#rosebud reservation

[dollfacefantasy]

Special Day

pairing: mafia!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: this year your husband wants to give you a special present for your birthday

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral (fem receiving), fingering, daddy kink, breeding kink

word count: 5.2k

a/n: birthday fic for someone i am so happy to know and call my friend, @explorevenus. i love her so so much, she's one of the most fun and kindest people i have ever known. she's so totally cool and you all should wish her a very happy birthday.

For my pretty little doll on her special day. I’ll see you tonight. I love you.

That’s the message scrawled onto the scrap of paper that’s attached to the hanger on the closet door. On the hanger, dangled one of the prettiest dresses you’d ever seen in your life. Your favorite color, flowy and shimmering. Of the hundreds of things he’d asked you to wear over the course of your relationship, this had to be in the top three.

It almost made up for the fact that he was going to be on the job for nearly the entire day. You weren’t even confident he’d make it home in time for the dinner reservations you had, but if you had to be alone, at least you would look good doing it.

If anything, you tried not to let his absence bother you too much because it could be worse. You make a point to yourself to remember that today wasn’t like years ago when you would’ve spent the whole day at work just to come home to an empty house. So far you've spent it out, getting your nails done, lunch at one of your favorite places, some light shopping. And it was all on his dime. This was the one day a year where he truly gave you no limits, no allowance, no teasing about your debit card being worn out. Your birthday always was about letting you indulge in anything you wanted as much as your heart desired. You reminded yourself of that when you felt the familiar pain of longing tighten up your chest.

It wasn’t like the feeling was a foreign one. He’d been at work on every birthday you’d had since the two of you got together. He’d treat you to the shopping spree combined with sending you a lavish arrangement of flowers, chocolates, stuffed animals, or whatever you had been wanting that year. Then he’d come to you the next day, or once you started living together, in the middle of the night. Always climbing into bed or coming up behind you with a hushed “‘m sorry, babydoll” and some gentle kisses to your head. And you’d never complain because the next day before you even had a chance to get annoyed, an expensive new bracelet would be on your wrist, and he’d deliver his apologies between your legs with his tongue, fingers, or cock. Your choice.

For the week leading up to your birthday this year, you had just been silently hoping it would be different. Considering he had been spending more time with you lately, and less time in sketchy meetings, it didn’t seem unreasonable. The higher he climbed in the dark world that he worked in, the closer you came to living the glamorous life he’d promised you from the beginning. His higher position scored the two of you the penthouse you currently sat in. It got you vacations to exotic places and clothes you previously only would’ve been able to afford in your wildest fantasies.

The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm orange-pink haze over your room. You figured you should put on the outfit he’d chosen for you. Lifting the dress up, you realize there’s something else attached to the hanger. Obscured from view at first glance is a delicate lingerie set, lacy pink bra and panties with rosebuds embroidered across them in rows. A smile rises on your lips as you slip off the clothing you had on and unclip the dainty articles from the hanger. Your fingertips smooth over the lace while visions of Leon’s hands dancing across your chest, squeezing your breasts and pinching your nipples, flash through your mind.

You slide the thin straps onto your arms and reach behind to clasp it into place. Then you pull the panties up, looking in the mirror at how they fit over your hips. The dress comes after these. You put it on and are left blown away by his choice for you. It looked good. Showed you off, highlighted your assets in the most flattering way.

As you admire your reflection, the main doors to the apartment open and close. Keys rattle as they’re dropped on the side table. He enters the bedroom and you hear a hum of adoration rumble from his chest.

“There’s the birthday girl,” he says softly as he makes his way to you.

Your eyes capture his gaze with a fond glance. He’d actually made it back when he said he would. Maybe things were looking up. You turn your back to him, revealing the parted fabric that left your back and the hem of your panties exposed.

“Zip me up?” you request.

Without a word, he pulls you close by your waist. You knew he loved doing this. Picking what you wore and watching your body slip into it, filling out his fantasies. His fingers tug the zipper upward and secure the dress together. He presses a tender kiss to your neck and inhales a deep breath of his favorite scent in the whole world, your perfume. His arms wrap around you as his palms rub down your body, over your belly and to your hips. He leaves a few more smooches on your throat as he directs your stare back to the mirror.

“That dress looks gorgeous on you. My perfect little doll,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” you respond, catching his eyes in the reflective glass ahead of you. You scan the picture in front of you. His large frame engulfing yours, damn near lovesick expression on his face, hands and arms as possessive as they could be in such a basic stance.

“No, thank you,” he says, “You been having a nice day? Being a good girl? Staying safe?”

You sink back against his chest more as his low voice seeps out against your skin. “Mhm,” you answer with a slight nod.

“Yeah? You ready to have some more fun tonight?” he whispers, lips brushing your earlobe.

You nod, sweet and docile. God, it was like you melted in his presence. Could never hold onto anything with him around. It all went out the window in order to get his praise and feel the warmth of his affection on you.

“That’s my baby,” he coos with one more wet kiss on your cheek. He backs up as if he’s about to let you go, but as you turn around, he grabs your jaw. The pads of his fingertips gently dig into the flesh of your cheeks. In that loving and condescending tone that sent heat rushing through your body, he asks, “Who’s my pretty girl?”

It was such a simple thing. You didn’t know why it worked, but it always did. A big smile spreads across your face, and your eyes flit away with timid modesty.

“Me,” you confirm, tone soft but sure.

“That’s right,” he says simply and pulls you into an actual kiss.

After that, you’re almost giddy, high off the small gesture. It made your blood run hot and your head swim with a dizzy feeling of love. You all but prance to the rack against the wall that holds your shoes. Slipping on some matching heels, you face him once more and do a little motion to show off the completed look.

He chuckles at your twirl and opens his arms. You immediately go to him and find your place in his grasp. Kissing the top of your head, he mutters “What’d I do to get the sweetest girl in the world all to myself, hm?”

You shrug, and that’s all he needs before the two of you are ready to go. He stuffs his wallet in his pocket and walks towards the elevator with you tucked to his side. His fingers coast down your jaw and stroke your hair. Your eyes stay locked on him from the doors shutting to the little ding letting you know the trip is over.

The two of you float outside to the luxury car Leon rode around in now. Not even drove because he had been given a driver recently. All the two of you had to do was simply slip into the backseat.

He holds you close, nearly on his lap for the duration of the ride. One hand massages the back of your neck, keeping your head against his shoulder. The other delves beneath the skirt of your dress only to knead your plush thighs and feel your skin between his fingers. All the attention keeps your head spinning and your body craving his love.

It’s only around twenty minutes before the car pulls to a stop in front of the restaurant. You’re greeted by the familiar twinkling lights and neon letters of one of your favorite places. You beam at him and take his hand. He watches your pleasant reaction, so pleased he could make you happy with something so simple.

Getting in is quick and painless since he had called ahead of time, dead set on making this as special for you as possible. You’re seated at a booth in the back. It’s not completely private, but well secluded from the other patrons filling seats.

He slides in first, grinning as he pats the cushioning next to him. You follow, and immediately, he pulls you close. Your thighs are squished against each other beneath the table. His lips are caressing your neck as you skim the menu causing you to squirm and laugh softly.

“You get anything you want, pretty baby. Tonight’s all about my precious girl,” he whispers.

You nod and nuzzle into the affection a bit, brushing your nose with his. After deciding what you want, he orders your meal and drink. The two of you talk, and from this alone, it seems to be shaping up into the perfect night. You talk about everything and anything, catching up with him like you hadn’t in a while. You see the Leon you love, your Leon. The guy who comes home late with dark eyes and a flat voice is nowhere to be found, and you couldn’t be more pleased. He stays close the entire time, seemingly not able to help how touchy he was with you.

Eventually, your orders arrive, and things continue to look up. Your smile won’t leave your face as you eat and drink. Laughs fly between the two of you like neither of you had ever seen something bad in your lives. It’s only hours later, towards the end of dinner when you can see him simmering down a bit. His expression grows more serious. Different from usual though. It’s not stern. It’s more… vulnerable. He pulls you flush against him yet again and squeezes his arms around you softly.

“I’m happy you’re having a good time, sweetheart. You know I love seeing that pretty smile. And you should know, I’ve wanted your birthday to turn out this perfect every year. But now I can actually provide that,” he says, continuing to grow more genuine.

You nod, not totally sure where he’s going here but eager to find out.

“Usually, I’d have something big for you to open at the end of your day,” he starts. He almost looks nervous at this point, and it’s concerning you, “This year, I don’t have anything like that because I thought we might do something different for your main gift.”

You look up at him and shift your body to face him a little more. He had your attention now. You try to mentally run through different possibilities for a different kind of big present. Vacation? No, you’d done that before. Moving? That also seemed unlikely. Maybe it was related to his work? You honestly had no clue.

“What is it?” you ask.

“I think it’s time we start trying for a baby,” he says, his eyes going soft and his voice dropping to be more hushed.

Your heart jolts inside your chest. You almost don’t believe you heard him right. He must have said something else. That or he was just playing the most cruel joke in the entire world.

“But you said you didn’t want any?” you say skeptically.

“I know I did. But… I was wrong,” he says with a slight smile. 

Leon had told you on each rare occasion that the topic of kids came up that he did not want any under any circumstances. This life was too dangerous, he wouldn’t have time for them, he wanted you all to himself. All were reasons you’d heard over the years. You’d honestly just shoved your small hopes for a family away because he seemed certain of his position on the topic. You’d come to terms that it would never happen. It was him or the white picket fence fantasy, and you’d chosen him with no real hesitation.

“And you just changed your mind out of the blue?” you ask.

He shakes his head with a chuckle. He kisses your pulse point as his fingers start tracing small circles on your arm. “No, no. I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he whispers.

Your breath hitches at the sensation of his mouth on your skin again. You tilt your head back and shut your eyes, letting him work. You were already buzzed from the drinks you had, and this wasn’t making it easier to think through your line of questioning.

“I’ve been having these dreams, y’know,” he breathes as if he senses your uncertainty, “Once every couple days, I’m seeing you pregnant. You’re looking fucking gorgeous, belly swollen and bright smile on your face. Then I wake up. And after a few times, I realized I don’t want that to only be a dream anymore.”

He continues trailing his mouth along your skin, leaving small love bites scattered throughout the sheen remnants of saliva. Your head is swirling with the mix of his actions and words, and what it means. He wanted you pregnant. It didn’t sound real to you even with his brief explanation.

“You want to change the entire direction of our lives because you had a few dreams?” you ask.

He laughs softly into the crook of your neck. “I’d been thinking about it anyway. I’m not getting any younger, baby. I guess I’ve softened in my old age cause what I want more than anything is to see my precious little doll holding our baby,” he says with a mix of teasing and seriousness in his voice.

It makes you smile and exhale with amusement. You turn your face in his direction and catch his lips in a real kiss. When he pulls away, his breath is coming out in heavier puffs. His eyes, blown out with love, are locked in a stare with you. His hand slips down to your midriff, palm flattening over your tummy.

“It wasn’t so hard to realize, babydoll. I’d be fucking insane to not want to see you carrying my baby. You’ll be the prettiest little mama,” he whispers.

His voice had become huskier, his thumb moving back and forth on your bottom lip. You were completely enraptured with him right now. Your head was growing fuzzier by the second, and the desire for him to fuck you full of cum was only getting stronger.

“You can’t even understand how much I’ll love watching that belly grow. How it’ll start sticking out of every shirt you have till we have to buy you a whole set of new ones,” he murmurs against your skin, “And don’t even get me started on how these are gonna fill out.” His hand moves to your breasts, gripping the plump flesh under his palm .

Now your breath was picking up a bit too. You shift in your seat in an attempt to alleviate the building tension in your center. His kisses become more aggressive and simple touches morph into rougher grabs.

“I’m not gonna be able to keep my hands off you, babydoll. Gonna have to fuck you like we’re still trying even when you’re in the last few months,” he grunts.

The softest whimper escapes you, but he hears it. You feel his smirk against your skin. He lightly nips at your throat and pulls back, letting you see his smug expression in its entirety.

“You like that idea, yeah?” he coos quietly, “So much attention for you, baby. Constantly being doted on. You’re not gonna lift a finger for nine months. Gonna let me take care of everything while all your energy goes into growing our baby.”

You look up at him helplessly. Big, sweet eyes that remind him of a puppy. He grins as your head bobs up and down in a nod.

“My good fucking girl. Let’s get out of here,” he says.

You’re quick to follow him out of the booth after he drops a couple bills on the table. Your fingers lace with his as he leads you to the main doors and back to the car. You take him in as he guides you. Just a few moments to admire his broad shoulders and muscular biceps. His protective grip and eyes that seemed serious to everyone else, but you could tell held more mischievous intent.

Once you reach the car, he opens the door for you, giving you a quick smack on the ass as you climb in. He’s right next to you after that, and as the engine comes to life, you almost wish he’d waited to have that conversation in here instead. Because now you were gonna have to sit here, turned on and untouched for the ride back. Heated skin and glossy eyes, it was pretty obvious how you were feeling. Most likely everyone in that restaurant and the driver sitting one seat in front of you all knew that Leon was going to fuck you dumb as soon as you stepped through the doors to your apartment.

You come to figure though, that if it’s already so obvious, what’s the harm in being a little more overt? Scooting over to him, you lean into his firm side. He looks down at you knowingly. Your fingers curl over his thick thigh, nearly brushing the most sensitive area of his lap.

“Feeling a little impatient?” he teases softly.

You nod. Sure your driver could hear murmuring, you just hoped he couldn’t make out exact words.

“Yeah, what do you want me to do about it?” he mocks, “You need Daddy’s fingers in that tight cunt? Can’t even wait till we get home to cum?”

You bite your lip to muffle the whine blooming in your throat. Your face burns at the use of the title that melted your mind down to a few simple words. Yes Daddy. Thank you Daddy. Pretty please. Wanna cum. 

With another nod, you sink further into his chest. Your eyes remain up and keep their focus on him.

“Well, since it’s your birthday…” he starts. His hand swoops beneath your dress, bypassing your thighs this time and cupping your pussy, fingers coasting over the damp fabric.

You were pulsing with desire, your heart thudding against your chest. He pulls your lacy garment to the side to run his digits through your folds and feel the slick that had gathered for him. A low chuckle leaves him, and all you can think is how grateful you are for the radio being turned on, no matter how low the volume. From how wet you were, you were sure in dead silence you’d be able to hear more lewd noises than the words spilling from Leon’s mouth.

“Oh, you really can’t wait. You’re already making a mess all over my seats,” he whispers.

The pad of his finger swirls over your clit, and you hum quietly in relief. The pressure in the pit of your belly releases a bit as the warm flow of pleasure courses through you. Your eyes flutter shut, your hands hook around his arm for comfort, and you press your face to his shoulder to obscure your reactions to the feeling.

“My perfect little doll. I press the right button and look how well you behave,” he breathes.

You suck in a breath, narrowly avoiding a whimper tumbling into the car. He plays with your bundle of nerves for a minute more before slipping two fingers down and slipping them inside you.

Your fingers dig into the sleeve of his suit, clutching it as he pumps in and out of you. He works himself in, up to his knuckles. Your thighs part a little more to give him some space to work with. He shakes his head and playfully tuts at the display of need.

“Poor baby, Daddy got you so worked up, didn’t he?” he coos softly against your head.

You nod quickly. All your focus is on keeping quiet as his fingers move between your walls as you clamp around them. He smiles and continues lightly. It was your birthday so he would be nice, wouldn’t try to embarrass you too bad.

You’re so wrapped up in the throes of ecstasy he’s bringing you that you don’t even notice when the car has stopped. The only thing you notice is his fingers are now gone and you feel painfully empty.

Your eyes dart up when you lose the warm, filling sensation. Unlike usual, you contain your whine of protest as you realize your moments away from getting what you really wanted.

Like a movie of the beginning of the evening playing in reverse, you both make your way back to the elevator. He keeps a firm hold on your hand as he takes the lead. You stumble behind, all but collapsing in his arms once you're in the elevator. He leans down into some sloppy kisses. Your tongues meet, and your lips smoosh against each other fervently as if you’re running out of time.

After what seems like forever, you hear that little ding, and he wastes no time pulling you into the apartment. You’re kissing on the way to the bedroom, hands roaming one another as you bump into furniture and nearly knock clutter off tables. His suit jacket is gone before the bed is even in sight. Buttons on his shirt had already been popped open as he throws you on the bed.

He climbs on top of you, continuing to make out with you for a moment. His lips start to head south, finding their place on your neck again while his hands start pushing up the skirt of your dress to bunch it at your waist. There was no teasing tonight. You were the birthday girl after all, and he intended to keep his word that the evening was about you.

His entire body drifts downward now. Placing himself on the end of the mattress, you nearly can’t see him from fabric that was hiked up. You can feel him though. Tongue and teeth grazing along your inner thighs, making you shudder.

In the midst of his frenzy of desire, he seems to remember something. He rises to his knees and starts to properly remove the dress from your body.

“Almost forgot to unwrap my gift,” he says.

He’s discarded the dress to the floor in no time. You lie there, on display for him in the lingerie he’d chosen just for this. His hands stroke your sides as he takes in the view of your nipples pebbles beneath the embroidered rosebuds, the soaked patch of fabric between your thighs. He’s lost in the sight of you, feeling almost as hazy as you did.

“Sweet baby, the only present I ever need,” he mumbles before lowering himself to the bed again.

He yanks down the pretty panties and tosses them over to sit with your dress. Then you finally feel some of the relief you’d been craving. He dives into your cunt, lips moving as he envelops your sex in the heat of his mouth. 

His tongue strokes up and down the velvet skin. He laps at your clit, paying attention to the precious bundle of nerves that had you crying out and writhing in his hold. You reach down and tug at his hair, causing a loud groan to emanate from the junction of your thighs. He devours you with increasing fervor.

“Pussy’s so fucking pretty,” he mutters into you, “So cute. My favorite toy.”

Your head falls back while your hips roll against his face. Gasps and whines erupt from your throat freely as you rotate between clawing at the sheets and pulling at his hair.

“All for you Daddy,” you choke out, trying not to devolve into a complete mess just yet.

He smirks up at you, enjoying the pathetic lilt in your voice. His thumb rubs your clit in quick strokes now while his mouth takes a quick break to speak. 

“That’s right, baby. All for Daddy,” he repeats, words coming out slow like you’d struggle to understand if he spoke too fast, “All mine whenever I want it. Isn’t that right?”

“Mhm, whenever you want,” you babble back.

“My smart girl,” he teases before returning to licking your cunt.

The room is vibrating to you. You’re so high in the clouds you can’t register anything in your mind that isn’t him. You vaguely feel him working two fingers inside you again as his lips wrap around your clit and suck on it in a way that causes you to shriek.

He laughs and continues on, holding your body in place as it jerks and seizes under his touch.

“Good girl, babydoll. Cum all over Daddy’s face. You deserve it,” he encourages you.

You keep cumming. Your slick coats his chin and mouth, and he laps up every drop that he can. He pleasures you through the high. Once he’s worked you over the edge, and he can tell you’re coming down, he pulls off.

“My favorite sound in the whole world. Those pretty noises you make while you let go for me,” he murmurs as he crawls back on top of you. He nuzzles your neck, leaving some kisses on the skin in the wake of your powerful release.

“You know that normally, I’d keep going, but I think we both wanna get to the next thing. Want me to breed that sweet pussy till I’m firing blanks,” he says.

He finishes pulling his shirt off and removes the clothing from his lower body quickly. He’s back on top of you before you even register he was gone. Lazily stroking his cock, he slides it between your folds, gently fitting up against you.

“My little doll ready?” he whispers.

You hook your arms around his neck and nod. He can tell by your languid movements that you’re almost loopy off your release.

“Yeah you are. My perfect girl,” he whispers as he slides in, sheathing himself in the warmth of your pussy.

He grunts and tightens his hold on you as he sinks all the way in with no resistance. Your walls flutter around him, already beginning to charge up the hot coils in his belly.

“Swear you were made for me,” he mumbles into your neck, “Pussy made for me to fuck full. Precious little face made for me to kiss.”

“Mhm,” you hum absentmindedly. You hook your legs around his waist, locking his hips against yours as he starts to grind himself into your cunt. His pelvis rubs against your sensitive clit while the head of his cock prods all your favorite spots deep inside.

He grunts and groans against your throat. Both of your hot and sticky skin slides against the others. His breath fans across you in hot pants as he starts working his hips a little harder, rocking in and out.

“Everything about you is all for me. My perfect doll. My good girl. My gorgeous fucking wife,” he growls.

You nod eagerly as you pull him closer. His hips smack against yours repeatedly, his heavy balls clapping against you with each thrust. Your breaths are shaky. It feels like you're headed towards another release with no ability to hold it off or stop it. You whine for him and squeeze around his length. So fucking tight, he actually whimpers to stop himself from blowing his load.

After a while more, he knows it’s imminent for both of you. He keeps pistoning his hips, rutting deep inside you while kissing you and capturing those sweet little sounds in his mouth.

“You there, babydoll? Gonna cum again for me?” he asks quietly, watching for the nod he knew you’d respond with. Once he sees it, he works a little harder, bringing you to the peak. “Yeah? You ready for Daddy to cum too? I know you are.”

With his voice rasping in your ear, his cock drilling deep inside you, it only takes one more thrust of his hips for you to reach the brink. You spill over into your second release. Your hips buck, and your chest heaves as the second round of ecstasy zips through you.

He hums as you contract around his shaft, clenching and drawing him in further, as if you’re crying out for him to give you his cum already. His cock twitches inside of you as he gasps and erratically fucks it into you. His entire body weight is pressing you down into the mattress as he lets go and gives up on not crushing you beneath him. It only added to the pleasure though. It was the closest you’d ever felt, and not only because his cock was bumping your cervix every couple seconds.

Soon enough, he’s spilled all that he can into you. He remains on top of you though, keeping you right where you should be. His arms snake under your body and the shift causes you to whimper since he still hadn’t pulled out. He holds you to him like you really were his dolly, peppering kisses along the side of your face and dragging his nose against your head.

“So good for me, like always,” he mumbles.

You reciprocate the affection with a few lazy kisses of your own. Your arms rest around him with no actual grip, simply just a way to show you return the sentiments.

The two of you just lay there like that for a little while, taking in each other, enjoying the peace that comes with release. You break the silence soon enough with a whisper.

“Think this has been my best birthday yet.”

He smiles and smooches you a few more times. “You deserve it, baby.”

“Thank you for making it perfect for me,” you say and tighten your limbs around him.

“Mhm,” he hums like it’s nothing. He then pulls back a little and looks down at you. “I don’t know why you’re talking like it’s over though, sweetheart. There’s still a few hours left of your actual birthday, and even then, I’m not gonna let some numbers stop me from fucking my gorgeous wife.”

You return the smile and pull him into a few more pecks.

“And I wasn’t lying, we’re going until I’m absolutely certain you’re knocked up,” he murmurs as he rocks his hips against you again, drawing a soft whimper from your throat, “And you know how precise I am. Probably shouldn’t make any plans for tomorrow, actually, probably need the whole weekend too.” He looks at you with a cocky smile before continuing the roll of his hips.

[im-not-corrupted]

A sequel to this Dreamling fic here, though this can be read as a standalone. Written for @merry-moody-missy, who requested I write more and get the two of them together. Also, thanks to @samsalami66​, who gave me a prompt (that felt more like a fic outline, but that’s great too XD) for this fic.

Edit: Part one and two are now on Ao3!

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Dream came to him more often, after that.

Once a month became once a fortnight. He wasn’t half as reserved these days as he typically was; if anything, he seemed to be even more comfortable in Hob’s presence, now. It was rather wonderful to witness for Hob, who, for the longest time, knew Dream only as his distant Stranger. A far star, unreachable. A sun for him to orbit, but a sun who would only bless him with light once a century.

Every two weeks, Dream appeared beside him at some point in the day. It didn’t matter where; he’d often appear at the back of Hob’s classes while he was working, entirely unnoticed by his students. Or he would materialise next to him and fall into step as Hob walked home, content to follow in silence, or to listen as Hob recounted his day.

The first time he did that, stepping up next to Hob when the space beside him had been previously empty—well, the first time scared him half to death, naturally. That simply wasn’t the kind of thing one grew to expect, even after living for nearly seven centuries.

(He didn’t care. In fact, Hob looked upon that day with fondness, a grin upon his face, because that was the first time he’d heard Dream laugh.

He didn’t have a particular lovely laugh. It wasn’t melodic, or sweet. It wasn’t the kind of thing you expected to be a sound of joy at all, really—if Hob tried his best, he’d only be able to describe it as an awful, croaking thing, terrifying and perhaps the least lovely thing he’d heard before—but Hob didn’t care at all, because Dream laughed.

Loudly, and without abandon. Rosebud lips had spread wide in a smile that stole Hob’s heart entirely, and the joy in his eyes was unmatched. There, stood in the middle of a London street with laughter in his face and sunlight catching his stray hairs—well, he was beautiful, and Hob found himself falling.)

(No. No, that wasn’t true. He found himself falling for Dream a long time ago. He was already so far gone for him; hearing him laugh had merely made him fall further, and he hadn’t known such a thing was possible.)

Today, Dream appeared in his apartment—only, this time, he did so before Hob was about to sleep.

Which…wasn’t a problem. Not at all. Sleep didn’t matter, not when Dream was there. He would gladly drop anything and everything, if Dream wanted him to. If his friend wanted his time and his energy. All of it was his anyway; he needed only to ask.

(And he did ask, these days. Indirectly, naturally—Matthew somehow gained the job of messenger raven, and would often fly to the Waking world for the sole purpose of seeing Hob and delivering a message.

The message was usually short. A quick, Boss asks if you’re free today?, and Hob would reply, Let him know I am before quickly cancelling his plans.

Dream still didn’t ask for what he needed. But he still asked, in a round-about Dream kind of way, and Hob? Hob was proud of him. He remembered all too easily the pain on his face when he thought he burdened Hob with his affections; he could only imagine what it took for his friend to be able to ask whether he was busy or not, after that.)

“Dream,” he said, blinking at the being who materialised at the foot of his bed. To his credit, his heart didn’t so much as stutter, proof that he was used to Dream simply appearing out of nowhere. Proof that they truly were friends, now, after so many centuries of him wanting exactly that.

(They were friends. He couldn’t quite believe it, sometimes. They were friends, and Dream didn’t shy away from that title when Hob gave it to him. If anything, he seemed proud of it, like the title of ‘friend’ was an honour.)

(It certainly was for Hob, at least, so he understood that.)

Dream stared at him for a moment, blinking slowly, cat-like. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see Hob underneath his duvet, which—seemed fair. He still didn’t have much of a clue what Dream was, for it didn’t matter, but he knew now that it had to do with a place called the Dreaming—his realm, which certainly gave Hob a bit of an existential crisis the first time he heard that—and sleep. Perhaps he had a second sense for when people were about to sleep. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing Hob had seen him do.

”Hob,” he said, then frowned. Some of that old hesitance kept him from saying much else for a moment, but he eventually asked, “I did not think…Is this a bad time?”

Progress, Hob thought, and shot a grin in his friend’s direction. Dream was making progress, small and still so, so important, and he was simply glad to be a part of it. “Not at all,” he promised, because this was Dream. Dream, who owned his heart entirely by this point, who Hob would gladly dedicate every waking moment of his days to if he could. If his friend would appreciate that, if he would even want that.

That hesitance held him in place for a second longer, but that was all. His floor-length, high-collared coat disappeared, shadow replacing the impossibly soft material of it before vanishing entirely, leaving Dream in a long-sleeved top (black, of course) that felt so casual on him.

(He’d seen Dream without his coat many times before, now. Another testament to the fact that Dream felt comfortable—safe, even—with him. It still startled him, though, and it never failed to make warmth bloom behind his ribs. This—this vulnerability, his desire to abandon armour when with Hob—was another display of trust, and Hob wouldn’t get over that any time soon.

Dream trusted him. It was a fragile thing, that trust, not at all suited for Hob’s bloodied and calloused hands. He’d had many years to practise gentleness, though, and he used it with this; with Dream’s trust, a gift offered so painstakingly.)

And then Dream was moving, climbing onto the bed and tucking himself into Hob’s side. One half of his body ended up entirely on top of Hob’s, his face buried into the crook of his neck, and let out a soft, contented sigh.

It tickled the skin of his neck a little, but Hob hardly cared. How could he, when he turned his head to the side and found himself face to face with Dream’s feather-soft hair, when Dream’s arm came to wrap around his waist?

He chuckled softly. His heart felt so full, all of a sudden, his fondness for this strange and lovely creature lay on top of him almost overwhelming. There wasn’t enough room behind his rib cage for it all, for the adoration pouring from his heart in waves. He brushed his fingers through Dream’s feather-soft hair, the smile on his face growing wider as his friend burrowed further into him, and, without thinking, he said gently, “Yeah, dove, I love you too. And I missed you dearly.”

Missed you dearly wasn’t quite enough. It didn’t explain the way he missed Dream like an ache, in those two weeks he was off doing whatever the ruler of an entire realm did. But it was true enough, so he let the words hang in the air. Dream deserved to know he was missed when he wasn’t around; deserved to know Hob thought about him, even in the louder moments where his head was so busy. Missed you dearly didn’t quite fit, but it said enough.

It was only when Dream’s head snapped up in a movement faster than anything Hob had seen from him before, ocean eyes almost comically wide and lips parted slightly, that Hob realised what he said.

I love you too. It wasn’t a lie. He didn’t think he was capable of that, even subconsciously, when it came to Dream. Always, his heart has been laid bare before him, every little thing it contained inside free for his viewing. Hob made little attempt to keep it hidden. His fondness, his adoration, always slipped into his voice unbidden. Experience told him every attempt to mask it would fall short; there was simply too much to keep it trapped behind his ribs. It was always his friend’s choice whether or not he took it at face value or not.

He did love Dream. Loved him like he loved life; endlessly, with more depth than he thought himself capable of putting into words. Though he wasn’t much of a poet, he would try, if Dream asked that of him. He would do much for his dearest friend, his Stranger, if only he asked.

”Love me,” Dream murmured softly. He sounded almost disbelieving, as though he hadn’t thought of himself as something able to be loved. That thought rang too true for Hob’s comfort; he had to stop himself from holding Dream closer, unwilling to make him uncomfortable in an attempt to offer comfort. “You have. Said this before.”

Not in quite so many words, Hob thought, but yes. He had. Never apologise for wanting to be loved, he told Dream, and that was another admittance in and of itself, wasn’t it? It was an I love you, and I’m happy to do so, and a request; Let me love you, I want, it was always yours anyway.

Fear coiled in his stomach, a poison almost potent enough to stop him from answering entirely. But he met Dream’s gaze and saw the impression of new stars within them; he met his eyes and saw a fragile kind of hope. Fear or not, his dearest friend deserved to know he was loved.

“Yes,” he answered gently. Perhaps he’d run, now, leave Hob as he had in 1889. That, Hob thought, would be alright. It’d hurt, but it’d be alright. Dream would come back to him, just as he had once every month before, and now every fortnight. That knowledge was just enough to make the worst of that fear melt away, and to loosen his tongue. “I love you dearly. With everything I am. Doesn’t have to change anything if you don’t want it to—I don’t want anything from you that you aren’t willing to give, I promise you that.”

A furrow appeared between his friend’s brow. That hope didn’t leave his eyes, even despite the confusion that joined it. “Why would you tell me this, then, if you did not want reciprocation from me?”

Hob ached, suddenly, at the confusion in Dream’s voice. Had nobody loved him without expectation before? Had nobody loved him simply for the sake of loving him, because they couldn’t do anything else? “Let me rephrase,” he said gently, and he sat up. Dream frowned further at being disturbed, though said frown disappeared fast enough when Hob cupped his face. “I would kill to have you feel the same for me. It would be so many centuries of pining resolved in a mere moment; I would love for nothing more than you to love me back. But I don’t expect you to. I didn’t tell you I love you expecting you to say the same. I told you I love you simply because you deserve to hear it; nothing more, nothing less.”

Silence hung heavy between them for a moment, in which Dream simply stared at him without moving a muscle at all and Hob grew increasingly conscious about the fact that he was still very much holding Dream’s face in his hands.

He was about ready to let go, no doubt followed by an awkward apology, but Dream said slowly, “You are. A strange creature, Hob Gadling. I continuously find myself baffled by you.”

Quietly, Hob laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment then, love.” His hands fell from Dream’s face, only for his friend to catch them by his wrists.

”And,” Dream continued, slow and stilted, and Hob froze. Dream’s skin against his, not quite a normal body temperature, was different when initiated by Dream himself. It meant more, somehow. “And. You are not alone. In your feelings.”

Hob was fairly sure his heart stopped in his chest at that. Just for a moment. In his defence, this moment did feel particularly heart stopping. Important enough to fling his own world off its axis.

When he found himself capable of thought again, he asked, barely able to contain the joy pouring from his heart in waves, “Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Dream?”

”I am saying,” he said heavily, severely, like this moment was as important to him as it was to Hob, “that I adore you, Hob Gadling. That you are a comfort I did not expect to find. That your arms are a place of safety, that I find comfort in your presence, that you are a fresh breath of air after so long spent underwater. I am saying that your continued friendship is an honour, one I am eternally grateful for; I am saying that you baffle me entirely, your joy for life and your willingness to love me, and that love is too small a term to label the depths of my feelings towards you, but it is enough for now.”

Hob stared at him, wide-eyed. His heart spilled over, everything it contained too much, and all of it Dream’s. All of it, shared by Dream, too. “Christ, love,” he said, his voice light with elation. A sob caught in his chest as his hand, still held by the wrist in Dream’s grasp, came up to play with the raven hair at the nape of his friend’s neck, as he pulled Dream into a kiss.

It was gentle. Barely a hint of pressure at all, for fear he’d perhaps misunderstood. But Dream made a noise against his lips, surprised yet pleased, and kisses back eagerly, an answer to a question Hob didn’t realise he’d asked.

Eventually, though everything in him screamed against it, too lost in the sensation of Dream’s mouth against his own and Dream’s hands clutching at the thin top he wore for bed, he pulled back for breath. Dream gazed at him, eyes so dark they were almost black. Hob could see the stars so clearly, now, and found himself breathless for another reason entirely.

Awed, he said, ”You’re beautiful.” His thumb stroked the skin underneath Dream’s eye, reverent and worshipful, and Dream practically preened.

At some point, he lay back down, taking his friend—Dream, his Stranger, who he had loved for centuries and who loved him in return—with him. He tucked himself against Hob’s side, knee wedges between Hob’s legs and an arm thrown over his waist. The duvet was pulled over up to both their shoulders, and Hob let himself kiss the crown of his head.

He needed to sleep. He was tired, his head a little foggy. But elation kept his chest light, and there was enough joy in his veins to last a lifetime. They’d have to talk tomorrow, Hob knew that, but they’d figure that out.

For now, this—this was enough. More than enough.

”I love you,” he said again. His eyes slipped shut. 

Sleep would come difficult, with the way his heart felt so full, but that was alright. A small price to pay for the way Dream shifted against him before pressing feather-soft lips against his cheek, whispering, “And I you, beloved,” before settling back in place again.

Hob slept eventually. And when he did, he dreamt of Dream.

[whencyclopedia]

Great Sioux War

The Great Sioux War (also given as the Black Hills War, 1876-1877) was a military conflict between the allied forces of the Lakota Sioux/Northern Cheyenne and the US government over the territory of the Black Hills and, more widely, US policies of westward expansion and the appropriation of Native American lands.

The Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868 had established the Great Sioux Reservation, including the Black Hills, and promised this land to the Sioux in perpetuity. When gold was discovered in the Black Hills in 1874, the treaty was ignored by the US government, leading to the Black Hills Gold Rush of 1876. The Sioux, Northern Cheyenne, and Arapaho responded with armed resistance in raids on wagon trains, skirmishes, and five major battles fought between March 1876 and January 1877:

Battle of Powder River (Reynolds Battle) – 17 March 1876

Battle of the Rosebud (Battle Where the Girl Saved Her Brother) – 17 June 1876

Battle of the Little Bighorn (Battle of the Greasy Grass) – 25-26 June 1876

Battle of Slim Buttes – 9-10 September 1876

Battle of Wolf Mountain (Battle of Belly Butte) – 8 January 1877

In between these, were so-called minor engagements with casualties on both sides but, after June 1876, greater losses for the Sioux and Cheyenne. The final armed conflict of the Great Sioux War was the Battle of Muddy Creek (the Lame Deer Fight, 7-8 May 1877), by which time the Sioux war chief Crazy Horse (l. c. 1840-1877) had already surrendered and the chief Sitting Bull (l. c. 1837-1890) and Sioux war chief Gall (l.c. 1840-1894) and others had fled to the region of modern-day Canada. Although the war was over by May 1877, ending in a victory for the US military, some bands of Sioux and Cheyenne continued to struggle against reservation life until the Wounded Knee Massacre of 29 December 1890 broke their resistance.

Background

Although the first armed conflict between the Plains Indians and Euro-Americans was in 1823, problems between the Sioux and the US military began on 19 August 1854 with the Grattan Fight (Grattan Massacre), when 2nd Lieutenant John L. Grattan led his command of 30 soldiers to the camp of Chief Conquering Bear (l. c. 1800-1854) to demand the surrender of a man they claimed had stolen a cow from a Mormon wagon train.

Conquering Bear refused to surrender anyone, offering compensation instead, and, as the negotiations broke down, Grattan's men fired on the Sioux, mortally wounding Conquering Bear, and the Sioux warriors retaliated, killing Grattan and all of his command. The US military responded with campaigns against the Sioux in the First Sioux War of 1854-1856, which also included actions against their allies, the Cheyenne and Arapaho.

Tensions escalated after the opening of the Bozeman Trail in 1863, the establishment of forts to protect white settlers using the trail, and the Sand Creek Massacre of 29 November 1864. Red Cloud's War (1866-1868) was launched in response to the construction of these forts and the policies of the US government, concluding with the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868, which established the Great Sioux Reservation (modern-day South Dakota and parts of North Dakota and Nebraska), including the Black Hills – a site sacred to the Sioux – which was promised to them for "as long as the grass should grow and the rivers flow."

When Lt. Colonel George Armstrong Custer (l. 1839-1876) discovered gold in the Black Hills in 1874, the Fort Laramie treaty was broken as over 15,000 white settlers and miners streamed into the region during the Black Hills Gold Rush of 1876. The US government offered to purchase the Black Hills, but the Sioux would not sell. More settlers arrived, the government ignored Sioux demands that the 1868 treaty be honored, and the Great Sioux War began in March of that year, with the Reynolds campaign on the Powder River.

Continue reading...

[3rdeyeblaque]

On Dec 15th, we venerate Elevated Ancestor & Saint Tataηka Íyotake aka Chief Sitting Bull on the 133rd anniversary of his passing 🕊 [for our Hoodoos of First Nations descent]

Sitting Bull, of the Hunkpapa Lakota, was a fierce political leader & holy man known to be a great father, husband, & friend to all. Under him, all the Lakota bands united for survival in the Northern Plains, as he spearheaded their resistance against European invasion. He was known for his legendary courage, unyielding defiance toward U.S. military power, & contemptuous of the many broken U.S. political promises.

Tatáŋka Íyotake was born to a prominent family of chiefs on the Grand River in present-day South Dakota at a place called, "Many Caches" - known for its abundant food storage pits. He was given his name, which described a buffalo bull sitting intractably on his haunches. This, he would grow live up to.

As a young man, Tatáŋka Íyotake joined two prominent groups within his community. He became a distinguished member of the Silent Eaters (a group concerned with tribal welfare) & leader of the Strong Heart Warrior Society. At 14, he joined his father & uncles on a raid against the Crow. Here, he first encountered White soldiers as the U.S. Army had mounted a broad campaign in retaliation for the Santee Rebellion in Minnesota, enchanting the Lakota had no affiliation with. That following year, in 1816, Tatáŋka Íyotake fought U.S. troops again at the Battle of Killdeer Mountain. Later, in 1865, he led a siege against the newly established Fort Rice in North Dakota. Widely respected for his bravery & insight, in 1868, Tatáŋka Íyotake became Head Chief of Lakota Nation.

By 1874, the stage for war between Sitting Bull & the US Army was set once an expedition led by General George Armstrong Custer confirmed gold had been discovered in the Dakota Territory’s the Black Hills, an area sacred to the Lakota bands. This land was decreed off-limits to white settlement by the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868. Despite this ban, prospectors began a rush to the Black Hills. Once U.S. government efforts to purchase the Black Hills failed, the Fort Laramie Treaty was dismissed. The commissioner of Indian Affairs decreed that all Lakota not settled on reservations by January 31, 1876, would be considered hostile.

Rightfully so, Sitting Bull and his people held their ground. In March, 3 lines of federal troops invaded the area. Sitting Bull summoned the Lakota and their allies, the Cheyenne, & Arapaho to his camp on Rosebud Creek in Montana Territory. There, he led them in the sundance ritual, offering prayers to Wakáŋ Táŋka (Great Spirit). Sitting Bull slashed his arms 100 times in sacrifice for his people. During this ceremony, he shared that he'd had a vision. He saw soldiers falling into the Lakota camp like grasshoppers falling from the sky.

Inspired by this vision, the Oglala Lakota leader, War Chief Crazy Horse, set out for battle with a band of 500 warriors at the Battle of the Rosebud. To celebrate this victory, the Lakota moved their camp to the valley of the Little Bighorn River. They were joined by 3,000 more Native warriors who had abandoned the reservations to follow Sitting Bull.

On June 25th, the U.S. 7th Cavalry launched their attack under George Armstrong Custer. They rushed the Indian encampment as if in fulfillment of Sitting Bull’s vision. Yet they were severely outnumbered & thus defeated. White outrage at this military catastrophe spurred thousands more cavalrymen to the area. Over the next year, they relentlessly pursued the Lakota bands.

Though many were forced into surrender, Sitting Bull remained defiant. In May 1877, he led his band to Canada, beyond the reach of the U.S. Army. When a U.S. General traveled north to audaciously offer him a pardon in exchange for settling on a reservation, Sitting Bull angrily dismissed him.

Four years later, in the wake of European invaders driving the Buffalo to near instinction, Sitting Bull found it nearly impossible to feed his people. So, he moved south to face surrender. On July 19, 1881, Sitting Bull’s young son handed his father’s rifle to the U.S. commanding officer of Fort Buford in Montana. Through this action, Sitting Bull hoped to teach his son “that he had become a friend of the Americans.” He also said, “I wish it to be remembered that I was the last man of my tribe to surrender my rifle.” He asked for the right to cross back & forth into Canada whenever he wished & for a reservation of his own on the Little Missouri River near the Black Hills. Instead, he was sent to Standing Rock Reservation. His warm reception there raised Army fears about a fresh uprising. So, Sitting Bull and his people were taken further down the Missouri River to Fort Randall. They were held as prisoners of war for nearly 2 more years.

Finally, on May 10, 1883, Sitting Bull rejoined his tribe at Standing Rock. The Indian Agent in charge of the reservation was determined to deny him any special privileges. And so, Sitting Bull was forced to work in the plantation fields. Yet when a delegation of U.S. Senators came to discuss opening part of the reservation to Whitea, he spoke forcefully, though futilely, against it.

In 1885, Sitting Bull was allowed to leave the reservation to join Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. He earned $50 a week for riding once around the arena. Sitting Bull also named his price for his autograph & picture. Unable to tolerate White society any longer, he stayed with the show for 4 months.

Returning to Standing Rock, Sitting Bull lived in a cabin near his birthplace on the Grand River; still rejecting the seeds of the colonialism - Christianity & giving up the traditional ways of life - as the reservation’s rules required. He did, however, send his children to a Christian school because he believed the next generation of Lakota would need the education of their oppressors to survive in the new world.

Here, he had another vision. He saw a meadowlark on a hillock beside him say,“Your own people, Lakotas, will kill you.” Nearly 5 years later, this vision would come to fruition.

In the fall of 1890, a Minŋecoŋjou Lakota named Kicking Bear came to Sitting Bull with news of the Ghost Dance, a ceremony that promised to rid the land of colonizers & restore the Indian way of life. Lakota had already adopted the ceremony at the Pine Ridge & Rosebud Reservations, and Indian Agents there had already called for troops to bring the growing movement under control.

At Standing Rock, the authorities feared Sitting Bull, still revered as a powerful spiritual leader, would join the Ghost Dancers as well. They sent 43 Lakota police officers to seize him. Before dawn on December 15th1890, the officers burst into Sitting Bull’s cabin & dragged him outside, where his followers were gathering to protect him. In the gunfight that followed, one of the Lakota police officers shot Sitting Bull in the head.

Today, Sitting Bull rests close to his birthplace near Mobridge, South Dakota. A granite shaft marks his grave.

"They claim this mother of ours, the Earth, for their own use, and fence their neighbors away from her, and deface her with their buildings and their refuse." - Sitting Bull.

We pour libations & give him💐 today as we celebrate him for his inspirational leadership, fearless figuring spirit, power in prayer, & his deep faith in Great Spirit.

Offering suggestions: a smoking pipe with tobacco, Lakota music, bison meat served with wild potatoes & prairie turnips

‼️Note: offering suggestions are just that & strictly for veneration purposes only. Never attempt to conjure up any spirit or entity without proper divination/Mediumship counsel.‼️

[littlefeather-wolf]

OSH-TISCH (CROW) ... TRANSGENDER ...

Osh-Tisch, or “Finds Them and Kills Them” (1854-1929) was a respected warrior among the Crow, who fought Lakota in the Battle of Rosebud. Osh-Tisch was the spiritual leader of the Boté, which is a Crow term describing a person whose gender identity was different than their assigned at birth sex. Osh-Tisch was male-bodied who lived as a woman, and had accomplishments in feminine crafts ... On reservations, Christian missionaries from the BIA enforced strict Western gender ideals ... These agents attempted to make Osh-Tisch dress in male clothing, cut off the hair of the Boté, and force them to work traditionally masculine labor. The agents were eventually driven out, and Osh-Tisch remains a respected figure among the Crow, yet Christian influences have diminished the role of gender fluid and LGBTQ+ indigenous people.

[writings4aot]

What pet names do some of the boys of AOT call you?

Armin- ¬ Gorgeous ¬ Angel ¬ Sweetheart -Although Armin is also a little reserved, he'll exchange a smile toward you every now and again to remind you that he loves you. These pet names tend to slip out by accident and of course, he'll act like a fool for a moment as he tries to remain professional.-

Jean- ¬Beautiful ¬Honey ¬Sweet-cheeks. -Jean absolutely loves teasing you in public and calling you these names. Despite the fact that he blushes like a moron, he couldn't be more proud to show off his prized profession.-

Eren- ¬Baby ¬Love ¬My fair lady -Eren would most certainly get flustered if he said these in public so usually likes to whisper them in your ear or when you two are alone. He likes to let people know that you are his by gentle grazing your fingertips together but other than that he is rather reserved.-

Levi- ¬Beloved ¬My love -Levi wouldn't be using many pet names and if he did, it'd be a rare occasion or when the two of you are alone. Doesn't tend to show much affection toward you when you are out with other people and when he does, he's gently brushing some hair away from your face or admiring you for only a moment.-

Reiner-

¬Pet ¬Rosebud ¬Sweetie -There is nobody he loves more than you and he'll always try to let a pet name slip up when in conversation. He mostly does it on purpose to tease you and will keep his hand wrapped around your own while out in public.-

Zeke-

¬Darling ¬Dear ¬Lady -Zeke was old fashioned and kept the pet names old fashioned too. He would mostly keep them a little more private but shows you other ways of affection by giving little winks your way.- Please send me in some suggestions on what to write! This was only something lil' quick. :)

[tomorrowusa]

Gov. Kristi Noem, a Trump lickspittle, is banned from 15% of her state of South Dakota. She is one of the contestants for the number two position on Trump's national ticket.

As South Dakota governor Kristi Noem vies for a top position in a second Trump White House, she appears to be more focused on shoring up her vice-presidential chances than on making allies at home — to the point that she is no longer welcome in around 15 percent of the state she governs. Over the past few months, Noem has made several comments about alleged drug trafficking on Native American reservation lands, infuriating a number tribes in the state. In February, the Oglala Sioux Tribe banned her from the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, the fifth largest in the United States, for claiming without evidence that drug cartels were connected to murders on the reservation. The ban did not dissuade her from making more incendiary remarks. In March, Noem said at a community forum in Winner that there are “some tribal leaders that I believe are personally benefiting from cartels being there and that’s why they attack me every day.” When tribal leaders demanded an apology, Noem doubled down, issuing a statement to the tribes to “banish the cartels.” In response, the Cheyenne River Sioux forbade Noem from setting foot on their reservation, the fourth largest in the U.S. On Wednesday, the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe, the sixth largest in the U.S., banned her as well. On Thursday, a fourth tribe, the Rosebud Sioux, followed suit.

So far, four tribes are banning Noem:

Oglala Sioux

Rosebud Sioux

Cheyenne River Sioux

Standing Rock Sioux

Alleged drug cartels on tribal lands in South Dakota are the local equivalent of millions of migrants illegally voting in 2020. Bullshit is not just a GOP specialty but a dedicated lifestyle.

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

It’s official: All nine of South Dakota’s tribes have now voted to ban Gov. Kristi Noem (R) from their lands.

The final tribe still holding out hope for a productive relationship with the state’s governor, the Flandreau Santee Sioux, made the decision to join their counterparts Tuesday, just a week after telling The Daily Beast that they had no plans to do so.

A tribal leader told the Argus Leader that the Flandreau Santee Sioux executive council made the decision after hearing from a number of citizens who urged them to banish Noem—saying that many on the reservation were “uncomfortable and upset” with the council’s decision to wait so long in the first place. One attendee of the council’s Tuesday meeting told the local newspaper that the matter led to a “pretty heated discussion.”

Noem angered Indigenous American communities earlier this year by suggesting that tribes in her state were in league with Mexican drug cartels and blaming Indigenous parents for their children’s poor academic performance—leaving them unemployed and with “no hope.”

The comments led to her to be rapidly declared persona non grata by most of the tribal nations in South Dakota, starting with the Crow Creek, Sisseton Wahpeton, Oglala, Cheyenne River, Standing Rock, and Rosebud Sioux tribes, which account for nearly all of the reservation land in the state—almost 20 percent of the its total area.

Leadership of the Yankton Sioux Tribe has also voted to express its support for a similar ban, though it has yet to make an official decision on the matter.

Prior to its decision, leaders of the Flandreau Santee Sioux tribe reportedly held one last meeting Sunday with Gov. Noem in the Capitol, one they described to the Argus Leader at the time as “respectful and productive.”

Noem released her own statement following the meeting, writing that it was “never my intent to cause offense by speaking truth to the real challenges that are being faced in some areas of Indian country.”

“It is my hope that the Flandreau Santee Sioux Tribe will give us the opportunity to partner together in a way that can be an example for all,” she added.

But just two days later, the tribe’s leadership committee decided that it just could not let her comments go unpunished.

“We need to stand in solidarity with our fellow tribes in South Dakota, the Očhéthi Šakówiŋ,” Tyler Rambeau, a tribal leader, told the local newspaper during a recess in Tuesday’s meeting. “We do not want to come up on the wrong side of history in this moment.”

When reached for comment on her banishment from tribal lands, Gov. Noem told The Daily Beast: “I only want to speak truth to the real challenges that are being faced in some areas of Indian Country. I want to focus on solutions that lead to safer communities for all our families, educational outcomes for all our children, and declining addiction numbers for all our people. We cannot tackle these issues without addressing the problem: dangerous criminals who perpetuate violence and illegal activities in all areas of our state. We need to take action. It is my hope tribal leadership will take the opportunity to work with me to be an example of how cooperation is better for all people rather than political attacks.”

[lncarnon]

hello world and all who inhabit it i present spicy

just going through my list of muses;

nadia is very touch adverse and subsequently hasn't been laid in a long time, only interested in men

nekros is exempt from spicy hc's

teshin has a non-existent sex drive

stalker very, very rarely is horny and the moments where he is are typically reserved for his acolytes, so good luck

julie has definitely used her charm and looks to seduce people to their death but the only time she would actually let it get anywhere, is with frank, or frank's permission

joey is definitely still a virgin, not for lack of trying, but he is wholly unsure what to do with himself in that regard

were-elk huntress would be quite a terrifying ordeal and since she has no interest in men, might be seduced by a woman but also.. good luck with that one

krampus trapper fucks, he's a scary demon goat-man, but no one has been brave enough to even try

b-312 has no interest in seeking out sex, though there is a chance someone could try and convince her, good luck. she definitely would not be interested in casual encounters.

the warden is a giant robot, no

the servant of the flame definitely still has a sex drive and they use the same magic that made them, to manifest a dick, but sex is far from the first thing on their mind

mia is open to a very loose lifestyle and flings, but her job keeps a lot from developing

finka has a very specific type of man she is interested in and if you don't fit that category, the answer is likely no, but she will be nice about it

yellowleg also doesn't think about sex, if ever

rosebud is the opposite and likes to use sex as a means to conquer cocky guys, if you get her in bed better prepare for her being on top

thatcher likes a good fuck as much as the next guy, but his age is starting to get to him, and if you asked out of the blue or at a bar he would probably just chuckle and decline

maximilien fucks but he never initiates, though he won't go to bed with strangers

the monitor before becoming the monitor had a normal sex drive, but ever since his training, sees no purpose in it (with one exception and they know who they are)

june likes sex, how it makes her feel, and she engages in it whenever convenient

amon would definitely use sex as a means to control someone, full stop, he isn't interested in attachment

revenant has bodies with modifications both for mouth and other means, he doesn't get horny, but would absolutely capitalize on making someone feel ashamed because they wanted to fuck a murder robot

slade hasn't really thought about sex since everything that happened in star city, it isn't something he goes looking for, and will satiate himself if it comes up

jeri knows what sex is but would be unlikely to do anything with that information, that being said, if you really wanted to go to town with a xenomorph and not be killed go ahead and try i GUESS

for walter there seems to be some suggestion that trolls have private parts but they don't use them to reproduce so i have NO IDEA if they could fuck. walter is far more human adjacent so he might?? try, if someone wanted.

zachariah definitely gets horny, but is fairly picky on whether or not he is going to be asking for help from anyone

aria will frequent a few bars around the local area if she is really feeling like she needs some release, but don't expect her to stick around

theoretically you could have sex with the ahamkara but also why would you want to do that

saint-14 is very much a monogamous man and that's the end of that

rasputin is another one of those 'you could but he wouldn't understand what's going on' characters, so probably don't try, his son might also hunt you down-

araskes is in a state of being that she doesn't have physical needs to any degree, for food, or sex. i guess it would not be impossible to seduce her but you would have better luck seducing a brick wall

delilah is bisexual but lesbian leaning, so women will definitely have better chances at engaging with her

the outsider hasn't been human in centuries, but if you approach him in my au where he was freed from being a god, he would be pretty lost as to what he is feeling and what to do about it haha. oldest virgin.

daud is asexual, he'd let you think you are getting somewhere and then he would probably stab you for being so gullible

caska is a giant cat, she would only be interested in other giant cats and even then she isn't interested in starting a family yet

rindul is a vampire that knows how to have a good time, but most people are scared of him, so he often has quite a bit of alone time

elam, as an assassin, has definitely used sex to get to a target. at least he lets them finish before gutting them. not much interest outside of work

lord warden dusk is a very large, dragon-like demon, who definitely could fuck but doesn't inherently have much of a sex drive if ever and would use it against a mortal readily. but hey, if you are into size difference-

the ascendant lord is just a guy, with a high position in society on both sides of his person. he gets offers all the time so you really would have to make an impression to get that kind of attention from him

maxwell only had eyes for one girl, and she hates him, so don't bother

shay fucks when the need arises, but it's usually limited to someone he already knows

aiden would be a task and a half to seduce, he usually sticks to himself

teylan is exempt from the spicy hc's

[gnostichymns]

Given it some time and thought, I'll do Diluc's rosebud other half in HSR, Argenti. May I RSV him please?

Argenti has been reserved! Please send in your application and blog by July 13th!

-Mod Alina

[ojibwa]

Harry With Horns, an Indigenous Lakota boy, circ. late 1890′s, Rosebud Reservation

[ID: Antique photograph of a young Indigenous boy wearing traditional regalia, including a beaded vest, beaded moccasins, and feathered headdress. The child poses holding a bow. End ID.]

[whencyclopedia]

Sioux Chief Two Strike (Eastman's Biography)

Two Strike (Numpkahapa/Nomkahpa, l. c. 1831-1915) was a Lakota Sioux chief of the Brule band, who fought against the US military consistently from Red Cloud's War (1866-1868) through the Great Sioux War (1876-1877) and was present at the Wounded Knee Massacre of 1890. He was later an outspoken critic of US policies toward Native peoples of North America.

He fought alongside Red Cloud (l. 1822-1909), Sioux Chief Spotted Tail (l. 1823-1881), Sitting Bull (l. c. 1837-1890), Crazy Horse (l. c. 1840-1877), Roman Nose (Cheyenne Warrior) (l. c. 1830-1868) and other famous figures including the Cheyenne chiefs Morning Star (Dull Knife, l. c. 1810-1883), Little Wolf (l. c. 1820-1904), and Black Kettle (l. c. 1803-1868) but never received the same attention as his more famous contemporaries.

This may have been due, at least in part, to his shyness and a reluctance to call notice to himself. He fought at the Battle of the Little Bighorn (Battle of the Greasy Grass, 25-26 June 1876), for example, which Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull are famous for – even though no one knows, precisely, what they did during the conflict – but is rarely mentioned in accounts of that battle.

He was one of the four Sioux chiefs who led the attack on the Pawnee at the Battle of Massacre Canyon in 1873, alongside Spotted Tail, Charging Bear (l. c. 1836-1918), and Little Wound (l. c. 1835-1899), which, according to some scholars, resulted in the Pawnee's choice to relocate to "Indian Territory" (modern-day Oklahoma) and encouraged more Pawnee warriors to enlist in the US military as scouts to fight against the Sioux.

This conflict was in keeping with traditional Native American warfare whereas engagements with the US military were not. Two Strike condemned the US policy of westward expansion and the US treatment of the Plains Indians, specifically the Sioux, strenuously, especially after the Wounded Knee Massacre of 1890, and was imprisoned in 1891 for inciting rebellion, serving three years in federal prison for objecting to the massacre. After his release, he continued his criticism of the US government's policies until his death, of natural causes, on the Rosebud Reservation in 1915.

The Sioux physician and author Charles A. Eastman (also known as Ohiyesa, l. 1858-1939) includes Two Strike in his Indian Heroes and Great Chieftains (1916) alongside many of the others mentioned above. Eastman honors the shy spirit of Two Strike by focusing on stories of his youth, not on his military career. From the historical perspective, this is unfortunate, since Eastman knew Two Strike personally and so could have, perhaps, persuaded him to share his perspective of events such as the Battle of the Little Bighorn or the Wounded Knee Massacre, but, at the same time, the Eastman biography is respected as it honors the humble spirit of Two Strike, who, most likely would have refused to discuss his role in either of those or any other conflicts.

Text

The following text is taken from Eastman's Indian Heroes and Great Chieftains, the 1939 edition, republished in 2016. He begins his account with a reference to Young-Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses (Tasunka Kokipapi, l. c. 1836-1893), an Oglala Lakota Sioux chief who also fought in Red Cloud's War and was associated closely with Two Strike afterwards.

It is a pity that so many interesting names of well-known Indians have been mistranslated, so that their meaning becomes very vague if it is not wholly lost. In some cases, an opposite meaning is conveyed. For instance, there is the name, "Young-Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses." It does not mean that the owner of the name is afraid of his own horse—far from it! Tashunkekokipapi signifies "The young men fear his horses." Whenever that man attacks, the enemy knows there will be a determined charge.

The name Tashunkewitko, or Crazy Horse, is a poetic simile. This leader was likened to an untrained or untouched horse, wild, ignorant of domestic uses, splendid in action, and unconscious of danger.

The name of Two Strike is a deed name. In a battle with the Utes this man knocked two enemies from the back of a war horse. The true rendering of the name Nomkahpa would be, "He knocked off two."

I was well acquainted with Two Strike and spent many pleasant hours with him, both at Washington, D. C., and in his home on the Rosebud reservation. What I have written is not all taken from his own mouth, because he was modest in talking about himself, but I had him vouch for the truth of the stories. He said that he was born near the Republican River about 1832. His earliest recollection was of an attack by the Shoshones upon their camp on the Little Piney. The first white men he ever met were traders who visited his people when he was very young. The incident was still vividly with him, because, he said, "They made my father crazy," . This made a deep impression upon him, he told me, so that from that day he was always afraid of the white man's "mysterious water."

Two Strike was not a large man, but he was very supple and alert in motion, as agile as an antelope. His face was mobile and intelligent. Although he had the usual somber visage of an Indian, his expression brightened up wonderfully when he talked. In some ways wily and shrewd in intellect, he was not deceitful nor mean. He had a high sense of duty and honor. Patriotism was his ideal and goal of life.

As a young man he was modest and even shy, although both his father and grandfather were well-known chiefs. I could find few noteworthy incidents in his early life, save that he was an expert rider of wild horses. At one time I was pressing him to give me some interesting incident of his boyhood. He replied to the effect that there was plenty of excitement but "not much in it." There was a delegation of Sioux chiefs visiting Washington, and we were spending an evening together in their hotel. Hollow Horn Bear spoke up and said:

"Why don't you tell him how you and a buffalo cow together held your poor father up and froze him almost to death?"

Everybody laughed, and another man remarked: "I think he had better tell the medicine man (meaning myself) how he lost the power of speech when he first tried to court a girl." Two Strike, although he was then close to eighty years of age, was visibly embarrassed by their chaff.

"Anyway, I stuck to the trail. I kept on till I got what I wanted," he muttered. And then came the story.

The old chief, his father, was very fond of the buffalo hunt; and being accomplished in horsemanship and a fine shot, although not very powerfully built, young Two Strike was already following hard in his footsteps. Like every proud father, his was giving him every incentive to perfect his skill, and one day challenged his sixteen-year-old son to the feat of "one arrow to kill" at the very next chase.

It was midwinter. A large herd of buffalo was reported by the game scout. The hunters gathered at daybreak prepared for the charge. The old chief had his tried charger equipped with a soft, pillow-like Indian saddle and a lariat. His old sinew-backed hickory bow was examined and strung, and a fine straight arrow with a steel head carefully selected for the test. He adjusted a keen butcher knife over his leather belt, which held a warm buffalo robe securely about his body. He wore neither shirt nor coat, although a piercing wind was blowing from the northwest. The youthful Two Strike had his favorite bow and his swift pony, which was perhaps dearer to him than his closest boy comrade.

Now the hunters crouched upon their horses' necks like an army in line of battle, while behind them waited the boys and old men with pack ponies to carry the meat. "Hukahey!" shouted the leader as a warning. "Yekiya wo!" (Go) and in an instant all the ponies leaped forward against the cutting wind, as if it were the start in a horse race. Every rider leaned forward, tightly wrapped in his robe, watching the flying herd for an opening in the mass of buffalo, a chance to cut out some of the fattest cows. This was the object of the race.

The chief had a fair start; his horse was well trained and needed no urging nor guidance. Without the slightest pull on the lariat, he dashed into the thickest of the herd. The youth's pony had been prancing and rearing impatiently; he started a little behind - yet, being swift, passed many. His rider had one clear glimpse of his father ahead of him, then the snow arose in blinding clouds on the trail of the bison. The whoops of the hunters, the lowing of the cows, and the menacing glances of the bulls as they plunged along, or now and then stood at bay, were enough to unnerve a boy less well tried. He was unable to select his victim. He had been carried deeply into the midst of the herd and found himself helpless to make the one sure shot, therefore he held his one arrow in his mouth and merely strove to separate them so as to get his chance.

At last, the herd parted, and he cut out two fat cows, and was maneuvering for position when a rider appeared out of the snow cloud on their other side. This aroused him to make haste lest his rival secure both cows; he saw his chance, and in a twinkling his arrow sped clear through one of the animals so that she fell headlong.

In this instant he observed that the man who had joined him was his own father, who had met with the same difficulties as himself. When the young man had shot his only arrow, the old chief with a whoop went after the cow that was left, but as he gained her broadside, his horse stepped in a badger hole and fell, throwing him headlong. The maddened buffalo, as sometimes happens in such cases, turned upon the pony and gored him to death. His rider lay motionless, while Two Strike rushed forward to draw her attention, but she merely tossed her head at him, while persistently standing guard over the dead horse and the all-but-frozen Indian.

Alas for the game of "one arrow to kill!" The boy must think fast, for his father's robe had slipped off, and he was playing dead, lying almost naked in the bitter air upon the trampled snow. His bluff would not serve, so he flew back to pull out his solitary arrow from the body of the dead cow. Quickly wheeling again, he sent it into her side, and she fell. The one arrow to kill had become one arrow to kill two buffalo! At the council lodge that evening Two Strike was the hero.

The following story is equally characteristic of him, and in explanation it should be said that in the good old days among the Sioux, a young man is not supposed to associate with girls until he is ready to take a wife. It was a rule with our young men, especially the honorable and well-born, to gain some reputation in the hunt and in war, — the more difficult the feats achieved the better, — before even speaking to a young woman. Many a life was risked in the effort to establish a reputation along these lines. Courtship was no secret, but rather a social event, often celebrated by the proud parents with feasts and presents to the poor, and this etiquette was sometimes felt by a shy or sensitive youth as an insurmountable obstacle to the fulfilment of his desires.

Two Strike was the son and grandson of a chief, but he could not claim any credit for the deeds of his forbears. He had not only to guard their good name but achieve one for himself. This he had set out to do, and he did well. He was now of marriageable age with a war record, and admitted to the council, yet he did not seem to trouble himself at all about a wife. His was strictly a bachelor career. Meanwhile, as is apt to be the case, his parents had thought much about a possible daughter-in-law, and had even collected ponies, fine robes, and other acceptable goods to be given away in honor of the event, whenever it should take place. Now and then they would drop a sly hint, but with no perceptible effect.

They did not and could not know of the inward struggle that racked his mind at this period of his life. The shy and modest young man was dying for a wife yet could not bear even to think of speaking to a young woman! The fearless hunter of buffaloes, mountain lions, and grizzlies, the youth who had won his eagle feathers in a battle with the Utes, could not bring himself to take this tremendous step.

At last, his father appealed to him directly. "My son," he declared, "it is your duty to take unto yourself a wife, in order that the honors won by your ancestors and by yourself may be handed down in the direct line. There are several eligible young women in our band whose parents have intimated a wish to have you for their son-in-law."

Two Strike made no reply, but he was greatly disturbed. He had no wish to have the old folks select his bride, for if the truth were told, his choice was already made. He had simply lacked the courage to go a-courting!

The next morning, after making an unusually careful toilet, he took his best horse and rode to a point overlooking the path by which the girls went for water. Here the young men were wont to take their stand, and, if fortunate, intercept the girl of their heart for a brief but fateful interview. Two Strike had determined to speak straight to the point, and as soon as he saw the pretty maid, he came forward boldly and placed himself in her way. A long moment passed. She glanced up at him shyly but not without encouragement. His teeth fairly chattered with fright, and he could not say a word. She looked again, noted his strange looks, and believed him suddenly taken ill. He appeared to be suffering. At last, he feebly made signs for her to go on and leave him alone. The maiden was sympathetic, but as she did not know what else to do she obeyed his request.

The poor youth was so ashamed of his cowardice that he afterward admitted his first thought was to take his own life. He believed he had disgraced himself forever in the eyes of the only girl he had ever loved. However, he determined to conquer his weakness and win her, which he did. The story came out many years after and was told with much enjoyment by the old men.

Two Strike was better known by his own people than by the whites, for he was individually a terror in battle rather than a leader. He achieved his honorable name in a skirmish with the Utes in Colorado. The Sioux regarded these people as their bravest enemies, and the outcome of the fight was for some time uncertain. First the Sioux were forced to retreat and then their opponents, and at the latter point the horse of a certain Ute was shot under him. A friend came to his rescue and took him up behind him. Our hero overtook them in flight, raised his war club, and knocked both men off with one blow.

He was a very old man when he died, only two or three years ago, on the Rosebud reservation.

Continue reading...

[musingsofacuriousmind]

Hot Chocolate on the Terrace

i like my hot chocolate HOT not simply luke-warm, but burning my rosebud lips,

it's steam, dancing into the cold morning air, serpentine and lithe like willowy whispers

into my ear.

I ask it to tell me of the day ahead as i watch the orange and yellow bursts of sunlight slowly oozing over the rooftops of the buildings across the way

me, on my terrace, cocooned in wool and polyester fleece my fingers embracing the hot pottery beneath them.

bearing its best jane austen quote on its curved brown back, I hear it

"be mindful of your path," says the cup "don't forget where you have been, where you are going and those who stand by you.

Tuck some crumbs of love and grace into the cotton lining of your pocket. Share them with everyone you meet And the day will be exactly as you make it."

I quietly shuffle my bare feet beneath my chair on the cold concrete floor, the book I've been reading impatiently sighing as it waits for my return

Silently, I pray for strength as I tuck my crumbs into my pocket, my eyes still closed, and open the door to the candlelit belly of the living room.

The colors of the hearth burst with splendor as I enter the expanse. Beneath the comforting assurance of its glow, I set my cup on the mantle.

I remove my fleece coat and quickly put on my outdoor clothes. "I will bring with me the love I wish to receive," I say slowly. Yes. I believe it's the only way.

I open the front door and step out to the yawning reaches of a new and magical winter morning. Sticking one hand into my pocket I finger the delicate morsels of hope.

And smile.

Elizabeth Anderson 2023 © All rights reserved.

[ifelllikeastar]

Bob Barker was an American television game show host and animal activist. He hosted CBS's The Price Is Right, the longest-running game show in North American television history, from 1972 to 2007 (he also hosted Truth or Consequences from 1956 to 1975)

Barker spent most of his youth on the Rosebud Indian Reservation and was an enrolled member of the Sioux tribe. He joined the United States Navy Reserve during World War II.

He always ended The Price Is Right show with this: "This is Bob Barker reminding you to help control the pet population, have your pets spayed or neutered"

Robert William Barker died on August 26, 2023 at the age of 99.

[starcrossedroyals]

Magnifico: (With a flourish that nearly knocks over a potted cactus) By the combined forces of love and glitter, I, Magnifico, revive these botanical beauties! Prepare to be dazzled by a floral display that would make even the sun jealous!

(A beat of dramatic silence. Then, one by one, several rosebuds unfurl, hesitantly at first, then with increasing confidence. However, their petals are a curious shade of lavender, almost purple, and shimmer faintly with an otherworldly glow.)

Asha: (Stifling a laugh) Well, that’s… certainly unique, my love. Perhaps a bit too much glitter in your magical reserves this morning? But hey, at least they’re alive, right? And the color is… interesting. We could call them Magnifico’s Majestic Mauves.

[littlefeather-wolf]

🏹𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐄🏹 (𝟏𝟖𝟑𝟏-𝟏𝟗𝟏𝟓)

Two Strike, or Numpkahapa, was a Brulé Lakota chief born in the White River Valley in 1831 in the northeastern part of present-day Nebraska. He acquired the Lakota name of "Nomkahpa", meaning "Knocks out two" in a battle with the Utes, in which he knocked two Utes off their horses with a single blow from his war club. Two Strike fought in various battles against the United States Army during the Bozeman Trail Wars, allied with Chief Crow Dog and Chief Crazy Horse in the Powder River Country of Wyoming ... Two Strike and his band were present alongside bands of Southern Cheyennes at the Battle of Summit Springs, Colorado on July 11, 1869, when the 5th Cavalry and 50 Pawnee scouts led a surprise attack on their camp. Buffalo Bill Cody was present at the battle as a scout leader. Chief Tall Bull of the Southern Cheyennes along with 51 members of the Lakota-Cheyenne Combined Encampment were killed and 17 women and children were taken prisoner, the rest of the Lakota and Cheyenne managed to escape. The soldiers then burned all the tipis and their contents ... Chief Two Strike was one of the main leaders of the combined Oglala and Burnt forces who, along with more than 1,000 brave men, attacked a group of 350 Pawnees who had established their reserve in Nebraska to hunt buffalo. Over 70 Pawnees were killed in the battle that took place along a canyon now located in Hitchcock County, Nebraska. The canyon has since been renamed Massacre Canyon.

Two Strike died in 1915 on the Rosebud Reservation in South Dakota