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couldeatthatgirlforlunch · 6 months ago

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Just a concept, Yandere!Dimensional traveler!Batman X Gn!reader X Platonic!Batfam, also wrote a one shot about this

Synopsis: Batman becomes obsessed with a spouse and kids that he never had.

Pairing: Yandere!Dimensional traveler!Batman X Reader; Batman X Reader; Platonic Batfam X Batparent!Reader; Yandere!Batman X Platonic!Batfam; Batman X Platonic!Batfam

Tw: English is not my first language; mentions of Alfred being dead; I'm quite new on the fandom so there might be some mistakes about facts of the original comics, but this is a fanfic so whatever; this piece is more focused on Bruce and the batfam while still mentioning reader; stalker and delusional Bruce.

Word count: 1,4k

Requested? No.

General masterlist

Yandere!Batman who is very VERY, extremely, lonely, touch starved and grim. He’s also very unlucky apparently.

He never even met Dick. Sure, he heard about what happened to The Flying Graysons, investigated it even, but he's only seem him on pictures, videos or in passing, but he wasn’t there that night, he never talked to him, or maybe he did while stopping him from killing Zuko, either way, never adopted him, our boy went straight to orphanage and was adopted shortly after by a normal and loving family.

Actually this universe’s Bruce never met nor connected with ANY of his children, all he had was Alfred, and yet… Something happened and…

Safe to say it's been long, never ending harsh years.

The only thing this Bruce knows is pain, loneliness and misery. Don’t talk to him about Alfred. Maybe he can't even look at pictures. When he realized he couldn’t remember his voice anymore… He WON’T watch videos or listen to audio of him. Yes, Alfred being gone was one more trauma to the list of traumas he will carry on his tense and burdened shoulders for the rest of his helpless existence.

This Bruce is a loser, closer to madness than any version of Bruce (aside from Batman who laughs). His Gotham is nearing it’s doom. He didn't join the Justice League because of his level of emotional masochism, pride and lack of will to get back on his feet. He is so used to suffering he thinks it's possible to die if he doesn't have such bitter companion. Safe to say, he is depressed. And hyperfocused on saving a city he’s been working in for decades, too blind by his grieving to see that he is not doing the right things. There is no social projects on Wayne Enterprises or Wayne Foundation to help people, he neglected the company decades ago. He is almost becoming Michael Keaton’s Batman in The Flash.

Somehow, one day he is sent to another universe. It can be through some disaster like Crisis in Infinite Earths, or some villain who wanted different variants of heros to fight amongst themselves to death, doesn't really matter here, what’s important is that he (after years of being a hermit on his cave) interacts with people, more specifically, he interacts with himself.

Or definitely a lucky version of himself. Maybe the luckiest. He is jealous.

During the whole event they interact and imagine how he felt when he found out that this other Batman has an Alfred. And he is so successful that he is a billionaire who uses his money to help Gotham get better (or as good as we know Gotham can get). Oh, and he has a spouse. And children. Plural. So many he lost count. And pets. Two dogs, one cat, a cow (?), a turkey (a what now?) and a fREAKING DRAGON BAT (WHAT THA FUCK IS EVEN THAT????!?!?????!).

He is also more put together (looks like he showers and doesn't skip meals). And less temperamental.

Okay…

Bruce is confused. When he comes back to his universe, with a spark of hope in his heart, he does his research. He could start actually making effort on his company and thus helping Gotham, maybe even be good enough as a vigilant that he could join the Justice League and make some friends (even if the other Bruce was just as stoic, he was the only one who could see on his micro expressions while talking about them how fond he was of his colleagues, and how much he thrusts them, even with his trust issues).

He could find those damn kids and adopt them. Find the one who somehow managed to make him open up enough for a relationship.

(He could also just work on his company, philanthropism, do some therapy, make some new organic connections or whatever).

He is VERY disappointed to find out that some of those so called kids and are already adults, have lived their whole lives without him, maybe some have been arrested or even dead, they have their whole lives and families that have NOTHING to do with him. Some don't even exist (the only explanation for not a single clue in months of research). And his partner, Reader, is either living their own life that doesn't allow space for him or also dead. He lost his timing. He is old and lost his timing. He is alone. He shouldn't have hoped so much that he got blind by the improbability of the small chance. The other Batman did mention that his family started growing decades ago.

He just lost another family. This one he never got to have. He wishes he never knew about them.

He hyperfocused on them for months for nothing (hey, It was hard to find info on the ones that don't live a very civilian legal life, like Cassandra, or the ones that never even existed, like Damian, or the ones that are dead — again maybe Cassandra, or perhaps Jason. Maybe Jason joined a gang just for survival or something like that, life on the streets is harsh, and he is not very lucky. And I’m not even being specific on what could have happened to every single one of the batfam. Also Tim is probably a CEO right now). No connection and family will come from all of that. Especially because he is greedy, starved, he doesn't want bits and pieces, he wants it ALL. He wants that other Bruce's life.

Yandere!Batman is born. He drowns and gets drunk on the pit of his own madness and he can’t get out of it. Doesn't want to.

He could… He could get rid of the people on their lives, brainwash them and make them a happy family. They aren’t vigilantes, they don't have his abilities, they don't have his intellect, it won't be hard.

Of course, Batman doesn't kill, but this Batman is looking for a change.

But they aren't what lucky-billionaire-put-together Bruce had.

Don't get me wrong. He is not just petty and jealous, nor resents Bruce for his privileges and better decisions, or whatever.

Okay, maybe a little. Why? Just why ones life was perfect (hello? Didn't you hear the part where he told you his own problems? Not even about the DEAD RESURRECTED CRIME LORD SON?) while the others had to draw the short stick?

But majorly he is just desperate, foaming at the mouth for a happy ending, and projected all of that on that poor random bat.

Now, enough brooding, back to solutions.

He could clone them.

Could work. Not exactly easy but he could just hack onto Luthor archives until he found how he cloned Superman and made that Superboy, Superman, or whatever he goes by now.

Again, not the same as the original ones. The ones he craves. The ones he wants.

Alfred is screaming in his grave about how Bruce, please, needs to realize that no one will fill the expectations he puts on them, not even the “original ones”.

Another hard, but better fitted solution is to… Simply… Find a way to go to that other universe, or one similar enough, stalk and study their whole lives until he can perfectly replicate “lucky” Bruce’s persona, and just… Get rid of him and take his place. Hello Alfred, hello honey, hello kids, daddy’s home.

Looks like he finally got luck on his side, maybe the sun will rise tomorrow.

Yandere!Bruce won't just brush aside that he is rusty and definitely not a better Batman then the other one, but he's got time. He will developt patience. But can he learn enough to trick his perfect vigilant kids though? Is he seriously thinking straight? I mean, the batkids are dope though. They learned from the best. As a proud (wannabe) father he knows they will be better than him one day, perhaps already are.

How much of watching their lives, everything that he craves, can he take until he snaps? How much of watching Bruce's interactions with them can he take? He swears he won't take them for granted when he has them, he will take care of them, protect them, be a family, be happy.

Can he really keep his distance?

Looks like another supervillain just arrived in Gotham for the batfamily to battle against, he is quite persistent though.

Like, comment and reblog 🥰

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lesbianwyllravengard · 4 months ago

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i still have yet to play bg3 so i still dont go here yet but Wyll seems literally like one of the most compelling characters of all time and im not even joking. I havent even played the GAME but his character arc haunts me /pos. people are literally just racist to say that he isn't compelling

LITERALLY. He's utterly fascinating. He is a folk hero, a legend, the fantasy equivalent of superman. He's a warlock who is secretly pacted to a devil. He hates devils. He's an incredible liar. He's incredibly sincere. He's silly. He unironically enjoys puns and clowns. He over-exaggerates his Blade personality because it amuses him. He sometimes doesn't know where The Blade ends and Wyll begins. His hero-ness is a performance; not to hide ill intent, but to hide a broken man, to hide weaknesses and fears. It's who he is. It's always been a distant thing, a mask. It's who he thinks he must be. He loves freely and openly and will let anyone know it. He's only ever wanted to know he's loved. He still thinks his father's inability to trust or believe in him was all his fault. He still thinks that every bit of suffering he's ever experienced was all his fault. He thinks admitting to suffering would be disrespectful to the lives he's saved. He thinks he has to suffer or else his sacrifices were worthless. He thinks it couldn't be a sacrifice if he didn't suffer for it. He would take any suffering if it meant lessening someone else's. He is the first person to stand up for someone's life and safety, the first person to defend someone's worth and autonomy. He is the last person to do so for himself. He is of the least importance to himself.

He needs to be needed, because if he's not needed then what good is his power and the soul he sacrificed for the pact to get it? And if he can't be needed then he throws himself into the fray without hesitation because his purpose has always been to sacrifice himself so others may live. His life has always been one of sacrifice. His life has been recompense since the second he was born and his mother passed as a result. He saves lives to make up for it. It will never be enough to him. It will always be everything to those he saves. He just wants to be seen for who he truly is. He thinks if no one can see him for who he is then maybe it isn't who he is, and maybe he's fooled them all, fooled himself into thinking he can be a better person, be the hero they need. He wants to be known by someone. He's terrified of someone looking deeper. He sees others for who they are. He's a monster hunter who does not hunt the typical definition of "monster", who knows that monsters are not the ones with fangs and horns in his group of friends but the men who look harmless yet cause endless death and suffering to others. Not even the threat of his life was enough to get him to harm an innocent.

He wants to be chosen. He cannot fathom that someone would choose him. He chooses others over himself every time. He has so much love for others. He thinks he must constantly earn love. He is shocked when someone simply loves him. He thinks he cannot love and lead at the same time. His only role model was a father who could never put his son before his city. He is capable of immense anger. He is capable of immense kindness. He purposefully chooses the latter; he works hard to not let his anger consume him. He's still angry over things that happened a near decade ago. He thinks feeling hurt is the same as being angry and so he can't be hurt. He's always hurting. He takes pride in his achievements and he does not underestimate himself. He's not religious. He devotes himself to his cause with the dedication of the most pious believer. He stands by his friends in any battle, against any struggle. He stands against them if they choose to threaten lives. He holds on to those he cares about with bloody knuckles and teeth bared because loss has always been the hardest pain for him to bear. He has lost everything. He gives every part of himself to others. He cannot lose anyone else. He thinks he can do anything because he refuses to believe any alternative. Because he could not survive any alternative. He thinks his intent is as important as his actions, and so he must always intend to do the right thing.

He does not tolerate his boundaries being pushed or his father being disrespected. He tolerates any judgment because he thinks he deserves it. He defends his status as the Blade of Frontiers. He thinks the fear caused by his devil form is a fault of his own that he must work to fix. He hates the patriars and their farce diplomacy, their lethal hypocrisy. He thinks his father is infallible. He does not hold himself to the same regard as he holds everyone else. He thinks its okay if it only hurts him. Anything is okay as long as it only hurts him. He has to keep fighting to prove he can be a hero. He is so, so tired. He cannot for one second admit to wanting for anything, because once he starts he might not be able to stop wanting. He cannot accept that he deserves to not suffer, too, because if he does he might not be strong enough to continue suffering so others might suffer less. He might not want to suffer. He thinks he cannot regret any decision he's made, he cannot regret his pact, because it would be a dishonour to the good he's done with it. He thinks that saying he regrets his pact would be saying he regrets every life he's saved with it and he would never regret saving lives so he cannot regret his pact. He's accepted that his freedom will always be the cost of saving lives. He desperately wants to be free. His life has never been his own, to him. He thinks every choice he's ever made was his own, alone.

He is very complex. He simplifies himself to be easily accepted by others. People fall for it easily. He just needs one person to look closer. He's afraid of what they'll find if they do. He doesn't keep his cards close to his chest, he meticulously chooses which cards to hold at all. Which parts of himself are worth losing if need be. How much of himself he has to keep close in order to keep being himself. He has seen the worst that the world has to offer. He chooses every day to be kind, to see the best in things, in others. He chooses to care. He holds onto his pain because it's proof that he cares. There are several pathways that don't connect quite right in his brain which you'll notice after a few conversations with him. He is wise beyond his years. He is my favourite guy ever

#I'm sorry there's so many paragraphs I wrote more words then tumblr allows in one block so I had to separate it #I'm obsessed with him more than I've ever been obsessed with any male character ever it's a bit concerning #but idc tho because for every Wyll hater I love him 100000 times more #Wyll Ravengard #My beautiful wife #bg3 #bg3 Wyll #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 analysis #the blade of frontiers

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strlingsav · 2 years ago

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I’m simply in love with your portrayal of Simon/Ghost. This fandom has so many incredibly talented writers, I am glad I stumbled upon your work! Your interpretation of his character is among my favourites 🥰 if it interests you, I would like to request a comfort fic w a femme reader who is perhaps not active on the field herself, but more on the intelligence/IT side of the operations (you can totally change this if you want, it’s up for your interpretation!) who is capable but suffers from insecurity and imposters sydrome (yep I am totally projecting🤫🤐) and during a mental breakdown bc of the stress from work, Ghost of all people, who she previously has only seen during a few briefings and never has approached bc of his intimidating reputation, finds her. Cue to the stoic scary big man who has previously only stared her down turning out to be actually very supportive and appreciative of her work because he always has noticed her. It’s up to you if want to keep it sfw or not! But a dash of softdom/service top sprinkled w some praise kink wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world🥴 I would love to see your take on this if this idea interests you, and it’s totally fine if it doesn’t 🥰 it’s always a pleasure to read your work regardless! Have a good one! ✌🏻💕

Thank you very much!! I appreciate that very much 🥹🫶🏻 I can definitely do this!

Support

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— Ghost stumbles upon you, after-hours, during a breakdown.

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

It was approaching two in the morning. You were running solely on caffeine and nicotine- neither of which were helping your dry eyes or headache. The light of your monitors was the only source in the room, completely enshrouded by darkness as you stared blankly at the screens. You'd hoped it would help you focus, think more clearly, but so far it had only isolated you further, brought nothing but pressure and stress.

It wasn't supposed to be difficult, it was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be easy for you. You'd studied computer technology and engineering for years- built and coded programs for organizations all over the world. You'd worked within the military for nearly a decade, providing the most proficient and reliable support among your similarly-rated peers. You were quite literally an expert, but you didn't feel like it. Not with the unfinished assignment sitting before you.

Laswell, Price, the entirety of 141- they relied on you. They relied heavily on your abilities to guide them through their fieldwork, to do the digging they couldn't reach while on location. Though, as you leaned back in your chair, your lip red and raw with irritation, your back aching, you didn't feel reliable. You felt the familiar sting of failure, of total disappointment.

It bubbled up in your throat, escaping in a series of curses, shoving yourself away from the desk before you wound up damaging thousands of dollars of equipment. You paced, stared, and paced. Your mind swimming with questions, re-thinking every sequence, every key, every exhaustive search you could possibly pull- and still hadn't decrypted the data.

Your hand slammed down on the desk, scattering the pens and piles of paperwork you'd accumulated over the many hours you'd spent stewing in front of the code screen. The cursor blinked at you- waiting, taunting you, filling you with dread.

"Y'alright in here?"

A gruff voice pulled you from your anxious stupor, and you yanked your hand from the desk, gasping sharply. You looked up, finding Ghost at the doorway.

In the dark, you could hardly make out his silhouette, but the outline of his mask was a stark contrast against the pitch-black room.

"Didn't mean t'scare you," He said, taking a few steps forward. "Heard somethin' in here."

You let out a sigh, your heartbeat relaxing back into its regular rhythm.

You'd heard his voice before, usually over the comms, and seen him during briefings, but you'd never spoken in person. You knew he had a reputation for being tough and commanding; it put you on edge watching his looming figure in the darkness. He was undeniably intimidating, especially as he stalked toward you.

You stepped back, letting him around the desk to see your monitors.

"You're up late," He said, examining the screen.

"Trying to decode this shit," You huffed, forgetting about his domineering presence once you refocused on your failure. "It's taking me longer than it should."

"Looks complicated," He replied, his eyes meeting yours briefly.

"It is. It shouldn't be, but it is," You sighed again, sitting down as he looked over your shoulder.

"How long you been at this?"

You ignored his question, leaning in to further examine the code screen.

"It's late. You should sleep, get back to it in the mornin'."

You furrowed your brows, looking over your shoulder to find him closer than expected.

"I don't need sleep," You shook your head. "I need to figure this out. I'm close."

An epiphany sparked in your head- a brute force attack you hadn't yet tried. You quickly typed in the keys, waiting with baited breath as the screen paused.

A flickering script reading 'denied' came across your screen, typed out in front of you for confirmation. Validation that you'd failed, again.

"Fuck!" You shouted, cradling your head in your hands. "I-I can't figure this shit out, I can't do it." Your voice broke, hoarse with strain.

You looked up at him, your eyes now watery with frustration and anger.

"'Ey," He said, leaning forward. "Relax. I dunno much about this shite, but seems you're doin' alright."

You tilted your head. "Laswell needs these documents for Shepherd tomorrow, and I've got nothing to show for it. It'll be my ass getting dismissed. It's not alright."

"Shepherd can wait," He said. "You've saved our arses more than a few times."

"It's not enough."

"It's more than enough. Relax, you're givin' me a bloody headache."

"I can't relax," You looked up at him with blood-shot eyes.

"If anyone can do it, 't's you. Seen you handle worse than this." He gestured to the screen, a flippant motion.

You sucked in a deep breath, nodding slowly. You were more than shocked to hear the comforting words from Ghost. A man revered for his deadly hands, ferocity. The irony made you giggle, short and quiet, though he heard it.

"What's funny?" He asked, moving to lean against the desk.

"Just didn't expect you to be so supportive. Appreciative."

"I see what you do," His gaze was unwavering as he stared you down. "Couldn't do it m'self. Owe you my life, if not more."

"Not quite," You quirked up a brow.

"Yeah- quite. Raid in Las Almas, no other escape routes, Price called you in and we were on the way out in minutes."

You bit your cheek, nodding slowly, your eyes shutting as you digested his words. He was right- you'd done your fair share of evac and location support, never losing a soldier. Regardless of how horribly the assignment was going, you couldn't deny only you had the capacity to complete it.

"Thanks," You nodded, looking up at him. "I'm just in my head, stressed out."

He cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter.

You leaned back, grabbing a cigarette from the nearly-empty pack on the desk, and lighting it up.

"You want one?" You asked, offering him the package.

He took one, offering a quiet, "Cheers."

He lifted the cover of his mask up above his nose- it took every ounce of strength not to immediately watch his lips as he stuck the cigarette between them. Even then, your eyes glanced at the newly-discovered flesh, diverting your gaze when he locked eyes with you.

You inhaled deeply, letting the nicotine coat your lungs, before exhaling into the monitors before you.

"Should get some sleep," He said, standing up.

"Yeah," You nodded, shifting to lean forward. "Yeah, I will. Just a bit longer."

He sighed, bringing his gloved hand down on the keyboard.

"I'll break it in half if I need to," He said, his voice low and threatening.

You swallowed, raising your brows at the unexpected reaction.

"Alright," You huffed.

You stood to your feet, putting your cigarette out on the ashtray beside your mouse. He did the same, arms folding over his chest as he waited for you to leave your station.

His adamant opposition to letting you continue was admirable. Attractive, even. You hadn't anticipated feeling grateful, or happy to have had him find you.

You'd kept your distance from him, though you'd always find your eyes gravitating toward his. He'd already be staring, watching you from across the briefing room. At first, you'd been terrified, wondering if you'd done something to piss him off, but nothing ever came of it. Instead, he'd lift his head to find you, check over his shoulder to look at you.

He found you intriguing, attractive. A brilliant woman; smart, educated, someone he was glad to have on his team. He'd seen the countless hours you put in, the calm tone of your voice every time there was a stress signal from one of the men. You held it together for them- the least he could do was the same for you.

He liked the way your eyes studied the screen, the way you'd chew your lip raw. Though it wasn't in your best interest, he found it alluring. His mind wandered when he'd see you, nothing appropriate at all- only to satisfy the heat that curled itself inside his intestines when he laid his eyes on you.

He remembered seeing you for the first time, wondering who you were: laptop on the desk, pen in hand, bright-eyed and eager to please. Immediately, he'd fabricated images of you in his mind- images that he'd play through during the lonely hours of the night.

"Why are you up?" You asked suddenly.

"Couldn't sleep. Don't sleep much."

You shook your head, "And yet, you're lecturing me." A small smile lifted your lips.

"For your own good," He answered.

"That's interesting," You mumbled.

"Why's that?"

You breathed in, "You've only ever stared me down, don't think we've had a conversation before."

"Y'can say a lot without talkin'," He retorted.

"I wasn't sure whether you wanted to fuck me or kill me," You grinned.

"What's the consensus?"

"Still not sure," You held back a grin.

"Would've killed you by now."

You laughed, "That's not very comforting."

"Should be. Only leaves the former."

He moved closer, standing up straight as he unhooked his legs.

You were pleasantly surprised, though your nerves had been roused from their short slumber. Heat washed over your cheeks, climbing up your spine before returning to the crest of your thighs.

"Think y'could use some stress relief," He said. "Y'seem pent-up."

You pulled your lip between your teeth, your eyes shifting between his. It was tempting, more than your mortal being could possibly resist.

"Maybe," You uttered, your hands twitching with anxiety as he neared you.

He cocked his head, "Maybe ain't an answer."

"Yes," You blurted. "I could. But not if you're taking pity on me."

He chuckled, a sound you'd never heard before from him, though it was somewhat deformed. Amusement and disbelief rather than enjoyment.

"Sweetheart," He cooed, his chest nearly pressed against yours. "It ain't pity. Y'should know better."

"We'll, you're not exactly approachable," You said, tilting your head to meet his gaze. "Haven't had the pleasure of speaking with you before."

He nodded, "S'alright," He said. "Had enough o' watchin' from afar, though."

You breathed out, long and cathartic as it passed your lips. Releasing every worry and anxiety, relieved to be able to focus solely on him- on Ghost.

His hand reached your waist, softly pulling you into him, finally connecting your bodies. You let out a quiet grunt, your hands raised at your sides as you took in the feeling of his body against yours.

"Y'can touch me," He grinned. "I won't bite 'less you ask."

As if you weren't already aroused, soaking your panties, he only made it worse. The heat of his hands on your waist had drawn out any thoughts in your head, his voice so close- so clear in front of you was mesmerizing.

You apprehensively moved your hands to rest on his shoulders, your palms gliding against the taught muscles, another extended sigh as you tried to ignore the burning in your gut. He liked the contact, your small hands searing a brand into his skin.

He stared at you for a few moments, his eyes raking over your face, the face he'd seen in his dreams more than anywhere else. He must've made a pact with the devil, something sacrificed to have you in his hands- finally.

He leaned in, soft lips touching yours. It was fleeting, the softness, before he backed you against the desk with no regard for the equipment on it. Still, his lips held your attention, his tongue gliding between your lips to clash against yours. It was open-mouthed, messy, especially as he lifted you to the desk and bullied himself between your thighs.

You moaned faintly when his hand slid down your side, taking a handful of your ass and squeezing harshly. His other hand worked your shirt off your torso, parting only for a moment when the fabric passed your neck. His hands on your bare skin created a feeling of tightness in your gut- especially as he squeezed and grabbed at you, truly appreciating the curves of your body against him.

To your chagrin, he was still fully clothed, in his fatigues, like he lived in them. Even at two A.M., the man never quit. You weren't complaining; you rather liked the sight of his fitted uniform, especially as it squeezed his forearms and thighs, showing the bulk of muscle and veins beneath tattooed skin.

You were antsy, however, to feel him. All of him, against you.

"Take it off," You whispered against his lips, tugging at his jacket with clenched fists.

"Bossy woman you are," He teased, pulling away as he unbuttoned the shirt.

"I know what I want," You shot back, your eyes now narrowed in on him.

He hummed, satisfied with your answer. "That so?"

You nodded, smug and prideful, a sense of power- you had complete control. Your hands supported your weight behind you, leaning back, watching the show as he stripped from the shirt. It fell off his torso, revealing the toned muscles beneath, and he yanked the other sleeve off with impatience.

Your jaw was slack, looking over him as he neared again. This time, his hand slid up your throat, gripping the delicate area with a firm hold. He forced your eyes to meet his, a noticeable grin on his lips.

"You listen to me, sweetheart," He said, in your face. "And I'll take care o'you. Spread your legs."

You shivered, an audible gasp leaving your lips. The things you'd have done to hear filthy words leave his mouth- the voice that rung in your ears at night, made your pussy flutter. Now, he'd offered his services to you, rather enthusiastically, too, admitting he'd wanted it for a long time. If nothing else made you feel better about your shit progress, he surely could.

He kept eye contact while his hand worked open your pants, pulling them and your panties down your legs with speed and precision. He wasted no time pressing your thighs to your chest, tucking you into an uncomfortable position before kneeling in front of you.

"No thinkin'," He warned. "'Less it's about cummin' on my face."

Your head fell back, groaning softly, lifting back up again only when he pressed his lips to your pussy. Then, you watched with anticipation building in your gut, trembling in your limbs and a heavy ache settling in your womb.

He slid a warm tongue between your folds, a gentle touch you hadn't expected from the brute of a man. He watched you the entire time, took in the sight of your lips parting, sucking in a long breath, shutting your eyes as you basked in the pleasure. He couldn't help but form a grin, his lips engulfing your pussy in an open-mouthed kiss.

His attention moved to your clit, faint licks crossing the sensitive area that coaxed quick jolts from your body. He settled into a rhythm, and your body adjusted accordingly, leaning into the new and overwhelming feeling.

"Yeah, right there," You said, a hushed tone, like you were speaking to yourself.

He grunted in response, another warning.

"Sorry," You said again. "Feels so good." It was a quiet whine.

You wanted to run your fingers through his hair, grab at something, anything that would connect you to him, so you settled for his forearms. Your palm gripped the flesh of his arm, squeezing, just as he did to your thighs.

His tongue expertly traced your clit, circles and delicate licks that made your back arch, opening yourself up for him to taste.

"That's it," He uttered, muffled by your pussy. Even speaking against you made you clench, stare down at him with lust on your face. "There's a good girl."

You exhaled, nodding in agreement, submission to his mouth as he returned to his rhythm, falling in tandem with the heavy breathing leaving your chest. His eyes hadn't left you, watching and studying your expression for every hint of pleasure. He was intent on learning exactly what you like, though it was difficult to discern through the flurry of expressions on your face.

Your brows drawn together, jaw open as you choked down a gasp, breathing heavily into the dark room. He could make out your face, but your silhouette was blackened against the light of the monitors. He could see the swell of your breasts, your thighs, the curve of your waist against the backlight. He could even see your eyes, when you'd drop your head to watch him devour you.

You began to shake, tensing against his mouth when he continued at a consistent pace. He was thorough in every aspect of life- this was no exception. He didn't let up, even when your pussy drooled with cum, instead, he licked it up with his tongue, moaning softly against you at your taste.

He stood to his feet, unbuckling his belt as he stared at you. Your chest heaved, toes curled, leaning back as you watched him. The light danced on his abdomen, highlighting every hill and dip on his torso, the scars that scattered the skin. It was a sight that had your brain resetting, recovering as though you hadn't been covered in a layer of sweat and left breathless from your orgasm.

His cock stood erect when he yanked his trousers down, and he didn't stall any longer. He stalked forward, leaning into you, his hand on the desk behind you as he pushed his cock through the tight barrier of your hymen. He was absorbed, swallowed by soft inner-muscles and velvety walls, slick with your cum and arousal.

He pressed his lips to yours again, not allowing for much deliberation or accommodation- he was far too aroused to wait. You planted your heels against the desk as he thrusted his entire length into you, quickly meeting your cervix with a gentle graze. It made you suck in a sharp breath, and move away from his lips.

You saw his eyes, the look of possession and pure lust in them. You merely stared at each other, a nauseating intimacy while he thrusted inside you, further disturbing your lower stomach with a tightness.

"Oh God," You choked, your hands reaching around his shoulders, clinging to him. "Don't stop- don't fucking stop."

His hand reached around you, holding you against him, the other gripping your thigh with a bruising constraint.

"Fuckin' Christ, you're tight, sweetheart," He breathed in your ear. "You all wet for me?"

You nodded, breathing an enthusiastic yes into his ear, clenching at his back with your fingers. Your nails dug into the slick flesh, feeling his muscles move as his hips tilted back and forth into you.

All you could smell, hear was him. The scent of his heavy body soap, like pine, mixed with the cigarette you'd offered him earlier. His breathing in your ear, heavy pants as he relished in the tightness of you- the slippery walls encroaching on his cock.

"Such a good fuckin' girl," He mumbled against your neck, his lips dragging against your skin. "Say you're a good girl," His voice rumbled through his chest. "Fuck me- all for me."

It was haze-inducing, incoherent mumbles, quiet gasps and sobs as you clung to him. It worsened when his fingers played your clit, sliding between your bodies to rub over the sensitive spot.

"I'm a good girl," You gasped. "I'm your good girl."

"'At's right, sweetheart- takin' me nice and deep."

It didn't take long to clench around his cock, another wave of nauseating pleasure that rendered you absolutely useless as he drove into you.

"Fuckin' hell," He stuttered.

You'd constricted his cock, pulsating around him with every contraction, nearly sobbing into his shoulder when he continued with his thrusts.

He finally pulled out, tugging on his cock as he released his cum over your stomach. He exhaled sharply, before gathering his composure.

You grimaced as you stood to your feet, trying to clean yourself off as best you could.

You watched him shrug his jacket back on.

"Get some rest," He nodded once, gesturing to the doorway. "I'll check on you tomorrow."

"Is 'check on me' an innuendo? Should I wear my good underwear?" You grinned, pulling your pants back over your backside.

"I'd shag you if y'had on a bin bag, sweetheart."

"You're sweeter than you let on," You teased, laughing.

"Not for most," He cocked his head. "Guess you're lucky."

"Well, thank you," You smiled.

It was genuine. A distraction, however unexpected and unusual, that did make you almost forget about the assignment.

"I'll be around," He paused. "If you're feelin' like takin' your frustrations out."

"Goodnight, Lieutenant."

He walked off with a short nod. You paused for a moment; the temptation to curl yourself up at your desk and continue your assignment was gnawing at you. You clenched your jaw, took a deep breath in when you recalled Ghost's words, and finally decided to turn off the monitors.

#cod mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod mwii #mwii #simon riley #strlingsavwrites #ghost x you

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bisexualbrainrots · 9 hours ago

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I've been thinking about these two, and like, it intrigues me how the weight of their experiences and some core elements (most likely) added to the breakup.

Like, just from canon alone I see that Tommy carries some weight on his shoulders from the person he used to be and his journey regarding his sexuality. He did hurt others by engaging in bigoted behavior in the past (and changed, which is good!). He probably spent at least a decade in the closet, figuring who he was and suffered from a comphet that made him almost marry a woman. Plus he's been out for less than 10 years and (possibly) didn't feel comfortable enough with himself until he got a clean slate. And he probably didn't have support when he came out, but that's a headcanon. I think this made him project that onto Buck, even if he didn't mean to.

And Buck's journey is nothing like Tommy's (from what we've seen).

Buck definitely carries wounds regarding his self-worth, he is somebody who thinks he's both too much and not enough. He didn't grow up in a supportive household, and the only person who did support him left. His sexual awakening, from what we saw, was a very different experience than what he's used too. He had people with him, he was immediately supported and told it didn't change how others saw him. The weight of his sexuality looks to be light, there seems to be barely any struggle, unlike Tommy. And I think it made Buck underestimate how bad it probably was for Tommy before.

Adding to that, there are also other elements to them that led to this mess.

Buck is impulsive, acts without thinking and doesn't grasp the consequences of his actions until they blow up on his face. And Tommy seems to act on self-preservation, he guards himself from danger and pain and acts on it. And it plays against them.

I think Buck's self-worth issues hit hard when he learned about the engagement, but not for that in itself.

I remember he actually looked intrigued when Tommy said he almost married a woman, and it wasn't until he knew it was Abby that he was put off and spiraled (side note: I hate the way they decided to canonize the Abby theory). It was that idea that if Tommy hurt someone Buck loved, then who's to say he wouldn't do the same to him, someone's who's "too much"?

I also think Buck's impulsivity set off Tommy's self-preservation alarms. Add that the (possible) projection he put onto him and it's no wonder Tommy ran, because, if he has hurt people before then who's to say Evan wouldn't do the same one day? If Evan's pace is fast then who's to say the relationship won't be too?

It's just, ughh there's so many layers I could peel off from this but it's also very much a stretch in my head.

Anyways, thanks for reading this? I don't know if it made any sense but hey, it doesn't really need to.

#I'm not giving credit to the writers #this is purely for me and my weird thoughts only #bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #911 analysis #a lot of this is also headcanons tho!#so take it with a grain of salt #(side note: the way i yapped here my god)

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sexhaver · 2 years ago

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i’m sorry i’m like this too.

but this site is so fucking WEIRD about john green. the cock monologue is whatever, but you also have a post about green being “weirdly chummy” with fans and. come on that was the actual problem in 2014. he was getting accused of pedophilia and grooming which was disproved at the time and remains completely untrue.

john green wasn’t predatory for writing YA novels with teenage girl main characters. he wasn’t predatory for interacting with fans who sought him out. he wasn’t predatory for creating an online community that remains safe for minors to participate in currently. he’s not a predator and he isn’t weird to his fans. it’s genuinely messed up to imply and keep implying that a YA author was being predatory towards fans after it was disproved. he had a public social media account before it was common for authors to engage that way. we were teens and we got weird about it.

it is actually serious to say john green was being inappropriate towards children and it’s important for all of our safety that we stay Very Very Clear about what predation is and who is Actually Dangerous To Children.

first off, no, you're not sorry, if you were sorry you would realize this ask sounds ridiculous and not send it, and yet here we are.

what really gets me the most about idiots such as yourself is that you make such a painstaking show of recounting How Things Really Happened, as if there's a massive conspiracy of historical revisionism afoot with the end goal of smearing a middle-aged YA author when like. i was literally there. i used this website before john green joined. i watched him get popular, i watched as we all took the piss by editing his text posts like we edited 10000 other text posts, i watched as a teenage girl called him a "creepy uncle at a pool party" and he responded by siccing his adult YA author friends and fans such as yourself on her so hard she deleted, i watched as he called nerdy girls an "underutilized resource" in a video targeted at boys, i watched as he jerked himself off in the notes of a gifset of his own movie ("is this the FIRST TIME the GIRL has kissed the BOY????"). i was (and still am) mutuals with the guy who edited the iconic copypasta over his announcement about hitting 100k followers or whatever.

i did not suffer through all of this, the worst fucking years of this hellsite, to be talked down to by tiktok users who deign to cite the deep magic to me. he was not targeted with post editing copypastas (yes, plural, it had been ongoing for months) for being neurodivergent. he wasn't even targeted for being creepy or predatory, although that was definitely a discussion being had at the time. he was targeted because he was fundamentally cringe before the word "cringe" had been discovered, and because he took himself so seriously that you were guaranteed to get a response from him every time.

imagine if Lin Manuel Miranda made an account on here now, and you could edit his posts, and every time you edited them, he would reblog it back from you saying "haha, very funny guys, but this is an edit! i didn't say this!", which you could then edit again, and so on and so forth. and then imagine if, a full decade after this happened, people who weren't even there started calling this practice "violent harassment" because someone edited his post to the "what the fuck did you fucking say about me?" copypasta once. and furthermore imagine that when you laugh at these people, they get really really indignant and demand you take them seriously and imply that somehow you're losing the debate by refusing to engage with them, and also that this is a debate all of a sudden instead of them embarrassing themselves

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adoregojo · 11 months ago

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after decades, I finally write a fic about hiroi, even if it was a little short and mid at least it's something d: i love his character sosososos much even if he was a little hard to write mwah mwah i still love pretty boys. warnings: cussing. mention of needles. tattoo artist!reader, karasu being a third wheel. hiroi being a lovesick bastard, karasu basically suffering throughout the fic.

"what are we even doing here?" karasu's question goes upon death ears, suddenly he regrets tagging along in this.

it was like 8:49 at night, the crow head had his plans ready and set up just for hiori to barge in and drag him to a half hour drive to some tattoo studio on a an unfamiliar street he never stepped a foot on. this should consider kidnapping, he knew he should've screamed out of the window when he had the chance.

however he gotta admit the place didn't look half bad, it was well styled and didn't reek of smoke like expected, it even whiffed of fragrance. black painted walls and some hanged pieces of art, whoever chose them have a good taste. but being the smartass he is, karasu knew that whatever reason hiori was here for, was definitely not for a tattoo.

it was obvious even a blind one could get it, the cyan head had to take a few breathers out and in before opening the door. he didn't like that foolish smile that stayed glued to his face all the way here, and doesn't his cheeks hurt from beaming that damn long? like he didn't make the same remark of him smirking day and night, fucking hypocrite.

and what he didn't like most of all was how he kept overlooking him all that time, basically neglecting whatever doubts that pushed out his lips.

it's someone or something that was definitely dancing on his mind all night long. that explains why have he been coming to the dorms late at nights for the past weeks, he didn't even pat an eye to the class he missed. karasu was starting to think he was being hold hostage at once.

the crow male watch as he entered what he can guess it's where people sit on a chair and getting brutally needled by a an unbothered tattooer, that looked like it hurts like a bitch if you ask him. and when hiori sat down comfortably on a stuffed couch like it was his own home, he had enough.

"ye better answer me before i slam that stupid smile you have on ya face." karasu threat, showing his mettle and irritation just for his cyan friend to pat on the empty space beside him. karasu could feel his hair white, just what the hell was he getting on.

he sat down anyway, his hands deep in his pockets. the couch was awfully too comfy. he needs to ask for this brand, after beating hiori's ass of course. maybe he'll park his car in the place where birds shat on daily for a pay back, sounds like a plan.

"soooo, ya speaking or not, shithead?"

"be a good friend and shut yer yap, please?" that's the first thing he says tonight, and still with that put-off smile.

"yea, no wonder ya got only one friend." his remark was left hanging in the air. karasu had to physically clench his fist to a ball before he actually make hiori give the tile floor a very loving kiss.

his cyan hues were transformed to another direction, the path where a middle aged man was on the shelf of tears and the tattoo artist trying to hand them a piece of sooth. it was an embarrassing sight, and a situation to be put in. he had a knowledge of hiori being a little into drama but this better not be what he was brought up for.

however, that wasn't what hiori's eyes was on, if he looked closely, his sights were sat on the tattooist themselves, and that ogle was the definition of being absolute dotty and smitten, hiroi's ears were tipsy and he looked like he was about burst out the universe from his chest. disgusting is you asked karasu.

fucking hell, hirori had the fattest crush on the tattoo artist and he had to sit there and watch him grew enamoredly over them by the second.

you were literally in a misery of a situation, sweat running downhill your forehead, your locks were messy and out of place. and his friend over here eyes about to glow out in a shade of hearts like you were the only one to look at. he seriously wanted to throw up at this makeshift k-drama, he'd even throw tomatoes if he can.

he wondered what mistake he owned the university for to make him sit down there for the next hour with sniffing echoes throughout the walls and the annoying noises of that coil will definitely haunt him in his dreams. did he mention that he wasn't having a good time?

finally that man took his leave, mumbling apologies over and over his way before weaving over at you. this was the call of freedom, the door was calling him, seducing him with it blazing light to go through it and take his leave because he was dead serious when he say that he doesn't feel his butt no more.

"hiroi? is that you?"

have mercy on him.

you walked up to them, karasu doesn't know if it was hallucination taking over him but he could hear his friend's rabid heart pounding louder than ever by every step you take, he really thought another foot step would give a heart attack.

he doesn't think twice before standing up to greet you. "hi." hiori's reply came out clumsily, his eyes revolving around every corner of the room but your figure.

"hello, hello. did you finally decide to a get a tattoo?" you tilted your head slightly. he shook his head in response, "not yet, I actually came here for you." he admitted, you fix your posture quickly. playing with your fingers timidly behind your back, a failed attempt to hide the affect of his words.

"well, are you willing to wait a few hours before a finish this shift?" you asked jokingly, flashing your lashes rabidly. you could feel his gaze burning on you, drinking on your every move and every feature, detailed and craved to his mind.

"I'll wait for whatever long if that means seeing you." hiroi cooed, when did that girlish dude become a sappy one? as if he was finding pure joy in seeing you all red-faced and shrinking. you chuckle in response, raising your hand in attempt to places the hair locks back to it place. you definitely looked hideous right now, yet he kept his dreamy pairs on you only.

gently, he takes your hand his. slowly and timed in case you felt uncomfortable, it fitted perfectly, made for him to hold. the urge to lock your fingers together was tight. flipping your hand then he opened your gloved palm that was pained after the hour of holding the coil. hiori reaches for his pocket to site a piece of warped up candies. your favourites.

you stare at him, almost as if asking him without the need of words. "you mentioned that your jar run out of candy, so I brought you some. if you wanted i can refill it for you." he says, still looking at your still warped up in his hand. it bloomed him with unexplained warmth.

a burst of butterflies swirls in your stomach, he was close, almost leaning over your face that you could feel his suffuse mint breath tickling your skin. "that's so... thoughtful of you, hiroi. you're too kind."

"only for you."

what the fuck is he witnessing.

you two were literally making-out in front of karasu, and he was this close to bawling his eyes out. he seriously considered what on earth did he have done to deserve witnessing his friend being all lovey-dovey with a hot tattooist, is the consequence of him being friends with otoya finally catching him?

his blue bare of eyes sae as hiori pointed his finger at at him, "actually he wants to get a tattoo."

he was what now?

"wait wha-"

"and he'd like to do it anytime soon."

he couldn't actually believe this, absolute backstabbed. his what he considered a friend was basically setting him up just so he can spend time with his crush. just what the hell, what kind of betrayal is this, he got sat up brutally by the last person he expected from.

your eyes traveled to karasu's jaw dropped face. you didn't even notice him until hiori pointed him out. "oh, I'm sorry it's packed up today. i can set him for someone else if you want to." you suggested.

"no, i only trust you to do that." hiori didn't rethink before saying that, your eyes widened at him. he always managed to caught you off guard with his genuine sugar-coating words.

"if you insist, i have an empty seat tomorrow."

"I'll make sure we'll be there. and it's his first time, be gentle with him, kay?"

"I'll make sure to." you assured him, patting him on his arm. he held himself back from jolting at your nails digging his skin through the fabric of his sweater. it was soft, something that he isn't quite used to. and it lingered longer than it was supposed to when you lifted it off.

you take a piece of rolled up paper and stuff it into his pocket, "my number, call when you need." you say, eyes shifting between the floor and hiori's own, kicking your feet from side to side. while he couldn't take his off you. like blinking would make you disappear and slip away forever.

he knew he was taking advantage of karasu, and he was all ready for the consequences of it all if it mean spending any more seconds alongside with you. he promise to cherish it and held it deep within the depths of his soul. he promised to make it to him later, but now he was just too drowned to care, too intoxicated to think about anything beside of you.

"how about i go bring you some dinner? and we'll-"

"FUCK NO!" Karasu finally snapped.

in a blink of an eye, hiori was being harshly pulled by his behind collar, "we're are going home, and that's final!" karasu shouted as he dragged the cyan head who kept on reaching his hand uselessly towards you. he couldn't protect himself before he was already out of the store then thrown carelessly into the passenger seat.

the crow slammed the car door grimly, warping the safety belt then driving off like there was no tomorrow. not giving hiori a time to get a grip of himself. a pregnant silence fall on them, and he couldn't careless when he felt a burning glare on his head, if looks could kill, karasu would've been dead thousands of times.

"fucking cockbloker."

"oh, zip it you sadistic bitch."

study math? no, write for hiori? hell yea

#hiori x reader #hiori yo x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock #hiori yo

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kandadze · 2 months ago

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Ep 27 loose thoughts

Well, that's one way of snapping someone shell-shocked out of making a drastic decision. I feel like PSJ snapped something in herself at this moment, too. Anyone else found the ancestor's commentary going on in the background while the girls are bawling their eyes out hilarious? Just me? Okay.

While I was waiting for the ever burning wood to activate or something, the moment WX opened the box to reveal dried flowers I choked. ZYC!!!

Baby!Yichen breaks my heart, so impressionable, so open to learn. It's interesting to see that the phrases about suffering we've seen him use as an adult might have come from WX... Not a fan of telling people in mourning to stop dwelling in misery and sadness like it's as simple as flipping a switch (not to mention, she apparently *just* met him for the first time? The heck?), but at least the rest of her words seem to have helped him... so much that he kept the flowers 😭 The irony of her snow metaphor contrasted with their current predicament is indeed exquisite, A+ for that.

Are they going to be saved by the power of lurrrrve??? (At least this time. Still holding out for how that's gonna play out in the finale.) I mean, what other way to sway an ancient creature who's seen pretty much everything there is to see, than to show them something new? What's that? A test for a future event? (I'm getting really paranoid about nothing we've seen so far being real. It's like Alice in Wonderland on a bigger scale. Or Finnegans Wake on a smaller scale. I don't know.)

Oooh Bingyi and Ying Long, our original doomed couple (of self-sacrificial idiots)! I would watch a whole drama just about them. And damn, I can definitely see where Zhao Yuanzhou got his masochism from. Stoppppp not "Just let me be the first star"! (Especially since I just remembered ZYZ's "I'll be the rain...") It's not supposed to be literal! 😭😭😭 Ahhhh this scene just broke me, also because it seems to reinforce the idea that ZYZ *has* to be killed for the greater good. The visualssss in the execution- sacrifice? What the heck do I even call it?- scene though, soooo good!

"Let me do it myself." LET ME DO IT MYSELF??? FUCKKKKKKK DAMNIT HE JUST- ::head in hands, crying forever::

"Remember. This is my choice, not yours. You don't have to bear any blame or guilt." That's not how that works. That's not how any of that works!

Again, we're dealing with choices. But the fact that ZYZ choice was the same as Ying Long's... the fact that YL says that neither he nor Bingyi had any regrets... oh this is going to hurt.

Oh? ZYZ's future is not what he wants? (And wouldn't that be funny, considering ZYZ's own words while schooling ZYC in the very first ep... 9 times out of 10, things don't go our way?)

"You two are really like us." 😭😭😭

I was wondering if they were going to show us what ZYC saw, and not only does the image of ZYZ's body on that dark floor mirror Ying Long's body floating in the water, both ZYZ and ZYC wear the same clothes as in the very few scenes from the trailer that didn't happen yet... These poor sods, they've been Going Through It for almost a decade now with the only end in sight being yet another tragedy (even if the drama seems to suggest that they don't see it that way at this point.) ::head in hands, crying continues::

"My friend is here. We'll go together." The *sound* I made. Everything else this drama has given me aside, the growth of these characters and their bonds is so well done, and absolutely precious to me.

I want Ying Long's hopes and wishes for them to become true. Seeing how there's hints everywhere in this drama, I hope the words of one of the most powerful beings in existence will count for *something* in the end! (Am I grasping at straws? Maybe. Let me be delusional for a bit longer.)

What do you mean, five, ZYC? What's Ying Lei, chopped liver?

Oof this *almost* hug before WX starts feebly hitting ZYZ. It's relief, it's anger, it's fear for the next time, it's all the feelings that became too big to contain. I feel her so much. (I would've started whacking both him and ZYC way earlier tbh 😅) And ZYZ allowing her that release before pulling her in for reassurance, patting her as if she was a scared child. 😭 Cut to PSJ, looking as if she wanted nothing more but to be the one offering the reassurance to WX. Cut to ZYC, remembering that willingly or not, he's going to hurt WX beyond reassurance. Once again, the bonds in this drama!

Wait hold up hold on what? You just removed Bingyi's blood from him, that should mean that ZYC will not have to become a demon, right? So what's that about developing the inner core? (Also, I just realized that so far all they got from this trip was "go east and ask for a dragon scale" lol) Thankfully him and ZYZ had their conversation(s) about titles and identities so being asked to make that particular choice was not completely out of left field at this point. And all he cares about is whether that means that the last trace of Ying Long will disappear! 😭 (I'm so with Bingyi on this one... I would hold onto that last shred of my friend's existence, too, *especially* if they offed themself via my goddamn sword.)

What's with that look after he says that he thinks he has it - the inner core - is there a joke here somewhere? (I *gotta* go back to learning the language, the things I'm undoubtedly missing on!) The only thing I can think of is - did they think he said he's pregnant??? ::dies:: "So what's your true form?" "Must be dragon." "I say you're a mule." "Better than being a monkey." "I'm a white ape!" ::dies again:: Nice to see we still get a friendly ribbing between all of them, and I can breathe after all the angst. Fingers crossed? There's still 5 minutes left...

Oh good, let's talk about getting Bai Jiu back! (I knew there was one more character from the opening credits that didn't show up yet... guess it's the rebel princess.) While Ao Yin is eavesdropping! Talk about good hearing. Sigh, here it comes, another goal they have that will conflict with Li Lun's; they want the scale to restore the sword, and LL not only doesn't want that to happen, the scale could potentially help him get rid of the poison.

Oh for fuck's sake, I think I was subconsciously waiting for Chongwu Camp to show up, knowing that they've eavesdropped on the gang earlier, and here they are. ZYZ should really think of putting up some sound barrier when they discuss important plans, everyone seems to know exactly what they'll be doing at any given moment!

Ahhhh we're getting a nod to that little cough and stumble WX had shortly before this trip. Something's wrong with Baize token? Or with her connection to it? We only have 7 episodes left, drama!

(ZYC is such a good little brother.) Oh great, it was the rebel princess who killed WX's dad? I repeat, we only have 7 episodes left!

Sigh... with only 7 episodes left, we *also* find out that the goddamn 3-face-mask has history with the princess? And has everyone and their mother sat on that little bridge???

This feels like the endless final scenes in Peter Jackson's "Return of the King," my head is spinning.

Note to self, *stop* looking at previews. Ying Lei, what the absolute fuck?

#fangs of fortune #fof ep 27 #fof liveblogging

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sunny-mercya · 6 months ago

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From the rubble of our Love

Apollo x Male Reader

Fandom -> Percy Jackson

Masterlist

Apollo regrets everything he ever had said—over all these decades of aeons ago—to you, which caused you nothing but tears and suffering pain of heartache.

And thinking back, Apollo knew he wasn't the promised Husband—who once vowed to Styx, to always keep you protected and loving you as endlessly as the Sun keeps the days around human earth—he's supposed to be and that you should have deserved someone far much better than him—but out of all the stars in question (because even though it was Apollo which had saved you, you had a few suitors—like Hermes and Ares—lined up to ask for your hand) you had chosen Apollo as the man to be wedded to.

And whenever Apollo had fought with you—because he too had sometimes a short fuse and runs his mouth on pure anger—about trivial matters and being rather petty towards you, he question the fates above and your own judgment as to why you have chosen him, till he remembers a certain saying of yours.

„To this day I ask myself, why you saved me from the clutches of death—but when you said, you loved me and vowed to the stars such love—I think love is a path of two and only the vast universe alone knows of the why's and we shouldn't question such decisions from the above as a pure love is the strongest kind to exist and will defeat every obstacle of supposed ruining—so I here say, whatever there will come, be bad or good, I will forever love you till turn into the dust of stars themselves.“

Apollo never understood what you meant—uttered more in a sort of trance, having being way too out of it—drugged with too much ambrosia—thanks to Ares, who accidentally had hit you during one of his sparring—back then, in the aftermath of Pandora's unforgiving disobedience.

But now, while seeing you laying there on a hospital like bed in Asclepius—his dear dear son (right after Jason and Will) who's one of his few children, which loves you—their dad—so very much—realm, withering in pain of high fever and blood gushing wounds—makes the regret Apollo feels even much worse.

»Father,« Asclepius starts as he, with Will as his assistant, tends once more to your wounds, »I must say, I'm rather disappointed in you. Didn't expect such brutality from you, when it comes to Dad.«

Apollo didn't reply, his son was right—after all he's at practically fault for your demise of current health decay—because if Apollo hadn't been so petty with his words, it wouldn't have escalated like this—but here they were and oh, it's surely always a new life teaching experience.

»Don't be so harsh on father, Ascle. I'm sure he regrets, doesn't he?. Then again, the deities always seemed to, almost stupidly even, think their actions never would cause any harms.«

Although Will smiles, Apollo knew how it was meant—just as petty and witty as Apollo himself could be and Apollo is reminded, that out of all his children, Will comes the closet to his personality.

»I don't think Lord Apollo knows what the word of regretting even means. Because if he does, he wouldn't have said the things he had said and bringing our dad so close to death. After all, these deities are always selfish.«

And here comes Jason—definitely a mini version of your once former self, which is filled with pure destructive rage—sneering at Apollo with disdainfully disappointment as he shook his head to what his brother, in slight defence to their fathers side, had said—bumping shoulders, angrily and out of up building frustration, with Percy and the rest of his (supposed) friends and especially with Fiona.

Fiona, another sneer crossed Jason face, was—when we look at the whole current situation from an outside perspective—in absolute honesty at faults here, as she's the person who started all of this mess and caused you such pain in the first place.

And Jason hated—although you always preach how that's a way too strong word to toss so lightly around—Fiona with every fibre of his body and wished nothing but unfortunate consequences and grotesquely things upon her.

Because if it weren't for her—coming into camp and declaring loudly that she's a daughter of Apollo and something about the rightful heir and only supposed be child of said God and than bewitching Apollo making him attempt to cut off the binding vow with you—than you wouldn't be at deaths door once again.

»Now, now. How about, my dear brothers and his friends are going all out of the room for some fresh air with me. After all, dad needs some peaceful rest.» Asclepius ushered them all out of the room, leaving Apollo��trusting enough—alone with you.

~~~

When your fever had ever so slightly decreased, bringing back a minimal ounce of consciousness, you had begun to wake up—eyes opening, although still heavy with remaining and promising sleep, ever so briefly.

Apollo, having not let your side ever since bringing you to Asclepius—which says a lot, if he as a mighty god, ask his children for help—and holding your hand in tight comfort of silent reassurance, waited with batted breath for you to fully awake.

».....A-Apollo....?« your voice was hoarse and nothing but a mere hush of a whisper.

Apollo felt the stringing of tears in his eyes, because of all the things you could have said in your awakens—it was his name you chose to say first.

»I'm here love. I'm here. It will be alright, I promise you, it will be all alright again.«

Leaning down, Apollo leans his forehead against yours—the tears of guilt and possible grievance, falling on their own, like raindrops, onto your still feverish face—being so relieved to have back, alive and in recovery.

»I'm so sorry [Name]. I'm so sorry, love. I beg for your forgiveness, I beg for it, even though I'm not deserving of it.«

Truthfully, he's a shame and failure of an Husband—so undeserving of you and your love, which deserves someone much worthier than him to love.

Of course, sometimes when the days are dragging and either annoyance or frustration keeps nagging, Apollo does say the word „divorce“ and how you're not a good enough husband for him out of spite and in the heat of a moment—but Apollo swears he never had meant it to be taken seriously, till he found himself above you and cutting the binding vows in half.

Apollo remembers the moment, after he had—with the fated scissors, he had stole from the high servant of the priestesses of fate—cut the vow in half, how you gasped for breath and body going into a cardiac arrest—heart stopped to beat, eyes going dull and your complexion of deity, falling into a shade of ashen and decaying colour.

If hadn't been for his sons, who only had came to wake you up from your supposed nap, Apollo still would be in his trance and above your corpse—not releasing what hideous unforgiving crime he had committed.

Only a fool would think of granting him forgiveness and Apollo—although wishing for it—hoped you didn't forgave him and would chose another, much better, man to love—a love Apollo is undeserving of to receive.

»I'm glad you're here. I've felt so cold and alone, thought I would die—once more—and it frightened me so much, I believed I never would wake up again. But knowing you're next to me, makes me so relieved and I feel secure once more.«

Apollo had listen patiently to whatever you're rambling about, whispering his promises of not leaving your side and thanking to hear your heartbeat—when Apollo had placed his head down onto your chest and your fingers, on their own, found their way to his hair and caressing slowly through it—once more and it's the most beautiful sound he ever heard.

»Apollo?« exhaust noticeable in your voice, soon you would fall back asleep—still needing much more rest to recover fully—and Apollo only hummed in response, turning his head to look at you and your (e/c) dropping eyes.

»Have I ever told you, how much I love you? No? Like the Universe with all its beauty, I love you so endlessly,« a small smile graced your lips, making his own heart flatter, before you fall back into the world of dreams

Oh Zeus! You're truly a fool, to declare love to him once more despite what he had done—but please, Apollo begs to the stars of fates above, never let your flame of love towards him extinguish.

And Apollo holds back his cries, till he couldn't anymore and sobbed so hard—that he somewhere on earth had caused a heavy downpour—as he finally understood what you had meant about love and the guilt finally pierced completely through his heart.

#male reader #x male reader #fanfiction #malereader #xmalereader #oneshot #apollo x male reader #percy jackson series #pjo fandom #apollon x male reader #apollo

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dutiful-wildcraft · 1 year ago

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Pack 141 - Vampire!Ghost Headcanons

Tags: mentions of blood and scars, mostly just HCs of Ghost as a vampire, some very light ghostprice, even lighter poly 141, if ya squint

Ghost who's change had been partially undergone in a shallow grave in a southern countryside.

Price had been the one to find him, bringing him home and helping him through the rest of his change. Taking on the role of his new sire. He had known Riley prior, a strong and bright soldier. And while Price should have taken appropriate action and put him out of his misery…he had other plans in mind.

Unsired vampires generally don't survive, and the ones that do often become feral or have very significant behavioral problems. Due this arrangement, Price and Ghost share a very intimate bond.

Simon hadn't been aware of the monstrous world around him prior to the events around his changing. And upon learning of Price's lycanthropy he felt a bit betrayed for some time. He would eventually come to understand, but he was definitely salty about it.

This being said Simon was not socialized as a vampire. All his information came from Price and what official reports they had on his kind in general. He isn't totally out of his depth, but there are some pieces missing.

By vampiric standards Simon is still a fledgling, though only other vampires would clock him on that.

Through diligent training Price helped Simon through any frenzy instincts, though it isn't completely gone Simon has exceptional control around the copious amounts of blood that come with his profession. Not to mention the mask helps muffle the scent.

What Price finds most amusing, is that after most of the wrinkles are ironed out, Simon is largely indifferent to the change. He carries trauma certainly, but the new found power and diet appears to have not phased him fuck all.

Simon still stubbornly takes his tea at the same time, after having gone through some trial and error. He found he can still drink his tea albeit a little altered. Blood with 3 sugars please.

Though Simon had eaten his mess hall gruel without complaint for years, he did miss the routine. He still slinks off to his room to eat his own meal on the same schedule.

While he doesnt burst into flames with the sun touching his flesh he is significantly weaker. He was already prone to burning red like a lobster in his human life. The change didn't make things to terribly different. The mask and layers of clothes prevent most of the issue.

Due to certain traumas around his change. Simon is very particular about feeding. And besides emergencies or very specific exceptions. Simon does not feed from the source. He often just drinks from a canteen/bottle with a blood/water mixture. To human onlookers it would honestly just look like he was using the flavored water enhancers. Which also brings Simon a certain kind of amusement.

As is common, Simon has enhanced strength and senses. He now possesses a red pearly tapetum lucidum or “eyeshine”. He suffers through the ‘sunglasses at night’ jokes to avoid any questions or accidental detection on night ops.

The change did not make Simon ethereally beautiful. He looks mostly the same besides paler skin, red tinted eyes and new shiny fangs. He still maintains all his scars/marks and tattoos from before. And while his healing factor prevents most scars, significant wounds may still scar lightly or the scar may take decades to fully fade away.

Simon doesn't feel cold to the touch per se, but he does run cooler than the average human due to his altered metabolism.

If available, he does prefer to at least long ‘nap’ during the day. While it's possible for him to carry on normally during daylight hours it does take more out of him.

Generally speaking most normally socialized vampires forgo sleeping regularly all together. Price however, insisted upon resting during Simon's changing. “Good for your mind” he'd stated gruffly. And Simon had kept up with it ever since. While he does legitimately sleep, this happens less often. His naps being more meditative in nature.

Similarly to Price, Simon does have brood instincts which occasionally become a point of contention between the two. Price's alpha wolf mixed with Simon's brood nature have them butting heads possessively over other members of the task force on occasion.

They are both smart enough to know the common goal of ultimately ensuring safety and care over their brood/pack mates. And most of the time they behave…but sometimes…

#back on my bullshit #i defo have a story for Simon's change and our dear captain coming to the rescue #i definitely view vampirsim less like an undead #more like a kind of disease? virus?#ghostprice #simon riley x john price #poly 141 #if you squint but there is more to come #simon ghost riley #captain john price #monster au #pack 141 au #call of duty #vampire simon riley #vampire ghost #werewolf john price #modern warfare

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olderthannetfic · 6 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/756016587973279744/httpswwwtumblrcomolderthannetfic755410324078

Honestly, while I'd be nicer about it, I agree flags are kind of cringe, or at least how seriously people take them is. It's really stupid seeing people treat flags like they're a really big deal. Other than the two rainbow flags, no one even recognizes most of them. Plus you only see them in people's icons online most of time so like... look away? Scroll? Curate your experience? It's not hard.

Also like above anon, I also definitely knew some people in college whose every outfit for a semester or two included pins and pride patches. It was definitely to get other people to know they were queer so they could talk about being queer. But they were always really new to knowing they were queer and they sort of... moved on sounds wrong because they're still queer, but they stopped doing that and stopped being all, "Have you heard about this sapphic movie?" "There's a bi character in this!" every conversation and went back to having more interests.

Meanwhile, I don't get why we're plastering them on everything in the first place. Like, should I be feeling affirmed or uplifted by pride shoelaces or pride socks or something? Is the pride pin supposed to make me feel happier, like how crystal mommies think rose quartz makes you happy? Are these colors here to do some color theory psychology thing? Because whatever I was supposed to get out of them, I've never gotten. I'm 32, 33 pretty soon, and I've never gotten this. I remember pins being a thing people were into in college, but even then I didn't get it. (And before anyone goes, "they're supposed to make you feel safer with your fellow queers and in the queer community", having been raped by a guy from the queer student club when I was in college because he 'knew' aroace black men didn't really exist and I must just be gay and in denial and he could fix me and, that, uh. That's not where my brain goes. Shit people can have any pin on their jacket, it's not a magic talisman that removes evil.)

I mask a lot as a neurodivergent person and I've always had to mask when I don't like something other people are hyped about because they get along with you better if you do. But whenever I see people on my dash oohing and aahing over pins or shoelaces or bracelets or hats I just reblog out of wanting to support the queer creators of whatever it is. I don't feel anything when I look at flag merch. It doesn't evoke anything in me. I know better than to say it doesn't because then you're suffering from internalized queerphobia or whatever but it's just... nothing, to me.

I haven't had any pins in decades and thought the rainbow ring necklaces were tacky back in the day, but honestly.

I own a sweatshirt from some botanical garden I supported once. And a college shirt. No sports team gear since I hate sports, but that wouldn't be weird either.

College students are frequently annoying about their new identities or political affiliations, but you are also being ridiculous. Humans like markers of identity of many types, including logos on clothing. This is just more of that.

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starlightshadowsworld · 9 months ago

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Bsd except Atsushi was taken into the Port Mafia by the Old Boss.

After being given the cue to begin from Mori, Hirotsu starts his tale.

"About a decade or so ago, a couple who were quite high up in the Port Mafia ended up betraying us. The details I don't know of, but for whatever reason the Ex Boss took it personally."

It wasn't unusual. The Old Boss tended to deal with traitors first hand rather than leave it to his underlings. It definitely made the man terrifying. But taking it so personally was odd.

"They bargained with him. You see they had a son who possessed powerful ability. It worked, the Ex Boss was impressed with it and sparred them with the trade being he kept their kid."

Hirotsu took out his lighter and lit his cigarette.

"The Ex Boss grew to adore him, the kid was basically his son. Atsushi Nakajima was the crown jewel of the Port Mafia.

He was a good kid you would think he was bathed in light. And yet there was a darkness to him. He was as vicious and cold as he was kind and warm."

Mori raised an eyebrow.

"If he was so special, how is it I haven't heard of him?"

Hirotsu sighed "well, like I said the kids ability was powerful. But he couldn't quite control it, we had our measures and things in place of course. But as the Ex Boss started to sick, he became afraid of Atsushi."

He shook his head frowning.

"The kid he loved like his own was now a monster in his eyes. He locked Atsushi down underground, under more security that we have for Q. Forbade anyone for even mentioning his name, it was like the kid never existed."

Mori was intrigued by that "and was this extra security warranted or was it simply paranoia."

"It wasn't at first, Atsushi wouldn't have hurt any ally and especially not the Ex Boss."

Hirotsu knew, because even when Atsushi was fully transformed he remembered the scent and smell of his allies. He'd never attacked them, not unless they stepped out of line.

"But the longer he stayed down there... Any love Atsushi had for the Ex Boss turned into hate. The Ex Boss come taunt him, torture him and betrate him. Eventually the he got too sick to go down there."

Dazai hummed, sitting up in his chair. "And I'm guessing he's still down there?" Hirotsu nodded "I think the plan was to slowly starve him. But his caretakers continued their jobs, I've been down and he's still there."

Mori nodded "so you think he'd be a useful addition to the Port Mafia?" Mori already knew the answer of course but he wanted to hear it.

"Definitely. Atsushi never quite had a home before us, he values this city as his. His to protect, his to take care off. It's what convinced him to start taking training seriously.

It didn't fit the Ex Boss's vision, but I know he'll fit yours sir."

And that, that was all Mori needed but they chatted a bit longer. On exactly what this ability was, and it definitely was quite impressive.

Who knew he'd find a diamond below his feet?

"So my old man is dead? Did he suffer?" Asked Atsushi, watching as Mori approached his cell. He was standing, the chain around his neck taunt but he didn't seem bothered by it.

"He did, right go the end. I would know, I killed him myself."

Atsushi's look of shock turned into a chuckle. "So you did. So what do I get for choosing you hmm?" He sounded relaxed but there was hidden malice in his voice.

"Time out your cage, and the ability to protect this city as you wish." Said Mori. Atsushi looked at him in suprise, than smiled at that last part.

Hmm someone who cared more for this city than their own wellbeing, oh Atsushi definitely would be useful to the Port Mafia.

"I can do that, could also share some tales of dear old dad. He's got secrets buried in these walls." Said Atsushi nonchalantly and it was Mori's turn to chuckle.

"I can do that, so Atsushi Nakajima what do you say?"

Atsushi lowered himself onto one knee. "I swear my life, my blood and my loyalty to this organisation. I will be it's eyes, it's ears and it's executioner as you see fit all in the name of protecting Yokohama."

"Welcome to the Port Mafia, Atsushi Nakajima."

#bsd atsushi #atsushi nakajima #bsd mori #mori ougai #bsd hirotsu #hirotsu ryuurou #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs #bsd

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murfpersonalblog · 6 months ago

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IWTV S2 Ep8 Musings - Loustat (SPOILERS) Pt2: Reunion

You don't know the HALF of what Lestat feels for Louis, to let YOUR grimy arse steal his man, just for LOUIS's happiness. ANYTHING for Louis.

Am I the only one who felt left hanging? We BEEN knew it didn't make sense, but what's your POINT, exactly? If Louis misremembered Lestat whispering, it's just par for the course about the odyssey of recollection. But if Lestat DID do telepathy, is that evidence of...what? That the vampire bond works differently than what's been explained? That he COULD read Lou's mind? AMC, this is AGGRAVATING.

Your goose is COOKED, my guy.

The copium & denial pack Louis was smoking as he laughed was 🤌

That's right, start sweating!

Master manipulation; cuz he certainly would NOT have, as we soon find out. ANYTHING for Louis. (Dang, Imma have to take back some of what I said about Lestat's character development not having started yet.)

I was shocked. I was NOT expecting this plot twist. I was ready to throw Lestat out with the rest of the TRASH, in the DUMP. Well dang. Guess I'll only leave him rotting in a TINY landfill.

I nearly SCREAMED--@nashvillethotchicken and I were talking about Loustat as Bobby and Whitney ages ago! I cannot BELIEVE AMC threw in a New Edition reference in the year of our lord 2024; y'all are diabolical AF, Rolin, STOP IT.

I wonder if AMC used Hurricane Odette cuz the OG script was set in pandemic!2020, so it would make sense that a year later Louis would head back to NOLA during 2021 when Hurricane Odette last hit.

That looks like NOLA's Pontchartrain Hotel--lemme find out he bumped into the Mayfairs when Rowan & them were in town, LOL.

Lestat got more aliases than the KGB; meanwhile Louis just sprinkles his long AF unique AF name all over the place. 🤦 But I guess it's ok, since the tour guide never mentioned him & Claudia by name. (Not Tom Anderson in another finale, LOL.) Louis so offended the tour guide said he ran a voodoo cult. XD

Fall of the House of Lioncourt-Melmouth.

You're gosh darned right! THEE Louis of Troy is in the building!

You love to see it. "A wearisome fledgling; all the millennials are--" not Lestat making PALE PROXIES of rat-catcher extraordinare LDPDL out of millennials. 😭

Lestat, if you don't get your crazy arse outta here with that bloodstained wooden keyboard Imma ROTFLMFAO.

NO JOKE, I effed up my friend's whole set when I started screaming "Siri, Pause," cuz my friend's Siri started freaking out and effed up the volume! XD

HERE WE EFFING GOOOOOOOO

(Best scene all season, fight me on this)

You know this was TEARING Lestat up, cuz of what happened in 1973--I gave Louis to you so you could do BETTER by him than EYE did, and instead it's NICKI ALL OVER AGAIN.

Imma smack him--this is NOT the time to be self-loathing, Lestat!

NOLA is my home--and the SAINT is not a city--I'm gonna cry.

He did. He just forgot, when reality settled in and the allure/nostalgia/glamour wore off. "I tried to make nights awful for you." Not the whole time, Louis. Y'all actually were happy b4--even Claudia said "the easy times" stopped after Florence died; and esp. after Charlie died. Lou can't be blamed for grieving his mom's death, and he definitely can't be blamed for Lestat & Claudia falling out after Charlie. Everything that happened after that--the 7 years of depression--was ALSO Lestat's fault. "I wanted you to suffer, cuz I was suffering;" I'm glad Les just waved that aside and said they BOTH wronged e/o.

He's not suicidal anymore then! He has nights in front of him to look forward to! So Lou can finally "learn to live honestly" with HIMSELF.

And Lestat dove RIGHT ON IN with that! He's been carrying that with him for DECADES, worried about Louis & what happened.

I LOVE that Les' language changes (the way his voice CRACKS and goes so TINY, oml)--he asked Lou in 1973 if he was "ill," and if something had happened TO him; so as to not spook/trigger or blame him--but he can ask more candidly now in a (relatively) "healthier" 2024 if Lou tried to hurt/kill himself; and get a more candid/honest answer. CLOSURE, y'all, I'm gonna cry.

GOOOOOOD. Don't EVER forget your daughter. Y'all need to have a Claudia Memorial; to KEEP remembering her, as she was in all her vampiric splendour, the good times AND the bad times.

I KNOW this hurt Louis to his effing core. The way Jacob cried FIRE!

I'm so glad Lou hugged him--YES YOU WERE, Uncle Les. And you KNOW it; you FELT that bond b/t y'all, even if she never looked at you. The distance b/t y'all was in name only, cuz a little Black girl couldn't have TWO daddies in 1917 and have one of them be white on top of it. I AM YOUR MAKER, sure, but you were her BLOOD FATHER, and she loved you, which is why she hoped you'd help her.

ANOTHER ROUND IN THE STORMY ROMANCE OF YOU TWO. 😭👏

What are these magical off-mic speeches/pep-talks Louis keeps giving people in Season 2?!? THE PEOPLE WANNA KNOW, gosh darnit!

DRATS.

I get why Jam said they thought the Loustat ending was "satisfying." It was nice, even though I'd've preferred to see Lestat in the Dubai penthouse at the end. :\

I LOVE THIS, AMC, thank you! ❤️

#loustat #interview with the vampire #iwtv spoilers #iwtv season 2 spoilers #justice for claudia #iwtv tvc metas #must see tv #the hype is real #the feels #THE FEELS I TELL YOU

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itskindofidontknow · 6 months ago

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What dreams know about love?

Chapter 10

Dream of The Endless/Morpheus x Love!OFC

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

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

TW: mentions of suicide

”My Lady!” Elijah grabbed Eoster by her arm after she stumbled upon her own feet. “I am fine! I am fine!” The Queen raised both arms, so the Cupid could get away from her. I took her a few seconds so her head could stop spinning around. Elijah looked to both sides of the empty marbled hallway, and anxiously took a glance of the hours at the main clock. They were lucky Morpheus didn't show up to pick her up and go to Lord Destiny’s realm.

The Cupid has been cold sweating since he woke the queen from her bath. She passed out drunk, noticeable thanks to the five bottles on the floor that he almost stepped on. They were small, like syrup bottles, and earlier, were probably full of wine. Eoster kept the drawers on her vanity and under the bed, full of them. Easier to hide from her husband that kept nagging her about her alcohol consumption and from Lucienne, that would definitely snitch on her. She knew the librarian meant well, but the librarian also didn’t fully know the pains the Queen had to soothe.

In one of her hands dangled another small glass bottle very similar to the other ones, but that was half-filled with a white milky liquid. Night blooming jasmine’s milk. ‘Great’ Elijah ironically thought to himself. She woke up in a jump, as the bottle slipped from her hands. Not that it helped, since she was completely dizzy, partially awake but not able to hold herself. The cupid had to carry her out of the bathtub and dress her like a doll. It took more than usual, after all, Eoster kept snoozing and falling to the sides of her chair. By this hour, Elijah was already sweating. He was perfectly aware that those Endless reunions were a stressful event to the king, and if he was stressed, he was in a bad mood. And if he was in a bad mood, everyone, especially his wife, suffered from it. And she would soothe her suffering on wine, and now, night blooming jasmine.

The whole situation with Lord Destruction didn’t help. There were rumors about the Harvest. He didn’t hear nor ask Lady Eoster, but he overheard the dreamaids gossiping about it. Apparently the Dream King saw something that no one could yet tell, between his wife and his brother, that made him indescribably jealous, and they had a fallout after the party. Of course, Elijah cut those rumors as fast as he could. He wouldn’t have those nosy maids spread rumors about his queen’s faithfulness in marriage. The cupid obviously didn’t believe that anything could have happened.

If his lady was having a sordid affair with her brother-in-law, she would’ve asked for his help in covering it and she would probably be happier and giggling.

Like mortals do when they are trapped in unhappy marriages and live forbidden affairs.

A knock on the door came just as he was trying to put her hair in place. His queen was mumbling a thousand subjects at once, none of which made sense. He responded with robotic ‘uh-uhs’ and ‘yes, of course’ and ‘no, of course’. Elijah waited a second before opening a small crack of the door, taking a deep breath and fixing his face, to not look like he was freaking out. “Yes?” He spied over the small opening, not wanting anyone to see his queen.

”Is our lady ready yet?” Lucienne frowned and tried to stepped inside, hoping Elijah would open the door, but the cupid didn’t move. “ Almost.-“He pretended he didn’t see that she was bothered by the small window she had to talk to. He rolled his eyes in annoyance “These things take time, Lucienne. It’s not just a black robe and black shoes. I am certain you can understand...”The cupid said as a toll to the king and looked the librarian up and down “In some capacity.” He smirked as the librarian shifted the weight of her feet, feeling a bit self-conscious about something she didn’t actually care about.

That was something she hated about the Cupid: He’d always make her feel self-aware about things she didn’t care about or wasn't at all important. Clothes, social agendas, complicated protocols and confusing etiquettes and hierarchies from the Garden. Some, she never got the answer for: Why did Lady Eoster needed more than five maids? Why did she need maids at all? And why did she need a room just for her attires? Why did she had protégées, entities from other realms, living in her own realm? And Elijah was not very helpful in making her understand any of this.

”She is not…is she?” Lucienne whispered, the Queen's likeness for wine or any beverage was becoming a small inconvenience to Dream, which meant it was a huge trouble for Lucienne and the palace staff. It was becoming more frequent to find the Queen passed out in the palace. Usually the library. But Lucienne and Mervyn caught her previously asleep in her private garden, during her daily baths, at the dinner table, after waiting awake for Morpheus, at her bedroom, half her body on the bed half on the floor. Usually a small bottle hanging loose from her fingers. Lucienne had no idea where she was getting them, and Elijah always played dumb. She knew he might think he was helping, but if he saw how Lord Morpheus got when he noticed she was drunk. He wouldn’t encourage her to keep drinking.

Elijah sembled darkened. He absolutely did not accept any dream creature, not even a right-hand librarian like Lucienne, to talk about his queen and her bad habits, that, as a matter of fact, her king was responsible for. She wouldn’t have to drink this much if he didn’t make her life a nightmare. The cupid knew the dreamfolk didn’t have the same etiquette as the lovefolk, but he didn’t care, it was unacceptable to question it. It was fine for him to inform them about her state. Not otherwise.

She tried to take a look over Elijah’s shoulder. Even though he knew she couldn’t see much, he moved, trying to cover any glance those librarian’s glasses could have. “The Queen is perfectly fine. Why don’t you go see if the King is throwing a tantrum on the other side of the palace? He may need you to dust off the rest of some nightmare he sent to the darkness.” He sarcastically smirked, before closing the door in her face, not waiting for the moral lesson about his audacity in speaking like that about his king.

Well, she was the one who started. Asking intrusive impolite questions that happened to be true.

With Eoster ready, dressed in her long sheer white dress, with a see through cape brocaded in a pattern of constellations, and a high updo, locking all her curls in a tight hairstyle with a delicate silver tiara, the fluster in her cheeks could pass by rouge, Elijah hoped. What couldn’t be hidden was her uneven walk, tripping on her feet, stumbling on the walls. Before they left the room, Elijah gave her a morning jasmine tea. The tea was supposed to alleviate the drunkness, but its effects could not take longer to come.

”Lady Love, there you are!” The cupid froze in place, as he heard the fast-pace walk of Lucienne, turning over his shoulder getting a glimpse of the librarian with the king walking behind her. Elijah looked at his queen, desperately trying to fix her hair and her clothes. Love was a drunk but she was a very dignified drunk. She snapped his hands away.”Elijah. I am fine.” She said, looking a bit more sober than before. Fixing her posture and enterwinding her fingers against her dress, as her husband approach. “He can’t tell the difference anyway.” She whispered with melancholy, passing through the cupid, going from his arms, to Morpheus, who barely batted an eye at her.

Elijah however felt a sting in his heart. What a bittersweet life must be to be with someone that doesn’t know you at all, to the extent, they can’t even tell if you are sober or beyond drunk. The Cupid could take one quick look at his Queen and know if she was sober, drunk, contempt, or sad. Of course he wouldn't expect her husband to be so observant after all, Eoster and her Cupid share a bond beyond any true marriage. The king also seemed to want as little as possible to know his wife. Not getting to know her, her realm.

Both Elijah and Lucienne stayed behind, with their hands behind their backs, as two parents seeing their children leave for school, as the couple went their way and disappeared in Morpheus’ sand.

”For your information, he wasn’t throwing a tantrum.”The Librarian said it proudly, without looking at him. Elijah rolled his eyes, sighing, with a swirl he turned his heels looking over his shoulder and down at the woman who was a good few inches shorter than him “For your information, she is drunk.”

——————— Eoster was a wreck. She looked very curated but she felt awful inside. Those night blooming jasmines mixed with wine made her sleep dreamless, but also impossible to rest. Her mind was tired and her body exhausted. Pretending not to be, was even worse. She stumbled for the third time during their silent walk through Lord Destiny’s garden, each time Morpheus had his grip on her, but each time, she seemed closer to knocking her face on the ground. He wasn’t going to say anything for Dream knew how reactive she got when she was drunk. Oh, yes. Different from what Elijah and Love assumed, he could perfectly tell when she was out of herself: The numbness and distraction in her eyes, the way her walk was light and unbalanced.

That didn’t bother Morpheus at all, Love could drink all the winery if she pleased. That is if the alcohol didn’t also free her suffocated regrets and repressed emotions, and made her desperate to share her own personal drama with everyone around her.

It didn’t happen when she was tipsy, like she was in most reunions. But especially today, she was far beyond tipsy. Morpheus cursed himself and her damn cupid. He should have obliged the pair to have Lucienne overseeing her preparations.

”If I may, my lady, you might want to have a light evening.” Morpheus stoically said, his eyes upfront. He wanted her to think this was a suggestion of a husband taking care of his wife's health. But Love scoffed, interpreting this as it was: An order to not drink. Well she had enough of her husband’s little orders. She was not Lucienne. “Yes, husband. I do need a light evening.” She sighed covering her mouth in a fake yawn. “I have not been sleeping well, maybe you can even help me, husband. You see, ever since the Second Harvest I’ve been waking in the middle of night panting and flushed, aching inside, my nightgown completely soaked, and I can’t remember what I was dreaming.” She could feel his stiffness under her touch. She knew it bothered him because he hadn’t been able to sniff around her dreams. “ But worry not, one thing I am certain is: It has nothing to do with you….” She signed, pretending to be bored “Maybe something with your brother.” Love knew she was poking a delicate topic at the wrong moment, all the fake hints of lately having wet dreams.

Little did he know she was not dreaming at all.

If Love’s sober self tried her best to not step on her husband’s toes, to not get in his bad mood, her drunk self made it her personal mission to antagonize him at every single opportunity she could. Completely ignoring the signs to be quiet and remember her place, rolling her eyes, like a petulant spoiled child, saying the first provocation that would pop into her mouth.

He angrily dropped her arm, and in a sudden movement, putting her against a wall, towering over Love, and holding her by the pulses along her body, as she stumbled back, hitting the wall beside her, her chest going up and down, struggling to free from his grip, not liking to feel trapped by her husband. He was too close, it sent goosebumps over her spine. He stared deeply into her eyes, sternly looking at her dilated green iris. “Your drinking is not of my business, but do not embarrass me tonight.” Love swallowed hard, a glimpse of sobriety into her eyes, as she failed to push her arm away from him again “Save your orders for you mistress! And you are perfectly capable of embarrassing yourself.” She spitefully said.

Morpheus never laid a hand on her, he might be emotionally abusive but never physical. He was a gentleman, to a certain extent. But even with this in mind, she couldn’t help but feel frightened. He was already angry with her, before today, and she was only fueling it. It took everything in her to stare back at him in defiance, her inebriated state giving her the courage to. “Oh brother, can’t you keep your hands off your wife for one night? What Destiny would say?” That sweet stick voice made the couple turn to the sibling.

Desire was meaningly teasing, very aware that Dream and Love were not in the middle of a romance. The couple was used to it, but it didn’t mean that they liked it. It was among their favorite activities to make fun of the misery of the couple.

”Desire.” Dream acknowledged his sibling, not moving away from his wife, Love slightly lowered her head in respect. “Look at you, Love Dove, all flushed.” Desire gave her a cheshire grin, which she ignored, turning her eyes to the floor, feeling her cheeks grow red, as she finally took advantage of her husband’s distraction and twisted both arms away from him. “Excuse me.” the brunette said it, eyes on the ground, stumbling her way to Lord Destiny’s palace entrance, wishing she could disappear back to her home, to never have to see Dream, Desire or any sibling-in-law ever again. To never had to deal with any of these overwhelming family dynamics, in which she seemed to be a puppet in strings.

“Love Dove giving you trouble? What could possibly have happened, big brother, that an obedient submissive little lady like Love would get so rebellious? How could you fuck up a perfectly good wifey like that?” Dream gave them a cold look, not giving them the pleasure of an answer. But Desire knew exactly how to get Dream’s attention. They were very aware of those delicious rumors from the Second Harvest. How the Dream King gave a very explicit display of affection to his wife, very unusual behavior. Especially after she was seeing dancing all night with his younger brother. Entities talk, and Desire is very good at listening.

Knowing Eoster, she was most likely to be completely unaware of it, while Dream probably would be hyper aware of it, biting himself by now. And since the first rumors started to arrive in their ears, Desire was planning a little something to them, alongside Despair. Desire knew how Dream could be possessive of his toys. Even dolls he didn’t want to play, like Love, were still his, not up for sharing. Unfortunately for Desire, Love was as faithful as a nun. Dream never had his reasons to doubt it. Not until now. And Desire would use those flimsy rumors to stir some fun at the boring family gathering.

” Stoicness doesn’t exactly make a lady weak in her knees does it? Did it ever occur to you, dear brother, that her sudden defiance might have come from finding someone else?” Dream rolled his eyes, ignoring them, walking to his brother’s palace entrance, after his wife disappeared upfront, but still listening. “ Maybe someone passionate, fiercely devoted…” Desire followed him, annoyingly continuing the subject “Prodigal…” Dream stopped. Desire smiled viciously. ‘Got him’.

”What?-“They asked innocently “You didn’t think she was going to tell you, did you?” They looked at the raven haired brother with a fake pity look, clicking their tongue on their mouth ceiling “Eoster is queen of love, not faithfulness. That is her cousin or sister, I think.” The endless started to walk slowly in circles around Morpheus, dragging their voice “Dear Eoster got a lot of suffocated love to give. Always needy and underappreciated….”

The golden eyed sibling sighed as it was obvious as the dawn in the mornings “You should know, brother. Don't unhappy mortal wives dream too?” Desire painted a very vivid image for Dream. The same he had been trying to erase since the Second Harvest. “Fantasizing about a strong, warm, broad knight in shining armor who will rescue them from their stoic cold uncaring husbands. It takes so little for their frustrated hearts to feel loved. They desire so little. It’s laughable, really.” That was one of the only things Desire didn’t distort.

It did take little to warm Love’s heart, and her desires were incredibly cliche and boring. The sibling was twisting the narrative, of course, distorting the truth, making it a bit more exciting. In reality Love’s desires were absolutely uninspiring. “If you even knew the sins darling Love dreams of. Blushing stuff, really. Never had any curiosity, brother? How she likes to be touched, kissed, what she likes to hear…”

Some would think that after years of an unhappy marriage, she would have fantasies about other gentlemen. But no. Even her wildest deviations were about the Dream King. Well, a version of him at least. Infatuated by her body and soul. Dull sweet love making in the glades of lavender gardens, unimaginative pleasing each other in the waters of milk rose lakes, boring reimaginations of her wedding night, lots of clichéd romantic gestures, embraces, impregnations, praises and cuddlings. Boring. Vanilla. Domestic.

The wildest ( and by that, Desire meant ‘less boring’) fantasy Love had was about her husband making her orgasm with his tongue while she laid in his throne. Something Desire was sure didn’t happen in reality, since Love was as frustrated and tense as any woman who couldn’t tell what an orgasm was by her life “Love Dove found herself a shoulder to cry, a chest to hug, lips to kiss, a member to plea-“The blonde sibling, now only steps away from his quiet infuriated brother, was quickly grabbed by their neck. “Hold your tongue, sibling. That is my queen you are talking about.” Desire smirked, even under a close threat. Dream may not fully believe in them, but it certainly put him in the right mood for the dinner “Is that what you were trying to remember her?” The raven haired king dropped them and stared at Desire, trying to find any hesitation that might say it was just a jest. But Dream could only find amusement.

Love passed through the dark metal doors with her breath hiking, she felt lightheaded, the voices seemed far and undistinguished. She needed a drink. That was the only certainty she had. Something to steady her mind, to fixate on something. She found a golden goblet of whatever her brother-in-law was serving, a dark liquid, that burned her throat as she took a sip. Stronger than Garden wine or night blooming jasmine . Love ignored the salutation protocol, finding the nearest seat and sinking into it. She held an upright posture, as if relaxing would leave her open to collapse.

Tears dared to inflict her eyes, hands trembling, she dug her fingernails into her skin, tearing at her cubicles. She'd not even noticed the pain of them. She barely even notices anything as she takes another considerable sip, closing her eyes to savor it. Letting the burn on her throat consume all of her attention. She would be at eternal damnation if her siblings-in-law could read her thoughts. How did she end up here? Miserable? Why affront Morpheus? Just for the attention? Just to have his eyes on her for a second? Even if it was a hateful stare? How could she even call herself Lady of the Four Loves, teach about the ways of the heart, if her own love life was a depressed sorrowful mess?

And Desire. Is it such good fun seeing a broken bird getting crushed every time? They never even owned up to being the one who plotted to marry Dream and Love. Even when Morpheus questioned them. Always with witty remarks and indications of Eoster’s involvement. Making sure she stayed in the punishment of marriage. The more Love tried to win Dream’s affection, to convince him of a different narrative than Desire’s, the more he slipped away.

“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun” The incomparable dragged voice of Lady Despair, made Love look from her fingers to her husband's sister.”It is still my favorite, much better than Midsummer Night's.” Love gave her a weak smile “Just don’t tell my lord husband, he still holds grudges over it” Despair knew. Love decided to make another deal with Shakespeare, behind her husband’s back, to write nothing less, nothing more than the greatest love play the world would ever know.

She intended to give as a surprise gift to Morpheus. Morpheus saw it as his wife trying to undermine his own deal with the mortal, working her influence inappropriately. It didn’t help that the play became a success.

”Why dear sister! Don’t you cry! Is this about the waltz?” Love found the tears marking her cheeks, as Despair gave her a tight hug, as the brunette queen hid her face in Lady Despair's shoulder. Trying to compose herself, drying the tears that didn’t stop falling. A few minutes went until Love was able to speak, still with a crying voice, raising slightest her head. “T-the Waltz? No, it’s nothing of sorts. It’s…” Lady Despair started to rip her own skin, as Love reached for her hand, making her stop, her husband’s sister lowered her already low voice, looking at the sides “Sister Love you don’t have to hide from me, I feel your misery as if it was my own. I see your pain.” Love blushed. She liked Despair, but in her current state, maybe it wasn’t the best idea to confide in her. After all, she indulges in states of desperation, anxiety and failure. All three that Love was overwhelmed with. “The embarrassment of being used to provoke jealousy on a muse. It is low even for my brother.”

Love felt her blood freezing. Muse. Calliope? Was she there? Love didn’t see her. But Morpheus was indeed looking for someone else. Probably her. Did he find her? And jealousy? What-

The kiss.

It hit the queen like a shot through the chest. Embarrassment hit her entire body and Love wanted, desired, dreamed of leaving to go home. Not her husband’s home. Her home The Garden. Lock herself away and be indisposed for a millennium. .

The minute of frozen reaction was replaced by a burning quiet fury. That coward of a husband! That cheap manipulator! He blamed Love for acting flirtatious with his brother, which she wasn’t, while jealousy of his Calliope in the arms of another! Which was perfectly normal, since she was uncalled. And she was a muse. Muses had affairs left and right. If he wanted loyalty he should have settled for his wife!

She felt her stomach twist in a knot, if she had eaten anything she would probably have thrown up. That laughable display of affection. How the other entities must be amused by it. It would be the laugh of the century. All thanks to her husband.

Dream took her for granted, and something in the mixture of drinks she took as telling her that it was enough. She was Lady of the Four Loves. Usually she relied on familiar and spiritual love. But she was Lady of Carnal Love. She could force her hand and make mortals, entities, and Endless desperately yearn for her. It would be good for him to remember that. He already had a small delusion about Lord Destruction, didn’t he? Not liking the attention she received. Even going through her dreams to see if she had any sordid ideas. Which, if he slightly knew his wife, he would know that it never went near her mind.

But now? Let’s see when Love gives Morpheus something to actually be jealous of.

Lady Love finished her drink until the last drop, the burn made her squeeze her eyes, as the bell of the dinner rang. “Shall we, sister?”

Desire and Despair knew that to disturb the already problematic couple they needed different approaches. Love regarded highly how she was perceived by others, hating to be out of jokes, or the one to be whispered about and was very sensible to anything related to Morpheus’ love affairs. She preferred to not acknowledge them at all. And it was very unpleasant and unsettling when Love, Morpheus and Calliope happened to be at the same event. Dream on the other hand didn’t regard at all his public perception, but abided by his wife's need of showing at least a tolerable union between them. He did not take kindly to being made a fool of, especially by his wife. And Aunt Prim awoke in him feelings of possessiveness over his wife. Desire could make Dream furious with the thought of his wife hiding an affair with none other than his younger brother, who happened to be the complete opposite of him. And Despair could easily put thoughts and doubts in Love’s head. As Desire said to Morpheus, it takes very little to frustrated hearts to feel supported, and easy for them to trust a gossip that sounded like truth.

As soon as the couple sat side by side, occupying the same seats they always occupy, the twins knew their plan had worked.

Love knew she was savoring far too much, thinking Dream was actually jealous of her. It gave something to feed her starving ego. Love knew how damaging, living off those crumbs of attention could be, how it could poison one's relationship. The reserved part of her library was full of half-written books of romances that her cupids recall from the shelfs of the romantic love section. Every page of them, mortals seek love not in love itself but in side-feelings that give them morsels or blurred reflections of what love might be.

The tension between the couple was palpable. Love, who was teary a moment ago, was squeezing her hands with such intensity that the whites in her fingers were evident. Dealing with Morpheus being Morpheus was one thing, to be told by her sister-in-law that wasn’t even in the Harvest that the only fragment of affection her husband showed her in years, was all a jealous act to provoke his mistress was beyond infuriating. It didn’t help that the room seemed unusually unfocused and unsteady. Or maybe her head was too light. Didn’t Elijah give her something to sober her up? Why did she feel worse than before? Well, it didn’t matter, it was a good thing she was intoxicated, she needed to be for what she was planning to do to spite Morpheus.

Besides, she wouldn’t be impolite to her brother in law. Leaving his wine untouched. It probably was a huge faux-pas in some etiquette book she couldn’t remember if it existed or not.

Love reached for her full glass and Dream slowly put his hand over hers, as a gesture of saying she had enough. Immediately, Love snapped her hand away, grabbing the glass, her glacial and defying stare at her husband, while emptying her cup. Morpheus stared back at her with the same intensity. Love could see he was rehearsing to quietly reprimand her without getting attention from his siblings, and she was eagerly waiting to loudly give him the answer he deserved.

Fortunately, thanks to a loud thud that everyone recognized as Lord Destruction, the silent confrontation between the couple was interrupted. The red haired endless sat in front of the couple, as usual. The Queen of Love did something that reminded her husband why he didn’t trust her and why her nature was as shifty and similar to Desire’s. At the same time, his brother sat, Love’s face immediately turned into a delightful smile. The same smile that Primness told Morpheus about, one that could melt the snow, awake springs and warm hearts. Even her voice became soft “Lord Destruction! How delightful to see you. It’s been a minute!”

Poor Lord Destruction was unaware, not very attentive to tensions between couples, or shared grins between siblings. Not at all aware he was the piece missing from Desire’s scheme to make a boring night, a dramatic show. “Love, how are you? I saw you sparkling from the other end of the hallway.” Love leaned on the table, tilting her head to rest on her hand, her elbow on the edge of the table. A mischievous smile dropped from her lips, as she lightly frowned, amusingly asking, a look that the Prodigal never saw in his sister-in-law.” Are you trying to woo me, my lord? “ She spoke with a lower voice, but loud enough to Morpheus hear.

The raven haired king stiffened as he heard his wife's provocation. The red haired endless choked with her words, giving an awkward chuckle. He knew now that Love was humorous, but her jokes at the Harvest were innocent, funny remarks, these seem dangerously provocations.” It’s simple the truth.” Love didn’t pay attention to his hesitation, quickly glancing at Morpheus.

The Dream King knew what she was doing, wanting a reaction out of him. To make a fool of himself. He knew what a brat she could be when intoxicated. But what a nerve she had, the same high morals as Desire, to provoke him with his own brother that she seduced. He didn’t want to believe in Desire, let alone to admit they were right, but his wife's behavior was making it impossible to think of any alternative. Could he blame Destruction, hate his younger brother because he felt for Love’s siren song? “Please, you are going to make me blush!” She crossed her leg under the table, making sure to let her thighs lightly brush against her husbands, and stretching her lower leg nudging against Destruction’s leg as she painfully slowly and discreetly slid her feet through his leg to his tight. She signed, pretending tiredness.

The red haired brother jumped in his seat, at the feeling, eyes went wide and he immediately glance from his brother to his sister in law, as he fumbled with a response and she smirked at his reaction, with his sister-in-law’s foot getting dangerously close to his crotch, and even though it was terminally wrong, it was a kind of touch he didn’t want her to stop “You have no idea, my lord…” She dragged her velveteen voice, like she was tasting every word. And even though his brother, her husband, was by her side, and they were at a table with his other siblings, their conversation seemed private, like all the time in the universe belong to them and nothing else mattered . “How hard it is to be admired these days.” Desire carefully watched the trio's interaction. They opened a smile, mouthing to their twin ‘watch it’.

Lady Death also was eyeing the couple, the thick tension between them, and Love’s sudden attention to the prodigal. She was usually inebriated, everyone could see that, although no one ever addressed it, but always very quiet and polite. Death knew Dream and her had problems. Especially since their marriage condition, and Dream didn’t like to talk about it. But after a century or two, she thought they settled in maybe a friendship. The gossip of their waltz, gave Death even a small hope that they could’ve found happiness in one another.

Seeing Dream almost opened a hole on the floor as he walked to the dinner, moodier than ever, and Love’s wet eyes and uneven walk. She knew the waltz may be the opposite of what she thought. The way her sister-in-law was behaving made Death pinch Desire’s arm “ Stop it, right now.” The golden-eyed sibling looked at her with a hand in their heart, pretending to soothe their pinched skin “Dear sister, are you trying to imply something? I am not doing anything.” This time Delirium, who was until now lost in her own mind, meddled in the conversation “ You are always doing something, Desire. You can’t not be doing anything.” Desire rolled their eyes “Well this time I am doing nothing. Now Love Dove, maybe she finally got bored of Dream.” Desire took a sip of their drink and Death signed, giving up the idea of counting with their help.

Love wasn’t discreet enough Morpheus wouldn’t notice what she was doing. He could feel the way her thigh was tense, the delicate motion somewhere away from him,”Even by your own husband…”

It began as a game, her own personal game of using her tricks as Lady Eros, but as the words left her mouth, her mind grew distant, memories recent and old took place as her eyes were lost in her empty glass, even her teasing under the table stopped, as she dropped her thigh. She frowned again “Do you think he wants me? That he cares?” She gave a humorless chuckle “That-that kiss was for me? A declaration of love?” Love raised her eyebrows and shook lightly her head, fighting the words as she fought her tears “What a joke…” She raised her eyes bitterly and definitely staring at her husband. “Tell him, husband, who those are for.” Dream merely mouth her name in a warning tone, as she continued. “No? I’ll tell them. Those are all for his pretty little who-“

Clearing her throat, Death prepared to say something to distract both Love and Dream. But as she opened her mouth, Morpheus raised from his chair roaring through the room “THAT’S ENOUGH!.” Love bitterly laughs, as she raises from her seat. Both face to face. Death, Destruction and even Delirium trying to say anything they could’ve come up with to try to stop the argument, but the couple was not listening. “Now is it enough? Now is it enough?! You treat a whore like a wife, and a wife like a whore and”

She was abruptly cut. Morpheus didn’t raise his voice again, angrily keeping it down, clenching his teeth, his jaw was hurting from the pressure “You don’t need me to treat you like one. Not when you are opening your legs to anyone who gives you a half-witted compliment!” That was when he felt the cold drink against his face. Silence reigned for a few seconds in the room, not even Desire, who was amusingly twisting in their seat, dared to interrupt. Not even Delirium. “ Know this husband: If it wasn’t against every vow, every inch of my benign.” It physically hurt her saying, her mouth was stiff, like the words wouldn’t come free and she had to pull them out by force. “I would very much do it. And I would make sure that everyone, every single entity knew it.”

Without any balance, and the tears making it even more difficult to see, Love made her way out of the table, angrily untying her long translucid cape, which was more complicated than it seemed, dropping it on the floor before walking away. She couldn’t care less, if Morpheus called for her or not, she needed to get away from him, and his siblings as fast as she could, her mind playing tricks on her, seemingly hearing the laughs, the pity, the ridiculous condescension. She had to ignore those, if she ever wanted to leave this place.

Midway to the garden, She bumped into her host. Looking up to Destiny, she couldn’t think of an apology, or an excuse, he already knew what happened. Of course he knew it. Before it even happened, really. He remained standing still, looking at his sister in law with an indecipherable expression. She knew she could ask him. She could plead right now. To make it go away, to make the pain stop. She dropped her shoulders, grabbing her arms, her throat hurting from holding a sob, as she tried to calm herself not to embarrass herself even more. If only she had more courage, she would ask him. It would be for the better. Dream would be free, Desire would lose his favorite joke, Love could be free, she could breathe. She opened her mouth praying the words would come, but as she tried to ask for the unimaginable, Destiny interrupted her “There is nothing to forgive, my sister. You are tired.” She puzzledly looked at him, as he followed his path. Not giving her any time to think about questioning anything else.

-----------

Love thanked all the stars for Elijah not being in her room. He would be fulming if he saw what she did to her cape, and her heels, since one of them broke and was now lost somewhere in her brother-in-law’s realm. Destiny was right, she was tired. Love was careful in locking her door slowly, so neither Elijah or Lucienne would notice she was back. Her heart was racing, and the complete silence of the Dreaming, made it finally, private enough for her to let go of a painful sob, copiously crying, tripping to the side of her bad, falling in her knees, pressing her face against the bed, staining the white sheets with tears, trying to suffocate her loud sobs. Her whole body trembled, and the only attempt to move was to search for a syrup bottle forgotten under the bed.

She was far beyond drunk by now, but prayed for it to have a sip of wine, something to make her tears blurry and the world blurry again. She was already too sober, in her opinion, too aware of her surroundings, of her life. As she put it to her mouth, her husband appeared by the door. He didn’t knock, of course, neither asked if he could get in. It was his realm after all. Not hers, as he made sure she never forgot.

Morpheus looked at his wife, up and down, the image of misery, the hem of the dress was muddy, and her hair was a wild mess of curls. Half her body splashed on the floor, her back against the side of the bed. One of her heels dangled in her foot, the other was in his hand. Love laugh with herself. What an irony!

The prince with the lost shoe, looking for the princess who lost it. Both wishing it didn’t fit.

Her laugh made him angrily frown. “Do you think this is funny?” She looked him dead in the eye. “You don’t get to be angry at me. Not after what you did.” She stared at him. He wanted a fight? She would give him a fight. What could he possibly do anyway? Send her to Hell and give Lucifer a free opportunity to make alliance with his eternal wife? “What did I do? You were the one using your siren tricks on my own brother! You have no decency.” He walked front to back, as he walked near her bed, the Queen jumped from the floor, she tried to steady herself, but stumbled having to hold on to Morpheus, as he took her hands out of his chest, not waiting if she was steady or not. He couldn’t care less if she was. “You are one to speak of decency! You! I only gave you a taste of what you submit me every single hour, every single minute and second, since you realize you married me, not your dear muse!”

Love turned her back, taking two steps away before turning again. “ Why didn’t you leave me to die? Pray you tell me, why? You didn’t want me, you didn’t love me and is incapable of trying. Why submit me to such misery and you, as my lord likes to say so much, to such embarrassment?”

Morpheus looked at his drunk queen, Love made very uncomfortable questions for someone as drunk as her. The truth is, he couldn’t have left her. From the moment she fainted at his feet and he recognized the beautifully dressed woman at his feet, as Lady Love. Drained of all colors, lips ghostly white. He kneeled lightly caressing her cheek, taking the hair out of her face, she felt cold under his touch. Different from the vibrant young maiden he saw many times, clinging to Desire’s arms, rushing through ballrooms, hiding behind handfans, sweetly denying suitors, blushing when first meeting him.

At that moment, he didn’t think of her as the cruel seductress that deserved punishment, he saw a beautiful queen, a smile that lightened rooms, a caring ruler. Dream couldn’t leave her.

He knew he was completely damned from this day.

That brief moment, a life-and-death minute, was it for the king of dreams. Something changed in his heart, he felt glimpses of it and he shut it. Not that he understood, it would take him a good thousand of years to understand why he couldn’t leave her there. Why he finished his vows, and carried her back to the Dreaming. It wasn’t until later, alone in his throne, he would let his own mind decide what the woman he married and saved was. To think rationally on to whom his Queen was associated to, who orchestrated that arrangement.

But he couldn’t say that, not when fury was the one guiding his heart. Even if he could, he wouldn’t know how to put it in words. It was also a door he liked to keep close. So he answered, in the way he thought would hurt her the most, because that was the game they knew how to play, that is how they communicated. “You are dutiful to your subjects and devoted to the mortal worlds. I couldn’t risk your reincarnation being chaotic.”

If there was still an intact piece of her heart that wasn’t already broken, it would’ve broken. Not a hint of regret in his words, not a hint of emotion. Simple, solid facts. She didn’t know there was still some part of her that hoped for a different answer. “ I thought you would be more sensible.” He shrugged.

Not only break every piece of her, he also had to diminish her. Eoster tried to take a deep breath but her teeth were clenching in a way that she shivered from only trying. She was furious. Scared, tense, ashamed, everything was gone. Her blood was boiling from the only thing she could feel: fury. That man stole years from her life. He made her lonely, miserable. He took her innocence and crushed her spirit. But she refused to let him win.

”Sensible? Me? No. You are right. I am not sensible at all. I spent years smiling through all the humiliations you put me through. “ He started to interrupt her, questioning those humiliations that she thinks he put her through. She threw a bottle at his direction, hitting the mirror of her vanity “No! You listen to me! Every time that someone approaches me with that pity condescending look asking ‘how can you tolerate it?’ ‘Poor dove, how can you still walk in public with him?’ ‘You endure it with such class, I envy you’, ‘ The King was here the other day with her’. Of course you don’t know any of these sorts. It doesn’t get to you. No, you know what you hear? You hear that you are lucky, that you chose right, that they envy you because you have it all: A beautiful wife that sweetly welcomes you home and turns to the other way when you are whoring around having bastards sons…” The raven haired king, took feral steps, seeing pure red.

She never pushed him, not like this, it was different from every other quarrel. The way he came to her, a bull ready to hit his target, she thought he would pass right through her, when he stopped, inches away from her, so close that she felt his breath against her neck. Hot, irregular. But she didn’t flinch. Love stared back in his fury. “ Do you want to hit me? Do you?! Then fucking do it!” She was shivering, tears returning to her eyes, incapable of stopping, her voice trembling as she tried to speak with assertion “Make me feel something.” Other than humiliation, other than embarrassment and bitterness.

The second she saw him flinch, she closed her eyes expecting the hit, expecting the sting of pain. It took a few seconds of silence, hot, dense silence and unsteady chests rising, to hear her husband come to himself. “Leave.” He wasn’t looking at her anymore, dropping his hands at his sides. She opened her eyes to see him taking a step back. She just looked at him, not moving, not saying a word.

He took more steps away from his wife, as he needed for his and her safety to get away from her. “ Leave the Dreaming.” He repeated. Still the words couldn’t ring a reaction of the brunette “I am banning you, Lady of Love, Queen of the Four Loves, from the Dreaming. You shall return only on my command.” Love turned her face to him. He couldn’t look at her. “You can’t- I am your wife.” She mumbled as he nodded. “A True Marriage does not require us to live together. It requires being married. You shall continue your duties at the Garden.” With his head down, staring at the floor, he walked out of her room, leaving her with his final words “Leave until early dawn.”

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