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ophelieverse · 10 months ago

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This is the first time that i send in a request,but I’ve been your fan for quite a while now🥰🥰I love your blog and your content,especially your writing,so can I please ask you to write something about Daemon x niece!reader where she is the daughter of Aemma and Viserys and he’s obsessed with her?It can be whatever you want!Thank you so much!🫶🏻

⋆ ˚｡⋆little bird

Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

-Summary:Daemon is in Harrenhal and he’s tormented by the memories of the only woman that he had ever loved:his niece,the long gone princess Y/n.

-Warnings:death of character,incest,age gap,Daemon never married Laena,reader has valyrian features,reader died of childbirth,reader is mother of twin girls(you can decide if Baela and Rhaena),mental torture(?)sexual thoughts,Daemon being himself,Alys tormenting Daemon and him losing his mind.

•-aww thank you so much for your words and support,also thank you for requesting and let me know what you guys think,sending love🩷🫶🏻

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The palate is a treacherous bastard,a vile traitor.The palate,the tongue,the teeth,the throat:damned monsters,damned stabs in the shoulders.

They rebelled and tortured Daemon intimately,as well as the strawled murmurs of soaking whispers in the dark and lonely castle,as well as the murmurs of that nameless woman.Everything bothered him,in that world built by the blood-stained hands of false and courteous murderers,and the raw truths of the tormented men were no exception.

After all,he should have known - and he knew it, he knew it and he had not stopped,he had become crazy! -that once he tasted the most precious wine of the Seven Kingdoms his mouth would detest any other drink.His primordial instinct and his spirit of survival had tried to warn him,to make him understand,to make him glimpse the inexorable fate in which there would be a before and there would of course be an after.

Because any other flavor would never have been as sweet as the taste of her.

And nothing more would have been the same, nothing would make sense anymore.Daemon had only really understood it after kissing her:it had become impossible to even look at another woman.

He could still remember the first time that he had kissed her,before going to win the war in the Narrow Sea in her father’s name.He had only kissed her once and it had been like savoring the mouth of a fucking divine gift that fell down from heaven,kissing a promise of grace and eternal damnation.An inexperienced,sweet,innocent mouth.

His,Y/n was all his.

She was still a girl at the time,two years younger than her older sister Rhaenyra,just a naive girl that stug with two skinny legs and without even a woman's shape,the silver-haired doll,the trained King's Landing little bird that squeakes and chirps in the shade of her father's words and actions:Y/n, stupid and spoiled princess,daughter of the Long Summer,had let herself be kissed by him and had not stopped him,she had not pushed him away.

Crazy him and crazy her.Or maybe just him, or maybe just her.Who went crazy first,who did? Who had it been?Daemom didn't remember the fucking way those damn events that had folded him in two,disintegrated his entire soul.Killed him not once but a hundred,a thousand,a thousand and again a thousand times.

Who went crazy first?Who?Daemon has started to believe it was him.

It’s been years since the last time he had kissed Y/n,years since he last touched her warm skin,looked into her bright lilac eyes,that he had saw her with their daughters in her arms.

Yet,that night,in the dark and anguish halls of Harrenhal,his little bird had shown up to him.The ghost of Y/n imagine had suddenly appeared in a corridor in the west wing yard like an evanescent appearance,like his worst nightmare and had resumed chirping the same nauseating and tormenting phrases she cunningly gave to all her lords,to all her knights.

She had chirped her thanks,the beautiful words she used to tear from the verses of her beloved romantic ballads,which she used to steal from the fairy tales narrated with placid fervor from the endless rows of her old and decrepit Septas.

She had chirped and chirped and chirped.

Daemon hadn't listened to any of her melancholic sentences and hadn't even paid the slightest attention to her,nothing at all.So the deities and that witch then must have decided to punish him and mock him.They had taken their revenge on all his blasphemies and on all the lives he had snatched with joy.

The pale light of the moon had begun to inflame Y/n long silver braids,braids knotted in a bushy tangle,shaped into circles of blood rays that made her hairstyle look like the one of a small child.The young and innocent girl she once was before Daemon had touched her.A stupid hairstyle that she persided - with a pout - to make her maidens intertwine just like her mother did when she was just a small child.

The red dress that wrapped perfectly around her body,the one that she had wore at the tourney for her last Name Day as a maiden,seemed made of pure liquid blood.Daemon was lost.The red had become fire,it had turned into copper,it had melted into wine.A crown of thorns and autumn leaves in the cold wind of the godswood.

Y/n rosy mouth had stretched out in a brief,false smile,yet what was really false about her?And her elusive purple eyes had reminded him of reality.

The reality where she no longer existed,the one where now he was married to his older sister.He just wants to use her.Everyone uses everyone.He remind himself,he could never love her,not in the way he still loves Y/n.

Suddenly Daemon had realized the existence of his foolish thoughts,he had awakened by the torpor in which her sweet and familiar scent had induced him,and he had understood that he was behaving like a little child that had just woken up from a bed dream,an inexperienced young boy,he looked at her hair,looked at her ephelids,and didn't focus on those small stall tits and her flat,tight belly,and then he thought he had to fix it,that he had to prove to himself that he was a man.

Not the silly man who secretly watched the tears entangled in the eyelashes of a little girl who still slept with the dolls,squeezed in his little embrace,but the real man who fucked women in brothels and got rid of all his most itchy desires. Not the man who trembled in front of a little girl's gaze,but the man who fucked the women quickly and impatiently,without even looking them in the face,fulfilling his needs and his morbid needs.

The man that Daemon was before devoting his life,heart and soul to Y/n.

These thoughts had clouded his soaky mind with vulgar images,they had made his body drunk and frenny.Then he had stretched out towards Y/n, almost staggering,and had devoured her face. Mouth to mouth,he had eaten her lies and her breath.Was it really her,the spectral and little figure that had hunted him since he had step in Harrenhal?Was it really her,the cold and young body he was holding in his arms?He didn’t cared,he needed to feel what he once called love.

His little girl still tasted good,just like he remembered,something sweet,extremely pure. Snow and honey together,what an absurd madness of the senses.Y/n had closed her mouth,her lips soft and eyelids tight,but she had done nothing else.She hadn't disappeared from his touch just like the night before,his rough hands that had begun to mess up her hair and squeeze her thin throat like they used to.

They had kept both eyes closed and he had thought that she was beautiful even in the dark of the dull and worn lights,even in the black of the lowered eyelashes,under the Sun or under the Moon.

Y/n was still as beautiful as the day he had lost her.

And now that she was there,real or not,Daemon had kissed her with a disturbing need and Y/n mouth had moved on his without opening,without granting him anything more.Nothing more of what he already had when she was flourishing with life.

In that moment a cold wind had crept all over his back,until it even caressed his neck and wet cheeks.When did he started crying?Too late he had realized that it had not been a cold wind that had appeased his burns.

«Y/n,my Y/n.»Daemon had murmured«My little bird of the summer,my frightened little bird.»he kept talking on her lips.

«Uncle.»even her voice sounded like she was still that young girl he used to watch run to him,blushing when he would bring her a gift from one of the cities he had visited.

She had caressed his pained face and kissed him like a little girl who can't even imagine that there is anything else after a kiss on the lips.Like a sweet child that still dreamed and hoped for a bright and long future ahead of her.

Maybe at that moment Daemon must have said her name again,because the figure in his arms smiled«Y/n,my little girl,Y/n.»like a prayer.

«Do you still desire me,uncle?Do you still think about me?»her voice,a soft whisper,that cut into his heart.

How naive and stupid,stupid little woman.

He could have turned her like a worn sock,lifted her skirt and possessed it in any dark corner of the castle,stretched her on the floor and forced her to open her legs for him.For him,only for him. First the knees,then the thighs,until he devour her with his hands and tongue,until he fuck her all.

That little creature who didn't even know the thoughts that animated the minds of the men around her,the minds of all animal men just like him.He could have done anything to her,anything unimaginable and unpronounceable,and continued to devour her for whole hours,years and centurie, millennia and other millennia,to the point of satisfying her every repressed need and even more.

And Daemon did it,fulfilling his duties as a husband that resulted in the living love that took form in their twin daughters and son.

He enjoyed her,eat her,mark her at every possible point.He could have done anything for her even now.But Y/n had placed a hand on his heart and more snow had fallen into his chest,appeasing his every pain,every craving.

«Or is my sister crown that you lust over now?»Y/n sharp tongue managed to open another cut in his chest.

Yes,he wanted Rhaenyra crown but it was her he wanted to make his Queen.It’s always been like that,in his deepest dreams,to rule by her side,to pass the throne to their son and be with her forever to the end of his days.

«It’s always ever been you and i’m sorry that this has costed your life.»Daemon words were half stuck in his throat.

Stupid little girl,stupid.She was too good for him.She was pathetically pure.She will never be able to survive in this world,she would become food donated to dogs and worms.Another dead flesh left danging on the spades of this rotten and corrupt castle from the slimy foundation.Another head detached from one's body and turned into a trophy to show to enemies.

Another life that he had ruined.

The images of these elucubrations of his had scared him so much was he afraid?Was the burning in the pupils and ribs fear of seeing her dead or desire to kill or even a fever to possess her?To push her away from his arms,from his belly outstretched towards her.

Daemon had already lost Y/n once,in their old shared chambers of the Red Keep,drenched in sweat and blood.Screaming in fear and pain,just like her mother,as she gave birth to their son.A life for a life,the child survived and the mother died without being able to meet each other.

And now she was there,after so many years,Daemon had only glimpsed at her wet lips and red cheeks,then started yelling at her to leave.It wasn’t real,nothing of this was,his wife,his Y/n was dead,ashes in the wind.

«Go away.Get away right away or you'll regret it.I'll make you regret it,I swear to you.I'll make you regret anything you've ever done or thought if you don't leave now.Go away!»Daemon was screaming like a mad man,but his words were not directed towards Y/n.

His crude and harsh words were echoed only for the silent witch that lived in that old and empty castle.

He must have insulted her,or he had cursed the bastard witch back.He didn’t cared because now Y/n had escaped from his head and eyes with every new sip of wine that he took once he walked back into the dark halls.

Her ethereal figure disappeared at each red bottom of a cup he had swallowed in an attempt to forget the circles of her damn braids.A new cup of wine at every turn of the silver locks and then a hysterical laugh every moment he saw the lilac eyes of that damn girl in the accusatory ones of the witch who sat next to him.

«You are rather unrequited tonight,your grace.What’s bothering you?»Alys Rivers was her name and her voice was as enchanting as her looks.

A punch against the table at every drop of watered down flavor,at every cup of all those lousy drinks that she had given him to help him sleep.A mediocre taste that made him miss better flavors - the taste of him.

Almost as she could read his mind«In love?You?»Alys sound surprised.

And a thud in the heart as every second passes,at the stroke of the hours,at the slow formation of a nebulous wall of chaos inside him.Honey,snow,sweet salt of tears never shed. What was happening to him?What was going on in his head,in his sternum,between his legs?Had Alys poisoned him?

«Y/n.»she spoke again«The little girl that you used to bounce on your knees,the woman that died to give you an heir.»she taunted him,the ghost of a smile on her lips.

Daemon felt his heart shatter in his chest,pain at every breath.His hands burning like the rest of his body,the wine down his throat ready to choke him with all his guilt.

«Where is she?»he asked then,turning to look at the woman next to him.

Where is Y/n?

He had screamed at her out in the gardens and she was gone,she had flown away.

«Where is she?Tell me.Tell me where she is!»the cups on the wooden table crushed on the floor,the cold stones now painted of red wine.

«Where is Y/n?»Alys asked calmly,not even getting up from her chair as his grace thrown everything around«The little girl is far away.But she’s not unreachable,you will see her again soon.»she answered him.

Daemon had was spinning,he felt the nausea coming up from his stomach.He tried to walk and a gag forced him to kneel on the ground,to throw his head against the floor.

«Y/n,my little bird,Y/n.Y/n where are you?»he choked out.

She was there,he had seen her just a few moments before and the other previous nights that he had spent in Harrenhal.He held her,kissed her and it felt so real.She didn't run away,she didn't cry,she didn't even lower her head.Nothing,nothing of nothing.She just looked at him for a second and then she left.

Now she was gone,again.She was gone,Y/n,was gone and Daemon wanted her back,like he had always wanted her,he couldn’t breathe,Y/n come back to him.

Come back,stupid little girl,come back here right away.One moment,he needed to touch her,to kiss her,to have her,just another moment to share with her.His little girl,his little bird.His,his,his,she had always been his.Come back,he needed to hold her and protect her.He would protect her from anyone,even himself if she was so afraid.He was scared too.

«Your grace?»Alys voice was distant,loosing itself in the air.

Daemon crawled on the wet floor,getting up«The little bird.I have to find,I have to find...»the world became dark and dyed of red.There was laughter around his body and someone sneering his name.

«I have to find...»he repeated.

He had to look for her.He hadn't been able to resist her,he hadn't slept even a minute.He had walked around the castle like a mad man,reaching his chambers only to find her inside.

The room looked like the one they lived in the Red Keep,warm and familiar.A small figure appeared,wearing a old white nightgown drenched in blood,pale hair wild on her head in the same that she had died in.

Y/n was there,holding to her chest a child wrapped into a blue blanket like a present.Their son,the joyful and smart boy that looked exactly like his mother and that she had never even seen before closing her eyes forever.She was sitting and crying .He had felt like he was dying and had taken a few uncertain steps.His eyes had moved frantically and they had glimpsed the blood-stained sheets,the stained dress on her thighs, the hands holding the child.

As soon as Y/n had seen him,with shiny eyes, huge tears on that small face she had brought her red fingers on her lips,as if to ask him to be silent as she rocked her baby.The smell of iron had never disgusted him,never shaken him,not until that moment.The little girl's legs had continued to drip and form spots on slippery spots on the floor.

«You always wanted a son.»Y/n voice was paralyzing«I should have know that this would have been my end.You can never surrender to your desires.»she didn’t looked at him,calmly holding the cloth in her arms but he knew she was accusing him of the same sin his brother had committed.

He had never hated blood with such despair,never hesitated before his duties,never thought of spitting acid on his oldest loyalty«I should have…i should have saved you.»he breathed.

Y/n smiled softly«No,this is the price you have to pay for taking what isn’t yours.The throne,the crown…me.»her empty eyes burned his flesh«You will die here,uncle,and you will loose everything.»she warned him.

Daemon vomited until he almost fainted,almost suffocated in his own vomit.Tears mixed with the pain and guilt on his face and his arms suddenly gave in.He felt hands on his neck and lips near his ear.He hit his head against the floor again and rocky voices pronounced his name more times.

He tried to crawl but threw up again,and then again and again.He couldn't stop anymore.He tried to grab a the chair next to door,but the world began swirling to turn and he lost himself in meaningless images.Before closing his eyes Daemon only saw pale silver birds with broken necks and torn wings.

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artist-issues · 2 years ago

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I Hate How She Talks About Snow White

"People are making these jokes about ours being the PC Snow White, where it's like, yeah, it is − because it needed that. It's an 85-year-old cartoon, and our version is a refreshing story about a young woman who has a function beyond 'Someday My Prince Will Come. "

Let me tell you a little something's about that "85-year-old cartoon," miss Zegler.

It was the first-ever cel-animated feature-length full-color film. Ever. Ever. EVER. I'm worried that you're not hearing me. This movie was Disney inventing the modern animated film. Spirited Away, Into the Spider-Verse, Tangled, you don't get to have any of these without Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937.)

Speaking of what you wouldn't get without this movie, it includes anime as a genre. Not just in technique (because again, nobody animated more than shorts before this movie) but in style and story. Anime, as it is now, wouldn't exist without Osamu Tezuka, "The God of Manga," who wouldn't have pioneered anime storytelling in the 1940s without having watched and learned from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs in the 1930s. No "weeb" culture, no Princess Mononoke, no DragonBall Z, no My Hero Academia, no Demonslayer, and no Naruto without this "85-year-old cartoon."

It was praised, not just for its technical marvels, not just for its synchronized craft of sound and action, but primarily and enduringly because people felt like the characters were real. They felt more like they were watching something true to life than they did watching silent, live-action films with real actors and actresses. They couldn't believe that an animated character could make kids wet their pants as she flees, frightened, through the forest, or grown adults cry with grieving Dwarves. Consistently.

Walt Disney Studios was built on this movie. No no; you're not understanding me. Literally, the studio in Burbank, out of which has come legends of this craft of animated filmmaking, was literally built on the incredible, odds-defying, record-breaking profits of just Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, specifically.

Speaking of record-breaking profits, this movie is the highest-grossing animated film in history. Still. TO THIS DAY. And it was made during the Great Depression.

In fact, it made four times as much money than any other film, in any other genre, released during that time period. It was actually THE highest-grossing film of all time, in any genre, until nothing less than Gone With the Wind, herself, came along to take the throne.

It was the first-ever animated movie to be selected for the National Film Registry. Actually, it was one of the first movies, period, to ever go into the registry at all. You know what else is in the NFR? The original West Side Story, the remake of which is responsible for Rachel Ziegler's widespread fame.

Walt Disney sacrificed for this movie to be invented. Literally, he took out a mortgage on his house and screened the movie to banks for loans to finish paying for it, because everyone from the media to his own wife and brother told him he was crazy to make this movie. And you want to tell me it's just an 85-year-old cartoon that needs the most meaningless of updates, with your tender 8 years in the business?

Speaking of sacrifice, this movie employed over 750 people, and they worked immeasurable hours of overtime, and invented--literally invented--so many new techniques that are still used in filmmaking today, that Walt Disney, in a move that NO OTHER STUDIO IN HOLLYWOOD was doing in the 30's, put this in the opening credits: "My sincere appreciation to the members of my staff whose loyalty and creative endeavor made possible this production." Not the end credits, like movies love to do today as a virtue-signal. The opening credits.

It's legacy endures. Your little "85-year-old cartoon" sold more than 1 million DVD copies upon re-release. Just on its first day. The Beatles quoted Snow White in one of their songs. Legacy directors call it "the greatest film ever made." Everything from Rolling Stones to the American Film Institute call this move one of the most influential masterpieces of our culture. This movie doesn't need anything from anybody. This movie is a cultural juggernaut for America. It's a staple in the art of filmmaking--and art, in general. It is the foundation of the Walt Disney Company, of modern children's media in the West, and of modern adaptations of classical fairy tales in the West. When you think only in the base, low, mean terms of "race" and "progressivism" you start taking things that are actually worlds-away from being in your league to judge, and you relegate them to silly ignorant phrases like "85-year-old cartoon" to explain why what you're doing is somehow better.

Sit down and be humble. Who the heck are you?

#Snow White #Snow White and the seven dwarfs #snow #snow white 1937 #snow white and the seven dwarfs 1937 #Snow White 2024 #Rachel zegler #west side story #poc #Disney #live action Disney hate #animation history #Do not go see this movie. Do not stream this movie.#Anime #anime history

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teddy06writes · 7 months ago

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Whumptober Day 5 - Tommy Shelby

Tommy Shelby x gn!reader

Prompt: "You don't need to earn this."

Trigger Warnings: Insecure Tommy

Summary: When your surprises and gentle treatment catch Tommy by surprise, he questions what he'd done to deserve it.

{Support me on ko-fi}

The door to Tommy's office was strong and sturdy, and you could just barely make out your husbands hushed voice on the other side, speaking to someone over the phone.

Tommy had been in a gloomy mood all week, something about Ada wanting to push a new policy that no one else in the family agreed with, and him getting stuck in the middle, as always.

You glanced back in the direction of the dining room, where the dinner you'd made, in the hopes of lifting his spirits, sat ready and waiting, before cautiously knocking, and opening the door a crack.

Tommy looked up and caught your gaze a smile ghosting over his lips. He held up a hand, for you to give him a moment as he finished speaking into the receiver, "Yes, I'll speak to him about it tomorrow. - Yes of course. Goodbye."

As soon as the receiver was back in it's cradle, you were pushing into the room properly, "Hello, Tommy love."

"Hello darling," He stubbed out the cigarette that had been tucked between his lips, leaning back in his chair, "You're back early."

"Or, you've been working so long you've lost track of time?" You teased, moving to perch on one of the chairs in front of his desk.

Tommy sighed tiredly, running a hand over his face, "Maybe I have."

You stood, moving around his desk and behind his chair to wrap your arms around him, resting your chin on his head, "Business alright? Did that Arthur-Ada stuff smooth over?"

"I'm working on it. They can be quite difficult." He tipped his head back to look at you.

You hummed, before straightening up, "I made dinner."

"I've still got work to do, darling."

You turned to him sharply, "Thomas Shelby I did not spend my whole morning begging Polly for this recipe you like for you to skip dinner. Come on."

Slowly, Tommy stood up, a fond smile tugging at his lips as you took his hand, leading him out of the room.

"And I got you a little surprise, for dessert." You grinned, turning to look at him.

He raised an eyebrow critically, "A surprise?"

"I stopped off at that little bakery- you remember the one we used to go to on West Hill, with the tarts you like-" You cut yourself off with a huff, "Well, there goes the surprise, I suppose."

Tommy stopped in his tracks, a frown suddenly on his face as he dropped your hand. Oh no. This is the very opposite of what you had wanted.

"What's wrong, Tommy love?"

He looked at you with clear confusion behind his eyes, "You made me a special dinner. You went out of the way to get me a tart- have I missed something? Read the calender wrong?"

"What?" Your eyebrows furrowed.

"It's neither of our birthdays, and it's certainly not our anniversary, so what's going on?"

You looked around in disbelief, "I need an excuse to treat my husband? I don't have a reason."

"Then why are you doing this?" There's an odd hardness to Tommy's voice. Something between suspicion and sadness you couldn't hope to understand.

"Because I love you Tom, this is what I do when I love people," You reached forward to grasp his arms, "There doesn't have to be a special reason."

This is the truly the first time you've ever seen Tommy perplexed. Your husband, careful and calculating, brought down by the idea that you might love without cause or reason.

"But- I haven't done anything..."

"Oh, Tommy love," You wrapped your arms around him again, and this time he melted into your touch, "You don't need to earn this. You will never have to earn my love."

#teddy06 writes #teddy06 #teddy06writes #teddy 06 #teddy06 attempts a writing event #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x gn!reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x gn!reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x gn!reader

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kingkaisen · 2 years ago

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— ♡ — I’D LOVE TO KILL YOU — ♡ —

➙ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: gojo x curse user!reader

➙ 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: you’re tasked with killing gojo, who also happens to be an enemy of yours. nothing seems to go as planned when you both end up fucking instead.

➙ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: 18+ ONLY // MINORS DNI — fem!reader, villain!reader, hate sex, choking, oral, begging, kissing, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, cream pie, cumming down throat.

➙ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4K

Mr. Hansul, the leader of an infamous band of Curse Users, had one simple rule.

You must never look him in the eyes.

One must kneel down on one knee if ever in his presence, head facing the ground while the old man spoke of whatever devious mission was awaiting.

Aside from that, you could do whatever you want.

Wear whatever you want.

Train however you want.

Kill whoever you want.

Granted, you and every other member of his devilish crew were given a variety of clothing, all branded with a symbol—a half black, half red circle—attached to every single clothing item.

Housing was provided in the form of decently sized bunkrooms to the west of headquarters, but it was rather pointless.

Only a fool would fall asleep in the company of fellow immoral Curse Users and assassins.

It was also wise to engage in as little chatter as possible during mealtime. Who knew if one of your dear comrades would take the opportunity to slip some poison into your bowl of ramen while you interacted with another individual, daring to close your eyes while laughing softly?

Around here, within the grey stone walls of headquarters, jealousy was as deadly as a cursed technique. Mr. Hansul would assign missions to Curse Users based on their skill level and spirited talent, and therefore, when the greedy old man wanted to be the one to proudly hang the world’s strongest sorcerer’s head on his wall, it was rumored that he’d pick you for such a daunting task.

Every single member of Mr. Hansul’s group, The Cursed Assassins Association, wanted to be the one assigned to kill Satoru Gojo. Doing so would not only bring honor to the CAA, but to every Curse User forced to live in a divided world where Jujutsu Sorcerers were seen as gods. Curse Users, however? They were pure devils.

Therefore, if Mr. Hansul would truly pick you for such an honorable assignment, you would have to play it safe.

Sleep with a knife tucked underneath your pillow.

Eat as far away from everyone else as you could.

Never let your guard down.

Mr. Hansul might have only had one rule, but you had several.

–

Around the second week since the rumors of the Chosen Assassin were born, two of Mr. Hansul’s escorts led you to his office. They approached you in the middle of your training session, the only time of day in which you happened to be as far away as possible from the office belonging to your boss. And, naturally, you couldn’t help but fixate over the distance, as with every step you made down the dark and haunting halls of headquarters—the clanking of your boots echoing like a broken record—you were reminded of just how far away his office was.

Damn him.

He knew exactly what he was doing when he undoubtedly stroked his hideous goatee, squinting his soulless black eyes as he ordered his guards to fetch you during your training session. You were forced to walk down almost every hallway, turn every corner, and climb every step within the base of operations for the CAA in order to reach his office. Because of that, all of the other assassins saw you.

They stopped chewing their meals. They stopped mid combat with their trainers. They stopped their conversations as they wandered down the poorly lit halls. All to watch you being escorted to Mr. Hansul’s office.

All to watch you walk towards your destiny; a fate each of them desperately wanted.

When you finally arrived outside of the heavy double doors, the escorts opening them for you to let you in, you immediately dropped your gaze. After a few more heavy steps, you kneeled down on one knee in front of your boss. After many years of taking this position in front of him, you became more familiar with the appearance of his feet instead of his face.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Your greeting was flat. Stale. Like a dead river.

“Hm,” he breathlessly replied.

It was only a small huff, but it was laced with degradation. Thick with venom. It was more than obvious that he was a soulless soul who worked harder than the devil.

“Sorry to interrupt your training,” he teased unpleasantly, “but I have an assignment for you.”

“Sir.”

“It’s a simple mission, one that I expect you to complete quickly and effortlessly. You are to kill Satoru Gojo. When you’ve succeeded, bring me the body.”

“So…the rumors were true,” you thought.

“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think that I-”

“Let me remind you as to why I summoned you at this particular hour. Let me remind you of why I let the news circulate for two entire weeks before calling you into my office,” he raised his raspy voice. “I wanted your comrades to be well aware that you are the one I am trusting with this task. It encourages jealousy. Jealousy encourages hatred. And, lastly, hatred encourages murder.”

“I understand. My comrades want to kill me now. How does that benefit you, then? Why do you want them to hate me?”

“Because, it’ll motivate you to accept this assignment. If you turn it down, you could be murdered in your sleep out of pure jealousy. If you agree, and should you return victorious, no one here would dare to lay a finger on you.” He gave a sinister chuckle. “And, well, if you don’t succeed, it’ll only be because Satoru Gojo killed you. Either way, the choice is yours.”

“Sir.”

And with that, you were dismissed. You were dismissed with a choice. Life or death. Life and death.

Truth be told, you wanted to be the one to take Satoru Gojo’s life with your entire heart and soul. You couldn’t stand the humanlike god. His influence upon the world of curses was the exact reason why there was such a divide between Jujutsu Sorcerers like him, and Curse Users such as yourself. By his standards, which set the tone for the rest of the world, you were all monsters. You deserved nothing. You all made the cruelest devil look like the pure, charity-driven, peace-making priest. One who probably devoted their time to feeding homeless children on Sunday afternoons.

Be that as it may, someone needed to teach the white-haired bastard a lesson. As you gathered your belongings, leaving the CAA headquarters as quickly as you could, you could only hope that a real god would let you succeed in taking down the wannabe.

–

The green leaves danced in the swirling wind. The nightly breeze made every tree wave their branches, and the enormous land howled with the sharp swishes of restless woods.

Even nature itself had to witness the death of Satoru Gojo, who walked out from behind a thick tree.

He had sensed an evil presence while making his way across town, and followed it into the middle of nowhere. That was when he saw you, standing there, waiting patiently to take his life. You had successfully drawn him out.

“I see you picked a place with lots of land. That’s smart, I’ll give you that,” he stepped towards you, his blindfolded eyes scanning over your mysterious figure. “Who are you? And what exactly do you want?”

“Knowing who I am won’t do you any good,” you frowned. “You’ll be dead soon enough.”

The wind whispered, filling the thick silence that followed your threat.

“Ya know, I take back what I said, now that I think about it,” he scratched the back of his head. “You picked a horrible place to fight. The moon as our only source of light? You gotta be kidding me. Can you even see me right now?”

Your frown deepened. It was as if the surrounding winds had managed to blow your threat away, carrying it off into nothingness as if you had said nothing at all. You told the icy white-haired man that in a few simple moments, he would actually meet his creator, and yet, it was like he viewed death as a mundane chore.

Either that, or he simply didn’t think you could kill him.

“So,” Gojo cleared his throat following your bitter quietness, stuffing his large hands inside of his packets. “That’s a nice pin. I’m guessing you’re one of Mr. Hansul’s little assassins, right? Don’t tell me the big guy didn’t wanna come out and see me himself.”

“Well,” a cruel grin appeared across your face, “I have a feeling that he’ll be seeing you. When I deliver your dead body to him, of course.”

“That’s cute. Did you practice saying that in the mirror?”

Your grin vanished. And he smirked.

“What’s your name?” Gojo questioned, daring to take a few steps in your direction when you failed to respond to his teasing.

“Why do you wanna know my name so badly?”

“Maybe it’s polite to introduce yourself to the person you’re trying to kill.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t aggravate the person who’s here to kill you.”

“Ha,” Gojo tossed his head back with a laugh. It was like he was having an ordinary chat with an old friend about a football game, discussing the latest scores and fumbles before asking for another beer. “You summoned me out here, sweetheart. Don’t cha think that you’re aggravating me by interrupting my day?”

“Alright, I’ve had enough of you.” The stern words fell from your lips, and with that, you gripped the hand blades dangling from your belt.

One sharp blade was placed in between each of your gloved fingers. Releasing your sweet, cursed energy into them, they took their own special form, and hovered in the space between your fingers.

One wave of your hand would send them flying in any direction at the speed of lightning, the thick aura of your cursed energy ready to pour into your chosen target. Even if the target could somehow manage to move or dodge, your blades would always find them. Once your blades touched your target, it would burn through them, and continue to push through their bodies until they were dead.

Or you released the blades.

But the latter hadn’t happened yet.

You launched them at Gojo with a grunt, and since you truthfully didn’t have time to mess around—unlike most predators who wanted to play with their prey—you aimed for Gojo’s heart.

Four incredibly sharp, flying, and burning blades were coming his way. Even so, he didn’t remove his hands from his pockets. He didn’t try to dodge. His hair didn’t even blow in the wind.

You didn’t have any time to question his intentions, as when your blades were a couple of inches away from that beating muscle inside of his chest, they stopped.

Your blades fell to the ground, laying at his feet like an abandoned toy.

He stepped on them as he made his way closer to you.

“So, as I was saying,” he started, “Since you’re aggravating me and interrupting my day, you should be the one to introduce yourself. I mean, I don’t mind going first if you’re the shy type. I’m Satoru Gojo, but I think you might know that already.”

“How the hell did you…” you gulped, your eyes widening as the realization truly started to kick in. “You stopped my blades, and you didn’t even move. How the hell did you do that?”

“Ya know,” Gojo smirked, “you’re pretty cute. If it wasn’t for the stubborn attitude or the attempted murder, I think I’d ask you out.”

You clenched your fists. He was so goddamn infuriating. And that smirk had pissed you off beyond belief.

“You’re really no fun. It’s such a waste when a hot person has no personality.” he sighed dramatically.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Talking to me like that?”

“I just told you, didn’t I? I’m Satoru Gojo.”

“You’re such a bastard-”

“You’re pretty hot when you’re angry, too. Has anyone ever told you that before?” He walked up to you. By now, he was close enough for you to start backing away.

Trying to put some distance between you and your target was a fruitless task. Based on the smirk his face held, he was well aware of the tree behind you before your back hit it.

“Damn it,” you thought.

His boots shuffling through the fallen leaves was a sound you became all too aware of, and with every single step, he came closer and closer until he was only a handful of inches away from you.

You could smell him. He held a faint scent of sandalwood. The whiff of it made you shift your feet.

Suddenly, he removed his hands from his pockets, tucking his thumb underneath his blindfold. He raised it, revealing his striking blue eyes. Revealing his entire face.

Being honest was another personal rule of yours. The truth was the only way to live. Not only as a way to communicate with others, but as a way to behave towards yourself.

Be true to who you are…how you feel…

And, if you tried to tell yourself that you weren’t attracted to the perfectly crafted face in front of you, you would have been a horrific liar.

He might not have been a god in your eyes, but it was obvious that the real gods took their time with him. The drastic difference between his pale skin and vibrant eyes was like admiring both the moon and the sun. Everything from his nose to the shape of his lips were perfect, and you couldn’t help the way your eyes darted across his face, taking in the beautiful features belonging to the tall, blessed man. He stared at you intensely.

You shifted your feet again.

“Like what you see?” He said lowly.

You wanted to nod, but you couldn’t. You still had a job to do, and his attractiveness changed absolutely nothing about it.

Luckily, Gojo was admiring your beauty as well. You were truly the literal definition of a Perfect Stranger. He didn’t even know your name, but he knew that he wanted to kiss those pouty lips of yours, or have your pretty eyes stare into his forever and ever.

He was distracted.

You used the given opportunity to pour your cursed energy into some spare hand blades. You tried to circle them around Gojo, targeting the back of the distracted man.

And truth be told, he was a little surprised when your blades fell once again, knocked down by the invisible force around him, but not as surprised as you were when your second murder attempt had failed.

“Damn it!” You snapped.

Even though you had blown your opportunity, even when he was well aware of your actions now, you tried once again. This time, however, Gojo didn’t even give you a proper chance to pour your cursed energy into your blades, as when you started to reach for them, he suddenly wrapped his hand around your neck, holding you against the tree.

He leaned in, that stupid smirk of his reappearing. His soft lips tickled the shell of your ear. The grip of his large hand around your neck only tightened.

“Come on now,” he whispered, his breath warming the side of your face as he spoke. “Is that all you got?”

When he released you, his calloused fingertips no longer pressed into the skin of your throat, you erupted into a fit of coughs.

And those hands. The damned hands that dared to choke you offered a reminder in the form of a gentle squeeze that he could have clenched harder. He could have tried to make his fingertips and thumb touch, watch you desperately claw at his arm until his pale skin was covered in fresh scratches and nail scrapes.

He could have watched you take your final breath, stare into your eyes and witness the light leave them, an unwavering hand still clamped around your drying throat as if to choke out any remains of your soul left behind.

But he didn’t.

He could have—and, perhaps, any ordinary person in the midst of becoming the next big contributor to the ever-growing statistics of murdered Jujutsu Sorcerers would have—but he didn’t.

“I could’ve killed you, ya know.”

And there it was. The irritating truth. The fact that he didn’t.

The amusing smirk that rested upon his face was a cruel reminder that all of this was indeed a game to him.

Even so, you had an irritating truth of your own. One that was nagging at you, existing as the sole reason why you couldn’t look Gojo in the eyes. It was purely the fact that your panties were soaked; your cunt wet from the way he grabbed you. The way he whispered in your ear. The way he choked you.

“I can’t-” you coughed. “I can’t believe this.”

“Look at me,” Gojo said softly.

You hesitated, but any fight left within you instantly vanished when he held you against that tree. Even so, the last string of dignity you held onto was your ability to keep your gaze towards the ground. However, when Gojo’s large hand cupped your chin, raising your head until you were staring right into his eyes, dignity became a foreign concept.

He was silent for a moment as he held your face. His thumb gently graced your cheek.

“Had no idea that you’d get so turned on by me choking you,” he said.

Your eyes widened. A string of protests started to fall from your lips, but suddenly, Gojo smashed his soft ones against yours.

A surprised gasp escaped you as your breath fluttered away, and he used that opportunity to deepen the kiss. Moving his hand away from your chin, he gripped the back of your neck, holding your head still as his tongue briefly touched yours. When you jumped, he smiled into the kiss.

He was quick to give your tongue a swirl with his own. Your mouth tasted fucking delicious to him, and he couldn’t help but moan down your throat. It was a slow, yet deep kiss, which was something you had never experienced before, and found yourself instantly craving when he pulled away all too soon.

He kept his buttery lips hovered over yours as he spoke. “Deny it all you want, but I could see the lust in your eyes.”

The last word had barely been spoken before he reconnected your lips. He was hungry for you like a starved man.

After his wet tongue explored your mouth, he pulled away only to latch his lips onto your neck. He bit, licked, and sucked at the skin, focusing on any spot that elicited a sweet moan from you.

You didn’t want to give that cocky asshole the satisfaction of knowing that he could make you moan like this, but you couldn’t help it. He found the sweet spot right below your jaw, and sucked at it until the skin was sore and tender.

—

It was only a matter of time before you were naked, pinned to the hard ground with nothing but your clothes as some sort of cushion.

Gojo, however, was still fully clothed. He pinned both of your wrists down above your head with only one of his hands, and with the other, he cupped your tit, swirling his wet tongue around your nipple.

“Hmm,” he moaned, sucking on your hard nub.

The sounds of your moans were like music flowing to a formerly deaf man’s ears. He fucking loved it. They were sweet and soft, a sharp contrast to your harsh demeanor. As he latched his mouth onto your other tit, his clothed dick hardened in his pants. He started to grind himself in between your legs, right against your wet, exposed cunt. His hard cock repeatedly pressed against your clit, and the sweet pleasure made you gasp.

“Gojo,” you whined. “I h-hate you.”

“Really?” He smirked down at you, increasing the speed of his grinding. “Still hate me, huh, baby? Why?”

“You’re teasing me.”

“Oh, I see. You were in a hurry to kill me, now you want me to hurry up and fuck you?” His grinding started to slow down. “I don’t know. I think I need some sort of apology.”

You were silent. You closed your eyes, not wanting to let the bastard win.

The warmth from Gojo’s body on top of yours vanished quickly, and instead you felt a warm breath pat against your wet folds.

“Fine,” he smirked. “Have it your way.”

Suddenly, his fingers were pulling your pussy lips open. His skillful tongue started to lick at your clit as he moaned. Instantly, you started squirming.

“Oh my god,” you groaned.

He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking on the little button, letting the sweet taste of you flood his senses. Two of his long fingers started to work their way inside of you. He curled them just right.

“You taste so good,” he mumbled against your clit. “So tight, too. Can’t believe this pussy is all mine right now.”

“Gojo,” you whined, thrashing around. Bolts of pure pleasure shot through your body whenever his tongue rapidly swiped over your clit, and his fingers would touch that sweet spot inside of your pussy. A wave of heat washed over you. Your legs started to tremble.

You were about to cum, and suddenly, Gojo pulled away.

Although snatching his mouth away from your delicious pussy was the last thing he wanted, he just couldn’t let you have it that easily. Not when you had so much to apologize for.

You couldn’t help but whimper at the sudden coldness that washed over you instead of a sweet orgasm.

“You’re such an asshole,” you said breathlessly.

Gojo laughed darkly. He pulled down his pants, releasing his thick cock.

“Sorry, but you’re not cumming. Not until you apologize. It’s really not that hard,” he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, and pressed his lips against your ear as he whispered. “I just had to stop eating your pussy thanks to you. I missed out on you cumming in my mouth because you still wanna act like a brat. Apologize.”

“Fuck you,” you mumbled.

With that, Gojo thrusted into your cunt. He shoved himself in harshly, working his thick cock in until your pussy could adjust to his size.

“So tight…so tight for me,” he moaned. “No one’s ever used you like this before?”

Gojo pinned your wrists down once again, giving your mouth another quick swirl of his tongue as he did so, moaning at the taste of you and the feeling of your perfect cunt.

The rise and fall of his hips were sinful. He fucked you at a harsh, steady rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin blending in with the rustling wind.

You were filled with shame. You had brought Gojo to these woods to kill him, and instead, he was fucking you like an animal. And you were moaning like a slut.

“You’re so angry. Why?” Gojo whispered into your ear, his thrusts never slowing. “Did you just need a good fucking, baby? Is that it? Just needed someone to fuck you hard?”

“Please, Gojo,” you mumbled. “Please…”

Sweat was pooling across your forehead. His cock filled you up in ways you didn’t even think were possible, and with every thrust, you were becoming undone. He fucked away every thought, and every desire for anything that wasn’t his cock.

“Poor baby,” he cooed, followed by a groan of his own. “Just need someone to make you cum. Isn’t that right?”

“Please…” you said pathetically. “Please make me cum. I’m sorry…so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” He released your wrists, gripping your hips.

“For trying to kill you. I-I’m so sorry, I can’t…Please let me cum, Gojo.” You babbled on and on.

“Such a good girl. Now was that so hard?” He smirked.

As his fingers pressed into your hips, he held you down, drilling his cock in and out of you. He didn’t bother holding back his own moans. He tossed his head back.

“Oh, fuck.” He moaned deliciously. “Take that dick and cum, baby. Cum on my cock. Cum on my fucking cock right now.”

And with that, and a few more thrusts, your juices squirted along his length. Your orgasm triggered his own. A wave of pleasure flooded him, his throbbing cock filled your insides with loads of his pearly cum. Your cunt felt amazing, squeezing him and milking him until his body was numb, arms trembling as broken moans escaped him. He truthfully never wanted to stop cumming, and his dick twitched and throbbed inside of you as it begged for more.

Even as he kissed you again, your tongues flicking against each other as you both moaned, he continued to cum into your pussy.

It took a minute for you both to catch your breaths. When he climbed off of you, you reached for your clothes. However, his hand grabbed yours, stopping your movements.

“Sorry, but we’re not done.” He stood up. Suddenly, his hand gripped the back of your head.

“I know you apologized, but I never said that I forgive you, baby.” As he gave his cock a few strokes, he lined his tip up with your awaiting mouth. “Suck my dick. When I cum, swallow it. Then, maybe, I’ll forgive you for trying to kill me. Alright?”

You nodded.

He shoved himself inside of your warm mouth, tossing his head back with a grunt. As he started to buck his hips, repeatedly moaning, “that’s it. Just like that, baby,” as he fucked your throat, you couldn’t help but rethink your old rules.

Holding your head still as he shot his load down your throat, keeping his cock in your mouth until you swallowed it all, you figured that, perhaps, you only needed to live by one rule.

Never try to kill Satoru Gojo.

♡ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠!

♡ 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠, & 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭!

♡ “𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢” 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 @imlevis // 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 & 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 @danowh0re // 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞!

♡ 🏷: @skylark144 @staygoldsquatchling02 @robynnnhooddd @wen13 @hidansdarling @levistiddies @nanamochii

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windvexer · 9 months ago

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On magic as being a chore, and why I think that's fine and probably a helpful way to frame it for a lot of people who want to do practical sorcery

On the topic of wards, have you ever had to dig a drainage ditch so water won't accumulate around your house?

Or, put one of those little gates in a doorway so a new puppy can only stay in one area? Or, have you ever put out ant bait?

Hung up a "no solicitors" sign? Built a fence so the chickens can stay over there, and out of the garden? Built a shade cloth over the garden?

Because when you're building a shade cloth over the garden, you're casting a ward against the sun, right. You're binding the puppy and the chickens so they are constrained to certain areas. You're crafting a spirit trap to redirect the water so it won't harm your foundations. Casting a hex most vile upon the ants.

Etc.

But I really do think that in some conversations, wards and protections get framed in a weird Bonnie and Clyde way, where they're assumed to be only for witches living in the Wild West, having witch wars and doing Risky Magic.

I do enjoy the sinister mysticism that can sometimes surround witchcraft. But sorcerous strategy is a big interest of mine, and I think that a very useful way to arrive at useful strategy is to de-mystify the whole operation.

It's just that we've got these weird labels, like hex, bind, banish, ward, protect, conjure; but when you get down to it, you can just be doing the most mundane stuff with your magic.

I can use a shade cloth to ward the garden against the sun. Then, I can string garlic on a red thread to ward against illness.

I can put up a fence to keep the chickens on that side of the back yard, then hang up a magical no solicitors sign because I'm tired of getting knocks at my door.

This is what gets my goat, sometimes, about people saying magic has to feel all wonderful and beautiful and everything. Yes, I love the experience of being productive with a hammer on an early spring morning, but building a fence is tedious. When it comes down to it, it's still just building a fence. Even if I build it with wax and bits of paper instead of wood and nails.

I feel like there is so much magical housekeeping people could be doing, or would greatly benefit from, that people just don't do because it's wrapped up in these sinister-adjacent terms.

I don't think magic is actually hex/bind/banish/ward/protect/conjure. I really do think magic is a lot more like hammer and nails. Needle and thread. Oven and dough. Etc.

Is it a fast cash spell, or are you just going out to search for the eggs your prosperity hens have already laid?

You can have it either way you like; you can frame going out to get physical eggs from mundane hens as a rapid-manifest prosperity spell. Behold, after I cast a spell of going outside for two minutes, I have manifested five eggs, better than any store could provide.

But taking all the mystical stuff and letting it just be mending holes and baking bread and digging drainage ditches I think is helpful.

All in all, I think demystifying the language we couch practical sorcery in can have two helpful results, which are:

It's easier to let yourself do things you want to do, because while it's normal to say "There's no good reason for me to cast protections because there's no reason to think anything will come after me," it's also normal to say, "you know what would be a good investment for this property? A nice privacy fence, it would make entertaining feel more cozy and then we could start fostering puppies."

It's easier to compel yourself to do the things you need to do, because it stops being, "I really want to cast a prosperity spell but I just haven't been in a magical mood," and starts being, "it is my job to water the plants and if I don't they will wither and die. So I'll make myself a nice tea to bolster my resolve and get to it before work."

#almost tagged this as 'answered' even though i'm just talking to myself #tbl

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zepskies · 5 months ago

Text

The Honorable Choice - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: The last chapter! Hold on, it's about to get bumpy...

Disclaimer: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

**Pronunciation guide at the end!

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: @jacklesversebingo Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 5.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Protective Dean, survival situations, smut (mutual masturbation, fingering, and more), angst, and fluff.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 3: Worthy

They travel together for two more days. Dean isn’t really a talkative man, but inevitably, he finds himself speaking to fill the comfortable stretches of quiet plodding across the grasslands.

He tells her about growing up on his family’s farm, where his father was firm but fair, and a larger-than-life presence when Sam and Dean were kids. His mother though, she was the only one who could ever go toe to toe with John Winchester and win.

“She tamed him,” Mila remarks with a smile. Dean’s lips quirk in response.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he chuckles, “but he knew he couldn’t pull a whole lot of shit with Mom. She’s a real pistol when she’s gotta be.”

Talking about them makes his heart heavy and sobers his mood, so he deflects with other stories, other chapters of his life.

He talks about going through basic training alongside Benny Lafitte. As privates, Dean pranked his friend by filling his lumpy old pillow with raw eggs and chicken feathers. In retaliation, Benny swapped Dean’s morning coffee with actual dirt and hot water. Their boyish games escalated until they were nearly kicked out of the military.

Dean managed to smooth things over though. He’s always had a way of charming people, even the gruff Sergeant Major, Bobby Singer.

Mila admits that she and her cousin Šóta used to sneak out of the village when they were younger. He taught her how to climb trees, how to fight and protect herself, and how to ride a horse astride, like a man. He was the only one who ever encouraged her to have the “free mind” her mother dreamed about.

The more she confides in him, her eyes sparking with life and her hands gesticulating along with her words, the more Dean listens.

On the third day, it’s nearing mid-afternoon when Dean slows Baby to a stop. After miles and miles of forest and grassland covered, they’ve finally approached a large, wide river. Mila stops beside him.

“My tribe lives beyond the river,” she says, “but the current is strong now.”

Dean looks over at her. A question he hasn’t wanted to ask crops back up. He feels that now is the time to voice it.

“Yeah, about that…I’m thinking your tribe doesn’t take very well to outsiders,” he says. “White men in particular.”

Mila presses her lips together. He can tell she’s been thinking the same thing, but she turns to him with a determined set to her features.

“I will protect you,” she says.

Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

She turns her face away and doesn’t seem to want to answer at first.

“Mila…”

“The Chief is my uncle,” she says at last. “He will listen to me.”

Dean blinks. Well, that changes things…maybe.

He’s still not convinced, but at this point, he really doesn’t have many options. It’s either take his chances with her tribe, or become a vagabond. He’s not sure how long he could survive in the wilds of the West alone, especially while trying to dodge military patrols.

In the past three days, it’s taken Dean all that time to come to terms with a simple fact. He’ll likely never see his brother again, or his mother. It’s a pain that cuts into him deeply, down to his bones. It stings behind his eyes.

But if he only has two choices, then he at least wants to make sure Mila gets home safely…even if that means he won’t be.

He’s come this far. If his career is worth the price of what he feels is right, then his life is worth it too.

With that decision made, Dean expels a long, somewhat faltering breath. He locks away the rest of his uncertainty, his apprehension, and even his grief. He hides it deep inside, where she won’t see it.

“All right, the current doesn’t look too bad over here,” he says, pointing to farther north along the river. “The horses can make it.”

Mila nods in agreement. She still looks uneasy, though she tries to hide it too. She ventures ahead into the river. Dean follows close behind.

The water is shallow at first, but it all too quickly gets deeper. The horses plod over the river stones and vegetation under the surface, and the humans are led deeper, until they’re submerged into the water up to their waists.

It’s good that Mila rides that giant mustang; if she were on a mare, like Dean, she’d already be sunk up to her shoulders. Baby’s a big girl, to be sure, but Mila is nearly a foot shorter than him, with a smaller frame. He watches her carefully as she makes her way ahead of him.

That’s why he’s able to act fast when Mato slips, dunking Mila under the water. She gasps and tries to cling onto him, but the current is fierce. It pushes Mato down the river no matter how much he scrambles and kicks at the water, braying wildly in distress.

Shit! Dean tugs sharply at Baby’s reigns and strives to catch up to them. He grabs Mato’s reigns and pulls and pulls, until he and Baby are able to drag him to the other side of the river where he can get a foothold with his hooves.

Mila is starting to fall off his back. She struggles to cling on while the river pushes at her, with her wet hair falling in her eyes. Dean leans back as far as he can to try and pull her up.

“It’s okay, I’ve gotcha,” he calls out, even though his heart hammers with alarm.

She reaches out for his hand in turn. Just as his fingers begin to close over hers, a wave from the current crashes into her. A short scream tears from her throat after she loses her grip on Mato’s neck. Without her weight, he’s able to pull himself back up onto the bank along with Baby.

Damn it! Gut-wrenching alarm spears Dean into action. He leaps down from Baby and removes his gloves, his hat, and his uniform jacket, so he can dive into the water. Thank God he’s a strong swimmer.

Mila seems to be too. She carves through the water against the current the best she can and tries to keep her head above the waves, but Dean can see it’s a losing battle. He manages to grab hold of her arm, and then wraps an arm around her waist to keep her close. Both of them work together to try and cling to any passing rock or low-hanging vine as the current sweeps them out toward an ultimate end.

A waterfall.

Of course. Goddamn it. Dean doesn’t know how steep it is on the other side, and he doesn’t want to know. All he’s trying to do is keep himself and Mila above the water.

She hooks her hand around a sharp rock. It bites into her hand, making her cry out, but she clings to it for all she’s worth. She holds onto Dean just as tightly, even though the current wants to take him. She tries to pull him closer, close enough for him to get a hold on the rock as well.

This time, it’s Dean who loses his footing. The rocks slip beneath the soles of his feet when he attempts to gain some leverage.

A shout of surprise escapes from him when he fails, and it gets swallowed up by water rushing down his throat.

“Dean!” Mila yells, for the first time using his name. The last thing he registers is the fear in her eyes—afraid for him.

The river takes him over the edge of the abyss, and he falls.

He never expected that he would get to open his eyes again, let alone to the sight that greets him. Mila’s familiar face, framed by the dark, drying waves of her hair, is bright with firelight. It dances in orange-gold across her features. Her eyes are warm like rich molasses when she looks down and finds him awake.

She smiles in relief.

He realizes that he’s lying on soft grass with his head pillowed in her lap. She’s taken off his boots and half of his white undershirt; she tore one of his sleeves to wrap around a mercifully shallow gash in his shoulder.

The horses are drinking from the river nearby, with a pile of apples split between them. There’s a fish roasted over the fire, but all Dean cares about is the way her fingers are running through his hair. She sings a soft song under her breath while she passes her other hand over his injured arm without touching it.

He doesn’t understand the words, but he thinks she might be trying to heal him. He’s heard plenty of stories about the Sioux people, most he’s taken with a grain of salt. He does remember Cas saying that their healers are different from doctors.

Dean’s never given their hoodoo much thought, but right about now, he hopes it works.

“Mornin’,” he croaks.

Mila’s relieved face becomes touched with amusement.

“It’s night,” she says. “You slept for a long time.”

Dean wants to sit up and take an inventory of his injuries, but he can’t make his body move just yet. He’s too tired and bruised. He also likes being in her arms. He likes her fingers in his hair, now moving to his cheek. He sighs through his nose in contentment as her thumb drifts over his overgrown stubble.

“Thank you,” she says. Emotion is thick in her voice.

Dean meets her eyes again, and he smiles. He raises the back of his hand to touch her smooth cheek, gently. He lets his fingers glide across her tan skin, down the column of her neck. Her breath hitches.

She takes his calloused hand in her slender one. Her long hair falls like a curtain over her shoulder, almost like it’s shielding them from whatever is left to come for them beyond the forest. Dean wraps an ebony strand around his finger, just to feel it fall loosely again.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says.

Mila graces him with another smile from her lips. He wants to know what they taste like.

“I guess you are pretty, for a White Man,” she says teasingly.

Her fingers trace his brow, his jawline, even the tip of his chin. She seems to be avoiding his plush mouth, even though her gaze keeps dropping there. Dean pretends to frown.

“Sweetheart, that’s not the way you talk about a man,” he says.

Her brows raise. “No?”

“Handsome. Strong. Toothsome, if you will,” he says, enjoying the way she begins to blush. “That’s what you wanna call a man.”

“Toothsome. I don’t know this word,” she admits. “Am I supposed to eat you?”

Dean resists the urge to say the first incorrigible thing that pops into his head. Instead, his body shakes with laughter.

It’s difficult at first, all his muscles pulling at him in protest, but he raises himself into a sitting position. He cups Mila’s cheek, dragging his thumb across her lower lip. Her lashes are dark and long. They move when she looks up at him. He knows the look in her eyes, wanting, desiring, but also unsure of what she should allow him.

Dean leans in slowly, giving her time to decide.

She tilts her face up to his. He noses at her cheek, his eyes falling closed along with hers.

He finds her lips with his own on instinct and feeling alone. Soft and tender movements, testing, asking.

She answers him. Her fingers tangle in the front of his tattered shirt as her lips begin to move against his. Dean wraps an arm around her waist and gathers her against his chest. His other hand glides down her arm, down her side and along every soft curve. Her clothes are still damp, and so are his.

“It’ll be faster to dry our clothes if we’re not wearing ‘em,” Dean rumbles. His voice is deep with desire. He presses kisses along the side of her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck and shoulder. He earns her pleased hum, her heavier breaths, and her fingers once again in his hair.

“I can’t,” she gasps. She says something in her native tongue, too fast for Dean to even register. He slows down so he can meet her eyes.

“What was that?” he asks. Her face falls, and she starts to trip over her words.

“I am not…how you say, married. I have to be…”

Dean smiles ruefully, sliding a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Chaste?” he offers. She nods, her brows furrowed. Her grip on his shirt tightens.

“Yes,” she says. “In the eyes of my people, it is…”

“I get it,” Dean says. When she still seems conflicted, he presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Really, I understand,” he says.

His problem is that he stares into her eyes too long, and at her kiss-swollen lips. He dives back in for another taste.

This time, he’s a little less gentlemanly than he promised. His tongue sweeps along her lower lip, begging entrance. She makes a sound of surprise, but she opens up to him. Her gentle hands slide up his chest to hold his face, and her thumbs stroke his cheeks. He holds one of her wrists to keep her there as his tongue dances with hers. She tastes like the river, and like salty tears.

Had she cried for him? How long did she sit with his body, waiting to see if he would wake up?

Despite those worrying thoughts, Dean knows this feels right. More right than he’s ever felt.

It’s harder than he might’ve imagined, but he still pulls away, before he won’t be able to stop himself. Mila pants for breath. She seems to feel she should let him go, but also doesn’t show any sign of wanting to. Smiling, Dean caresses her cheek one more time before he turns to the fish she roasted.

“This looks good,” he says, clearing his throat. “What kinda fish is this?”

With a sigh, she attempts to steady herself and moves to join him by the fire.

That night, Mila dreams.

She dreams of wings, white and beautiful. She hears the cry of an eagle before she sees his great wingspan take off in flight. He soon finds his mate, and they dance together in the sky.

When she wakes, the fire has gone out and it’s still dark in the night. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s safe. Finally safe.

And she’s lying securely in Dean’s arms.

She’s no longer conflicted when she stares up at his face.

She will bring him home to her tribe, and she will explain. If they still don’t welcome him, then she prays for the strength to keep to her honor. Because now, she begins to realize…

Her heart has already chosen.

“Kimmímila, what have you done?” her uncle asks in the language of their people.

He is Tahatan, Chief of their tribe.

Mila’s father, Chatan, and her cousin Šóta have tied Dean Winchester to a post in the center of the Chief’s large tipi. Dean kneels with his head bowed in respect, even though he keeps sneaking looks at Mila to try and gauge what’s happening. He doesn’t understand a word of any of it.

“You’ve brought this outsider into our village, this White Man!” Tahatan shouts, his voice deep and resounding.

Mila steps forward, despite her mother’s embarrassment and her father trying to grab her shoulder. For the second time in her life, she defies her father for what she believes is right. The first was to rescue a member of their tribe—because even a horse’s spirit should not be broken by greed.

“Uncle, I’ve told you the story, though you don’t want to believe it,” she says. “Dean Winchester saved me when he could have killed me, or worse. He defied his own people. He is dead to his own people, for me, and because of me. You may think they lack all honor, but this man is different.”

She looks over at Dean, and he meets her gaze. He wears an anxious frown as he looks between her and the chief, but she has a feeling that his fear is for her, not for himself.

She kneels beside him, then looks up at her uncle with all the stubbornness she’s ever possessed in her life. She feels it’s led her to exactly this moment.

“And we are one,” she says. Nerves trill up her spine as she says it. She predicts the way shock falls over the room. The way her father curses out loud, angry. The way her mother covers her mouth in dismay. The way the Chief takes a step back, tilting his head at his niece.

“You would take it that far?” he asks.

Her face doesn’t change. “It’s already done.”

Tahatan is beside himself, both angry and perplexed. He goes back to his chair of wicker and wood that lies centered in the room. He drops heavily into it. After a long while, in which he thinks in silence…he releases a heavy sigh. He gestures for his brother and his son to untie Dean. The men do so, but they don’t let him go free. They force him to stand and bring him forward to kneel again before the Chief.

“Dean Winchester,” Tahatan says.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replies.

“You prove yourself to be a man with honor,” he says in English. “Kimmímila has chosen you. She claims you have chosen her in return. Do you deny this?”

Dean glances over at her. She bites the inside of her lip, a bit worried about how he’ll react. She’s not sure he completely understands what Tahatan is telling him, but he nods, regardless.

“No, sir. I don’t deny it,” Dean says.

“Then, you will be allowed to stay, and live among us,” Tahatan declares. "We will see for ourselves what you are. We will see if you are worthy."

Dean gives a nod, crossed with a bow of some kind. He obviously isn’t sure of what he’s supposed to do, but he does say thank you. Mila wraps her hands around his uninjured arm and helps him to his feet. She smiles at him to let him know that the worst is over. He blows out a breath in relief.

“Is that it?” he whispers. He expected more of a thrashing, if he’s honest.

“Almost,” she replies. The two of them stop short before her father, Chatan.

Dean straightens up and holds out his hand. “Sir.”

Chatan glances down at the white hand extended toward him. His gaze raises back up to Dean.

He grunts in acknowledgement, but he turns on his heels and storms out of the tipi. Her mother comes forward next. She examines Dean from all angles. She takes his face in her hand, somewhat squishing his cheeks, so she can look deeply into his startled eyes.

She seems satisfied by what she finds, and she lets him go. Afterward, she takes Mila’s hand and heaves a deep sigh.

She kisses her daughter’s hand and says nothing else, leaving them to find her husband and calm him down.

Dean turns to Mila with a look that says, please tell me that’s it.

She smiles more genuinely.

“Come,” she says.

She leads him by the hand out of the Chief’s tipi and through the village. Dean takes in the rows of other tall, cone-like structures covered in buffalo skin, as well as all the faces that turn to stare at him in a mix of curiosity, wariness, and even fear. Some of them whisper to each other, taking their children by the hand and keeping them close.

Dean’s still on guard himself, even when Mila takes him to a smaller tipi. It’s been closed up for a while now, by the look of it. Weeds have grown right outside the entrance.

“This one’s yours?” Dean asks.

She pauses, giving him another small smile. “Ours.”

Dean raises a brow. Ours. Really?

She opens the flap in the front and beckons him inside. There’s still enough daylight to shine through the outer lining. Inside, his gaze flits over the old pile of stones in the center for heating, clothes folded in the corner, some cooking pots and utensils, paintings on wood and clay, and a couple of beaded decorations. Buffalo skin bedding is laid out on the other side with a couple of soft looking furs.

Son of a gun. Dean doesn’t even blink as he processes it all. He’s in a damn tipi. This is really about to become his life.

Shaking his head a little, he forces himself to focus on Mila. She’s his anchor, and she seems to sense that he’s reeling. She guides him to sit beside her on the bedding, holding his hands in hers. After a moment, he reaches up to tuck a curling strand of hair behind her ear.

“You didn’t get in too much trouble because of me, did you?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No. My father and uncle are very similar. Strong to anger, but it is quick to run out. At least with me.”

Dean thinks he understands. Short fuse, quick fizzle.

“There is just…one thing,” Mila says. Her eyes fall away from his, like she’s embarrassed. He squeezes her hands.

“What?” he asks, his brows furrowing. It gets her to look at him again, but she seems worried to tell him.

“To convince my uncle to let you stay, I told them that we…” she trails, trying to find the right words in English. “That we are married.”

Dean’s brows raise high. His heart trips up faster. Okay, “ours” makes a lot more sense now.

“I am sorry,” she says quietly. “I didn’t want you hurt—”

“Sweetheart,” Dean says, cupping her cheek. Even with the hammering of his heart, he grins. “I’m pretty sure that’s where this was going anyway.”

In fact, this is a best-case scenario, as far as he’s concerned. He leans in to kiss her, and it doesn’t take long at all for her to sigh in relief, melting against him.

“We’re married, huh?” he asks. “No ceremony? No white dress?”

“We are bonded,” she replies, nodding as she meets every one of his kisses. “Or, we will be.”

She tugs him closer and revels in the feeling of his hands beginning to roam her body, sliding down her waist, her hips and thighs.

“Guess that means we have to seal the deal,” he grins. His lips drift away from hers to burn a familiar path across her cheek. He takes to nibbling her ear, making her flinch and laugh as it tickles.

“Seal-the-deal. What does that mean?” she asks.

Dean chuckles lowly in her ear. “Oh, I think you know.”

He guides her onto her back, over the comfortable mess of furs. He wants to take his time exploring every inch of soft, tan skin, but he first sweeps her hair away from her eyes, the back of his hand brushing against her cheek. She smiles up at him softly.

“Do you regret?” she whispers, reaching up to touch his chin with two slender fingers. “Do you regret helping me?”

Dean considers her question. He knows he’ll carry his family in his heart until the day he dies. His brother, his mother, the memory of his father. Benny and Cas, even Jack, and so many others.

It’s already a heavy burden, but he had always been prepared to lose his life on the battlefield, in service of his country. At least this way, he gains a new life.

“No. Never did,” Dean replies. “Not even once.”

He bows his head toward hers, and he proves it to her. His lips capture hers, fueled by passion and wanting. Mila’s hands slide over his shoulders and down his back. Maybe without her realizing it, she implores him to let go of the weight heaped on his shoulders.

When he begins to bunch up the hem of her dress, she sits up to help guide his hands. Her quickening breaths mesh with his as the first layer of clothing drops beside the bedding. His tattered shirt joins her dress, along with pants and shoes and boots, until all that’s left is skin against warm, bare skin. He lays on his side right beside her and explores wherever she lets him begin.

“Beautiful,” Dean murmurs, as his lips follow the column of her neck, down between her breasts. Her breaths rise to meet him, especially when he begins to toy with a dark, pebbled nipple. Her fingers slip through his hair, and his name falls from her lips. He palms one breast while kissing and gently teasing the other, exploring sensitive flesh and grazing her sensitive fleshwith his teeth.

“No man’s ever touched you?” he asks, despite knowing the answer.

She shakes her head, her fingers gripping his hair tighter as his lips and tongue move against her skin.

“No,” Mila gasps a reply. Her hand slides down the back of his neck, and the more he teases her, her nails soon create faint red lines down his back, her thighs squeezing together. She feels a throbbing ache at the very center of her. Despite her inexperience with men, she knows what it means, and she knows what she wants.

Dean’s mouth drags away from her breast. He pulls back so he can meet her eyes. A smile curves his lips, and he takes one of her hands from his shoulders.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asks. He guides her hand down her body, brushing over a wet, sensitive nipple, down her stomach, and between her legs. This time, Mila nods in answer. She stares up at Dean with eyes like molten honey. He leans in to kiss her neck.

“Show me,” he says.

She shudders at the depths in his voice. It increases the flood of wetness she already feels, even before she slips two fingers between the folds of her sex. She gathers some of that slick and circles it over the source of her pleasure, the small nub above her entrance.

Dean takes his hardened length in his hand. While she writhes by her own hand, he drinks her in with his eyes. A soft groan falls from his lips as he pumps himself a few times, sliding a thumb across the weeping head of his cock.

He can’t be a spectator for long though. He nips tantalizingly at her neck, creating a zing of added sensation across her skin. She whimpers, though she tries to stifle it, her knee bending further.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Dean says. “Let me hear you.”

He releases himself and replaces her hand with his own. He slips two long fingers inside her drenched entrance, earning a gasping moan from her. She latches onto his shoulders and buries her face into his neck. She whispers fervent things he doesn’t understand, but it only spurs him on.

His thumb circles insistently over her clit as his fingers pulse inside her. Her hips buck a needy rhythm against his hand, until her thighs begin to shake, and her inner walls squeeze even tighter around his fingers.

“Shit, that’s it, baby,” he pants gruffly against her cheek. “Let go for me.”

Warmth snaps and floods from her throbbing core, and she cries out near his ear, her nails biting into his skin. Her release coats his fingers.

Mila drops her head back against the furs underneath her. Her chest rises and falls quickly while she tries to catch her breath, her eyes tightly shut. Dean surprises her with a soft kiss.

“Mila,” he prods. He wants to see her eyes again, so pretty and wanton when she comes. He veers away from her lips to kiss her cheek, and then the other side of her neck. “Let me see you, sweetheart.”

She huffs a small laugh. Opening her eyes, she gestures to her bare body. “This is not enough?”

Dean’s lips tug at a smile. He shakes his head. “As a matter of fact, no.”

He shifts over her, finding his place between the cradle of her thighs. His elbows come to rest on either side of her head. She feels trapped by his body, even as she welcomes his weight and the feeling of his arousal, long and heavy and hard, trapped between their bodies. This man fills every corner of her world in this moment.

“If I’m your husband now, that means I get all of you,” he says with a grin. She gazes up at him, both in blushing amusement and affection.

“All of me,” Mila repeats. She takes his face in her hands and brings him closer, until her lips are a whisper from his. “Then I want all of you.”

Dean chuckles. “You sure about that?”

She smiles in satisfaction, and her lips claim him this time. One kiss turns into many, each one mounting in passion and desire. Dean groans into her when she begins to touch him. Her hands are soft, but direct in their seeking; they caress his shoulders, run down his chest and stomach, and then, more tentatively explore the now painfully hard length of him pressing against her.

He makes a grateful sound of pleasure when her hand wraps around his cock, squeezing gently. His fingers bury themselves in her hair.

“I want all of you,” she says, this time a plea and a demand all at once as she strokes him.

Dean nods in agreement. He’s come this far. He can do that for her too.

He spreads her thighs a bit wider and encourages her to adjust the angle of her hips for him. His hand glides down her plush thigh and gets a healthy grip. Then he slides his hand under hers and guides his cock through her folds, first just holding himself at her warm, wet entrance.

He manages to wait for a second, in order to meet her gaze. She’s already holding onto his arms tightly, like he’s become her anchor. Her thighs wrap around his hips and beckon him closer.

Slowly, he pushes inside. He takes care in how he works her open. She winces at the sting of his girth stretching her, but his fingers once again massage her clit, stroking her arousal back into a keening flame. He swallows her gasps and moans as he bottoms out inside her, fully sheathed. Tears prick at her eyes, but not from pain.

Mila’s dream flashes like a waking vision behind her eyes. Wings take flight, along with the gleam of a golden beak and a sharp eye.

She blinks, and the image disappears. She’s left with the man who has become hers, making love to her with every stroke of him deep inside her. She presses grateful kisses across his neck and shoulder, wherever she can reach while she clings to his strong arms.

The thick head of him brushes a sensitive place over and over, one that tightens the coil in her lower belly and makes her core tremble again with warmth, until her body convulses against him, pulsing in pleasure, gripping him tight from the inside. Mila’s fingers clench in his hair just as tightly as her release hits her in a powerful wave; even her voice becomes lost to it.

Gritting his teeth, Dean grips the soft flesh of her hip and chases his own end. The way her inner walls choke his cock, he has no choice but to come hot inside her, his spend mixing with her own release. A strangled shout tears from his throat.

He has to brace himself before he crushes her. With his forearms resting on either side of her head, he lowers his forehead against hers. Her legs slip from where they’ve been tightly molded to his hips, her feet meeting the floor. Eventually he slips out of her. He watches his seed drip out and create a mess on the dark furs. The sight of it satisfies something primal deep inside him.

Later he’ll ask her about washing up (and about supper), but for now, he just turns onto his back beside her. She inches toward him, and he raises an arm so she can splay out against his side. They both lay there for a moment in the quiet, just catching their breath together. It marks the end of a long journey, and yet, the start of one too.

Mila turns to raise onto her elbow. She reaches over to wipe the sweat from his brow in a tender touch. Dean smiles up at her. He takes her hand and presses a kiss into her palm.

“I could get used to this,” he says.

Her eyes widen in surprise, but then she laughs softly. “Yes.”

Her hand moves down to his chest, over his heart. She sobers as she considers her people, and how much trust has yet to be bridged—not only her own father and uncle, but the entire tribe. When she led him through the village, they called him wašíču.

Fat-taker. Greedy White. Not one of us.

“It will be hard for you here,” Mila says. She worries it will be too hard for Dean.

He just squeezes her hand, earning her attention through tumultuous thoughts.

“I’m not afraid of a little hard work,” Dean replies. His usual confident charm is infused in his smile, but she has a feeling he’s just trying to reassure her.

Sensing she’s not convinced, Dean reaches up to hold her cheek, guiding her to look at him and not the floor.

“Listen. I made my choice, and I’m sticking it out, come hell or high water,” he says.

Mila’s brows knit together. “Hell-or-high… What does that mean?”

Dean sits up on his elbow along with her. He takes her chin between his fingers and meets her gaze.

“It means if you want me, you’ve got me. The rest, we’ll figure out as we go along,” he says.

A smile slowly lightens Mila’s face. She tilts her chin up to meet him with a kiss.

“I will be with you,” she says. It’s a promise.

Dean smiles back.

“Good,” he says. “Because that’s just about all I need.”

AN: There we have it, friends. 💜 I really, truly hope you enjoyed this mini series! To be honest, I have more ideas for this little world (like how Dean might try to assimilate into this culture), but I'll leave it to you guys to let me know if that's something you'd be interested in reading.

Until then, I would love to know what you thought of this chapter!

Pronunciation Guide:

Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Wašíču ("wash-ee-jew")

Read the Sequel:

Dive into more Cowboy Dean with the sequel of this story, Outlander:

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won?

▶️ Keep Reading: OUTLANDER (PART 1)

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atleastpleasetelephone · 3 months ago

Text

Gentle on my mind - Chapter 14

Initially set in 1967 when Elvis is filming Clambake. Feeling miserable and trapped after the Colonel banishes Larry and the spiritual texts, Elvis invites Gloria to keep him company through the last five days of filming. Gloria is an aspiring movie editor and more importantly she's a lot of fun. Will she be what Elvis needs to get him out of the depressive funk he's in?

Catch up with the other parts here.

Many thanks to @sissylittlefeather being my beta reader on this one.

A/N: This is the final part. I wanted to write an epilogue but this was so difficult to write I don't think I can. I cried all the way through it and I cried when I edited it too. I am really sorry to have made a story that ends like this, but this is how it is.

Pairing: Elvis x OC - Gloria, a budding film editor.

Word count: 2.7K

TWs: Description of Elvis' failing health, erectile dysfunction, consensual somno, p in v sex, and death. Please prepare yourself for the end of this.

They spend the rest of the week at Graceland enjoying one another’s company. Elvis feels a sense of peace that settles over him like a warm blanket that cold January, and he wishes it could go on forever. Gloria is happy too, finally having time with Elvis and no demands on either of them. She particularly enjoys getting to know Larry, who she thinks of as Elvis’ spiritual hairdresser, talking about all sorts of crazy things. She recognises him as a kindred spirit - maybe not quite on the basis of religion or even belief generally, but as someone who wants the best for Elvis and actively tries to help him. Larry likes Gloria too, especially the effect that she has on Elvis. He’s sure Parker wouldn’t be happy about her if he knew she was here, but then again maybe he wouldn’t mind her, since there seemed to be no way she could be a permanent fixture in Elvis’ life. The days at Graceland are full of reading and talking, singing and playing games in the snow. Gloria is sad when she has to leave but she’s been missing her kids too. It’s the longest she’s spent without them, and the ache in her heart feels almost physical. There are a lot of tears and promises when she leaves, though every time she and Elvis part she worries a little more if there will be a next time.

***

Gloria keeps her promise about visiting, but it’s hard to find times that work for the kids, Roger and Elvis. They manage twice that year, and it’s wonderful both times. Somehow she manages another visit in early 1976, and then Elvis tells her he’s playing two dates at Cow Palace in November and puts her name on the door. He’d looked tired when she saw him last, and she’s worried about seeing him perform for the first time in four years. She’s still never spoken to him about his health, but she sees the pills and she stays awake a lot when she’s with him, remembering what Jerry had said. Once she finds he’s stopped breathing and has to shake him awake, calling out desperately for help. He comes round, but it scares her. It scares her a lot that they might not have much time left.

***

Somehow the Cow Palace show is incredible. Elvis is bright and engaged and as she watches him, Gloria feels like she’s falling in love all over again. He’s fired Red and Sonny West, so Jerry is his only remaining body guard now, and it’s easy for him to persuade Jerry that they don’t have to stay in the hotel that night. He arrives to Gloria’s house under cover of darkness and the kids are overwhelmed with joy to see him.

Once they’re in bed he peels his jumpsuit off his tired body, standing in the middle of Gloria’s bedroom. He’s so exhausted he forgets to be self-conscious, and when she walks in from tucking the kids in she finds him standing there in just the little white pants he had to wear with the suit. His hair is still damp with sweat, and the hair on his chest seems darker and thicker than ever. He turns to look at her, eyes half-closed.

“I need ta shower, honey.”

Gloria has a little ensuite with just a shower, and she ushers him towards it. It’s obvious he’s too tired for this really, so when he gets in and just stands there under the faucet not moving, she gets in too. It’s a tight squeeze and as she starts to rub soap on his chest she realises she didn’t even take her clothes off. He’s not the only exhausted one.

“Thanks honey,” he whispers, not questioning what she’s doing or the fact that she’s doing it fully-clothed.

She rubs soap all over him and then helps him rinse it off. He steps out of the shower, shakily, and she quickly strips off her wet clothes, leaving them there before finding him a towel and wrapping him up in it. He’s still and his eyes are almost closed, so she dries him too, leading him back into the bedroom once she’s dried herself off.

Elvis lies down with a groan. He’s exhausted. He can’t help but feel that he gave his all at that show, but he knows he has to do it again tomorrow.

“Can’t keep doin’ this,” he mumbles, as Gloria tucks him in and then gets in next to him. Her hair is wet, so she puts a towel down on her pillow.

“You need a break,” she whispers.

“I sure do.”

She leans her head against his chest, her fingers rubbing one of his sideburns. They’re so big now she feels like he’s on his way to growing a beard.

“Remember we used to talk about going to Hawaii?”

He smiles, eyes still closed. “Course. Think about it all the time. Runnin’ away to Hawaii with you and the kids. Livin’ out the rest a my days peacefully in the sun.”

Gloria feels her heart break in two at his words. The rest of my days.

“Maybe we can go there on vacation? I’m sure I could work something out.”

“That would be wonderful honey… maybe next year…” he starts to trail off, his words slurring as he falls into a deep sleep.

She stays awake, watching him, staring at his beautiful profile and wondering how she got so lucky and yet so unlucky at the same time.

***

When Elvis calls her and asks her to run away with him to Hawaii she doesn’t hesitate. Not just because she’s afraid if she says no she might never see him again, but because Roger has lost interest in Corey and Jackie and moved to Nebraska to be with the maid. She’d stuck around for a bit with the baby, but then wanted a clean break from the mess in Frisco and decided to go back to be near her family. Roger had tried to do both, but in the end he told Gloria he was waiving his right to custody in favour of the maid and her little one. His other son. She doesn’t care for herself, but she’s devastated for the kids. Particularly Jackie, who’s such a Daddy’s girl. Corey had never been the same with his dad since that fateful night, and even though he was very small at the time, she feels like he remembers what happened.

The group that arrives in Honolulu is small and tightly knit. Only Larry and Jerry are there from the Mafia, although Charlie promises to arrive in a few days. Pat travels with Gloria and the kids to help out with childcare. She’d agreed to it after her sister had broken down one evening, telling her about her fears around Elvis’ health. When they see him at the resort neither think her fears were unfounded. His face is swollen and so is his belly, and he looks more tired than ever. But he’s joyful, being in Hawaii with Gloria at last. He’s only told Jerry and Larry that this isn’t really a vacation. To everyone else, he’s just having a break before his next tour. To them, he’s going and not coming back. He hates the idea of letting his fans down but he thinks he’ll end up doing it eventually anyway, and at least this way he’s got control over it. He’s set up as many traps as he possibly can for Joe and the Colonel to fall into before they realise what he’s doing and try to drag him back. But he feels old and tired now, even though he’s only 42. He’s lived a full life. It’s time to relax in a place he loves with the people he loves best.

***

Elvis might be tired, but the sun and sand do revive him, and he spends his days playing with the kids and his nights trying his hardest to give Gloria the most pleasure he can. She tells him she doesn’t need multiple orgasms a night and he should rest, but he doesn’t listen. He hasn't had an erection for over a year now, but he makes up for it with his hands and his mouth. Gloria is only sad that she can’t give him anything back, kissing all over his body and gently sucking his soft dick.

One night, he’s so caught up in holding and kissing her that he falls asleep without taking his pills and wakes up in a panic in the early hours of the morning. Scrambling around to look for them, he suddenly realises that he’s woken up with something else too. He touches himself but it fades quickly and his heart sinks with disappointment. His hand closes around the pill bottle but he pauses after he shakes them into his hand. Maybe a few more days without them and he’d be able to get hard again. He wants to do that for her, for his Glory. She deserves someone who can satisfy her, one last time. He doesn’t know which ones are causing the problem, so he stops taking them all. It doesn’t help with his pain, or his mood, but three days later he wakes up at 6am with a raging hard-on and remembers what Gloria had said about any time.

“Glory,” he whispers, shaking her a little, but she’s fast asleep.

His hand trails down her body until his fingers find her clit. Circling it, he watches her react in her sleep, wriggling and sighing. The pain in his belly is excruciating, but the ache in his dick is more important. And the feeling that this is their last chance to properly be together. Things have been escalating with the Colonel and he’s sure someone will be here soon to try and drag him back to Memphis. His fingers slip inside her pussy as he continues to stimulate her clit with his thumb, feeling her getting wetter as she gets closer to orgasm. When it hits she makes a surprised little noise, her eyes fluttering open and looking up at him.

“Is it… are you?” She mumbles, confused and euphoric and hopeful all at the same time.

“He’s awake,” Elvis replies, pulling the covers back to show her his hard, weeping dick.

Her eyes are full of list staring at first his dick and then his face, thinking about how much she wants him inside her. How much she wants to feel close to him like that again.

“Fuck. Oh I want you so bad, big boy. Please fuck me.”

He pushes her knees up so her feet come off the bed and positions himself between her legs. Slowly, gradually pushing inside her, watching her face, stopping when he can see it’s hurting her and carrying on when she gently touches his arm. When he’s fully inside he lies on top of her like he did that day on the beach in California, his head buried in her shoulder. He starts to move inside her slowly and her arms wrap around him as she feels tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She knows this is the last time. And not because he’s getting married, or because she is, but for a much more permanent reason this time. She knows he’s dying and she feels like he ran away to Hawaii to do it. She’ll never feel this again and as his movements speed up she can’t stop the tears spilling down her cheeks.

“N-no. No, Elvis. Slow down. I want… I want to enjoy this. P-please.”

He moves his head to look at her as he forces himself to move slowly. When he sees her crying he knows she knows too. He presses his lips against hers as his tears start to flow. Their tears mingle as he rolls his hips against her, both of them sighing with pleasure even as their hearts break.

“So tired, baby,” he mumbles against her lips.

Her hand goes to his cheek. “I know. I know.”

“Haveta… has to end…” he continues, and she feels him speed up.

Sobs wrack her body as she closes her eyes to feel him better. He comes with a small cry, and then he’s still. Softening inside her as he lies there, panting. She can’t stop weeping, and when he finally moves his head she sees he can’t either.

“I wish I’d never let you leave that beach!” She cries out, unable to stop herself.

“I wish I’d never gone. We shoulda run away together then, Glory. I shoulda been braver.”

She throws her arms around him, pulling him against her tightly. “It’s not your fault. Oh fuck. I love you so much. I don’t want you to… can’t you get well?”

She feels him shake his head against her. “Too late, baby. Too late fer all that. Jus’ have to hope the Colonel doesn’t get here first.”

First. Before he dies. Gloria wonders if she’ll ever stop crying. Then she remembers Corey and Jackie. She’ll have to.

***

Pat agrees to take the kids to one of the other islands for a couple of days when Elvis’s condition takes a radical turn for the worse. They say goodbye to him like they’ll see him again soon, and she doesn’t have the heart to tell them this is most likely goodbye for good. She thinks on some level they know, even though he’s trying to act cheerful for them, he’s been in bed for the past few days and can barely get out of it. She called Priscilla and got her to bring Lisa-Marie for a day too, so that his little girl could see her daddy for the last time. Priscilla and Pat get on well and Elvis’ ex-wife decides to go with them to the other island, make a proper vacation out of it. Part of her wants to stay and be with Elvis when he dies, but she sees he has someone else for that.

She does stay to watch Larry marry them though. He performs a little ceremony whilst they sit in the bed in Elvis’ suite. Gloria helped Elvis dress and he’s in a white suit with a pale blue shirt underneath. She wears white too, and a garland of flowers in her hair. They even have a little cake afterwards, and Gloria throws her garland for Lisa-Marie and Jackie to fight over. Lisa-Marie wins. Any worries the kids might’ve had about Elvis were blown away by the wedding, tiny though it is, and they leave full of joy. Things get worse for Elvis as soon as they’re gone. He’s used up all his energy on staying cheerful for them, and on marrying Gloria. He lies down in the bed and sighs with exhaustion. Not long now.

Gloria stays by his side for two days and nights, keeping herself awake with coffee and stimulants, watching over him. On the third day she feels herself getting drowsy.

“I’m just going to take a little nap, big boy.”

His head moves slowly to look at her. She kisses him gently, and is about to pull away when he pushes his tongue into her mouth, his hand somehow making its way to the back of her neck. She savours the kiss, but she’s almost asleep. Her eyes close.

“I love you, Gloria. You’re the love of my life. I’ve never known anyone like you. You’re my girl.” It takes a tremendous effort for Elvis to get the words out, but he has to say them. His head falls back on the pillow with exhaustion when he finishes.

“Love you… too… Elvis…” the words slur as she falls into a deep sleep. Part of her brain is telling her she shouldn’t, but she’s been awake for too long and her body takes over.

He watches her as he feels the life slipping away from his body.

His Glory. In Hawaii. At last.

Softly, I will leave you softly / For my heart would break if you should wake and see me go / So I leave you softly, long before you miss me / Long before your arms can beg me stay / For one more hour or one more day

***

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yourfavoritewitchbitch · 7 months ago

Text

Badge Bunny - Part VI - Silver Linings

Home was never a place, until it was with you.

18+ Only! MDNI!

CW: Minimal use of Y/N. Read is referred to as "Bunny" or "Bun". Fluff and sweetness. Gator holds onto his insecurities from the past. SMUT AHEAD! Oral (m and f receiving). Fingering. Unprotected p in v. Reader with a vagina. Creampie.

WC: 7.7K

It seemed only natural. The two of you set off with no particular destination in mind, taking only what you could load in your old beat-up car.

The sun was setting low, casting its last rays of the day across a wide open sky as hues of orange and gold danced beyond the horizon. It was a slower change of pace driving with the windows down, your free flowing locks blowing in the breeze, as you chanced glances his way anytime you could.

There was a shift in him. It was small but it hadn’t been there before. He was smiling, tapping his foot along with the music and humming a lyric or two when he recognized the song that was playing on the radio.

Neither of you seem to have a care in the world, but you're struck with the sudden realization that this was the first time that Gator was free to live his own life and do as he pleased without the constant fear or pressure of living under his father's thumb. The weight of the past was no longer a heavy burden he had to carry.

He turned, as if he could sense your eyes were on him.

“What?” His grin widened, as he tilted his head.

“Just admiring the scenery.” You smirked, reaching over to lace your fingers with his. Your answer seemed to satisfy his curiosity as he chuckled and returned his attention back out the window.

You headed west, crossing the rest of the country heading for the coast, finding yourself in sunny California a few short days later. His skin was more tanned than you had ever seen it. Cheeks and nose dotted with a few more freckles in the process, with a permanent smile plastered to his face.

He was happy. You both were.

The money wouldn't last the way you were hopping from town to town but neither of you seemed to care. You'd make it last as long as he was content, saving where you could with dumpy motels and cheap gas station snacks or dollar menu drive-thru meals.

By the time he had been released, the ranch had been sold along with any of his belongings seized by the government. Karen and the girls were off in the wind, somehow weaseling her way out of any implications in the affairs of her imprisoned husband. He knew he'd never see them again. She'd most likely changed her name much like Dot, trying to make a new life for herself.

He left that prison with absolutely nothing, except you, but that's all he needed.

When it was time for that conversation of what you were going to do and where you were going to go, he brought up your parents who were still in Texas, asking if you wanted to visit and maybe stay a while. He'd never been that far south, used to the unforgiving northern winters and mild summers. You thought it might do him some good.

So, you ended up back in your hometown. Your relationship with your parents was still good, always keeping in touch with them while out on your own. They never understood your need for freedom, but they were supportive anyway.

You were a free spirit. Small towns made you feel caged in, yearning for a freedom you thought you needed, especially this small town. Except when you came back with him, you no longer had that feeling.

They owned a small farm on the edge of town, not nearly as large as what Gator was used to in Lehigh, but it had a few horses he could tend to in his free time. He had said he found it relaxing.

Your parents welcomed him with open arms and never judged him for his past. They were simply thankful their little girl had finally come home, certain that he had something to do with that.

You slept in your old bedroom for a few weeks while you sorted out your plans, cramped together in a twin sized bed, nestled cozy amongst your old comforter. It was surreal to have him here. Something you could have never quite imagined.

“I want to take care of you.” He whispered in the dark one night, as a sliver of moonlight through the curtains shown down on the both of you.

“You do take care of me baby.” Whispering back from the spot your head lay against his chest, listening to the soft thumping of his heartbeat.

“No, I mean I don’t want you workin’ in shitty dive bars to make ends meet. If I'm gonna be your husband you're gonna be taken care of.” He huffed, his calloused fingertips softly drawing patterns onto your side and down your back.

“Gator, I hate to break it to you, but that money isn't going to last forever, and you can't go back to law enforcement. Not to mention the fact that you're now an ex-convict.” Sighing out the last part, as you sat up, the old springs squeaking under your sudden movements.

“I'm sorry,” you quickly added as your chin drifted toward your chest.

“Hey, you've got nothin’ to be sorry for.” Rising up to sit beside you, gently lifting your chin to look at him. “You're just sayin’ the truth.”

He gently presses his lips to yours, pulling you back down to lay with him.

“If you—” trailing off a moment, not sure if you wanted to suggest it. “If you wanted to stay here for a while, my uncle owns an oil rig about an hour south. I'm sure my dad could talk to him about a job for you.”

“He'd do that f’me?” He asked incredulously, as if he shouldn't be afforded any kindness.

“Of course he would. You're family.” Saying it so assuredly, as you began to softly trace the moles dotted across his abdomen and chest.

He wasn't used to this. A family that seemed to care about one another without some ulterior motive at work. Warmth bloomed in his chest at the thought of finally finding a place where he belonged, right here with you.

He tried not to let his thoughts drag him down, but it had been weighing on him since he'd gotten out of prison. Your willingness to stand by him through the entire ordeal only solidified his unending love but he had to find a way to take care of you like he promised.

“I'll talk to him in the morning, baby. Get some rest.” Yawning out, as your eyes began to grow heavy, your hand stilling at his side.

“Okay, sweet thing.” He smiled to himself, kissing the top of your head letting himself drift off peacefully for the night.

Much to your delight, your dad was more than willing to talk to your uncle. Even going as far as offering to take Gator to talk to him in person the following day.

He showered, shaving the stubble he'd been neglecting the past few days and pulled on a pair of clean jeans.

“Bun, have you seen my… shit…” he called down the hall, as you moved toward the bedroom to help him.

You came to lean up against the doorframe, as he dug through the suitcase with his back to you, continuing to grumble. You couldn't hold back the grin that lifted the edges of your lips, biting down on your thumbnail watching the way his taut back muscles worked.

“Have I seen what, baby?” Finally asking him with a singsong voice.

“That black button up? I used to wear it t’church an’ for special occasions. I could've sworn it was in here.” Huffing out, as he continued shuffling clothes out of the way to get to the bottom.

“This one?” You gingerly replied.

He turned, unbuttoned pants hanging off his narrow hips slightly, as he looked at you.

You held it up, freshly pressed, with a self satisfied smirk plastered to your face. You'd figured he'd want to dress nice, even if he didn't have to, ironing out the wrinkles and making sure the collar was just right.

His lips curled up into a beaming smile as he crossed the room, taking the hanger from where it dangled on your outstretched finger.

“You're the best, baby.” He stated, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and shuffling over to the bed, laying the shirt down gently and pulling on a white undershirt he had already laid out.

He's tense, you could see the worry etched across his face before he turned back around. You came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade.

“You don't have to be so worried. My uncle always needs help, and you're practically family. There's no way he'll turn you down.” He sighed heavily, his shoulders deflating a bit.

“S’not what I'm worried about.” He mumbled, prying your hands away so he could face you.

He clasps his hands at your lower back, to pull you back into him, his honey hued eyes looking down at you swimming with sweet adoration.

“M’worried I won't do good enough. Fresh outta prison, they'll think I'm jus’ some idiot. Some kinda fuck up.”

His words made your heart ache. It wasn't Gator's words you were hearing; it was Roy's. Something he had heard his father tell him countless times. No matter how much distance he puts between himself and the past he still has trouble shaking those false insecurities.

“Baby, they'll teach you how to do what they need.” You soothed, gently laying your hand to his cheek as you spoke. “I have no doubts you're going to do amazing. Fuck anyone who thinks otherwise, my opinion is the only one that matters anyway.”

He grinned at that, pressing his lips to yours. You immediately card your fingers through his damp locks at the nape of his neck, pulling him further into your kiss, parting your lips for his tongue to glide past.

Under different circumstances, you'd ease him back onto the bed and make him forget what he was feeling but he had to finish getting ready.

He reluctantly pulled back and groaned as if he could read your mind, pressing his forehead to yours. You opened your eyes in time to see him frown, pursing his lips slightly, drawing a soft giggle from you.

“Don't pout.” Placing a quick peck to his lips, as an idea crossed your mind. “How long before you head out?”

“Uh, thirty minutes or so. Why?” He asked, as you looked up at him with a devilish smirk.

“I think you should relax, baby.” Moving your hands to his chest, pushing him back as his ass hit the bed, the metal frame groaning under his newly added weight.

“What're you… Oh.” He breathed out, as your hand reached down to palm him through his pants, pushing his thighs apart with your knee, before you began to sink down to the floor.

“Just relax baby.” You cooed, reaching up to pull at his jeans as he lifted his hips, dragging them and his boxers down at once.

His cock was already half hard, kicking up further when you leaned down spitting directly on his length.

“Fuck, you're my dirty girl, huh?” He hissed, as you wrapped your hand around him, watching through hooded eyes as you began to spread the makeshift lube up and down his hardening shaft.

“Just for you, Gator. Always for you.” Replying with a sultry tone, taking your tongue and running up the entire underside of his cock, kitten licking his tip, catching a pearlescent bead of precum before wrapping your lips around him, humming at the taste.

“Oh fuck!” He groans at the feeling when your mouth fully envelops him, his tip already pressing at the back of your throat, pausing a moment, before hollowing your cheeks and bobbing up and down his length, your hand continuing to work what you couldn't fit.

His hand found the back of your head, fingers tangling in your locks helping you move, watching the way your warm mouth and full lips molded around his thick cock, he was mesmerized.

“Yeah, baby. Just like that.” His praise went straight to your core as you hummed against him, rubbing your thighs together for a little friction but you reminded yourself this was all about him right now.

“I'm… fuck… I'm close.” He blurted out, pushing you further down as you tried to relax your throat, eyes watering at the sudden intrusion as you continued to bob and work your hand in tandem.

He bucked his hips upward, suddenly spilling into your mouth and down your throat as a string of expletives leaves his lips.

You swallow around his shaft, causing him to whine out bucking up once more before your hands pressed his thighs back to the bed, pulling off with a gasp, catching your breath as some of the mixture dribbled slightly out of your mouth.

His chest was heaving as he looked back down at you, muttering a quick apology, running his thumb under your eye wiping at stray tears before running it across your chin collecting his cum. You grab his hand holding it in place as you wrap your lips around the digit, swirling your tongue across the pad swallowing down every last drop.

“Fuck, I owe you one.” He grinned, as you pulled off with a pop, standing back up running your hand through his hair before wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You do.” Grinning back at him. “But right now, you need to finish getting ready.” Kissing his forehead, hugging him into your chest before reluctantly releasing him to finish getting dressed.

You were in the kitchen watching the horses in the field lost in your thoughts when you heard his heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and subsequently walking up behind you. His hair slicked back into that usual style you hadn't seen in a couple of weeks.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. Leaning your head back against his shoulder, the scent of his woodsy cologne and freshly laundered shirt surrounds you, bringing you a sense of comfort.

“Whatcha thinkin’ bout, sweet thing?” He hummed, lowering his chin to your shoulder, looking out across the same field.

“Nothing.” You giggled, causing him to lift his head.

“What’re you—” He began, before the back door swung open as your dad walked in.

“Oh, good.” He smiled seeing you both standing there. “Ready to go, Gator?”

“Sure, Mr. Y/L/N.” Leaving you with a kiss to your cheek. “We’ll be back soon.”

You watched them go, eyes lingering on the outline of the truck as it left the driveway. You already knew Gator would have a job by the time he left, so you thought you should celebrate when he returned home.

Your mom has gone into town earlier, bringing back everything you needed for a celebratory picnic. A small surprise that would surely bring a smile to his face.

Fresh fruits, along with a couple of sandwiches and his favorite chips were loaded into the old wicker basket before you went back upstairs to get yourself ready.

Heading straight for your closet, you had hidden a dress away just for the occasion, finding it exactly where you left it.

You produced a mid-length floral milkmaid sundress, that you knew would drive Gator absolutely feral, pairing it with your favorite cowboy boots.

They made it back around dinner time, and he would surely be starving.

You watched as they rounded the rusty pickup, your dad clapping a hand to Gator's shoulder as they walked to the house, both smiling.

“Hey pumpkin! Lookin’ pretty as a peach.” Your dad beamed as he entered, giving you a quick hug and kiss to the cheek before heading to the living room to find your mama.

Gator stopped and gaped at you. Only his wildest dreams could conjure up an angel as pretty as you standing before him now.

“Hey sweet thing! What'cha all dressed up for?” Eyeing you up and down before finally landing back to your face.

“Well, handsome.” Taking a few short steps between you to stand in front of him as he continued to pour over your curves. “I thought we could celebrate.” You smiled, throwing your hands around his neck.

“How'd you know I got the job?” He narrowed his eyes at you, while moving his hands to your hips, pulling you into him.

You shrugged, feigning innocence.

“I just had a feeling.” You giggled, nails scratching his scalp at the back of his head.

“A feeling, huh?” Raising an eyebrow in question.

“Yeap.” You simply stated, moving out of his grasp to take his hand, pulling him back out the door. “Now come on Mr. Tillman, before it gets too late.”

You'd already loaded the basket and a checkered blanket into the car a few minutes before he arrived, adding a bottle of white wine your mother had stashed away in the pantry.

“Wait, where we goin'?” He asked, obediently following you out.

“You'll see.” Looking over your shoulder as you rounded the car.

His hand was on your thigh as you drove, with the windows down and the radio up.

“So, you gonna tell me where you're takin’ me?” He finally asked about twenty minutes in. You'd been unusually quiet, just letting the music fill the comfortable silence.

“Nope.” You said with an over exaggerated pop and a small giggle.

“Fine.” He sighs, feigning annoyance but loving the sound of your excited laughter.

The car turned down a gravel dirt road that eventually turned into little more than a dirt path with the trees closing in around you.

“Uh, Bun?” He said with a little hesitation to his voice as he turned back to you.

“Trust me, baby.” You assured him so casually. “Look, it opens up ahead.”

His eyes looked out to where you had pointed. Sure enough, it opened up to a clearing, with a creek to the right of the small field.

The creek was picture perfect, just as you remembered it as a kid. An old swing was tied off to the big tree to the right, surely dry rotted by now but you can still remember using it during those hot summer days to stay cool.

On the other side of the bank, it was an open prairie. A few cows were grazing nearby, paying no attention to either of you as you began to spread out the oversized tablecloth.

You chatted as he helped you set out the food. It didn't go unnoticed the way he turned his nose up to the fresh fruit.

“Don't worry, I brought you plenty of chips and cookies.” You laughed, as he planted a wet kiss to your cheek.

“That's my girl.” He hummed, sitting down beside you, stretching his legs out, taking in the scenery as you handed him a sandwich and bag of chips.

He scarfed it down without a second thought, as you leisurely plucked berries from the Tupperware, popping them into your mouth.

He got distracted as soon as you stretched out beside him, kicking off your boots, legs on full display beneath your billowy skirt. The breeze catches it here and there, lifting it just enough for more of your plush thighs to be on display.

“You ready for dessert?” Reaching into the basket beside you pulling out some of his favorite cookies, handing it to him.

“I do want dessert, but I had something else in mind.” His eyes trail your curves, licking his lips, crooked grin on full display as he leaned in. “I think it's time to return that favor.”

He captured your lips, hand trailing up the inside of your thigh reaching the hem of your dress and sliding further still, expecting to find the edge of your panties but was met with your soft, bare skin instead.

“Bunny, you been walkin’ around without any panties on?” He asked, not waiting for a reply brushing his thumb across your slick lips before pressing in a little further finding your clit, eliciting a breathy moan from you.

“Not all day,” you managed to get out before he began to rub slow, torturous circles to the already puffy nub. “Mmphm… just… just took em’ off right before you got home.”

You whined, as he pulled his hand away.

“S’okay, I've got you. Just lay back and look all pretty f’me.” He hummed, as you lowered your upper half to the cloth below.

He crawled over, placing himself between your parted thighs, pressing his already hard cock against your needy core for just a moment with his lips to your neck before he began trailing kisses lower to any exposed skin he could find.

Down the column of your neck, across your shoulder, the top of your breasts as he trails lower still, relishing the feel of his weight, lips wet and warm against your skin. A hand to your thigh, pushing your skirt up as he lowers himself down, breath suddenly fanning across your exposed cunt.

You chance a glance down at him, eyes blown dark and wide with lust. He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, nipping the tender flesh drawing a small squeak from you as you drag the hem of your dress higher. His hands wrap around the tops of your thighs, nose nudging the seam of your slit breathing in your earthy scent.

His tongue darts out, dipping his head down, licking a fat stripe upward nudging your lips apart just barely grazing your clit, moaning to himself as your scent and taste overtake his senses.

Your back arches for him when he suddenly delves back in, tongue prodding at your aching hole making you clench around nothing, so worked up from earlier this morning already teetering along the edge.

“Ya’ taste so fuckin' good.” He mumbles out with a moan, grinding his hips down, searching for friction as his tongue finds your clit once more, circling it deftly before his lips close around you to suck harshly.

“Oh, Gator!” You moan out, fingers combing through his gelled locks, tugging when his ministrations didn't let up, undoing his styled mane.

He continued to switch between sucking and flicking or swirling his tongue, every little movement sending you hurtling toward the edge, as the heat began to build in your core.

You cried out when he added a finger, curling it expertly to find that spot on your frontal wall, then adding another to fill your aching pussy as it fluttered around him.

Your hips chased the feeling, as he drove his fingers in and out, working in tandem with his mouth guiding you further to your impending release.

“Gator, please—ahhh,” losing all coherent thought as your mind went blank.

“C’mon sweet thing,” popping off, letting his thumb replace his mouth so he could watch you properly fall apart. “I want t’feel you let go. Cum f’me.”

His words send you careening over the edge, as white hot heat pools at your midsection, your gummy walls contract around his fingers, squeezing and spasming around them.

“That's it… fuck…” He hissed, watching the way your hole pulsed around his thick digits as he worked you through your high.

Your legs felt heavy, falling further open as he finally removed his fingers, placing them in his mouth, sucking them clean.

“Mmm, so fuckin' sweet.” He laid his head against your thigh, watching your chest expanding and falling, trying to catch the breath he'd just helped take away.

Your face held a blissed out expression in the afterglow, a small smile tugging at the edges of your lips with your cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of pink.

There was no doubt in his mind he was staring up at the face of an angel. He didn't need to enter the pearly gates when his time on earth was over, not when he had heaven right here with you.

Finally coming back to your senses, your hand moved to shield your eyes from the sun as you squinted down at him, your ring catching the light and reflecting back toward him.

It weighed on his mind daily to ask you properly just as he'd promised. He'd been trying to find the perfect time to get down on one knee, do the whole shabang but suddenly in the quiet of this moment it just felt right. He was suddenly overcome with an idea.

“Whatcha thinkin' bout, handsome?” Your sweet voice cuts through his train of thought, your southern drawl that you hid so well beginning to sneak through the more time you spent in Texas.

“You. Us.” Replying without hesitation, as you lift your hand to card through his hair, pushing it back from his face. His eyelids fluttered closed with the tender touch.

You had similar thoughts running through your mind. Lucky you had found something in Gator, when no one else took the time to nurture and see his potential. He was strong willed and fiercely protective, showing you a love like you could never have imagined.

“C’mere baby.” You murmured softly, fingertips tracing his jaw. He laid a kiss to the inside of your thigh before he slowly pulled the hem of your dress back down, crawling up the length of your body, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of your nose laying next to you. You rolled onto your side to face him.

He didn’t say anything at first, but he was suddenly looking at you with such adoration it made your heart ache.

“Marry me?” He blurted out after a moment, sporting that lopsided grin you’d come to love when he has some mischievous plan.

“What?” You giggled, furrowing your brow at the small outburst. “I am marrying you, Gator.”

He sat up then, taking your hand in his, warm and calloused pulling you to sit up with him.

“Bunny, ugh, fuck… I mean Y/N.” Clamping his eyes shut momentarily while internally scolding himself for already fucking it up. “There’s no reason we should wait, we can drive to the courthouse right now. I just want you to be mine forever.”

“Gator, we– are you sure?” You asked hesitantly, making sure this is what he wanted. You’d never pressure him into anything. You would have married him ages ago, had he already suggested it. The two of you were practically attached at the hip as it is.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I don’t need nothin’ else, as long as I have you. I should’ve wifed ya’ up a long time ago. So, whaddya say sweet thing? Marry me? Make me the happiest bastard in the world?” He smiled, big and bright as he searched your face for the answer.

“What’re we waiting for then?” You shrugged, with a smile mirroring his own. His eyes lit up, as he leaned in pressing his lips to yours, his hand coming to rest at the nape of your neck pulling you further into him. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, but you giggled again, pushing him away.

“Wait, baby, we need rings. We can’t just go get married without them. C’mon.” You quickly pulled your boots on. “I’ve got the perfect idea, but we need to hurry!”

The two of you packed up the picnic, in between kisses and laughs, rushing back to the car. The courthouse closed in roughly three hours. Plenty of time to get what you need.

“You sure ya’ wanna do this?” He spoke up, after you got out onto the road. “I mean, we can wait. Do the whole church thing, invite your family.”

“Gator, when have we ever done anything the traditional way?” Eyes cutting to him briefly, before looking back to the road, reaching over the console to intertwine your fingers with his.

“Yeah, I know. I jus’ didn’t want ya’ to feel like you’re missin’ out on somethin’ because a’me.” The last part came out a little quieter, overthinking the situation.

“Baby, if you’re sure. I’m sure. I’ve just been waiting on you.” A grin lifted the edges of your lips as his head whipped back around.

“Is that so?”

“Yeap! So, Gator Tillman, let’s go make it official!”

Your first stop was a small pawn shop on the edge of town. The place was a little dilapidated but the guy who owned it was pretty trustworthy. It had been around for as long as you could remember.

“Bunny, isn’t there a jewelry store ‘round here?” He asked as you pulled into a space out front, shutting off the ignition, turning to fully face him. His expression was a little crestfallen. “You deserve somethin’ better than some second hand ring.”

“Gator, baby, I would wear a paper ring if it meant being your wife. Just think of these as placeholders if you want to.”

A grin split his face at your admission.

“I love you.” He leaned over the seat, kissing the apple of your cheek.

“I love you too, so come on handsome.” You pushed your door open, rushing out leaving him to hurriedly catch up to you.

Luck was on your side, finding two simple gold bands that fit you both perfectly. You had called them placeholders, however they were anything but. Rings to signify the union that was about to take place. They would forever hold a special place in your heart.

You and Gator had endured so much misery and grief to finally come out the other side together. No, they were much more special than you had led him to believe but you didn't want him overthinking again.

“Hey baby, pull over.” He said, knocking you from your train of thought.

“For what?” Quirking your brow. “Cold feet?”

“Just right over here. Hurry!” He pressed, ignoring your little jab.

You hit the turn signal, coasting the car to a stop to the side of the road. He hopped out quickly without another word.

“What the hell are y—” The words die on your tongue as you watch him reach a small patch of wildflowers. He bent down and began gingerly picking the delicate stems one by one until he had a small bouquet worth.

Raising back up, he dusted himself off and walked back grinning ear to ear.

“Can't get married without flowers, right?” He said, sliding back in and setting them neatly in the cup holder.

It never ceased to amaze you how utterly tender and thoughtful this man could be, regardless of his rough exterior he outwardly shows to others. This gentle side that was never taken for granted, saved only for you.

“Yeah baby.” You replied, smiling as you looked down at them, the simple gesture making your heart swell.

“Come on, Bun.” He softly said, pulling you back to the present, grasping your hand in his as he placed a kiss to your knuckles.

You pulled back out into the highway ready for the next adventure.

Hand in hand, the officiant went through the small ceremony in his office at the courthouse with his secretary to bear witness to your union. Neither of you thought of changing, you still in your sundress and he in his button up and jeans. It was perfect just the way it was. Just the way you were.

“Gator, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you honor and cherish her; love, trust and commit to her, through joy and pain, sickness and health, and whatever life may throw at you both, until death do you part?”

“I do.” Searching your eyes as he says it with no hesitation or waiver to his voice. He’s never been more sure of anything in his entire, miserable life. With you by his side, there’s nothing he can't do. You’re his rock. The one person who has never let him down.

The officiant then turns to you speaking the same words. Vows you plan to uphold the rest of your life because you couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone else. He finishes as you respond with the same, simple “I do.”

“And do we have the rings?”

“Oh, shit, yeah.” He drops your hand momentarily to dig through the front pocket of his jeans, pulling a giggle from you as he produced the two newly purchased bands, handing you his with a slight tremble to his hand.

He wasn't nervous to get married, ready to give you the world if he could. He was worried one day you'd finally come to your senses and leave him, just like everyone else he'd loved but when he looked back up into your eyes he saw the pure adoration and unwavering love you held for him.

You smiled and mouthed “I love you” as he finally slid your ring on, as he did the same when it was your turn to slide his on.

“You may now kiss the bride!” The officiant finally uttered those last few words, as Gator wound his arm around your waist, with his hand coming to cradle your jaw, pressing his lips firmly to yours.

Any lingering trepidation melted away with the warm glide of his lips across yours, pulling you in tight to his chest. That tiny bouquet of wildflowers long forgotten, crushed between the two of you.

“Alright kids,” the officiant cleared his throat before it got too heated, as you broke away from each other grinning ear to ear and a little out of breath. “I've got to get back to some clerical work. But you're officially Mr. and Mrs. Tillman.”

“Thank you!” You rang out, grabbing the certificate and dragging Gator out the door.

He drove you home beaming the entire way.

“Gator, do you feel any different?” You asked timidly, wringing your hands in your lap. Somehow nervous and excited at the same time.

“I feel— well, I don't know. I just know I love you, Bunny. A ring or certificate makes no difference. I knew you'd be my girl the first time I saw ya’.” He genuinely smiles, leaning over to take your hand in his.

“Is that so?” You smirk, with a lift of your brow.

“Prettiest thing I'd ever seen in Lehigh, hell in all o’Stark County. And the way ya’ blew me off. I knew you were gonna be a handful.”

Gator was never one to express his feelings so openly. It has taken a lot to get him this far to be able to open up to you. That first meeting had been memorable.

“Well, I remember a very handsome but very arrogant deputy blowing his vape right in my face as his way of flirting. Who wouldn't blow you off?”

He scoffs slightly, feigning offense.

“It worked though.”

You laughed out, causing him to follow with his own laughter.

“Do you feel any different, Mrs. Tillman?” He asked, lifting your hand and planting a kiss close to your new jewelry.

You smiled at the new last name, matching the man you loved but your smile fell for a moment. It seemed there would always be a feeling of something lurking in the corner, hiding and waiting to come out and ruin your happiness.

“I feel happy and nervous, but— I feel like something bad is waiting around the corner. This is the first time we've had peace since we've been together and I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

You didn't want to admit it. Since you've been together you have seen more drama and heartache than most people see in a lifetime. It was hard to somehow imagine a peaceful life ahead of you.

It's not something you could easily put away. It was always in the back of your mind, fearing it would never be put at ease.

“Bunny, it's ok. That's all behind us. We're out of that state and Roy won't be able to do anything behind bars.” He squeezed the hand he still held and you hoped to whatever higher power that was out there he was right.

Your parents weren't surprised when you told them the news. You were and always has been their rash, wild child. Though you didn't take things lightly, once something was made up in your mind there was no changing it.

They were happy for the both of you. And suddenly questions and comments were thrown around the room.

Are you staying here? Where are you going to live? You need a house, and permanent roots to settle down.

Very politely, yet firmly you told them that Gator had just gotten a job, and you'll figure it all out. They understood and also let you know you could stay with them as long as you needed to.

When the day had finally started to wind down and draw to a close you both got ready for bed.

You showered and neither of you bothered to redress, laying as close as possible, skin to skin. His heartbeat was in your ear as you laid your head on his chest, listening to his breathing even out before he began to softly snore.

You suddenly envied the way he could fall asleep so easily. It would be one of those long nights of tossing and turning before sleep would find you. Rolling away from him woke him immediately.

“Where d’ya think you're goin’, hmmm?” he hummed with a groggy, sleep ladened voice turning over to press his chest to your back as he draped his arm around your waist.

“Can't sleep. Didn't want to bother you, baby.” Replying, as he placed a soft kiss to your shoulder before nuzzling into your neck.

“Mmmm.” He hummed, pressing another kiss just below your jaw. “I can help with that.”

His hand trailed its way down the soft plains of your tummy, before slipping a calloused digit between your folds that made you gasp his name and grip his forearm when he brushed past your bundle of nerves igniting your core.

You spread your legs a little further apart, letting his fingers slip lower to your entrance, already beginning to grow slick with arousal as he slowly traced the outer edges.

“That's it, Bunny. Just relax, let me make you feel good so you can turn that little brain off for th’night.” He knew you far too well.

He dips his finger in slightly, your chest releasing a heavy sigh as it drifts back up to your clit where he began drawing lazy circles. There were no hurried movements, no reason to rush. You had all the time in the world.

He drew torturously slow patterns, continuously kissing up and down your neck and jaw until your breathy moans and pleas turned high pitched and whiny.

“What is it, sweet thing?” He whispered, withdrawing his hand from you completely.

“Please.” Replying with a pout, rolling over to your back. You could barely make his face out in the dim moon light streaming in from the gauzy curtains but it was enough.

You found the nape of his neck pulling him in to meet your lips. He moved, lowering his body to drape over yours, laying in between your parted thighs, leaning on his elbow to keep from completely crushing you, wrapping your arms around his neck keeping him there.

“Need you s’all.” You hummed, licking into his mouth eagerly, before sucking his bottom lip and releasing it with a slight pop, rolling your hips up into his for emphasis.

His cock suddenly kicked up with excitement, pinned between the two of you, growing with the eagerness you both shared.

He places soft kisses to the underside of your jaw, as you wrap your legs around his waist. His arousal now very evident, pressing up against your core, his velvety shaft against your soft, sensitive skin.

“Gator, I need you, please.” You rushed out, rolling your hips against his once more, loosening the grip around his neck.

He lifts up slightly, never breaking away as your hands trail his sides.

He hisses, pulling away when your hand wraps around his aching cock but he quickly replaces your hand with his to line him up with your entrance. His tip catches a moment later as he pushes himself in with a slow, fluid motion, your pussy giving no resistance from how he had worked you up.

“Fuck… always so goddamn tight.” He says, moaning out when he's buried himself completely, your pussy flutters at the feel of his thick, long cock sitting snugly against your inner walls.

“I love you, Bunny.” He whispers out, lifting his face to look at yours.

“I love you too.” You reply softly, all breathy and wanton, your hands trying to search and find purchase to pull him closer.

“Love you more than anything, baby. You're fuckin' perfect.” He says, removing himself almost entirely before plunging back in, somehow feeling deeper than before, taking your breath in the process.

Moans push past your lips, as he moves languidly, taking his time to work you up, watching all the subtle movements of your face contorting with pleasure. A pinched brow and slack jaw, eyes closing with unshed tears, each thrust of his hips pulling small gasps from you as he pressed you into the mattress below.

He reaches back, pulling your hand from him as he threads his fingers through yours, connecting and grounding you both.

“Can't believe I get to call you mine. Make you the happiest housewife out there… mmph… fuck Bunny. I felt that pussy move. You like that? Wanna be a little housewife?” He continues to thrust slowly, unbothered with changing the pace, relishing the way you feel wrapped around his cock.

“Yeah, Gator. I… ahhh… Always yours.” You moan out, when his tip grazes that sweet spongy spot as your eyes roll back from the pleasure. He buries himself impossibly deeper on the next thrust, pubic bone grazing your clit on the upward drive.

“Fuck! Right there.”

“Yeah? That it, sweet thing?” He coos, driving in and out, a pleasurable but unhurried pace. Grinding his hips with each thrust, working you toward climax.

You nod, suddenly rendered speechless, gripping his hand a little tighter as he pushed you toward the edge.

“Can't believe you're my wife. I'm fuckin’ my wife.” He rushes out, in seemingly disbelief but utter delight.

You couldn't help the laughter that bubbles up at his statement, that he paid little attention to as he continued to mumble, stilling his hips.

“My wife. My beautiful—” pausing to place a soft peck to your lips. “Sexy, way too smart for me, adorable—” another peck to your cheek. “Spit fire, sometimes crazy—” a peck to your nose.

“Hey, watch it.” You chide.

“You're amazing, Bunny. I love you.” Mumbling against your lips, pushing his hips back into yours with a groan.

“I— mmmm— I love you too.” Managing to breathe out before he sits up and pulling your hips into his, fingers digging into the sides of your waist to set a now brutal pace, chasing both of your highs.

“Ahhh— Ga— Gator!” You scream out, before he pushes your knees into your chest. His cock plunging in and out of your soaked pussy, hitting so deep, practically folding you in half with his weight pressing into you.

“Gonna— mmph— fuck. Gonna fill this tight little cunt until she can't take anymore.” His filthy mouth always did you in, pussy fluttering at his words.

“Then I'm going to fill it up again, fuck it back into to that tight hole.” He lets go of one of your legs, suddenly toying with your now aching clit making your hips jolt at the contact.

“Cum on my cock, baby, so I can fill this pussy full.” You clench around him, unable to control the way he was affecting you.

“That's it baby. Want me to fill you up? Go from housewife to stay at home mommy?” He chuckles, when he feels you clench again.

“Mmmhmmm… Ba—baby I'm—” You couldn't get the words out before you were coming undone. Unraveling beneath him as he continues to work you through your orgasm making sure you felt every inch of him, as he was hanging on by a thread to make sure you were satisfied.

You screamed his name, throwing your head back against the pillow as his thrusts became more erratic, the feeling of you wrapped around his cock was too much as he spilled inside of your tight channel.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he hissed, trying to catch his breath as he stilled and collapsed on top of you, letting himself slide free as his legs stretched behind him out on the bed. He wound his arms under you, laying his head to your chest listening to your heartbeat steadily decrease as you came back down to earth.

“Are you trying to kill me?” You finally asked, running your fingers through his hair.

“Just tryin’ to show my wife a good time.” He says, placing a kiss between your breasts before looking up at you, laying his chin there lightly. His eyes had returned to their shade of muted gold and green, unhindered by the pure lust that was there moments ago.

“Mmhmm.” You hum. “My husband really knows how to drive me wild.”

“Yeah?” His grin grows wide, as he starts shifting to move beside you. “Say it again.”

“What? You drive me wild?” You ask teasingly, pulling the sheet up over the both of you before he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

“No baby,” he huffs, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Oh,” You release a giggle. “My husband likes his new title?”

“Mmhmm,” He mumbles into your hair, placing a soft kiss there. Sleep was already starting to pull him back under.

“I love you, Gator.” You softly whisper as he faintly hums his acknowledgement.

A year ago, the thought of being exactly where you are now was nothing more than a dream that always seemed out of reach. Laying here, safe and content in the arms of the man you loved was almost overwhelming.

As you finally drift off to sleep, the many thoughts of what is yet to come wash over you with a sense of comfort. No longer dreading what tomorrow may bring, instead looking forward to what possibilities life had in store because no matter what happens, he'd be by your side.

#gator tillman #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x you #badge bunny #gator x bunny #gator tillman smut #joe keery fargo #joe keery smut #badge bunny series

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bobasbn · 4 months ago

Text

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚

3k words | Alternative Universe — Pirates | Mute Rafayel | Pirate Reader about: You're a pirate who prides on your level of greed, it's how it got you here today with your own established ship and crew. However, after an attack by your enemy Sylus you're left stranded out at sea. Alone and mildly afraid, you meet a peculiar mermaid who calls himself Rafayel. a/n: inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean where Rafayel is a mermaid/siren and Sylus is featured as a pirate. It makes sense to me. Not a happy ending, be warned.

This is not how you wanted this voyage to go.

You envisioned success when you hauled your best men onto your ship and set sail west on the sea. There was a rumour circulating around the village you idled around in, that there was a treasure more valuable than any man can imagine. You didn’t have a mission to pursue and you were becoming bored of the monotony. After nosing around for information, your interest was piqued. The only person who could get their hands on such a prize would be someone who’s willing to sacrifice the entire world for this treasure. Who’s better to take on the challenge than a pirate?

You were prepared for the arduous journey. When the sky dimmed and dark clouds started looming over the masts, you assured your crew that the ship was right and the upcoming storm wouldn’t interfere with the goal ahead.

Perched upon the railing of the main deck with a marked map in your hands, the spark of your dreams nestled tightly in your heart. It’s simply any pirate’s aspiration to find the most valuable of treasures ever but you were going to achieve it.

Your ship started rocking against the barbarous waves. Rain starts pouring shortly after, pellets hurling towards your ship almost tearing a hole through your map which you quickly roll up and shove through your belt. The weather doesn’t seem to relent, only growing more and more adamant to extinguish your determination.

A nudge to your shoulder snaps you out of your trance and you look over to see your right-hand, Jenna, meeting your eyes with a concerned gaze.

“Still no doubts, huh?” She questions. You can only manage a shrug of your shoulders before responding, “One of us has to keep faith.”

“You’re just playing with fire cap’n,” Jenna remarks.

“And you’re not cap’n, so don’t get to question me. Savvy?” You bite back. She wouldn’t know the true spirit of being a captain anyway. Jenna conceals the roll of her eyes before resuming back to her position of looking over the rail of the ship. As the rain persists with more force, your hair and attire clings to your skin as you turn around back to the rest of the ship. Your crew, loyal as ever, work through the rain and oncoming storm, scrambling about on the main deck as they tend to their duties. You breathe in the salty sea air, almost tasting the briny breeze on your tongue.

Ignoring how the rain dampened the mood of the rest of your crew, you decided to let it fuel your desire of exploration further. A few drops of rain can’t diminish your spirit; you’re a pirate.

That’s what you tell yourself. Absolutely nothing can diminish your spirit.

“Ca- Cap’n! It’s Sylus, he’s near!” You hear the horrified cry of Jenna and that immediately grabs your attention. Once you scurry over to her, she hastily shoves her spyglass into your hands. Squinting your eyes over the glass, you make out the outline of another ship through the heavy rain and light fog. A ship with a crow imprinted flag adorning the main mast.

Great. Just your fucking luck.

Sylus is the captain of that ship and your sworn enemy. The last time you interacted with him it ended with his ship getting blown up and both of you with broken limbs. You remember him threatening your ship would be next as if he was taking an oath. Back then, you believed you wouldn’t ever cross paths with him again.

It seems that even if Sylus had evaded your mind, he followed you here.

His ship draws closer, cannons ablaze and pointed straight at you. Your instincts kick in immediately and you start firing orders at your crew the next second.

Although, Sylus was two steps ahead. His first shot was already hurling to your ship, the iron clashing with the bow of your ship and ripping it right off. The wood crumbles down, disappearing into the hungry depths of the ocean. You’ve never felt heartbreak quite like this before.

Your boat, that you spent your entire adolescence dreaming of and building up. Your heart is tied up somewhere in the sails, remnants brushed over the main deck where you’ve seen your dreams come true as you persisted through your journey.

You try to collect yourself and push your crew all to the gun deck. They all reciprocate Sylus’s attacks by lighting up cannons and shooting back at his ship. There was a constant back and forth. People yelling, cannons booming and blazing, ships lurching violently as the ocean grows with the rain and slowly swallows every piece that falls from either ship.

Deep down you know your ship isn’t making it.

Sylus seemed to have souped up his ship specially for this occasion. His ship takes hits but doesn’t seem to be falling apart as easily as yours. You don’t realise that you’ve been standing still with your fists clenched beside you until there’s a blast right beside you. You stumble back from the impact, splinters of wood grazing your skin and leaving scratches in their wake.

You can’t stay here.

You know that staying here will only lead to your demise. Whilst everyone else is busy fighting and trying to protect the ship your mind starts to wander about places to avoid the wreckage and chaos and abandon ship.

You can’t help it. Pirate’s instinct. You’ve always been conditioned to act first without thinking, and everyone else just somehow slips away and blurs into the background of your mind.

Slowly, you make your way to the davit of the ship where the emergency jollyboat is stored. The rain seems to be relenting now, as you tug the ropes down and lower the boat onto the water. Without a second thought, you’re jumping from your beloved ship into the boat and letting the harsh waves sweep you away from the horrific scene behind you.

You watch with your very own eyes, your ship which falls apart slowly with people sacrificing their lives for the battle. You already know the sickening smug grin that’s probably tugging on Sylus’s lips. He’s lucky he’s not in your vicinity right now because the punch you would throw to his face would be fatal.

It’s now just you, the waves, a couple bottles of rum rolling around your feet and the rain that’s reduced to a light pitter-patter. You take hold of the paddles and guide the boat along the sea that’s stubbornly whisking you away.

Soon enough you can’t see your ship. You hold on tightly to the sides as the water grown by rain sweeps you away. With a heavy heart and nothing but your rum, you sit alone with the music of the tides serenading you as you wonder about your ship and how so much work had gone to waste because of some petty revenge.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Around two bottles down is when you start worrying about where you’re going. You’ve been lucky so far to be getting a relatively steady trip so far as you reached the end of the rainfall but you start to think and fear for your safety when dusk will hit.

The solitude and faint swishing from the animals swimming by almost makes you feel dizzy. You’ve seen hundreds of fish, some rays, an octopus and what you swear was a whale shark in the far distance. Sea creatures never really scared you at all, but now that you’re much closer to the water compared to your cushy ship you’re starting to feel a bit uneasy about what lurks underneath you.

You curl up on the wooden floor of the boat, leaning your head against the rigid slab that was a seat. It was hurting to constantly be sitting on such hard wood, and there was no protection from the sun’s rays at all. You wonder how worth it was to abandon ship, maybe you should’ve stuck around to give that Sylus some deserved payback for destroying the one thing you loved in this world.

You turn your head, leaning your chin against the side of the boat. You gingerly peer into the water again, facing your fear of spotting something scary in the water.

Then it caught your eye.

From your peripheral, a flicker of something.

It was quick. A motion that was barely there but out of sheer paranoia you had caught it. Your heart starts to pick up pace but you firmly reassure yourself that it was probably just another fish. The bigger kind of fish, like a catfish. Although, you aren’t so sure about the likelihood of catfish being found in the middle of the sea like this.

There it was again.

This time, you’re sure it wasn’t just your imagination. There was a flick of a tail under the boat which flung water right into your eyes. You instinctively flinch back, rubbing your eyes free from the salty droplets invading your vision before you look back below the boat.

“What the fuck?!” You shout, voice echoing into the emptiness of the sky.

A head of violet pokes out from under the blue. A pleasant bluish-pink hue swims in the eyes staring back at you. You almost tumble over the side of the boat in sheer shock.

Out of all the creatures in the sea, you’ve never encountered a mermaid before. Of course, you’ve heard tales about them being just the most beautiful things you could ever lay your eyes on. People have scoured the seven seas trying to locate where the mermaids reside exactly. Yet here you are, face-to-face with one without even trying.

He hoists himself up, leaning on his arms against the side of the boat. You get a clearer glimpse of his unique eyes, his flawless skin littered with beauty marks. Your jaw almost goes slack upon seeing him, your mouth as dry as cotton. All you do is stay eerily still and admire him.

“A mermaid,” you murmur. There’s a beat of silence which you use to digest the fact that you’re witnessing a real life mermaid in front of you. Everything about this encounter screams unnatural, you can’t help but wonder if your drinks were spiked with something worse.

However, there’s a flash of struggle in his gaze when his tail thrashes a bit in the water behind him. You sneak a glance, registering the fact that his tail is a shimmering azure blue that matches the sea. He doesn’t seem to have a voice because he only looks expectedly at you and quietly winces out of pain. The fish net tangled in his fins catches your eye a second later.

Perhaps on a normal day you would’ve overlooked the problem and been on your merry way. Today is not a normal day though, and your bad deeds today are enough to fill and overflow a barrel.

“Let me…” You offer uncharacteristically. To balance the scales of your deeds today, you decide to accomplish a positive endeavor. You lean your arms down to gesture for the mermaid’s tail. He hesitates, but you remain unwavering in wanting to only help. The mermaid’s fins slowly emerge from the water and with a couple firm tugs on the rigid net you’re able to free him from its grasp.

You watch as the mermaid’s eyebrows lift and his tail swishes freely in the water. He turns his head, his smile widening. Every expression he pulls is just as dainty as the last and leaves you wondering how the mermaid has truly lived up to the folklores that rave about their untouchable, unadulterated beauty.

“I wonder if you have a name,” you ponder out loud.

The mermaid nods wordlessly. He taps the side of the boat intently. One short tap, a longer tap, a short one again. When you quirked an eyebrow up in confusion, he tries again. He taps the same pattern with more urgency, and you pick up at the morse code. What a smart mermaid.

R-A-F-A-Y-E-L

“Rafayel?” You question. The mermaid, seemingly named Rafayel nods enthusiastically once you pick up on the name he indicated. He applauds you for a few seconds. You can’t help but find his mannerisms to be odd.

You thought the interaction would end there, that the mermaid will grow bored of you looking lost and trying to gauge where possibly you could be on the map that was tucked into your belt. To your surprise, every time you lowered the map from your eyes, Rafayel would be staring back at you with equally as much interest. When you stirred your paddle through the water to maneuver it forward, the mermaid would follow.

“Are ya gonna follow me to the ends of the Earth?” You ask later, kicking your boots up against the other end of the boat as you take your break. Rafayel wears a puzzled expression from your question and eventually shrugs his shoulders. You click your tongue, unbelieving.

The sun eventually faded from the sky, leaving only a blank darkness behind. You frown at the fact that you weren’t able to find land before sunset. Luckily, the emergency boat was equipped with a lantern to battle the darkness. It takes a while to light but soon enough you have your lantern perched upon the seat across from you as you stare daggers into your map.

A splash next to you indicates Rafayel’s arrival from dipping his head underwater for a breath. You turn your head and let out a yelp when Rafayel proved to be way closer than you anticipated. His eyes, the blue now seeping into the pink and threatening to take over his irises. Why did his eyes change so frequently?

Sometimes it felt like he was holding back on something. When the blue in his eyes emerges, he blinks a couple times and shudders a bit. It’s as if he’s snapping himself out of a spell, before he looks back and you see the pink and blue back in tandem. The lack of words to explain this behaviour puts you a bit on edge. He always wears that usual amiable expression on his face afterwards, eyes shining with curiosity in your direction as you tried not to show too much fear over his erratic behaviour.

Rafayel peers over to the map you’re holding, the orange glow of the lantern highlighting all the land masses surrounded by ocean as you continue trying to pinpoint your location. The mermaid, however, reaches his arm out and taps a finger against a spot in the ocean, his little taps leaving water droplets for the paper to soak up.

“Are we here?” You ask him for clarification. He nods. How on Earth did he decipher that? You look back at the map, trying to squint and narrow your eyes to hopefully catch what he apparently understood so fast. You give Rafayel an accusatory glare and inquire further, “and you knew this the entire time?”

Rafayel only shrugs his shoulders, wordless as always. You poke your tongue in your cheek, silently cursing the mermaid for watching you stare dumbly at this map for who knows how long when he knew the answer the entire time.

“Piece of shit,” you murmur, your sight lingering on the droplet on the map indicating where you are. Rafayel only laughs at you. This is the first time you’re hearing something that is close to his voice, the silken sound reaching your ears sounding like the sweetest melody. You can’t help but feel captivated by him yet again.

Leaning closer, Rafayel matches your movement. You only realise what you did when you feel your nose nudge against the cold tip of his nose. It’s as if he was the one who cast a fishing line to hook you in, bringing you closer to him. You resist the temptation and break away. What the hell is wrong with you? You’re a pirate. You wouldn’t let your spirit be waned because of some pretty mermaid.

Except you did.

Rafayel’s gaze on you was wistful. Despite you coming to a moment of realisation, the close proximity between you two seemed to have snapped something within him. He lunges forward, connecting his frigid lips against yours. Never in a million years did you think you would end up kissing a mermaid, but his kiss was surprisingly gentle. He knew how to move them smoothly against yours, pouring his yearning into the action.

When you let yourself indulge in him, he sets his elbows on the rim of the boat to keep himself up and one hand skims over your cheek. You shiver at the contact.

Your lips separate. His eyes are blue again, his breathing is heavy. He’s doing that thing again, where there’s a supernatural force he’s trying to combat. He shakes his head, assuring you that he’s fine.

His hand remains on the side of your face, his thumb runs over your cheek, grazing your bottom lip. He leans in for more. You give him more.

You’ve always been selfish, you accepted that fact and wore it like a badge of honour throughout your entire life. Selfishness is how you became a captain, built your ship and gathered a loyal crew. Granted, selfishness was also how you lost it all. You wouldn’t ever admit that though, you’ll use your power of arrogance to build it all up again.

So why is it that you’re feeling your resolve crumbling in the hands of Rafayel?

When his hand caresses your jaw, moving down to your neck. His arms that circle your shoulders tug you closer. You feel his icy body against yours, his torso pressed against your dishevelled clothes.

You lost yourself in the kiss. You would actually let him whisk you away.

Splash.

That’s all it took. A sudden jerk of Rafayel’s arms pulling you closer. The ocean engulfing your form. You became part of him, dragged to the depths to be with him for all of eternity.

The boat steadily sways in cooperation with the waves, a lonely lantern perched upon the seat where you once sat.

Your selfishness, an attribute that you used to pride yourself on, ultimately led to your demise under the deep sea.

- that's all folks. If you made it to the end thank you so much for reading all of that and interactions are always appreciated! 𓆟

#love and deepspace #lnds #lnds sylus #lnds rafayel #pirates #pirate sylus #mermaid rafayel #sylus love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace

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prettyyoungandbored · 7 months ago

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hi, me again, desperate and lacking in Charlie energy lately. I fear I need to read something about him that doesn’t require me putting any effort in so I’m here with a request.

Adult Charlie, working a job he always feared, and wasting away another Friday night at the bar with expensive whiskey and stale cigarettes. That’s when a girl shuffles in looking gorgeous as ever and soaked from the rain. He obviously can’t help but flirt, the night turns out different for the both of them. I need the tension, I need it 😩

I took this, ran with it, and decided to make it part of the engaged Charlie and Y/N universe. Think of this as how they first met.

Hope you enjoy!

Charlie Meets His Match - CHARLIE DALTON

Pairing: Adult!Charlie Dalton x Fem!Reader

Same couple from this and this and this

NOT MY GIF

Charlie exhale, cigarette smoke escaping his lips and the week’s stressers leaving his body. He was grateful for the noise of the other bar patrons laughing and chatting as it kept him from his thoughts.

Just like he’d suspected, and feared, he ended up in the banking industry. He was working for his dad and while the gig paid well enough for him to have a townhouse in New York City, he could still feel the weight of the mindless and boring work crush his soul spirit.

“This shit doesn’t get easier, does it, Lou?” he asked his secretary earlier that afternoon.

Louise, or Lou as she preferred to be called, shook her head. She was a few years older than him and had become his confidant in the office.

“That’s why you’re supposed to go out and enjoy your weekends, Dalton,” she reminded him. “Go out. Get laid. Have fun while you still can.”

She paused and pouted teasingly. “Or did you already screw your way through the Upper West Side?”

“It was two women.”

“Didn’t your old boarding school buddy want to set you up with someone?”

“His girlfriend did and I’m not in the mood to pretend to be interested in a woman.”

Lou set down her pen. “Go to a bar, Charlie. Not one of those fancy bars. Like I’m talking packed on Friday and Saturday night kind of bar. Like the floor is packed. That’s more of your scene anyway.”

He went to a bar Knox had told him to check out. He asked Knox join him, but his childhood friend had to leave the city for the weekend.

Charlie also considered wandering around the city, but the heavy rain made him reconsider.

So there he was, enjoying his whiskey in between puffs of smoke. He turned his head to scan the room when his eyes fell to the door opening and she walked in.

Charlie’s fell open slightly as he took in the sight of her. He wasn’t sure what it was about her that drew him to her, but all he knew is that he couldn’t look away from her.

She eyed the room herself, looking for someone. He prayed that whoever it was she was looking for, it wasn’t a man.

She ran a hand through her soaked hair as she walked toward to the bar area and cursed the group of guys sitting next to him. She took a seat at the end and Charlie knew exactly what to do.

He flagged down the bartender.

“See that girl on the end there? I’d like to pay for her first drink.”

The bartender nodded and made his way to the woman. Charlie watched her light up at the bartender and order a drink.

When the bartender returned with a glass of red wine, she tried to give him cash. He shook his head and motioned to Charlie.

And when her eyes landed on him, he could feel his heart burst. He smiled, toasting his drink at her.

I look like a fucking moron, he thought to himself.

That voice went silent when she smiled at him and suddenly, he felt like the luckiest man in the entire world.

His heart clenched as she grabbed her drink and walked toward him.

“Thank you,” she said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Happy to make your night,” Charlie nodded.

She held out her hand. “Y/N.”

He shook it. “Charlie.”

As luck would have it, the person next to Charlie got up from their seat. He gestured toward it and Y/N sat down.

“So have you bought drinks for all the women tonight or am I just really lucky?” she teased, taking a sip of her wine.

“Just you,” he said. “Your boyfriend gonna beat me up for it?”

She chuckled. “If I had one, maybe. But for now you’re safe.”

Waves of relief washed over him. She was single and appeared to be interested. All he had to do was keep her interest. He could do that, right?

That’s when he realized he never felt this worried about losing a woman’s interest before.

“What brings you to this bar?” he asked.

She set her glass down on the wooden bar top. “I was supposed to be meeting a friend but it appears she’s late.” She paused. “Well that or she’s waiting for the rain to settle so it won’t ruin her hair.”

“In her defense, not all of us can look good with wet hair like you can,” he remarked.

He watched her bite her bottom lip. “You’re quite the flatterer, Charlie.”

He shrugged casually. “I aim to please.”

Y/N snorted. His demeanor softened a bit. He’d never had a girl snort at him before.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re cute.”

In any other circumstance, he would have rolled his eyes. But with her, it was the highest praise he’d ever received in his life.

“So what is it you do when you’re not trying to woo women at bars?” she asked, leaning forward a bit.

He set down his drink, sighing softly. “I work in banking.”

“Doesn’t sound like you like it very much.”

He shrugged. “It pays the bills…and for drinks for girls I think are beautiful.”

“And if you weren’t worried about bills or paying for other girls’ drinks, what would you do?” she asked.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“If you could do anything -anything at all- what would you do?”

He couldn’t remember the last time someone asked him that. He thought for moment.

“I don’t know honestly,” he finally answered, rubbing his chin. “Maybe travel. See the world. Or just play the saxophone professionally.”

Her eyes lit up with intrigue. “You play the saxophone?”

“Yeah. My parents forced me to play an instrument and basically forced the clarinet on me. I hated it and decided to try the saxophone instead.”

She grinned. “And how often do you practice safe sax?”

He nearly spit out his whiskey from laughing.

“Are you ok?” she asked, watching him cough.

Oh yeah. Just making an ass out of myself in front of the woman of my dreams, he thought.

“Yeah I just…wow,” he said, collecting himself. “Sorry. I’m not used to women making those kind of jokes.”

Y/N cocked her head back. “What do you mean by that?”

“A beautiful girl with dirty humor,” he explained with a smirk. “That’s my kind of girl.”

Her smile grew as she took another sip of wine. “What a coincidence. I like handsome men with a dirty sense of humor.”

“Is that so?”

She nodded her head and Charlie leaned on the bar. “And what do you do when you’re not charming men with your dirty humor.”

“I work at a hair salon,” she said.

“You must be very good with your hands then.”

“I’ve never had any complaints,” she purred, picking up on his tone. “In fact, I’ve actually had people tell me I have magic hands.”

Charlie leaned forward. “I might have to-.”

“Oh this is perfect!”

Charlie turned his head to see Izzie, Knox’s girlfriend, beaming at him and Y/N.

“Well look who decided to show up,” Y/N giggled. “Took you long enough.”

“It’s a long story but I see you found company.” Izzie’s eyes turned to Charlie. “Well, I was hoping to introduce you two during that double date that you refuse to go on.”

Charlie opened his mouth to respond when he heard Y/N snickering. He was relieved she wasn’t offended.

Izzie whipped her head. “Oh you don’t get to laugh,” she told her friend. “You’ve been putting it off too.”

The red head took a step back and said, “I’m gonna let you two enjoy your drinks and head home, but clear your calendars for Monday night because that’s when we’re all having dinner.”

With that, she turned away, her red hair bouncing with joy.

Y/N turned to Charlie. “So, you’re the friend I’ll supposedly be giddy over.”

“And are you giddy?” Charlie smirked.

She hummed lowly. “I don’t know.”

He put his hand on his chest. “You know how to kill a man’s ego.”

It was her turned to smirk. “How about I make it up to you?”

“How’s that?”

“You wanna get out of here?”

#charlie dalton #dead poets society fanfic #dead poets society #charlie dalton x reader #charlie dalton imagine #gale hansen

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oldguardleatherdog · 8 months ago

Text

The Night Before the Tribute In Light

September 10, 2003

One month ago today, this long-forgotten photo suddenly popped up in the photo app on my laptop. I took this photo with my Sanyo clamshell phone on September 10, 2003, 21 years ago tonight, from Hudson River Park in Manhattan.

Don't ask me how it survived all these years or where it's been stored all this time or how in the world it could have found its way to me from the long-dead storage servers of a long-defunct cell phone carrier. We're in the penumbra of The Anniversary, and time is out of joint.

I had been back in New York for about a month (after getting violently run out of the place I was staying by a fellow who is now one of my closest friends), homeless and living in that roach-infested HIV crack-house shelter at 96th and Broadway that I describe in "The One Decent Thing I Ever Did" (it’s archived on this blog), and you can imagine my state of head and spirit at this moment, the night before the 2nd anniversary of the terror attacks on the World Trade Center that drove me from my home in Lower Manhattan, four blocks east of the site.

I was sitting on a bench in Hudson River Park on the West Side of Manhattan, somewhere near Houston Street, maybe ten or fifteen blocks north of World Trade. I hadn't noticed these beams of light as I walked, and I think they might have just been activated while I was sitting there. As I recall, it was a full moon in Virgo, and I was positioned just right to snap this shot. I had *no* idea what this was all about, as I recall, but I thought the image was so striking and affecting that I wanted to capture it.

As it turns out, this was the tech run-through for the first September 11th installation of the “Tribute In Light”. Here’s Google’s AI summary of this remarkable memorial:

So there I was, just two years after the blast, stunned by this sudden, mysterious apparition rising from just south of what was still a giant, messy hole in the ground. I was still not fully myself at that time and would not regain my full memory or sense of who I was until the following January (therein lies a tale!), and as I recall I was just numbly stunned, not knowing what to make of it.

As I write, I’m getting the physical sense memory of that moment: the dog in me (my medulla oblongata speaking) feels his hackles rise, it’s not what I expect to see filling the hole in the sky, is it another attack? Do I bark at it, sound an alarm, run towards it, away from it, why is there light there, is this some unholy ruse, another trick being played on me from that big smoky hole where nothing but poison has spilled out for the longest time?

My phone rang. It was a fellow that I had met and hung out with in San Francisco while I was stranded there, and I was stunned to hear from him, especially at that moment. “Hi Dave… well, right now I’m on the riverfront looking at the damnedest thing… [I just wanted to make sure you were ok] hey, thanks for checking in… yeah, take care bud.” I closed the phone and started walking south along the riverfront, toward the light beams.

When I got there, I saw the massive banks of klieg lights assembled in their arrays, a strange and unfamiliar (unwelcome) echo of the shapes and the placement and the footprints of the place I loved so well.

The faces of the artists who surrounded the lights were intense, focused, sober. I still didn’t quite know what was going on, but there was profound reverence in the air, on those faces, at that place, as the beams of pure white light soared upwards, past the point of naked-eye discernment, unending, likely petering out tens of thousands of feet off that spoiled piece of ground, perhaps piercing the ionosphere, did they get clearance from the Federal Aviation Administration for this? Are pilots being disoriented by these columns at 45,000 feet? Do they touch the feet of God?

II.

And I kept walking south, my back to the light,

Down to the oldest part of the civilized island,

Past the Battery, the bronze bull, the buttonwood tree,

The Port of New York dead ahead,

The Staten Island Ferry terminal, ramshackle, ancient,

Entry restricted by terror tape and armed sentinels

No two uniforms alike, a panoply of enforcement,

Heavy weapons at the ready, so jarring in my neighborhood,

And the working dogs with the keen snouts, the trained muzzles,

Jumping up to paw at the brown bag in the soldier’s hand

Is that peanut butter? Apple? Hunk of cheese?

Let’s play! You’ve been so serious, so worried,

You smell sad and scared, are you lost? Let’s play!

Even Cerberus needs break time, belly rubs, treats!

For the first time in weeks, I smile to myself

As I round past the ferry, those strange lights at my back.

Hope I can sneak past the turnstile downstairs,

I won’t have to hike back up three hundred blocks

To that awful low place. Did you know roaches bite?

They shit on you too. Try to sleep, fully dressed,

Watch cap pulled low on my head, long sleeved shirt

Buttoned up to the collar, heavy pants tucked in boots,

Gloves on my hands, one more night without food

Half-bag of speed takes my mind off the pain

Sleep comes in fits if at all. – On the train

Dreading the stop: ninety-sixth street and Broadway.

Tomorrow, this city will jack itself off

In performative weeping and gnashing and cursing

Oh, how we loved them! I snort in derision,

You didn’t lose nothin', you pieces of shit!

Let the dead bury the dead. Beams of light

Don’t feed this refugee reeking of ashes -

What, do I smell bad? So sorry to stink up

The place where you’ve laid out the feast for your friends

Who still have their jobs, their high homes in the towers

Behind the glass doors where your larders are stocked

With the food that you bought with your government money

That flooded your midtown Manhattan apartment

With all the new clothes, electronics, the sausages

Fresh from Enrico’s, Zabar’s, D’agostino’s,

Bought with the Victim’s Fund money you stole

When you filed your claim. “OMG, it was awful!

“I couldn’t get up to the fifty-fourth floor,

“I had to find shelter on Upper Park Avenue.

“Power was out. I was homeless that night!

“So glad that my friend who was shopping in Gramercy

“Gave me the number to call for my claim

“September 11th was horrid! I told them

“I couldn’t go home for two nights! Oh, thank God

“The claim got approved with a wink and a nod

“And no one’s the wiser – I’ve never been south

“Of the Plaza Hotel! That all happened on Wall Street,

“Who goes down there? Jesus Christ, are you kidding?

“That’s four miles away! Christopher, are you coming

“Or what? Reservations at Nobu won’t wait

“For you or for me, so quit primping!”

The pain

In my stomach, relentless. My gorge won’t stop heaving.

Am I gonna make it? Damn, *ouch!* What the fuck…

The tooth that I hoped would hold out just gave way,

Fuck me. Another huge hole in my grille.

When I made six figures and lived in a high-rise,

Fuck buddies laughing on Saturday night,

Nobody told me that one hundred minutes

And two hijacked jet planes would make such a difference.

No one will laugh with me now – my best friends

Are yelling and angry, how dare I show up

Sweaty and toothless, a walking reminder

Of September tenth. No, I’m not gonna feed you.

III.

Now, twenty years later, they’ve retooled their memory:

“Animal! Damn, dog! We’ve missed you, you know,

“Wow, you’re alive! You look fabulous! Listen,

“I never gave up on you. Give a call

“When you come to the City. I want you to meet

“My beautiful husband – he remembers you too!”

IV.

Twin beams of light where the Towers were anchored,

Okay, not exactly precisely those spots,

But who’s gonna criticize? Look and recall

How majestic they were. Yeah, the new One World Trade

Is cool, I suppose – no one mentions the absence

Of Two World Trade Center. Insurance, you know.

Not enough money or civic ambition,

And Bloomberg discouraged it. Why add a target?

“Don’t you think sixty or seventy stories

“Are more than enough? Hell, let’s just get it done.

“The sooner we finish construction, the better.”

*There will never be lumens of adequate volume

Sufficient to seal that hole in the sky,

But the hole in my heart I will finish, I tell you.

Walk with me as I go forward. Tomorrow

I’m back in the studio. Tonight, we can play!

You smell like apples and – damn, is that chocolate?

(our light beams shine upward forever)

"Good boy!"

Animal J. Smith

San Francisco, California

September 10, 2024

#i am alive #information gladly given #animal j. smith #September 11 #9/11 #9/11 survivor #recalled to life #tribute in light #2003 #nothing and then suddenly something #a collaboration with once we were islands #berlin late 2025

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whereserpentswalk · 8 months ago

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There is an entity in North America that wanders the bounds of the country. Nobody has seen all of it, its too large, and no soul on earth has seen its mouth has lived. It's the size of mountains, great and dark, with dark smoke coming off its endless body. Most people who have seen it have only seen its claws, long and black, reaching dow out of the sky, or seen its body as a massive shape in the distance. And it kills sometimes. It kills sometimes.

You always know when it's coming. The other magical creatures are always the first to sense it. Ghosts and spirits return to their realms and practitioners find their gods and devils quiet, cryptids migrate to lands they rarely see, things that can appear human have sudden business trips, and even the last dragons in the forests of the west know to fly away. Then the birds go, and the rats if they can, and the cats seem nervous. Then it comes. You always see it's shadow first, and hear it before anything else.

Every now and than it'll go somewhere, perhaps a dying mall, perhaps a small backwater town somewhere in the mountains, ever so often it's seen in Detroit or a similarly dying city, and even on occasion it may visit the South Bronx or Sckid Row. It will play it's little game, destroying a block or two of buildings, crushing some souls, or grabbing some to take into it's mouth. Useally it's deaths number in the hundreds. And then it will disappear. When it leaves it leaves ruins and death, children without parents, businesses ruined whose workers will be left to starve, bodies left bloody on the street, dead or forever disabled, half eaten and half crushed. There are lakes of blood, and dams of rubble.

It has a deal with the leaders of America, the businessmen, the politicians, the clergymen, that it will never kill what they care about, never them, never where they live, never what makes them money. But other than that it's free to kill, and nobody will say they can stop it. But they've made sure it knows that it's destruction will only ever reach a certain kind of community. The creature often leaves residue, it's shed scales are made of a valuable material, and the oil it leaves in its path can be harnessed. And many who've made deals with it wouldn't mind if it oh so tragically crushed a town or neighborhood where they could build a new more lucrative community, or perhaps just another mall. And so it goes. And so the creature cannot be stopped. Not for that the bombs won't hurt it, but simply that the bombs won't fall.

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chaos-of-the-abyss · 1 month ago

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Sorry if this seems like a random question, but what's your take on Sauron's alleged repentance during the First Age after Morgoth's fall? Do you think it was genuine?

don't apologize anon! i might not talk about sauron as much as i do other characters but i am happy to talk about him. actually i'm glad you sent me this ask because i've been meaning to make a post like this, and you just gave me the perfect excuse <3

i first want to say that i am not a sauron "expert", so to speak. i have read only snippets of the supplementary material on him, and while i love him, he and the periods he's most active in are not my main focus when engaging with the verse. that said, i think his repentance was more genuine than he's given credit for. which is still not very genuine -- but i don't think it was wholly predicated on only his fear of the consequences of his actions and nothing more, which from my experience is... a common enough take, i guess i should call it?

we get this passage in the silm:

When Thangorodrim was broken and Morgoth overthrown, Sauron put on his fair hue again and did obeisance to Eönwë, the herald of Manwë, and abjured all his evil deeds. And some hold that this was not at first falsely done, but that Sauron in truth repented, if only out of fear, being dismayed by the fall of Morgoth and the great wrath of the Lords of the West. But it was not within the power of Eönwë to pardon those of his own order, and he commanded Sauron to return to Aman and there receive the judgement of Manwë. Then Sauron was ashamed, and he was unwilling to return in humiliation and to receive from the Valar a sentence, it might be, of long servitude in proof of his good faith; for under Morgoth his power had been great. Therefore when Eönwë departed he hid himself in Middle-earth; and he fell back into evil, for the bonds that Morgoth had laid upon him were very strong.

and then in letter 131, tolkien writes:

[Sauron] repents in fear when the First Enemy is utterly defeated, but in the end does not do as was commanded, return to the judgement of the gods. He lingers in Middle-earth. Very slowly, beginning with fair motives: the reorganising and rehabilitation of the ruin of Middle-earth, ‘neglected by the gods’, he becomes a reincarnation of Evil, and a thing lusting for Complete Power – and so consumed ever more fiercely with hate (especially of gods and Elves). Sauron was of course not 'evil' in origin. He was a 'spirit' corrupted by the Prime Dark Lord (the Prime sub-creative Rebel) Morgoth. He was given an opportunity of repentance, when Morgoth was overcome, but could not face the humiliation of recantation, and suing for pardon; and so his temporary turn to good and 'benevolence' ended in a greater relapse, until he became the main representative of Evil of later ages.

lots of interesting things going on here. first of all, sauron does repent, but tolkien head-on asserts that he does so out of fear. and, crucially, despite perhaps feeling bad for his actions, he is too proud to return to valinor and receive a sentence; he is too proud to cast himself into the mercy of someone else. which is one of the most important parts of genuine repentance imo -- the "i was wrong, i'm sorry, and i'm willing and prepared to receive your sentence for me." so in that vein, sauron's repentance isn't sincere. it most certainly isn't the kind of wholehearted remorse that would strongly motivate him to work on becoming a better person.

however, it is also explicitly stated in the letter that he did have some good intentions when he stayed in middle earth. he does have a "temporary turn to good and 'benevolence'", and judging from the phrasing "reorganising and rehabilitation of the ruin of middle-earth," my conclusion is that he seems to have thought that the place was a mess and he could fix it up, which is in line with what we know about his personality. in other words, at this point he genuinely wanted to make the world better. that, to me, demonstrates that while he doesn't go all the way in his repentance, he does have some qualms about his previous actions. now whether these qualms are moral -- i.e. he hurt a lot of people, he feels bad and he's going to stop -- or practical -- i.e. this did not give him the results he wanted, he's quitting -- i'll get into a bit later. for now suffice to repeat that i believe his renouncement of his actions in front of eonwe is not only out of fear and nothing else. he's not thinking "i stand by everything i did, but i don't want to get in more trouble so i'll act sorry," he's thinking "okay, i recognize that what i've been doing up until now was a poor way of going about things."

so. imo sauron at this point between the first and second ages was caught in an in-between of sorts of: while he's not willing to bear himself to another person's judgment, he does see that morgoth's actions were harmful and not as in-line with what he wanted as he thought they would be. and i do think, once having realized that, sauron casts off morgoth completely. hereafter he no longer considers himself to be in his service. off the top of my head, sauron's invocation of morgoth when establishing the cult of melkor during his tenure in numenor was explicitly done out of pragmatism, not out of any continued reverence and fealty to the man. regarding it, tolkien says this:

His cunning motive is probably best expressed thus. To wean one of the God-fearing from their allegiances it is best to propound another unseen object of allegiance and another hope of benefits; propound to him a Lord who will sanction what he desires and not forbid it. Sauron, apparently a defeated rival for world-power, now a mere hostage, can hardly propound himself; but as the former servant and disciple of Melkor, the worship of Melkor will raise him from hostage to high priest.

in other words, sauron founded a cult to melkor of all people specifically to elevate his own status in the eyes of the numenoreans as melkor's right hand during the first age, wherein melkor tenured as the ruling dark lord. he does not do it because he still reveres morgoth and wants people to worship him. granted, those things aren't mutually exclusive, but with the way tolkien phrases sauron's intentions here, as a "cunning motive," i'm inclined to think his aim to elevate himself in the eyes of the numenoreans was far and away his driving motivation.

this separation from his former position as morgoth's servant is why i say i think his recantation at the end of the first age was genuine, but it was always more practical than moral in terms of motivations. he does renounce his past actions as morgoth's servant, and he does so with sincerity -- but this is not because he repents them in the purest sense, but rather because he's determined that morgoth's mode of operation was incompatible with his own aims of efficiency and organization. and these aims, mind you, are the very reason he followed morgoth in the first place:

[Sauron] still had the relics of positive purposes, that descended from the good of the nature in which he began: it had been his virtue (and therefore also the cause of his fall, and of his relapse) that he loved order and coordination, and disliked all confusion and wasteful friction. (It was the apparent will and power of Melkor to effect his designs quickly and masterfully that had first attracted Sauron to him.)

sauron was attracted to morgoth because he perceived how morgoth's power enabled him to enforce the "order and coordination" that he loved, and eliminate the "confusion and wasteful friction" that he disliked. but morgoth by the end of the first age is in what tolkien described as a "stage of nihilistic madness" -- he hates the existence of the world itself and wants to destroy it. that is not what sauron initially and for much of his story wants; in fact it's quite incompatible with what sauron initially and for much of his story wants. and i think after seeing morgoth's second defeat, sauron becomes fully cognizant of just how contradictory to his goals following morgoth was, and that's the crux that drives his repentance. so there's more to it than just fear of what the armies of valinor will do to him if he acts otherwise, but it's not true remorse or regret. he does genuinely repent his servitude to morgoth, but only because he believes it ultimately hindered his own ends.

also, if you'll let me go on a tanget here, anon -- referring to the quote from letter 131, i find it fascinating that tolkien puts emphasis on sauron's greater wickedness after his failed chance at repentance. initially sauron serves morgoth and in doing so is deemed less evil than him, if only for the sole reason that he is in service to somebody else and not himself. the statement with "his temporary turn to good and 'benevolence' ended in a greater relapse, until he became the main representative of Evil of later ages" is that he becomes worse. he becomes even more evil than he was previously under morgoth, because he's taken on the attitude that morgoth had when he rebelled against eru: the attitude "i know best, and i can do whatever i want with the world, because the world would be at its greatest under me." and at that point he's no longer subservient to morgoth; whatever he's doing, he's doing it now for himself and himself only. this is another thing that makes me believe that sauron after the first age ceases to consider himself morgoth's servant, ceases to consider morgoth his lord, and instead considers himself an ultimate authority unto himself, the same way morgoth was before his defeat and banishment to the void. tolkien believed that one of the worst things you can do is impose your will on other people because you believe that your vision, your direction, your knowledge, your worth, is superior to everyone else's. in doing precisely that, sauron becomes an ultimate evil in his own right, not an instrument of morgoth's. which again goes back to my perspective on his split with morgoth and how it informs the sincerity of his repentance.

tldr: sauron's repentance was far from genuine, but not entirely insincere either. he has a redemption arc imo, but it's a failed one. which i think is unique! it's probably one of the most engaging things about his character to me

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itskindofidontknow · 10 months ago

Text

What dreams know about love?

Chapter 12

Dream of The Endless/Morpheus x Love!OFC

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

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

TW: Sexual content (+18)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course none of them had an Endless husband.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love tilted her head “Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love’s head hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A boy that would later die for love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Honesty fixed her hair with a dramatic wave.

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

——————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your nails.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, she would give him reasons to regret it.

—------------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morpheus did not argue with her, merely agreeing.

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

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

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

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

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

Both had more in common than Love realized.

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

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

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

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

Love cleaned her throat “How was it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“ Very well, lady wife”

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