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queers-gambit · 1 year

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Blue Moon Wreckage

prompt: your husband can often lose his temper and resort to the man he was before you. you grow tired of lashing your tongue, and learn your husband responds better to silence.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!wife!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 4.3k+

note: another stand alone, no sequel

warnings: cursing, talk of child abandonment, vulgar dialogue, old-fashioned views on marriage (maybe idk), not edited. small angst, small comfort. author probably missed some warnings.

The entire city cleaned up in preparation for Princess Rhaenyra's nuptials to the heir of Driftmark, Lord Laenor Velaryon. It was refreshing to see citizens rejoicing in a common theme and going around to hang different decorations; chandeliers of strung florals, wreaths woven and hung, lanterns set all around to create an ambiance in the street.

Romance was in the air.

It put people in jolly spirits, brought them elation, and gave the ability to decompress from the woes of life. Wine tasted sweeter, the food saltier, and many merchants came into town for the week-long celebration of Rhaenyra and Laenor in the hopes of selling enough wares to pay for three of their month's expenses. Every room at the inn was filled, brothels hosting the leftover stragglers; money was simply made in an abundance after taking advantage of the citizens come to celebrate.

And yet, deep within the halls of the Red Keep, not all were so at peace with the state of things.

Maids and servants all skidded around the corridor that housed your bedchambers shared with your husband. The walls almost vibrated with the sheer force of the yelling that took place, and while the sun shone on the rest of the Kingdom, there was a dark shadow over the Red Keep.

Rarely, and it was the truth, rarely did you and Daemon ever fight. He was your best friend, he was the love of your life, you've known him for years, and had long since developed an effective way to communicate. Daemon wasn't easy to deal with, in fact, even to those who knew how to handle him, he sometimes pushed past boundaries and threw curveballs into the mix. You were not immune to his sharp tongue and wicked-fast wit, but in reality, Daemon never actively sought conflict with you, so fighting was incredibly rare - though, not totally unheard of.

Like a blue moon - not totally unheard of, but still considered rare. And in pale moonlight, the ship you and Daemon found yourselves sailing on seemed to crash into a set of cliffside jagged rocks, all but imploding the balance you had found yourselves in.

A shipwreck during a blue moon.

Before you, Daemon was violent and volatile. He was irresponsible, impulsive, stubborn, hotheaded, and blood thirty. Many Ladies all vied for the Prince's attention, but as he grew older, he became more and more reckless and more Ladies started keeping their distance. Expect you. You heard rumor his grandmother, the Queen Alysanne, meant to marry him off to Rhea Royce but your father was almost too smart for his own good. He devised a tantalizing offer that the Crown would've been foolish to refuse - thus binding you and Daemon to fate.

Before you, Daemon wasn't a man. He was just a second son trapped in a shell of his body, full of anger with nowhere to expel himself. A boy with a temper. A lad with attitude. He was knighted at 16, an impressive feat, and not a full moon cycle later, you and Daemon wed. He wasn't easy to love, but that was because he was so defensive in his life living in his older brother's shadow.

Before you, Daemon never believed in love or acceptance. Yet everyday he spent with you, he was reminded of his value and worth as a person - not just a Prince, or a Targaryen. You worked every day for his trust and confidence, and once you had it, it was an unshakeable foundation. Daemon was everything to you, and before him, you were shy and awkward and overwhelmed in the glaring eyes of court. Now, you were confident, humble, and weeping with power.

You kept Daemon balanced in his head and heart.

Before you, he was like a wild dog. Now, he was domesticated for you and you alone. He realized how much his recklessness hurt you and never wanted to be the cause of your pain, so, Daemon cleaned himself up. Most days, he was perfectly content in life, and others, he was still as stubborn as ever, but every so often, Daemon loses sight of himself and resorts back to who he was before you.

Fighting with Daemon was always difficult. He wasn't accustomed to losing, so, when you two went toe-to-toe, he was out for blood. He loses himself in his anger, fueled only by the need to cause the most harm with his sharpest words. Daemon jumped to conclusions faster than a grasshopper hops from blades of grass because he was vastly insecure, and it took most of your will to restrain your anger enough to soothe him of his worries.

Daemon hated fighting with you, and you hated fighting with him. There was never a true victor because you both hated it so much. Perhaps that was why your once-in-a-blue-moon fights turned so gruesome and emotional; you both hated fighting that it made you fight even harder.

How you came to this, you didn't remember. One moment, you were enjoying a morning feast with your husband, and the next, you were locked in your chambers, lashing at each other's throats with hateful words.

"I do not understand!" You sobbed. "You agreed to this - "

"No! No, I did not! You did not consult me on this matter, you just accepted responsibility. For the both of us!"

"He is my little brother, Daemon!"

"He is not our responsibility!"

"He is now!"

"Because you took action without a word to me!"

"I did not need to consult you; he is my blood."

"But not mine."

You scoffed, "For fuck's sake, Daemon, do you hear yourself? You are whinging over a child - you're bloody jealous of a child! Where is the man I married?"

"I have done all I am expected and required as a husband, it is you who refuses my seed. Who refuses to grow our family!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake! Now you want a baby!? Married ten years, we are, and NOW you want to whinge about babies!? I am busy in case you've not bothered to look around every once in a while," you snapped, "and I understand having a baby is not ideal right now!"

"So, you will not take my seed because you are busy raising another man's?"

"He was my father - oh, Gods be good, why're we fighting over this?"

"You need to understand, he is not mine," Daemon seethed. "He will never be mine and I do not wish to treat him as such. The life and luxury we live in are not meant for a child that is neither of ours."

"What would you have me do!?"

"Send him to your brother."

"Oh, spare me this notion, Daemon! I will not hear of it! No! We are not discussing this again and again!"

"You mean to disobey me then, wife?" He snapped, making your mouth snap shut. "Huh? Think you're immune to the duties you must uphold as a woman? Think that allows you free rein? You are luckier than most that I allow you to have a fucking opinion; do not abuse my generosity. You want the child to stay, fine, I hear you, but I say he goes. Guess who's want will triumph?"

You blinked several times, unable to find words.

"Nothing to say?" He taunted. "That is a first, wife, you surprise me. In your moment of silence, do well to listen to me now: the child goes, or I do. You either get rid of the child or I will remove myself from this sham of a marriage."

"I do not recognize you, you are not my husband," you finally sighed. "Do me a favor and figure you may speak to me again once you're ready to apologize. If not, I assume by week's end, we will be celebrating both Rhaenyra's wedding and our annulment."

"Too much time has passed for such - "

"I know a Septon that will forge documents. Now," you eyed him up and down, "once more, do not think to speak to me unless to grovel for my forgiveness."

"You will die before that happens."

You nodded slowly, then shrugged and dodged around him to exit the room. You could not bear to be around him any longer, storming away to where your small brother was being looked after by a Septa. You did not speak to Daemon the rest of the day, feeling yourself brimming with anger as you replayed his words.

How dare he find insult in your desire to do "the right thing" by caring for your brother after your parents met their untimely demise? How dare he cite "wifely duties" to you? Just how dare he!

The day was supposed to be merry. It was supposed to be lighthearted and fun and romantic and exciting and gossip worthy. Yet now, you were feeling annoyed, frustrated, weighed down, and plain stupid. You felt alone. You felt tired and worn thin. Your little brother, Jamie, always put a smile on your face, but now, you were simply ready to cry just by looking at him. This planted the seed of resentment towards Daemon, and through the day, only festered.

"My Lady?" You glanced in the mirror to see your hand maiden, who was doing your hair, humming in question. "Alyria has arrived, she will watch young Lord Jamie for the evening."

"Good, thank you," you sighed. "Has Daemon come around?"

"No, my Lady."

"Hmm."

Not 30 minutes later, you were walking towards the decorated throne room with your hair braided back, make-up laid perfectly, and your dress a dark grey, black, and Targaryen red.

However, before you could walk in, someone called your name. You paused, letting Daemon approach you, his eyes raking you in as he realized you dressed to match him. "You look beautiful," he complimented, but you just stared; then sighed through your nose and straightened up. "What? You're not speaking to me?"

"I told you the terms in which you should find it acceptable to speak to me again."

Daemon scoffed, "You're still on that?" You did not answer, just stared forward. "Fine, be that way. Come," he offered his arm, but you brushed past him to finally enter the throne room. Your names were announced, albeit begrudgingly because most in the castle harbored ill-will towards Daemon. They just felt bad for you, not knowing of the man you had grown to know and love unconditionally.

You took long strides to shorten your journey, but behind you, your husband just sauntered in as if the center of attention. However, no matter where he was, Daemon was always the main character, and he was quite the peacock in flaunting himself. You bowed to the King and his daughter, heir to the Iron Throne, Princess Rhaenyra. You took your seat beside the Hand of the King, Ser Strong, as Daemon climbed the stone stairs with a smug expression before taking the seat beside you at the very end.

Needless to say, Daemon was not accustomed to being ignored. You did not look at him, did not speak to him, ignored his direct questions, even went as far as to slapping his hand away when he reached for your thigh. When your hand rested on the table and he laid his over yours, you pulled it back.

It drove Daemon absolutely up the wall.

"And how fairs your brother, my Lady?" Ser Strong asked gently. "How does he like life in the Capital?"

"He adores it," you hummed with a nod. "He is learning so much and loves watching the boats in the harbor."

"How old is he now?"

"Just shy of 4, my Lord."

"Well, what would the little Prince like for his nameday?"

"Oh, uh, no, he's not a Prince," you spoke gently.

"No? Well, I suppose until Viserys recognizes him."

"Well, Daemon's made it clear that if I do not give custody of my brother up, this marriage is null and void, so," you clicked your tongue cheekily, sipping your wine, "no use in titles."

You knew others heard you and smirked to yourself. Another gulp of wine and you were standing, excusing yourself, and moving onto the dance floor. Rhaenyra giggled when you gave her a playful twirl before taking your place with a partner, falling into rhythm with those around you. The entire time, you felt Daemon's eyes burning into you.

You didn't care. You carried on as if there wasn't a ring on your wedding finger weighing like a full fish net, like you weren't burdened by your marriage.

You danced with a Tully, Stark, Frey, and Lannister boy, all who looked at you like a delectable treat but were being effectively ignored, just like your handsome, white-haired husband. It was a lively time, twisting and turning and leaping and being lifted in ture with the instruments playing. Rhaenyra caught your eye a few times, grinning and giggling as she, too, let herself destress in the glee of the festivities. However, when the Frey lad spun you around, you had thought of the devil so much, there he bloody was.

Your husband smirked down at you, "You look startled, little bird."

You scoffed and moved to go around him, but Daemon's hand was darting out to grab your upper arm. He pulled you further into the crowd to use them as a layer of protection, turning sharply to leer over you. He snapped in High Valyrian, "What're you playing at? Hmm? You mean to embarrass my entire family by being so cold and shrewish?"

You scoffed, glaring at him for a moment before he reached forward to grab your neck and cheek in a possessive hold. "I dare you to raise a sharp word at me," he sneered quietly, keeping you in place. "You have ignored me all fucking day, these games are at an end. I have always known your voice to be a sweet remedy, do not deprive me of it longer."

"Then apologize," You snapped.

"For what? Speaking the truth? That you refuse to sire my children because you are too occupied with your wee brother? For taking in a child without so much as asking me? Tell me, what am I apologizing for?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, and swatting his hand from you. However, just as you meant to walk away from him, someone gasped and yelped from the people around you. Daemon brought you into his chest as a sudden crowd thickened, two bodies hitting the floor in a gruesome fight. This encouraged others to get rowdy, and before you could comprehend his actions, Daemon was stooping low to hoist you over his shoulder and stride away.

When out of the fray, Daemon slowed himself enough to set you down at the base of the stairs leading to the Royal banquet table, both his hands going to your cheeks. He panted lightly, looking you over, "All right? You hurt? They touch you?"

"No, I'm okay," you sighed gently, reaching up to hold his wrists in a brief show of affection. However, the crowd only grew in size and aggression; the Royals all taking refuge on the elevated landing to take a headcount. Not a moment later, Ser Harwin Strong, the Hand's eldest son, was emerging from the crowd with Rhaenyra hoisted up his shoulder.

But your attention was drawn elsewhere. You parted Daemon's side to get under Viserys' arm, lifting him up slightly as he coughed into a handkerchief. You frowned when you saw the blood, his eyes meeting your wide ones. You asked the only question you could think of, "Does Daemon know?"

"No," he matched your tone in a whisper.

You nodded and assisted him into the closest chair. After the death of Ser Laenor Velayron's paramour (Ser Joffrey, was it?) the hall was cleared of everyone to only leave the immediate family. In hopes of avoiding future turmoil, it was decided that the Realm's Delight, Rhaenyra, was to wed the Sea Snake's son, Laenor, now instead of at week's end. Viserys asked his brother to stay but you were quick to bow out, promising it was a family affair and you should get ready for bed anyways.

Daemon looked close to protesting your departure but was unable to utter a single word, only watching you scamper out of the throne room as the High Septon finally arrived.

Rhaenyra and Laenor married in front of his mother and father, Rhaenys and Corlys, and his sister, Laena. King Viserys was there with his brother Daemon and wife Alicent, leaving only the Hand present to pose as "unbiased witness".

Further into the castle, you collected your brother, Jamie, and quickly got him ready for bed. Your heart felt heavy with guilt as you looked at him, understanding on a deeper level that if it came down to it, you'd do anything to keep Daemon in your life... And if he said your brother had to go or he did, well, you feared to find out if he was serious.

Jamie fell asleep on the long bench at the base of your bed with a fire crackling in front of his face. He had fallen asleep listening to you read, your emotions catching up to you to let you finally sob quietly while preparing for bed. You hated the idea of losing either Daemon or Jamie, and the fact that you had to choose? It felt impossible. So, once ready for bed, you tied on your dressing robe and bent at the waist to kiss Jamie's forehead. You then found yourself standing at the floor-to-ceiling window, wine in hand, staring out into nothing as you were wrecked emotionally from considering Daemon's ultimatum.

You were overwhelmed.

The door opened behind you and your eyes screwed shut. You took an even breath in, heard the door shut quietly, and then turned to spy your husband already staring at you. His face was neutral, passive, and you knew he was sizing you up just as you were him; both waiting for the other to make the first move.

Your resolve crumbled.

As if your minds were connected by a string, you surged forward as Daemon took a few steps toward you, meeting in the middle, and wrapping your arms around one another. Daemon held your waist tightly as yours tied around his neck in a vice grip, breathing in his scent that seemed to mingle permanently with the smell of dragon. He felt gentle trembling from contained sobs, soothing you with hushed cooing; hand petting the back of your head.

When you pulled back, it was only just enough to find his lips; drenching yourself in sheer relief at the familiar taste and feel of your husband. Just before you could whimper you were sorry, truly being unsure what you were actually apologizing for, when he beat you to it.

The space between your lips was filled with Daemon's rushed words, both his hands cradling your cheeks as he spoke, "I'm so sorry, my love. I am. I am truly so sorry. I hate fighting, I hate us fighting, it just feels so fucking wrong, I'm so sorry."

"No, it is I who am sorry, husband."

"Nothing to apologize for," he rushed, forehead glued to yours as he moved you backwards to the bed. "You do not apologize to me; you have done no wrong. It's me, I am the one who should grovel. I do deserve your kindness; I am so sorry for what I've said." He took a long breath, just holding you carefully, "I was out of line."

"No, you were right. I did not consult you; I should have. It is not just you or I in this, but the two of us together. I shouldn't have acted without so much as a word."

"It is okay," he assured softly, "it is more than all right by me now. I just," he sighed, "I needed to think, process a little. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, I should've listened to you and been a supportive husband, but instead, I just fought with you." He frowned, petting down your face with a dainty finger. "We fight because we care, but Gods do I hate it."

"I do, too," you whispered. "Can we just," you sighed, "go to bed or something? I'm exhausted."

He nodded, glancing at the foot of the bed before looking back at you, "One more thing."

"Hmm?"

"We will talk to Viserys in the morning about recognizing Jamie."

You frowned, "Well, hang on, I think I understand your point, too, Daemon. Listen, yes, I want us charged with Jamie's care, but I do not wish to replace his parents."

"He should still have a title, a place at court. Access to tutors and such."

You smiled fondly, whispering, "That is the man I married."

Daemon prepared for bed as you check Jamie, finding him fast asleep still. Your husband came to bed after blowing out all candles, leaving the fire simmering and you both under a single linen sheet. He laid on his back with you flush against his side, both hands holding your form and tracing idle patterns.

Every so often, he'd squeeze you tightly and kiss your forehead, but otherwise, you both just laid in peace. However, Daemon broke the silence, "I did not mean to cause you harm. I just felt panicked, I think, after the war."

You nodded with understanding, "Our time is on the horizon, Daemon, I promise, I just needed to find balance with Jamie. I've never been a mother before, 's very odd."

"Perhaps we can learn together, I've never been a father," Daemon offered softly. "I fear I have not been entirely welcoming."

"You've time to remedy it," you urged softly. "But you are not obligated."

"He will be our shared responsibility."

You smiled against his chest. "So, tell me of the wedding."

"Nothing special," he sighed. "Viserys fell ill. And I do mean literally fell."

"What? Is he all right?"

"Yes, he's being seen to... But I was thinking..."

"Of?"

"Us. Our family."

"Hm, and what of them, my love?"

Daemon sighed, reaching for your cheek in order to find your lips in the dark. "We will leave," he whispered, licking another kiss to your lips. "We'll go across the Narrow Sea together, raise a family away from the politics and chaos."

"You would miss your family."

"I would rue staying in this city. Away from here, we'd have liberties and freedoms Kings Landing does not offer us, nor our kids."

"I will think on it."

When morning broke through the window of consciousness, Daemon realized you were still sound and dead asleep, but there was something or someone poking his arm in an annoying repetition. When he blinked awake and looked to the culprit, he smiled slightly at Jamie. "What's wrong, little lad?" He asked quietly, voice heavy and hazy with sleep, seeing tears fill the kid's eyes.

"I-I didn't mean to."

"Mean to what?"

"I wet the bed," he frowned, looking at the lounge he slept on all night. "I didn't mean to. It was a scary dream."

"It's okay," he whispered, glancing at you before standing from bed. "C'mon, it's all right, we can clean it."

He nodded and let Daemon sit him at the bottom of the mattress, some two full feet from touching you. Jamie watched Daemon work, gathering any linens to set aside to be washed before plucking the child into his arms. He took his to the washroom and got him cleaned up before redressing him for the day, Daemon quickly doing the same, and then the two left for the day.

You slept while Daemon took Jaime to breakfast. You slept while the two ate and made merry; getting to know each other. You slept while Daemon answered little Jamie's questions. You slept while Daemon offered to introduce him to Caraxes, his dragon.

By the time you were awake, dressed, and approaching the mess hall, Daemon and Jamie were leaving to head for the Dragon Pit. When they saw you, Jamie grinned and squealed, "Sissy!"

You grinned when he rushed for your legs, greeting him with enthusiasm. You hoisted him onto your hip as Daemon approached you, pausing to lean in and kiss you. "Where are you two lads off to?"

"Dragons!"

You chuckled, "Yeah? Uncle's taking you to see the dragons? You're very lucky, not many people get to see them up close."

"Would you care to join us?" Daemon offered.

"No, no, that's quite all right. Thank you, my love, but perhaps this is best kept to a boy’s trip," you quipped, pecking Daemon's lips. "Bring him back in one piece, please."

"Of course," Daemon agreed, taking Jamie's hand when you set him on the ground. He stole one last kiss before leading Jamie away; where you watched them walk away and felt something stirring in your gut; suddenly come alive with tingling electricity. Instead of venturing into the mess hall, you instead continued your way to where you could meet the Grand Maester for a series of tests.

Learning you were pregnant was surreal, but incredibly elating. You were humored by the fact that, just hours ago, you and Daemon feuded for this very reason. However, after simply seeing your husband and little brother get along so effortlessly, you had no doubt in your mind you could handle this. Worrying about having Jamie and a newborn so close together was valid, of course - but it wasn't something you actually needed to worry about now.

Plenty of families had children with shorter age ranges, but none of that matters now - not when you were so explicably happy. All that was left to do now was tell Daemon and Jamie.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon targaryen x fem!reader #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon #daemon hotd #house of the dragon daemon #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd x you #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon x reader #daemon x you

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mostlysignssomeportents · 7 months

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A media literacy handbook for Israel-Gaza

Next Tuesday (Oct 31) at 10hPT, the Internet Archive is livestreaming my presentation on my recent book, The Internet Con.

Media explainers are a cheap way to become an instant expert on everything from billionaire submarine excursions to hellaciously complex geopolitical conflicts, but On The Media's "Breaking News Consumers' Handbooks" are explainers that help you understand other explainers:

https://www.wnycstudios.org/podcasts/otm/segments/breaking-news-consumers-handbook-israel-and-gaza-edition-on-the-media

The latest handbook is an Israel-Gaza edition. It doesn't aim to parse fine distinctions over the definition of "occupation" or identify the source of shell fragments. Rather, it offers seven bullet points' worth of advice on weighing all the other news you hear about the war:

https://media.wnyc.org/media/resources/2023/Oct/27/BNCH_ISRAEL_GAZA_EDITION_1.pdf

I. "Headlines are obscured by the fog of war"

Headline writers have a hard job under the best of circumstances – trying to snag your interest in a few words. Headlines can't encompass all the nuance of a story, and they are often written by editors, not the writers who produced the story. Between the imperatives for speed and brevity and the broken telephone between editors and writers, it's easy for headlines to go wrong, even when no one is attempting to mislead you. Even reliable outlets will screw up headlines sometimes – and that likelihood goes way up in times like these. You gotta read the story, not just the headline.

II. Know red flags for bullshit

The factually untrue information that spreads furthest tends to originate with a handful of superspreader accounts. Whether these people are Just Wrong or malicious disinfo peddlers, they share a few characteristics that should trip your BS meter and prompt extra scrutiny:

High-frequency posting

Emotionally charged framing

Posts that purport to be summaries or excerpts from news outlets, but do not include links to the original

The phrase "breaking news" (no one has that many scoops)

III. Don't trust screenshots

Screenshots of news stories, tweets, and other social media should come with links to the original. It's just too damned easy to fake a screenshot.

IV. "Know your platform"

It used to be that Twitter got a lot of first-person accounts from people in the thick of crises, while Facebook and Reddit contained commentary and reposts. Today, Twitter is just another aggregator. This time around, there's lots of first-person, real-time reporting coming off Telegram (it runs well on old phones and doesn't chew up batteries). Instagram is widely used in both Israel and the West Bank.

V. "Crisis actors" aren't a thing

People who attribute war images to "crisis actors" are either deluded or lying. There's plenty of ways to distort war news, but paying people to pretend to be grieving family members is essentially unheard of. Any explanation that involves crisis actors is a solid reason to permanently block that source.

VI. There's plenty of ways to verify stuff that smells fishy

TinEye, Yandex and Google Image Search are all good tools for checking "breaking" images and seeing if they're old copypasta ganked from earlier conflicts (or, you know, video-games). The fact that an image doesn't show up in one of these searches doesn't guarantee its authenticity, of course.

VII. Think before you post

Israel-Gaza is the most polluted media pool yet. Don't make it worse.

There's plenty more detail on this (especially on the use of verification tools) in Brooke Gladstone's radio segment:

https://www.wnycstudios.org/podcasts/otm/episodes/on-the-media-breaking-news-consumers-handbook-israel-gaza-edition

The media environment sucks, and warrants skepticism and caution. But we also need to be skeptical of skepticism itself! As danah boyd started saying all the way back in 2018, weaponized media literacy leads to conspiratorialism:

https://www.zephoria.org/thoughts/archives/2018/03/09/you-think-you-want-media-literacy-do-you.html

Remember, the biggest peddlers of "fake news" are also the most prolific users of the term. For a lot of these information warriors, the point isn't to get you to believe them – they'll settle for you believing nothing. "Flood the zone with bullshit" is Steve Bannon's go-to tactic, and it's one that his acolytes have picked up and multiplied.

It's important to be a critical thinker, but there's plenty of people who've figured out how to weaponize a critical viewpoint and turn it into nihilism. Remember, the guy who wrote How To Lie With Statistics was a tobacco industry shill who made his living obfuscating the link between smoking and cancer. It's absolutely possible to lie with statistics, but it's also possible to use statistics to know the truth, as Tim Harford explains in his 2021 must-read book The Data Detective:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/04/how-to-truth/#harford

There's a world of difference between being misled and being brainwashed. A lot of today's worry about "disinformation" and "misinformation" has the whiff of a moral panic:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2023/10/are-we-having-a-moral-panic-over-misinformation.html

It's possible to have a nuanced view of this subject – to take steps to enure you're not being tricked without equating crude tricks like sticking a fake BBC chyron on a 10-year-old image with unstoppable mind-control:

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/28/fog-o-war/#breaking-news

#pluralistic #media literacy #fake news #disinformation #misinformation #israel gaza #gaza #israel #palestine #conspiratorialism #hoaxes #infowar #on the media #breaking news #npr #flood the zone

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skzdarlings · 1 year

Text

masterlist and links

howdy :) i'm darling. sideblog for skz nonsense. blog is rated 18+ in case i start acting up. my bias is jisung ever since he homewrecked me and felix. but i'm still not loyal.

blog tags: chan / lee know / changbin / hyunjin / han / felix / seungmin / jeongin

main blog / pinterest / ao3 / ko-fi

masterlist is below the keep reading.

masterlist

fics are sorted by series alphabetically, then one-shots.

S E R I E S.

the acquisition (of sugar) series:

the accidental acquisition (of sugar) ; changbin/reader the anonymous acquisition (of sugar) ; chan/reader the absolute acquisition (of sugar) ; han/reader

the bodyguard (felix/reader):

chapter i chapter ii chapter iii chapter iv chapter v chapter vi chapter vii chapter viii chapter ix chapter x (finale) ao3 link.

the bodyguard sequel:

chapter i chapter ii chapter iii chapter iv chapter v chapter vi ao3 link.

the faerie prince series:

the same but different ; han/reader/felix -> ao3 link -> pinterest the fifteenth heir ; jeongin/reader -> ao3 link -> pinterest the tyrant prince ; hyunjin/reader -> a03 link -> pinterest the autumn wars ; changbin/reader, seungmin/reader, chan/reader -> a03 link -> pinterest the changeling affair ; lee know/reader -> ao3 link -> pinterest

princes (ot8/reader)

(chapter count tba)

sharing a bed series:

bang chan ; friends2lovers lee know ; friends2lovers seo changbin ; friends2lovers hwang hyunjin ; friends2lovers han jisung ; enemies2lovers lee felix ; enemies2lovers kim seungmin ; enemies2lovers ; sequel yang jeongin ; enemies2lovers

the threesome series:

saturday mornings ; chan/reader/seungmin the heist team ; lee know/reader/changbin the same but different ; han/reader/felix chill ; hyunjin/reader/jeongin

vexatious vixen (felix/reader)

chapter i chapter ii (finale)

wolfgang (chan/reader, lee know/reader)

(chapter count tba)

O NE - S H O T S.

stand alones

verisimilitude ; hyunjin/reader sensibility ; jeongin/reader

prompt fills

bang chan : one / two / three lee know : one / two seo changbin : one hwang hyunjin : han jisung : lee felix : one kim seungmin : one yang jeongin : one

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mrs5sn0w · 6 months

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Serenade of Shadows

I : A Dance of Shadows -> II : Whisper of Deceit -> A Symphony of Heartbreak-> IV : Fractured Reflections -> V : Shadows of Allegiance -> VI : Echoes of Decent

Series Masterlist

Young!Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

warnings: Arranged marriage, MILD ANGST, unrequited love, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers

Reader's surname : Flare

Time frame : Before, during and after tbosbas

synopsis: In the events of Panem's political dynamics and the 10th annual Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow and her find themselves entwined. Standing at the brink of an enforced union, 6 years later, their mutual trust unravels amidst a damaging misinterpretation, prompting Coriolanus to believe the wrong. As the glacial barriers guarding his emotions begin to melt, a revelation of profound feelings unfolds, initiating a sprint against time for redemption.

The grandeur of the Capitol unfolded like a tapestry of opulence on the day Coriolanus Snow and her were bound in matrimony. The air was heavy with the scent of roses, and the opulent venue shimmered in the soft glow of chandeliers. The Capitol's elite had gathered to witness the union of the President of Panem and the Flare family, one of the most prestigious families in the whole Panem, their wedding was a spectacle that rivaled the most extravagant of royal weddings.

As she walked down the aisle in her resplendent gown, a vision of ethereal beauty, the weight of the ornate veil seemed to mirror the heavy burden on her heart. Coriolanus, standing at the altar in a meticulously tailored suit, wore a mask of composure that hid the turbulent emotions within.

He did not want to be there. He does not want to marry her.

The ceremony unfolded like a symphony of obligations, the vows echoing through the grand hall as if scripted by Capitol decree. Her eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, met with his cold and indifferent eyes. The congregation, unaware of the loveless undertones, erupted in applause as the Capitol celebrated the union of the two.

As the reception commenced, Snow and her navigated the intricate dance of social formalities. In front of the Capitol's watchful eyes, they exchanged pleasantries and smiled for the cameras, their every move orchestrated like pieces on a strategic board.

In a quiet corner, away from the prying eyes, she summoned a smile that barely concealed the turmoil within.

"Corio-"

"It's Snow." He reminded her not to call him by what she called him years ago.

"Snow, we are the talk of the Capitol today," she remarked, her voice carrying a hint of wistfulness.

He nodded curtly, his gaze fixed on the swirling dancers. "It's expected. our union of significance, a merging of legacies."

A fragile smile played on her lips while Coriolanus' eyes remained impassive, a fortress against the vulnerability she tried to breach.

"Sentimentality has no place in our world. Our duty is to uphold the Capitol's ideals. I'm just doing my duty by marrying you."

He then continued

"Don't get ahead of yourself if you think you can have a chance. Everyone may have forgotten what you did, but not me."

"Cor- Snow, I did what I had to do, to protect you-"

"protect me ?" He scoffed

"The only protection you did was throw my future away"

"But you're here now" she argued

"You still did it to me. It will never change." he demanded

He still believes that she did it.

but until this very day, he did not know the whole truth of what she did.

As the night wore on, the facade of marital bliss cracked in the shadows. She resplendent in her gown, felt the weight of isolation. She approached Coriolanus with a delicate grace, her eyes seeking a connection amidst the artifice.

The reception continued, a lavish display of decadence, but in the hidden recesses of their shared existence, the echoes of unspoken pain reverberated. She was once Coriolanus Snow's closest classmates, and she found herself as a stranger in his indifferent world.

"Snow," she began, her voice tinged with both sadness and defiance,

"do you ever wonder what our lives could have been if things were different?"

He looked at her, the coldness in his eyes softened by the moon's gentle caress. "Wondering is a futile endeavor. Our reality is the only truth we know."

"The only thing i wished to be different is that I didn't have to marry someone like you"

"Anyone but you"

Before she could respond, the distant strains of music heralded their return to the festivities. The grandeur of their wedding, an illusion of splendor, concealed the fractured emotions beneath the surface.

As the night waned and the Capitol reveled in the spectacle, Coriolanus Snow and his wife danced through the shadows of their union, a poignant duet of obligation and unspoken regret.

Snow's wife would always remember this day as the day she gave her life up to be stuck in a loveless marriage.

It didn't matter to her, as long as she was married to the person she loves even when he hates her with every beat of his heart.

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domaystic · 3 months

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It's Domaystic 2024!

Hello, hello! This is the third year of DOMAYSTIC, a domestic trope based prompt event running in May :D

This is the main post for the event and in the picture above there are the prompts.

They're 31 prompts (no alts this time), but they are also divided in three main categories, which I loosely labelled as "people from everyday life" from 1 to 10; "things from everyday life" from A to J; and "general-container-stuff that can be bent to one's own desires" from roman number I to X. Plus, at the very end, a free choice option (we never had one and the days are not even ahahah).

List of prompts

Category: people from everyday life 01. driver 02. shop assistant 03. plumber 04. public servant 05. teacher 06. receptionist 07. mechanic 08. health professional 09. baker 10. landlord

Category: things from everyday life A. konmari B. me/us time C. shopping points D. odd appliances E. building renovations F. frozen G. memento H. wild animal I. ritual J. dreadful weather

Category: general-container-stuff I. proverb II. tutorial III. poll IV. numbers V. emergency VI. quiz VII. cliché VIII. art IX. official document X. song

* free choice

Guidelines, tags example, AO3 link under the cut!

General rules and guidelines

Domaystic is open to any fandom or original content.

Any kind of media is welcome. You choose your way of expression.

There are no limits/restrictions on how your fill should be.

There’s a total of 31 prompts for 31 days.

To join the event one can do a prompt a day following the list as it is; or following the sequence they prefer; or only the ones of their liking, even just one.

Or, and this is my challenge proposition for anyone who wants to take it: try to combine one prompt from each one of the three categories + the free choice. Which in total would produce 10 fills + 1 if all are done.

Share your work anywhere you want or keep it to yourself, that's fine. If you share it on tumblr and tag this blog, I’ll reblog it.

If you also want to combine these prompts with another fandom event, that's okay.

Domaystic runs actively throughout May; if you join or tag the blog on a later date, that's fine too, I just reblog on a lower pace after May is over.

In case of lengthy posts on tumblr, use the "read more" option: ctrl-shift-k on rich text; [[*MORE*]] on html (remove asterisks)

AO3 collection

The domaystic2024 collection is open from May, 1st: click here - info and prompts are also on the profile page.

Tagging your tumblr post:

Mention the blog in your post @domaystic - tracked tag: #domaystic2024

State the fandom name or if it is original content

State if it is sfw or nsfw

Please, always TAG PROPERLY for any trigger warning. I will base my own reblog on your tags so, please, take even a moment longer to carefully tag it. I hope all participants to stay safe in this event.

Here’s an example:

It took me 2 nights to write this @domaystic, look at my stuff! #domaystic2024 #[fandom name or original content] #[sfw or nsfw] #[trigger warnings that I get from your post] tw

And this is it! For any question, doubt, etc. the askbox is always open :)

Hi @thebigbangblogproject, can you reblog this? Thanks :D

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dljcem · 9 months

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ೃ༄ Apple Cider

johnny cade x gn!reader

warnings: not beta or proof read, brief mentions of smoking/injury, prompt credits to @/lovemeagoodprompt

5 times johnny wanted to tell you he loves you + 1 time he finally did !

Johnny couldn’t quite tell what you were talking about anymore. Somewhere in the conversation, he’d lost track of your commentary—who was running away, who was in jail, who was going with who, who stole what and where and why…

He was about to nod, feign (or try to, at least) some form of understanding, when you suddenly stopped.

“What?” he queries, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Do I have something on my face?”

Without saying a word, you lean in, skimming the edge of his jacket collar before folding it down. A deep flush covers his features—he can only watch in stunned silence as you regain your earlier position, almost like nothing had ever happened.

“There!” you smile brightly at him; he swears his heart stops. He’s about to say something, but you promptly cut him off, resuming whatever story you’d been sharing before.

ii.

Johnny rummages through his pockets for what feels like the tenth time—still, the familiar weight of his lighter is nowhere to be found. A smile plays on your lips upon seeing his predicament; he doesn’t seem to notice, too caught up in frustration.

You retrieve your own lighter, tucked safely into the back of your jeans, and place it in his palm. That gets his attention.

“Keep it.”

He does so with hesitance, lights his cigarette and takes a long drag. Albeit a relatively small gesture, it has his head spinning—only you could make him swoon with something as insignificant.

“Thanks, Y/N.” he mumbles, averting his gaze before you can sense there’s something amiss. He drowns out the words threatening to spill from his mouth with smoke.

iii.

Johnny doesn’t like parties. Not the alcohol, or the music, or the outright concerning amounts of people. He does like you, though—perhaps that’s why he’s sitting on some flimsy couch instead of walking home.

His arm is going numb under the weight of your head, yet he doesn’t move a muscle. He briefly wonders how you sleep amidst such chaos; soundly, by the looks of it.

You stir with a small noise, further burying your face in his shoulder. He knows then he’ll be there all night. He can’t bring himself to disrupt your rest when you’re oh so peaceful.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

The rest goes unsaid.

iv.

Johnny lets you brush his hair back, doesn’t flinch as you press an antiseptic-doused cotton ball to the cut on his temple. The only sign of discomfort is the subtle creasing of his brows—somehow, you still catch on.

“You alright?”

He nods, straining a quick response to appease your concerns. He instinctively reaches up, traces the jagged outline of the wound. He knows for a fact it’ll leave a scar; an ugly one, at that.

“It’s not all bad,” you shrug, reading his mind once again, “makes you look tough.”

He looks away and tries to convince himself you mean nothing by it.

Johnny rests his back on the grass, damp from the morning rain. You’re laying only a few inches away, hair splayed in different directions. He watches as you search for patterns in the stars—amidst your concentration, you don’t notice his gaze.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” you prop yourself up on your elbows to get a closer look, smile because you’ve finally found what you were looking for (or, rather, something close to it.)

“…yeah.”

He glances at the dark sky; finds that its not nearly as pretty as you.

vi.

Johnny looks at the horizon, where the setting sun casts various shades of orange. The porch steps are rough against his knees, old and worn from years of use—still, he is calm. You seem to share the sentiment, much quieter than you normally are.

“Hey, Y/N?” his question is but a whisper; you hum in acknowledgment.

“I think I love you.”

Before he can regret it, you’re leaning your head on his shoulder. And, for once, you meet his eyes.

“I love you too, Johnny.”

#johnny cade x reader #johnny x reader #johnny cade headcanons #johnny cade imagine #johnny cade #johnnycake #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders x reader #ponyboy curtis #dallas winston #the outsiders #the outsiders fluff #the outsiders johnny #ralph macchio #fluff #1965 #greasers #dljcem

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cnnmairoll · 9 months

Note

OMG could I have the love bites prompt but with Sampo and Dan Heng 🥺🥺🥺🩷

Bites of Affection

Character(s) : Sampo Koski, Dan Heng Genre : Fluff a/n : Here you go Vi!! Hope this is to your liking! ^_^

You couldn't help it; your love language was biting. Not the kind that left marks or caused pain, but the playful nips and nibbles that you showered your beloved Sampo with. It was a habit you had developed over time, one that seemed to bring joy and amusement to your relationship.

Sampo, the silver-tongued salesman with a flair for theatrics, initially reacted to your nibbling with sheer dramatics. The first time you planted a soft bite on his arm, he clutched his chest and staggered back as if you had wounded him.

"Oh, the agony!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with mock pain. "My dearest, do you intend to devour me limb by limb?"

You giggled at his antics, unable to resist the urge to give him another playful nip. "Only if you taste as good as you look."

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, my love, I suppose I must prepare for the most delicious demise."

From that day forward, it became a delightful routine. Whenever you were together, you couldn't resist stealing a quick bite, and Sampo, always the showman, played along.

One sunny morning, as you both sat in the garden, Sampo was engrossed in his book. You saw the perfect opportunity and gently nipped his shoulder.

Sampo let out an exaggerated gasp, his book falling to the ground. "Oh, the treachery! I've been ambushed in broad daylight!"

You laughed, leaning in to give him another bite. "Consider it a love ambush, my dear."

Sampo captured your lips in a sweet kiss, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm. "I surrender to your love, my mischievous bandit."

As the days went by, Sampo began to anticipate your bites, his eyes twinkling with anticipation. He'd playfully present his arm, offering it up for your affectionate nibbles.

One evening, you shared a quiet moment by the fireplace, cuddled up together. You couldn't resist the temptation and leaned in to nip his cheek.

Sampo grinned, his hand running through your hair. "Ah, my little love bandit strikes again. I should hire you as my personal nibbler."

You chuckled, planting a soft kiss on his cheek to soothe the imaginary wound. "I'd gladly take the job."

But it wasn't just during quiet moments that you indulged in your love language. Even during Sampo's boisterous gatherings and parties, you'd find a moment to sneak in a playful bite.

At one particularly lively soirée, you nipped his wrist while he was in the middle of a story, causing him to momentarily falter. "And then, my friends, the chicken—" he paused, looking at you with a smirk, "decided to take a bite out of the merchant."

The room erupted in laughter, and Sampo took a theatrical bow. "I am but a humble feast for my love's insatiable appetite."

Your playful bites became a symbol of your love, a secret language that only the two of you understood. It was a reminder of the joy and laughter you brought into each other's lives.

As the night grew darker and the party continued, Sampo pulled you close, whispering in your ear, "My love, if you keep biting me like this, I might just become addicted to your love."

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection. "And what a delightful addiction that would be."

You've been traveling with Dan Heng and the rest of the Astral Express crew for some time now. Your relationship with Dan Heng had grown stronger, despite his initial cold and reserved demeanor. But there was something about your love language that continued to baffle him – your penchant for biting.

It all began one evening in the common area of the ship. You were sitting together on a comfortable couch, your fingers tracing patterns on his arm as you engaged in casual conversation. Without warning, you leaned in and playfully nipped at his shoulder. Dan Heng tensed up, his blue eyes widening in surprise.

"Did you just… bite me?" he asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

You chuckled softly. "Yeah, I did. It's just my way of showing affection."

Dan Heng blinked a few times, clearly trying to process this new information. "Biting as an expression of affection? That's… unusual."

You couldn't help but laugh at his perplexed expression. "I know, it's a bit unconventional. But it's how I feel close to someone. Trust me, it's harmless."

Over the next few weeks, you continued to indulge in your love language. Soft bites on his arm when you cuddled, a playful nibble on his ear during movie nights, and even a gentle nip on his neck when you wanted to show just how much you cared. Dan Heng, ever the stoic one, gradually grew accustomed to your unique way of expressing love.

One evening, as you both watch the stars through the windows of the Astral Express, you lean over and gently nibble his earlobe. Dan Heng doesn't pull away this time; instead, he chuckles softly.

"You know," he began, "I never thought I'd say this, but I've grown quite fond of your biting."

You grinned in response, feeling a warm surge of happiness. "I knew you'd come around eventually, my dear."

Dan Heng wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. "I suppose it's your way of keeping me on my toes," he teased.

"Exactly," you replied, leaning in to steal a sweet kiss from his lips. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

"You really are something, aren't you?" he murmurs, his voice filled with fondness.

You smile up at him, your heart warmed by his reaction. "Just trying to make you smile," you reply.

Dan Heng leans in and places a soft kiss on your lips. "You do that every day," he says, his eyes locked onto yours.

From that moment on, Dan Heng not only accepted your love language of biting but also started to reciprocate in his own way. He'd surprise you with gentle nips and nibbles, a silent testament to how much you meant to him. In the quiet moments of the Astral Express, your love continued to grow, one bite at a time.

#˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ mai writes #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #haikyuu!!#sampo hsr #sampo x reader #sampo koski #sampo honkai #sampo koski x reader #honkai star rail sampo #dan heng hsr #hsr dan heng #dan heng x reader #dan heng #hsr sampo #honkai star rail dan heng

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jr-bigbang · 1 month

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We’re thrilled to announce our 2024/25 James/Regulus Big Bang! ☀️✨

For those who may be unfamiliar, a ‘Big Bang’ fest brings fanfic writers and fan artists together in a collaborative space to create illustrated fanfiction for a particular pairing. Over the course of several months, writers will write fanfiction centered on ‘Jegulus’ (James Potter x Regulus Black). Artists will then ‘claim’ those fics and create art for them!

Community is the backbone of fandom and we’re so excited to create a collaborative space for authors and artists to work together to contribute fan works to a ship that means so much to us. As we get closer to the fest, we’ll be sending out invitations to our Discord server so all of us can mingle and bond over our shared love of this ship!

We hope you follow along and reach out with any questions (or general excitement!). For additional information, including our schedule, look under the cut!

Love from your mods,

@wolfpadx, @just--vi, @imdamagecontrol, @badhairred, @lemonlans, and @steveahoi

Authors are expected to submit one fanfic that is at least 20k words long (and no longer than 200k words). Since this is a J/R Big Bang, Jegulus must be the primary focus/ship. Secondary or background ships are permitted but must not be the focus of the fic. Authors are allowed to collaborate on a fic, but may only submit one fic (that means that if you co-write, you may not also submit an individual fic). Because of the timeline and word count expectations of the Big Bang fics we require all authors to have at least one existing published fic of 20k words.

Artists are expected to submit at least two pieces of work per fic, including a banner and a piece of artwork. Artists may submit additional pieces of art for the fic they claim but are not required to! Artists will be allowed to select one fic to illustrate during initial sign ups. Artists may be allowed to select additional fics if some remain unclaimed!

Betas are welcome to join the fest! Authors are strongly encouraged (but not required) to use a Beta. Authors may bring their own Beta into the fest (we simply ask that they sign up as any other Beta might), or, if they do not have a Beta and would like one, the mods will pair an Author and a Beta for the fest.

Rules and further information will be released soon. We wanted to introduce our fest to you now to give you all ample time to plan your fics since this is an open-prompt fest (meaning you decide on the plot so long as it is James Potter x Regulus Black-centric), and to shuffle your schedules/WIP plans around if needed.

Schedule

#jrbigbang #jegulus #regulus black #james potter #sunseeker #reblog for more reach!#we'd love to see all you lovely people there #marauders #fanfic #marauders fest #jegulus fest #starchaser

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bearwry · 3 months

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- Tumblr/Wordpress está se preparando para começar a vender nossos dados de usuários para Midjourney e OpenAI. (como ativar a configuração que impede isso)

oi gente! esse tumblr eu geralmente só posto minhas capas, mas eu vi uma notícia recente importante sobre o tumblr e achei importante compartilhar aqui, já que pelo o que eu notei está sendo mais falado na gringa. eu vi isso hoje nesse post > aqui <, então créditos a pessoa @8pxl pelo tutorial. (thank you for sharing this news! 🌼). vou resumir o que tá acontecendo e mostrar como ativar uma configuração que já está disponível, para que seus blogs não sejam afetados por isso.

- o que é OpenAi e Midjourney?

a OpenAi é um laboratório de pesquisa de inteligência artificial estadunidense, tem produtos como o ChatGPT e Dall-E.

o Midjourney é um serviço de inteligência artificial que gera imagens a partir de descrições em linguagem natural, chamadas de prompts.

- o que está acontecendo?

pelo o que eu entendi, recentemente estavam tendo uns rumores de que o Tumblr estaria negociando com a OpenAi e com Midjourney para vender dados de publicaç��es de usuários para treinamento de IA. (de acordo com a > fonte <)

na quarta-feira saiu uma configuração para que os usuários optem por NÃO compartilhar os dados com terceiros, incluindo empresas de IA. e eu vou mostrar aqui como ativar essa configuração.

(vocês podem ler mais sobre aqui: 1 (em português), 2 (em inglês))

- como ativar a configuração?

para ativar a configuração é bem simples, antes de tudo lembrem de ativar em TODOS os blogs vinculados na sua conta, um por um.

1 - entre na sua conta do tumblr pelo navegador (pelo que eu verifiquei, a configuração ainda não está disponível pelo app);

2 - clique nos três tracinhos > vá em conta > clique em configurações do blog:

3 - desça até visibilidade > a última opção vai ser essa configuração, "Impedir o compartilhamento de [blog] com terceiros"

a configuração diz: Evite que o conteúdo deste blog, mesmo em reblogs, seja compartilhado com nossa rede licenciada de conteúdo e parceiros de pesquisa, incluindo aqueles que treinam modelos de IA.

pronto, está ativada! LEMBRANDO: tem que ativar a configuração em cada blog que você tem vinculado na sua conta, ou seja, faça esse processo em todos os blogs que você tem caso não queira ter seus dados de publicações compartilhados.

#ai #tumblr ai #open ai #midjourney #tumblr news #tutorial #anti ai

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sunkissedchld · 7 months

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𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇-𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆

dedicated to @nashikahan for suggesting the idea ❤️

relationships are important of course, no matter if it's a friendship or romantic or work-related or otherwise, but one of the greatest and most important types of love is the love we receive from ourselves.

i've said this before (a very long time ago), but in general, when most people are interested in tarot, they tend to ask about and lean towards content that speaks about the future (ex. future spouse, next 5 years, next career endeavor, etc), but i’ve realized that falling into that trap of future readings can be harmful if it’s all one ever thinks about.

thinking about the future is great of course, and it’s fun and sometimes comforting to think about the future and what successes and highs one might claim, but too much focus on the future makes it hard for one to focus on the present.

you can’t ever reach that future if you’re so wrapped in the fantasy of it that you forget to bring yourself to the present and work on whatever is needed in order to get there.

therefore, this PAC is not about the future. it's about the now. it's about what you need to hear right now in order to find comfort and love for yourself the way you need it.

the piles go from top left to right. so, "you are exactly where you are meant to be" is pile i, "be kind to your mind" is pile ii, and so on and so forth.

take the time to close your eyes, breathe, and meditate on the PAC prompt, then open your eyes and let your guides lead you to the pile for you.

i hope you enjoy and learn to love yourself the way you deserve to be loved 💖

(TW: slight s*icidal mention in pile vi)

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈

Shufflemancy:

"Rover and Benz" by Aint Afraid

"Blazed" by Ariana Grande

"Lose" by Wonho

Reading:

i think this is my creative pile :)

life is always moving and as hard as it is for you to be okay with it you always find a way to get on the right footing despite there seemingly not being a reason to.

are you a dancer? or at least, do you wanna be? if so, don't deny yourself that art form. i can tell you pour your heart and soul into it. i think it's where you tell the story of your pain. please, continue to use it to continue to be the strong person you are.

you're a fighter and a creative. i don't know a better combo than that to be honest. i don't think you hear this often enough, or you doubt people when you do hear it -- your art form is enough. as a matter of fact, it's more than enough. it's exactly what's needed for the Earth right now and for years to come.

the card i pulled literally says, "SHARE YOUR VOICE" in all caps like that and everything. your mind, your voice, your creativity, your dance, your art is valid. even if self-critique is necessary, also remember that you've come a long way from your very first piece to right now.

the other card i pulled says, "YOUR LIFE IS A CANVAS". continue to use it as such. continue to foster your art. it's beautiful. every ounce of love you put into it can be seen. it's so obvious that art (in whatever form) is of and in you.

love it.

especially your own.

love your own work.

(i promise that it's good enough).

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈

Shufflemancy:

"Donald Trump" by Mac Miller

"Run The World (Girls)" by Beyonce

"The Vapors" by Jhene Aiko

Reading:

know that you have a reason to be cocky!

i can tell that you're a hard-worker. every action you take is calculated and in an effort to reach the "promised land" of what you want. what you've always dreamed of. although recently (and maybe just in general) you may feel as if this uphill climb feels harder than ever.

the card i pulled says, "it's happening for you. not to you". i think those words may be of help to you right now. sometimes you may feel like God has put you up against these seemingly unwinable battles, but they are winnable. you're the one that can win them.

although you put in the work and action behind all of your wants, i think you mainly need to hear that you're not alone. you are being supported.

more than anything, i think you need to focus on healing yourself before going any further. specifically, go outside. breathe in the cold air and let it hurt your lungs. let the humidity frizz out your hair. listen to the waves as the crash violently or splash little by little.

i think you already know that you're strong, but also know that it's okay to rest.

it's necessary to rest.

please, allow yourself to do so.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈

Shufflemancy:

"Songs About You" by Chika

"Fool For You" by CeeLo Green

"Silent Cry" by Stray Kids

Reading:

there's a calling for you to do something, and you're avoiding it.

now babe.. you know better than to do that!

you feel like logic isn't aligning for you to be able to do it, or you doubt your own abilities, don't you? yeah.. you gotta stop doing that like immediately.

that dream or urge you have that feels so integral to your person and so primal to you in terms of needs is something you can totally achieve, but you have to believe in yourself. pay homage to yourself.

you are unique and honestly, your alignment is not of this world. that's why it feels as if the logic is off because they logic you've been conditioned to follow is not the one you should be following.

listen to yourself. listen to your body. trust that you will end up at the right ending because you're the one who knows how to best lead yourself. the cards i pulled say, "trust where you're led" and "surrender to the alchemy of life". i think that's important for you.

the most important thing i can say is that you control your destiny, and know that there's a path for you that so beautifully laid out, and you naturally lead yourself there.

you are worthy of your own trust.

you know exactly what you're doing -- even if it doesn't feel like it.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐕

Shufflemancy:

"Sorry Not Sorry" by Bryson Tiller

"in my head" by Ariana Grande

"I'm The One" by Ateez

Reading:

you allow people to walk over you too much :(

is it because you don't think you're good enough? do you think you're not worthy of respect? YOU ARE!

maybe you don't fit society's standard of things. education, beauty, intelligence, material posessions? to be honest, it doesn't matter because you are so much more than that. who you are inside and who you try to be is so much more valuable than any of society's standards.

you don't have to take on everyone's burdens in order to be of use. you don't have to break your own boundaries and beat yourself down in order to receive basic respect.

your unique knowledge -- your unconventional knowledge- is so special to you! it's such a unique trait that gives you a different way of thinking and experiencing than others. use these differences to uplift yourself!

so what you're different? so what you don't blend in with everyone else? THAT'S THE ENTIRE POINT OF BEING UNIQUE AND BEING DIFFERENT!

fitting society's standards isn't helpful to yourself or the collective.

embrace your differences. they are valuable.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐕

Shufflemancy:

"Alone" by Ayanna

"Motivation" by Normani

"Do It Like A Dude" by Jessie J

Reading:

the people who chose this pile are changing! transtitions and transformations are in progress or on the way, and you feel unprepared for them. that's okay!

you keep holding on to old habits and old ways of thinking, but you need to trust yourself and the universe. the card i pulled literally says, "YES. just say yes". the other one says, "you go first. the universe will catch you".

your old ways of thinking and being don't work anymore because they're too mundane. your ability and your intrinsic nature is so much broader! so much bigger!

your personality and energy is so intoxicating to others. i wish you could see yourself through outsiders eyes. if you felt drawn to pile ii, then go ahead and read it. i think the message there also applies to you.

know that you are so much bigger than the little problems and intrusive thoughts that hold you back. for every pessimistic thought that goes through, write down a positive one.

also, learn to praise yourself. you deserve praise.

you are doing well.

𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐕𝐈

Shufflemancy:

"Cuz I Love You" by Lizzo

"Without You" by Ledsi

"Practice" by Drake

"breathin" by Ariana Grande

Reading:

i think you're tired, just like the photo says.

you may feel like you don't wanna be here anymore. not even in a s*icidal way, but more so in a wanting to be away from your environment -- from Earth -- just for a little bit if it were possible.

the people who chose this pile a very likely starseeds. you miss home. you miss being around likeminded people, and more than anything you miss feeling as if you belonged.

you have so much love you want to give to others, but it's like people don't want it. like they follow the saying of "you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make them drink it".

i think you may be tired of hearing this, but you are here for a reason. more than anything you just want the backpack of rocks that lies on your shoulder to be lightened -- even if just by one stone. you're tired of hearing that you're strong and that you can handle it because if you feel that backpack get loaded with one more stone, then you;ll explode.

you don't have to be strong all the time.

it's okay to cry.

please cry.

you are human too.

you have emotions too.

it's valid and okay to feel them.

#tarot #oracle #pick a card #PAC #tarotblr #sunkissedchld

215 notes · View notes

just-aake · 8 months

Text

Boundless Devotion - Part VI

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: MedievalAU. Natasha is the eldest princess of the Romanov Kingdom. As the time of her coronation approaches, she is suddenly forced to make a decision – either find herself a partner or her parents will choose one for her.

Warnings: slight fluff, slight angst, blood

Words: 6156

Past - Previous Year

Lively sounds of celebration fill the castle’s ballroom as nobles gather for the birthday of Princess Natasha.

Laughter and spirited conversation flow through the air, blending with the enchanting melodies played by the musicians.

And yet amid all the revelry, there’s a noticeable absence from the crowd.

The person of honor had mysteriously vanished from the ballroom shortly after the party began, leaving guests to speculate and whisper in hushed tones about her possible whereabouts.

In a corner of the room, you stand with Kate, listening intently as she shares her latest attempt to convince her mother to allow her to become a knight.

“I just don’t understand why she's so reluctant to let me join the Royal Guard,” Kate sighs in disappointment.

“She’s just worried, Kate,” you tell her, giving her a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Why don’t you have Yelena come with you next time? Maybe she can give some reassurances to your mom about being a knight.”

The younger princess is known for her close relationships with the castle’s knights, often training with them alongside her sister, so she would be a good option to provide some insights into such a role.

As Kate ponders about your suggestion, a voice calls from behind you, prompting you to turn around.

You find Queen Melina standing before you, wearing a tight smile on her face.

“Y/n, may I have a word with you for a moment?”

You nod in response, and beside you, Kate quietly excuses herself to go find Yelena, leaving the two of you alone.

“This is a lovely celebration,” you compliment her, knowing how much time she spent organizing the event.

“Thank you, everyone seems to be enjoying themselves,” Melina replies, her expression seemingly calm as she nods to passing guests, but you can sense the tension behind her forced smile.

Her tone carries a hint of annoyance as she continues, “However, it seems that Natasha has disappeared. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” you reply honestly with a shake of your head.

While you expected Natasha to escape these kinds of events sooner or later, you didn’t witness her leaving yourself since you ended up arriving after the celebration had already begun.

Melina rubs her forehead in frustration and lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Y/n, can you please find my daughter and bring her back to her celebration?”

You manage to conceal your amusement, holding back your smile as you provide an assuring response.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Excusing yourself, you leave the ballroom and make your way to the location where you know Natasha is most likely to be.

With all the food and wine already served, there is one place in the castle where there's a slim chance of encountering anyone else.

As you round the corner toward the castle's kitchen, you spot a familiar figure walking down the hall toward you.

“Madam B, I didn’t realize that you were here,” you greet her.

Madam B has been your governess since you were young, responsible for teaching you different subjects and lessons at your home. She is known for her strict and unyielding nature, a trait she’s kept from her time as a general for your father during the war.

With all of your years together, you personally know that the woman prefers to keep to herself, which makes her presence at an event like this very unusual.

Madam B waves her hand dismissively at your greeting.

“I don't plan on staying long. I just needed to discuss something more with you before I take my leave.”

You groan internally. Typically, conversations with her usually just end up becoming a long lecture for you.

“I’m sorry, but can it wait for later? I’m actually looking—”

“It cannot,” she interrupts harshly. Her strict tone makes you instinctively wince and straighten your posture as you wait for her to continue.

She nods approvingly at your reaction before continuing, “Your father may not believe you're ready, but I disagree.”

You furrow your brows in confusion at her words.

"I'm sorry, ready for what?" you ask.

A smirk forms across her face as she places her hand on your shoulder.

"You remember the things I’ve taught you, don’t you, Y/n? About loyalty, compliance, devotion..."

As she continues speaking, a sudden ringing pierces your head, drowning out her words. You shut your eyes tightly, holding your head in pain from the shrill sound.

After a moment, the ringing slowly subsides, and her voice becomes clear again.

“—need to get going. Good luck in your search for the princess."

Recovering slowly from the painful sensation, you finally open your eyes as you try to understand her words, but by then, Madam B is already moving to leave.

Her hand tightens briefly on your shoulder as she brushes past you.

"I sincerely hope you won't disappoint me, Y/n.”

Letting out a calming exhale to regain your composure, you watch her walk away with a lost and confused feeling, trying to make sense of the strange conversation.

What did she say to you?

You try to remember, but the effort just gives you a small headache that intensifies the longer you attempt to recall what just happened.

Shaking your head and clearing your mind of those thoughts, you continue on your original path, deciding to ask for clarification the next time you see her.

Upon reaching the kitchen, you push open the door to find Natasha casually sitting on the edge of a table, playfully tossing little treats for Fanny to catch.

“Hiding from all of your admirers?” you tease.

At the sound of your voice, Natasha's lips curl into a grin as she turns to look at you.

“Very funny,” she says sarcastically, tossing a treat your way, which you dodge. The treat lands on the floor next to you, prompting Fanny to dart over to retrieve it.

You extend your hand to give her a usual scratch in greeting, but the dog surprises you by suddenly baring her teeth and growling cautiously at you.

Withdrawing your hand, you shoot Natasha a questioning look. Fanny has never acted aggressively towards you before.

Frowning, Natasha commands, "Fanny, stop."

When the dog fails to obey, Natasha lets out a sharp whistle and tells her another command, "Find Yelena."

Fanny growls at you once more before bolting out of the room.

Natasha brushes away the crumbs from her hands, offering you an apologetic look.

"Sorry, she must have been upset about not being able to go outside today."

You brush off her apology with a nonchalant wave of your hand.

“It’s fine, I understand,” you reassure her before playfully casting an accusing glance her way. “I could’ve taken her outside myself, if only I didn’t have to return to the party with a certain missing princess.”

Natasha squints at you suspiciously for a moment before giving you a resigned look and sighing, "Did my mother send you to find me?"

"Yes, she did," you confirm.

Seeing Natasha's disappointed expression, you sigh dramatically, "But the castle has so many rooms. It might take me a while to search them all to find you."

Understanding your implication, Natasha flashes you a grateful smile.

You make your way over to her, mirroring her sitting position on the table, and lightly nudge her shoulder with yours.

“What’s wrong? It’s your birthday, you should be out there celebrating with everyone.”

Natasha lets out a scoff, shaking her head.

“It was starting to feel more like a political meeting than a birthday party.”

She turns her body to you, her exasperation clear on her face.

“Did you know, within the first few minutes, I've already been pestered with dozens of marriage proposals, trade deals, and tax suggestions by the older nobles?”

Her brows furrow in thought at the memory.

“I don’t think I even received a simple ‘happy birthday’ from any of them,” she remarks.

You offer her a sympathetic touch on her arm in understanding.

The older nobles have become increasingly persistent in asserting their opinions and influence on Natasha in the recent months, especially since the announcement of her coronation date being set for the following year.

Not wanting a bunch of greedy and selfish nobles to ruin her special day, you decide to try and cheer her up.

“So, what would you have preferred for your birthday instead?” you ask with genuine interest.

At your question, Natasha leans back with a sigh, resting her hands behind her on the table.

"Honestly, I'd rather just spend the day training."

You chuckle in amusement, shaking your head.

"You train every day. Think of something else —something that you’ve always wanted to do."

Natasha tilts her head in thought, her face twisting with concentration before her eyes suddenly light up with excitement. She sits up straight and leans toward you with a mischievous smirk.

“You could finally let me teach you how to fight with a sword.”

You roll your eyes and playfully shove her away.

"I told you — no training."

She sighs in mock disappointment, “I should’ve just bought some wine with me when I left. At least that would make this day go by faster.”

At her comment, you pause as you remember Yelena’s passing mention of a flask of wine she had stashed in the kitchen, taken from her father’s collection.

Natasha watches you curiously when you stand and begin to rummage through the kitchen cabinets.

You push aside ingredients and utensils, eventually spotting the wine flask tucked away on the top shelf.

Stretching your arm, you try to grab it, but even when you go on your tiptoes, your fingertips just barely graze the shelf’s bottom edge.

Frustration and annoyance build up in you as you prepare for another attempt, but a hand on your shoulder stops you in your tracks, holding you in place.

Natasha’s face appears at your side, and she raises a knowing brow at you, a playful smirk on her lips.

"As amusing as this is to watch, I feel like I need to intervene before you decide to start climbing,” she teases.

With effortless grace, Natasha reaches over your shoulder and smoothly retrieves the flask, a playful glint in her eye as she offers it to you.

You accept it with a pout.

"I would've gotten it eventually."

Natasha's smile widens as she looks at you fondly with a soft gaze.

"I know."

As a result of her helpful action, Natasha's body is now positioned in front of you, enclosing you with your back against the counter as her face remains close to yours.

The only thing separating your bodies from touching is your hands holding the flask between you.

When your eyes lock onto hers, the atmosphere around the two of you seems to suddenly shift, becoming charged with some sort of unknown tension.

Clearing your throat awkwardly, you drop your gaze down to the flask as if studying it, unable to hold her gaze for some reason.

With a tiny exhale to calm the sudden beating in your chest, you meet her eyes again with a small smile and lift the wine to her in an offering gesture.

“Come on, let's have a few drinks, and then we'll return to the party together,” you say in compromise. “Your mother put a lot of effort into organizing this celebration, you know.”

At your proposition of returning to the crowd of nobles, Natasha throws her head back and lets out a disgruntled groan.

You reach out and shake her shoulder reassuringly.

"It'll be fine, Natasha. I'll stay with you the entire time,” you promise.

Seeing Natasha consider your words, you press on, “Then tomorrow, we can head out to the lake for another celebration — whatever you want to do.”

You roll your eyes playfully as you let out a resigned sigh, “I’ll even let you show me some of the basics of using a sword.”

Natasha chuckles at that, shaking her head with a hint of amusement in her expression, before finally giving you a nod in agreement.

“Alright,” she agrees.

“Great,” you say, sliding out from your position before grabbing two cups and making your way to the central table.

With your back turned to her, you ask her curiously.

“How did you even escape from your mother anyway?”

You hear Natasha relax back against the counter as she begins to recount how she evaded her mother's attention while you start to pour the wine into the cups.

“Yelena helped a bit…”

As Natasha continues to speak behind you, she remains unaware of your emotionless expression and glazed-over eyes.

In your other hand, you pour another liquid into the cup alongside the wine.

Her voice suddenly calls your name in a question, causing your consciousness to abruptly return to focus.

Wait, what were you holding?

Pausing your current action, you try to examine the unknown vial, still half-filled in your hand and suspended above the cup, but your body refuses to move any further, frozen in place.

Your mouth opens, intending to call out to Natasha, who is currently waiting for your response, oblivious to your sudden panic.

However, your eyes widen in shock when you hear your voice respond naturally to her question with words that were not your own.

When you feel your hand attempt to continue pouring, you struggle to resist the action, but it seems that you are no longer in control of your body.

Feeling hopeless that you're unable to stop the action completely, you concentrate on moving your hand away from the cup instead.

Your hand trembles as it moves slowly, until eventually, all you can do is watch in despair as the remaining contents of the vial spill into the second cup.

The vial is discreetly tucked away as you pick up the cups. You feel your face force on your usual smile as you turn to Natasha, concealing any signs of your inner turmoil.

“Happy Birthday, Natasha,” you hear your voice say as you offer the cup to her.

Your hand trembles slightly when she takes it with an appreciative smile and clinks her cup against yours.

Unable to say or do anything, you watch helplessly as Natasha downs the entire contents of the cup, your inner voice screaming at her to stop, while your own hand raises your cup to your lips for a drink.

In the next moment, Natasha's cup slips from her fingers as she staggers back against the counter.

With little strength to support herself upright, Natasha collapses to her knees, a violent coughing fit seizing her entire body.

At the sight of her in pain, you feel yourself finally regain control of your body. You throw aside your cup and rush to her side, calling her name in a panic.

"Natasha!”

You cradle her head in your arms, your heart pounding worriedly as blood drips from her mouth, staining your hands as you hold her.

“Y/n…”

Her voice is faint, but her eyes still focus on you in her weakened state, her brows furrowing with concern as she reaches for your face.

“It's going to be okay...you're going to be okay," you repeat, unsure if you're reassuring her or yourself, your trembling hand gripping hers tightly.

Approaching footsteps catches your attention.

Looking up, you see Yelena and Kate come into the room, followed by Fanny, who draws nearer to the two of you, whimpering in concern.

Their eyes widen in shock as they take in the scene in front of them.

"What happened!?" Yelena rushes to your side, taking Natasha carefully from your arms and checking on her.

Reluctantly, you let Yelena take your place, your chest tightening as you gaze at Natasha, unable to explain.

In the midst of her pain, Natasha struggles to push Yelena toward you, her voice strained.

“...Y/n…help Y/n…”

You are about to reprimand her for worrying about you when she's the one on the ground, but before you can, Kate turns your body to face her, her eyes widening with panic upon seeing your face.

"Oh my god, Y/n..." she reaches out to you, her expression filled with worry.

Confused at her reaction, you bring your hand to your mouth, feeling something drip down your chin. Pulling away, you find your fingers stained red with fresh blood.

Your blood.

That’s when your throat tightens, and you also begin to cough violently as more blood fills your mouth.

Your vision blurs and spins while Kate and Yelena’s mouths move as if calling out to you, but their voices sound distant and muffled in your ears.

You feel your eyes close as your legs give way, and you collapse to the floor.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The following days passed by like a blur for you.

You drifted in and out of consciousness, uncertain whether you were awake or lost in your dreams.

Your body remained persistently weak — even the simple act of breathing felt difficult at times.

During this time, you occasionally catch faint whispers of familiar voices, mostly from Wanda and Pietro, but sometimes you believe you heard Kate and Yelena as well.

However, when you finally regained consciousness and opened your eyes, the person you saw was not one that you expected.

Queen Melina sits in a chair beside your bed, her expression marked by a subtle frown as her gaze remains fixed on the wall, lost in her thoughts.

You attempt to call out to her, but your dry throat causes you to cough unexpectedly, capturing her attention.

Realizing you’re awake, she reaches for a cup of water on the nightstand and assists you in sitting up so that you can drink.

The water provided a soothing relief to your parched throat, allowing you to gradually find your voice again.

After placing the cup back on the nightstand, you manage to mutter a soft “thank you,” though your voice still sounds hoarse.

As you survey your surroundings, you realize that you are in your room, and a quick glance out of the window reveals that it is already late into the night, making the queen’s presence even more peculiar.

Curious, you clear your throat slightly before asking her, “I don’t mean to be rude, Your Majesty, but what are you doing here?”

Melina examines you closely, her eyes searching in consideration, before posing a question of her own.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Her words prompt you to think as you try to recall your last memory.

A sudden and sharp, stabbing pain in your mind causes your hand to instinctively clutch your head, and you shut your eyes tightly against the discomfort.

Brief flashes of memories flicker before your eyes, eventually stopping at the most recent memory in your consciousness — Natasha on the ground, coughing up blood.

With a panicked start, your eyes shoot open, and you turn to the queen, your voice trembling.

"Natasha! How is she? Is she okay?"

Melina places her hand on your shoulder, offering a reassuring touch.

“Natasha is going to be fine. The physician says her body is still weak from the poison, but she will recover any day now.”

A wave of relief washes over you, glad to hear that Natasha is okay and safe.

Melina’s hand rests gently atop yours, bringing your attention back to her as she gives you a concerned look.

"Y/n, you were poisoned too," she reminds you, her tone somber as an atmosphere of unease surrounds her.

With a steadying breath, she speaks again.

"Your father returned shortly after receiving the news of your condition, and he discovered the culprit behind the poisoning."

A short pause follows as a flicker of hesitation crosses her face as if she’s contemplating her next words.

“It was your governess, Madam B,” she finally says.

A feeling of betrayal envelops you at her words, but something about the revelation feels wrong.

You shake your head in denial as you slowly piece together the memories of that night.

“No, that can’t be right,” you say in disbelief, remembering how she had already left before you found Natasha.

“She’s already confessed to the crime,” Melina asserts, her expression watching you cautiously.

Your brows furrow in confusion as the memories become clearer.

"No," you murmur, "It was just me and Natasha. I was pouring the wine, and then..." you trail off as you finally remember what you did.

“I added the poison,” you whisper, your voice filled with a mix of shock and horror.

Your hands clench as you struggle to understand why you would do such a thing. You couldn't even recall how the vial of poison had come into your possession.

"Why did I...?" you question yourself, your voice barely audible as you grapple with the horrifying truth of your actions.

Apprehension and disappointment fill Melina’s expression when she realizes that you remembered your part in the troubling event.

She covers your hands in a comforting gesture.

"Y/n, you need to understand that what happened was not your fault. If anything, I am partially responsible for what happened to you," she explains gently.

Confusion fills your face as you turn to her.

"What do you mean?"

A look of regret and guilt passes across her face, and she lets out a sigh.

"Madam B admitted to using a forbidden method that I helped to create during the war to force you to perform those actions."

Horror grips you at the thought that you have been manipulated and controlled into harming Natasha.

"How is that even possible?" you question.

Melina shakes her head, her eyes filled with understanding that you want to know more, but you know from your time working with her that the gesture means that she won’t elaborate further.

“What matters is that those actions were not your own, Y/n," she says before adding, "I know you’d never want to do anything like that to hurt Natasha.”

A chill runs down your spine as a dreadful realization settles in.

“Can this happen to me again?” you ask, your voice filled with apprehension.

Melina hesitates, her expression grim and reluctant, as if she wished she could give you a different answer.

"It's possible," she finally admits.

Your eyes widen in fear, and a sense of panic begins to swell within you, causing your heart to race and making it increasingly difficult to breathe.

Her hand reaches over to rub a soothing and comforting pattern on your back, sensing your distress.

"But Madam B has already been apprehended and taken away by your father. She can't force you to do anything like this again,” she promises.

She waits until your breathing calms down before continuing.

“Due to the methods used in this situation, your father and I agree it would be best to keep what happened concerning Madam B and you a secret to not cause any further panic. We’ll come up with another explanation for what happened to the two of you. Nobody will know what actually happened that night…"

You drown out the rest of her words, unable to focus anymore.

Despite her attempts to reassure you, the only thought that keeps lingering in your mind is the possibility of you hurting Natasha again.

On the following day, you make your way to the castle to visit Natasha who is still recovering in her room.

Sitting at the edge of her bed, you observe Natasha quietly. Her complexion seems to be slowly regaining its usual color, though her face is scrunched in discomfort while she sleeps as if she's having a bad dream.

Strands of her hair fall across her face when she moves her head, so you instinctively reach out to brush them aside.

However, just as you’re about to touch her, your hand begins to tremble uncontrollably.

Your eyes widen in fear at the sight as panic rises in you, and you withdraw your hand immediately, clenching it into a fist against the bed.

A haunting thought echoes in your mind.

You were the reason she was hurt.

Feelings of guilt and shame fills your chest the longer you look at her, so you turn away, deciding to leave. As you move to rise from the bed, a hand falls weakly upon yours, gripping it gently.

When you look back at her face in surprise, you see Natasha's eyes are now opened slightly but not fully awake, as though she’s in a dreamlike daze.

Even in that state, it seems as if her gaze is focused solely on you.

Her voice comes out in a whisper.

“Stay.”

You pause at her request, contemplating whether or not that would be a mistake.

In the end, you decide to remain by her side, just until she drifts back to sleep.

Natasha’s expression is now peaceful and content as she rests, and your gaze drifts to your hand underneath hers in despair.

Turning your hand, you intertwine your fingers in hers and give her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

That was the last time you were close to Natasha for a while.

In the months that followed, you distanced yourself from the princess, too afraid of the possibility that you would lose control and hurt her again.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Present Day

Your eyes snap open, the nightmare of that night once again jolting you awake.

Feeling slightly disoriented, you find yourself staring blankly at the ceiling of your room, trying to recall what happened.

Memories of the attack at the cemetery and your subsequent reactions flood your thoughts.

You let out a weary sigh as you rub your eyes in frustration.

It has been a while since you last experienced these kinds of panic attacks.

They initially started after that night whenever you have nightmares about the incident, but as months passed, they became less frequent, giving you the impression that you had them somewhat under control.

However, seeing Natasha being injured must have triggered it again after all this time.

You sit up suddenly at the thought, prepared to call out for Wanda to ask about Natasha’s condition when the sight of the princess in your room freezes you in your tracks.

Natasha was casually lounging in your desk chair, idly flipping through the pages of one of your books.

She looks up at your sudden movement, and you breathe a sigh of relief when you notice the bandages on her arm from where she had been cut.

Apart from that, she appears relatively unscathed.

“You’re awake,” Natasha comments calmly. “That’s good. I was about to wake you up myself. Whatever you were dreaming about didn’t sound so nice.”

Rising from your bed, your gaze drifts to the window where a gentle drizzle continues to fall from the dark night sky.

You make your way over to Natasha, stopping in front of her and examining the bandages on her arm carefully with a light touch.

"What are you still doing here?" you ask, wondering why she hasn't returned home yet.

Natasha wears a serious expression as she stands, closing the book in her hand and placing it back on your desk.

"We need to talk about what happened."

A feeling of dread washes over you when you hear the reason for her lingering presence. You shake your head at her in refusal.

"Just leave it alone, Natasha. It was nothing."

“That was not nothing!”

Natasha's supposedly calm composure crumbles at your words, and you're taken aback by her upset tone, eyes widening slightly in surprise — she has never raised her voice at you like that before.

Natasha closes her eyes in frustration, taking a deep breath. When she opens them again, she fixes you with an intense and serious gaze.

"Wanda told me that you've had panic attacks like this before. Many times."

Your lips twist at her words, recognizing that it would be difficult to convince her to drop the subject now that she knew.

You don’t blame Wanda for telling Natasha. You knew how concerned she was for you, often being the one who wakes you from your nightmares in the dead of night and who stays to comfort you through your panic attacks.

When you don't deny it, Natasha’s shoulders drop defeatedly as her expression becomes regretful.

"I gave you space whenever you avoided me because I thought that was what you needed, especially after you almost died because of me."

She runs her hand through her hair and sighs in frustration.

“But if I had known how much that night affected you like this, I never would've left you to go through that alone.”

You wrap your arms around yourself defensively.

“I’m not your responsibility, Natasha. I can take care of myself,” you assert.

Natasha frowns at your words.

"I’m not saying you can’t,” she says, her voice gentle in understanding, “But you do have people who are willing to help you.”

She reaches for your hands, and with a delicate touch, she unwinds them from your defensive position. Her thumbs trace a comforting pattern on the back of your hands.

“You have me.”

Natasha pauses for a moment, searching your eyes to make sure you understand her sincerity before continuing.

“And you shouldn't feel guilty about what happened that night either,” she adds.

You let out a disbelieving scoff in response, breaking eye contact and looking away.

But Natasha’s touch under your chin brings your gaze back to hers. Her eyes are filled with unwavering belief and trust.

“That was not your fault,” she insists firmly.

“That’s not true,” you counter with a sad look. “And you know it, Natasha.”

Despite your father’s attempt to conceal your involvement in the incident, there's no way Natasha hadn’t figured out that you were the only one who could have possibly given her the poison.

Natasha stares at you for a moment before nodding her head.

“I know it was you,” Natasha acknowledges before continuing resolutely. “But I also know that the reason I’m still alive is thanks to you.”

When you give her a disbelieving look, she shakes your clasped hands meaningfully.

“I wouldn’t have survived if I had the complete dose of the poison,” Natasha points out, her tone emphasizing the significance of your action.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I did it,” you reply, your voice heavy with guilt.

“It matters when your actions were controlled by someone else!”

At your surprised expression, Natasha gestures toward the book on the desk which you now notice is one of the books from the queen about the Red Room.

“I had to learn about the Black Widow operations too, you know,” she explains.

“So you are not the one at fault here,” she says again, determined to make sure you believe it yourself. She brings your hands to her chest, holding them firmly.

You can feel the steady beat of her heart underneath your hand, reminding you that she’s alive and safe.

And she can continue to be safe if you’d just stay away from her.

“I’m not afraid of having you close to me, Y/n,” Natasha says, already deducing your fear.

You forgot how well she can read and understand you.

Pulling your hands away from hers and taking a step back, you cross your arms as the familiar feeling of uncertainty washes over you.

“What if it happens again? What if the next time it’s not just poison, and I end up just stabbing you to death?” you ask with genuine concern, your fear for her safety etched across your face.

Natasha meets your gaze with unwavering confidence.

“Then you'll stop yourself. You’re strong enough to break through. You’ve done it before,” she reminds you.

“Barely,” you scoff, doubting your capabilities, considering you couldn’t even stop your own hands from poisoning yourself.

“Then we’ll find a way to remove the control so that this won’t happen again,” Natasha reassures you, her voice filled with determination. “We can figure it out together.”

You pause in consideration of her offer. So far, your search for a cure has already hit so many dead ends.

Maybe it was time to try a different approach and accept some help from others instead of trying to figure out everything yourself.

You glance hesitantly at Natasha who is waiting patiently for your response.

“Are you sure?” you finally ask her.

Natasha’s eyes soften, her gaze never leaving yours as a sure grin forms on her face.

“I trust you with my life, Y/n,” she says sincerely. “I always have.”

You observe her for a moment, seeing the seriousness in her gaze, before huffing lightly in disbelief at her faith in you.

“You’re unbelievable, do you know that?” you say pushing her shoulder lightly while shaking your head. “I think you’re the only person in the world who would want to stay friends with their attempted murderer.”

Natasha catches your hand in hers, intertwining them together, a wry smile on her lips as she tilts her head at you and shrugs her shoulders playfully.

“I think I would be more worried if she wasn’t such a kind person. And, maybe if she actually learned how to use a sword,” Natasha remarks, raising a brow at you as her eyes glint with amusement. “You know I’m still waiting for you to fulfill your promise to me about that.”

You shake your head in disbelief, a light chuckle escaping your lips.

It's incredible how she always makes you feel like nothing is impossible when you're with her.

As you look back at her, a deep sense of gratitude washes over you for having her in your life.

That familiar tension that has been appearing between you two resurfaces again as you gaze into her eyes, and when Natasha tilts her head and smiles softly at you, you feel yourself unconsciously move closer to her as if in a trance.

A sudden roar of thunder rumbles outside as the rain intensifies again, breaking the peaceful atmosphere between the two of you and stopping you in your tracks.

Natasha turns to look out the window distractedly, giving you the chance to recover your composure.

You touch your slightly warm cheeks in thought as you stare at the side of her face with a confused feeling.

Were you about to lean in?

You lower your hand quickly and give Natasha a small smile when she turns back to you.

"I should head home," Natasha says.

You frown in disapproval, realizing that she was suggesting to leave during the pouring rain outside in the middle of the night.

Looking down at your hand, still clasped in hers, an idea comes to mind. Swinging your joint hands lightly in contemplation for a moment, you decide to give your suggestion.

“It’s too late for you to go back to the castle now, especially with the rain. Why don’t you stay here for the night?”

Natasha raises a brow at you, a teasing smirk forming on her lips as she tugs on your hand, which in turn draws you in closer to her.

“Y/n…,” she says your name slowly in a scandalous tone, “Are you asking me to spend the night with you?”

Your face heats up at the suggestion, causing Natasha's smile to widen, confirming that a blush is now on your face.

“I-that’s not what I meant!” you stammer, your gaze shifting away from her playful eyes.

Natasha watches you fondly for a moment in amusement before pulling away with a chuckle. Releasing your hand, she gives you a grateful smile and turns to head for the door.

“Thank you for the offer. I’ll check with Wanda to see which guest room I can use.”

As you watch her move to leave, you feel a lingering sense of anxiety in your chest as your mind is still rattled from the nightmare earlier.

Without thinking, you reach out and grab her hand again, the words slipping out before you can stop yourself.

“Could you stay with me?” you wince, embarrassed by how it sounded, “—not…not like that—just until I fall asleep.”

A sad sigh escapes your lips as you admit sheepishly, “I don't think I want to be alone at the moment.”

Natasha gives you an understanding look. She grips your hand firmly and leads you to your bed. Sitting down against the headboard, she pats the space next to her in invitation

“I’ll stay for as long as you need,” she says softly.

With a grateful smile, you settle down next to her in your bed.

“Thank you, Natasha,” you say, closing your eyes.

“Good night, Y/n,” her voice whispers to you as you drift to sleep.

And you have to admit — it was one of the most peaceful rests you had in a long time, knowing Natasha was there beside you as a steady and protective presence.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Series Masterlist : Boundless Devotion

a/n: Thanks for all the kind comments, it’s too bad Tumblr doesn’t let side blogs reply to them directly but I appreciate seeing them and reading all that you have to say. Thank you again for reading!

Taglist: @lightwhoranoutoflight, @taliiiaasteria, @romanoffprentiss, @canvascoloredin, @silentwolfsstuff, @blacklightsposts, @arcturusseer, @presser24, @dvrkhcld, @jujuu23, @screechcat, @vivs46, @cd-4848, @youneversawmehereooooooo, @pancakefan7529, @confusedspaceotter, @natbelovasblog, @izzy-b09, @iamheartless

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff

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teyamsatan · 7 months

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ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴅᴀʏ xx - ᴇᴅɢɪɴɢ

pairing: neteyam x omaticaya!reader (part of monster in me)

➽ a/n: omg besties i've been working so hard on the 1 i have been neglecting the prompts, but i HAD to come back to day 20 with a neteyam/vi drabble. i know a lot of you have missed them and so i hope you enjoy getting a glimpse into what they've been up to, and no worries, there'll be more ;) x

➽ words: >700 words

➽ warnings: it goes without saying, but all of these works (kinktober-related) are smut and therefore minors should NOT interact with them. other warnings include: tiny little degradation, tiny bit of praise, tiny bit of brat-taming

➽ taglist (x) ➽ kinktober masterlist (x)

“F-uck!” Your cries were loud, uninhibited, and wild, just like you. He loved that. As much as he tried to deny it for himself, as much as he’d fight anyone saying he’s enjoyed the years of hatred and war that plagued you both, in reality, he lived for the fights, and the teasing, for the touches and glances that were thrown in disdain but lingered for longer than they ever needed to, for all of it. He still dreams about it, fingering you behind your tent, the look on your face as he brought you so near to your orgasm, how tightly your tail was wrapped around his thigh, desperately pulling him closer, even as every fibre of your being was most likely urging him away. He still sees it in front of his eyes - your face, flushed and tantalising as your lips were wrapped around his cock, sucking him off so well he felt his whole soul was being exorcised… how much he wanted to hate it, how much he couldn’t, not when it was what he loved about you the most anyway. You were his match. His twin flame. The only woman that could both break him and put him back together. The only woman who yearned to be broken just the same. His little slut, the Omaticayan fucked-up princess who loved to be fucked.

So all things considering, it terrified him - losing it, the spark, the heat between you, when you rekindled what seemed to be cold and broken for so long. He was scared that things would change, and get boring and routinised. There was so much trust between you now, so much love, so much you shared, and he was happy about it, so happy… but he wanted to keep the way he felt about you then, how your being made his skin catch fire and his uncontrollable urges rise to the surface, fresh in his mind.

“Such a filthy mouth. But you should have thought about the consequences before being a brat all day, Vi. Now I guess I just have to fuck it out of you, huh?”

He always kept his promise. Every day, you were a brat, and every night, he made sure you paid for it, and you loved it - loved it all, loved to wake up marked and bruised, in love bites and canine stings, with his cum in you, on you. You didn’t love it right now, though, as he denied you your third orgasm, so desperate for release you were sobbing face down on the mat, pleading for at least one, just one. Only one. He was so deep in you, one hand gripping painfully at your raised ass, the other holding your arms behind your back, you could feel him everywhere - in your belly, in your lungs, in your throat. His thrusts were animalistic and unbridled, a desperation for him to own you, to claim you, to love you in the way you knew you needed to be loved.

“Please, Neteyam. Fuck! I ne-ed to come!” The tears were spilling down your forehead, whines getting more pronounced with each plunge into your needy, wet cunt. So close. You were so close. You knew you couldn’t handle being edged once more, the desire almost bordering on pain. Fortunately, he always knew how to thread that line - thin and treacherous, he was a master at knowing how to balance on it, how to push you just to the spot in which they blissfully coexisted, until you were shaking and transcendent, the feeling more intense and satisfying than you ever even thought possible.

“Beg. Beg to come on my cock, Txepvi. Let me see you put that pretty mouth to good use before I fuck it tonight.”

“Agh, please! Please, please, I need it so badly, please!”

You feel him twitch inside of you at your words, balls heavy slapping against your folds, itching to spill their load in you, loving to hear you, see your body entirely bent to his will, loving to know the trust was earned in time, and will never be broken, for as long as he lived.

“Such a good girl. Come for me, Vi. I want to hear you.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice, and as always, you were grateful for him, and the way he knew how to treat your body better than you ever could, because when you came, it was so good, you couldn’t wait to be a brat again tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, for the rest of your days.

taglist: @fanboyluvr @theycallmesia @afro-hispwriter @soleilmoon @crazy4books1 @bakugouswaif@randxmthxughts @xreadersstuff @sirezaya @kimberlyshailany-blog @gyuventure @jujudsmyst @kikookii @nxptury @nonniesworld @koing-slvt @bakugouswaif @isnt-itstrange @tpwkforevermore @alahamums @tallulah477 @gknj9495@aquamarine001 @itssomeonereading @yumimak@sweetbread-m@eqgroil @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @juneonhoth @yagirlheree @jackiehollanderr @legendarynoodlebowl @iameatingmyhair @justasimps-blog@hannabanana-09 @xylianasblog @misscaller06 @yeosxxx @myh3artttt

@teyamsbitch@musicownsme @i-live-in-a-fantasy-daydream @zoetrope1997 @itsmy-alteregohere @ntymavtr @curlszx88 @maki-z @riatesullironalite @baahsaama @luna-salem @teyamtesuli @koing-slvt @call-me-doll-face @puresirius-things @saturniac @call-me-doll-face @dreaming-of-the-reality @whorefortim @blacksgarden @pandoraslxna

@sulieykte @blue-slxt @eywaeveng @neteyamsikran @elenamoncada-ibarra @spicymayyo @itsjazzsworld @daddysmurfslefttoenail @eyrina-avatar @iameatingmyhair @hadesbabygurl@linydoll @the-mourning-moon@kasai-https @dvxsja (if your tag doesn't work pls check your settings x)

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tj-dragonblade · 4 months

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[FIC] I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: M Word Count: 6949 Tags: fluff, sap, most of this only warrants a G-rating honest, the M is for mild and largely glossed-over spice toward the end, esablished relationship, winter, cold weather, christmas market, ice skating, sleigh ride, cozy cabin getaway, mulled wine, hot chocolate, a couple of things from last Fluffbruary worked their way in here oops, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus loves Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, mild and inexplicit temperature play

Notes: Written for the magnificently talented and absolutely lovely @rooftopwreck as part of the Dreamling Nation Winter Exchange. Surprise, Vi! I hope you like it! You're such a warm and friendly person, a delight to know and talk to and you can always manage to make me laugh. I'm so glad I got the opportunity to write you a fic! Working with your prompts warmth, hot chocolate, and hearth (which I didn't quite get to but there is a fireplace)

Summary: It's winter in London and Hob is interested in sharing various cold-weather human experiences with his distinctly-not-human boyfriend

On AO3

"That's cheating, you know."

Dream turns to peer at Hob beside him as they walk down the street. "'Cheating'?"

Hob gestures broadly at Dream. "You," he says with a warm smile. "Your whole outside-the-bounds-of-humanity thing, just wandering around like the cold doesn't bother you."

Dream turns his gaze forward again. "It does not."

"But you could let it if you wanted to, right?"

"Is there a reason I should want to, Hob Gadling?"

"Well. I mean. You'll stand out less if you're dressed for the weather—"

"I can alter my clothing to blend in if it will assuage your concerns," Dream interrupts. He is uncertain of Hob's purpose in this line of conversation, or what any of this has to do with him accompanying Hob to buy groceries.

"Still missing the point, duck."

"Please. Enlighten me."

Hob blows out a breath, which clouds prettily around his face in the grey winter daylight. "There's a lot of really fun cold weather things we can do, human experiences that I, a humble human, would like to share with my more-than-human boyfriend. Things that just aren't quite the same if you're immune to the cold." He grins at Dream. "And then some other things that are purely selfish—how can I chivalrously offer you my scarf to stay warm if you don't get cold, for instance?"

Dream gives a put-upon sigh. "The weather is so frightfully cold," he intones, little better than deadpan. "If only some kind individual were to offer me his scarf, that I might warm myself."

"See I know you're just faking," Hob laughs, but all the same he unwinds the scarf from about his own neck, stopping to face Dream and drape it about him gently before continuing, shoulders hunching into his own coat. "It's not just about appearances, though. Isn't your sister always telling you to take more interest in humans and the 'human experience'? Isn't that how we met?"

"It is." Dream has buried his nose in the loop of scarf about his neck; it is pleasantly warm with Hob's body heat, whether or not Dream truly feels the cold as Hob does, and it smells enticingly of Hob as well.

Perhaps there is. Merit, to Hob's suggestion.

"Well, then…let me help you have some human experiences?" Hob is looking at him hopefully. "It'll be fun."

"I am quite pleased by the 'human experiences' you share with me already, Hob." Dream lets his mouth curl smugly above the scarf, tilts his head to glance at Hob through his lashes.

"Additional experiences. Cold weather experiences, outside the bedroom." Hob shakes his head, mock dismayed, betrayed by the smile in his eyes that's fighting its way down to his lips. "Can't believe you're making sex jokes outside Sainsbury's. What even is my life."

"I will. Consider your suggestion," Dream allows, as they enter the store, and no more is said on the subject that day.

~~~ When next Dream visits Hob in the waking world, he manifests his form in much greater human detail than usual. He pays special attention to making certain he has the appropriate body temperature and all of the internal intricacies to regulate it; he releases a breath, and it clouds the air before him.

He shivers.

His usual attire is indeed insufficient in this weather. He will trust that Hob can provide him something warmer.

Just as soon as Hob returns home.

Dream could let himself into Hob's flat, or wait for him inside the New Inn even; he chooses instead to wait outside, in the cold, that he might have the full effect of whatever it is Hob wishes him to glean from the experiment.

It is only a short time later that Hob returns, and his eyebrows shoot up beneath the cuff of the hat he wears to see Dream shivering outside the door at the back of the Inn. "Dream? What are you doing out here, you look like you're freezing!"

"Observant," Dream grits out, teeth clenched to still their chattering, arms tucked tight around himself. His mood has soured considerably in the interim.

"You choose the most peculiar times to take my suggestions to heart." Hob moves close, unlocking the door. "Did you miss the part where I mentioned wanting to share things with you?"

"Hence why I am here, waiting for you."

"Bloody obstinate git, you are," Hob chides fondly, opening the door and ushering Dream inside. The warm air is a relief, and Dream unclenches slightly.

"This is. A miserable experience so far," he says, uncharitably perhaps, but 'the experience' was Hob's selling point and Dream has yet to see what so enamours him of the cold.

"Ah, well, being cold is generally miserable, yes. Which is why you bundle up to enjoy the weather, and why you don't stand about waiting outside without a proper winter jacket when there's a nice heated pub right there, you numpty. Or just let yourself into my flat next time, honestly. Come on up, I'll get you sorted before we head out."

Dream is displeased by the thought of going back out, into the cold, but he is. Trying. Very hard, to be adaptable, to flow with change, to be open to whatever joy Hob thinks he might be shown. He recalls the way Hob's eyes had sparkled when he spoke of taking Dream round to the Christmas market, he recalls the dreams he has touched of such things over the centuries and he finds that he is able to muster a modicum of curiosity to see firsthand how they have evolved in the current era.

Most importantly, he does not wish to disappoint Hob.

It is much easier to brave the cold once Hob has bundled him into a jumper that is only marginally oversized (Hob is slighter than he tends to appear) and a scarf that is softer than the dreams children spin of summer clouds, and thrice as warm. Both smell faintly of Hob, which is delightful, and does a fine job of lifting his mood again.

"Hat, or earmuffs?" Hob holds out both options; after a moment's consideration, Dream chooses the earmuffs. A thick quilted overcoat ('puffer jacket', the collective subconscious supplies) and a fashionably slim pair of warmly-lined gloves finish off the ensemble, and Dream is nearly too warm thus arrayed.

It occurs to him as they leave Hob's flat that everything Hob has dressed him in is black, in keeping with his own preferences, and the realization sparks a different, softer sort of warmth in his chest.

~~~ The Christmas market is a lively, bustling affair, bright with voices and possibilities and fairy lights twinkling in the late afternoon dusk, robust with soft snatches of daydreams that twine and brush against him the way a cat might wind itself about one's ankles. There are children dashing about, parents tugged along behind them, flitting from one booth to the next in a flurry of contagious excitement; young couples and old, solitary visitors enjoying the time alone, groups of friends laughing together and Dream finds himself smiling at the wisps of half-formed fancy that reach him in the wake of everyone who passes by. It is easy to understand, immersed in this festive atmosphere, why so many humans have such love for the holidays.

"We're gift shopping for my staff at the Inn," Hob says, "and a few friends at work too. I like just wandering around to see what I can find—easy to make it personal that way." He gives Dream a wink, rakish and cocksure with the smallest edge of uncertainty hiding beneath it. "I know you're ruler of your own realm, unfathomably More Than Human etcetera etcetera, but if you see anything here that strikes your fancy? Just say so." He tugs lightly on his ear where it peeks from beneath his knit hat, glancing up and away for half an instant. "I'd be happy to buy you anything you like."

"A kind and gallant offer, Hob Gadling." Dream lets his smile curl into a smirk, leaning into coquettish charm to cover how genuinely pleased he is by Hob's generosity of spirit. "You would woo me with gifts, with tokens of admiration, when my affections have already been won?"

"Got to keep the romance alive, haven't I?" Hob shrugs, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, mouth curved in a smile that is brilliant in its sincerity. "I'd woo you a thousand times over if you wanted. Eager to please, always seeking for more, you know me."

"Intimately," Dream purrs, leaning in for a kiss. It's soft and short and chaste, as not to scandalize the other shoppers; Dream's lips and nose are mildly chilled, as are Hob's, but his heart is very warm when Hob returns for another peck before they part completely.

They browse the stalls at leisure, Hob selecting gifts carefully for each of his recipients, Dream rifling through what he knows of their dreams to help Hob choose when he has difficulty deciding. The tote bag Hob brought along slowly fills with packages and Dream has no trouble admitting that he is enjoying their evening, despite the cold.

There is a brooch that catches Dream's eye, a pair of poppies masterfully worked in silver and transparent red enamel, set with tiny black and white 'gems' for the center of each. It is a far cry from the sort of jewelry one might expect of his station, but Dream can feel the care, the dreams, the love of the craft that have gone into the creation of the piece, and it is striking. Hob buys it for him, gifts it to him, fixes it to the folds of the wonderfully soft scarf about his neck, and Hob's regard and affection, his care, seep into the brooch as well.

"Suits you," Hob says, dimpling sweetly, warmth simmering in his eyes, and Dream smiles back with equal affection. Certainly he might have simply manifested himself something similar, grander; the value of this piece, however, lies not in jeweled splendor but in the intent that went into its gifting.

~~~ "I am enjoying our time together," Dream says, while the mulled wine vendor is filling their commemorative Christmas Market mugs and adding clove-spiced orange slices for garnish.

Hob smiles, brilliant, beautiful. "I'm glad." He reaches to flick a light touch to Dream's earmuffs. "Staying cozy?"

Dream considers. Next time he will take the hat, he decides; his ears are warm but he has seen now where he would benefit from full coverage of his head. And perhaps thicker trousers as well; his jeans do not hold heat in any substantial fashion. The cold is not so bothersome to his legs as it is to his core and his extremities, but something warmer would not go amiss.

"The cold is far more tolerable when dressed properly," Dream admits, "for which. I thank you. However—" He pauses while Hob collects the prepared drinks, then continues. "I fail to see how letting myself feel the cold enhances the experience. I would be just as pleased with our evening had I not undertaken your suggestion."

"That's fair," Hob allows, contemplatively. "Thing is—" he offers a steaming mug to Dream "—if you weren't bothered by the cold, you wouldn't appreciate this half as much."

Dream accepts, cradling the mug in his gloved hands, letting the steam rise into his face. The warmth is pleasant but the aroma is utterly intoxicating, heady and fruity and laced with an assortment of spices that bloom behind his palette as he breathes it in. He can feel how his pleasure lights his face, and Hob's chuckle confirms it a second later.

"Try it, I promise it's everything you're hoping for there. Mind, it's hot—"

Dream raises the cup to his lips, heeding Hob's warning; he blows gently across the surface and sips carefully.

He makes a sound that is very nearly indecent, eyes fluttering shut for half an instant despite himself. The flavor is exquisite, bright notes of citrus and cloves and cardamom bursting on his tongue, but the warmth—it suffuses his mouth, flows down his throat with the wine, spreads softly throughout his body. He sips again, a careful slurping mouthful, and the soft heat chases through him delightfully.

"Exquisite," he murmurs, both hands wrapped around the cup, entranced with the steam rising softly into his face.

"See?" Hob's grin is bright and wide, eyes sparkling like the fairy lights around them, and Dream cannot even begrudge him the thrill of triumph that radiates from him. "Sometimes feeling the cold is worth it."

"Perhaps," Dream allows, and sips the wonderfully warm wine again.

~~~ Hob takes him ice skating on his next visit; this time, he manifests inside Hob's flat with warm cable-knit leggings, black with hints of silver threaded through, and a slim knee-length skirt that is quilted and layered for warmth. The poppy brooch Hob gifted him at the Christmas Market is tucked into his hand and his usual grey t-shirt is all he wears above.

Hob raises an eyebrow at him. "Got it half-right, at least?"

"I would. Borrow, from your wardrobe, if I may," he explains somewhat hesitantly. "I enjoyed wearing your clothing, smelling you upon me the entire evening. It is. An experience I would like to repeat."

The slow delight that brightens Hob's face as he says it is entirely worth the squirming discomfort of speaking the admission aloud.

"Okay then. You're in luck." Hob beams at him, all but heart-eyed, and goes to rummage through his wardrobe. "Same black jumper as last time, here's the scarf, had them both on for a bit yesterday, aaaannd—earmuffs?"

"Is the hat still on offer?"

"'Course it is. Here." Hob tosses him the hat instead, a black and silver cable-knit thing with a wide cuff and a large and fluffy pom pom on top.

Dream is pleased to have recalled its appearance accurately when manifesting his leggings; they are a perfect match.

He delights in the soft lingering scent of Hob as he pulls on the jumper, as Hob winds the scarf about his neck and pulls the hat snugly down to cover his ears. Dream hands Hob his brooch to pin to the scarf (the delight in Hob's eyes to see it makes Dream doubly-glad he had brought it), and then Hob curls those warm and wonderful fingers lightly around the back of his warmly-wrapped neck and leans in to kiss him, short and soft.

"You look adorable," Hob breathes, and while that is not a word nor an image he cultivates of himself in most circumstances…this is Hob. And Dream does not mind.

"Puffer jacket's in the entry hall," Hob says then, dropping a kiss on the tip of his nose. "Let's get you bundled up and head over to the pond."

~~~ "Have you skated before?" Hob asks, while they are lacing on their rented skates at the chalet.

"I am the king of all dreams and nightmares, prince of stories; I am the entirety of the collective human subconscious. All skills are within my grasp."

"So that's a no, then." Hob grins at him brightly. "That's alright, I'll teach you."

"I do not require instruction."

"Does his majesty know how to skate after all, then?"

Dream opens his mouth for a haughty retort to Hob's impertinence and pauses; certainly the necessary skill is available to him with minimal effort, but the idea that Hob would like to teach him is…appealing. "Perhaps," he hedges, with just enough of a pout to imply that he truly means 'no', and Hob smiles, warm and brilliant.

"Then let me help you out, duck. I promise I'm a very good teacher."

"I did not say that I do not know how," he protests, for appearances, while something in him swoons at the idea of having all the skill that Hob has honed in his chosen profession focused solely on himself.

Hob chuckles brightly. "'Course not. Still. Humor me? Let me feel useful."

"Very well," Dream concedes, concealing his delight, and allows Hob to lead him out onto the ice.

Hob is indeed a good teacher, and Dream basks happily in the casual intimacy of his unnecessary instruction, the focused warmth of his attention. Gliding over the frozen pond with Hob's guiding touch at the small of his back and Hob's other hand clasping his—he feels carefree, lighthearted, happy, and can easily understand why countless stories of young romance have featured this same activity.

Hob leads him about for a good while, offering guidance as he feels appropriate, but even when he deems that Dream has mastered the requisite balance and coordination, Dream is not at all inclined to sally forth on his own. Skating with Hob is the entirety of the appeal, after all; hand in gloved hand they glide and twirl about together, faces rosy with the cold, until the weak afternoon sun slowly relinquishes its place on the horizon to the encroaching evening.

~~~ "Here. Have some hot chocolate; it'll warm you up and the sugar will boost your energy," Hob says, as Dream is tying his boots back on. Hob had taken their rented skates to the return counter and come back with two takeaway cups, one of which he is offering to Dream.

"I do not require sustenance."

Hob rolls his eyes fondly. "Yes yes, I know, but you liked the mulled wine well enough last time, didn't you?"

"Wine is drunk for pleasure, not for sustenance."

"Same with hot chocolate. Well. It's sustenance for the soul, maybe, but not for the body." He presents the insulated cup again, waggling it slightly. "C'mon. Stop being contrary and take it. It's a vital part of the experience."

Dream is being contrary, simply for the pleasure of the way Hob pushes back. He is accustomed to the deference he receives from others as is due his station, but he very much appreciates that Hob treats him no differently having learned who he is. He is both friend and lover first when he is with Hob, and he delights in the many small ways that he can prove to himself over and over again that Hob values him over his function.

But the chocolate does smell enticing, and the memory of how a hot drink warmed his body last time is compelling; he accepts the cup with no further argument.

"It's the common dry-mix stuff, not real hot chocolate, but it's got its charm. 'Specially on the go like this," Hob offers as Dream takes a sip, and he is correct. Dream had tasted what Hob had ordered for them in the back room of the White Horse in 1789; he has encountered enough dreams to know that this is a pale version of the concoction but all the same, it is pleasant enough in its own right. It is a component of the experience he has shared with Hob and is enriched by that association; Hob was correct in this as well.

The warmth suffusing throughout him is as delightful as he recalls.

~~~ "I am. Enjoying, these cold-weather human experiences, with you," he admits as they stroll toward home. He had quietly taken Hob's hand as they left the pond and Hob has made no effort to reclaim it, carrying his drink in the other and sipping from it occasionally. Dream is doing the same, and his admission comes forth with suprising ease.

Hob grins. "It's the pleasure of my sparkling company. I enhance every experience."

"Perhaps," Dream allows with a smile, and Hob's gleeful expression softens.

"I'm glad you're having a good time, love. Thanks for trusting me."

The words warm Dream as deeply as his next sip of chocolate. You are worthy of my trust, Hob Gadling, he thinks, but what he says is, "Of course."

"I've got a great idea for our next date," Hob says then, beaming brightly again. "I'm very excited about it, but I need to make sure—" He squeezes Dream's hand gently. "Would I be able to keep you two days? I mean, I know you don't sleep and you'd probably want to check in on your realm while I'm sleeping instead of just watching me snore but there's an overnight trip I'd really love to take you on, if you're amenable? If it works for you?"

"Watching you sleep would not be the dull experience you believe it to be," Dream says first, which leaves Hob flustered and tongue-tied long enough for him to gather the rest of his words. "I would. Delight, in keeping your company overnight, in spending. More than one day at a time, with you." Lucienne would gladly see to his realm for far longer an absence, he is certain, particularly if she is made aware of why he must be away—her quiet approval of first his friendship and then his romantic relationship with Hob have been a steady source of reassurance as it progresses.

"Fantastic! Alright. I'll get it booked for a couple weekends out." Hob grins, absolutely glowing with his pleasure, and Dream is deeply warmed by the knowledge that he is responsible for putting that happiness there.

~~~ They drive a good long while out of the city when the weekend comes, the heater in Hob's car keeping them warm enough without heavy jackets for the duration. Hob eventually pulls into what looks like a farm in the countryside, and when they exit the car Dream dons the long fur-lined coat that he had manifested at Hob's direction. His boots are tall and fur-lined as well, warm and comfortable; his hands are buried in a cozy fur muff and a warm fur-lined hat covers his head. Beneath it all he has once again borrowed Hob's jumper and scarf, with the brooch Hob had gifted him pinned on, and he deems himself adequately prepared for whatever Hob has planned.

It is a sleigh ride.

They are ushered to a not-quite-traditional one-horse open sleigh, the bed of it still built to accommodate two passengers but an extension in front for a separate driver, allowing for the passengers to simply enjoy the ride. Dream very much intends to do so.

"What other surprises do you have in store for me?" he asks Hob as they settle into the sleigh. The driver flicks his reins and they lurch smoothly into motion toward the open snow-covered field.

"Just a quiet winter getaway," Hob answers, sitting up straight and laying his arm over Dream's shoulders. "We've got an hour or so to ride, and then we'll get to a little cabin in the woods where we'll spend the night. Then we'll catch another ride back late tomorrow."

Dream slouches on the plushly-padded seat just enough to fit comfortably beneath Hob's arm, leans into him with a smile. "You spoil me, Hob Gadling," he declares, soft and sincere, and Hob's laughter drifts away behind them as the horse moves from a slow walk to a lively trot along the groomed trail.

The weak winter sun is making its descent across the watery-blue afternoon sky as they go; the breeze is sharp against Dream's face, but his body is warm. His hands in the thick fur muff are warm, as are his ears and his head beneath the warmly-furred hat. His eyes sting marginally and his nose and cheeks are chilled, which is easily remedied by tucking his face into the folds of the soft woolen scarf Hob had wound snugly about his neck. It blocks the mild wind, holds the heat of his breath quite pleasantly, and most importantly it carries Hob's scent still. Dream inhales deeply, smiling, and leans further into the comfortable weight of Hob's arm around him.

The sleigh ride is uneventful, and quite pleasant for it. It is easy to feel the romantic shape of the story about them, bedecked in such finery, snuggled close against Hob, the air crisp and lively as they move from field to forest on their journey to a cozy private hideaway. There are many stories such as this in the Library, and Dream is unspeakably pleased that Hob would choose this sort of tale to spin anew with him. There will be lovemaking when they reach their destination, Dream is certain of it.

The thought warms him in more ways than one.

~~~ "Here we are. Proper hot chocolate, freshly made," Hob announces, turning from the stove in the cabin's kitchen with two steaming mugs in hand, carefully making his way to the main room. The fireplace is crackling cheerfully, bleeding wonderful heat into the space around it. Evening is falling outside and with it, new snow; Dream, cozy in Hob's borrowed jumper, is only too happy to accept Hob's offering.

The warmth is again exquisite, and the flavor is indeed far richer and creamier than what they had consumed after ice skating. Dream sips at it with relish and Hob settles on the couch beside him, smiling. "A whole night with the Dreamlord all to myself," he says, eyes twinkling. "What sort of cosmic favors does one normally have to offer to lay claim to your attention this way?"

"Great boons of significant value," Dream replies loftily, in keeping with Hob's teasing tone, but he is thinking of former lovers and their laments of his inconstant attention, and how Hob is always welcoming and delighted to see him whether it has been a week or several months. How Hob is considerate and respectful of his duty even when he is irreverent to Dream himself, how he had assumed that this overnight trip might easily involve Dream slipping away to attend to his duties while he himself slept. How happy he had been that Dream agreed to his request.

"And yet you give it to me just for the asking," Hob says then, soft and wondering and utterly devoid of teasing. "I really am the luckiest bloke."

Dream would like to say something equally heartfelt and besotted, but he is overfull of affection, of soft adoration, and his words will not make themselves known. Instead, he sets his mug on the coffee table, unfolds himself from his corner of the couch, lets himself flow into the tidal pull of Hob Gadling until his arms are around Hob's neck and their lips have met.

Hob makes the softest, sweetest sound, sets his drink aside, settles his hands on Dream's hips up underneath the warm bulk of his borrowed jumper. Dream pulls back the slightest distance, brushes his nose along Hob's, tilts his head and takes Hob's mouth again, sweet and cocoa-warm. He brings a hand to cradle the corner of Hob's jaw, licks softly between Hob's lips, kisses him with all of the words that stir silently inside him. Hob wraps him close, touches him with gentle reverence, kisses back with the same quiet intensity; and as they kiss, and kiss, and kiss, the warmth between them blossoms slowly and steadily into a familiar and welcome heat.

Dream wants, with intensity, ensconced in Hob's lap and secure in Hob's arms around him; Hob so easily, so often inspires him to such wanting and it would be maddening if he did not know that Hob will always and eagerly provide.

"Got an idea," Hob gasps presently, breathless, when Dream's building tension has thoroughly infused his touches and his kisses have grown fevered and urgent. Hob extricates himself gently from Dream's embrace, slides to his knees on the rug before Dream.

The heat in Dream's core curls sharply and he turns, unfolds so that his thighs bracket Hob's shoulders. "I do not believe the proprietors of this cabin intend for sexual activities to take place on the couch."

Hob laughs, bright and beautiful. "You started it, love."

This…is not untrue. "Perhaps."

"Well, I'll just have to be careful not to spill anything, won't I." Hob winks and pulls Dream's hips forward and Dream lies back, willing and wanting as Hob opens his trousers, nuzzles him through his underwear. Hob sits back and works Dream free, then reaches for his cocoa on the coffee table behind him and takes a sip.

And then he takes Dream into his mouth and Dream jerks at the sheer heat of it, makes a stifled wanton sound as Hob's tongue strokes heavy against him within the cocoon of his mouth. It is not the simple human-sex-warm that he is accustomed to; it is hot with the drink Hob has just consumed and the difference is striking.

"Good?" Hob asks, pulling off, and Dream shivers, delighted, aflame with his wanting.

"Yes. Hob—"

Hob takes another sip from his mug; Dream holds his gaze as he swallows and when Hob's mouth closes around him again after, Hob's eyes steady on his as the heat sinks in, Dream cannot help the whimper that escapes him.

Hob smiles around him and Dream is lost. The next few moments pass in a haze of pleasure, the ebb and flow of Hob's heated mouth, Dream combing trembling fingers through Hob's hair as he goes back down after every drink, the renewed heat bringing Dream closer and closer to his peak. He makes no effort to restrain his voice; Hob has told him repeatedly that he loves to hear Dream's pleasure, loves the affirmation that he is 'doing something right down there'. So he pants and moans, clinging loosely to Hob's head as Hob's heated mouth and clever tongue bring him up to the precipice, cries out as Hob tips him over the edge.

Hob spills nothing, true to his word; when the tension falls out of Dream Hob sits back and swallows, chases it down with the last of his hot chocolate. He then tucks Dream back into his clothing while Dream lies boneless and drifting, awash in the warmth of his satiation and the warmth of Hob's affections and the warmth of the fireplace and he is. Warm. And content.

Hob touches his face, gently, and Dream returns to himself, blinks into the bright warmth of Hob's smile.

"Still with me, duck?"

Dream manages a very loose, very satisfied smile of his own. "Perhaps."

"I will take that as a compliment," Hob grins, and levers himself up onto the sofa, settling into the corner. He reaches an arm toward Dream. "C'mere."

He is beckoning Dream into his embrace, to lie against him, which. Is not the next step Dream had expected.

"Do you not wish—?"

"Later," Hob assures him, smile soft, eyes gleaming warmly in the firelight. "Right now, you're so soft, so relaxed—I just want to cuddle you, maybe read to you for a bit, let you tell me the stories behind the stories and such. And let you finish your chocolate, of course."

And so Dream settles himself between Hob's legs as Hob stretches them the length of the couch, leans into the solid warmth of Hob's body behind him, cradles the mug that Hob passes him in both hands while Hob reaches for the book on the coffee table. It is a collection of poetry and folktales from around the world, and Dream offers anecdotes from his own memories of Aesop, of Hans Christian Andersen, of Bharavi in between Hob's readings. Once he has finished his drink, he snuggles in closer, turns a little, tucks his head under Hob's chin and his arm around Hob's waist. Hob wraps an arm around him in turn, drops a kiss to his hairline, continues reading, and Dream allows himself to simply…drift. The warmth of Hob's embrace, the gentle lull of Hob's voice in Hob's chest beneath his ear, the silence of the falling snow out the window—it is all of it so quietly serene, so comfortable, and Dream cannot recall when last he felt such tranquillity.

~~~ When the book has long been put aside and the fire has burned low, and he has lain in the comfort of Hob's arms for long enough that sleep has crept over Hob some time ago, Dream stirs, and Hob wakes.

"Duck? 'M sorry, didn't mean to fall asleep—"

"I do not object."

Hob chuckles. "Naturally the King of Dreams does not object to a little nap."

Dream feels himself smiling and does not resist it. "It is no hardship to lie with you while you sleep, Hob, but your back will not thank you if we spend the whole of the night thus."

"Right you are." Hob shifts beneath him and turns; to Dream's surprise, Hob pulls him closer, wraps an arm behind him and hooks the other beneath Dream's legs before he rises, lifting Dream in bridal fashion as he stands. Dream clings around his neck obligingly, amused and warmly delighted.

"Such gallantry, Hob Gadling," he breathes, as Hob moves toward the staircase.

"Always did wanna carry you to bed properly," Hob grins, and Dream absolutely must kiss him without a second's delay.

He leaves off so that Hob may climb the stairs safely to the loft, where the bed stands laden with a thick fluffy duvet over a velvety-soft blanket and flannel sheets, a sumptuous promise of comfort and warmth. Hob sets him down, undresses them both, ushers Dream beneath the covers and snuggles in after him.

The cabin is cooling down with the fire banked, but that only makes the cozy layers of the bedding and the heat they make beneath them all the more precious. Hob has him slow and languid, ardent and tender and vulnerable in this cocoon of warmth and closeness; Dream holds to him steadfastly, clings fiercely about his shoulders, lies back and lets Hob love him.

For he knows: that is what this is. There is no doubting Hob's affections for him, nor how deeply they run. The way that Hob moves atop and within him, kissing with relentless adoration all the while, stroking reverent fingers through his hair and whispering heartfelt vows and endearments against his lips—it warms Dream through, leaves him grateful and marveling. Hob, who time and again chooses life and living, has chosen him, despite all forewarning that choosing Dream was choosing poorly. Hob loves him, wants him, wishes for his company and his happiness and goes to whatever lengths are needed to ensure both.

Hob, who clings to Dream in his sleep now, after, head pillowed on the dubious cushion of Dream's chest, smile resting soft on his lips, arms comfortably close about Dream's waist and hip. Hob, who waited faithfully when Dream missed their meeting, ensured Dream could still find him when the White Horse closed, welcomed his return without judgment or recrimination of any kind; Hob, who treasures him, warms him, looks to his well-being and wishes to share favorite experiences with him.

Hob, who seeks no power, no boon, has never asked more of him than his company when his duty allows it.

Dream looks carefully at the glowing warmth in his own approximation of a heart, in the whole of his being; tentatively, he names it for what he knows it to be, and trusts that calamity will not follow. He cradles Hob's sleeping form close, strokes through Hob's hair again and again, traces the shape of his smile with gentle fingertips.

Warm, content, he holds Hob and he drifts in his happiness.

~~~ The morning comes slow and lazy, and they are both very cozy in the bed, but eventually Hob must get up to relieve his bladder. Then, with the chill of the cabin made apparent, he starts and stokes the fire before returning upstairs and diving back beneath the covers with Dream. The rest of the morning is decidedly less lazy and quite immensely satisfying, and by the time they leave the bed the cabin is comfortably warmed.

"Shower with me," Hob offers, and Dream agrees instead of simply willing himself clean. The cascading warm water, the simple pleasure of soaping Hob's body and being lathered up in turn, the intimacy of washing Hob's hair, of Hob's fingertips then massaging his scalp and Hob's hands gently tilting his head back into the spray to rinse, these all constitute yet another wonderfully human experience that he can fully appreciate, because Hob wishes to share it.

Hob cooks them brunch once they're dried and somewhat dressed, scrambling eggs and toasting bread in only a pair of low-slung joggers with a short towel draped behind his neck to manage the ends of his damp hair; Dream watches him work, smiling, cozy in Hob's jumper and a pair of fluffy grey socks with his bare legs tucked beneath him on the barstool at the kitchen peninsula.

"Here we are," Hob says, plating him a beautiful omelette laden with spices, peppers, and roasted tomatoes alongside a slice of buttered toast slathered with strawberry jam, and Dream accepts it with equanimity. He does not need to eat in the waking world, it provides no sustenance, but the ritual of sharing meals with Hob is entirely pleasant. Hob goes to great effort to prepare things that Dream will enjoy, and Dream. Is not inclined to see those efforts wasted.

The food is good. Hob's food is always good, and especially when infused with his warmth and love, as this is. Dream savors the omelette, lingers over the sweetness of the toast—Hob has spread it with 'far too much jam' just as Dream prefers—and smiles his pleasure at Hob, who beams back with his mouth full, which is far more endearing than it should be.

~~~ "I'm so glad you let me talk you into feeling the cold," Hob says later, once they've cleared the kitchen and resettled on the sofa. Dream is in Hob's lap, hands stroking through the hair on Hob's chest, bare thighs splayed to either side of his hips. He is kissing up the side of Hob's neck, very much in pursuit of a particular goal; he forewent trousers for a reason, after all. But Hob is still talking. "Gave me a great excuse to ask you here, after all, and I'm very much enjoying all this cozy cabin sex."

Dream draws back and looks at him, amusement plainly evident in his tone. "Hob Gadling. Has all of this, your insistence on sharing cold weather experiences, been merely an elaborate ploy to convince me to come away to the woods with you for 'cozy cabin sex'?"

"Perhaps ," Hob replies, with a ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows, and then he laughs. "No, love, everything we've done has been for its own sake. Including this mini holiday. I'm…" He trails off, tilts his head and tugs briefly at his earlobe. "I'm really glad you agreed, to all of it. I like doing fun things with you—I like spending time with you, full stop, whatever we're doing. But it means a lot that you've gone along with my plans and suggestions and that you've had a good time too." He grins, bright and beautiful. "The Dreamlord, Prince of Stories, King of all Dreams and Nightmares and Entirety of the Human Subconscious lets me take him on dates. Ordinary mundane cozy little human winter dates, and he even enjoys them. I am truly the luckiest bloke in existence."

His pure simple authentic joy is infectious; it seeps into Dream's body and settles warm around his heart, leaves him aglow in happiness, a soft smile on his face as he leans down into Hob to kiss him again.

He loves this man, fiercely, completely. It is he who is the lucky one.

~~~ The morning passes into afternoon and stretches closer to evening before they deign to part from one another, and then only because their transportation will be arriving soon. They dress, pack, tidy up, and Dream employs a measure of power to ensure the cabin is presentable (and sanitary) for the crew who will be coming in to clean and prepare it for the next guests.

The sleigh arrives as scheduled and Dream shrinks his form slightly as he climbs into it, the better to fit beneath Hob's arm. He settles comfortably in the warmth of his hat and his coat and Hob's scarf, the warmth of Hob's embrace, and Hob cuddles him close, tips his hat up enough to drop a kiss to his forehead and tugs it back down as the driver sets out.

I know what it is, to love Hob Gadling, Dream thinks as they go, but does not say. He is brave enough to accept the truth of it, but not yet brave enough to speak it aloud. He knows, on some level, that keeping it unspoken does not change the fact of its existence, but there is power in words all the same. Perhaps it makes no difference; Hob is technically no longer mortal, their love has existed for some time whether Dream has acknowledged it or not and no disaster has yet befallen them or humanity.

Still. Dream is nothing, if not cautious.

He moves just enough to glance up to Hob's face, and finds Hob gazing down at him with love shining plain in his kind depthless eyes; he smiles, knowing full well the same shows clear in his own face, and settles, snuggles back into Hob's shoulder to enjoy the remainder of their ride back.

The air is crisp, cold, invigorating, in a way that can only be appreciated when one has bundled up properly against it. Hob has ensured that he is, and so Dream can enjoy it.

He is. Content, warm in his love for Hob, warm in Hob's love for him.

Perhaps, one day, one of them will say it.

Then again, perhaps there is no need.

=== Started: 12/8/23 Drafted: 1/5/24 Posted: 1/8/24

Title taken from I Love the Winter Weather/I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm by Tony Bennett, which dovetailed too perfectly with the themes that developed in the writing for me not to use it

I love the winter weather So the two of us can get together There's nothing sweeter, finer When it's nice and cold I can hold my baby closer to me And collect the kisses that are due me I love the winter weather Because I've got my love to keep me warm

#Dreamling #Dream of the Endless #Hob Gadling #Sandman #Dreamling Nation Winter Exchange 2023 #TJs Fics

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