, my love. There will be ample time for that, and anything else you may wish for."

As he spoke, his fingertips caressed your cheek with heartwarming tenderness, leaving a trail of excitement in their wake. Leaning into his touch, you tilted your head slightly and released a trembling sigh. “I’m sorry.”

"You need not apologize to me."

"I don't want to come across as pushy or make you feel uncomfortable in any way."

"Y/N, I would never dismiss your advances.”

"Even if I become overly demanding?"

"You could demand the entire universe, and I would rearrange the stars and planets to give it to you."

You laughed, enveloping his neck with your arms and planting a final, impish kiss on his lips. "I'd appreciate it, but perhaps we should leave the cosmos as it is."

Subduing your appetite for him, you disengaged from Morpheus and tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. But just as you prepared to return to the bed, the Endless bent down, scooped you up by your legs, and cradled you in his arms bridal style.

It was unexpected, but so delightful that you immediately relaxed against his chest. “What are you doing?” you queried, your eyes twinkling with amusement.

A rare gleam of mischief flickered on his face. “I am ensuring that your journey into sleep is as peaceful as the dreams that await you.”

"My, my, you never cease to surprise me, Dream King."

You draped one arm around his shoulder for support while bringing your other hand to rest gently on the nape of his neck. Unable to resist his nearness, you peppered his lips, chin, and temple with delicate kisses.

At times, you worried about being too clingy or intrusive, but Morpheus had never expressed or shown any form of opposition.

The trek from the balcony window to the bed seemed all too fleeting, and as he carefully placed you on the mattress, you found yourself reluctant to let go.

The covers had been magically lowered, beckoning you to sink into the pillows and let the sheets embrace your legs. The mattress was as plush as a cloud, gently hugging your body as you sank into its softness.

"Will I still be able to dream, even though I'm already in the Dreaming?" you asked, curiosity lacing your voice.

"Yes. The Dreaming reflects your mind, desires, and fears. Here, your dreams may spring to life, more vivid and interwoven with the world around you. They might merge with reality, bearing greater significance and substance."

Your eyelids grew heavy. "My dreams are always vivid, particularly those featuring you."

He stroked your hair, pulling the covers up to your chest. You felt as though you were bathing in a sea of stars, with the lively shimmer and constellations dancing all around you. "Then, let me reveal to you even more—all the wonders my realm has to offer."

Tiredness crept through you and shrouded your thoughts. The delectable scent of moonflower soothed your senses, while Morpheus's lips on your forehead cocooned you in a tranquil haze.

"Goodnight, Mr. Sandman," you said teasingly, an utterance which made him smile anew.

Your grip on him loosened as sleep overtook you. Morpheus watched your resting form, his eyes filled with wonder, as if beholding the most magnificent celestial being in all of creation.

"Sleep well, my heart. Know that I am with you in every shadow and every star. May the Dreaming guide you to a peaceful slumber."

His words vibrated in the recesses of your consciousness.

"Until dawn summons you back to me."

Tall grass brushed against your hands with remarkable clarity, and every color and detail stood out vividly, even in the nocturnal atmosphere. Towering trees loomed above, their leaves gleaming under an unseen moon. Cool air carried the scent of earth and pine, infused with a subtle magic that made each breath invigorating.

A mystical forest materialized before you, a scene glimpsed in previous dreams, yet now strikingly different. Your heightened awareness went beyond your typical dream lucidity, resulting in something you could easily mistake for reality.

In a sense, it actually was, for the Dreaming existed as a tangible dimension.

As you ventured deeper into the forest, the path beneath your bare feet began to glow with celestial light, guiding you forward. Your nightgown complemented the luminous trail, its imbued glitters sparkling with each step.

Emerging from the woods, you discovered a lake of spectacular radiance, its surface covered by an almost blinding blue energy, as if it were a pool of liquid sapphire. It resembled tonic water under UV light.

The air was rich with earthy aromas; damp soil, wildflowers, and fresh grass, mingled with the subtle sweetness of mixed herbs and trees. Perhaps palm or willow contributed to this intoxicating blend.

However, the scene was not yours alone to witness. At the lake's edge stood a magnificent deer, its form adorned with green patterns that swirled across its body in intricate designs. The creature appeared awe-inspiring, regal and enchanting in its beauty. Its grace seemed almost sculpted from the dreams themselves.

As the splendid animal turned its neck to face you, its identity became unmistakable.

"It's you," you declared, closing the distance between you and the familiar. "I've been wondering where you went."

He inclined his head, a gentle smile in his eyes. "Y/N, it's wonderful to have you here."

"This place is fantastic," you expressed. "It's as if it's been lifted from the pages of a fantasy novel."

"Like a dream come true?" he asked, his voice gentle and melodious.

You bent forward, delicately running your hand along the deer's neck. "Exactly.”

"This forest is a manifestation born from the very essence of your dreams," he explained.

The patterns on its fur seemed to dance in harmony with the lake's melodious ripples, reflecting in your eyes. They seemed to incorporate elements from Native American folklore and Celtic traditions, subjects that had always fascinated you in books and films.

You smiled, turning your attention to the luminous surface of the water. "What kind of lake is this? I've never seen anything like it.”

"It is formed from your spirit as well. The Dreaming molds itself to your subconscious."

Surrounded by the forest's brilliance and comforted by your familiar's presence, you felt a powerful connection to both the Dreaming and Morpheus. His care to you infused every aspect of your dreams, embedded into each detail, from the gentle rustle of leaves to the faintest whisper of wind.

"If you wish, you can peer into the water and observe the thoughts lurking just beneath your conscious mind. It's a mirror of self-discovery, offering a glimpse into parts of yourself that often remain veiled from awareness."

"Will it be scary?"

"It depends on your perspective," he replied thoughtfully. "Some mortals might find this daunting or unsettling, as it could bring up fears and guilt they're not yet prepared to face."

“Sounds harsh.”

"It can be. But you, my dear, will be just fine."

With a mixture of worry and trepidation, you approached the azure expanse and knelt at its edge. As you looked into the water, your reflection stared back at you, but it wasn't just your own image you noticed there. The surface immediatly revealed scenes from your life, both waking and dreaming, flashing across it like an animated slideshow of memories. Each scene was connected by even more glowing threads that took form, extending from the deer's fur to the lake itself in a delicate web of light.

Visions of your childhood flashed across the surface, moments of joy and tranquility shared with your father or spent in peaceful solitude. Your teenage self appeared next, sketching and planning dreams that would take years to materialize. A more recent picture followed: you with tears streaming down your face as fears about your future tore at your heart. Then Hob's warm smile came into view, followed by the kindly faces of Mr. Burgess and Mr. McGuire.

But there was more. Shadows expanded like black ink, staining parts of the moving canvas and distorting the images. The sight disoriented you, but only for a moment, as you recognized it as nothing more than a recreation of your darkest feelings; loneliness, anger, and pain.

All things you believed you had moved past, but clearly hadn't fully processed yet.

Finally, you saw Morpheus, seated in the glass bowl in the basement, a poignant reminder of your first encounter. Your relationship played like a documented love story, with scenes switching from one to another in a never-ending transition of moments. As the images flowed, the lake's radiance grew more intense. The water sparkled with an increasingly vivid glow, showcasing the depth and richness of your flashbacks.

Your eyes stung, yet tears didn't fall. The rolling clips formed a mosaic of emotions, where deep sorrow merged with pure joy, creating a bittersweet movie of your life's journey.

“Are you okay?” The deer asked, nuzzling your hair.

"Yes. This is really nice, actually."

"I am here with you, and so is the Dreaming. Always, Y/N."

“I know.”

You reached out to stroke him again, your fingers tracing each contour of his green swirls. You settle more comfortably onto the grass, your nightgown spreading around you like a silken carpet, now expanding gracefully to the ground.

"Morpheus mentioned that I could give you a name. And I believe you really need one at this point."

His eyes widened with intrigue. "A name? I hadn't considered that possibility."

"Would you like me to find it for you?"

“I mean… I suppose? Surely you can conjure something imaginative for a Dream like me.”

You furrowed your brow, deep in thought. Your extensive reading had introduced you to a treasure trove of captivating names and terms. One of them would certainly be fitting for your familiar deer. You wanted something meaningful, an appellation as majestic as he appeared to be.

"Let's see. Morpheus created you as a guide, and right now, you shine like a beacon in the night."

"Ah, I like where this is going," he said, his ears perking up with interest.

"Stars have long been used for navigation too. Are you familiar with Peter Pan? There's a famous quote: 'Second star to the right and straight on till morning.'"

Indeed, celestial imagery had become a recurring motif in your experiences within the Dreaming.

“Star… ‘Sic itur ad astra’, 'thus one journeys to the stars’. That’s what Virgil wrote in the Aeneid.”

The deer nodded attentively.

“Star. Astrum in latin, and ‘astron’ from ancient Greek. Astrum’s accusative plural form is in fact, ‘Astra’.”

In that moment, inspiration struck like lightning. "Hold on—'Astra'!"

Faced with a destructive force threatening the Dreaming and mortals losing their connection to the realm, Morpheus crafted a familiar to walk beside you in his absence. Like a celestial compass, the deer navigated you through the shadows, guiding you back to the right path whenever you lost your way. Such a name could not have been more appropriate.

He pranced excitedly. "That's quite impressive! You don’t disappoint."

"So, what do you think? Does it suit you?"

"It’s great!”

His enthusiasm was touching, and you delighted in the way he expressed his happiness, frolicking and pirouetting to an invisible rhythm.

He cleared his throat, assuming a solemn stance in front of you, and performed a reverent bow. "I, Astra of the Dreaming, vow to be your guiding star, now and forevermore."

A sense of warmth and gratitude filled your heart. He drew near, allowing you to cradle his muzzle in your hands as your forehead touched his. The green patterns adorning his fur intensified their luminescence, while your Moonstone pendant responded with its characteristic blue gleam.

A new bond was forming, a promise sealed by the very fabric of the universe.

Unbeknownst to you, the Dreaming was seamlessly intertwining with your essence, just as you had become an inseparable part of its grand design.

Several hours passed before you opened your eyes to find the sky had transformed into bright daylight. Your room remained as fantastical as it had been at night, though the overall magic was more pronounced in the darkness. You stretched your arms and took a deep breath, feeling your entire body rejuvenated in a way that defied description.

Rising from bed, you stepped onto the balcony and gazed in awe at the lively spectacle of the Dreaming unfurling before you. The greenery was even more lively and dazzling, while the sky stretched out like a clear, infinite canvas.

You returned inside, a bright smile adorning your face. As your eyes swept the room, you caught sight of something voluminous hanging from the canopy on the other side of the bed. It was a dress you instantly recognized, one that had adorned you in your dreams before. Evidently, it had captivated Morpheus’ attention, standing out among the myriad outfits you'd worn during your nocturnal adventures.

You ran your fingers along the dress's lengthy gown, admiring its softness and lightness. The Endless’ devotion to every detail your conscious mind conjured was a testament to his deep affection for you; he felt compelled to not only track those elements but also manifest them in physical form within his realm. At that moment, you felt certain that there was nothing he couldn't provide for you.

As it turned out, the room held even more surprises in store.

Your exploration led you to a stunning wardrobe tucked away in a distant corner, crafted from ancient wood and embellished with intricate gold carvings. As you opened its doors, you gasped audibly at the spectacular array of dream dresses inside, each one perfectly aligned, flawless embodiments of your creations.

But there was more. Upon checking the first drawer, you couldn't suppress a giggle upon discovering an elegant lingerie collection, perfectly folded and displayed as if in a high-end boutique. Though not overtly provocative, the pieces reflected Morpheus' refined taste and his preference for you.

It was exceptional, a level of care and consideration you couldn't expect from anyone else. It all made you feel at home, as if you had just begun to truly live there.

Smiling, you chose an elegantly embroidered set of undergarments, ready to begin your first full day in the Dreaming. The best aspect of that extraordinary sojourn outside your familiar world was the genuine feeling of wonder it evoked. Every moment unveiled itself as an authentic revelation, each one a miniature miracle in its own right.

Just as you thought you had unveiled all the room's secrets, you discovered a mysterious door partially concealed within the wall—one you were certain hadn't been there the night before. Carefully, you placed your hand on the golden handle, turning it slowly, until you heard a soft click. The door swung open, inviting you to step into the unknown.

What appeared before you made your knees weak, and you had to brace yourself against the doorframe, mouth agape and a hand pressed against your chest. You blinked repeatedly, your eyes widening in disbelief as they took in the vast, fantastical spa-like bathroom before you. Polished amethyst lined the walls, casting a soothing purple luminosity that danced across the crystalline surfaces and complemented the bedroom's decor. The air was infused with the calming scent of lavender, enveloping you like a sweet embrace.

At the room's center stood the focal point: a Greek-inspired bathing pool seamlessly integrated into the floor. Smooth stone bordered it, covered in intricate engravings of old symbols and designs that seemed to undulate with the flickering light. The water, crystal-clear, fresh, and pure, was in constant motion, regenerated by a neverending current. Its surface sparkled with a faint iridescence, reminiscent of the lake in your dream, inviting and warm.

At the far end stood a fountain, similar to the famous statues you'd encountered in museums and presenting a similarity to those in Morpheus’ throne room. The soothing sound of water cascading into the pool sent pleasant shivers down your spine, creating an atmosphere of ultimate relaxation.

You twirled around, hands clasped over your mouth, laughing in amazement. More Amethyst crystals of various sizes were scattered throughout, adorning the stones, ceiling, and columns, adding to the room's ambiance.

However, what you found incredibly shocking were the basins and sanitary fixtures, their surfaces glinting with a soft luster. Morpheus had accounted for every aspect of human physiology, attending to every facet of it. While it might have been embarrassing to contemplate, you were far too stunned to feel self-conscious about it.

A plush seating area was included, with soft towels and robes made of the finest materials, ready for you to use before, or after your bath. Makeup supplies were arranged on a table, complemented by a hairbrush and what appeared to be the Dreaming's version of essential oils.

As a final touch, Morpheus had added a large mirror, also decorated with gold and a hint of something more—perhaps moonlight itself captured and forged into a frame.

Words failed to express your emotional state, for such lavish treatment seemed befitting only of a king's devotion to his queen.

Accentuated by the joyful occurrence, you wanted nothing more than to become Morpheus' true partner in his realm. Your heart fluttered with the fervent hope that one day, in the not-too-distant future, you might join in matrimony with the Lord of Dreams himself.

Somehow, someway, as improbable as it seemed. It was an idea taking shape in your mind, one you wanted to indulge in for a while.

Feeling refreshed and clad in your newly acquired attire, you settled onto the balcony, allowing the Dreaming's breeze to caress your gown and hair. You were aware that Morpheus had numerous responsibilities, including ongoing repairs in the wake of the Vortex incident. You didn't mind that he wasn't there to greet you, because you knew he would always keep a watchful eye on you.

Lost in your reverie, you were startled by a gentle knock at the door. It opened softly to reveal Lucienne, bearing a tray laden with what looked like an exquisitely prepared breakfast. Her smile radiated warmth, and her demeanor exuded respect and kindness.

"Good morning, my lady. I trust you slept well?"

My lady…?

"I did, thank you, Lucienne. But please, there's no need for such formality. We're friends, after all."

"You are an honored guest at the moment," she stated. "It is of utmost importance that you are treated as Lord Morpheus desires."

With a dismissive wave of your hand, you said, "Oh, come now. I'm certain Morpheus won't take issue if you treat me as you normally would. I may be a waking guest at present, but I've visited the Dreaming countless times in my dreams."

Lucienne's tension visibly eased at your words, her smile broadening with sincere friendliness. “You really don’t know how important you are, do you?”

"I'm not really that important. I'm just… me. I'm the same person you found in the throne room months ago."

She placed the tray on the table, pouring inviting tea into a cup. She artfully arranged fresh fruit in a glass bowl, and set out a small plate with a pastry that looked too delectable to eat. But what sent your mind reeling was the aroma of bacon and eggs, smoky as though they had just been prepared.

"And how many dreamers have reached Lord Morpheus' castle during the Sleepy Sickness?” She quipped. “It is not even possible without his explicit permission, unless you are a Vortex. I recognized your uniqueness even then."

"I think that was more his doing, but... fair enough."

“Lord Morpheus has ensured that your breakfast is to your liking,” she said with pride. "Take your time and enjoy. He will be with you shortly.”

The bacon was perfectly juicy, just as you preferred it. The eggs were flawlessly cooked (you wondered if they were even created manually) with pristine whites and yolks that resembled liquid gold. The fruit platter displayed a selection of the plumpest, most luscious blueberries, blackberries, and strawberries you'd ever laid eyes on. The pastry, a slice of rich, velvety cheesecake drizzled with melted caramel, looked positively divine. The tea's aroma wafted through the air, a delightful blend of sweet vanilla and zesty citrus notes.

You were certain that every bite and sip would be nothing short of heavenly.

"Thank you, Lucienne. I truly appreciate this."

Maintaining her professional composure, Lucienne departed with a reverent bow, leaving you to your peaceful corner in solitude. As you gazed at your breakfast with a growing appetite, you realized that even winning the lottery couldn't compare to the extraordinary hospitality you were receiving.

Perfectly content with a full stomach and properly brushed teeth (yes, the bathroom even had a toothbrush for you with the necessities), you tidied up the table and set the tray aside. Your original clothes were neatly placed on a small couch in front of the bed, along with your forgotten bag, which you wouldn't really need. Your phone retained its charge, but predictably, there was no signal available. You switched it off completely to avoid unnecessary battery drain.

Given the difference in time flow between realms, you knew your absence from the Waking World would likely go unnoticed—or at least be perceived as brief compared to your stay in Morpheus’ realm.

True to Lucienne's word, the Endless appeared shortly after, his arrival as silent and graceful as a cat's. He manifested silently behind you, his breath warm against your ear, his hands gently resting on your waist. The moment felt intimate and romantic, like newlyweds sharing their first day together. You caught yourself, suddenly aware that your imagination might be getting a bit carried away.

"Thank you for this," you expressed. "It's been absolutely wonderful."

"I am pleased, my love," he replied. "And you are truly a vision to behold."

"I see you've been paying close attention to my wardrobe choices."

"I attend to every detail that concerns you."

"I can see that. And honestly, I have no grounds for complaint."

Turning in his embrace, you planted a delicate kiss on his lips. "I'm curious. What else do you have in store for me?"

"There is a task that requires my attention, and I wish for you to accompany me."

“Of course! What is it about?”

His hands trailed along your arms with a slow, gentle caress. "Would you care to observe me work?" he asked.

You arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "Really? You mean, like watching you create things?"

“New Dreams and Nightmares.”

"Oh, I'd love to see that!"

His characteristic subtle grin betrayed how deeply your enthusiasm filled him with pride and satisfaction.

“Then, come with me,” he invited, extending his hand with an elegant flourish.

You grasped it firmly, ready to embarking on a new adventure with the King of Dreams. Your anticipation grew as you prepared to explore more of his daily routine, in a world that differed exponentially from yours.

The possibilities were boundless, with no path set in stone. Your imagination was the only limit, as every thought and desire that crossed your mind could shape and fall within your grasp without constraint.

Thus, finding yourself in Morpheus' work area, you weren't surprised to see that he had chosen a seraphic beach. The calm sea waves lulled you, while the surrounding mountains created a Nordic atmosphere, with just the right amount of stillness in the air. In a way, it mirrored your own dreamscape, deepening your link with him.

You observed Morpheus standing before partially formed creations, beings yet to be fully defined and brought to life. He gazed at them in contemplation, hands clasped together, his head tilted slightly. As you watched, one of the figures’ face morphed according to his vision.

He remained silent, and you matched his quietude, perched on a nearby rock, taking care not to disturb his concentration. As an artist yourself, you comprehended the importance of uninterrupted focus.

The sky was dotted with scattered clouds, casting a somber mood, while occasional sunbeams pierced through the gloom. The weather was intentional, with not a single element left to chance.

You adored every aspect of it, the Lord of Dreams and his realm in all their multifaceted glory.

Eventually, Lucienne returned, walking calmly towards you and Morpheus with a book in her hands. It was a new piece of literature that had just appeared in the library: "Into The Night," a fantasy novel Rose Walker would write in the near future. The idea that any story could be found in the Dreaming before its author had even put pen to paper was mind-boggling. You felt a flood of happiness for Rose, knowing her long-cherished dream would become reality, a future she had yet to discover.

Morpheus then entrusted the Corinthian's small skull to Lucienne, asking her to safeguard it for him. She took it without any hesitation, offering a wider smile as the silver ring on her pinky caught a glint of the subdued light.

“Lucienne. Do you not wish to say hello?”

Right before the librarian could retreat, her footsteps silent on the ground, Morpheus' voice rang out, halting her departure. His newest creation, a humanoid silhouette formed from dense purple and blue smoke, seemed vaguely familiar, yet you couldn’t exactly place where you had seen it before.

The Dream expanded and transformed, revealing an evolved form you finally recognized from your recent dream visit. Before you stood none other than Gault, the Nightmare Morpheus had once banished for challenging the Dreaming's balance and rules, now reborn from her former essence. As butterfly-like wings unfurled from her back, she shrugged her shoulders, adjusting to the unexpected metamorphosis. Her eyes opened, revealing first a glimmer of confusion, then shock as she noticed the fluttering membranes.

“I merely wish to be a Dream and not a Nightmare. To inspire rather than to freighten.”

“The choice is not yours to make. We do not choose to be created. Nor do we choose how we are made.”

You inhaled sharply at the spectacle. Like a caterpillar, Gault had emerged as the new version of herself, elevated to the status of Dream after enduring such a painful time as a harbinger of fear.

Lucienne, for her part, was equally overjoyed. “You look gorgeous, Gault.”

Gault's jubilation could be perceived through the blissful smile illuminating her dark complexion. She stepped forward, looking at her appearance in disbelief. “Thank you, Lucienne!”

She was stunning, a living embodiment of an authentic fairytale. The same delicate purple cracks and lightning patterns she bore as a Nightmare still traced along her body, accentuating her unique presence.

“May I ask what made you change your mind about me, sir?” She asked Morpheus.

“I had no right returning here after over a century expecting everything to be just as I left it. Lucienne tried to tell me that. So did you.”

His gaze briefly met yours, seeking a moment of connection. “But now I’m listening.”

Your eyes glistened at Morpheus' growth. His willingness to reconsider past decisions and embrace change signaled a significant shift in his character.

You never saw malice or wrongdoing in Morpheus' actions, always understanding that his choices were necessary for both the Dreaming and the sake of the Waking World. However, you couldn't help but find it endearing to see him soften towards his Nightmare's wish.

“Or trying to,” he concluded, glancing towards Lucienne again.

The librarian was touched and satisfied with her lord's new interpretation of the rules. They exchanged a silent look of complicity, one that demonstrated their enduring trust would transcend centuries of separation.

“New Dreams,” he declared. “New Nightmares. A new age.”

How had you found yourself in such a privileged position? Being present in the world of dreams had already proven invaluable, despite only a few hours passing since your awakening. You were amazed by the serendipity that had brought you to that point, allowed to explore the creation of dreams firsthand.

“Miss Y/LN, I present you Dream of the Endless.”

Who could have imagined that a humble job as a maid would blossom into a love surpassing the vastness of the universe and all conceivable realities?

“Thank you, sir.”

Gault's wings undulated in unison, their pace quickening as they sent gentle gusts of wind your way. She ascended from the ground, flying higher into the sky towards the sun. She embarked on her new calling, seeking dreamers to inspire, fulfilling the very dream she had long held for herself. The three of you looked at her soaring form until she became nothing more than a twinkling speck in the distance, like a fairy vanishing into the heavens.

The scene was breathtakingly beautiful and poetic, something worth seeing with your own eyes.

“I might be here a while,” Morpheus said, addressing Lucienne. “Would you mind taking care of things while I work?”

“I am back now. You may return to the library.”

The stark contrast between his current statement and his previous one, the latter driven by anger and frustration over the Vortex claiming parts of his realm, did not escape the notice of either you or Lucienne.

The librarian, visibly moved by Morpheus' words, responded with a teary smile. “With pleasure, sir.”

Despite life's complexities, you couldn't help but relish in those moments of happy resolutions. While perhaps idealistic, they always warmed your heart in a way that was difficult to dismiss, even in the face of the inevitable ups and downs.

With a final nod, she turned and strode away confidently, carrying the power of the Dreaming with utmost diligence and care.

You waited for tranquility to settle over the scene again, leaving you and Morpheus alone in the serene surroundings.

Your smile spoke volumes without the need for words. As soon as he noticed it, he mimicked it with a restrained grin of his own. "What?"

Rising elegantly from the rock, your gown sweeping elegantly behind you, you moved toward him. "You have no idea how proud I am of you right now."

“Are you?”

"Yes. Gault is perfect, and you couldn't entrust your realm to better hands than Lucienne's."

"Y/N, you have been instrumental in bringing about these changes."

You blinked in surprise. "How so?"

"You possess wisdom and composure. You view everything from a distinct perspective, one that has never passed judgment on my decisions."

You smiled warmly. Your insights about change and the parallels you drew between his work and mortal creativity weren't intended to sway his perspective. Yet, as he acknowledged, Morpheus had truly taken your words to heart.

"For that, my love, I must express my deepest gratitude."

His lips caressed yours with a feather-light touch, his arms encircling your back in the sweetest enfolding gesture. The kiss tasted of midnight breeze, carrying whispers of starlight and moonlit gardens. An almost imperceptible flavor lingered, like the first sip of crystal-clear spring water after a long, arduous odyssey.

"Why are you so good to me, Morpheus?"

"I see no reason to treat you any differently."

You hummed contentedly against his neck, tightening your arms around it. "I hope you don't mind if I hold on to you for a while."

"On the contrary, I welcome it. You are a wellspring of inspiration."

As you stood in each other's arms, you felt the unmoving creatures behind you, their blank eyes and empty faces watching you both in silent witness.

“If that’s the case, then take all the inspiration you need from me.”

And so he did. His creativity flourished, and the Dreaming itself seemed to pulse with renewed energy and possibility.

Witnessing Morpheus craft his new subjects was incredibly entertaining, and his willingness to seek your input on his decisions filled your heart with elation. He deeply valued your human perspective and was committed to honoring it fully, incorporating your personal views and minor suggestions into some of his creations.

Throughout the day, Morpheus fretted that his tasks might bore you or that you could find your time in his realm filled with activities you weren't particularly interested in, but you consistently assured him of your fascination and expressed how fortunate you felt just to be there. You found time in the Dreaming passing far too quickly for your liking, a testament to how much you were enjoying yourself.

The only thing that began to concern you was the visible weariness on Morpheus' face, an understandable result of his ceaseless work. Although the King of Dreams required neither sleep nor sustenance, you realized that even an Endless like himself ought to take an occasional respite.

Thankfully, you persuaded him that operations were running smoothly and he had capable assistance at his disposal. Heeding your advice to step away from his responsibilities, Morpheus joined you for a walk through the palace's garden, another celestial oasis teeming with enchantment and ever-changing elements.

Some flowers' petals, like the walls in your room, glowed in a beautiful spectrum, switching from soft blues to pinks and purples. Other blossoms defied nature, appearing from thin air and floating like lanterns. Towering trees with silver-like bark stretched skyward, their translucent leaves unlike anything in the Waking World. Instead of water, streams of liquid light meandered through the ground, defeating logic as they formed from unseen sources. The air hummed with distant sounds, breezes rustling through trees, tinkling of invisible bells, and the quiet murmur of whispered dreams.

Morpheus remained silent, observing you as you explored the garden with childlike exuberance. He stood before you while you sat beneath one of the main arches, your gown cascading around your legs. You smiled, extending your hand to him in a wordless invitation.

Although his lips curved into a soft expression, you detected a hint of hesitation in his demeanor, as if he were uneasy about taking a moment's rest in his own domain.

"Come on, the ground won't swallow you whole."

He chuckled, taking your fingers in his and following your lead with curiosity brightening his face. You parted your legs to create a space between them, gently guiding him to turn around and sit with his back against you.

Initially perplexed, Morpheus wasn't sure what to expect from you. But as you encouraged him to recline, his head resting comfortably upon your chest, your intention became clear.

You encircled his torso with your arms and pressed your lips to his temple. "Hi," you said affectionately.

Morpheus exhaled, the weight of centuries momentarily lifting from his shoulders. For one who bore the vastness of dreams and the neverending burden of his duties, that moment of simplicity felt foreign, yet profoundly welcome.

“Hello,” he whispered back, his voice carrying a vulnerability you had never seen before.

“You don’t do this often, do you?” you asked quietly, your fingers bushing through his dark, tousled hair.

“I am not afforded the luxury of rest.”

"Well, even the Lord of Dreams needs some time to unwind every now and then."

Your hands rested gently on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath.

"You make it natural for me to let go," he proclaimed

"Then I'll be here to remind you whenever you need it."

He lifted your hand to his lips, planting a kiss on your knuckles. "And here I thought I would be the one caring for you."

“Does it bother you?”

“No. It is just… unfamiliar.”

You tilted your head slightly, waiting for him to continue.

“I have always been the protector, the guardian. To allow myself to be cared for is a vulnerability I have seldom embraced. But with you… it feels different. It feels… good.”

A tranquil sigh escaped your lips. "I told you. You don't have to do everything alone. Let me share the weight with you."

"My love, these burdens are not yours to bear."

“You’re wrong.”

“Why?”

"Have you forgotten my words at the convention? I vowed to be your light, regardless of the challenges you face.”

Unlike those who had forsaken him, you swore to stand by his side, come what may. Knowing of a sibling who seemed particularly invested in destroying Morpheus, you were even more determined to stand your ground for him.

You were even prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice, laying down your own life if it meant ensuring his safety and continued existence.

"As a mortal, my abilities may be limited, but my commitment to you runs deep. I want to be a place where you feel safe and appreciated. That's what being devoted to you means to me."

Morpheus closed his eyes, allowing his body to relax fully. Lying somewhere without defenses, doing absolutely nothing—an activity he had previously dismissed as unnecessary—had now become his absolute favorite pastime, provided you were the one supporting him.

“You already are,” he responded. “And with you, Y/N, I find that I do not mind it.”

Unity Kincaid had permanently left the Dreaming during one of your night retreats. Missing your final opportunity to bid her farewell left you with a twinge of regret, but Lucienne assured you that Unity had been escorted to her perfect resting place, where she now dwelled in peace.

As time passed in the Dreaming, you grew increasingly certain that no other journey or getaway could ever compare. It seemed impossible to experience anything more extraordinary, with every imaginable marvel lying within arm's reach.

Amidst the vast oases, mystical caves, and worlds blending fantastical and realistic features, along with the food and drinks you savored, you were at a loss for words to describe the peace it brought you. The castle was a dynamic maze, unveiling new rooms and mysteries each day.

Assisting Lucienne with organizing literature and archives proved surprisingly enjoyable. Matthew's companionship was invaluable, always ready with witty remarks to lighten the mood. Even the seemingly cantankerous Mervyn the Pumpkinhead turned out to be pleasant company during his maintenance. Gradually, each Dreaming entity was becoming significant, leaving an unforgettable impression upon your soul.

At the heart of it all was Morpheus, who transmuted the impossible into reality in ways beyond imagination.

In the end, just when you thought he was not particularly inclined, he granted you that precious time for intimacy you had long waited for. Morpheus exceeded expectations, enthusiastically extending these moments across multiple rendezvous, offering far more than you had initially requested.

The first time Morpheus made love to you in his realm, fully awake and present, it unfolded naturally, without premeditation or orchestration. What began as a leisurely stroll through one of your favorite spots in the Dreaming, hand in hand, soon blossomed into a passionate exchange. Your lips met in a heated dance, kisses deepening with each passing instant, your desire igniting like wildfire. Morpheus gently lowered you to the ground, cradling your body close to his, the soft grass and fragrant flowers yielding beneath you to create a natural bed.

Your clothes vanished in seconds, leaving your naked forms pressed against each other as he delivered a series of precise thrusts that sent waves of pleasure through your body. The grass transformed continuously, enveloping the two of you with its velvety blades like a supportive cuddle. As you connected with the King of Dreams, you also became intimately intertwined with the Dreaming itself, becoming an integral part of it, seamlessly incorporated into its very terrain.

The ecstasy crescendoed to its zenith. Morpheus, though withdrawn, remained atop you, kissing you and basking in your warmth. Your fingertips traced the contours of his back, feeling each defined nerve and muscle. Lean yet powerful, his form was both comforting and sculpted. The delicious feeling of his statuesque body against yours rekindled your arousal, one that burned equally in Morpheus as your lips locked in an infinite pas de deux.

While making love in your dreams was extraordinary, the reality surpassed it by leaps and bounds.

Soon, his body signaled his readiness to rejoin with yours again. He positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes seeking your approval before proceeding. “May I?”

His unwavering respect for you was admirable, his devotion relentless.

“Yes. Please.”

Never had you longed for someone as intensely as you wanted him. It was intoxicating, an irresistible addiction. The moment he entered, gliding through your slick folds and exploring your depths, your eyes rolled back in sheer bliss. You moaned and trembled, biting your lower lip and whining whenever he struck the right spot, your sensations heightened and reset.

Morpheus required at least three rounds in a row to feel thoroughly sated, yet the resulting soreness in your limbs didn't bother you in the slightest.

Nonetheless, he sought your private company again the following day.

Seated before the bathroom mirror and swathed in a silky robe that clung to your curves, you prepared for a luxurious soak in the pool before bed. As you delicately removed the last traces of makeup with the plushest towel, you barely noticed Morpheus suddenly standing just steps away.

As you turned around, your breath caught and you froze in astonishment. Despite your best efforts to contain it, the shock was evident on your face. Morpheus appeared before you completely nude, his alabaster skin radiant in the soft light. His form embodied the perfection of classical sculpture, an excellent vision of flawless beauty. His overall magnificence was so outstanding that it nearly overshadowed his raging erection, sturdy and proud, irresistibly tempting.

In a way, yes, but not exactly.

With a mischievous smile, you abandoned the softness of the stool to approach the King of Dreams, your eyes briefly pausing on the flushed tip of his arousal before meeting his face. Confident and majestic, he waited for you to draw near, his jaw tightening as your robe loosened, revealing more with each step.

“Were you thinking of me?” you asked with a smile, sliding your fingertips along his chest, your lips mere inches away from his.

“My thoughts are always with you, my love,” he answered naturally.

You moved lower, grasping his length with your hand, guiding it in a slow, gentle motion. "It seems you're particularly pleased to see me."

“’Pleased’ is not quite the word I would choose.”

You circled his tip with your thumb, teasing the sensitive flesh. “Oh? And how would you describe it?”

He swallowed, his lips parting to release a soft sigh of relief. "I would describe it as... inevitable."

“Inevitable?”

"It is as inescapable as the pull of the tide or the turning of the stars. When you are absent, the Dreaming seems diminished, as if a vital part of me is missing."

Your stomach twisted, and your heart raced. “You saw me just an hour ago.”

"You are here, within the boundless walls of my realm. I am loath to squander even a minute of it."

Your smile widened with love. “Well, in that case…”

As you released him, your hand took his, which lay motionless at his side. Untying the sash of your robe, the garment fell open, revealing your womanhood and the swell of your breasts. You guided his index and middle fingers to your core, their tips slipping through your wetness and barely dipping inside.

Your knees quivered at the contact, but you held firm. “I’d say this is inevitable as well,” you concluded.

He inhaled sharply, the sound echoing in the intimate silence between you, a wordless understanding passing as he leaned closer. Your lips met in a tender kiss, sealing a moment rich with unspoken promises.

"You have an uncanny ability to enthrall an Endless."

“Are you suggesting that I'm driving you wild?”

"Perhaps," he mused, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "But only in the most delightful ways," he added, his voice full of affection.

You draped an arm around his shoulders, pressing your forehead against his cheek. His hand moved away, leaving you empty and craving more, only to pull you into his arms. He kissed your eyebrow and the bridge of your nose, treasuring the melodic sound of your soft chuckle reverberating through the spacious room.

As you gracefully retreated, your robe fell to the floor, uncovering the rest of your body. His eyes traveled from your neck, rested on the glowing Dreamstone, then trailed down to your nipples. He admired every curve, each detail a testament to the allure that attracted him. The air charged with anticipation as he advanced, once again grasping your hand in his.

Shifting aside, you led him backward to the pool's steps. Cautiously, you eased into the glistening water, the steam cloaking you both like a gossamer veil. The crystal-like liquid engulfed your feet, legs, and waist until it reached your shoulders. Morpheus followed, his hardness bobbing as he descended the marble stairs, submerging himself to chest level.

He could transform even such an erotic view into the highest form of art. He was absolutely hypnotic, something to admire without a trace of shame or embarrassment.

Holding onto his shoulders for support, you hooked your legs around his waist, the water's buoyancy aiding your graceful movement, as if you were weightless. Morpheus immediately clasped your thighs, aligning himself with your open folds and brushing his lips along your cheek. The fountain's sound created a heavenly retreat, its soft trickle providing a soothing backdrop.

With just a few more kisses, he cast aside any inhibition and entered you in one fluid motion. You moaned, adjusting your position to allow him to set the rhythm, and surrendered to his growing ardor as he moved in and out. Your bodies undulated together, the soft splashes of water creating a symphony.

Time seemed to fade away as the purple hue of the crystals illuminated the pool, generating a beautiful gradient transition. Morpheus' movements grew more erratic and fervent, eventually pressing you against the edge of the pool to gain leverage. His muscles tensed and rippled, his deep groans pulsating through his chest.

Your voice escaped you, uncontrolled, as you arched your back, overcome with intense pleasure. Your fingers interlaced with his dark locks, your nails gently grazing his scalp in a soothing caress. Morpheus was relentless, enraptured by your moans and how your body responded to his touch.

“Scream,” he commanded, delivering a powerful thrust that made you jolt and gasp. “Scream for me,” he urged again.

Unable to resist him, you let out a moan so powerful you could hear it bouncing off the walls, returning to you like a siren’s call.

He escalated his efforts, becoming more insistent, rough, and daring. He reached the most sensitive parts of you with practiced precision, coaxing soft whimpers from you. Your orgasm erupted suddenly, crashing over you like a tidal wave and leaving you limp in Morpheus' embrace. Moments later, Morpheus reached his peak alongside you, spurred by your inner walls contracting around him, and the unconscious fondling of your breast.

While some claim that aquatic sex falls short of expectations, with Morpheus, there was no possibility of disappointment or inadequacy. You felt spent yet complete, absolutely satiated.

"You are sublime, my love. Have I caused you any discomfort?"

You smiled, feeling him soften inside you, yet cherishing the physical union for as long as your bodies allowed. "Not at all. You're incapable of causing me harm."

"You have never feared me."

"No. How could I possibly fear you?"

Despite his capacity for intimidation, you consistently discovered enchantment in Morpheus, even during his darkest demonstrations of power.

"Yet, I can be truly terrifying," he said with a wry grin.

"Ooh, now you've piqued my curiosity."

He drifted away from the edge, carrying you with him as you clung to his form, your bodies connected in the water. "You do not wish to witness that side of me. But, if your curiosity is insatiable…"

Gently threading his fingers through your hair, he guided your head back without force, then placed an open-mouthed kiss on your neck.

"I shall utterly consume you," he purred playfully.

You let out a soft, contented sigh followed by a gentle laugh, folding your arms around him as if he were your lifeline. “Best way to die, really.”

"I'd much prefer to keep you alive and by my side."

Brushing your nose against his, you replied, "Good thing I have no intention of leaving you anytime soon."

Or ever, for whatever eternity might mean to a mortal like you.

Morpheus tightened his grip on you, plump lips grazing your right shoulder. Even the fountain statue across the room seemed to smile upon the scene, its constant waterfall creating a circular halo around your forms in the pool.

The third and final time you made love eclipsed any prior experience with the King of Dreams.

The night before your scheduled return to the Waking World, you had the most delectable dinner of your entire life. Though a week in Morpheus' realm had flown by, you couldn't postpone your work indefinitely, no matter how much you wanted to stay.

Although you were accustomed to dining in your private quarters, Morpheus chose a far more elegant setting, where he could also keep you company throughout the entire meal. He didn't eat, of course, but he remained seated at your side from the first course to the last, absolutely adoring the way you smiled with every bite.

The place he chose for you was a secluded area within his castle, situated on a high-ceilinged terrace with a breathtaking view of the landscape. The decorations resembled those in your bedroom, with silver vines adorning the columns, arches, and railing, interspersed with moonflowers and dark green leaves. The long, dark-polished wooden table was adorned with a delicate white lace covering.

The plates were night-blue ceramic, decorated with the customary theme of intricate constellations and twinkling stars. Complementing them were large, weighty glasses, masterfully crafted from the finest Aura crystal and purest gold. Candles scattered throughout emitted a soft, amber glow, their flames swaying in unison.

The dinner itself was a magnificent feast, each dish meticulously prepared to cater to your tastes and desires, yet infused with a celestial twist. Ingredients harvested from the very essence of dreams transformed every bite into a sensory experience far beyond anything the Waking World could offer you. From the most succulent meats and freshest fish to the tastiest, softest bread and the most delectable chocolate tart, you devoured every element with the appetite of someone who hadn't eaten in months.

As you enjoyed the final morsel of dessert, Morpheus inquired if you wished for anything else. You felt so pleasantly full that the mere thought of additional food seemed impossible for the foreseeable future.

Following your generous dinner, you embarked on a much-needed walk that proved essential for aiding digestion after your hearty meal. Morpheus regaled you with tales from the past, stories that had faded into forgotten legends. One such story recounted the time two ancient gods invaded the Dreaming in an attempt to seize control, and you were undoubtedly shocked as Morpheus described his imprisonment within his own castle

Despite his powerlessness, Morpheus ingeniously carved his siblings' sigils on his prison walls. In an ironic twist, it was Desire who answered his call, dispatching a dreamer to aid him.

Although Morpheus initially withheld certain facts, your inquiries prompted him to reconsider. He realized that hiding aspects of himself from you would be unwise, and recognizing this, he transported you to the very gates of his kingdom, a location you suddenly recognized as familiar from a distant dream.

Darkness enveloped you both, the night sky casting long shadows, yet you could still clearly discern the intricate details of the massive gate standing at the edge of the Dreaming. It rose imposingly from a vast expanse that looked more lively and flourishing than before, a sentinel marking the boundary between worlds.

"Morpheus... this is..."

"These are the Gates of Horn and Ivory," he explained, his voice resonating with ancient power. "I carved them myself many eons ago."

Your eyes narrowed as you scrutinized the intricate figures etched onto the entrance. "I've been here before.”

Morpheus turned to face you, his eyes widening slightly. "You have? That should be impossible."

You shook your head firmly. "No, I'm certain. I remember this place vividly."

You stepped forward, your dress billowing in the breeze alongside Morpheus' flowing coat. "It happened a few months ago, when we were still barely acquainted. In fact, I believe this was my very first dream ever. I had completely forgotten about it upon waking."

Morpheus listened intently, his silence encouraging you to continue.

"I suppose this is not a typical destination for mortals in their dreams, yet I found myself here. I distinctly recall these doors and the carvings. I remember touching them."

"And then?"

"Then I opened my eyes, and I was back in the Waking World. Nothing particularly thrilling to report, I'm afraid."

His cool fingers gently clasped your hand. "Would you like me to explain the significance of these gates?"

You nodded eagerly. "Yes. I'd love to hear about it."

"Dreams that pass through the Gate of Ivory are lies, while the the Gate of Horn only admits the truth."

You gazed upward, taking in the towering doors and the massive horns protruding from the rocky pinnacles above. "I assume this is the Gate of Horn?"

"You are correct."

"And… who is the woman depicted in these carvings?"

Morpheus stiffened, his eyes shifting away. "Her name was Alianora."

"Alianora… was she the dreamer Desire sent you?”

“Yes.”

His answer was brief and to the point. You noticed him glancing at Alianora's face, the tendons in his neck tensing.

"She was more than that, though. Right?"

"Why do you ask?”

"These carvings tell something else. I can see they are not mere decorations, Morpheus. She was your lover once, wasn't she?"

When your eyes met again, you saw the pain inscribed in his furrowed brows and pursed lips. You immediately perceived it as yet another star-crossed romance, one of the many heartbreaking narratives he'd rather forget than relive.

Most likely, it was a subject he would hesitate to discuss with you, out of consideration for your feelings.

"…We were in love," he confessed. “But—”

"It's all right. You don’t need to talk about it if you'd prefer not to."

He swallowed nervously, unconsciously tightening his grip around your hand.

The thought of his numerous past girlfriends and a wife, coupled with the likelihood that you wouldn't be his last, still caused an ache in your heart that was incredibly hard to suppress. However, you were confident in Morpheus’ love for you, believing it to be as strong as—or even surpassing—his affection for others, which had faded over time.

The future remained uncertain, an unpredictable path that remained beyond anyone's ability to predict. You chose to embrace the joy of the present moment, savoring a reality worth living without dwelling on hypothetical outcomes.

"Thank you, Morpheus," you said warmly.

“For what…?”

"For telling me the truth about Alianora, and for bringing me to the Gates. Your honesty and opennes about your past demonstrates how much you trust me.” You returned his squeeze, giving him a reassuring smile.

His irises captured the quintessence of the Dreaming as he looked down at you. His voice, usually so measured and distant, softened as he replied, "My past is filled with mistakes, and with those I have loved and lost. I have lived countless lifetimes, seen the rise and fall of empires, and walked through the dreams of gods and mortals alike.”

He cupped your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. "With every breath, every dream, and every waking moment, I shall endeavor to prove myself worthy of the precious gift that is your love.”

Grabbing the lapens of his coat, you whispered against his lips, “You already are,” repeating the same words he had spoken to you in the castle's garden.

That revelatory moment was followed by a final return to your chambers, where Morpheus departed with a sweet kiss on your forehead, leaving you alone with your bittersweet thoughts. You slipped into your luxurious nightgown, its glittering fabric evoking the starry sky above and mirrored the opulence of the castle. Perched on the bed’s edge, you found yourself engrossed in contemplation, your familiar world now seeming oddly remote, as though it were a tale belonging to someone else.

It simply defied description. Your journey into the Dreaming had awakened something different in you, a newfound certainty that shattered your previous understanding of yourself. It felt as if your perception had expanded, your inner vision broadening to embrace new possibilities.

Sleep eluded you, your mind too restless to succumb to slumber. You wanted to memorize every detail of the view into your mind—the majestic mountains, the winding rivers, and the vast forests painting the ground with sprays of verdant colors. Drawn to the balcony, you rested your hands on the broad parapet, your eyes drinking in the landscape.

You knew, with dreadful certainty, that you'd miss every aspect of the Dreaming, down to the tiniest grain of sand.

Little did you know, Morpheus had kept an additional surprise under wraps.

“Y/N.”

He stood right behind you, his lips curving into a subtle smile as you swiveled to face him. Surprisingly, he had returned despite your assumption that he'd retired for the night to handle his responsibilities, only to reappear the next morning to escort you back to the Waking World.

Overjoyed, you rushed to him as if reuniting after a long separation. You flung yourself into his arms, wrapping your limbs around his neck and waist in an elated embrace.

Morpheus caught you smoothly, his cool, steady hands supporting your back. A soft chuckle escaped him as he cradled you close. “You were not expecting me.”

“No, I wasn’t. I thought you had work to do.”

"I do," he replied, setting you down on the floor, his fingers resting on your sides. "But I have a more pressing duty at the moment."

The Dreaming seemed to narrow, focusing solely on the two of you. "Really? Are you referring to me?"

"There is something I have prepared for you that you must see."

"Another surprise? You're officially spoiling me now."

"You deserve the entire universe to bend to your will."

"What use is the universe when I already have my wonderful Dream King?"

"Then, allow your king to present you with one final offering. Close your eyes."

He placed his palm on your temple, his fingertips lightly covering your eyes. You obeyed his instruction, closing your eyelids and finding yourself enveloped in darkness. His touch was reassuring, a comforting presence in the void.

For a moment, you felt a subtle change in your environment. The air around you became salty and fresh, and the sound of crashing waves replaced the gentle flickering of burning lanterns.

"You can open them now, my love."

You complied, your trepidation mounting. As your vision cleared, you beheld one of the most sensational natural paradises, a scene you'd only glimpsed in documentaries and videos.

The ocean before you echoed the lake from your dream and the Greek pool in your bathroom. A distinctive blue bioluminescence formed along the shoreline, ebbing and flowing with each sinuous wave. The night sky displayed a mesmerizing array of moving galaxies, slowly swirling in a celestial loop.

"Morpheus... this is... it's not a new place, is it?"

"No," he confirmed, his voice deep and resonant. "This is your dream. I have restored it for you."

"You didn't merely restore it. You've enhanced it beyond my wildest imagination."

"Does it please you?"

“It’s perfect.”

Your voice quivered with emotion, and you made no attempt to conceal your feelings from him. The realization that he had taken the time to recreate your beach, amidst his countless duties, sent your heart racing to heights you feared might be difficult to reclaim.

Morpheus wrapped his arms around your waist, his breath whispering against your ear as he held you securely from behind. Leaning into his form, you delighted in the velvety sand under your feet.

You remained like that for a while, enveloped in serene silence, listening to the calming pulse of the waves. Morpheus' fingertips traced delicate paths along your arms as he placed feather-light kisses on your neck. His lips traveled lower, brushing against your shoulder, causing the thin strap of your nightgown to slip off. It rested loosely on your upper arm, revealing part of your chest while maintaining modesty.

Nevertheless, it was clear his intentions surpassed merely showcasing a reconstructed dream. His touch was intentional, his breath growing deeper and more impassioned.

You let him proceed, welcoming his hands as they explored your body. One palm moved across your stomach, while the other toyed with the delicate strap of your nightgown, now resting precariously on your arm. His lips found the sensitive curve where your neck met your shoulder, leaving another trail of kisses that expressed his fondness for you.

Your breath quickened as he pulled you close. His fingers curled around the fabric of your nightgown just above your pubic bone, tortuously grazing the edge of your clit without quite reaching it. The gentle brush of silk against your skin caused your nipples to harden, heightening your sensitivity to his every gesture.

"My love," he uttered softly. "I wish to make your final night in my realm unforgettable."

You swallowed hard, a new rush of desire instantly coursing through your veins.

"Permit me to embrace you wholly, to delve into the depths of our connection in ways yet unexplored.”

Unexplored…?

"Allow me to worship you in a manner that truly honors your worth."

Undoubtedly, that was the most eloquent and heartfelt way anyone could express their longing for intimacy with their beloved.

"I was already convinced the moment you brought me here, but please, don't stop with these beautiful words."

His breath caressed the nape of your neck, a subtle sign of his amusement. "You do relish having your king plead for your attention."

"Well, you've uncovered my secret," you said with a smirk. "But I have to say, I adore the sound of your voice."

“My voice?”

"You could say the most outlandish statement imaginable, and I'd still be on my knees for you."

As his fingertips traced along your bare shoulder, a delicious shiver ran down your spine. “Then you shall hear it as often as you require, for you are the only one to whom I wish to speak so freely.”

"I mean, I'd prefer those words be reserved solely for me, anyway."

"The words I speak, the things I feel, they are only for you.”

You turned your head, looking at him with wide, loving eyes. "I fell head over heels for you when you were still confined to that sphere. But I'm sure you're well aware of that."

Despite his omniscience, Morpheus seemed to ponder your confession, his face a canvas of curiosity and wonder. "Were you truly?"

"You didn't know? I thought it was rather obvious.”

"I was aware of the possibility, yet the full realization that your heart had already pledged itself to me eluded my grasp."

You melted against his chest, your fingers intertwining with his. "You were my anchor during the darkest times, and that's not an exaggeration."

The strap slid further down, leaving your breast nearly exposed.

"You saw me, even then. When I was trapped, powerless... you looked upon me with love, when I could give you nothing in return.”

Shaking your head, you spoke with a soft but resolute voice. "You gave me far more than you realize."

“How?”

"How could you not? Your eyes, your strength, your grace… it was all there, Morpheus. Even in silence.”

With gentle precision, he lowered the other strap. Though no words were exchanged, your silent consent had already been given, rendering his actions both accepted and awaited.

"I know you probably want to forget your time in captivity, but to me, you were incredibly beautiful. I wanted to set you free, to show you the respect they'd denied a god of your stature."

The top of your nightgown fell away, exposing your chest and gathering around your waist.

"Sometimes, when I think about it, I feel like I haven't done enough."

"It was your kindness that became my true escape," he intoned, his fingers easing the fabric down your sides. "You cared, even when I was not your responsibility."

"I wish I could have been there for you when they captured you. When they hurt you."

It was astonishing to think that during those events, you had not yet come into existence.

“If I were to endure another eternity of confinement, I would do so willingly, without hesitation, if it meant having just one moment with you by my side.”

The nightgown dropped to the sand, leaving you practically bare, clad only in delicate, lacy cotton undergarments.

"In all the time I have existed, I have known many things; creation, destruction, endless cycles of time and change. One moment with you eclipses the eternity I have lived, and I would sacrifice a thousand more eternities for a single heartbeat in your presence.”

Smiling, you stepped out of the nightgown and gently nudged it aside with your foot. Even crumpled on the beach, it remained a spectacular sight, its starry fabric seeming to have a life of its own.

"Well, let's hope you're never imprisoned again. I much prefer you free and close to me."

"I have no desire to be anywhere else but here with you.”

You hummed appreciatively, feeling a pleasant tremor as his palms moved up and down your stomach, teasing at the curve of your breasts, leaving them achingly untouched.

Then, something unexpected occurred. The sand around you began to rise, forming undulating, snake-like shapes that slithered up your ankles, calves, and thighs. As the grains coalesced into two sandy hands, you startled slightly at the unexpected intrusion.

“Ah—”

"Shh," he soothed. "Fear not. Every part of this realm is an extension of myself."

The newly formed hands, perfect replicas of Morpheus', skillfully caressed your skin. They delicately explored the line of your inner thighs, reaching the lace edges of your underwear. As they touched the fabric, it began to dissolve into nothingness, like wisps of smoke dissipating into the air.

"Does this discomfort you, my love?" I will cease if you wish it so."

It was unfamiliar, certainly not something you'd ever imagined in your fantasies. Yet, as you found yourself completely exposed, handled with such gentleness by Morpheus and those peculiar appendages made of sand, you couldn't deny the allure of your situation.

"No, it doesn't. In fact, I think I like it."

The touch was unmistakably his, belonging to Morpheus alone.

"Let my realm witness your magnificence in your entirety," he said huskily. "Let the Dreaming become one with you."

Fully unclothed, your body responded to the intimate atmosphere. Your nipples hardened into taut peaks, while your aroused clitoris emerged from its delicate folds, reminiscent of a flower in full bloom.

The ethereal hands drifted upward, skimming over your hipbones before trailing their fingers across your upper abdomen. This time, they continued to your breasts, cupping them with a soft squeeze and creating an immediate friction against your nipples.

More hands emerged from the beach, steadying your legs as they threatened to buckle beneath you. Morpheus' solid form melded with your back, his physical hands remaining still. The Dreaming itself, an extension of its master's will, came alive with purpose, its magical touch caressing your skin with a gentleness that belied its nature. As the boundary between Morpheus and his domain blurred, you found yourself immersed in a torrent of sensations, each grain of sand, each whisper of wind, an instrument in this symphony of ecstasy orchestrated by the Dream King himself.

Your eyes fluttered closed, your chest heaving as the sandy fingers performed a synchronized dance around your nipples. Your hips shook and swayed, seeking more stimulation, while your lower body yearned for something that remained elusive. Your clit throbbed as the cool air blew over it, while waves of pleasure emanated from those dreamy hands, sending tingles through your limbs and causing your muscles to ache.

"M-Morpheus," you gasped.

“My love?”

“Please… touch me…”

Your desperation had grown with surprising speed, bordering on shameful. Yet, when it came to the Endless, your self-restraint evaporated like mist in the morning sun.

He breathed into your ear. "I already am."

Ah, so he wanted to play that game now.

"Are you really going to feign ignorance about my meaning?"

"No. I would never leave my precious queen wanting."

Queen? Oh my. He certainly knew which buttons to push.

"You wouldn't, would you? Then, please."

As the sandy hands continued their sensual ministrations on your breasts, Morpheus' fingers skimmed down to your upper thighs. He kept them there, motionless, teasing you with their proximity to your most sensitive area and leaving you writhing for more.

"However, I must confess—I find pleasure in witnessing your insatiable hunger for me, my sweet."

Your sharp intake of breath punctuated his effect on you. "Well then, Your Majesty, what's it going to be?"

"I could grant your wish. Perhaps I will. But I am quite certain you possess the strength to resist it."

Ugh.

“Morpheus, I swear—”

"I could leave you here, at the mercy of my realm, watching you from afar. Admire your body writhing in pleasure and need for me."

As he continued his speech, the hands intensified their movements. Your nipples were pinched and flicked, while your entire body was covered by rivulets of golden sand.

“Don’t you dare—”

“—But I shall not.”

Morpheus grew bolder, his fingertips delicately brushing your sensitive folds, parting them with exquisite care. He exposed your clit to the cool ocean breeze, unveiling it like a pearl freed from its shell, as if the sea itself were a silent, mesmerized spectator.

"You're lucky I can't conjure extra limbs," you quipped.

“Or what?”

"You'd find yourself stripped naked in a heartbeat."

He loved every moment, each playful remark, every gasp, moan, and whimper that fell from your lips.

"But tonight, my love, is not about me."

"I don't care. You're breathtaking. I don’t need an excuse to crave the sight of you."

“Beauty is not something often attributed to me.”

You giggled as he began to lower you, all hands maneuvering your form onto a perfect sandy cushion. "You may not be typically described using human aesthetics, but you are beautiful, Morpheus. Not just in appearance, though that's undeniable. It's in the way you move, how your presence transforms the world around you, like an interplay of shadows and light."

He opened his legs, enveloping your smaller figure as he settled onto the shore, his arms encircling your waist. Only two of the sandy extensions remained, continuing to caress and fondle your chest, while those around your legs dissipated.

"B-but more than that, it's what I see when you're not trying to be the Lord of Dreams. When you're just... you. The way you care, the way you protect, the way you love.”

Finally, you yielded to the moment, settling against his torso as you spread your thighs. His fingers, at last, found their way to their eagerly awaited destination.

"You perceive more of me than anyone ever has," he said. "Perhaps I am as you describe, because I reflect what I see in you."

With masterful skill, he teased your clit in a slow, light stroke that transported you into a state of blissful rapture.

"Every part of you is a masterpiece," he whispered reverently. "Surrender yourself to me, my love. I will treasure it all."

A moan escaped your lips as your nails dug into the sand. His touch quickened, gathering your wetness and creating a perfect, slick stimulation that brought you closer to the edge. Your nipples throbbed and tingled, while Morpheus' unmistakable arousal pressed firmly against your back through his trousers.

"Don't stop," you begged, your voice thick with urgency. "I'm so close."

“I will not. Let me feel it.”

His fingers accelerated, tracing tight circles around your swollen bud. Simultaneously, the additional hands on your breasts tightened their grip and kneaded, causing your hips to buck wildly as his fingers pressed harder against your sensitive flesh. Pressure built to a crescendo, threatening to crash over you at any moment.

The familiar tension in your lower abdomen coiled tightly, ready to unravel. You draped one leg over his thigh, which he supported firmly, holding you in place.

“Ngh—you’re so good. Please, please, please—oh!”

It was indescribable, unprecedented, exceptional, unmatched.

Your orgasm struck you like a thunderstorm, so powerful that you felt certain your shudders and spasms would ripple through the entire Dreaming. The hands made of sand released you, dissolving and streaming down as the grains returned to their original form. Morpheus' fingers persisted, scarcely slowing their pace, continuing their relentless stroke even as the electric current of your climax began to ebb.

As the waves of ecstasy subsided, his fingers offered a few final, gentle caresses to your sensitive clit before coming to rest. He remained there, unmoving, allowing you to catch your ragged breath in the sanctuary of his arms.

Morpheus consistently made you feel secure, completely at ease with yourself and your surroundings. He effortlessly maintained an atmosphere of naturalness and comfort, perfectly attuned to your needs.

You rolled onto your side, disentangling yourself, and swept your hand across his chest before letting it drift up to touch his face. He smiled tenderly, drawing you closer as he affectionately pressed his forehead against yours.

"That was incredible," you breathed. "Absolutely mind-blowing."

"You truly inspire my creativity to reach new heights."

"Are you saying I could expect a full doppelgänger of you made of sand next?"

"If that is your wish, I could certainly arrange it for you."

You chuckled. "As great as this was, I prefer the original you over any replicas."

You initiated a kiss, which he reciprocated with ardent devotion.

"Speaking of which," you purred, breaking the contact. "I believe someone's eagerly **awaiting attention," you added with a grin.

Your hand trailed downward, touching the firm outline of his erection constrained within his black trousers. Morpheus held perfectly still, aquamarine eyes meeting your own, as he anticipated your next move.

You unfastened the button and zipper, carefully lowering his garments as much as his seated position allowed. As his hardness sprang free from its restraints, you let out a smug "Ooh," followed by a flirtatious "Hello." It was rather comical, to the point that even Morpheus, who seldom laughed and rarely joked, seemed genuinely entertained by your reaction.

There was no mischief, however, as you found genuine happiness even in your most intimate situations. Gently wrapping your hand around his tip and sliding it along his length, you stifled your giggles against his clothed chest.

"And you claimed you could leave me here and watch. Yet look at yourself now."

"I am not human. My capacity for restraint far exceeds that of mortal men."

You nodded. "True. But could you really just stand there and watch me without taking action?"

“…No.”

You were beaming, catching your breath, before giving Morpheus one confident, rather audacious lick along his neck, swiping your tongue over his pronounced Adam's apple. "Oh, Dream Lord, the things you do to me."

"I am here to offer you everything, and to receive all that you wish to give me."

Without releasing your grip on his manhood, you shifted onto your knees, steadying yourself with a hand on his shoulder. "How would you prefer to take me, my love?" you asked, your desire for him resurging in your core.

He grasped your waist, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on your skin. "I wish to have you in every way conceivable," he said in a low voice. "But for now, I'd like you to turn around and position yourself on all fours."

His commanding tone sent a thrill through you, quickening your pulse. You pivoted and settled onto your hands and knees enthusiastically, presenting your body to him like a precious prize, one he had rightfully earned and deeply deserved.

You could feel his piercing scrutiny, the rustle of his clothes as he adjusted his stance, and his long digits traversing your outer thighs.

"Your beauty rivals the stars above and surpasses the splendor of the ocean before us."

His rigid length pressed against your slick folds. "Be my light, tonight and for eternity."

Then, he fully sank in, his impressive length stretching and filling you completely. Your bodies merged in perfect unison, a testament to your physical and emotional compatibility.

“Yes!!”

Your response erupted as a strangled cry, both answering his words and reacting to the way your body accommodated him. You clenched around him instinctively, jerking forward as he began to move. He slipped in and out of you with a passion that spoke of a century of starvation, you were already primed and ready for him to claim you, requiring no further preparation.

The wet sounds of skin meeting skin, punctuated by the slick noises of his thrusts, blended perfectly with the pulsing sea waves. The shore shimmered and glowed, as if echoing the cadence of a heartbeat.

You pushed yourself up, remaining on your knees as your arms sought his form, your face turning to meet his lips in a hungry kiss. Your tongues entwined as your lips collided, fitting together like two halves of a whole. Sighs and more laughter mingled with your breathless encouragement for more. His satisfaction was evident in the darkening sparkle of his eyes, the open grin that graced his face, and the impossible growth of his hardness in you.

His hands cradled your breasts before gliding downward again. You invoked his name repeatedly, shaking and shouting in total bliss, your throat almost burning from the exertion. Your clit quivered with pleasure the moment he pinched it, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers like a delicate knob.

"So good!" you exclaimed breathlessly. "I love you so much!"

"Your love is my lifeblood, matched only by the infinite depths of my devotion to you."

"More, please! Harder!"

He doubled his efforts, each powerful thrust accompanied by a deep groan, synchronizing with the relentless waves crashing even faster against the shore. The second orgasm built up so quickly that you wished you could prolong the tension, but judging by the way he throbbed against your core, you could tell that Morpheus was teetering on the edge right along with you.

A few more thrusts, coupled with the deft twirling of his fingers around your clit, were all it took to send you to the moon and back a second time. It was explosive, earth-shattering, and all-consuming.

Morpheus followed suit, his rhythm becoming erratic before he released himself into your depths with a guttural groan. His body shuddered and stilled as he reached his climax, his hands clutching your hips as he breathed in the intoxicating scent of your hair.

Even a being as powerful as him found himself vulnerable and defenseless before your charm.

He had given you the stars, quite literally. He incorporated you into his realm as an essential element, as if its very existence hinged on your presence there.

"You belong to me," he proclaimed, unfurling his coat and enveloping you in a protective cocoon as you collapsed onto his chest. "No one else will ever claim you or know you as I do. Your heart, your very dreams... they are mine alone."

His possessiveness surfaced, and you curled up close to him, his coat enveloping you like a warm, soothing bath. "I would never want to belong to anyone else, Morpheus. And you... you are mine too, right?"

It was a daring question, but one you had every right to ask.

“You hold my heart. In every way that matters, yes: I am yours.”

Your smile radiated as brightly as the luminescent ocean. Relaxing into Morpheus's arms, you were lulled by the natural melodies surrounding you, feeling his essence trickling out of your opening. You found it neither unpleasant nor embarrassing, but rather a fundamental aspect of your intimate bond that you hoped would endure forever.

Imperceptibly, you drifted into slumber protected by the Sandman himself, as if suspended amidst stardust. As the night progressed, Morpheus gently carried you back to your king-sized bed, your nightgown magically restored to its proper place on you.

Your skin was immaculate, clean and smooth, notwithstanding all the sand that had previously covered it.

For the first time, he stayed with you, seated on the edge of the mattress, observing your form in reverent silence. His gaze traced your angelic face framed by silken tresses as your head rested on the pillow, your chest rising and falling with each gentle breath. The moonstone gleamed in his presence, a unique token he could never craft for anyone else. The knowledge that you carried a part of him with you filled Morpheus with profound joy.

Out of the stillness, Astra appeared from the shadows, his hooves barely making a sound as he approached the bed. The delicate glow of the green patterns on his fur illuminated the space around you, casting a soft light on your sleeping figure. Morpheus watched as Astra lowered his muzzle to you, his warm breath brushing against your hand.

"Her presence in the Dreaming... it's unlike anything I've witnessed since you created me," he said. "She enhances everything here. Every corner of this realm, every dream, every creation you've ever made… they all respond to her, as if she breathes life into them."

Morpheus's eyes flickered contemplatively as he listened, attention drawn to you again. You stirred slightly in your sleep, a soft murmur escaping your lips as you unconsciously reached for the Dreamstone around your neck.

"She is no ordinary mortal," Astra continued, taking a step closer to Morpheus. "A unique aura emanates from her, and I believe it is her love for you. It permeates everything she touches."

Morpheus inclined his head in agreement. Since your arrival, the Dreaming's familiar landscapes had undergone a subtle transformation. Initially, the change was so slight that it escaped his notice, but as you rested, your body radiated an unmistakable energy, enveloping both him and Astra in its protective shield.

"I have noticed it," Morpheus replied, his voice scarcely above a whisper. "She is unlike any being I have encountered in all my existence."

Astra took another step, his glassy eyes softening as he looked back at you. "She is bound to this realm in ways that neither you nor I may fully comprehend yet."

Morpheus's fingers clenched briefly before relaxing. "She is leaving soon," he answered quietly, more to himself than to Astra. "But the Dreaming will always be a part of her. And she of it."

"Some bonds transcend severance, impervious to time or the barriers between worlds."

His emotions were conflicted—saddened by your impending departure, yet astounded by the impact you'd had on him and his domain. You had wielded the extraordinary ability to shape not only his heart, but the intrinsic character of the Dreaming along with it. How could someone as precious as you love him so deeply and unconditionally?

Morpheus experienced an unprecedented revelation. For the first time in eons, he grasped the significance of sharing the Dreaming with another being, of unveiling his true self and all he possessed. This revelation surpassed any insight he'd gained from past loves, be it Nada, Alianora, or Calliope.

His mistakes were indelible, and their consequences irreparable. But your gentleness was immeasurable and irreplaceable, your wisdom a fount from which even Morpheus himself could learn. You were extraordinary, delicate yet powerful, so intensely significant to him that Morpheus understood he had never loved anyone as strongly as he had fallen for you.

Losing you would threaten to leave an unfathomable void in his existence, potentially shattering him beyond imagination. Your absence would leave him utterly bereft.

"While she resides with us, my Lord, this realm thrives in ways even you did not foresee.”

Morpheus could only concur with his own creation's perceptive observation. He vowed to cherish every moment of your time together, knowing that your impact on his world, and his heart, would endure long after your return to your world.

For as long as eternity would allow him to adore you.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 22 (coming soon) ->

[changbunnies]

Purple Hydrangeas (18+)

♡ Pairing: Sunshine!Changbin x Pessimistic!Reader

♡ Genre: best friends to lovers, angst, fluff, smut

♡ Word Count: 7.1k

♡ Summary: Y/N is a pessimistic flower shop owner still suffering from breakup. Changbin is her sunshiney best friend who wants to cheer her up any way he can. Sweetness ensues :)

♡ Warnings: reader has depression and it is a focal point of the fic, discussions about readers past relationship, a lot of self doubt and blame, very very brief mention of a family member that has passed away, that's about it i think but let me know if i forgot something!

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): i am once again bringing you soft!dom changbin, petnames (love, angel, baby), nipple play, oral (f recieving), fingering (f recieving), multiple orgasms, overstim, body worship ??, protected piv for once (shocking), a sprinkle of cock warming, changbin is rougher at the end (due to reader's request). as usual lmk if i forgot something!

♡ Notes: this fic was written for the @skzwritingcafe prompt “blossoming love” ! it's my first time taking part in a fandom event and i hope you enjoy it! <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Life is like a flower. The beginning of your life, you are a bud, ready to grow and full of opportunity. Then the bloom, where your life is the most vibrant and beautiful it will ever be, all the time spent nurturing the bud of your youth culminating into the best years of your life.

And lastly, the wither, the inevitable end that everyone faces, where your color drains and leaves wilt, until you are nothing. Some reach this stage faster than others, but it will always come, an unavoidable permanence. 

Love is like a flower too– beautiful but fleeting, not meant to last forever. You learned all of this as a child, when gloom settled into you before you could even understand it was happening. And then again recently, when your boyfriend of over a year decided he was tired of dealing with your gloom, moving on to someone more vibrant, someone in the peak of their bloom.

You wanted to be angry, wanted to lash out in a bitter display of vitriol, but how could you when all of his critiques of your character were true? 

There was irony, you think, in being so jaded about life while owning and working in such a beautiful place, where every flower held a profoundly positive message. A flower shop inherited from your late grandmother, who taught you everything she knew about gardening and the language of flowers. There were so many messages a flower could hold– love, hope, a sense of peace; all things you didn’t have. 

Was it any wonder your boyfriend-turned-ex was tired of you? You always brought down the mood simply by existing. And the saddest part was that, even if he couldn’t see it, you were genuinely happy with him– the happiest you’d been in ages.

Maybe your personalities just clashed too much. Maybe your love languages differed too greatly, and the way you showed your care was lost on him. Maybe he couldn’t see who you really were underneath the dark layers, your light too dimmed even in your happiest moments. 

All you know is he gave you hope. He gave you love and belonging and connection and then he ripped it from you, stating your ‘constant sadness’ as his reason. He couldn’t stand it anymore– being with someone who was never happy that is.

And yes, you were sad often (depression will do that to a person), but could he really not see that you were often happy when he was there? Maybe you weren’t good at expressing what you were feeling, or maybe he found it draining to be around someone who was gloomy more often than they were happy.  

And that’s why you found yourself thinking you were never meant to be; he didn’t see the real you underneath the dark cloud that followed you. Or maybe he did, and didn’t like the reality of what he saw when the clouds dissipated.

Valid, you suppose; you don’t like what you see either. You’ve tried your hardest to change who you are, but the fabric that holds a person together is permanent. You try and try and try, with nothing to show for it in the end. 

But you carry on regardless, hoping one day that someone will love you as you are, flaws and all. You cook yourself dinner, you force yourself into the shower, and you continue running the shop, because the alternative would be withering, and you don't want that to be your fate just yet.

The bell chime that accompanies the opening of the front door breaks you from your grim inner thoughts, bringing your attention to your first customer of the day. You stiffen at first, mentally preparing yourself to put on your best customer service persona, but you soften when you notice it's your best friend, Changbin.

“Y/N~!” he smiles as he practically skips up to you, his unfaltering vibrance immediately lighting you up. He always has that effect on you– cheering you up effortlessly, just from the simple act of existing in the same space as you. And though he could easily call you ahead of time to tell you he plans on coming in the shop, he never does, always leaving it a pleasant surprise instead. 

You love when his loud voice rings out in your shop, excited to ask you for some new bouquet he doesn't entirely need but buys anyways just to support your business. He's always been like that– vibrant, positive, supportive and incredibly sweet. It was easy for you to become infatuated with him, even when your friendship first began in high school, but you’ve always done your best to push it aside. 

You’ve tried your best over the years to not to think about how much you adore him– the way his nose scrunches when he smiles brightly, the loud exclamations that accompany him when he enters the room, the cute mannerisms he has when talking about something he cares about. You try to ignore his adorable habit of forming his lips into a pout when he speaks, or the way his eyes sparkle when you talk to him about his favorite things. 

It was easier to put those feelings aside when you had someone else to focus on. You didn’t have to worry about just the mere existence of your best friend making your heart tremble when you had someone else to give your love to. But with each failed relationship, your heart always found its way back to Changbin. 

And maybe it was your own fault for always keeping him a priority in your life while dating, but you couldn’t help it. Because in your darkest moments, while the most depressed and alone you’d ever felt, he brought illumination to your gloom-filled world, always a shining beacon in the darkness that is your heart. He just makes you happy; it’s as simple as that. 

“I saw that hydrangeas are in season again,” Changbin smiles, pulling up the spare chair (that you have in the shop specifically for him) to sit in front of your work station. “They are your favorite right? The purple ones? You should make something with them!” 

Leave it to Changbin to remember something small you’ve mentioned in passing. He’s always done that– remember even the most trivial of things you tell him, smiling cutely whenever he recites what you’ve told him at a later date. You don’t know how he manages to retain all that useless information, how he can be so attentive and earnest, but it’s easily one of the qualities in him you love most.

“Are you really going to pay for a bouquet of my favorite flower instead of your own?” you ask with a slight giggle as you begin to gather the things you need to get started. “Hey, as long as I’m supporting you, it doesn’t matter! Just make whatever you think is pretty,” he answers with a laugh of his own.

The truth is, he just wants to see you happy. He can tell you’ve been really down since your breakup (even if you don’t want to admit it to him), and this is his way of getting you to do something that you’d enjoy without being too obvious.

And he has tried the obvious methods, of course– like binging your favorite movies in his apartment while you eat popcorn, or taking you out shopping with him to get that new pefume you've been eyeing, but every time you realize what he’s doing, you make an excuse for him not to do it. 

Variations of “oh, that’s okay, you don’t have to do that for me,” and “I’m fine Binnie, don’t worry about me!” leaving your lips every single time. He doesn’t understand why you don’t accept his care when he can obviously tell that you’re upset, but he figures you’ll accept his affection eventually. And until that day comes, he’ll commit himself to finding creative ways to show you he cares about you. 

There’s a comfortable silence that follows as Changbin watches you work. If he’s honest, he could easily sit and watch you for hours. He loves seeing the way your brows knit together and tongue sticks out slightly when you’re focusing on something, and the way your smile beams when something comes together the way you want it to. You’re so cute, even you don’t entirely realize it. 

“Hey,” he says, eventually breaking the silence, and you lift your head to look at him, a slight tilt to your head as a “hmm?” leaves you. “I just realized, I don’t think I know why purple hydrangeas are your favorite. Tell me about it?” He asks, genuine curiosity painting his face. 

Changbin knows you well– is acutely aware that you know everything there is to know about flowers and their languages and meanings. Every little fact about them is committed to your memory, so if one of them is your favorite, it must be for an explicit reason. 

You pause for a moment, debating on how much of your personal feelings you are willing to admit. Changbin is your friend, (a friend you most definitely have a crush on at that) but it’s still hard for you to talk about your feelings with him. And you have tried, but every time you feel like there’s a lump in your throat that prevents you from speaking, no matter how badly you may want to. 

“The desire to understand someone. Like.. really understand them. I’ve always wanted that.. To be understood,” you end up answering honestly despite the nerves, using your work to avoid direct eye contact.

You’re not often open about things like this, always finding it extremely difficult to be vulnerable, but if there’s anyone you trust in this world it’s Changbin. He’ll never look at you with judgment or discrimination, just genuine care. 

You look back at him now, taking notice of how intently he’s listening to you. He’s always done that, too– listen to you like there’s nothing else in the world that could take his attention away from you, like you’re the only one that exists.

You suppose that’s just him being polite or a good friend, as it’s only right to listen when talking to someone, but it still makes your heart flutter. And when he looks at you the way he is now, it makes you feel safe.  

“I feel.. alone, oftentimes. And like no one gets me, or wants to even try to get me. Like I’ll always be this way, no matter what I do to try and change it,” you continue with your admission. He’s quieter than usual following your statement, but that’s okay.

You didn’t say it expecting any sort of special response, and you can tell by the crinkle in his brow and the pout on his face that he’s reflecting on your words. He’s genuinely thinking about them, what they mean and what they say about you, and that’s all you really need from someone. You can tell he cares about what you said, and that’s enough. 

“All done!” You say with a smile not too long after, proudly holding out your completed arrangement for him to take. Maybe you're biased since it consists primarily of your favorite flower, but you truly think it’s one of your best arrangements. Changbin takes it from your hands, staring at it for a moment before looking up at you. 

There’s a pause, a much longer one than usual, and you tilt your head, looking at him in slight confusion. “Is there something you need?” “Here,” Changbin says, holding it back out to you. 

Huh? 

You look at him, the bouquet, and back up to him. His expression is serious, much more than you’ve ever known it to be. “Is there something wrong with it? Do you not like it?” You ask with a frown, genuinely sad and confused by the uncharacteristic reaction he’s giving you. 

“N-No, that’s not it, I..” he pauses another moment, red overtaking his face as he looks at you. Is he.. blushing? “This is how I feel,” Changbin continues, watching you intently for any change in expression as he speaks, “I.. want to understand you, I want to be there for you, I don’t want you to feel alone.” 

Time feels like it stops around you, his words slowly repeating in your head as you try to process them. Regardless of platonic or romantic intention, hearing him say those words to you makes a myriad of emotions rush to the surface. You’ve always known Changbin cares about you, but to hear it like this makes your heart race; especially when he’s using your favorite flower as the conduit for his feelings. 

You swallow, trying not to let the emotions pour out of you from a gesture so simple. With trembling hands, you accept the flowers from him, your heart jolting from his fingers brushing against yours. You've felt his hands a thousand times at this point, but it’s different in this moment. Everything is different.  

"I love you,” he says, making you turn your attention back to his face. This isn’t the way he intended on confessing his feelings to you, but if you really feel as alone as you say you do then.. He needs you to know. He can’t let you think that there's no one in this world that cares about you as deeply as he does, he can’t let you think that there’s no one who will listen to you, accept you, and love you as you are. 

Your stomach does full on summersaults now, mind racing impossibly fast. The incredibly handsome and simultaneously extremely cute friend you’ve been silently crushing on this entire time loves you? But he’s so vibrant and bright, and you’re.. You. What does he see in someone as gloomy as you?

“B-But I– I’m not–” you stutter, trying (and failing) to put your thoughts into words. You should be happy, but instead you feel dread, almost. You feel... Like he doesn’t realize what he’s signing up for, like once he realizes the true depth of your sadness he won't want to remain by your side. And even if he does stay with you, you’ll ruin him. You’ll strip him of his vibrance, taint his joy and drag him through the mud with you. 

“You’re not what?” Changbin asks, concern written on his face and clear in his voice. “I’m.. not good for you, I– I’m too.. different,” you answer, nervousness palpable in your tone. “What do you mean?” His expression changes to one of incredulousness, as if you suggesting he could do better than you is ridiculous, as if he would never even consider it a possibility. 

“It’s just– you’re so cheerful, and funny, and bright, and I’m.. the opposite. I’m sad all the time, it feels like it never ends. I was, I still am, trying to be better, like– seeing doctors and taking my meds, but.. I don’t want to drag you down, like I did with–” You immediately freeze, stopping yourself mid-sentence.

Shit. You haven’t told Changbin about why things ended with your ex before; obviously as your best friend, he knew you had a boyfriend and that things didn’t work out with him, but you never talked about it openly. You didn’t want to dwell on any of your hurt feelings when you were with Changbin, so you always kept the way things ended to yourself. 

His expression changes, a sadness that is simultaneously soft and caring. He doesn’t know whether it's something your ex explicitly said to you, or is an opinion you hold about yourself due to your relationship failing, but he can't accept it.

You would never drag him down. He would never view your feelings as a burden, he would never expect you to bottle everything inside for his convenience, he would never look at you and think you should be anything other than what you are. 

“Do you remember when we became friends?” Changbin asks and you nod hesitantly before he continues, “That was the hardest time of my life. I had so many thoughts and feelings I didn’t know how to deal with or express and you were there for me. You’ve always been there for me. Even if you didn’t consciously do anything, having you there was enough to make it better.”

“The only reason I’m so happy now, the reason I can be so cheerful is because of you. You've helped me more than you even know. Maybe I can't change what you think about yourself, but whatever bad you think there is, it's not what I see. I see someone incredibly accomplished, intelligent, considerate, beautiful. Worthy of love and kindness. That’s who you are. And I'm on your side, always.”

Any hope you had of holding back your tears crumbled the minute such sweet words left him, the crashing wave of previously pushed down, dormant emotions engulfing you entirely. Reaching out now, you hug him tightly, sniffling into his chest while he wraps an arm around you and brings a hand to your head, holding you closely to him. 

You almost never cry in front of others, the vulnerability always making you feel embarrassed and ashamed. In fact, in all the years he's known you, Changbin can count on one hand the amount of times you've cried in front of him.

He always noticed the way you held it back when you were upset, how you would put on a brave face or a smile and continue on as if nothing happened. And he had admired that quality in you, but now he understands how lonely that must have been. 

All the pain you silently harbored, all the tears you didn't allow to fall, all the thoughts you kept inside your head.. He hopes you know now that you never have to do those things again, that you don't have to be scared to show your authentic feelings to him. Because no matter how "ugly", he's not going anywhere. Because he loves you. 

You let yourself stay like that for some time, indulging in Changbin’s comforting touch as months, maybe even years worth of repressed emotions tumble out of you. All you can do now is let the waves of emotion crash into you, until the tide of feelings recede back into the depths they were once stored in. 

"Can you help me close the shop?" you ask when you finally pull away, wiping your face clean before you look up at him. "Of course, love," he gives you a sweet smile, giving your hand a comforting squeeze before he continues. "You can just head up now and rest if you want, I know what to do." He's helped you close the shop plenty of times in the past, so he's confident he can do it on his own.

You let out a soft 'thank you', deciding to take Changbin up on his offer and go straight to your apartment above the shop. Honestly, it's probably not the best idea from a profit standpoint to close this early in the afternoon, but that will have to be a problem for future you, because right now all you want to do is flop on your bed and bury yourself in your blankets. 

And that's exactly where he finds you when he finishes closing up– wrapped in makeshift blanket burrito and work attire strewn on the floor, close to your hamper but not quite having made it inside. You poke your head out from under the blanket when you hear his voice call your name from the doorway to your bedroom. 

“Can I join you?" he asks and you quickly nod, lifting a corner of your blanket up so he can crawl in next to you. He wraps his arms around you once he's under the blanket with you, urging you to rest your head against him. A comforted sigh leaves you when he starts gently rubbing your back, eyes closing as built up tension finally begins to leave your body. 

Having emotions is exhausting, but being with Changbin makes it better. You hope this is what your life will look like from now on– wrapped in Changbin’s embrace, words of affirmation and care lingering in your ears, his vibrance bleeding onto you and turning you into someone that can be happy. 

"Can I kiss you?" Changbin asks, voice almost a whisper and timid in its request. You give your approval easily, because obviously you want to kiss him. How could you not want to kiss the person you’ve been secretly in love with for ages? 

His lips are soft, gentle against yours, hands careful in the way they roam your body. He longed to touch you, to know what it was like to feel your soft skin under his fingertips while he kissed you, to love you the way you deserved to be loved.

He’s always viewed you with the utmost reverence, would spend his nights imagining what he would do if he got even the smallest chance to show you, promised himself he would never leave you doubting if the opportunity was granted to be with you. 

Your hands rest on his chest, his kisses making you impossibly dizzy despite how soft and slow they are. Because it’s Changbin, you think; because there’s no one else in the world that has held your heart in their hands the way he has. You realize now that there was never going to be any getting over him. No matter who else you entertained, who else you gave your love and care to, you’d always find your way back to him. 

“Binnie, can you touch me? Please?” You ask during a brief moment of separation, voice soft and timid but still loud and clear in his ears. Do you even know the effect that question has on him? The way it sends a wave of arousal throughout his entire body? “God, yes, of course, anything you want,” he says before he’s kissing you again, albeit hungrier this time. 

You feel his hardening cock twitch against your thigh, the close proximity of your bodies making it impossible to ignore– not that you even want to ignore it. If it were with anyone else, he might be embarrassed over being worked up over so little, but he’s not because it’s you; the only person he’s had eyes for since you entered his life in sophomore year of high school. 

Carefully, he reaches a hand inside the sleep shirt you changed into, surprised to find that you’re not wearing a bra, though he supposes he shouldn’t be– of course you wouldn’t keep one on if you intended on being in bed the rest of the day. 

He licks your lips as he squeezes one of your breasts in his palm, urging you to open your mouth from him. You oblige easily, letting his tongue lick and swirl around your own, soft moans and gasps leaving you with every gentle squeeze and thumb brush over your nipple.

“Can I take it off you?” he asks between breaths, and you hum in approval, separating yourself from him just enough to allow him to pull your shirt up and over your head. 

“Bin, take yours off too,” you practically whine when he goes to kiss you again as soon as your shirt lands on the floor. “So sorry, angel,” he says with a low chuckle before he obliges, having no trouble pulling the loose shirt off himself with one hand. 

You’ve seen him shirtless before, when swimming together or when he’s preparing to change into pajamas during a sleepover, but it never stops being a breathtaking sight. Large, defined muscles with an equally as defined chest, yet below lies a soft, cute tummy; it’s devastating how attractive it is– how attractive he is, specifically. 

You lie flat on your back now, Changbin hovering above you and staring down at your exposed torso. “So pretty,” he says, smiling when it causes you to blush and look away. You have plenty of experience in things like this and don’t consider yourself all that shy but Changbin is.. Well, Changbin. A single look from him can turn you into a puddle, a simple compliment enough to have your heart beating out of your chest. 

He takes one of your hands and brings it to his face, planting soft kisses to your fingertips, before having your hand rest against his cheek. He keeps his hand on top of yours for a moment, a silent request for you to hold it there when he takes his own hand away and kisses you again. 

And so you do; you hold his face in your hand as his lips touch yours once more. You open your mouth, without any prompting this time, easily allowing him to slide his tongue against yours. He finds your other hand, taking it in one of his own and squeezing for a moment before he places it on his chest. He wants you to keep touching him, wants to feel your hands all over him, and this is his way of showing you, telling you. 

He nuzzles his face into your hand when he separates from your lips before moving down to plant open mouthed kisses to your neck. Your hand travels to the back of his head now, fingers tangling in his curly hair and tugging slightly when he sucks on a particularly sensitive spot on your neck. A soft groan escapes him when you tug on his hair; it’s a feeling that delights him more than he ever anticipated it would. 

You continue to touch him with your other hand, letting it run up and down his torso, over his chest, down his stomach, and then back up again, repeating the movements to your heart's content. “Keep touching me,” he says as he travels lower, lips ghosting the top of your chest, “don’t stop.” 

His words make your stomach flip, a tingle spreading down your spine due to the request. It’s one you plan to oblige, even if his new position lower down your body makes the task slightly harder. His stomach no longer in your reach, you instead focus on rubbing over his shoulder and down the length of his bicep, a soft gasp of pleasure escaping you when he takes one of your nipples into his mouth.

He stays there for some time, alternating the attention between your breasts whenever he deems necessary and reveling in the feeling of your hands touching his body. So simple yet so intoxicating, he never wants you to be apart from him ever again, never wants to go without the feeling of your fingers in his hair or your palms on his bare skin. But eventually it becomes clear that you need more, he needs more, and he decides to continue making a path down your body. 

"So beautiful," he whispers against your skin as he travels down your stomach and toward your legs, planting more soft kisses on your body along the way. It tickles, but at the same time it feels incredibly good; getting attention from Changbin like this is akin to a dream, something you once believed impossible for you to experience. And he is as attentive and caring now as he has ever been, leaving no part of your body untouched. 

His fingers hook in the waistband of your shorts and underwear, pulling them off together in one motion. The way he stares down at your now fully exposed body makes butterflies erupt in your gut, the desire in his eyes palpable. Your legs unconsciously begin to close together, Changbin’s gaze on you making you the most shy you’ve ever felt. 

“Please don’t hide from me, I want to see you,” he says, and wow, does that make the butterflies a million times worse. With a breath to try and steady your racing heart, you spread your legs, watching with bated breath as Changbin lowers himself between them. The sight in front of you, of the person you love most drooling in anticipation between your legs, is enough to make your head spin. 

God, he wants to taste you so bad– and he will, but not just yet. He kisses your thighs first, in a gesture that is incredibly sweet but also drives you crazy with need. You aren't sure if it is intent to tease you, to make you become impatient with want, but that's certainly the effect it's having on you. "Bin, please, need you so bad, please–" 

Fuck, that makes him weak. As if he isn't a slave to you already, willing to do any and every thing to please you, endlessly subservient to your every desire. Your breath catches in your throat when his tongue runs between your folds, the way his eyes lock on yours as he does sending jolts of electricity throughout your body.

He hums as he laps at you, lifting your legs just enough to hook his arms underneath them, hands squeezing at your thighs. “Tastes so good,” he moans into you, tongue alternating between your hole and swollen clit, his hips grinding down into your mattress to give some much needed relief to his aching cock.

No one has ever eaten you out the way he is now– desperate, wet, and messy, a mixture of his saliva and your juices running down his chin. And you want to watch but you can’t– it’s impossible to keep your eyes open when you feel this good. Your sweet, drawn out moans encourage him to keep up the pace he set for himself, wanting nothing more than for you to come undone from his tongue alone before he adds his fingers. 

And that's exactly what you do when he focuses all his intention on your clit, the low hum of approval he releases when you tug on his hair again being enough to send you over the edge. Your moans turn into loud whines as he keeps going even past the conclusion of your orgasm, showing no signs of slowing down even the slightest bit. 

Your eyes roll back when he pushes two of his fingers easily inside you, overstimulation prickling your skin and jolting your body, yet you don't want him to stop. You'll take all he has to give, for as long as he wants to give it. And it doesn’t take long for him to find the spot inside that sends you reeling, the overwhelming pleasure making your mouth hang open in a silent moan. 

Your fingers, still tangled in his hair, tug much harsher than before, but he loves it. Between the sensitivity, the way he hums and moans against you, and the expert use of his tongue and fingers together, you won't last long. One, two more presses into your sweet spot and your second orgasm rips through you much faster than the first one, with an intensity you’ve never felt before. 

Your cum soaks his face and fingers, liquid pooling underneath you and drenching your bedsheets. Arched back falling back onto the mattress, your lungs desperately heaving, begging for air as you come down from the explosive high. “B-Binnie, wait, too much–” you whine as he licks you clean, that simple act alone proving much too overwhelming for your sensitive body. 

He wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand when he pulls away, looking down at you with dark, lust blown eyes. Your eyes travel from his face down to his painfully hard, leaking cock. “Do you want to fuck me?” you ask, the words leaving you before you can even hope to try and formulate that question less vulgarly. 

You are going to kill him, he thinks. Because how can those words leaving your lips not make his entire body react, how can it not drive him insane with want? “Fuck, yes, I want to fuck you, so bad,” his voice almost a whine as it leaves him, desperate and craving the feeling of you wrapped snuggly around him. 

“Condoms in there,” you tell him, pointing to the 2nd drawer of your nightstand. He leans over you to reach into the drawer, finding them hidden beneath your glasses case, medicine bottles, and various hand lotions. You chew at your bottom lip as you watch him tear open the packaging, unconsciously holding your breath in anticipation as he rolls it on. 

He leans down to kiss you once he’s finished, letting you taste yourself on him as he rubs his length between your folds, letting your arousal and remnants of cum serve as its lubrication. Your body shudders when he presses the tip into your hole for the first time, making sure it’ll slide the rest of the way easily before he begins to fully sheath it inside you. 

He’s so thick and feels so fucking good, it’s unbelievable; and you can tell he’s being effected by you equally as much, by the way his brows furrow and body trembles on top of you. He’s silently grateful for the condom serving as a barrier between his cock and your walls, because he’d surely cum simply from being inside you if he wasn’t wearing one. 

"W-Wait-" your voice calls out when you can tell he’s ready to move, soft and breathy but still loud enough for him to hear. “What’s wrong, baby? Did you change your mind? We can stop right now if that’s what you want, there’s always next time, we can–” Changbin begins to ramble, clearly concerned that he’s somehow breached a boundary or did something wrong. It's endearing honestly, and in a different scenario you might let him ramble a bit longer, but now isn't the time for that.

“Changbin. It’s not that, it’s just..” you trail off, unsure of how you should word what you’re thinking to him. Honestly, you love that he cares so much, is willing to stop even when he clearly wants it so badly, and you don’t want him to think it’s somehow his fault that you need to stop and collect yourself for a moment. 

It's not that you don't want to have sex with Changbin, or that he did something wrong. In fact, he did everything right, as perfect as he always is, exactly as attentive as you always imagined him to be. It's just.. this is the first time since your ex broke up with you that you’re having an intimate moment with someone and you feel.. vulnerable? Overwhelmed too, by the fact that someone you’re so in love with has the entirety of his cock buried inside you.

“I.. I still want to but.. can we maybe just cuddle for a minute?” you ask with a slight pout and Changbin’s heart positively bursts. It’s such a soft, cute request; one that endears him to you even more than he thought was possible. “Of course, angel,” he smiles, wrapping his arms around you and bringing you into a hug, “anything you need.” 

He plants kisses on your cheeks, on your lips, under your ear and along your neck, keeping you pressed close to him as he does. “That tickles, Bin,” you giggle between his extremely light kisses, and you can feel him smile against your skin, endlessly delighted by the sound of your soft laughs in his ear. You wrap your own arms around him, hugging him tightly, indulging in the closeness between you.

You stay like that for some time– wrapped in eachothers arms, sharing kisses and soft words, tiny giggles escaping you whenever his lips brush over a ticklish spot. You can occasionally feel his cock twitching inside you, still impossibly hard and eager for further stimulation from your body.

You’ve had enough comfort now, it makes you think– you want Changbin to feel good now, to lose himself in you the way he made you lose yourself. “Binnie, you can move now,” you tell him, and again he twitches as you speak, “want you to fuck me.”

Fuck, he has to resist going completely feral right now, cause the way you speak to him drives him absolutely crazy. One more kiss, then he unwraps his arms from you, lifting himself up and resting his palms on either side of your head. "I'll take care of you, show you how you deserve to be treated," he tells you, still eager to focus entirely on your pleasure even now. 

But that’s not what you want now; he’s already done that. Taken such good care of you, treated you with so much love and care, shown you the depths of his affection. It's his turn to get whatever he wants. “No, fuck me,” you say, voice stern and confident in your words, “ruin me, I promise can take it.”

‘Oh my fucking god,’ he thinks. You’re the one ruining him, driving him so fucking crazy he almost can’t think straight anymore. But fuck, if that’s what you want, he’ll give it to you. Without holding back, until the both of you are delirious and breathless, minds foggy and eyes glossed over, he’ll fuck you.  

"I love you," he says, one last display of affection before he loses himself; and lose himself he does, pounding into you so fast and hard straight away that it makes the air evaporate from your lungs. He grabs your legs, hoisting them over his shoulders and allowing him to sink deeper inside. Your hands claw the bedsheets underneath you, bunching them in your hands so hard that your knuckles turn white. 

Changbin’s head falls back, curses leaving him freely, the harsh grip of his fingers bruising your thighs. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, the merciless drilling into the gummy spot inside you making your toes curl and body writhe. “So good, you feel so fucking good,” he whines, already so close to his high. And he can’t help that he's so close already, not with the way you squeeze so tightly around him and how pretty your moans and whimpers sound in his ears. 

You want to tell him that you’re close too, that you’re gonna cum just from his cock, but you can’t; you’re too breathless, the only noises you’re capable of making are high pitched sounds of pleasure. But it’s okay that you can’t tell him, because he can tell with the way your eyes roll back, tears freely falling once you squeeze them shut, body trembling as your third orgasm hovers over you. 

So he gives you a little push, bringing two of his fingers to your clit and rubbing in quick, sporadic circles. You cum hard, body convulsing underneath him and a string of expletives pouring out of you. “F-Fuck,” Changbin gasps out, the sight of you, so pretty and fucked out, while squeezing him so tight and gushing all over him– he can’t hold it back anymore. 

“C-Cumming, f-fuck, ‘m cumming-” he tells you with a moan that transforms into a whimper, thrusts sloppy as he comes undone, pouring all he has to give into the condom. He pulls out as soon as his high recedes, slipping the condom off and tying it closed, tossing it aside to be properly disposed of later.

His body is heavy as he flops down next to you, the both of you entirely spent. You open your closed eyes when you feel him wipe the stray hairs that clung to you from sweat out of your face, only to be met with one of the sweetest smiles you’ve ever seen. “You look happy,” you say with a small giggle, one that he easily returns. “Of course I’m happy. I just got to fuck the prettiest girl in the world, and she loves me.” 

“Mm, I’m happy too,” you say as you snuggle in closer to him, “because I can say that Seo Changbin is my boyfriend.” You give him a quick peck before you lay your head down, eyes once again closing as his arms wrap around you. You’re so exhausted, but it’s a pleasant kind now; the kind that follows a perfect day, where every moment of happiness will be playing in your mind even as you drift asleep. 

“I meant what I said, you know. That I’m gonna take care of you, treat you how you deserve to be treated,” Changbin whispers to you, following it up with a soft kiss to your temple, “love you so much.” You hum an acknowledgement, whispering an ‘I love you too’, much too tired to fully put into words how much that means to you.

And you know it’s true, because it’s what he has always done, even before he confessed his feelings to you. He’s always been there for you, doing his best to cheer you up even when it wasn’t easy, always listening to you when you did have rare moments of vulnerability. You may have been blind to it before, too stuck in your head and your overwhelming feelings to see how much he truly loved you, but you know now, and that’s all that matters. 

Sweetly, tenderly, he lifted you up out of the eternal dark, assured you with the sweetest of words and kindest of gestures. You had always thought you deserved everything you got from your ex, from life in general, always placing the blame for why things were so hard on your own shoulders.

Until Changbin’s words, you never considered that you didn’t deserve it– that you should be allowed to experience joy and happiness freely and without worry of it being undeserved, or of it coming to an end. 

Your mindset won’t change in a day, and you’ll always have your depression and pessimistic thoughts to struggle with, but that’s okay now. Because you know you have someone who loves you unconditionally, who will help you to see the bright side of every situation, who will support you and care for you on the days you can’t care for yourself. 

His love as beautiful as the flowers you care for everyday, his care the nutrients you need to bloom into the radiant person that lies under the dirt. You think back to the purple hydrangeas, and how their meaning reflected something you always wanted.

You didn’t realize it then, but you had it all along; someone who loves you, someone who cares, someone who understands. And they’ll stay your favorite flower, you think– because you’ll always remember the way Changbin held them out to you, love and concern embedded in his eyes, the beginning of the biggest, most vibrant bloom of your life.

[meteorstricken]

I've seen it argued that Ultima lacks empathy, and that this is what hinders him from grasping how humanity connects and cares for one another, but I think the nature of this beast is a bit more sinister than that.

Some fairly significant spoilers ahead...

My conclusion is that Ultima is in reality better understood as a dark empath--that is, one who can understand feelings and what motivates people extremely well, but does not share in the experience. Instead, the dark empath will typically use their razor-sharp cognition of others' feelings to manipulate them.

Here's a reference.

This is especially evident in scenes where Ultima appears to the characters as dead loved ones whose memory tends to evoke some intense guilt, longing, grief, and passion. The scene where Clive faces "himself" and falls to his knees before the flame-engulfed figure of Joshua as he last had known him up to that point, filled to brimming with sorrow, is one example. The notorious scene with Barnabas where Ultima role-plays as Benedikta, Hugo, and Barnabas' mother is another.

Ultima's colorful language about humans bolstering one another's usually weak wills by weaving together their consciousness reveals that he understands how a good support system works, and he further spells out the exact nature of those bonds--love, trust--in the aforementioned scene with Barnabas.

(Barnabas himself seems to rely on Ultima as a surrogate social support system, which...sure is a choice, and not one I'm entirely certain he can be wholly blamed for, as the latter end of the game is awash in context clues that he was more or less groomed to that end.)

And thus, Ultima's goal in attempting to cut the threads of consciousness (bonds) supporting Clive is to produce such a profoundly overwhelming state of grief in him that he can't recover from or cope with it, and sees no more reason to keep trying. With his own personal concept of meaning so thoroughly severed--ailing under the sense that even as he breathes, his life is truly over--Clive would theoretically become much more willing to be the 'Mythos' vessel that Ultima wants him to be.

And THAT is...too much...to scheme without any kind of empathy, and because it's too much, it really just underlines the severe extent of the ice-cold contempt Ultima has for humanity. He understands them, but he has always had but one use for making them, and resents the living piss out of them for evolving in a way that throws a wrench into his plans while he was hibernating.

He understands them, but is too entrenched in his own fear, hypocrisy, megalomania, and denial for that to produce any kind of *emotional* empathy--it's 100% cognitive.

As an aside, I have to argue with Clive's late-game insistence that Ultima's never suffered. The combination of fear, control freakishness, and self-isolation Ultima is revealed to have and practice don't typically tend to arise uninspired. It's quite possibly self-inflicted--being a little "g" god who's erroneously convinced himself he's the big "G" and can therefore tell reality how to work will do that--but I do believe it's more likely than not that Ultima has, in their milennia-long life, known a great deal of suffering. All that intricate, surgical understanding of how to produce more angst and suffering from individual to individual has to come from somewhere, and "he created them" doesn't quite make the cut because humanity evolved and awoke absent his guidance.

[itertarot]

Ace of cups

think we readers all know that the Aces are about new beginnings, but the Ace of Cups also comes in true love situations, be it romantic, family, animais or self-love. It represents the most ancestral feeling that ever existed, love in its purest form. Let's talk about it:

A little about the card itself:

It's impossible to talk about emotions without talking about the water, the most amazing suit to describe how our feelings work.

The Ace of Cups invites us to contemplate the image of the overflowing cup, where the water symbolises feelings so great that they cannot be contained, such as love, compassion and divine connection. It is a pure manifestation of emotions that transcend the boundaries of our being, gently pouring into a sea that is already full of emotions. And despite its abundance, water doesn't cause a stir. It flows calmly, feeding an ocean of tranquillity. Observe the calm, still waters, without any turbulence. This is true love: gentle, soothing and profoundly transformative. The Ace of Cups reminds us that love is not just a fleeting emotion; it is a state of mind that does not disturb, but uplifts. It brings us serenity and abundance, even in its intensity. This card is an invitation to open our hearts and welcome the emotional abundance that life and the divine has to offer. It asks us to trust in the purity of our emotions and to connect with the universal energy of love. Whether through a new relationship, reconciliation with our inner self or a spiritual awakening, the Ace of Cups reminds us that true love cannot be explained - it can only be experienced and felt. It is like an endless waterfall: abundant, generous and deeply regenerating.

Abundant, calm, serene, beautiful and filling everything around with life. After all, isn't the world more colorful when we love?

To me, it looks not only like the waterfall, but also like this picture: The flowers that decorate the space represent beauty and life, bringing a sense of peace, comfort and enchantment to the environment. The clear blue sky stretching over the palace symbolises mental clarity, inviting introspection and emotional balance. The castle, illuminated by the soft light of the sun, conveys a sense of home, security and belonging - an expression of love in its most welcoming and genuine form. Love, as shown by the Ace of Cups, is not just a single emotion, but an expansive state that transcends boundaries and takes different forms for each individual. For some, love is found in a special person, a partner or friend who understands us deeply. For others, it's in a special place. There are those who find love in an animal and its companionship, or even in something as simple as grandma's cooking. It reminds us that love is both an emotion and a lived experience. Love is the universal energy that shapes our essence, turn us into better spiritual/human beings and its beauty lies in its ability to be unique to each of us. By honouring these different representations of love, the Ace of Cups invites us to celebrate its diversity and live it to the full, in whatever form it manifests. Just love!

Back to the card:

The hand comes from a higher being, call it God or the Universe, bringing the cup. Love is a divine gift given to us by a being we cannot fully understand, I consider love the most beautiful gift left to us humans, it is not by chance that I believe our mission on earth is to restore peace and social well being, and this is only possible through love! I don't believe that everyone will experience true love, or that they will ever be able to let their own feelings flow freely in serenity. Love cannot be explained by science, it cannot be measured or explained, love is not human, it is divine and given to us by the grace of God.

The White Dove in the Ace of Cups is a figure rich in symbolism and spiritual meaning. In the Christian (i was evangélica) tradition, for example, it is often associated with the manifestation of the Holy Spirit, a symbol of spirituality, purity and divine connection. The Holy Spirit is seen as an intercessor, a link between the human and the divine, enabling direct communication with God and bringing his grace and protection. Culturally, the dove also has different meanings, but here, in the context of the Ace of Cups, it represents the pure and true love of the divine being manifested in our physical reality. This love is innocent, gentle and soothing, an energy that invites us to experience spiritual and emotional serenity. Just as the Holy Spirit plays the role of guide and protector, the dove reminds us of the presence of divine love in our lives. It invites us to embrace the purity and peace that only this love can offer, helping us to connect with that which is most sacred and eternal.

The card itself is full of symbolism, so it's a great way to test and connect with your intuition and try to understand what it means, and what it speaks to you.

The Ace of Cups also represents new beginnings and can indicate that someone is in the early stages of developing feelings for you. Even if it's not deep, it's a good, light feeling with the potential to grow. This card brings you something that fills you emotionally and bodes well both in love and in other areas of life.

In terms of professions, these could be careers related to the spiritual plan, creative work or healing work.

Nurse

Painter

Advisor

Therapist

Coach

Artist

Social work

[saintsenara]

Ah, see, that irks me, but unfortunately, it does not surprise me. The idea that Hermione is the more emotionally mature one, more attuned one, Harry's REAL best friend of the two is a view with which that goddamned yankee screenwriter has plagued this fandom for decades now. Whenever I see this take in drarry/snarry/whathaveyouarry-- where Ron is the last person to come around to the absurdity, I'm reminded immediately of how, when Hermione was having the kittens about Harry floo-calling Sirius, it was Ron who put his foot down and said "Harry can decide for himself."

I think this fandom really overlooks, in favour of magnifying his jealousy, just how deeply Ron trusts Harry and thinks the world of him, how impressed he is by Harry as a person, how much he's willing to put his own life in Harry's hands. There's a reason that Ron and Harry are a Dog and Stag just like Sirius and James, which is to say that when Harry makes ostensibly shite decisions, Ron is most likely to hear him out. The locket had him acting completely unlike himself, and the pseudo-possession there is a different conversation.

I also think it's fascinating that for all that Ron nearly has a fit every time someone says "Voldemort" around him, he seems to have a very nuanced understanding of Harry and Voldemort's connection, unlike Hermione who accuses Harry of liking it, and Ginny, who only sees her possession at the hands of the diary as deeply traumatic. Ron understands that Harry understands Voldemort and the man he once was, and you can do a lot with that.

yes. just yes to all of this.

ron and harry [and james and sirius] are basically two pair-bonded cats - they run around sharing a braincell [and i do feel for hermione trying to manage ron's willingness to hear one of harry's dumb plans and say "you son-of-a-bitch, i'm in"] but they do also trust each other so profoundly that it feels like an actual crime for it to have been left out of the films.

and part of that trust is that - unlike hermione, who as i've said elsewhere, often gives the impression of being afraid of harry - ron isn't afraid to be honest with harry, even if that honesty is in the tough-love vein. he's actually entirely correct in deathly hallows that harry hasn't thought the horcrux hunt through, that this lack of planning is making them inefficient and putting them in more danger, and that harry's increasing belief that he's the only person the war is happening to is an enormous disrespect to the people who are putting their lives on the line to support him, including ginny.

because something i get in the critical comments of one year in every ten as well is the idea that ron would cut ties with harry if his relationship with ginny broke down. and, besides the fact that divorce is not always acrimonious, this annoys me because i think it fails to appreciate what ron would be particularly upset about: that, in pretending his marriage was fine, harry was being dishonest, and that his dishonesty would end up hurting ginny and hurting him.

i wanted ron to be the person who'd always suspected that harry wasn't being entirely open about his sexuality - and the person who'd actually done some thinking about what impact this might have on the state of the hinny marriage - and i wanted this to lead into ron's view that a strange but clearly raw and real relationship between harry and tom is better, whatever the other costs it has, than fantasy happiness with ginny simply because harry's too afraid to admit who he is and what he wants.

and absolutely - my "ron is a tomarry shipper" conspiracy theory is heavily rooted in the fact that ron is nowhere near as freaked out by their mind connection, nor by harry's interest in indulging it, as hermione is. it is also rooted in ron saying the quiet part out loud in deathly hallows:

You really understand him.

the best man speech writes itself!

[martinslisbon]

lilya - psychological analysis

lilya, from the film "lilya 4-ever," is a complex character who represents human vulnerability and the struggle for survival in extreme circumstances. her psychological analysis can be divided into several layers:

1. environment and trauma: lilya lives in an environment of abandonment and despair. Her mother leaves her behind, generating a deep sense of rejection and loss. this initial experience shapes her perception of relationships and trust, leading her to develop survival behaviors that are often marked by disillusionment.

2. search for connection: throughout the film, lilya seeks connection and affection, which is a natural response to her isolation. her relationship with her friend volodya illustrates this need for love and support. however, her vulnerability to destructive relationships, such as those that arise with adults in her life, reflects an internal struggle between the desire to be loved and the reality of being exploited.

3. resilience and despair: despite her circumstances, lilya demonstrates incredible resilience. she tries to find ways to cope with her suffering, but as the story progresses, her despair becomes palpable. the growing sense of helplessness and hopelessness culminates in a psychological state that leads her to tragic decisions.

4. identity and self-esteem: how lilya sees herself and her self-worth are profoundly affected by her experiences. she begins to internalize the idea that she is unworthy of love, impacting her choices and actions. this struggle with identity is a central part of her journey, reflecting how trauma can distort self-image.

5. consequences of exploitation: the film also addresses themes of exploitation and human trafficking, with lilya being a victim of these circumstances. Her psychological analysis includes the fight against objectification and dehumanization, which are exacerbated by her situation. this experience can lead to a state of dissociation, where she feels disconnected from her own body and emotions.

in summary, lilya is a powerful representation of the struggles faced by young people in vulnerable situations. Her journey reflects the psychological complexities that arise in response to trauma, the search for love, and the fight for survival in a world that is often cruel and indifferent.

[im-tempted]

I think the issue with hanahaki is in the way it's similar to the romantisization of consumption in some ways

like obliviously both are lung diseases whatever but on a grander scale

there is that inherent 'stare at the car crash' part of human brains that also makes people want to watch disability but specifically abled bodied people like watching a disability they could never get this is where we get the love of fictional magical disability's that straight up just couldn't exist

it let's you hide behind both the smoke screen of fiction as well as the fact no one could get what you're writing about which in some ways removes the ableism that is in some way inescapable when writing about a disability you do not have

in this way able bodied people (who this post is about I understand people with neurodiversity using physical disability to talk about it but I'm not neurodivers and therefore will not be touching that) are able to express in some way their own feelings on living in a disabled body but in a very odd way

there are lot's of pillars to hanahaki as a literary device

disease of the lungs that left unchecked will become fatal

is caused by strong emotions

is curable but leaves the person forever changed or

is cured when the person of the sufferers affection confesses to them

now it's easy to already see the glaring pitfalls here but just to break down the points first

DISEASE OF THE LUNGS THAT LEFT UNCHECKED WILL BECOME FATAL so this as we where talking about before is a manifestation of the inherent fear of disease being acted out in a safe place (fiction) where someone is able to play at what it would be like to be disabled

I do think this is a good thing (to an extent) the exercise of 'putting yourself in another's shoes' is a common form of empathy building that can be useful for a lot of people but you always do have to remember that you are portraying experiences real people have and always have to be careful with that responsibility

IS CAUSED BY STRONG EMOTIONS this is where we start getting into problems a large part of ableism is correlating a physical failing to a moral failing due to the fear of becoming disabled (makes total sense) people like to think that there's no way that could happen to THEM and some people do that by blaming someones disability on them in some way (past lives sins mistakes as a child etc) so perpetuating the idea that ANY disability can be in any way related to a persons character of emotions is a dicey place to start due to the long history of stigma you are dragging behind you with that starting point

IS CURABLE BUT LEAVES THE PERSON CHANGED FOREVER this is where we will take a small (and un-serious) dip into the hatred for aro people at the core of this guys... if you'd genuinely choose dying of flowers growing in you lungs over never loving someone romantically again you have something profoundly wrong with your priority's but to the point a large part of this is also the fear mongering about the medical field as well as (again) a way to try and think about the fact you can never actually fully recover from a disease so all encompassing but in a safe fictional way which is fine but the constant message that you (the writer or the characters is does not matter) would rather die than live disabled is real rhetoric that is killing real disabled people and the perpetuation of it in fiction is definitely aiding in that view and that is a very serous thing to say and I do not think the authors understand the implications of it

IS CURED WHEN THE PERSON OF THE SUFFERERS AFFECTION CONFESSES TO THEM and we're back to disability being connected to the emotional state of the person who has it part of having a disability to the extent of hanahaki is the fact that you would never recover from it in the real world and the idea that you can both love someone enough they stop being disabled as well as the idea you could fully cure a disability with no negative side effects is a wild portrayal of disability that downplays the lived experiences of people who actually suffer from them

when you look at hanahaki outside of the context as just another way to formulate love stories it portrays a disability that is 1 caused by the person who has it 2 worth dying to avoid the after effects of 3 and put's the person in a place where they have to be 'saved' by an able bodied person in their life this portrayal of disabled people where they both lack autonomy but also are the only one to blame for their affliction is built on decades of ableism made to discredit disabled people and their actual lived experiences

[karin-ko]

Life of Oharu by Kenji Mizoguchi

The film "Life of Oharu," directed by Kenji Mizoguchi, portrays the tumultuous life of a beautiful woman named Oharu.

The film portrays the societal roles of men and women during the Edo era. Regardless of a man's class or position, women were consistently viewed as possessions of men and were never regarded as equals. In such a world, Oharu, due to her exceptional beauty, finds herself manipulated by various men and repeatedly plunged into unfortunate circumstances. She lacks freedom in both love and work, with her downward spiral in life dictated entirely by the whims of men. Though fleeting moments of happiness do occur, they are often short-lived due to factors such as social status disparity or her past. It was hard to continue to watch Oharu, who stubbornly and strongly lives her life, not being rewarded while feeling the sorrow of living in a fate that repeatedly pushes her to the bottom of misfortune. Living as a woman during that era seemed incredibly challenging, and it made me unintentionally feel the joy of being able to live in the modern world. It is frightening to contemplate how a single misstep in choice due to a simple desire to live with a loved one could lead to such prolonged unhappiness.

While the film carries a profoundly tragic narrative, there are moments that elicit smiles, such as the scene where senior retainers search for a woman who meets the meticulous criteria of their lord, or when Oharu, likened to a bakeneko, mimics feline behavior. Also, scenes like the silhouette of a cat taking hair and where the face of one of the Five Hundred Rakan statues overlaps with that of Katsunosuke were particularly striking. The scene in which the man scatters money and revels extravagantly in a pleasure district where Oharu works recalled me the imagery of No-Face from "Spirited Away" dispensing gold.

The film predominantly employs long shots, allowing for seamless transitions between scenes as characters move from one location to another with the camera, maintaining continuity and enhancing realism, thereby immersing the audience in the unfolding narrative. It was as if I were watching a stage performance. There were many scenes, such as shots from under bridges and characters moving across rooms, that would not have worked unless everything was carefully calculated the meticulous coordination of character positions, camera movement, and set layout. This meticulous attention to detail facilitated a palpable sense of movement and flow, resulting in an engaging viewing experience. The structure of the story, such as the connection of the first and last scenes with flashbacks bridging, the fact that at the end of the story, Oharu takes the position of the woman who plays the shamisen midway through the story, and the out-of-focus camera direction to show Oharu's dizziness, were also good. I am amazed that they were able to create something this good at that time.

Moreover, the performances of the actors were amazing. Despite the few close-ups, their movements and expressions effectively conveyed the situations and emotions. Particularly noteworthy was the portrayal of Oharu by Kinuyo Tanaka, whose acting prowess was truly captivating. Her performance adeptly reflected Oharu's age, social status, position, and emotional state at each moment through her mannerisms, speech, voice, and expressions, and she skillfully depicted the tragic feelings of Oharu as she descended into old age, portraying her despair through facial expressions and demeanor with remarkable precision.

This film is a collaborative artistic creation of the director, cinematographer, cast, and crew, encapsulating the world of the Edo period with its cityscapes, props, traditional musical performances, puppetry, costumes, dances, hairstyles, makeup, and more. However, I do not think I have ever seen a film in which the protagonist is not rewarded until the end, with such a string of misfortunes. I can't think of any other film that leaves me with such a feeling of emptiness after watching it, even though there are no major incidents or deaths of characters that make me feel emotionally involved in the film.