#also something something marble pedestals

[quatregats]

They are toxic yuri. To me

[skunkes]

[lucid-loves]

First Light ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 1

Pairing: bodyguard!Ghost x princess!reader (fem!reader)

Word Count: 4.5k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, verbal abuse by parents, physical abuse by parents, psychological abuse by parents, opposites attract, forbidden love, slow burn, fluff, attraction and sexual tension, reader POV and ghost POV, minors DNI, eventual smut, virgin reader

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: After receiving death threats from a mysterious terrorist organization, your royal parents make a decision to reach out to the United States for help. Specifically, they want the US to send a bodyguard to protect their precious princess. When the 141 is called upon to investigate, Ghost is the one assigned to protect you. With your lack of experiences outside of your royal life and his experience with nothing but deadly, worldly affairs, opposites attract.

Chapter Synopsis: Ghost travels to the small country of Stuoca to meet the person assigned to guard for the next month. When you lay your eyes on him, you can’t help but feel scared, yet also curious. He feels the same when encountering such a precious, fragile thing like you.

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7

The porcelain teacup felt warm in your hands, holding your favorite blend of tea flavored to your preference. The grandfather clock in the room ticked by, filling the silence. While you normally liked to play some music to fill the space with sound, your parents told you that you must be quiet. That you had to sit pretty and be patient until you were allowed to do so. 

You stared into your cup, slowly losing your appetite for teatime as the pit in your stomach grew bigger. You felt like there was something wrong, but you couldn’t figure out what it was. Normally, your parents were eager to show you off to any guest that was coming to the palace. Right now, it is different. You were locked away in one of the many palace studies. There was your butler with you who watched your worries grow. There were a couple of guards outside the closed doors, stopping anyone from entering unless the king or queen allowed it. 

Looking out the arched window and overlooking the lush palace garden, you wished you could enjoy your teatime outside like you normally did. Feeling the fresh air, hearing the birds chirp in the distance, enjoying the subtle aroma of flowers flowing with the wind. It was really the only time you were allowed to be outside. 

Even though you were a grown woman, your parents have always seen you as their little princess.

While you sat silently in the study, the king and queen of Stuoca was meeting the man that would guard you with his life. It was jarring being in a place like this. Everything from the floor to the ceiling was crafted with exquisite, polished stone. Anything made of wood was a rich cherry. On marble pedestals along the halls held works of art behind glass. Jewelry, crowns, busts. Golden chandeliers with crystals reflecting the light hung from the ceilings that were painted with angels. 

Everything in the palace was worth billions upon billions of dollars. Standing in the middle of it all was Ghost, a man that once was just scraping by in his younger days. He still stood out like a sore thumb among it all. The skull balaclava secured over his head, tattoos revealed on his forearm, the black t-shirt that clung tight to his muscles. It was like death himself walked the bright palace halls. 

“Pardon me, Lieutenant Ghost, but you don’t have to wear that mask here, do you?” The queen, your mother, nervously addressed from her red velvet seat. The mask was making her scared. That was how people normally reacted when they saw him for the first time.

“Yes I do, your majesty.” He curtly responded, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. Ghost was just as uncomfortable as your parents were. When he heard that he was being deployed to guard a princess, he laughed, thinking it was a joke. But now, here he was being served tea and cookies with the king and queen of Stuoca. As much as being on base was a pain in the ass at times, he missed it. 

The king cleared his throat before taking another sip of tea from his teacup. When they reached out to the United States for a bodyguard, they weren’t expecting someone so. . . rough to be sent out. But, if this was the right man for the job, then so be it. As long as his princess was safe. “Thank you for traveling so far away from home in order to help us with our problem. Being a country so small, we weren’t even sure if your country would even bat an eye at us.”

Ghost shifted on the balls of his feet, growing more uncomfortable with the sudden gratitude. He just wanted to start the job already. The sooner he starts, the sooner he can end it. “You said that you’ve received threats. Anything else happened while I was busy traveling here?”

With a snap of the king’s fingers, a maid came over and presented an opened envelope. Ghost quirked a brow under his mask as he took it. Opening it revealed the original letter that was reported to Laswell. The one that he’s already seen with his 141 team. Handwritten, black ink, very articulated. The letter detailed how the royal family would burn down along with their palace. That the princess will be kidnapped and tortured if they didn’t get what they wanted, which was power to control the country. 

Ghost sighed, feeling like he got the short end of the stick on this mission. The entire 141 was working on this case. However, Ghost was the one stuck with babysitting duty while the rest of the guys got to experience all of the action. They were off investigating while he was sitting on a velvet couch in the grandest office he has ever seen. 

“That’s all we have for now to physically show you. The only other concern is the graffiti that has been popping up around the city.” The king explained calmly as a different maid brought over a manilla folder full of pictures. Pictures depicted a graffiti crow on various different buildings. They weren’t murals, but the symbols were prominent enough to be noticed. 

“A crow is a symbol of misfortune and death. A bad omen, wouldn’t you agree?” The queen spoke up, taking a slow sip of her tea as she tried to read the lieutenant’s reaction. It was impossible to do so with his mask. 

“Where is the princess right now?” He inquired. It seemed odd that you didn’t come in with your parents. He figured that they would want you right by their side at all times if they were really concerned about the threats. 

The king and queen stood as if on a cue. The king gestured for Ghost to do the same. “Our daughter is in one of the studies waiting to meet you. For her sake, please refrain from bringing up the letter and graffiti. We don’t want to startle her more than what has already been done.”

Ghost gave a curt nod before following your parents to the study where you stayed. The way they spoke about you, you seemed more like a caged bird rather than their beloved daughter. It unsettled the lieutenant, but perhaps it was just the consequence of formality. They wouldn’t have reached out to the United States for help if they didn’t care after all.

Once they approached the door, the guards saluted and opened it up. Beyond the doors was the most ornate office Ghost has ever seen. Once his eyes settled on you, you were the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. 

Every hair on your head was in place with the help of maids. There were no wrinkles in your dress and no stains in sight. Your makeup was light and only flattered your features. The gems on your necklace complimented your bright eyes. Ghost was almost at a loss for words. When you stood up and curtsied to greet them, he could feel his heart beat against his ribs.

“Good evening.” You simply greeted, your tone polite as ever as a princess should be. 

“Sweetheart, this is going to be your personal bodyguard from now on. He’s going to keep you safe, no matter where you go. Isn’t that wonderful?” Your mother gave a sickly sweet smile, her efforts to meet the status quo seeming a little more forced as she interacted with you.

You definitely knew that something was wrong now. You may have been a confined princess, but you weren’t stupid. However, you decided to refrain from asking what the trouble was. It wasn’t appropriate. Not with your parents watching you.

For now, you focused on the news that you were now going to have a bodyguard. Your eyes shifted towards the large man. Muscles clearly defined under his shirt, posture straight and strong, mask hiding his identity. Compared to him, you were much smaller and much weaker. It intimidated you a bit. It made you hesitant to accept him. However, there were expectations to meet, regardless of how you truly felt.

“Princess Y/n. It is a pleasure to meet you.” You softly spoke as you gave another sweet curtsy towards him. 

He quirked a brow. You were taking this awfully well. A part of him expected some more push-back. He honestly expected you to be a spoiled brat. Yet, here you were, taking everything in stride for now. You knew how to compose yourself better than he expected. “Lieutenant Ghost. I’ll be keeping you safe. For me to do that, there’s going to be some changes.”

You looked to your parents, looking for the explanation for this change. There was not even a bat of the eye as they faked their smiles. “You will still complete your studies as a princess should. Attend the parties as needed to keep up appearances as well.”

Ghost shook his head, authority taking over his baritone voice. “Negative. The princess will not be attending any more parties. Doing so could risk her safety.”

Something was definitely wrong. Your eyes widened at the news. A part of you, though, was celebrating. No more parties? Would your parents really accept this? The sudden shock on their faces morphed into strained smiles, telling you that they weren’t going to accept this so easily. The king cleared his throat. “Lieutenant, it is very important for the princess to still make appearances. It is essential for her.”

Ghost looked at you all of a sudden, wondering how you felt about this change compared to your parents’ obvious protest. You tried to remain unreadable, not wanting to set either party off with your personal opinion. If you had the choice, though, you would sacrifice the parties. They were more for your parents than they were for you anyway.

Ghost sighed in slight frustration. Normally, he was excellent at reading people. He did it all the time with new recruits, enemies, and his team. Their poker faces were nothing compared to yours. “One party if absolutely necessary. No longer than an hour. Just to keep up appearances.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back your disappointment. Well, at least you weren’t expected to be present during the entirety of your parents’ showing off. “Understood, Lieutenant Ghost.”

At least your parents seemed happier with the compromise. Your mother grinned brightly. “Wonderful! Give him the princess’s schedule!”

Your butler hurried over and gave Ghost your schedule. He nearly stumbled back with how packed it was. Piano lessons, dance lessons, tea times, dress fittings, and independent study went on and on for pages and pages. Did you have any time to yourself besides sleep?

“The show must go on! If you have any questions or procedures to discuss, don’t hesitate to reach out to us. We hope that you two get along well.” The queen concluded, eager to leave the room so that she could go on with her own daily life. The king followed close behind as they left the room, leaving you and your bodyguard to get to know each other.

You didn’t mind being civil, but you doubted that he would try to get to know you. He simply didn’t seem like the type to stray away from his responsibilities for anything. For now, you silently went back to your seat to finish up tea time. Ghost stood awkwardly for a moment before finding his own place to settle. Leaning against the stone wall, he examined you further.

The way you held your teacup was gentle. Your dress draped against your legs like a smooth waterfall. The way you looked out the window was melancholic. After a few minutes, you spoke up, curiosity getting the better of you. “Why are you my new bodyguard, Lieutenant Ghost?”

Ghost didn’t expect your question. He hardly even knew what you meant when you asked it. Still, he kept his cool as he dug further. It wasn’t like there was any malice in your tone. In fact, your tone was nothing but innocent. “What do you mean? Are you asking me why I took the job?”

You shook your head, staring into your teacup once again as you got a little shy. Lieutenant Ghost wouldn’t report your conversations to your parents, would he? But, you had to know. “Is my life in serious danger?”

Behind the mask, Ghost’s mouth was partially opened with shock. His body grew tense as he realized what was really going on. “They haven’t told you, have they?”

“My parents can be. . . protective. Their priority to maintain normalcy can cause them to make certain judgments in regards to my life.” You subtly worded, fearing that the guards outside were listening to what you were saying. Hopefully, Ghost would understand what you meant.

Thankfully, he did. Now more than before, you really did seem like a caged bird. You deserve the truth. “Your parents received a threatening letter from a terrorist organization. They seem to be after your life in order to manipulate your parents. I serve under Task Force 141 that specializes in missions like this. The rest of my team is investigating the organization while I am to protect you personally.”

Your grip around your teacup tightened slightly as you learned the truth. It seemed that your intuition was correct. This was a serious problem. You swallowed your new fears down hard before proceeding as normal. “Thank you for your honesty, Lieutenant.”

Ghost sympathized with you as he finally saw a shred of how you really felt about this entire situation. His perception of who he was protecting was completely wrong. You were no brat or clueless royalty with too much time and money on your precious princess hands. You were sharp. You were polite. You were obedient. It made him want to know the real you.

He knew that he shouldn’t get closer than what was necessary. Yet, the anxious look in your beautiful eyes as you stared out the window made him want to provide you with some comfort. Some way to break the ice while also doing his job. He opted for a simple conversation about your daily schedule. “What’s independent study for you?”

“It’s my time to study what I wish within reason. Any subject that I may find interesting as long as it is appropriate for a princess.” You delicately explained, putting everything as nice as possible.

All Ghost heard was that you were restricted from real knowledge. However, it wasn’t his place to make a comment on it. It didn’t matter if he didn’t find it fair. You were a princess and you obviously took your responsibilities, fair or not, seriously. He gave a simple hum in acknowledgment for the time being on that matter. “What are you studying?”

You looked at Ghost curiously, wondering how much of this was just workplace conversation and how much of this was genuine attempts at knowing you. The way Ghost looked at you with such resolute, cold eyes made you shiver. Something told you that this was his usual look. “I’m studying many things at the moment that would be proper for me to know.”

It seemed like subtle and vague answers were the only things he was going to get out of you, but he already picked up on the fact that you didn’t do this to be cold towards him. The tone you carried was careful. Gentle. You didn’t want to say anything that could get you in trouble. Simon knew what that was like.

The conversation was dropped for the time being. It seemed like your physical being wasn’t the only thing he had to protect. Your social reputation was at stake as well. Respecting that, he focused back on guarding you. Not without noticing every little thing about you though.

You stole glances at him every so often as well as you sipped your tea. The more you looked at him, the more he intrigued you. You’ve never had a guard that had his build. You’ve never even seen someone with tattoos in person before. He stood out against the pristine white around the palace. A shadow in the light. You were curious about what he looked like under the mask.

~

The rest of the night proceeded as normal save for your new shadow. You were ushered by your butler to your routine lessons, Ghost always close behind. He stayed silent throughout it all, but observant. You did feel like he was watching your every move. While you were used to being heavily monitored, having Ghost be the one observing you made you more nervous than normal. Music lessons, dance lessons, and studying didn’t go as smoothly as you made more mistakes under the pressure. For some reason, you wanted to impress him like you were one of his newest soldiers. 

Ghost thought nothing of it as you did what you had to do. In reality, he found your abilities to be quite impressive, mistakes or not. He did chalk it up to him being an intimidating presence. Despite it, he could tell that you were skilled. 

When bedtime rolled around, he followed into your room. A grand room with a king, white canopy bed, cherry-wood antique furniture, and large, arched windows leading to a balcony. The windows were the second problem that Ghost needed to address if he wanted to keep you safe. “You can’t sleep in here. It would be too easy to-”

Meeting your eyes made him pause. You waited patiently for him to finish as he was going to say, prepared to take the steps necessary to ensure that the next change would be as smooth as possible. Looking at you, though, Ghost saw a pretty woman that he needed to be more gentle towards. Less explicit in language. You were already afraid for your life. He didn’t want to make that anxiety worse for you.

“Is there another room in the palace that has less open windows?” He asked cautiously, minding his words this time. 

You appreciated his careful consideration, feeling more and more safe with him as he made decisions to protect you. “I believe there is. I can sleep there tonight.”

He followed you to another room in the palace that was away from any windows. He nearly sighed in relief as the new bedroom was windowless, smaller, and much more comfortable to be in. The bed was still massive and the antique furniture was polished, but the warmer palette of the decor made the room feel less like a museum display. 

You felt better too as you looked around the cozy room. The windows in your usual bedroom just reminded you of what you couldn’t have. Though, your anxiety grew as you realized that Ghost was still within the room. Your cheeks grew a subtle pink as you chose your words with precision. “I would like to get ready for bed. Is it necessary for you to be here while I do?”

“Well. . .” Ghost thought carefully, trying to make the best decision here. After a few seconds, he determined that you needed your privacy. He was already invading it enough by being your personal bodyguard. With an accepting, silent nod, he stepped out of the room while you changed into pajamas. A few maid staff passed by, gawking at the lieutenant. A glare was enough to have them scurry on their way.

While you changed, you thought about Ghost. About his real personality, his job, his friends. What kind of work does he normally do? Has he ever killed someone? It certainly seemed like he’s gotten into his fair share of fights from the scars you have seen on his arms. Was he dreading this job? At times, you thought that you could see him get antsy while waiting for you. You probably wouldn’t like waiting on a princess either if you were in his shoes. 

Once you were changed into your silky pajamas, you knocked on the door. “Lieutenant? I’m all dressed. You could come in now.”

Swiftly, he came in. For a second, he admired the way you looked in your pajamas. You looked so much more comfortable. The way you were letting down your hair in front of the vanity had him gulp too. “I won’t be watching you sleep all night. Just until you fall asleep, and then I’ll wait outside the door.”

“What about your sleep?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. The way his arms were crossed over his broad chest made you shrink within yourself a bit. 

“I’m used to not sleeping. I don’t usually sleep well either. Don’t worry about me, princess.” He responded bluntly, putting some more personal distance between the two of you. He would be lying if your concern over his own time didn’t make him melt a little though. 

“I see. My apologies, but I am unsure that I will be able to fall asleep quickly tonight. You might be waiting for a while.” You honestly admitted, feeling the anxious pit in your stomach begin to swallow you like a blackhole. You already felt enough like a burden to the maids and butlers with how strictly your parents had them wait on you. 

Ghost shook his head, noticing how lightly you scrunch your brows in concern. How you nervously bit a tiny part of your bottom lip. Subtle behaviors that no one would notice if they weren’t truly paying attention. You were so different from what he was expecting when he was first told that he would be guarding a princess. “It’s fine. This is my job.”

You turned away from your reflection in the mirror to look at Ghost. Your heart skipped a beat as you noticed how blue his eyes were. Such a deep, oceanic blue that held so many secrets. He stared right back at you, noticing how your worries couldn’t be quelled with just two simple sentences. Finally, he was able to read you.

“If it will help, you can talk to me until you fall asleep. Anything you want. I promise that I won’t tell the king and queen.” He offered, taking a seat on the Victorian-styled couch that was at the foot of the bed. 

His offer came as a complete surprise to you. You didn’t expect him to be so kind. You have learned long ago that there was a difference between being civil and genuinely kind. Ghost was being nice, which felt like a rarity given his outward personality. Quickly, you finished getting ready for bed. Once you were cozy underneath the cotton covers, Ghost turned off the main light. The small lamp on your nightstand stayed on, allowing a comfortable dim to illuminate the otherwise dark room.

An awkward silence fell between the two of you as you tried to think about what to talk about. There was still a fear in you that he would tell your parents, but Ghost didn’t seem like the type to break his promises. Besides that, you never really talked about yourself before. No one has ever been interested in what you liked and disliked. Not that you had a lot of experiences with how your parents kept you in the palace and filtered what you could learn. However, that wasn’t to say that you were curious enough to find a way to learn anyways. At the very least, you had plenty of questions about the outside. 

“For my independent study, I am focusing on classicism art. At least. . . that is what my parents think. I. . . I have been studying other things in secret. My handmaiden sneaks new books into the library for me sometimes if she can.” You confessed, feeling a weight of your chest as you admitted your truth. You didn’t like lying and sneaking around in secret. While you loved new knowledge, you still carried that weight with you.

Ghost listened carefully to your confession. His back was turned towards you, a comfortable thing for you since you weren’t keen on the idea of someone watching you fall asleep. It was enough for him to just sit at the foot of your bed. 

“What new books have you read?” He inquired, wondering what sorts of books a princess could possibly want to read in secret. 

You took a deep breath, feeling your cheeks flush as you admitted more of your secrets. Without interruption, he let you speak. He listened to your voice that lowered into a pleasant whisper when you told him about all the books you were reading and wanted to read. A couple of times, he couldn’t help but crack a smirk at some of your opinions that were refreshingly assertive. 

It didn’t take long for him to hear you start dozing. It started with quieter words morphing into sweet slurs. As soon as he heard your steady, deep breaths, he silently got up and left the room. Standing guard in front of the door, he contacted his team by phone to give an update. 

“Lieutenant, how is she?” Captain Price cut to the chase, his voice low as he investigated matters on his side.

“She’s. . .” Ghost began before trailing off. He had to think about the right words to use. 

“She's a spoiled rotten princess?” Another voice came through. The chuckle was no doubt Soap.

“Honestly, no. She’s a princess, but she’s anything but rotten.” He finally admitted, keeping his voice quiet since the halls seemed to echo. 

There was another laugh before the captain cleared his throat, regaining authority. “I’m glad that she is much more pleasant to deal with than what was expected. Just be careful not to get too personal. I know you will be around each other a lot, but the mission is our priority.”

“Of course, Captain.” Ghost promised, wondering if this particular promise would be easy to keep or not. 

[colourstreakgryffin]

Hello Hello!! I saw that you're taking requests? If it isn't too much trouble could I request something for a platonic Alastor x Tailor!Reader? Maybe being besties or gossip buddies? (Since I made an OC design based on ideas)

Oooh! I like this idea and to be honest, it reminds me of something I’ve been thinking about when it comes to Al; I made that one post of KNY’s Iguro Obanai with a Fluttershy! Reader and I have the extreme urge to see Alastor with a Rarity! Reader— but anyway. Let’s try this out

Alastor- Mischievous Rumours

“That’s when Charlie said ‘oh fuck you, Alastor. All you do is stand there, smiling while you watch us struggle and fail’. She’s such a fool for thinking I care for her and her friend’s helpless little struggles. Isn’t that delusional mindset so hilarious, my dear?” Alastor, the Radio Demon, laughs upbeat and eccentric with the radio effect deeply laced through his thick transatlantic accent voice chimes out as the grip on his signature staff-like microphone-cane seems to loosen. Standing completely still and on a nice marble pedestal, the deer Overlord spoke both mockingly and casually to the sweet kind tailor sinner, Leitora. A wonderful talented soul with the needle and thread, when it comes to tailoring coats like his own

“It definitely is, Al” You chime out softly and a bit distracted, hands wondering around the long torn rims of his red pinstriped coat. Only wondering in order to find the out of place tear that Alastor pointed out upon visiting your tailor shop. Some sinner named ‘Sir Pentinous’ had managed to tear off a bit of Alastor’s classic coat and as his most trusted tailor, it’s your job to take care of this little rip and tear within Alastor’s patience

The Radio Demon will not deny… he likes being up on this pedestal and his coat being touched, it makes him feel on top of Hell

“I know, darling. I find it so amusing that she believes I believe in her” This is a common thing Alastor did whenever he came to visit you for a hangout or when he needed you to repair his clothing. He loved to throw shade and shit at the Hotel staff and clients he surrounds himself. He loves to berate Husk for being incompetent, he loves to badly mock Angel Dust for flirting with him, he loves to mock and ridicule Vaggie, and he especially enjoys making fun of Charlie’s ‘delusional’ dream of redeeming sinners. You didn’t mind it, you find Alastor a funny man

“You’ll never believe in redemption, hey?” You also don’t mind snarking and teasing Alastor. He lets it slide with a natural toothy-less smile. His blood red eyes following the way you traverse over to the silver rack of many neatly organised rolled-up fabric bundles to pick out a perfectly shaded and patterned piece of crimson red fabric to begin sewing onto the obvious edge rip on the left side of his coat’s hems

This’ll be over in a few seconds but that doesn’t mean you won’t spend a whole twenty minutes with Alastor, spreading gossip around with him about sinners in your opposite ends. He’ll tell you about Overlords, you’ll tell him about the common Sinners. You like Alastor as a friend for a number of reasons, one of the main reasons being the mere fact you two can chat and gossip around, so fluently and naturally

“Believing in redemption is like believing a heart can beat without blood, darling. It’s just not possible. It’s foolish, mindless, sheltered. All adjectives to explain Charlie as a whole” Alastor is quite brutal with this and you can actually just sense the sourness pouring out of his voice and darker eyes as he speaks once more, his stance still well-mannered and classy but his gripping hand growing firmer, as if bottling up some type of anger deep within his soul. Deciding to not poke the sleeping deer any further, you effectively use your claws to trim off the rest of the string that tied the new fabric chunk onto his coat’s hems and repaired the tear to complete perfection

“Yes, Al. I understand, you are right in that sense”

Like a light switch upon hearing you agree, Alastor is instantly back to smiling more soft and caring with zero fangs visible than the very tense, passive-aggressive wide grin he had just painted on his face. Stepping down, rather gracefully, from the flat round multilayered pedestal, the Radio Demon readjusts his signature bowtie with a flick of his wrist. Sharp long red-tipped black clawed fingers dancing over his snazzy accessorises before facing you once more

He knows that new look of yours very well. A look of kindness and appreciation to see him once more but also urgency and duty. You’re busy and need him to leave but don’t want to say a word to avoid disappointing him

No, he didn’t like that whatsoever and he plans to be just a little bit selfish with one of his most favourites in Hell. He’ll have to take you away from your afterlife-stealing occupation so you can spend a day relaxing with him, drinking some nice warm tea and talking more smack about the people you two despise

Without even hesitating nor really thinking it over, Alastor locks his arm with yours and speaks once more, his kind and actually welcoming gaze and grin never once dropping as he begins to take charge, already deciding what’s going on for you today and he won’t hear you refuse such a idea

So… sorry, you’re gonna have to deal with it

“Darling. Don’t tell me you’re going to kick me out after this? How about you close up shop for today and we go out to a nice café? It’s been a while since it’s just been me and you”

[star-writr]

The Music Room

Another 10th Doctor x reader drabble. Requests are appreciated. You can also find this on my Ao3. Reader is gn and plays guitar. Enjoy!!

You had always been the TARDIS's favourite companion. Every-so-often, the spaceship would make a whirring noise in your presence, and if the Doctor was around he would smile and tell you: "she says you're the best person I've ever brought on board". It always made you chuckle and stroke the control panel in an attempt to return the flattery, which made the Time Lord either sarcastically ask if you two wanted to be alone, or look at you quietly with a gleam in his eye before suddenly announcing your next adventure.

As if that wasn't enough to make you see that the TARDIS had a weak spot for you, she would always find ways of comforting you when something was wrong; before you could even sigh with exasperation, you'd be distracted from your troubles by a familiar smell of blackberry pie, or by your favourite song playing faintly on a radio somewhere, or by a book dropping next to you on the cold pavement from god-knows-where.

In a similar occasion, returning in the TARDIS after almost dying as usual, the ship's hallway lighting threw you off a bit. You were just trying to reach your room, only wanting to collapse on the bed, but it was almost as if she didn't want you to, leading you in a different direction. The blinking light bulbs guided you until reaching a door; it looked exactly the same as all the others, so at first you couldn't understand what made it so special that the TARDIS wanted you to find it. As soon as you saw what was inside, however, everything else slipped off your mind.

It was a room full of instruments. There was a huge piano between some marble columns, resting on a glass pedestal; a drum set occupied a nearby corner; and, shifting your vision, you were greeted by the biggest guitar and bass collection you had ever laid eyes on. Every last one of them looked like it had been taken straight out of your dreams and into that room.

Since then, you had found yourself visiting that paradise every time you had the chance. You already knew how to play a guitar, so you usually handled those, shifting between different models. There were brands you had heard of and brands you didn't recognise, and they came in every possible colour imaginable. You were fond of all of them, especially the more extravagant ones with unusual shapes.

The Doctor was aware of how you spent most of your time on the TARDIS, and didn't have anything against it. You wouldn't lock the door or anything, so everytime the Time Lord wanted to check up on you, you'd let him. Sometimes he'd linger in the room, sit down on the floor while you attempted to read a music sheet, or he would suggest you played something so he could sing it. The Doctor wasn't very fond of or very good at singing, but it gave him an excuse to stay with you a little longer, and that was enough for him. On very rare occasions, he would also ask you to tutor him. Of course, he had picked up many guitars in his 900+ years of life, and knew perfectly well how to play, but again, he wanted to spend time with you without admitting it was for no reason other than his fondness of you. Honestly, his hearts melted every time your fingers stroke those strings, making him helplessly realize that he couldn't get away, and that he didn't want to. Therefore, he obliged to his feelings, staying by your side as long as possible. And you were more than okay with it.

With time, your bond grew stronger, making you question your feelings again and again. The music room kept almost all of your attention on each other, so to avoid feeling helpless your ritual started to take place in complete silence. Aside from monosyllabic replies to monosyllabic questions, you and the Doctor didn't talk as much as before, but it went without acknowledging, growing on you both. That habit came to a halt when the TARDIS made the first move instead of either of her passengers, tired of the mutual pining and determined to fill the silence that had grown inside the room. After all, it was a music room. It wasn't meant to be quiet.

She made sure it didn't go silent ever again by doing the only thing she could, which was locking both of you in. As soon as you realized the door wouldn't open, it startled you.

"What if there's something wrong with the TARDIS, Doctor?" you worried, while he tried to get the door open with his sonic.

The alien sighed. "The only thing wrong here is her attitude," he mumbled, "she's doing this deliberately. Let us out!"

You were confused. "How do you know? Why would she do that?"

The Doctor stopped in his tracks, putting one index finger on your lips, shushing you, and the other on his own. The TARDIS was speaking to him. A few expressions made their way onto his face, substituting each other and, once the spaceship's whirrs quieted down, shifting into a frown. The first thing he did was thank the stars that you couldn't understand the TARDIS. The second thing he did was curse everything because you didn't understand the TARDIS and he had to tell you everything himself.

"What happened? What did she say?" you whispered, his finger still on your lips. He removed it quickly and took one good look at your unaware expression.

The Doctor acknowledged the knot in his stomach and looked away, unable to keep eye contact with you. You were gorgeous to him, too gorgeous to ignore. It would've made him stutter, and he hated stuttering.

"There may or may not be something you need to know" he started.

"About what?"

"About..." about how much I want to kiss you, the Doctor thought. "...about me."

You raised an eyebrow. "And what about the TARDIS?"

"She locked us in here because she's giving me no choice but to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"The thing. About me. The thing you don't know."

"Yes, I know that. But what is it, then?"

It was one of the very rare times when the Doctor genuinely did not know what words to use, which was worrying considering how much the Doctor liked words. He got out of life threatening situations with words. He also got into those same life threatening situations with words. He liked words, he really did. He also liked you. Considering he liked both you and words, the realization of not knowing what words to use with you was like a slap on the cheek. Specifically, it was exactly like one of those slaps only mothers gave him. Specifically his companions' mothers. He remembered Martha Jones and her mother. He also remembered Donna, but not her mother, because it was Donna herself who slapped him a couple times. Maybe more that a couple. She would've probably slapped him now. "Tell them, you twat!" she would've shouted. It would have been very effective. It would've certainly got him to say something, anything, even "ouch", which would've been better than standing completely still like he was doing now. A slap, that's what he needed. "I'm a genius", he thought. Then he slapped himself.

"Doctor!" you exclaimed.

"Sorry," he apologized, "I needed that. Sorry."

You took his hands in yours. "Are you alright? Is it something bad? Do you have to tell me something bad?"

"No. Well, it depends."

You kept looking in his eyes, insistent and a bit curious.

The Doctor held his breath. "Look, the thing is I'm usually good with words. What I'm not good at is speeches. I hate speeches. Especially heat-felt speeches. I like listening to speeches, but I don't like when they come from my mouth, because before they get to my mouth they go through my brain, and my brain is too messy to actually figure out a speech without screwing it up and changing the subject too many times. And now I have to give you a speech."

You smiled, a bit amused. "And, in a few words, what is this speech about?"

"Uhm. Well. I can think of a couple things." The Doctor looked away.

"Such as?"

"Such as the fact that I want to kiss you. And go out with you."

You smiled, surprised. "On a date?"

"Yeah, sure. I just need to figure out the speech first."

"The speech to ask me out on a date?"

"Yes. I just need a second."

"Go right ahead. I'll wait."

He smiled. "Thanks."

The Doctor spent more than a second with his thinking face on. Then, he realized what he just said, and looked at you with his eyebrows raised and his lips parting without making a sound. You laughed, hugging him. It didn't take long to hug you back.

"I'll go on a date with you, Doctor" you said, kissing him on the cheek and causing him to blush. "However many dates you want."

"No speech needed?" he asked, smirking.

"No speech needed" you replied.

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Word count: 2100+

Warnings: mentions of fight, blood

This chapter was inspired by @nocasdatsgay and her stimulating questions😉 Thank you for always reading and commenting on this fiction💕

Part XX | Part XXII

You stood in a rose garden, fog lazily rolling on the ground and around your legs. Light was so soft that you couldn't say what time of day it was. You had no idea how you got here nor where you were or how to get out.

The pendant between your collar bones was warm to touch. You had a strange feeling. You turned around, finding only roses. Thousands and thousands of roses of all colours. You needed to look for something. However you wasn't sure what that something could be and so you aimlessly wandered around until you got to a low marble pedestal. The smooth white marble with golden veins was carved into the shape of a bed.

On the pedestal was lying beautiful young male seemingly asleep, shiny golden strands of his long hair spread around his head. His broad chest heaved with deep breaths.

Tamlin.

You finally remembered. You were here looking for Tamlin.

You ran to him, squeezing his hand, but he didn't move. His skin was cold to touch, unyielding as that marble.

"Tamlin?" Nothing. Not even a muscle moved in his calm face. "Tamlin? Do you hear me?"

He didn't react. You tried to shake his shoulder with the same result. Your heart sank, tears lining your eyes. You sat down next to him and caressed his face gently. He looked so calm.

"I see you," a voice came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. There was no doubt, you knew the voice. It belonged to Tamlin, though his mouth didn't move at all. "In my dreams.. I see you.. even when I'm awake.. Who are you?"

"I'm Y/N. Have you forgotten?" You leaned closer, cupping his face.

"Y/N.."

"Yes, Y/N. You gave me this name. Please, try to remember. Return to me, Tamlin."

He didn't seem to listen to your words, his mind as hazed as the garden around.

"Y/N.. I keep dreaming about you even when I'm awake. Why?"

"Because it isn't dream, Tamlin. I'm here, right next to you. Open your eyes." He didn't move, motionless like a statue, cold as a stone. You inhaled readying to tell him more.

The dream disappeared replaced by bright light of late morning penetrating through dirty windows.

It was just a dream, yet it felt so real. Just like the one you had some time ago back in Velaris. Your heart painfully throbbed in your chest, eyes filled with hot tears. What could that mean?

Two warm bodies pressed against you from each side. The heat was unbearable. It was also quite uncomfortable because you were used sleeping alone. Sighing you touched the pendant hidden under the dress and at that movement one of the bodies rolled away. Good. Cool air bit into your left side causing a shiver running down your spine at the sudden heat loss.

You turned to the right intending to push the other body away, too. You were met with bright emerald eyes with golden flecks, already staring at you. Tamlin was still in his beast form, but his eyes changed during the night.

"Tam?" you questioned. The purr like sound came in answer. He watched you with interest. You sat up and sinking your fingers into his fur you caressed his head.

His eyes closed at that touch and he leaned closer, licking the back of your other hand and nuzzling to your palm. "Can you speak?" He made a whimpering sound. You smiled at him reassuringly. "It's okay. Take your time."

" 'morning," a hoarse voice muffled by sleep spoke from behind you.

"Look," you turned to Lucien with beaming smile.

He was lying on his back with hand shielding his eyes against the bright light. Wounded hand was carefully rested on his stomach. He cracked his russet eye open, focusing on you. You rolled your eyes and nodded with chin to Tamlin, now nuzzling to your legs. When he noticed the colour of his eyes, Lucien sat up swiftly, drawing a deep growl from the beast.

"Easy," Lucien laughed nervously raising his hands. "It's just me, Tam. Lucien."

"He still doesn't speak, but his eyes are again normal colored."

Lucien's gaze turned to you, watching you thoughtfully. "I knew it. Just one night and he's already getting better." You grinned, kissing the top of Tamlin's head.

Lucien agreed to go out to get some food for all three of you. Tamlin was too weak to stand up, although too stubborn to let you leave his side for even a while, so you stayed with him sitting on mattresses and waited for Lucien's return. At some point Tamlin drifted back to sleep while you stroked his head soothingly.

There was no warning of what was to come.

Rhysand stormed into the room like a dark cloud, panic and rage seeping from every part of his tall figure. In a blink of eye Tamlin's huge body flew through the air to the opposite side of room, hitting the wall with a loud thud. Whining in pain he slid down, staying on the floor.

"How could you," you gasped scrambling to your feet while fighting with the long skirt of your dress.

Rhysand blocked your way, embracing you firmly. "Thank the Mother! I was so worried-"

"Are you out of your mind, Rhys?" you snapped at him, catching him by surprise. He took a step back, pulling you with him, gaping at you. You tried to push him away, but he wouldn't let go.

"I won't allow him to get any closer to you. I saw the fresh blood downstairs. He's dangerous," he hissed angrily. You fought with him, hitting his chest and arms, but it had a little to no effect at him. Meanwhile he was trying to calm you down.

Deep growl was the only warning before sharp fangs snapped in front of your face, at the place where your brother's head was just moments ago, cutting only through air.

Rhysand managed to avoid the attack, but he had to release you in the process. He stood up, ready to repay that. Growling Tamlin stood between the two of you, saliva mixed with blood dripping on the floor.

"No!" You wrapped your arms around him, frowning at your brother. "You promised you wouldn't hurt him."

The tattoo on your shoulder burned and Rhys' had to hurt even more. Rhysand halted, assessing the situation.

"Y/N, slowly come to me," he reached out his hand to you.

"Tamlin won't hurt me, but it doesn't mean he won't hurt you. Especially if he thinks you threaten me."

"I do not-" Rhysand snapped, but changed his mind when the beast snarled at him, baring the fangs. "Sweetheart, please. Tamlin .. he's gone. This beast isn't him anymore. He's going to hurt you whether unintentional or not."

"I've spent last 10 hours with him and I'm fine." You showed him whole your body, so that he could see that there isn't a single drop of blood on you and the dress. He sized you up for head to toes and back up.

"That means nothing. He can get angry and-"

"You mean like right now?" You took a few steps, stopping in front of the beast's mouth. "Just look how angry he is." Tamlin stared at Rhysand, unblinking, growling.

Rhysand gasped. "Y/N, stop! Get away from him." You sent him angry glare and turned to the beast, placing your hands on his head with thumbs too close to the corners of his mouth. Just one move and he could bite off whole your hand easily.

"Tamlin," you spoke calmly to him. His eyes immediately moved to your face. He stopped growling and calmed down. "Are you hurt?" You knew he couldn't speak yet, but a small whimper was enough good answer for you.

"You see?" You looked back at your brother, running your fingers through the soft fur. "He won't hurt me."

Rhys shook his head. "But he could. Come back home with me," he pleaded.

"I am home," you sighed. You whispered to Tamlin to not worry and stay calm and pivoting walked to the place your brother stood at. You didn't dare to look at his face, knowing very well what you would see. Instead you hugged him. His arms squeezed your waist, hiding his face in your shoulder he relaxed a little.

"I'm so sorry, Rhys.. I like Velaris and I love you. And our family. I'm so grateful for what you have done for me, for returning my memories and everything. But this is my home. I've spent centuries living here."

"I just want my sister to be safe and with me. That's all," he breathed out lowly.

"I understand. I really do. I also want my overprotective big brother close by. But.. you have your Court and lovely wife. You started your own new family. I want to find my own happiness, too."

He sighed heavily. "And what about Az?"

"I think he understands how I feel and accepts it."

"All the time.. he knew you left, right? His behaviour was..strange last night and even in the morning."

"Don't be angry at him. I made him to promise." A lie smoothly slid from your lips.

Rhysand snorted with amusement. He always knew when you lied to him. This time it wasn't different. "He loves you too much when he allowed you to corner him like that." You were glad he wouldn't use this against Shadowsinger. "How did you get here anyway?"

Oops. Good thing Lucien wasn't here. You had to come with something enough truthful to pass your brother's lie detector.

"I winnowed," you said, your voice even. "Your help and those lessons we tried, were actually very helpful." Two unrelated truths connected into one lie.

While city was preparing for Starfall, Rhys offered to ease the fear and horrors of your memories which you gladly accepted because they were haunting you day and night and you didn't want to end up like the last time - too broken to fight. You had a mission and needed to be prepared and capable of offering all help and support that would be necessary.

He also patiently listened to you, letting you get everything that bothered you out, talking with you until you felt better. In the end, you ended up trying even some easy magic. You had a lot to be grateful for. To him and to Azriel, too. They both got you from the worst. And even though you still weren't completely healed, you felt much better these last few days.

"I don't want to leave you here," he whispered to your ear after being silent for a while.

You heard Tamlin nervously trampling over behind you, his claws scratching floor, small growls escaping him.

"I'll be safe here. He'll protect me."

Rhys straightened, frowning at nervous beast. "I hope you heard that. I'm willing to let her stay here and do as she pleases with one condition. If something happens to her, anything, I won't forgive you. Ever. And I'll find a way to revenge on you a hundredfold."

Tamlin snarled baring his fangs. They stared at each other for a few heartbeats and then Rhys simply nodded and looked down at you.

"Also I want to visit you. Often. Actually so often that you will wish to move back in."

You raised a brow. "I doubt that. Anyway you are always welcome."

His jaw tightened and then he smiled. It was very sad smile. He embraced you one more time and reluctantly releasing you, he winnowed away.

You breathed a sigh of relief.

Tamlin behind you collapsed. He was heaving when you pulled his head to your lap. You checked him for any wounds, finding just few already half healed bruises.

"Are you okay? Lucien will return soon with some food. Just hold on a little longer."

"I'm already here," he spoke from threshold, his expression serious.

It was clear he returned finding Rhysand in here and wisely stayed hidden. "I got us some bread and veggies. We can make him soup later."

His lips were pressed into thin line, eyes narrowed at you.

"I'm fine," you assured him.

"You lied to fucking Rhysand, the most dangerous High Lord ever, to protect me. I want you to know that when I brought you here, I knew what was to come. And I was ready for that. You don't have to cover for me."

You shrugged. "I know. I did it because I wanted. After all, that fucking High Lord is my brother. And your mate lives in his house."

Lucien tensed.

"It would be such a pity if he didn't let you in, the next time you go to try your luck with her."

"How do you-"

You shrugged again, not wanting to talk about that. You took a piece of bread he handed you and offered small piece to Tamlin. He didn't seem to want it, but when you told him to eat it, he listened.

You ate your late breakfast in silence.

Taglist:

@impossibelle @sevikas-whore @b0xerdancer @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @nocasdatsgay @yunloyal @nebarious @isabiss @st0rmyt @lilah-asteria @ubigaia @paleidiot

[sleepyorchidmonster]

Once upon a time, NRC's Board Game Club decided to organize a chess competition. Thanks to Azul's marketing genius, the event became really popular, with plenty of students from outside the club participating.

However, due to an accident (Floyd was bored and Grim annoyed him, everything is now on fire), most of the club's chess sets were destroyed. To solve the problem, contestants were encouraged to bring one of their personal sets.

This idea made for an ecletic set up, especially since most students are crazy rich. Idia brought the set Leona gave him for his birthday, Malleus found an old heirloom from Briar Valley, Kalim isn't even a competitor, but he still got a set made of solid gold and encrusted with precious gems from the Scarabia storage room, and so on... (Cater took a bunch of pictures of all the different styles).

In an effort to make up for Grim's mishap, Adeuce also decided to help, remembering that Heartslabyul has a room filled with different games that students often used.

There were dozens of chess sets, but they just HAD to choose the pretty one atop of a pedestal, with a sign saying "NO!!" in bold letters (in their defense, Heartslabyul is nonsensical, also they were in a competition with Sebek and that was the best set).

A few days later, right before the event, the game club students began to organize the space for the matches.

Only for the Heartslabyul set to come to life and start fighting people, that is...

Apparently, the Queen of Hearts left a small contingent of her best soldiers to protect the school, just in case. Hidden as a deck of cards and a chess set, those soldiers can be summoned by simply opening their cases/boxes, though they shall only answer to the Heartslabyul housewarden.

She also forgot to tell anyone else about the plan, trusting that a single rule of "When in trouble, get the chess set or the playing cards" would suffice.

So now we have a bunch of gigantic marble statues wandering around campus, looking for hostile forces or their leader...

After a few fights, a statue crashing a dormhead meeting and kidnapping Riddle, and plenty of discussion, the students FINALLY manage to calm the statued down, explaining how it was all a misunderstanding.

All's well that ends well, but now the chess pieces want to watch the actuall chess matches.... something about wanting to know the prowess of great warriors and future leaders...

And that is how we get an chess event in twst, with a few extra cards and special outfits, since this just became a formal event, what with the piqued interest of a bunch of ancient royal guards.

The main event cards would be Leona, Idia, Azul, Malleus, Lillia and Jamil, since they're the actual contestants for the competition, while Riddle also gets an SSR, since he is supervising the gigantic chess soldiers, in a role similar to the Queen of Hearts.

Since the statues insisted on participating in the competition's finale, the last match is held in the school's Coliseum, with a cute twstune to wrap things up.

Then the victor gets crowned and the chess pieces leave.

[home-fire]

Mini Statue Resources

I've spent a lot of time looking for miniature statues of the gods to use in my travel altars, and in my search learned that mini statues-- especially anything under 3"-- are very hard to find. A lot of people have also seemed interested in the Hestia mini I have, and asked where I got her. So I thought I would share some resources I've found for very small statues and advice for finding them yourself. I hope they'll be helpful!

Sellers I've Found

3DvoPrinting (etsy)

They have a nice selection of 3D of prints of classical sculptures, including a lot of less "popular" statues. They come between 3-5" tall, priced around $12-18. I just put in an order for a custom size (1.5-2") of the Hermes and Asclepius figures, and they offer custom larger sizes as well.

3DorisArt (etsy)

They have a large collection of prints, but my interest was in the 4" line, which range from $17 to $28. I contacted them about getting smaller prints of these and they said that was doable. I haven't ordered from them yet but hope to get a custom size Dionysus soon.

MurphicIndustries (etsy)

This is where I got my mini Hestia! They have this whole set available, and also sell figures individually. They come in 32mm, 48mm, 54mm and individual figures start at $4-5.

twogreenthumbs.com

They sell mini garden supplies, and have a section with mini garden decor, including a lot of classical statues (I think these would probably have a spike under the base that you'd need to remove). Most of them are between 2.5 and 3.5" tall and $7-8 each. They also have a lot of mini pedestals and urns as well.

Edensart (etsy)

They sell dollhouse minis, including 1:12 scale prints of marble statues, including some classical ones. They're extremely small and so lower detail, and run around $6.60

BigManSmallWorld (etsy)

They specialize in very fancy and detailed art pieces for dollhouses, and their minis are already painted and decorated. Most of their mini statues are $30+

Advice for finding stuff on your own:

Although there are a lot of resources out there for finding smaller statues, I've found getting anything under 5" very difficult and under 3" almost impossible. For 3D prints if you can't find something in the size you want, I'd suggest finding one you like in a similar size and asking about getting it printed smaller for you.

I've had the most luck looking for mini-garden, dollhouse, and gaming miniatures. Searching by height is generally useless, but including scale can be helpful.

A lot of places have the statues misnamed (the Hermes statue I ordered, for example, is listed as Apollo) or aren't identified at all, so looking for generic terms like "marble statue" "god" "goddess" "classical" etc can be helpful if the right name isn't bringing anything up.

There are also a lot of Etsy sellers that specialize in dollhouse minis that have one or 2 little statues (esp. the more popular ones like Apollo Belvidere, Venus de Milo etc.) I've only included ones here that have a decent selection of them, but there are certainly options for little statues on Etsy beyond what I've shared.

The only statue of Aphrodite/Venus anyone wants to make replicas of is the Venus de Milo, so good luck to you if you're looking for literally any other representation they are on in a million. (I've included 3 here so...)

There are also some old school gaming minis that are Greek myth-themed, such as Foundry's series, but old school minis tend to be overall much more expensive, less detailed, and generally less aesthetically pleasing.

[cricketcat9]

Went junkyarding yesterday, with an informal group called Junk Yard Dawgs. First junk yard was well organized- a pile of this over here, a pile of that over there, pick it and bring to the scale to be weighted. I got several gears, for their sculptural quality, and two aluminum pots to be repurposed as flowers planters. Gears are heavy AF! The second yard along La Pana was enormous, slightly stinky and not well organized, did not buy anything, but the sheer size and amount of what we human discard was... impressive. Well, at least it's being recycled.. Close to the entrance there was a little discarded metal cabin with the sign "guardia". It would make a very elegant outhouse, but I have indoor plumbing. Next we stopped at a stone yard, because we were curious. They had stone garden lanterns and little temples, stone benches, several stone bowls ( I think I found a sink f0r my bathroom renovation), a HUGE stone bowl that would make a beautiful fountain, and a Big Dick. Big Dick was standing proudly on a pedestal, complete with the balls; it's made of marble and damn heavy. I wonder who/what is on the market for a Big Dick. Can he bestow fertility on a garden, or something? Or would he go to one of the, ahem, "motels" along La Pana?

We also visited two antiques stores, sadly intricately carved doors (probably belonging to a church before) I liked were FAR out of my $ range, and also size range.

I bought a little bronze ring because it looked sad and abandoned in the vitrine.

Next trip of the Junk Yard Dawgs to some mythical junk yard in Quito, apparently Really BIG. I need more gears of all sizes to make a garden totem.

photos by Susan B., a friend

[untaemedqueen]

At Your Service

Escort!Jeongguk x CEO!Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 8.

Series Warnings (Will Be Updated): Angst, Fluff, Cold Heartedness, Emotional Trauma, Healing, Smut, Dark Humor

The mansion you're currently standing in is completely different from yours. The amount of people in this place is incredibly different for one. It's also so bright in here that it almost makes your eyes hurt.

There's regal looking paintings lining the walls with heavily decorated gold frames accompanying their expensive stature. Marble statues stand atop marble pedestals in romantic positions and you're not even close to becoming comfortable here.

But the person by your side is even more uncomfortable than you at the moment.

"Oh my God, let's just leave," Jeongguk hisses, draping his arm over your shoulders.

He hasn't been in this home for many years, just even breathing the same air as his grandmother is something he thought he would never do again. In some way, he's reverting back to the small nervous child he once was. He hasn't had much time to think about what he would say to the madam of the house nor has he strengthened his will enough to stay here.

But you're comforting him, his lips still tingle with fresh, raw emotions from the make out session in the car. He needed that to calm down -- he needed you to calm down.

Jeongguk has been thinking about you far more often than his mind would care to admit. Pretending that you're his girlfriend seems easier and happier than he could have hoped for and it's hurting his brain to remember that he can't take you home after all this.

Guk doesn't know if you would even want that but he does know that he does. He wouldn't mind taking you home and peeling this black dress off your body like you're the only Christmas present he would want.

"You know we can't do that," you mumble, moving out of the way for a waiter to pass with a tray of hors d'oeuvres.

"But Wednesday," the escort whines, putting his forehead to your shoulder sullenly.

"Let's just deal with your grandmother and then we can leave and go do something else," you promise, coursing your fingers through his hair.

It's almost like it's something second nature all of a sudden. Your fingers just moved toward him without any thought that it could be wrong or awkward. And he doesn't give you any negative reaction to it, instead he sighs happily, moving the arm on your shoulders to encircling your hips and pulling you close.

"Let's step into one of the closets or something, I need more kisses," he mumbles, putting his forehead to yours.

Once again, his scent drifts over you like a shroud of comfort. It's strange to you that you're not pulling back wildly with nervousness fleeting over every vein within you.

"We could get caught," you try to reason with him.

"That'd be hot," he counters with a small, devious smirk.

"I don't think these type of people would approv-"

"Well, I'm shocked to see you."

Jeongguk snaps up straight like a stick, turning on his heel to meet the voice that's riddled with judgemental tones.

His hand struggles to grasp for yours, his fingers fumble and itch until finally you're able to intertwine with him. Your palm lays flat and comfortable against his, thumb stroking the back of his hand with soothing intentions.

The woman before you holds herself elegantly, her hair is raven black and cut into a bob around her jawline. The way her eyebrows notch together quizzically already tells you that she's spent a lifetime judging others, the wrinkles give her away.

Poor Guk beside you is two seconds away from shaking like a leaf. He looks like he's about ready to pass out. You can't imagine the anger and anxiousness that's rooted deep within his chest.

You can only imagine what choice words he wishes he could say if he wasn't frozen stiff with fear.

His grandmother doesn't even acknowledge you, which is fine because it gives you more time to study her.

"Hello," the escort whispers softly, bowing his head respectfully.

"Hello, grandson," she breathes, turning on her heel and ushering the both of you to follow.

"Oh fuck," he hisses, running his free hand over his face.

"It's okay," you promise, "I'm here."

"I know," he mumbles, kissing your temple and pulling you along to follow her.

Finally, after several minutes of wading through the guests of the house you find yourself in the grand office of the mansion.

There's awards and certificates on the wall, pictures of his grandmother with famous people and first prototypes of the kimchi containers that made her rich in the first place within glass cases.

Once again, she does not acknowledge you or her grandson, if you're being honest, while she sits down at her large glass desk.

Jeongguk leads you over to your chair first, waiting until you sit down to do so as well.

When his back meets the chair, he can feel his organs within him shaking so violently that he's not sure if he'll ever be able to get back up again.

His grandmother pulls out a fan, the length of it expanding all at once with a sharp noise that has Guk wincing in an instant. She purses her lips, leaning back into her chair to bore her eyes into her grandson's face.

The fan moves leisurely within her grip, sending pieces of black hair blowing in symmetrical swirls around her face.

She picks up a small bell and rings it daintily between her thumb and index finger before returning her gaze to Jeongguk. You aren't sure whether she's trying to break him down with one quick look or if she's trying to assess what he's going through.

A butler steps into the doorway with white gloves covering both his hands politely at his sides.

"A bottle of Veuve and three glasses," she orders dully.

So she does acknowledge that you're here but she's purposefully ignoring you like it's all a part of some sort of plan.

The silence begins to creep in after the butler leaves, the muted groan of hundreds of conversations just outside the office doors breach past your ears and while it's putting the escort beside you on edge, this is comfortable for you.

You look down at your long gloves, fixing them properly before placing them in your lap.

Finally, the madam of the home gets bored with her meek acting grandson and turns her attention to you.

You give her a polite smile, leaning back in your chair and crossing your legs.

You're ready for anything if you're being honest, whether that be confrontation or just a simple introduction.

"Do you… work with my grandson? Do you do what vile things he does?" she inquires pointedly, snapping her fan shut.

Jeongguk looks up as if he's been cracked with a whip, his eyebrows furrow painfully as if her words have burned him but he stays silent nonetheless, looking to you for your answer.

"I don't work with him, no. I'm his girlfriend. And to me, he's not vile nor is what he does vile," you reply, folding your hands in your lap.

She hums out quizzically, looking over your garments with intrigue written all over her face.

"I see, so you could afford these clothes yourself then? Without the help of someone who lays on their back to get their money?"

Your insides are beginning to boil with the hottest of fires, you're unsure if your irises have turned bright red like a devil waiting to tear into this woman but what you do know is that you fucking wish you could.

She has no sense of anything kind in her personality at all.

"As far as I'm concerned, Jeongguk hasn't laid on his back in quite a long time. But I can afford these clothes myself, I own a business."

Her head seems to tilt curiously at your words and it seems with the tight lipped smile she gives that she's going to enjoy this confrontation.

"And what sort of business is that?" his grandmother purrs, leaning down onto her desk.

"I own a wine business," you reply.

"And your net worth?"

"None of your business, actually."

Jeongguk takes a sharp breath between his teeth, flitting his eyes from your face to his grandmothers like he's watching some sort of ping pong tournament.

"And I should assume that you're with my grandson on your own accord?"

"Why would you assume anything otherwise? It's not like he's willing to divulge the fact that his grandparents are rich while he grew up poor."

Guk takes you in then, the gentle fall sun highlights your silhouette so gently and it only begins to sing out to him when your face becomes fierce with protective intentions.

You want to keep him safe, you want to fight for him and he can see it as plain as day.

"I didn't expect my grandson to start dating such a hard headed woman."

"I'm not hard headed -- I'm hard working. I take what I want and I'm not apologetic for that."

Jeongguk picks at some skin on his lip, tilting his head to see how absolutely earth shatteringly gorgeous you look defending his honor. If he could sigh sweetly, believe him, he would.

"Baby," he calls to you softly.

The pet name has your head snapping to look at him and he smiles sweetly at your pinched face.

Jeongguk slowly shakes his head as if to tell you that it's not worth it and you simply shrug before folding your arms and huffing out impatiently.

She's getting on your fucking nerves, he's certainly not wrong about her in any sense of the word.

His grandmother simply blinks at the interaction between you both.

How could it be so warm and endearing when the space between you both is as far as it is?

Is this something serious or is it something that can be picked apart by just a few words?

When the butler returns with the bottle, the madam of the house simply nods to it. "You run a wine business, why don't you open it?"

While you begin to pull the cage off, the older woman decides to test the waters the only way she knows how.

"Chloe is here," she notifies her grandson.

"Yeah, I know," he huffs out, "we saw her."

"And what did she think of your new woman?" his grandmother prods.

"Who cares what she thinks? She doesn't know her ass from her elbow," he gripes.

You can only roll your eyes, slowly letting the bottle do the work to push the cork out of the mouth.

"If you begged for her back, maybe she would accept you," she drolls.

The sharp inhale through your nose makes Jeongguk cringe and in a second he's standing to comfort you.

There's not a split second where you both remember that this is fake, you're invested in this somehow -- you both are.

"I don't want to beg her for anything. She doesn't deserve me. I found a woman who likes and cares for me as I am now! Besides, she's married to Holdritch."

"Hamish," his grandmother corrects him.

"Whoever," he murmurs, crouching down beside you to take the wrappings and cage from your hand.

"My girlfriend is smart and beautiful, strong and brave as hell. Chloe can't even compare to a single cell in her body. So, just because you don't respect me, grandmother, please don't disrespect my significant other."

The champagne bottle makes a slow hiss when the cork comes out and it seems to echo throughout the room while Guk waltz over to the trash can to get rid of the rubbish.

"I see," the older woman breathes, leaning back in her chair.

"What are your intentions with my grandson then, uh…"

"Y/N, her name is Y/N. You were bickering with her five minutes ago and you don't even know her name," the escort hisses, draping himself over the top of your chair and putting his hands on your shoulders.

You're immediately comforted by his presence, basking under the heat of his hands like a lizard under the molten sun.

"What are your intentions with Jeongguk, Y/N?" his grandmother inquires, pouring three glasses of champagne.

"To love him," you announce.

The way his hands clench at your shoulders makes you want to cave in immediately, you want to shove the chair out of the way and squeeze him so tightly that the air between you both has no chance of escaping.

"Well then. She's passed the test," his grandmother smiles, handing you both champagne glasses.

"Test?" Guk blinks confused.

"Yes, the test that not even Chloe ever passed. If you recall her answer was, 'treat him like he deserves me.' Which is incredibly inappropriate."

Sounds like Chloe.

You roll your eyes heavily, optng to take a sip of the bubbly alcohol instead of releasing the string of obscenities you wish to.

"So you being… rude to my girlfriends has always been a test?" Guk blurts out, scratching at his neck confused.

"To put it simply, yes. And Y/N has passed."

"Oh," the escort breathes awkwardly.

"I hope you love him more than anything and anyone. Just because I never spoon fed him doesn't mean I don't care about him," his grandmother says, drifting her fingers over the glass of her desk.

Jeongguk kisses the top of your head and your eyes flutter shut immediately.

Your heart is wildly racing within your chest like a horse and to say that it's because of the simple kiss is not true.

Your heart is beating so fast because of the words you spoke.

They keep replaying in your mind over and over again to no avail.

"To love him."

"To love him."

"To love him."

Your heart is beating so wildly because you're scared.

There was not a single ounce of a lie within that three worded sentence. There was no pause or need for acting. There was no reason to string those words together purposefully.

They flowed from your mouth like a river, like it was meant to be said with that same heartfelt inflection.

You believe these words.

<---- Last Chapter                            Next Chapter ---->

[apomaro-mellow]

OP's post

As far as jobs go, this gig wasn't too bad. Eddie wouldn't call him a connoisseur of the fine arts by any measure, but he knew how to appreciate passion that went into every work. He wasn't there to gawk though. He was there to guard. A friend of Wayne's worked the night shift and had gotten Eddie the job during the day.

So he got to patrol a pretty swanky art museum and broaden his horizons. And the pay wasn't half bad either considering how cushy it was.

Like most art museums, the exhibits were divided by era and country of origin. Sometimes whole side rooms dedicated to a single artist. There were mostly paintings and statues housed here, with the occasional odd exhibit like masks or minature figures. There was an annex building across the street that held the collection of modern and post modern art.

Eddie typically preferred the kookier stuff there but he enjoyed being around the classics. Especially the statues. Especially Steve.

In the hall for marble statues, there were many the depicted the human form in all its beauty, but none were as beautiful as the one simply titled 'Steve'. That definitely seemed like an underwhelming name for such a magnificent piece. But in the couple of months he'd been here, Eddie had grown to love the simple name.

Steve was carved in a lounging position and when Eddie first saw him it looked like he was waiting for a lover. There was a cloth carved into him that draped in such a way to only just barely give him modesty, leaving the rest on display. Had it not been stone, it looked like the slightest breeze would expose him. Like most of his peers, Steve's body looked strong and sturdy. And yet the way he was posed and positioned made him look soft.

Eddie didn't notice the first time he looked but after passing through and looking enough (leering, gazing, obsessing) he realized Steve even had a glorious patch of hair on his chest. Now that was rare. All these bare chested figures and very few of them showed any body hair outside the one atop their heads.

And that mane of his. Thanks to policy, Eddie had to keep his own locks in a tight bun under his hat. Steve's hair, thick and luxurious flowed freely. Eddie thought more than once to touch it, sure that despite the marble it was as soft as it seemed.

Another eye catching feature was the scarring on Steve's back. To make something so exquisite and then put the suggestion of violence... Sometimes Eddie wanted to look up the history of Steve's creation.

So greeting Steve became a normal part of his guard route. Even when he technically wasn't supposed to be in that wing, who was gonna stop him?

"Morning gorgeous", he'd greet some mornings as he passed by, coffee in hand.

Sometimes, when the room was mostly clear, he really would just stand and stare, taking it all in. He could look at most of the art for only so long before he lost interest (except for some of the landscapes, some of them were breathtaking and literally took him to a different world) but Steve.... Steve was something he could look at for hours.

And he would've if the crowds didn't come by to get a gander as well. So he did his job, made his rounds, kept people from getting too close to the art and then clocked out around 4.

"Night Stevie", he said on his way out, even though Steve's pedestal was out of his way to the exit.

It was all pretty nice until they switched him to the night shift unexpectedly. Eddie was a night owl by nature, but he preferred to use that time leisurely. That and he was more likely to come across an actual thief at night.

And also museums were kinda creepy at night.

He took a deep breath and leaned on a statue of the goddess Nike.

"Let's make a deal. I do my job, you slice and dice anything that comes through those doors."

As he bargained with the stone goddess, he thought he heard voices down the hall. Must be the other guards. For sure. Besides Eddie, there were like, five other guys doing patrols or watching the cameras. They were all Wayne's age though, so not a lot in common.

Needing a balm for his nerves, he ventured towards Steve's way.

"Heya beautiful. I knew comin' to see you was the right choice." The moon came in through a sky light and made Steve glow. "I'll come back for you Stevie, probably more than once if I have a choice."

Eddie was walking past Steve when he heard a voice reply to him.

"I'm glad you came tonight."

Eddie froze, and carefully turned.

Steve was looking over his shoulder.

"You....you're...."

Steve got up from his lounging position to stretch his arms and back and it sounded like rock grinding gently on rock. Eddie could hear similar sounds all around him. All of the statues were moving. All of them.

Eddie was still frozen solid in place. Almost like he and Steve switched places. Steve was sitting upright on his stand, that cloth still just barely covering him.

"Did you mean all those things you said?", Steve asked.

Eddie didn't know what he meant but he never lied so he just nodded.

Steve curled in on himself, bashful looking and Eddie wanted to wrap him up.

"You really think I'm beautiful?"

Eddie found his voice because if there was one thing he could say right now it was what he thought of Steve.

"Like an angel. Like a vision. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen." This time Eddie stepped closer to Steve, still in shock but not afraid. "So, I am in fact totally mesmerized by you and by what's happening, but what the hell is happening?"

Steve held out a hand and Eddie took it without question. It was still cold and the surface was hard like stone but somehow flexible like a real hand.

"I'll explain on the way", he said, stepping down so that he was on his feet. He was about the same height as Eddie.

Eddie had about a million questions. But Steve's voice was as attractive as the rest of him so he could listen all night.

[kallie-den]

Reformation

The Queen of the Gods finds her mind, her body, and even her identity becoming corrupted and depraved when the habits and beliefs of her mortal worshippers change

A story voted for by my patrons! They wanted goddess corruption, and since that's one of my favorite little concepts, I was happy to provide. With a little hucow-esque twist, of course ;)

If you enjoy my work and are looking for more, or you want to support me, I strongly encourage you to check out my Patreon! I write erotica full-time, which means I need your patronage to keep creating, and my Patrons also get benefits like early access to my stories, extra stories, and the ability to vote on what I write next! So, if that sounds good to you, head over and join the couple hundred patrons I already have :)

---

When Theanax the Mother, the queen of the gods, the Bull-Queen, summoned her sister, Dolea the Trickster, to Ouranos, sanctuary of the highest gods, she met her with a look of perplexed amusement on her face.

“My sister, my queen,” Dolea said as she knelt. “To what do I owe this summons?”

Theanax was resplendent in her authority as she watched the trickster goddess kneel. She sat on her throne wearing golden robes, a bull-horns crown proud atop her head. She had never thought to see the day. After their victory over the First, she and Dolea and their other sister had contested to divide the old gods’ domains amongst themselves.

To Theanax had gone the highest throne. She ruled the heavens as Queen of the Gods. Their third sister had gone to rule the underworld, and Dolea had won the least of all the domains: the realm of mortals. Instead of a throne, she was fated to live and move amongst them as a traveler and trickster.

Unsurprisingly, she had not been pleased with her lot.

But perhaps that had changed, Theanax mused. At long last, Dolea seemed to have adjusted. Certainly, her sister was smiling as she rose.

“Welcome, sister.” Theanax rose to meet her in an embrace. “It’s been too long.”

They hugged. It was an awkward maneuver, given Theanax’s full, pregnant belly. The eldest sister was permanently with child. That was the way her mortal worshipers envisioned her, and so it would forever be. To the gods, belief was reality. It shaped their memories, their abilities, their domains - everything.

“I have a question I’d like you to help me answer,” Goddess Theanax continued as they pulled apart. “The doings of mortals puzzle me. Very specific doings, in fact.”

She led Dolea over to the golden altar near her throne. On it was a huge scrying bowl, the artifact Theanax used to view the mortal realm and receive her due offerings. Theanax waved her hand over the bowl and an image appeared within. It was of her chief temple, where all kinds of prayers and sacrifices were regularly held.

Dolea peered into the bowl. “I’m afraid I don’t see anything remarkable, sister.”

“Look closer,” Theanax instructed. “At the statue, for instance.”

Looking deeper into the scrying bowl, Dolea set her eyes on the huge marble statue that had newly been raised up atop a pedestal in Theanax’s temple, at the head of all those rows of immaculate marble columns. It was, recognizably, her sister. Her countenance, her marks of divinity.

“Please, tell me the reason for your concerns,” Dolea implored wearily. “I did not make this journey lightly.”

“You really don’t see it?” Theanax was frowning. “The robes! It’s disrespectful. Blasphemous. It does not befit a queen of the gods.”

Dolea looked for a third time, and finally nodded. There was, she had to admit, something a little unusual about the statue. Theanax’s golden robes were finely and densely layered in the manner anyone would expect for a queen or a noblewoman. But on the statue, it wasn’t so. They were lighter, with a lower neck to expose her upper chest and the sleeves raised almost to her shoulders. It made her look a little more casual, and a little less formidable.

“They’ve made me into a courtesan,” Theanax said dangerously. “A concubine.”

“Sister, sister!” Dolea held up her hands to mollify her. She knew full well what her sister’s wrath could do to the mortals who had carved the statue if it was allowed to rage unchecked. “Allow me to explain.”

“What is there to explain?” Theanax’s nostrils flared.

“It’s what you wanted from me, no? Answers?” Theanax still looked heated but slowly she nodded, inviting Dolea to continue. “I know the ways of mortals,” her sister explained, “and I can promise you they mean no disrespect.”

“Oh?”

“It’s simply the style of the time!” Dolea assured her sister-queen. “They depict you as they would one of their own queens. Nothing less.”

“Is that so?” Theanax sounded doubtful.

“Of course.” Dolea spread her arms wide. “I’ve been to every court in the land. Robes like those are the highest fashion.”

“I see…” Eventually, Theanax nodded acceptingly. “It’s strange, then, to think that one day soon I might find myself wearing them, if they worship ardently enough. They seem cold.”

Dolea laughed politely. “You see, sister? There’s nothing to be worried about.”

She turned as if to leave, but the pregnant goddess put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Wait. That’s not nearly all.”

Dolea turned back, a bemused look on her face. “Oh? Do you suppose it’s more of the same?”

“It concerns me,” Theanax replied in a warning tone. “I hear their prayers, you know. Every one.”

“Of course. We all hear the prayers of our worshipers,” Dolea said, before adding in a quieter voice: “few as mine are.”

“They’ve changed as of late,” Theanax continued imperiously. “New epithets replacing the old. They call me a sybarite. A hedonist. ‘Theanax the Decadent’ it’s become, in their songs. I dislike it. What’s the meaning of this?”

Dolea just sighed and smiled. “Ah, sister! You must learn to see it from their perspective.”

“Explain,” Goddess Theanax demanded, folding her arms above her belly.

“You’re a queen,” Dolea began. “A glorious, resplendent, powerful queen. But what a queen means to those little mortals changes with the times. Sometimes, it means a mother. At other times, a protector. At others, perhaps, a tyrant.”

Theanax looked displeased at that last comment, but she didn’t interrupt.

“It’s an age of riches down there, sister,” Dolea continued. “And in their prosperity, they wish to worship a queen whose wealth is a mirror to their own. They admire a queen who basks radiantly in all the evidence of her power. In all the tribute she is owed. In all the luxurious and wonderful things she is entitled to! A hedonistic queen is a glorious, righteous queen.”

“Hmm.” Theanax’s lips were pursed, but she seemed swayed. “I… suppose that also goes some way toward explaining the sacrifices.”

Dolea’s ears pricked up. “The sacrifices?”

Theanax turned away, and felt no need to beckon Dolea to follow as she led her sister across the marbled hall of her throne room. Dolea sighed as she followed, but took a moment to enjoy the view. Ouranos was a magnificent hall set above the clouds, on the highest mountain mortal men could conceive of. Only the stars were above it, and below, the whole world could be seen.

Dolea suppressed a pang of jealousy. Theanax didn’t seem to understand how good she had it.

Soon, the pair arrived at a second altar. It was a perfect mirror of the first, but instead of a scrying bowl, it bore a massive pile of offerings and sacrifices. Everything in the world given in Theanax’s name found its way here, and Dolea’s jaw dropped at the scale of the hoard. Her sister, though, seemed displeased.

“Look at this!” Theanax said crossly. “Look at these… these baubles! These trinkets! It’s all so gaudy. So tasteless. Is this what mortals think of me?”

Once Dolea had moved beyond her shock at the quantity of the offerings, she was forced to admit that the quality was, indeed, lacking. Theanax was no stranger to gold, but her style had always been austere. Unadorned rings and simple circlets had traditionally been considered fitting offerings. The objects sitting on the altar, by contrast, were dripping with gemstones and ornamentations, most of which were far from tasteful. The display of ostentatious wealth was staggering - but not in the way Theanax might have hoped for.

All in all, the bangles and rings upon the altar were more like something Dolea might have used to dazzle a petty merchant rather than something she would gift to the queen of the gods.

“It is, I’m afraid, the same,” Dolea said hurriedly. She didn’t wish to see all the well-meaning supplicants who had given these gifts be smote with Theanax’s wrath. “Mortals and their fashions. I’m sure you know how they can be, sister.”

“I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it,” Theanax agreed begrudgingly. “Let us hope the fashion changes quickly, before I become used to it. Before it etches itself into my very mythology. I don’t want to become a vain, tacky goddess. Can you believe this isn’t even the worst of it?”

“Oh?” Dolea’s curiosity was piqued, especially when the tips of Theanax’s ears started to burn with something close to embarrassment.

“This,” Theanax said hesitantly, “demands further explanation, I think.”

She reached into the pile of treasure and plucked out a very particular object. Dolea had to hold back a giggle when her sister held it up for her inspection. It, too, was gold, and just as ornamented as every other offering. But it wasn’t a ring, or a crown, or a bangle.

It was a dildo.

The queen of the gods held up the hard, proud phallus like it was something distasteful, and the wrathful look in her eyes demanded appeasement.

“I-I fear it is not so different, my queen,” Dolea said hastily, smothering her amusement. “It’s like the prayers, yes? Your worshipers admire a queen who is, ah, shameless in her pleasures. In all kinds of pleasures.”

“This goes beyond that, and you know it!” Theanax shot back. “What do they take me for? Some kind of whorish love goddess?”

“Well,” Dolea replied cautiously. “You must admit, there is a certain… plausibility to the connection. You are not a love goddess, indeed, but you are a mother goddess. And motherhood… fertility… well…”

For a moment, Dolea thought she was about to be struck dead. But then Theanax simply groaned and threw up her hands.

“Ugh! Mortals. You must start to teach them better, sister.” Theanax flashed a good-natured smile. “This is truly ridiculous. At this rate, they’re going to turn me into some kind of slut. How did they manage to associate me with one of the few pleasures I do not partake in?”

Dolea laughed, and dared to push her lack. “Perhaps you might take it as an opportunity, sister.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… when was the last time you thought to take a mortal lover?” Dolea asked.

Theanax snorted. “You jest.”

“Not at all!” Dolea protested. “A queen deserves her concubines, does she not?”

“I may deserve them, but I don’t want them,” Theanax retorted. Her anger had returned. “You overstep yourself, Dolea.”

“It was merely a suggestion, sister!” Dolea said hurriedly.

“If I need your advice, I’ll ask for it!” Theanax cried. “Maybe you’ve been amongst mortals too long. It’s as if you’ve been infected by their foolishness. Begone!”

Dolea sighed as she bowed. This was the sister she knew - tempestuous in her moods, and fierce in her anger. Just as she had always been, she was every bit the proud queen. The trickster goddess decided not to risk arguing with Theanax further, and so she turned and departed Ouranos, leaving the queen of the gods to stew in her indignation.

The second time the trickster goddess Dolea received a summons from Theanax, it was a markedly different queen of the gods who greeted her in the halls of Ouranos.

“Sister!” Theanax rushed to Dolea and pulled her into a shockingly warm embrace. “Thank you for coming. My halls are brighter for your presence.”

“Thank you,” Dolea replied slowly as she let Theanax hug her.

She was immediately and completely distracted by what Theanax was wearing. Gone were the long, heavy robes of state that draped so far from her sleeves. Instead, the queen of the gods was wearing a light, simple tunic, daringly cut to expose far more of the goddess’s figure than Dolea had ever seen. The way it clung to her heavy, rounded belly was breathtaking.

It was still gold, of course. Theanax and her gold.

The jewelry she was wearing was anything but simple. It was even more distracting than her tunic, and no less gaudy and tasteless than all those offerings had been. Theanax’s hands were dripping with rings and her arms were adorned with so many bangles and bands she clattered as she moved.

It was exactly the kind of jewelry Theanax had so strenuously protested against at their previous meeting.

“You look well,” Dolea said diplomatically.

It wasn’t untrue. Theanax looked brighter, somehow. Younger, perhaps. Dolea wasn’t sure if it was simply due to her outfit, or if that too was attributable to the devotions of her mortal worshipers. Perhaps it was both. Dolea would have to look carefully at her statues. There was something else about Theanax too, though. Something missing.

“Thank you!” Theanax said again, beaming. “I decided to change with the times. It’s better, don’t you think?”

It was very doubtful she remembered it as anything more than that. The deep magic that bound divinity and worshiper was a curious thing. It wove a spell over both, making them think that whatever they now believed was how it had always been. Dolea was glad her own following was smaller and less prone to sudden trends.

Theanax pulled away and led Dolea deeper into Ouranos. It was the same as it had ever been, all sterile, cavernous marble, open to the stars, but as they approached the queen’s throne, Dolea noticed that they weren’t alone. There was another figure there, lying beside it. At first, Dolea wondered if it was one of their fellow gods, but once she got closer, she saw that they were lacking the telltale glow of divinity. No; it was a mortal.

A mortal woman, in fact, and one of remarkable stature. Dolea judged that, by her fierce muscles and sun-baked skin, she was of the Amazons. Judging from her state of undress and rosy, post-coital glow in her cheeks, there was little mystery about what she was doing here. She didn’t look up as the two goddesses approached, and that was no mystery either. There was a spilled cup lying beside her. The Amazon was drunk off ambrosia. Mortals could handle no more than a few drops of the stuff.

“One of yours?” Dolea asked her sister, grinning.

“A favorite, for now.” Theanax’s eyes twinkled.

“You took my advice! That’s a first,” Dolea ribbed. “I’m pleased. Mortal lovers can be delightful.”

“As I have been learning!” Theanax laughed. “Her kind in particular. Warrior women can be so… vigorous.”

At that, Dolea raised an eyebrow. She’d never heard her sister sound so nakedly lustful. Once, she’d have considered it beneath her dignity. How times had changed.

“She’s not the first, then?” Dolea ventured.

“Nor the only.” Theanax winked shamelessly.

Dolea had to smile. She liked this new version of her sister, even if it was a little uncanny. It was then, though, that she realized what Theanax was missing: her crown. Once, Theanax’s name had been synonymous with the bull horns crown. She had insisted on wearing it at all times, no matter how heavy and burdensome it was.

“Sister, where’s your crown?” Dolea had to ask.

“Don’t worry yourself. I haven’t lost it.” Theanax waved towards a small plinth some distance away; her old crown was resting on it, looking a touch forgotten. “But this better suits my mood.”

She pointed up to the thin, dainty, golden tiara nestled on her head. It was embellished with gemstones so bright and gaudy they looked fake. Her sister must be in quite the mood these days, Dolea mused.

“But I didn’t summon you here to talk about fashion,” Theanax added, her face darkening. “Nor mortal lovers. I require your advice again, my sister.”

Dolea performed a small bow. “I’m at your service,” the trickster replied.

“Very good.” Turning away from her throne, Theanax led her sister back over to her scrying bowl and, with a wave of her hand, conjured up another image of her greatest temple. “Now, look at this!”

An amused smile flickered on Dolea’s face. The queen of the goddess was angry again, that much was obvious. But given her new appearance and manner, it was more like a princess’s petulance than the wrath of an almighty monarch. Still, though, Theanax was mighty, and Dolea didn’t want to earn her ire. She peered dutifully into the scrying bowl.

“It’s your temple, sister,” she said, after a moment of searching. “What am I to be looking for?”

“Oh, for…” Theanax stamped her foot crossly. “You cannot tell me you don’t see it! Just look at the new statue.”

Dolea looked. “I suppose it is in a rather exotic style.”

“Exotic?” Theanax repeated dangerously. “Tell me, in what exotic land is it the custom to depict the highest of gods naked?”

“Not naked,” Dolea demurred. “At least, not quite.”

Theanax simply snorted. Dolea could understand that it seemed like a meaningless quibble. The new statue that Theanax’s devout mortals had erected did, indeed, show a lot of the goddess’s skin. Almost all of it, in fact. Besides a prodigious collection of jewelry, she was wearing nothing except for a very slender thong and a sash that covered her breasts - just. That was it. Theanax wasn’t depicted naked, but Dolea had to admit that ‘clothed’ wouldn’t have been accurate either.

“It’s a modern trend,” Dolea soothed. “Nothing more.”

“Mortals and their trends,” Theanax scoffed. “It’s all you seem to say, Dolea! I’m not sure I believe it. This is blatant disrespect.”

“I know, I know. But mortals are so very fickle!” Dolea pleaded apologetically. “They have such little lives. You know this, sister. It’s simply their way.”

“And the proportions?” Theanax retorted. “Is that another trend? What am I to make of that, hm?”

Dolea could immediately see what Theanax was referring to. Though the statue in the temple was undeniably of Theanax, its sculptors had clearly gone to some lengths to exaggerate certain features. Her hips, her curves, her bosom. The effect was immediately rather spectacular in its lewdness, and obviously Theanax had taken offense.

And she was tired of hearing about mortal trends. Dolea decided to change tack.

“It’s foolish, certainly,” Dolea allowed. “Tactless. Crude. But, sister, answer me this: don’t you think it looks good? Don’t you think you look good, like that?”

“Look good?” Theanax cocked an eyebrow. “Is that what you think, sister?”

There was a dangerous look in the goddess’s eyes, but Dolea also sensed that she’d caught her regal sister’s attention.

“Look for yourself,” Dolea urged. She pressed close to Theanax’s side and pointed, guiding her sister’s gaze. “Set aside questions of dignity for just one, small moment. In fact, imagine that the statue was of someone else. Wouldn’t you find them appealing?”

“I…” Theanax paused hesitantly, but a slight breathiness in her voice was all the encouragement Dolea needed. “Well… perhaps.”

Dolea pressed closer still. “Wouldn’t you think she was hot?”

Theanax paused for even longer, before: “Yes… yes, I suppose so.”

“And that’s how the mortals see you.” Dolea made her voice as soft and as pleasing as she could as she whispered in her sister’s ear. “Their beautiful queen. Their radiant goddess. The very image of beauty. The very avatar of fertility and feminine magnificence. The-“

“Y-yes, I see,” Theanax cut her off abruptly. Her cheeks were tinged red, perhaps from flattery. “Well… that’s all well and good, I suppose. But there’s more. And worse.”

Dolea braced herself. “Yes?”

“The offerings, for one.” Theanax was still blushing. “More of those… those instruments of pleasure! That’s almost all they seem to offer. As if I don’t have enough of them already! Which is not to say that I’m not a goddess of love… or that they aren’t enjoyable, of course. I’ve certainly… but rather, do they really need to be getting so large, and so realistic? And besides, it’s-“

“Sister?” Dolea frowned. Theanax was raving. The queen of the gods did not rave. “Is something the matter?”

Theanax looked away. “It is. Something else those blasphemous mortals are responsible for.”

“Tell me, what-“

Dolea happened to glance down, and then she saw it: two growing stains at the front of Theanax’s tunic.

The queen of the gods was lactating.

“Ah.” Dolea made sure not to stare. “I can understand your frustration.”

“My so-called worshipers make a mockery of me with these willful blasphemies!” Theanax hissed. Dolea now understood the source of her blush. Not flattery, but humiliation. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t ride down from Ouranos and teach them the error of their ways.”

“I beg you, sister, don’t be too hasty!” Dolea begged urgently. “Surely you can see it from their perspective.”

Theanax’s eyes flashed with rage. “From. Their. Perspective?”

“Surely, merciful queen!” Dolea pleaded. “After all, you’re a mother goddess. Isn’t that so?”

“I preside over motherhood,” Theanax agreed cautiously. “But I am not - I will never be - a mere wetnurse.”

“The furthest thing!” Dolea agreed swiftly. “But milk is the mother’s bounty. It seems innocent enough to me, for that aspect of your worship to have come to prominence.”

“I do not like it.” Theanax folded her arms over her pregnant belly. “What kind of proud mother-queen sits on her throne with milk dripping out of her tits? And anyway, I worry about what this particular little trend represents.”

“What do you mean, sister?”

“I am the Bull-Queen,” Theanax said firmly. “The bull is a proud symbol of strength, dominance and kingship. It always has been. That is one thing I won’t forsake.”

“Of course!” Dolea replied. “No one would expect you to.”

“I’m not so sure!” Theanax shot back petulantly. “I’ve been listening very carefully to their prayers. I hear what they say about me. It’s in my ears all the time. But I’m determined not to let it shape me.”

“Surely it cannot be all that bad, whatever it is.”

Theanax went very still and tight-lipped before spitting out a firm vow. “I am not a cow goddess. Do you understand me? I will never be a cow goddess. It is unthinkable.”

Dolea made a great show of being scandalized at the very thought before even attempting to assuage her sister’s anger. “Absolutely, sister. Unthinkable. Though, I dare to venture… perhaps, in your great wisdom, you can bring yourself to understand how those foolish mortals could have committed such an error without meaning any offense against your esteemed divinity.”

The look on Theanax’s face as she stared at Dolea was more dangerous than ever. “And how would that be, precisely?” Her voice was as cold as winter snow.

Dolea was almost certain she’d overstepped, but she’d already committed herself. “Bulls and cows are, after all, essentially the same except for-“

“Enough!” Theanax shrieked, stamping her foot. “Begone at once! Never return here! I hear my lover waking, and if they don’t soothe my wrath, perhaps it will be you who witnesses my fury instead of those mortals you hold so precious. Get out of my sight!”

And so, for the second time, Dolea the trickster fled the halls of Ouranos.

The third time the trickster goddess Dolea was summoned to Ouranos, she came cautiously, remembering her sister’s threat. But as it transpired, she needed not have worried. The Theanax who met her there was so completely transformed as to be all but unrecognizable.

“Sister!” Theanax cried, throwing her arms around Dolea with wild abandon. “Ah, I’m so glad to see you! It’s been too long.”

“Sister,” Dolea echoed. “You look… well. Well as ever, I’d say.”

Theanax grinned and preened at the praise, giving Dolea more than enough chances to stare in disbelief at the changes that had washed over the queen of the gods.

She looked young. Younger than ever, in fact. She had the youthful beauty of a nymph, and about the same sense of propriety. She wore the clothes Dolea had previously seen on Theanax’s statue: gold-woven lingerie so small and thin it hid almost nothing. A massive collection of jewels and gems clung to her form, all in gold, their quantity and lack of quality making her look even cheaper and more shameless than her clothing did. She held in her hand a refilling cup of heady ambrosia, which she kept drinking deeply from. Theanax had become so wanton.

Her full, pregnant belly was about the only way Dolea could still identify her sister.

The other telltale signs were still present, though. Most notably, Theanax’s crown - although ‘tiara’ seemed a better term. No one but Theanax would dare wear a crown in Ouranos. It was just as frivolous and gaudy as all her other trinkets, but Dolea could pick out a new marker of Theanax’s divinity, a plain mockery of the old in size and stature.

Two small, nub-like horns, sculpted into her little tiara.

How the Bull-Queen had fallen.

But it wasn’t Dolea’s place to judge, so she bowed her head and asked: “What service can I perform for you, my queen?”

“I need your advice,” Theanax replied, with a slight sense of urgency. “Your worldly wisdom.”

“Is it your mortal worshipers again?”

“Yes!” Theanax seized on the notion. “At least, I think so. It’s become difficult for me to… please, come and take a look for yourself.”

Dolea nodded. Theanax’s confusion was understandable, Dolea mused to herself, given how rapidly and drastically mortals’ perception of her had shifted. Especially since wisdom did not seem to be a trait they now attached to the queen of the gods.

Theanax led Dolea through the sky-halls of Ouranos, towards her altar, and Dolea took a moment to look around. Ouranos itself was as changeless as ever, but there were still changes to be seen. Notably, there was not one mortal lover sleeping beside Theanax’s throne. There were dozens. A huge pile of muscular women; all flushed, olive skin and dripping, sex-scented sweat, occasionally twitching and humping and moaning sleepily.

How Theanax’s appetites had grown.

“Here,” Theanax said.

The altar she’d led them to was covered in mortal offerings and sacrifices, but Theanax swept them all aside so she could wave her hand over her scrying bowl and conjure an image of her greatest temple. She gestured for Dolea to look. The trickster goddess braced herself, and peered within.

The sight of what was going on within Theanax’s sanctuary was so shocking it made Dolea’s breath catch in her throat. It was complete debauchery. The light was low and incense smoke hung heavy in the air, lending the proceedings the intimate, lurid quality of a brothel. All over the walls and altars, imagery of cows had all but supplanted that of bulls, and imagery of queenship was nowhere to be found. Theanax as a goddess of motherhood and fertility remained a prominent theme, but all the mosaics and carvings seemed to depict her motherly form with perverse, leering eyes.

And then there was the ritual being carried out at the heart of the temple.

Dolea had to suppose it was a ritual, although there was little to elevate it beyond what it was: a hundred mortals clambering over one another in a religious frenzy, all fucking and kissing and groping, and, when their mouths weren’t filled with one another’s bodies, moaning delirious prayers to Theanax. It was plainly an orgy, but the most obscene blasphemy was reserved for the figure at its heart.

At the heart of the orgy was a woman - a priestess, Dolea guessed. She was the one everyone was reaching for and adoring with pleasure, and her lustful moans were shocking given the way her belly was swollen with child. But she didn’t just moan, she brayed and mooed like a beast, and wore a tiara that was a match for the one currently rested on Theanax’s brow.

Theanax’s mortal worshipers were fucking an avatar of their goddess.

Dolea steeled herself. This one was going to be difficult.

“I… suppose you’d like me to explain this?” she ventured.

To her surprise, Theanax shook her head. The great goddess wore an expression of worry on her face.

“What needs explaining?” she lamented. “This is normal, it seems. The same thing plays out in all my temples, all across the world. And I can’t deny that it feels so very…” She trailed off for a moment to close her eyes and shiver rapturously, before opening them again. “But I also feel that… sister, it wasn’t always like this, was it?”

Dolea blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.

“I keep having these thoughts,” Theanax confessed in a hushed voice. “These doubts. Sometimes, it doesn’t feel right. I know I’m a goddess of pleasure and hedonism, yes, but… wasn’t there a time my breasts didn’t always drip with milk so lewdly? Wasn’t there a time I had a crown with mightier horns? I remember - I think I remember - people respecting me. Fearing me.”

“Oh, sister…” It pained Dolea to see her own sister beset by such doubts. Clearly, she needed to help her.

“Is it true, Dolea?” Theanax pressed. “You’d remember, I think. You’ve always had a talent for such things.”

“Let me set your mind at ease,” Dolea said softly. She put her arm across Theanax’s shoulder; she sensed the closeness would be welcome. “Close your eyes, sister. Allow me to enlighten you.”

Theanax did as she was bid. Dolea put her lips close to her ear.

“Now listen,” she murmured. “Open your ears, queen of the gods. Open your mind. Not to me. But to them. Listen to the prayers of your followers.”

Theanax shivered, and Dolea could tell she was listening. “It’s all so… so obscene.”

“Listen deeper,” Dolea urged. “Quiet your mind for a moment. Breathe deep. Remember, you are on the highest throne in the highest hall. You are unassailable, my sister. There’s nothing for you to worry about. Nothing at all.”

Her soft, gentle, melodic words seemed to lull Theanax into a state of calm as she gave herself over to the prayers of her devout. The goddess seemed to become little more than a leaf falling into a stream, letting the current take her away. Dolea couldn’t hear the prayers for herself, but she had read some of them on the lips of Theanax’s followers.

“O Theanax, of the bosom and the bedchamber,” Dolea repeated softly. “Let us share in your bounty. Give us pleasure. Give us milk. Hear us, lady of the fertile field. Bequeath to us your shamelessness, that we may enjoy without fear. Bless us with the gift of your unrestrained lusts.”

Theanax shivered and let out a low moan that was almost a moo. Dolea allowed herself a smile. It was working. There was no fighting it. They were dealing in the deep magic of the gods.

“Foolish maiden of Ouranos,” Dolea intoned, echoing the beseeching of mortals. “Take our gaudy gifts for your pleasure, and in exchange, show us your favor! Bless us with the gift of fertility you yourself accidentally received.”

Theanax mooed and moaned again as she gave herself to the rhythms of her new worship. Just a little more, Dolea judged.

“Goddess of Pleasure,” she chanted. “Goddess of Sex. Goddess of Milk. Goddess of Fertility. Goddess of Debauchery. Breathe your indulge to us like a wind. Let us delight in all that glitters and sparkles. Let us dance, cavort, drink, consummate, as you do. Without restraint. Without care. Without shame.”

This time, even when Dolea stopped speaking, Theanax’s lips were still moving as she echoed the fervent prayers of her devoted. Dolea let her immerse herself in them for a few more moments, all the better to assuage those nagging doubts that had been eating at her poor sister.

“You see?” she said eventually, in a louder, clearer voice. “There’s nothing to worry about, my sister. This is simply how you’ve always been. Our scandalous, shameless, hedonist queen.”

“O-of course,” Theanax replied. She sounded breathy and absent. “Thank you for setting me at ease, Dolea.”

She opened her eyes. Now, when Dolea looked into them, there was no hint of the goddess’s former fierceness or sharpness. Her eyes were like dull glass. It was like a light had gone out of her.

It was perfect.

“In that case, I’ll leave you to your harem,” Dolea said playfully, glancing at the pile of drunk, heaving women. Theanax giggled and licked her lips. “But first, would you grant me the honor of anointing you?”

“Oh! Of course, sister,” Theanax replied. “It’s the least I can do. Forgive me for not inviting you to do so sooner!”

Dolea just nodded politely, and bowed as if she was grateful. Then, she reached for the offerings that had been transported to Theanax’s altar. Each one was some kind of pleasure-toy, wrought in shining gold, and each more obscene than the last. Dolea took her time selecting the one that looked the largest and meanest, and held it up to Theanax’s mouth.

With an expression of serene, regal divinity on her face, Theanax wrapped her lips around the end of the sex toy’s shaft and started to suck.

Dolea watched for a moment, a smile playing across her face. This was another delightful little ritual she knew that Theanax’s mortal followers had developed, and she was pleased to see that it seemed to have sunk deep into the goddess’s mind.

Once the phallus was slick with Theanax’s drool, Dolea lifted it away from her lips. Then, she used her other hand to pull aside her sister’s clothes. A moment later, she pushed the sex toy as deep as she could into Theanax’s divine cunt.

The moan Theanax made as the golden cock stretched her out was even louder and more shameless than Dolea had hoped. The queen of the gods started drooling, her eyes rolling back into her head, and as her body twitched with pleasure, milk erupted from her tits, soaking the golden cloth that covered her chest and dripping down over the rest of her body.

She looked nothing like a queen. She looked like a whore.

“T-t-thank you,” Theanax moaned. As Dolea pulled away, she squeezed her legs together to keep the massive toy inside her. “Y-you may go, sister.”

Dolea performed another low bow, and turned away. As she did, she saw Theanax walking bandy-legged as she made her way back over to her harem of mortal lovers, eager to drown herself even deeper in sex and pleasure.

This time, as the trickster goddess departed Ouranos, she left with a smile on her face.

The fourth time Dolea came visiting to Ouranos, she came uninvited. Once, she would have thought twice about trespassing in Theanax’s halls. Now, she knew that her sister was beyond such things.

Undermining Theanax had been so simple, in the end. All it had taken was Dolea realizing the power of a few words in the right ear, at the right time. That was all it took to spread myths and rewrite whole religions, if you were as patient as an immortal could afford to be.

And the results had surpassed her wildest expectations.

When she came upon Theanax, the once-great goddess was too lost to pleasure to even notice that her sister had arrived. The sight was nothing less than total debauchery. The whole of Ouranos stank of it. Theanax was at the center of a huge crowd of mortal women, all drunk off ambrosia and the aphrodisiac of their goddess’s presence, all crawling over themselves to try to touch and violate her.

It was a perfect mirror to the ritual Theanax had once balked at seeing.

Theanax, at the center of the orgy, was diminished more than ever. She looked like a young nymph in the throes of her first heat. Her golden clothes, such as they were, were torn and discarded, leaving the goddess clad in nothing but cheap jewels. Her tiara had become little more than a band for her small, nub-like cow horns, and she was wearing what looked like a golden cowbell around her neck like a collar.

Dolea’s smile twisted mockingly at the sight. She wasn’t directly responsible for that particular detail. Mortals could get so creative, once you set them in the right direction.

As dozens of mortals groped and kissed her from all angles, Theanax was bouncing on a golden cock that had been mounted to the floor, eagerly fucking herself on it in pursuit of more pleasure. Her tits, swollen and huge, bounced and heaved along with her, spraying milk all over the crowd of her faithful. That, along with the way her eternally-pregnant belly looked, heaving, covered in milk and cum, was beyond obscene.

Dolea was particularly proud of that little twist on Theanax’s personal mythology. What better way to ruin a mother goddess than by making her a maiden fallen into an illegitimate pregnancy because of her wild, insatiable lusts?

And now, she was no longer even a queen. That had been the last part of the old Theanax Dolea had erased, but perhaps the easiest. After all, who would worship the kind of queen who was constantly sinking off her throne to her knees to beg for sex?

Now, Theanax was a goddess of sex and pleasure - and little more.

Which meant that the throne of Ouranos was open.

It took Dolea a few minutes to locate Theanax’s old crown, forgotten and discarded behind one of the massive marble pillars. She was delighted to find that it fit neatly on her own head. The other gods would resist, surely. But now that Dolea knew how to influence mortals, her victory was all but assured - eventually.

That thought kept a smile on Dolea’s face as she sat down on Ouranos’s mighty throne, claiming the prize that her sister had taken from her long ago.

Dolea, the Trickster-Queen. Yes, that had a nice ring to it.

—

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[elysia-of-the-shore]

Angels See Everything.

Elysia is probably the only one of her friends who cares to explore the temple beyond their little hallways that they call home. While she can’t walk for too long without wearing herself out, swimming comes much easier to her, allowing her to traverse the structure’s myriad waterways and gardens with relative ease.

Such wanderings also gave her time to think. Time to think of how kind the people around her had been. To think on the nightmares that haunted her night after night, the gunshots that would ring out in her head the moment she thought she could get some rest. She shakes her head to clear it, pushing a stray bit of kelp out of her way. Nobody’s been back here yet, seeing as her companions tended to stay out of her wing of the temple. Maybe they were put off by her distant personality and social ineptitude, who knows.

Elysia surfaces in a room she definitely hasn’t seen before, slowly lifting herself onto “shore”. She strides past a garden full of white lilies, smiling a bit at them. These lilies are everywhere in her wing, and she isn’t sure what they’re doing there, but they’re pretty and sweet-smelling enough that she doesn’t mind. She approaches the back of the columned, open-air courtyard. The sun streaming through the “roof” keeps her typical problem with feeling much too cold at bay for the time being.

Before her is a low, ivory-colored marble pedestal with a little pond inlaid into it, the size of a stage. The pool is shallow and clear, the surface speckled with pink and white water lilies. It doesn’t look too different than the other, much deeper pools and canals throughout the place. In the center of the small pond is a second pedestal, with a hand mirror sitting on it. Elysia gracefully dives into the water despite her oft-restrictive dress, swimming mermaid-style towards the center of the pool. She emerges on the smaller pedestal, lifting herself onto it to examine the mirror. The person staring back at her looks a bit like her, but something is…different. Elysia slowly wraps her hand around the mirror, picking it up and examining the woman with her face. A voice rings out in her head.

“Are you ready to know the truth?”

She flinches, but her hold on the mirror’s handle stays firm.

“Do you want to see?”

She has a feeling that she can’t say no.

“Are you ready to be an real angel, Evangeline?”

“No, n-no, I’m not an-“

Elysia Evangeline screams, feeling something in her tear itself apart and put itself back together again. She feels her sight warp for a moment, before everything violently forces itself back to normal. She blinks a few times, trying to regather her thoughts. The ivory mirror stays in her hands, a rune on the back glowing softly. Evangeline recognizes it as the symbol for Venus. She clutches the mirror to her heart as her breathing slows back to normal. She runs back out of the lush courtyard, diving into the water, swimming and swimming until she can’t anymore, until she reaches the main room where she and her friends usually convene. She tentatively looks at a few of them, peeking out just above the water’s surface.

She looks at Callista, and a gunshot rings out in her head, desperation filling her lungs. She looks at Mercury, and feels like she’s half dead from blood loss. She looks at Blaze, and is crushed by grief and anger. And then she looks at Lumiel- no, no, she…she can’t stand it for long, it’s too painful. She sees and hears and knows things that she hates, that she can’t understand, flashes of a world before this one, a world where she knew her own name. Elysia sinks below the waters and sobs, holding the mirror and the woman with her face close.

Ability gained: SIGHT

[mcmuerteflurry]

Supernatural Being of Cupid

Death/Lobo/Muerte x GN Cupid reader

Death: "You're Jack Horner, right? I'm here to take that artifact you've been collecting"

Jack: "Over my dead body, Death"

Death replies as he clashes his sickles's blade together: "That's the plan"

Soft footsteps are heard from the entrance of a room guarded by a large statue and a little surprise.

Cupid who has entered the room standing on a marble pedestal shouting: "Why are you fighting? I'm supposed to spread love here, not destruction!"

Death: "Well, I guess we're just destroying his love for this artifact"

Death who turned around to look at Cupid screaming: “Also put on some god damn clothes”

Cupid rolling their eyes as they cross their arms: “Oh now you just noticed”

Jack Horner questions: “You know each other”

Cupid happily "We are like peas in a pod we-"

Death pinching Cupid's wings and interrupting: "Don't listen to them, Jack. We're not friends. We just happen to have a few mutual acquaintances.."

Death fails to notice Jack Horner digging his hand near his bag pulling out a silver shield and attempt to charge at Death using his body weight to apply pressure above Death as he slams himself.

Death: (grunts) This Horner guy is a tough one. And don't think I haven't noticed you lounging around here, Cupid. Aren't you supposed to be spreading love or something?

Cupid: (shrugs) Eh, I'm taking a break. Besides, it's not like I can do anything about this mess.

Death: (swings sickle) This artefact needs to be destroyed. It's causing too much imbalance in the world of the living and the dead.

Cupid: (leans back) Yeah, I've heard that one before. But what if destroying it tips the scales the other way?

Death: (growls) It's a risk I'm willing to take. And I don't need your input, Cupid. You know nothing of the balance of life and death.

Death struggles under the pressure of the shield compressed by Jack Horner. Using his sickle handles and legs to apply an equal force against the silver shield.

Cupid: (proudly laying on their stomach and kicking their feet as death is fighting for survival) "Ah, yes. I've been working on some killer pick-up lines for you. How about, "I may be Cupid, but you're the death of me."

Death: (unimpressed) "That's...cute. "

Death replies as he swiftly counters the lances with his sickles. Dodging what he can against the diverse set of weaponry such as Alice's biscuits and an Arthur sword. Jack Horner strikes but misses Death by his white fur as he strikes Jack's nose with a sickle handle.

Jack falls down placing his hand on his nose his hand being quite bloody. Death pulls Jack Horner's collar making direct eye contact to him as Cupid runs over to death.

Death: "where did you find it Cerdo (Pig)"

Jack Horner: I just found it... Yeah

Death placing the sickle's inner hook to Jack's neck: "I repeat"

Jack: Oh death a witch has given me a way to help grieve my-

Death's sickle's cuts a small wound on Jack's neck glaring at him his other sickle in hand cuts Jack's cheek slowly oozing blood as he comes closer till the point Jack can feel Death's breathe on his neck. Death scoffs and as soon as he sees a chair Jack is slammed into it. Still pointing the sickle at Jack fuming.

Death: (rolls eyes) Cupid, I'm interrogating Jack Horner about the artefacts. This is serious.

Cupid (whispering): I know but you being in control is such a massive turn on

Cupid is staring at Death, while Death doesn't seem too sure about his feelings for Cupid's comment. They are both staring at each other, while Jack Horner watches on from a distance with a hint of irritation. He is sitting on a chair that's a few feet away from them.

Death: "Hold on a minute, Cupid. You're not getting off that easily. Why were you naked in the sanctuary?"

Cupid: "I was trying to hide from a group of angry nymphs. They caught me skinny dipping in their pond."

Death: "Typical Cupid. Always causing trouble."

Death resumes his interrogation

Death (with sternness and hints of annoyance): "Where did you find it" Jack: I found the map actually and

Cupid digging their hand into Jack's bag which was next to Jack: you mean this map?

Death walking towards cupid: Don't tell me Jack: Yes

Death then fumes at his response but knowing he needed more information. He then turns to cupid.

Death: (sarcastically) How professional of you. You do realize you're the god of love, not lust, right?

Cupid: (defensive) Hey, I'm not the only one who has made mistakes. Remember that time you accidentally took the wrong soul?

Death: (sighs) That's different. I have a job to do. You, on the other hand, have no excuse for being naked in that situation

Jack (questions): Is there any romantic relations between 2 unexpected godly topic people?

Death and cupid looks away from each other in a flustered manner. Jack looks at both of them and smirks.

Jack: "Well, it seems that both of you are embarrassed by a little question, I think it is very likely that both of you are actually in a relationship."

Jack then laughs.

Jack: "I am very smart if I say so myself!" Jack is now very smug.

Cupid laughs at death's response.

Cupid: "Well, well, well, I never knew you were so defensive when it comes to me flirting with danger. And here I thought I could make you break character." Cupid said as laughed.

Death looks at Cupid with annoyance. Death is also embarrassed about what cupid said, but he would not admit that he liked it. But before he could turn Jack was missing and the bag so too. Death fumes at his mistake for letting the bag near him. He roars in rage

Death: "¿Por qué diablos fui a jugar con mi comida!? (Why the hell did i go to play with my food?!?)"

[steampoweredstrawberry]

In Fodlan, Sothis is recognized as the goddess with her children as Saints for the religion that grew around her. Her realm, though all encompassing, primarily is that of fertility, and she is largely considered a benevolent deity whose watch over Fodlan is largely a silent one. She does not smile upon her subjects, does not offer her hand or shine her light upon them when they pray to her, bent in reverence at her altars.

There is a darker aspect of her, however, a fragment born from pieces ripped from her bled and broken corpse when her practitioners no longer considered themselves faithful. Byleth, they call her, though she is also known by Ashen Demon, Fell Star, the Holy Demon. She serves as Sothis' shadow, her will corrupted into something perverse and obscene. In the primary Seirosi sects, she is regarded as a demon, a foil to the divine goddess who breathed life into Fodlan. And yet there are others, who worship in the shadows just as she rules in the shadows, who call her goddess.

The cult of the Holy Demon.

Largely forgotten due to passage of time and the Church of Seiros interfering in their worship, it no longer had a foothold in Fodlan, but it was not completely erased. Places of worship still remain, if buried under centuries of rubble and dust. Some even contained images of Byleth, looking both beautiful and frightening in all of her dark power. Finding any of these sites, however, would be nigh impossible, however. The Holy Demon is one of the Church's tightly kept secrets, sending their historians to find such sites so they could secure the land and destroy any altars or images that would suggest worship.

And that was what Dimitri was supposed to do.

He had served the Church dutifully, proved his allegiance enough that he was entrusted with such a secretive task. And yet, behind closed doors, he harbored doubt for the goddess within his heart. A goddess who sat on her throne in the heavens, merely content to watch and observe her subjects without shining her divine light onto them was not the goddess Dimitri had naively pledged himself to.

Still, he found himself there, among the rubble of what was once a temple. It looked nothing like Sothis' temples of old, all pure and white with sun-bleached stone. Those of the Holy Demon were built in the dark, hidden in caverns and other places where no one who wasn't seeking her would tread.

He hadn't known what to expect. A pile of stones that were once an altar, perhaps, with carvings that would indicate worship. Or, perhaps crude paintings upon the wall, rendered in blood and taking on a rust coloring with time.

An intact statue of the Holy Demon was not what he expected.

Seirosi scripture taught that she was the darker aspect or Sothis, and thus Dimitri expected her to be horrifying in the wake of Sothis' beauty. She was not a sorry sight, though. No, she was beautiful beyond description, so beautiful that Dimitri nearly fell to his knees and wept when he took in the sight of the stark marble, carved with such a careful hand that she looked like she might step off her pedestal. Never had he seen a woman as mesmerizing, as enchanting. Despite his better judgment, he reached out to her, felt the smooth marble of her thigh under his fingertips and shivered at how warm and pliant it was.

Like flesh.

And like she was made of flesh, she turned her gaze to him and smiled. It was like light poured from her, bathing Dimitri in her grace. His suffering was forgotten, her holy light cleansing him where Sothis could not. Sothis did not heed his prayers, did not care of his suffering. And yet, here stood before him a demon whose expression told him that she heard all, that her heart bled for him and she would grant him his heart's every desire if only he pledged himself to her.

He did kneel then, eyes turned up to her strange and terrible beauty as she sat before her in subjugation. When she regarded him, it was not with the cold indifference he expected from Sothis' dark aspect, but that of a love so pure that Dimitri felt as though his heart may burst.

Then, she extended her hand to him.

[agentrouka-blog]

Jaime think he is Warrior to Cersei's Maiden. He wanted to fit them in roles all times. He forget that Cersei is also a Mother. He saw her as Stranger when he felt betrayed. People think that Jaime put her on pedestal so he feel betrayed by her when she step out of her role. But Cersei has many facets and it was him who wants to force one aspect on her and refused to see others.

Yeah, I think there's a great deal of symbolism in the way Jaime sees Cersei kneeling at the alter of the Mother, mourning their son, and decides to disrupt that image of maternal grief by forcing himself on her right on that alter, moon blood and all, next to their son's corpse. He felt nothing at his son's death, and neither is he comfortable with Cersei's grief. Jaime requires her to be focused on himself, on his needs, to be sexual available. The image of the Mother has to be desecrated and soiled.

Why?

Jaime had seen him born, that was true, though more for Cersei than the child. But he had never held him. "How would it look?" his sister warned him when the women finally left them. "Bad enough Joff looks like you without you mooning over him." Jaime yielded with hardly a fight. The boy had been a squalling pink thing who demanded too much of Cersei's time, Cersei's love, and Cersei's breasts. Robert was welcome to him. (ASOS, Jaime VII)

Cersei being a mother was always an issue for him because it took away her primary attention from him. He tries to blame her afterwards for preventing him from having a relationship with his children, but that's hardly the true and sole reason. Jaime rejected the children all by himself, for what they meant for Cersei.

He placed himself in competition with Joffrey, as if he were a child himself. As if Cersei was stealing something from him by being a mother to someone else.

Incidentally, the relationship to Cersei is something Jaime also places in opposition to his own mother:

Once their mother's maid had caught them at it . . . he did not recall just what they had been doing, but whatever it was had horrified Lady Joanna. She'd sent the maid away, moved Jaime's bedchamber to the other side of Casterly Rock, set a guard outside Cersei's, and told them that they must never do that again or she would have no choice but to tell their lord father. They need not have feared, though. It was not long after that she died birthing Tyrion. Jaime barely remembered what his mother had looked like. (ASOS, Jaime III)

Her death is almost framed as a relief, her interference punished by his lack of regard for her memory. Perhaps someone is overcompensating. Conflating his childlike confusion, the fear of punishment for something that had as of yet been innocent if alarmingly devoid of health boundaries, with a sense of guilt when she ended up dying, snatched away entirely.

How could Jaime not cling to his relationship with Cersei as a compensation, a replacement that he was entitled to? How could the introduction of competition not make him feel threatened in the same way, trying to force him out of the one bubble of childhood comfort he thought he had dug his claws into, out into full adulthood and actual responsibility?

At a later point, in another dream, Jaime comes closer to touching on that pain of loss, the same loss that drives so much of Cersei's rage.

A tear rolled down her cheek. The woman raised her hood again and turned her back on him. Jaime called after her, but already she was moving away, her skirt whispering lullabies as it brushed across the floor. Don’t leave me, he wanted to call, but of course she’d left them long ago. (AFFC, Jaime VII)

Which, of course, mirrors an earlier confrontation with Cersei, too.

Cersei wiped her tears away on a ragged brown sleeve. "Very well. If it is battlefields you want, battlefields I shall give you." She jerked her hood up angrily. "I was a fool to come. I was a fool ever to love you." Her footsteps echoed loudly in the quiet, and left damp splotches on the marble floor. (AFFC, Jaime I)

So when - in between those two hooded women - Jaime equated Cersei with another hooded image, as per your quote, we should not let ourselves be fooled.

He glanced about the sept, at the gods. The Mother, full of mercy. The Father, stern in judgment. The Warrior, one hand upon his sword. The Stranger in the shadows, his half-human face concealed beneath a hooded mantle. I thought that I was the Warrior and Cersei was the Maid, but all the time she was the Stranger, hiding her true face from my gaze. (AFFC, Jaime IV)

So close, Jaime.

Jaime can't accept Cersei as a mother unless he chooses to finally grow up - and accepts that more than a son, he is a father.

He may face something very important about all the gods:

The Father’s face is stern and strong, he sits and judges right from wrong. He weighs our lives, the short and long, and loves the little children. The Mother gives the gift of life, and watches over every wife. Her gentle smile ends all strife, and she loves her little children. The Warrior stands before the foe, protecting us where e’er we go. With sword and shield and spear and bow, he guards the little children. The Crone is very wise and old, and sees our fates as they unfold. She lifts her lamp of shining gold, to lead the little children. The Smith, he labors day and night, to put the world of men to right. With hammer, plow, and fire bright, he builds for little children. The Maiden dances through the sky, she lives in every lover’s sigh, Her smiles teach the birds to fly, and give dreams to little children. The Seven Gods who made us all, are listening if we should call. So close your eyes, you shall not fall, they see you, little children, Just close your eyes, you shall not fall, they see you, little children. (ASOS, Samwell III)

They all revolve around the children.

“Did you only sing of six gods? Craster always told us you southrons had seven.” “Seven,” he agreed, “but no one sings of the Stranger.” The Stranger’s face was the face of death.

Even that one, Jaime.