#goddess of ten thousand names

[devotionsposts]

For l am the first and the last

I am the venerated and the despised

I am the prostitute and the saint

I am the wife and the virgin lam the mother and the daughter

I am the arms of my mother

I am barren and my children are many

I am the married woman and the spinster

I am the woman who gives birth and she who never procreated

I am the consolation for the pain of birth l am the wife and the husband

And it was my man who created me

I am the mother of my father

I am the sister of my husband And he is my rejected son

Always respect me

For I am the shameful and the magnificent one

Hymn to Isis, third or fourth century BC,

discovered in Nag Hammadi

[khaire-traveler]

Random Greek Deity Facts

- Artemis has been associated with horses in the past.

- Ares has associations with owls.

- There are ancient gravestones with reliefs on them that historians still cannot tell if the art is of Dionysus or Jesus.

- It is common for historians to struggle identifying if a statue is of Artemis or Apollo because they often look so much alike.

- Hephaestus is a god of fire.

- Maia, the Mother of Hermes, was thought to assist in raising both Dionysus and Hephaestus.

- Hypnos is said to live in a massive cave, sleeping with thousands of his sons.

- Rather than blood, Greek gods are said to have something called Ichor running through their veins; no one is quite sure what "Ichor" actually is.

- Both Apollo and Artemis are deities of light; it is not just Apollo. Along with this, it is believed Leto may also be a goddess of light.

- It is commonly believed that the hyacinth flower is not actually the flower Hyacinthus was infamously transformed into; most sources seem to agree that it was likely either an iris or a larkspur.

- At one point in the Dionysiaca, Dionysus wages a war against India. The goddess Rhea is said to have gathered troops for him, and Zeus was said to have been the one to task Dionysus with going to war in order to allow him to join the gods on Mount Olympus.

- Demeter's chariot is pulled by two giant winged serpents; she has literal dragons pulling her around, and no one is talking about it.

- The Python was a child of Gaia, and before Apollo took up the Oracle in Delphi, there was actually an Oracle with Gaia in that location.

- The twins Castor and Pollux, who made up the Gemini constellation, were commonly worshipped throughout ancient Greece under the title of the "Dioscuri" or "Dioskouroi".

- Also regarding the Dioskouroi, the name "Castor" ("Kastor") may translate to "Beaver".

- The famous epithet "Paean" of Apollo was also listed on an ancient Mycenaean tablet that listed the names of separate deities. It is, therefore, possible that Paean was once a separate god who later became associated/merged with both Apollo and his son Ascelpius.

- Besides being an epithet, a Paean was also a type of devotional chant/song that was sung in honor of Apollo. Some ancient sources claim that the event of singing a Paean could actually be quite loud, involving clouds of stomping/banging and movement.

- The masculine version of Hekate's name, "Hekatos", was an epithet for the god Apollo; both names can be translated to "worker from afar".

- The first record of the more "traditional" view of a werewolf comes from the Greek myth about King Lycaon, when Zeus transformed into a wolf for ten years as punishment for tricking the gods into consuming human flesh (yes, you read that right).

- In the myths, Zeus and Hermes have a lovely Father-Son bonding trip of destroying an entire village (except for one home) for not showing either of the disguised gods hospitality as poor travellers.

- Both Apollo and Zeus were seen as gods who purified "blood-guilt" - a condition which was caused by the killing of another person and required immense purification.

- Cerberus is described as a fully sentient being who can communicate as other immensely powerful children of Gaia could, meaning he is akin to the gods in terms of intelligence rather than being like an overgrown dog.

- Hermes is said to be the inventor of offerings, specifically animal sacrifices.

- One origin of the Pegasus was Poseidon and Medusa doing the devil's tango.

- There is a tale that claims Hermes to be the one who granted Aesop his knowledge of fables.

- According to some ancient sources, Cerberus has as many as fifty heads, a mane of snakes, the claws of a lion, and a snake tail.

- Iris was not only the goddess of rainbows but was also the personal messenger of Hera and was prominently featured in The Iliad delivering many messages on behalf of the Olympian gods.

- Eros has been depicted as the child of Aphrodite and Ares, the child of Ouranos and Aphrodite, the child of solely Aphrodite, the child of Poros and Penia, the child of Ouranos and Gaia, the child of Zephyrus and Iris, and a primordial being who simply came into being. So, where did Eros actually come from? Your guess is as good as any.

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That's all for now! Let me know if y'all enjoyed these and would like more. 🧡

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|| Sources ||

- Theoi.com (of course)

- The Iliad by Homer

- Theogony by Hesiod

- The Dionysiaca by Nonnus

- Information from various museum trips in Athens and Delphi, Greece (sorry, I don't remember the exact sources 💀)

[therealcocoshady]

POV : You’re Marshall Mathers’s girlfriend and he worships you

Author’s Note : Hi guys ✨. I feel like it’s been a while since I last published something on here. Enjoy this little blurb I wrote. It’s kind of random but I think it’s kind of cute still 💕.

Marshall Mathers doesn’t really enjoy being treated like a king wherever he goes. He knows people give him special treatment out of respect, because he is a huge fucking superstar, but he doesn’t really care for it. He’s just a normal dude at heart, you know ? He likes it when things are kept simple. He’s not a huge fan of the deference, of people practically bowing and curtsying to him because he is Eminem. It’s weird.

But when it comes to you ? People better treat you like the absolute monarch that you are. This man will not accept anything less for the woman he loves. You are his sun. His days start and end with you. You are a deity he worships day and night and people better put some respect on his lady’s name.

He is not giving you the princess treatment. No. This would be good enough for any peasant. If he could, this man would build altars and monuments for you. You are his religion. Your birthday and the anniversary of your first date are holidays he refuse to work on. Doesn’t matter if he’s offered hundreds of thousands of dollars for a ten minutes performance, he simply refuses to be away from you on those days. And if you so much as utter an « I need you », this man will drop absolutely everything. He’s done it in the past and he absolutely has no regrets about flying for five hours on a day off from tour to be able to surprise you at work after you mentioned it was « so hard being away » from him. He is usually mindful about climate change but for you, this man will turn into Taylor « taking my jet for a ten minutes flight » Swift. He literally doesn’t care about the world burning as long as there is a smile on your face. Marshall is not a big spender but for you, he doesn’t care about numbers. His goddess deserves the very best and, thank God for that merch money, he is able to give it to you. He’s not a diva but he demands the very best for you. He couldn’t care less about the water brought to him in his dressing room before a performance. But he makes sure it’s your favorite brand. Same for snacks. If he has to fly someone to another country to get something for you, he absolutely will. In his mind, it’s the least he can do for the woman who blesses him with her presence. He is almost offended when someone fails to greet you properly and he absolutely is when someone straight up disrespects you. If he could, he would fight duels in your honor. Somehow, you managed to turn this stoic individual in the utmost gentleman. When he’s by your side, you will never be caught walking on the wrong side of the pavement, having to hold your own bags. He’d rather die than have that. But you’ll never be caught. Because he protects you like you’re the most precious treasure there is. He’s never caught in your presence, because he doesn’t want to have you plagued by the media and harassed by fans and, yet, he manages to show you off. In private, he doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s head over heels with you. Your name is on his lips constantly, and the way he talks about you shows just how devoted he is. At first, people close to him got a little worried. Who were you ? What were your intentions ? It seemed like you were out of nowhere. Walked into Marshall’s life one day and, from then on, he was addicted. They had every reason to be suspicious. And then, they met you. And they understood. They got to witness the genuineness of your interactions, how your eyes mirrored Marshall’s devotion, the way he leaned into your touch so naturally and just how you seemed to heal the parts of him that had been left raw. For the first time in forever, they saw him at peace. Not merely content. Happy. They expected to hate you, because what kind of high maintenance brat has the most stoic man they ever knew act like a puppy ? Only, they couldn’t. It wasn’t quite clear how things worked out between you and Marshall and, in hindsight, it was none of their business. But they couldn’t hate you when it was clear as day that « Em » as most call him, had finally found a safe space. So you won them over as well, and they gave you the princess treatment.

[askladyrhea]

Hands claps together tightly in the archbishop’s lap, each trying desperately to stop the other from shaking at the familiar feeling on her hair. No matter how much time passes or how often she speaks, she can still hardly believe that this is real. That she is real.

“…No, I have not. Not in any professional sense.” She probably should have, considering it gets in the way quite frequently. But ‘hair holds memories’, as the humans like to say. Typically she finds such sayings strange, if she can comprehend the meaning at all, but this one is different. This one— for her — it couldn’t hold more true.

“I have… tried, in the past, to cut it myself, but…” Her voice is almost embarrassed as she continues, becoming more a mumble with each word.  “…I… could not. You were the last one to cut it, so I did not… I did not wish to ruin it.”

Jeweled fingers extended to stroke the soft green strands of Rhea’s hair. It always was so soft. Beautiful, long. Silky smooth. In a way the touch was comforting, a touch remembered from so long ago. A comfort action, for both of them.

“Your hair is so long,” Sothis commented in a quiet tone. “You hardly had it cut, yes?”

@askladyrhea

[hedwig221b]

omg qween goddess supreme hedwig221b can you please, pretty please rec me some regency and/or historical sterek 🥹

hoping you have a good day/night (idk your timezone lol)

Hi, love! You know me so well... historical aus, my beloved 💜

When All the Pieces Fit by NARKOTIKA

"Does he even realize? With the cooking and cleaning andandand—now this fucking baby?" Isaac fumes. Said baby waves its fist in the air, and Stiles bends to haul him onto a hip. The baby babbles something and Stiles nods his head with complete seriousness, as if everything out of its mouth is perfectly sensible and coherent. Then the kid starts mouthing at Stiles' nipple through his dress and everyone goes dead silent. "I'm going to wife him so hard," Ethan announces, and they all break out into argument over who has the best chance at mating the boy in the river.

Elskende by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Stiles is an omega concubine, kept sequestered away in the city of Beacon Hills, waiting for his lord Gerard Argent when the Wulver take the city and the alpha takes the omega.

Pride and Place by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Derek Hale, Earl of Osterbrook, has inherited, following the death of Lord Montfort, a run down house in Yorkshire he neither needs nor wants, convinced his staff are robbing him, and with the mystery of a missing ward, he manages to get himself talked into a ridiculous bet, that he cannot pass as a steward until Midwinter, nearly two months away. So can he maintain the charade? Find the missing child? and manage to turn the shambles of a house around, or will he give up and let Peter take the thousand pounds he bet.

A Princely Knight by Dexterous_Sinistrous

He would stand by Stiles’ side, a constant shadow of protection until his death. A life for a life, one worth much more than an orphan turned thief turned royal guard could comprehend. In truth, Derek saw the one person he would gladly give his life for, because Stiles made this world better. ~*~ Or, Stiles is a prince and Derek is his knight.

Meant to be One by sunhazeheart

His nerves felt like a live wire was running hot beneath his skin, hands fidgeting with the silken material of his robe. If he had the concentration to spare, he might had worried about tearing it. It was all he could do to sit there at the vanity, eyes squeezed shut, and try to give in the constricting pressure around his chest that said that he was about to fall into a panic attack. Breath in. Breath out. His own heartbeat rushed in his ears. Being mated to the reclusive king with a frightening reputation to his name, bundled away from his home and father, and then surrounded by underwhelmingly distant faces hiding secrets was not how Stiles Stilinski imagine spending his life soon after turning eighteen. He can only remind himself that it is for the good of his people, both old and newly acquired. But, perhaps first assumptions are made too hastily and a fated match can be made, even surrounded by threats of war, revenge and death’s waiting embrace.

The Wolf Lord by mikkimouse

"You never know," Lydia said. "Perhaps the Wolf Lord will ask you to dance tonight." Stiles scoffed. "Oh, yes, of course he will. And then he'll transform into a giant black wolf and whisk me away to his estate to live happily ever after." He rolled his eyes at the thought. "Actually, I rather hope he does ask me to dance. I can tell him how ridiculous these masquerades are."

To Whom The Wolf King Bows by MadcapRomantic

Stiles Stilinski meets The Wolf King, the very boogeyman he'd spent his younger years terrified of; yet the man is little, if anything, like the tales he's heard. But, Stiles has spent the last ten years of his life as a slave, under the harsh whip of the cruel King Gerard Argent, and trusting Derek - trusting anyone - is beyond difficult.

Where the Shadow Ends by Green

Derek goes undercover to Delphi to figure out what's wrong with the oracle. He doesn't mean to fall in love.

The Hills Call

Five years ago, Prince Derek of the Hale Empire had fallen for the son of a Baron, Genim of Stilinski. His mother had not approved, and after some time imprisoned Genim escaped to the Dukedom of the Shore, where he was taken in by Duke Christopher and Lady Allison. Now, Prince Derek is on his deathbed from a poisoning and it is up to Genim, now called Stiles, to nurse him back to health. Wary of the Hale Empire, Stiles returns with their young son to see if he can heal Derek of his illness and escape the threats he still feels from the Empress herself.

The Light in the Woods by DiscontentedWinter

To honour a treaty with the people of a strange land, Derek Hale, prince of the kingdom of Triskelion, has to marry Stiles.

I encourage you heavily to go through the works of Dexterous_Sinistrous and DarkAthena (seraphim_grace), these two are my crushes and I am in awe of their work, it's so good. I could genuinely sit here and list dozens of their fics - I already did list some of my most beloved fics of theirs...

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | possessive Derek | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | smut | mafia | hurt/comfort | magical!Stiles | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse

[yujateaandpi]

This concept has been microwaving in my brain for so long— Sharkboy and Lavagirl but what if they were anticapitalist Polynesian demigods fighting big resort corps. Character bios below for anyone who’s interested!

🦈

Akamu is the son of Filipino marine biologist Joseph Ambong and Ka'ahupahau, the shark goddess of Pu’uloa. Raised by his grandmother after his father’s disappearance, Akamu is a PhD student working to protect marine macroecosystems. He’s professional and aloof at first glance, but only those closest to him know how reckless he truly is. He tries to act cool but he’s a bit childish and has a soft side for puns. He also has a cringe obsession with Jason Momoa.

His mana was inherited from his mother and gives him supernatural strength, speed, senses, and the ability to talk to animals. His demigod form is more natural so he takes time at night to let loose in secluded coves. After some slip ups, he’s accidentally started rumors about a horror cryptid named the Sharkman. He’s very proud of it, though Keahi scolds him to keep a low profile.

🌋

Keahi is the 140 year old reincarnation of the volcano goddess Pele. When she was ten, her village was raided during the overthrow of Queen Liliʻuokalani in 1893. She was tossed into the ocean and lay buried in her demigod form until Akamu found her in 2010. She awoke with amnesia. She stayed with the Ambongs for a couple years and became close friends with Akamu. After Joseph Ambong disappeared, she bounced around the foster care system both on and off the islands. Her powers manifested uncontrollably during this time, resulting in several arson charges.

After a tough few years, she returned to the islands to work, regain her memories, and reunite with her childhood friend. She still doesn’t remember everything, but she’s trying to enjoy her life a little at a time. Keahi is a peacemaker with a strong appreciation for the natural world. She has a cheerful disposition and comes off as naive sometimes, but deep down she carries the kind of wisdom that’s built from pain. She doesn’t like talking about her past.

Unlike Akamu, her mana was transferred directly from the soul of a goddess, making her essentially immortal. In a thousand years she will become the living embodiment of young underwater volcanoes and new islands. For now, she’s just trying to appreciate living a mortal life (and taking down some greedy tourist economies in the meantime).

I’m open to asks about these characters! I think about them. Every day.

[calisources]

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎.

All sentences are taken from different books from Phillipa Gregory, specially her series about the historical fiction setting of the war of roses and the tudors era. Change names, locations, pronouns and nouns as you see fit for your own liking. Some of these have slight foul language or involve insuation of sexual situations. Please beware. This is part two. (part one).

You are my joy. You are worth tens of thousands.

The art of happiness is being content with what you have.

Bless you my daughter, and may you remain pure in heart and get your desires.

I want my husband to love me with a passion, like in a troubadour tale, like a knight.

Ah, my dear, you are a good wife. You are my beauty. You are my only love.

Another husband, another new house, another new country, but I never belong anywhere and I never own anything in my own right.

Life is long, and if a woman survives, she can take her pleasures one way or another.

My advice to you, as you go to your husband, is never to trust him and never love him more than he loves you.

This is a generation of men accustomed to warfare, inured to danger and familiar with cruelty.

Last time I danced in these rooms it was the Christmas feast and I was wearing a dress of silk.

I have the Sight, I should have seen it all, but some things are too dark to forsee. 

When a country is at war, cousin against cousin, brother against brother, no boy is safe.

People always make up stories about princesses. It comes to us with the crown.

Good God, I could take you in my arms right now.

There is no one who loves peace more than a soldier.

A troubadour to a distant mistress.

Every woman should marry for her own advantage since her husband will represent her.

The castle will seem very quiet and strange without you here.

We may be of the same family, but that is the very reason why we are not friends, for we are rivals for the throne. 

Her confidence is extraordinary, her impertinence unforgivable, her words terribly true.

I believe that to be a free woman is to be both passionate and intelligent; and I am a free woman at last.

She doesn't realize yet though men go to war it is the women who suffer--perhaps more than anyone.

They are a couple in love, and anyone but a fool would see it is simply that, nothing more- and certainly nothing less.

We are Plantagenets - we dine on a diet of betrayal and heartbreak.

One little boy, and he a bastard.

The queen sees me coming, turns toward us and waits, with a killer's patience, for me to reach the chancel steps.

I am the daughter of a water goddess. I am a woman with water in her veins and power in her breeding.

I am not defeated by a boy with a newly won crown, and no man will ever walk away from me certain that he won’t walk back.

Compared with the rest of us she was silver, while we were pewter, a common mixture of lead and tin.

I was born to be Queen of England and mother of the next King of England. I have to fulfill my destiny, it is my God-given destiny.

I will stand up and speak in my own voice and no man will ever silence me again.

Affection is not important to you, nor to me. You want power Margaret, power and wealth; and so do I. 

A woman of sense would marry only for the improvement of her family. Only a lustful fool dreams every night of a marriage of love.

All this is always for nothing.

Her heart has to break and her spirit has to break if she is to be any use to her family.

Your son is heir to an enormous fortune and name. Someone would be bound to bid for you him and take him as his ward.

Your son is heir to an enormous fortune and name. Someone would be bound to bid for you him and take him as his ward.

It's not an easy dance she's leading.

Bed, Wife.

You look as if you would eat me up.

I cannot think how to sate my desire for you. I think I will have to keep you prisoner here and eat you up in little cutlets, day after day.

But you would not get out till you were with child.

It is easier to take a country into war than to bring it to live at peace.

When you are still and thoughtful you are as lovely as the statues they are carving in Italy.

Jane had gone to pray for the dead queen, Anne would dance on her grave.

I have a longing for you, Lady Elizabeth Grey, that I have never felt for any woman before.

Come to me, I beg you, come to me. It could be my last wish. Will you come to me tonight?

I cannot be your mistress. I would rather die than dishonor my name. I cannot bring that shame on my family.

This is my marriage, and I want my wife in my bed.

Learning is an ornament to a good woman, not a distraction.

I would rather see you dead at my feet than dishonored.

What if the king is killed in battle?

I have loved you honorably as a knight should do his lady, and I have loved you passionately as a man might a woman.

I am not defeated by a boy with a newly won crown.

It's not magic. It's what any slut does if she has her wits about her.

He was such a happy boy, and happiness is not memorable.

I have a right to you, as your betrothed husband.

He has to marry a princess.

You have married a man who is going to die in his bed, preferably after making love to the most beautiful woman in England.

I will make sure that the most beautiful woman in your eyes is always me.

If you hate a woman, the first thing you destroy is her reputation.

Don't waste your courage on hating him. Keep yourself to yourself. And keep up your courage.

Where have I offended you?

And now I want love. Lust is no good for me. I want love. His love.

She can be pious, she can be learned, she can be witty and wise and beautiful.

And swore that whatever the obstacles before me, I should be Queen of England.

My chamber. Come at once.

It seems that we have to be married.

So now we are going to consummate our betrothal.

Let’s dance for the Queen of the May!

My mother does not need your good opinion.

If I burned them, I became as one of those who think that ideas are dangerous and should be destroyed.

From the moment she could talk she had been taught to guard her tongue.

I gave my womanhood to you. Tell me, in what way have I offended you? What have I ever done which was displeasing?

But don’t run too fast. Remember he has to catch you.

Nobody in this world will ever call me Mrs. Fool.

You can always tell a pretty girl by the way she walks. A pretty girl walks like she owns the world.

I thought that our marriage vows had moved your heart. I thought that you were resting your head on my shoulder for affection. Fool that I am.

I adore your hair, I like to see it loose.

 I am as envious of her as she is of me. But I have seen her rise and rise.

Because I dare not look at you, because if I did, every man and woman at court would sell at that in my eyes.

Because I can't sleep for thinking of you. Because I burn up with desire for you.

You’re a girl from the House of Lancaster. You cannot fall in love with the heir to the House of York unless he is king victorious.

Child, you cannot change a king, you can only make him laugh.

What will happen when I am old and I can dance no more?

She seems not to have a seat of her own but she must borrow mine.

The queen is right. The queen is always right.

I’m not a girl, afraid of the unknown, I am a woman; I can face fear, I can walk towards it.

And we hardly ever speak of her. It is as if we cannot bring ourselves to speak of her as dead.

A lady will find her defenders. The men around you will speak for you if needs be.

She can speak three languages, but she can tell the truth in none of them.

She never thought when she overthrew a queen that thereafter all queens would be unsteady.

What if I don’t want an unwilling bridegroom, a pretender to the crown, who won his throne through disloyalty and betrayal?

His is a rule of terror. He makes us afraid of imaginary enemies so we don’t guard ourselves against him and against our government.

[thescarlettbitch]

Mesopotamian Pantheon Explained

Hello! My name is Red, I am a devotee of the Mesopotamian Goddess Inanna, and it makes me sad to see that not a lot of people know about her, let alone the rest of her pantheon, so I thought I'd make a post about everyone, or at least, everyone I can. I've made a masterpost about her, and I really enjoyed it, as it gave me an "excuse" to learn about her, and this is the same. In this post I will be naming the gods and their domains and their relations with each other. If prompted, I would love to do a deep dive on every deity in this pantheon I can. Unfortunately, there are over a thousand deities across all Mesopotamian cultures, so this is by no means a complete list or anything similar.

So, first, what is Mesopotamia? Mesopotamia means "land between the rivers", the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers, and it is the term to define the whole region and the various cultures that lived there. This includes Sumer, Akkadia, and Babylon. Despite culture being different, they shared similarities in written language, religion, and attitude towards women. The gods may have had different names at different points, but they were the same deity to all, often referred to interchangeably. This region gave birth to about 50 firsts of man.

But, on to the Gods!

The first thing to know about the Pantheon and how people worked with them, is that mortals believed them to be coworkers with the deities, and that they worked together to maintain order. Due to differences in cultures, each civilization viewed the deities differently, so Marduk might have been king of the Gods in Babylon, Enlil was king of the Gods in Sumer. The heavenly Gods were referred to as Igigi, and occasionally Anunnaki, though in some sources Anunnaki was the older or "major" Gods, and the Igigi were the lower ranking Gods.

We are going to start with the Seven Divine Powers, the oldest Sumerian deities.

Anu - sky god

Enki - god of wisdom

Enlil - lord of the air, sumerian king of the Gods.

Inanna - goddess of love, fertility, and war, queen of the heavens

Nanna - goddess of the moon

Ninhursag - mother goddess

Utu/Shamash - god of the sun

Other popular deities include

Assur/Ashur - supreme god of the Assyrians

Ereshkigal - goddess of the underworld

Gula - goddess of health and healing

Marduk - babylonian king of the gods

Nabu - god of writing

Nanshe - goddess of social justice

Nergal - god of war

Ninkasi - goddess of beer and brewing

Nisaba - goddess of agriculture, turned to writing and accounts

Dumuzid/Tammuz - god of shepherds

Enkimdu - god of farmers, seen as the personification of the irrigation system

Geshtinanna - goddess of scribal arts and dream interpretation (theorized)

Bau - mother goddess, healing

Ishkur - god of storms and rain

Ištaran - god of divine justice

Nanaya - goddess of love

Nanshe - goddess of divination

Ninazu - associated with the underworld, though his role is disputed

Ninlil - wife of Enlil, thought to be "artificially created" as Enlil's equal

Ninshubur - god(dess) attendant of Inanna (in some sources she is masculine, and others feminine)

Zababa - war god

Alammush - god attendant of Nanna

Sherida - goddess of dawn

Apsu - primeval freshwater

Tiamat - primeval sea

Creation-

The Mesopotamians had many different tellings of the creation of the world, most likely due to the cultural differences. Atra-Hasis, Eridu Genesis, and Enuma Elish are the most common, as we have physical copies of them today. They, among other sources, depict a different family tree, but with key similarities.

Atra-Hasis: Anu, Enlil, and Enki cast lots to determine who rules what. Anu the sky, Enlil the earth, and Enki the sea. Enlil assigned minor gods to farm, but after many years the minor divines refused. Enki suggested to make humans to do the labor. Mother goddess Mami fashions humans out of clay, flesh, and blood of a slain god, and all the gods spit on the clay. After ten months, humans emerged from a specifically made womb. After many years, humans have overpopulated, so Enlil sends famine and drought every 1200 years. Enlil decides to destroy humanity by flood. Enki goes to hero Atra-Hasis and tells him of the plan, instructing him to demolish his house and build a boat. He does, and he brings his family and his animals and seals the door. When the flood comes it stays for seven days and even the gods are afraid. It ends and Enlil is furious with Enki for breaking the vow of silence but eventually the two agree to find other means of controlling the human population.

Eridu Genesis: the beginning of this has been lost to time. The surviving portion starts with Nintur, the goddess who birthed humanity, where she calls for them to he sedentary and civilized. Then more is missing. It resumes with humanity still being nomadic and barbaric. Nintur is stilling planning to provide kingship to the mortals. Then cities emerge, are named, and become distributional economies. Humans begin to annoy the gods, Enlil was unable to sleep, and made the brash decision to destroy humanity with a flood. Enki tells Ziusudra, a human, and tells him to build a boat to save himself and one couple of every animal. Ziusudra does as he is told and the flood comes. Humanity survives, but the rest is lost to time.

Enuma Elish: at the beginning, Apsu and Tiamet existed, co-mingled. From them came Lahmu and Lahamu. Then Anshar and Kishar, and from Anshar came the god Anu and from Anu came Nudimmumd/Ea. These new gods made noise that annoyed Apsu, who called to Mummu to speak with Tiamat, who proposed to destroy them, but Tiamat was reluctant. Mummu advised Apsu to destroy them. The new gods were worried, but Ea crafted a spell to lull Apsu to sleep. Mummu couldn't wake him. Ea took the halo from Apsu and wore it, slew Apsu and chained Mummu, living in Apsu with his wife, Damkina. Together, in Apsu, they created Marduk. Other gods made fun of Tiamat for not doing anything as Apsu was killed. Tiamat made monsters to fight the gods, eleven chimeric monsters with weapons, lead by her new consort Kingu, and gave him the tablets of destinies. Ea heard of the plan and went to his grandfather Anshar, who proposed Marduk as their champion. Marduk said he would win against Tiamat but that he would need to be king of the Gods if he did so. The others were wary but eventually relented. Marduk was given a throne and many supplies to fight Tiamat. He won and split her body in two, fashioning the sky from one half, places for Anu, Enlil, and Ea in it. He made likenesses of the gods in the stars, and from that he made the days of the year. He made night and day and the moon, he made storms and wind and rain, and gave the tablet of destinies to Anu. Marduk told Ea that he was going to use his blood to create man to serve the Gods, but Ea said that another should be chosen as sacrifice. Kingu was chosen, so man was made using his blood.

So... where do these other gods fit into the family tree?

Great question.

An and Ki had Enlil and Enki.

Enlil and Ninlil had Nanna, Nergal, Ninazu, and Enbilulu.

Enlil and Ninhursag had Ninurta.

Nanna and Ningal (in some sources) had Ereshkigal, Inanna, and Utu. In other sources, Enlil, An, or Enki were their parents.

Ereshkigal and Anu had Nungal.

Ereshkigal and Gugalanna had Ninazu. In other sources, Enlil and Ninlil, or Nanna were his parents.

Utu and Aya had Mamu, Kittum, Ishum, and Sisig.

Enki and Duttur had Dumuzid and Geshtinanna.

Either Sin, Urash, or Anu, and Inanna, had Nanaya.

Dumuzid and Inanna were married, but bore no children together.

Thank you for reading this major info-dump and lmk if you guys want any specifics or deep dives on someone! <3

[keirawantstocry]

Poly Morning Crew but Vampires/Vampire Hunters :> Pretty please?

emerges from Google docs covered in blood, sweat, and tears 

hey

Fit was a hunter first. That was his priority. He was raised a hunter. 14 years old with a shotgun full of silver bullets in his hands. He killed his first at 14. Anyone else would consider it crazy. Insane even. To Fit it was just life. It's what the Minecraft family did. Ever since years and years before when their great great grandfather Philza first began the hunt of the ungodly beasts. 

Phil was a legend among hunters. The man who first realized that vampires were living among them. Who realized the clubs that lay in the deep city housed thousands of hissing beasts who would bring the crowds in before sending the people home with no memories but the bite marks on their necks. They got sloppy, a friend of Phil's went missing the night she went to the club. They found her dead tossed behind the place with her body shredded open. That's when the hunt began. He killed nearly 70 of the monsters before he disappeared all those years ago. Nobody knew what had happened to him. But his children were hunters. His grandchildren were raised as hunters. And their children and grandchildren after that. 

So the bloody reality was all Fit knew. He learned to see the patterns. To see the trail of bodies they left behind and kill them before they could do any more damage. 

When Fit was born his parents thought their mission was close to over. There hadn't been vampire activity in years. They trained him up anyway. Just in case. Their son would be strong, the greatest warrior and hunter this world had seen. 

He lost them both to a vampire nest on the morning of his 17th birthday. It was that day that Fit swore to hunt down the nest that had done it and kill every last son of a bitch there. 

-

Pac had been Turned when he was 28. By an apologetic young boy named Tubbo. It was comedic in fact, the way he got Turned. Pac was a human who knew, who volunteered to get his blood sucked. He had to admit the adrenaline did a lot for him, even after losing to his leg when his dear vampire friend Cellbit was a little *too* hungry. But it wasn't what turned him. Turning could only be done by drinking another vampire's blood. 

In stories it would seem hard to do this by accident due to the fact there was no reason to store vampire blood. But they did. 

Tubbo had explained it to him once over some drinks. According to him the blood of different species tasted different. But vampire blood tasted the best. The metaphor he used was “human blood is like a nice juicy steak but vampire blood is like a pure shot of the sweetest honey on Earth”. So Tubbo drank both. Well that's to say he drank many different creature's blood. But the main, the best he claimed, were human and vampire. 

He gave him the wrong glass. By the time they noticed the process had already started. Tubbo apologized a thousand times over but Pac always waved him away. “It's so okay dude. I've always wondered what it would be like to be a vampire.” 

He had nothing to leave to be honest. Mike was immortal, the goddess that possessed his body made sure of that. Any other friends he had were the vampires he held his company with. His family was long gone, parents and siblings. 

The vampires became his family. 

-

Tubbo was 20 when he was turned. He was a very new vampire. He spent his first ten years in a haze of mindless killing before he was found and taught the ropes, taught how to take care when biting, how to keep the victims alive. He was only 31 years old in human time when he met Pac. 32 when he turned him. His mentor described his mental state as much younger. He had been in a frenzy for ten years, he was barely 22 mentally. Tubbo couldn't help but be glad about that cause no way in hell was he ready to be 32 years old. Even now with vampiric timing it felt too old. He struggled with the implications of turning Pac but the man had nobody left outside of the vampire world. They lived together, Pac moved in. At first Tubbo insisted they build a room for him but once again Pac waved him off. 

It was safer to sleep in the same bed anyway. 

Family. It was a word that Tubbo hadn't really felt in years. He didn't remember his parents or if he had any siblings. Pac became his family, his life, his heart. His everything. 

That was all that truly mattered. 

-

There was a nest close by, Fit could feel it. There had been signs for weeks in this small town in the west. People with a lack of memories, strange unexplained blood loss, and bites on their necks. 

Fit ducked quickly behind a wall as the current subject he was stalking did a half turn to look behind her. A moment later he heard a door open and then close. Peeking out he saw that she was gone, presumably into the large door at the end of the alley with a blinking red exit sign above it. 

He followed after her. Bingo, he thought as he stepped right into the back of a club. In the very back corner he saw two men, one hunched over the other with his mouth on his neck. Dark hair covered the work he was doing but what else could it possibly be? Creeping over, he slowly pulled out his knife and pulled the guy off the other, holding the knife to his throat. They both gasped as he pressed the metal hard against the man's throat. “Don't move a muscle. I know what gig you're pulling in here.” 

The man still lay half dazed, leaning against the stage and blinked up at him with hazy dark eyes. His hair was mussed and a bright flush covered his cheeks.“What the fuck man?” 

Fit felt the man he held at knife point giggle from where they were pressed together. “Can't a man kiss his boyfriend?” 

Fit hesitated. Had he been wrong? Had he actually just interrupted a lovers tyrst? 

His grip on the knife slackened as his eyes shot to the man's neck. It was a hickey. 

Fuck. 

He released the man and he stumbled forward to his boyfriend before turning to face Fit. “You aren't a vampire?” 

The dark haired man laughed while his half blonde boyfriend laughed and slowly stood up. He was a gorgeous man, dark hair and dark eyes with a beautiful yet wicked smile. “Oh, I am. We just both are.” 

Fit raised his knife again, panic sweeping through his veins. So he had been right. 

“Who are you?” the younger looking man asked. “Most humans don't know anything about us.” 

“He's a hunter, Tubbo,” the other man said. “Look at the way he holds himself.” He laughed again. “I thought hunters gave up years ago.” 

Fit gritted his teeth. These bastards were cocky and annoying. “My parents taught me. And their parents before them. And their parents before them. Our great grandfather found out about you and we have sworn to make sure you hellspawn all rot in hell like you deserve. Phil started this job and I'm going to finish it.” 

Both men laughed and it grated on his nerves.

“Do you hear this shit Pac?” the younger looking one, Tubbo, crowed. 

“What's your name?” the one called Pac asked.  

“Fit.” 

“Last name?” 

“Minecraft.” 

They both stared at him, their laughter fading quickly. “You related to Philza?” the half blonde one asked. 

Instantly his guard was up even higher. “You know my great grandfather? How old are you freaks?” 

“We know Philza,” Tubbo said casually as if it didn't flip Fit's world entirely on it's head. 

His heart felt like it shattered at that moment. “Excuse me?” 

“We know him,” Pac repeated, slipping his arm through his boyfriend's. “Wanna meet him?” 

Fit wasn't sure exactly what compelled him to follow the two men. Morbid curiosity perhaps? Whatever it was, he listened to it. 

The place they led him to was an old building, a little house near the edge of town. Beautiful plants grew plentifully out of a lovely garden in the back. 

Pac rapped his fist on the carved dark oak door. It was gorgeous. “Oi, Phil! We have a visitor!” 

The door swung open. A young blonde boy stood there with a golden duck floatie around his middle. 

“Hi Chayanne!” Tubbo said as he picked up the young one and spun him around. It was domestic. Fit couldn't help but feel conflicted about the love between these monsters. 

Behind the young child a man appeared. But he wasn't a man no. It was a creature. A man like one with large black wings and sharp black talons. Shoulder length blonde hair was pulled back at the base of his skull with a green ribbon. He smiled and it was soft, too soft. “Hey guys what brings you all the way out here?” 

“We got someone who wants to meet you,” Tubbo said as he shifted the young boy to his side, the boy resting his head ever so gently on the vampire's shoulder. The amount of trust was debilitating to everything he knew. 

The avian turned to look at him. “Yes?” 

“Let's go inside,” Pac suggested as he placed his hand gently on Fit's arm. For some reason he let him. “This man is about to have his world absolutely wrecked.” 

-

Fit was gripping the side of the couch hard. It couldn't be. It just couldn't possibly be. 

Phil was staring at him from the other couch, the other side of the room. His son was in his arms, the two vampires were perched on either side of the couch Fit sat on. 

“You're immortal,” he said slowly. “And you live with vampires?” 

Phil nodded. “I hunted them down when I was younger it's true. But they were the ones who took me in when I discovered my wings, discovered my immortality. They're kind, Fit.” 

“They killed my parents,” Fit spat. 

Philza looked sympathetic. It hurt. Fit averted his eyes to look down at the floor. “I'm sorry for that. But you can't blame their deaths on every single vampire. They may be out here drinking blood but do you see killings? Be honest with yourself mate. My friends here aren't doing any harm.” 

Fit let out a deep breath and sunk back into the couch. “It's hard to believe. Cut me some slack. It's all I fucking know.” 

“Then let us teach you more,” Pac said. Fit cut his eyes over to him and was entranced by the sincerity in his dark eyes. 

“You would?” he asked. It felt easy but he couldn't help but want it. To put down his weapons and rest. For the first time in decades. He just wanted to rest. 

“Of course.” 

“My parents,” Fit said slowly. “I want justice for them.” 

Pac's eyes lit up. “We'd be willing to help. Well. Me and Tubbo at least. I do love a good killing. Can't blame me for that considering you're also a killer.” 

Tubbo laughed, high and crazy while Phil chuckled to himself. 

“I'd say you'd do good to go with these two,” he suggested. “They're good boys. You know damn well most vampires woulda just killed you as soon as they knew who you were.” 

Tubbo shrugged. “We like ‘em crazy.” 

Fit looked over at him now, staring intently at those eyes, at the elegant undead face. 

It was crazy. Considering going with these two. But hell there was just something about them. So when he finally said, “okay,” it felt like the beginning of something life changing.

[ryin-silverfish]

Hey I am new to your account, so forgive me if I'm asking something u probably cant provide info on

I was wondering if you have any information about Goddess Zhīnu/ The Weaver Girl (I think her jpn version name is Kamauhata Hime) because I have stumbled through a handful of her tales but was wondering if you somehow stumbled across any old literature involving her

If not that's completely fine, I really enjoyed reading your underworld blog and I look forward to reading more of your blogs

Aww, thank you!

As for the Weaver Girl: I was only familiar with the popular version of her legends until a while ago, when I did a bit of digging on the "Dongyong and the Seven Immortal Maidens" tale that was part of the Lotus Lantern collection.

The Dongyong story was one of the two major inspirations for the "Cowherd & Weaver Girl" story we knew today——the other was constellation stuff, where the Cowherd represented the Altair star and Weaver Girl, Vega, and the two stars just happened to be divided by the Milky Way.

The Dongyong story in Soushen Ji basically went like this: Dongyong was a poor yet filial son, who sold himself into servitude in order to earn enough money to conduct a proper funeral for his dead father.

His master, seeing his plight, lent him ten thousand coins for the funeral, and after serving his three years of respect (a thing you did after your parent died), he was ready to return to service to pay off his debt.

Then a woman suddenly showed up and married him, and told his master that she was a weaver who could help her husband pay off his debt. She then weaved hundreds of silk rolls in ten days, revealed her identity as the celestial Weaver Maiden, who had been sent by the Heavenly Emperor to assist Dongyong, before flying back into the sky.

The Southern dynasty 小说, by Yin Yun, collected the first "prototype" of the Cowherd & Weaver Girl legend: here, she was the daughter of the Heavenly Emperor, who weaved and weaved at the east side of the Milky Way.

Out of pity for her lonely existence, the Heavenly Emperor married her to the Cowherd at the west side of the Milky Way (here, it was implied that he, too, was a celestial/star god). However, after her marriage, she had stopped weaving altogether and neglected her duties, so the Heavenly Emperor angrily commanded her to return to the east side of the river, but permitted the two to meet once a year.

[avionvadion]

So I just got all floating thirteen stone monuments (the ones that look like flowers) in TotK, and I kinda like how they explained what role Skyward Sword Zelda took on and passed down.

Like, yeah. Zelda and Sky!Link brought civilization back to the surface, creating what is essentially Hyrule. But it wasn’t a kingdom. They were both from a little village in the sky. Neither are particularly greedy nor ambitious for power. Them naming themselves royalty never made sense to me.

But the stone monuments explain that before Rauru and Mineru came down to earth from the heavens, Sonia (Skyward Sword Zelda’s descendant) had been a priestess.

Given that Skyward Sword Zelda was literally Hylia reborn, and all of her female descendants inherited her powers… it makes sense that they would be priestesses. They have the powers of the goddess Hylia. Assuming Zelda returned to goddess-hood after living out her mortal lifespan, they’re also able to talk to her.

Hyrule only gained a “royal family” after Rauru came down, and Sonia only became a member of said royal family after marrying him- thus changing the duty of Hylia’s descendants from being priestesses to princesses.

Which is neat.

Also I love the fact that Rauru is canonically able to sing, and Mineru dance, and Sonia just watches them in amusement.

Also, baby girl Zelda is living her best life building constructs with Mineru, aldjskskks. Her attendant tried to be like, no, Zelda, it’s dangerous! And Zelda just ignored her to hop up on a construct and ride it. 10/10. Zelda is finally able to be the chaotic researcher she always wanted to be, with the familial support she’s always wanted.

Zelda was also the one who came up with the idea of making the sky islands, so she’s literally just copying what Hylia did before Skyward Sword. 🤣 Which is hilarious.

TLDR:

So, like, timeline wise-

Hylia creates the sky islands. Reincarnates as a mortal. Her mortal self, Zelda, descends to the surface with her hero, Link, and they create the “land” of Hyrule.

Zelda basically becomes revered, as she is literally the goddess, and is given the status of priestess.

Hundreds of years pass, Rauru and Mineru descend from the heaven. They establish the “Kingdom” of Hyrule, and Sonia (Zelda’s descendant) gives up her status as priestess to marry him, and all female descendants after are princesses.

TotK Zelda is zapped into the past. Tells them what’s up with Ganondorf. Gives them the idea to lift some of the land up into the sky as a guide for Link, doing exactly what the original Zelda once did back when she was still Hylia.

Then… Oot/MM happens, Ganondorf being reborn, and then Twilight Princess, with that Ganondorf being defeated and so on so forth until Ganondorf’s spirit reawakens as Calamity Ganon and gets sealed away, then awakens again ten thousand years later and is properly destroyed in BotW, and the original Ganondorf wakes up in TotK.

[dw-writes]

The Invasion...Chapter Twenty-Two

Summary: Mad Sweeney could not recall the last true believer he had. Sure, he’d been brought over as one of the Fair Folk, but it was different. A sliver of the truth, a dim shadow of what he was really owed. The belief of someone who followed traditions, not him.

That changed when he arrived in Cairo.

That changed when he laid eyes on you and he found that one didn’t have to believe in the myth to believe in the man.

A/N: I am.... SO SORRY. this chapter really shouldn't have taken me [checks calendar] LOL ALMOST A YEAR TO WRITE HOLY SHIT IM SO SORRY. i hope you guys enjoy this chapter, please let me know what you think!!! And i'm sorry ahead of time for the pain :3 (not really yall were expecting it) also enjoy the latest crossover to happen in this series. i hope you enjoy!!! :D

Chapters: Chapter One || Chapter Two || Chapter Three || Chapter Four  || Chapter Five || Chapter Six || Chapter Seven || Chapter Eight || Chapter Nine || Chapter Ten || Chapter Eleven || Chapter Twelve || Chapter Thirteen || Chapter Fourteen || Chapter Fourteen-ish || Chapter Fifteen || Chapter Sixteen || Chapter Seventeen || Chapter Eighteen || Chapter Nineteen || Chapter Twenty || Chapter Twenty-One || Chapter Twenty-Two Requests: Mad Sweeney and The Holidays || The Invasion and the Stressful Blows One Shots: The Invasion and That One Thankful Holiday || The Invasion and the Weight of Change || Eyes On You

The Invasion and the Big Easy

Beautiful Aphrodite had only ever felt rage twice in her long life - once, thousands of years prior, as she watched the carnage that unfolded to retrieve the prize that she had given young Paris, and second, when she saw you.

You, sitting in an empty room, eyes glassy from too much alcohol and manufactured self-doubt. She knew what it was from, had felt your heart chip throughout the night from across the country while you fitfully slept under the concerned gaze of a new friend. Whispers of a voice filled the corners of the quiet room.

She turned to them, her incorporeal form non-existent to your unfocused gaze and the man who sat on the floor near you. The face of a young woman filled the unplugged television. Rose didn’t recognize her – it was some different form of Media, a newer one, a viral one. The young woman stopped whispering and met the goddess’s furious gaze.

The television cracked, the image disappeared, and the room fell silent. She turned back to you and watched your exhausted eyes close. The man mumbled, lifting his head to check you, then settled back against the wall with a sigh.

She made a note to learn his name and remembered how love existed in so many forms.

Elsewhere, Rose slumped into the arms of her two loves. They exchanged worried glances above her head as she mumbled to herself, “My poor messenger.” She sighed. Her concerns traced the cracks in your heart through your long day to the point she remembered last speaking to you, when you were happy, and the events of your day played out against her eyelids.

You stood at the edge of a cliff, overlooking a large and bustling Athens of a different age. Your bare feet were cradled by plush, green grass while a cream-colored toga fluttered around your legs.

“We haven’t talked in a long time,” said fair Aphrodite as she stepped up next to you. You tried to look at her, but her face kept changing, as did the rest of her. She cycled through so many features like an ever-changing portrait, each paint stroke melting into the next, all trapped beneath a pale pink robe that brushed the ground.

“Have we ever really sat and talked?” you asked.

She smiled. It lit up the world. “You know what I mean.” She nodded at you. “Nice toga.”

“I’m liking the breeze,” you replied with a smile of your own.

“Yeah? It’s nice, isn’t it?” she teased. You laughed, and she watched you, her features melting and solidifying into a face that was familiar to you. You cleared your throat and looked up at her.

“Sweeney?” you asked.

She shrugged broad shoulders. “Yes and no,” Rose answered with a voice that wasn’t hers. “I’m the goddess of love, remember?” She lifted a hand into the air. “Funny, I never would have guessed this, though. Not in a million years.”

“Which part?” you whispered.

She shoved her hands into her pockets. “All of it,” she replied, “None of it. You know, I thought I had a grip on these things, but you keep surprising me.” She smiled. You longed to see that smile on his real face. “Tell him soon, okay?”

“I will,” you promised.

You opened your eyes as easy as a blink, staring ahead into the purple black haze of the dark room. Sweeney snored behind you; a hot arm thrown over your shoulders. You gingerly wrapped both hands around his wrist and frowned.

Was it a warning? A piece of advice? It could’ve been anything – your friends weren’t always so forth-coming in their intentions.

You stared at the room, thinking over everything that had recently happened, watching the darkness become blue, then gray, and a watery white as the sun started to rise. Your phone buzzes with the alarm for your meds, and you squirmed out of Sweeney’s grasp to take them.

You washed your face in the attached bathroom, brushed your teeth, changed into different, cleaner clothes. You woke Sweeney and insisted he stay quiet to not wake anyone else in the house. As you two left, you wrote a thank you note for the parents, and folded up Mitchel’s number for the sisters.

“I hope they get in contact with each other,” you sighed as you followed Sweeney across the large yard. He grunted, yawning, and continued towards the water’s edge. His lit cigarette brunt orange in the faint morning daylight, glinting off a key in his hand. “Sweeney?”

His boots clomped over a rickety pier just out of sight of the house. A boat swayed at the end of it.

“You’re joking,” you called after him. He waved you off without a word. You groaned, looking back up at the house behind you, and followed him. “You’re stealing their boat.”

“Borrowing,” he grunted, placing the cigarette between his lips, “’m borrowing – we’re—” he corrected, looking up at you as he crouched, “We are borrowin’ their boat.”

You crossed your arms. “Do you intend to mosey on back up the river with it when we’re done in New Orleans?” you asked. He climbed into the boat. You looked back at the house again and scrambled after him, pinwheeling your arms to keep your balance in the small craft. “Put out your cigarette,” you wheezed, “Before you blow us up.”

“’m not gonna blow us up!” he argued.

“You have the shittiest luck on either side of the Mississippi, Sweeney, so I’m sorry if I don’t trust you saying that,” you snapped. He sat back, glaring at you, which you returned. When you didn’t budge, he slowly pulled the cigarette from between his lips and flicked it out into the water. You took a deep breath and sat down. “Someone’s gonna get back at you for that,” you mumbled.

“You were so nice yesterday,” Sweeney mused as he sat back, “What happened? Hm?”

“You decided to steal the boat of a family that wanted to help us,” you shot back with a shrug, “And it’s not even theirs! This isn’t even their house!”

Sweeney groaned loud enough to drown out your complaints, twisting around to start the motor. You braced against the sides of the boat as it started down the river, glaring all the while at his smug smirk. You settled in after a while, watching the trees pass along the riverside. “What was that about my luck?” he said as he carefully steered the craft.

“You have shit luck,” you repeated, “The only reason you’re not dying some wildly fiery death is because I’m here and I don’t have shit luck.”

He snorted, shifting on the seat, and absently twisted his warped coin charm around his neck. “Ya know, maybe you made me another lucky coin,” he muttered absently, “Ever think of that?”

You watched him before you spoke. His eyes were trained on the river behind you and he carefully steered down the gentle curves, keeping away from other boats and suspicious shallows. You didn’t answer him for a long time. You balled the sleeves of your denim shirt in your palms and pulled it closer to you, wishing it was just a bit thicker to keep out the cold air coming off the water.

“Maybe I did,” you finally said as the river became more crowded with boats. He hummed as he looked up at you, slowing the boat down and threading it through the crowd to the dock. “Maybe I did make you a lucky coin,” you repeated.

He snorted as he climbed out of the coat. He held out his hand to you. “Bein’ facetious, luv,” he grumbled.

You took it, swinging your bag onto your shoulder as you climbed out. “Big word,” you teased. He tugged you hard against his side. “But really,” you said with a small smile, “Always told you that it was about belief. And I really think those coins were pretty lucky if they stopped a bullet and saved your life.”

“We’ll see,” he mumbled. He squeezed your hand, then led the way out of the marina and into the crowded streets, keeping you close so that the two of you wouldn’t be separated. You eventually found your way to a less crowded area of shops. Sweeney slowed down. “Ya hungry?”

“A bit,” you sighed, “We didn’t really eat anything at the house since someone stole their boat.” You looked up at him.

He rolled his eyes and looked around, tugging you behind him to a food truck on the corner. He huffed, lip curling in a teasing sneer as you pulled out your wallet and paid. He took the food he’d ordered, and yours, and tucked a bottle of beer in the crook of his elbow as he started to walk. You followed him, taking your food with a sigh as you kept pace with him. He stopped at a statue of the Virgin Mary, then smacked the top of his beer against its stone pedestal to pop the metal top off, and chugged half of it.

You watched him, slowly eating your food, leaning against the pillar across from him. “Sweeney?” you asked once he finished his beer.

He buried his face in his elbow as he released an ugly burp. You whistled slowly. “Whut?” he grumbled, taking a large bite of his meal.

“Are you okay?” you asked. You set your food down, worry twisting at your gut, and moved closer to him. “You’ve been a little weird since we got here.”

“Just got here,” he grunted.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” you shot back. You crossed your arms, staring up into his face. He scratched his chin, then down his neck as he watched you in return. “I’ve known you too long for you to pull this shit and not expect me to ask you about it,” you gently said.

He continued to stare, his blunt fingernail scratching at the label on the bottle until it started to peel. He didn’t say anything, though. His eyes grew dark the longer they traced over your face, until, finally, they fell away. He sniffed and looked at the crowd shuffling past you, scratching the growing stubble on his chin again. “Just don’t wanna see ‘em,” he grumbled.

“Hey strangers,” came the call of a familiar voice. Sweeney groaned, dropping his head back with the sound, and turned away while you smiled and spun around.

“What a sight for—” the words shifted in your mouth as you took in Laura Moon’s new, fresh face and glowing skin, “Sore eyes, holy shit Laura.”

She smirked and twirled, holding out her arms. “Guess that old man doesn’t lie, huh?” she said.

Sweeney rolled a hand in the air, tossing the empty bottle behind him. “Then what, pray tell, are ya doin’ here, huh?” he sniped, “What, you figure that the quick ‘n easy don’t last?”

You looked up at him, struggling not to roll your eyes. “Really?” you whispered.

He shrugged. “Just pointin’ out the obvious,” he muttered.

“In a really asshole-ish way,” you replied.

He lowered himself against the pillar, leaning into your space. “Never heard ya complain before,” he murmured.

You narrowed your eyes, arms crossing over your stomach. “I call you an asshole a lot, actually. Pretty sure I use it more than your name,” you argued.

“It ain’t bad enough that it kept ya from kissin’ me though, ain’t it?” he asked with a smirk.

You snapped your mouth shut.

Laura’s voice was far too loud in the crowded street when she shouted, “You what?!” followed quickly by, “Holy fucking shit,” and, “It’s about time!”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed, turning to her. “No?”

“Yes!” she countered.

“That’s not the argument here, the argument is how he’s an asshole for getting on your case,” you tried. Behind you, Sweeney started to snicker.

“Uh, no, fuck that, I’m over it,” Laura said with a wave of her hand. She closed the gap between you. “You kissed this sasquatch? Seriously? What, was it against your will, or did you actually want it?” She gasped, her face alight with joy at the first taste of gossip she’d had since she died. It really gave you a glimpse of who she had been before. “Did he tell you that he—”

“Ya here for the Loa, yeah?” Sweeney cut in, coughing on ill swallowed spit.

“That’s not important right now, is it?” she countered, glaring, “Is it really?”

“Course it is,” he replied, pushing away from the pillar. It was your turn to stare at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes as he walked past. “Second longer without my coin is a second too long, Dead Wife. Let’s get this over with.” You followed after him. He tossed the bottle into the nearest trash.

“What crawled up his ass?” Laura grumbled as she walked next to you.

You shrugged. “He’s been like this since we got here. I don’t think he wants to deal with the Loa at all.” You tilted your head, then leaned towards her. “Do you know anything about the Loa? I haven’t read anything, just know what he’s told me.”

“Not a fucking clue except that they can bring me back,” she said.

“Huh,” you sighed.

Sweeney led you both around a corner and stopped in front of a small building. Above the door was a sign that swung in the humid breeze, displaying the black rooster that had started to fade in the sun. He paused at the door, rubbing his neck, then he turned to you both. “Ain’t no backin’ out of this once we start,” he said. He stared at Laura, his face the epitome of sobriety. “You wanna do this?”

She rolled her eyes and yanked the door open. “Let’s just fucking hurry up, I don’t have all day,” she griped.

Sweeney held the door open for you, his arm brushing your shoulder as he leaned down to whisper, “Stay close.”

You nodded and stepped inside.

(Rose frowned as the scene against her eyes shifted, showing you through the eyes of a goddess she’d never met.)

Bridget – lovely and strong – felt her heart lodge in her throat the moment you walked into the Black Cock. She knew the man you walked in with, knew the emotion that made him hold open the door for you, dip his head towards yours, brush your back as you passed him.

Mad Sweeney was in love with you, and you him, if your subtle lean into him was a clue, and he didn’t explain a damn thing about the Baron’s specialty if you have followed him and the woman there.

He was about to break your heart.

She knew all too well that not everyone enjoyed their partner stepping out, but even the ones that didn’t mind it never came with them to ask the favor.

He hadn’t fucking told you.

In the ten seconds it took for your trio to enter the bar, Maman Bridget’s opinion of Sweeney soured. Something must have shifted in her, too, as her husband’s fingers lightly prodded her back in question. She smiled, mirthless, and stepped out from behind the bar.

What a fucking coward.

(And then, there you were)

You watched the red-haired woman move around the end of the bar. She passed Sweeney, sharing a look with him, before she moved through a door you hadn’t noticed before.

(Imaged passed through your mind – piles of stones upon marked graves of women, women standing beneath weeping willows that shielded them from mist and shadow, drums beating against ears; but also, there were doctors in damp fields and poets writing by candlelight and rough handed blacksmiths and farms all framed by an ever-burning flame.)

You sat heavily at the bar. The weight of recognizing a two-faced goddess rested heavily on your shoulders and the back of your neck. You stared absently at a bottle in front of you, barely listening to the sound of Sweeney’s voice as he traded barbs with the man behind the bar. Your vision swam when you finally looked at him.

The man himself was tall, even lounging back against the back bar, with a top hat that made him even taller. He had deep, dark skin with the cool undertone of a clear night radiating from beneath. His bright eyes, while filled with humor, were scanning over your trio with a knowledge you couldn’t place.

The wall behind him melted away when he met your gaze. There was a history behind him, spanning centuries and countries, filled with celebrations and swearing and death and spirits and all framed by a heady smoke that filled your lungs and spilled over your lips on a shaky exhale. When you breathed in, there was life and sex and booze, singing and loud music and a sharp tang of spiced rum on your tongue.

You couched and squeezed your eyes shut to the man’s grin, bracing against the bar as you struggled to regain your composure. Beneath it all, you recognized a gap in your knowledge that ached in your chest and made your heart race. The lack of information made you anxious and it hurt. You refocused on the bar, scooping up a bottle near your fingers, and struggled to listen to the conversation.

“And when she is not around,” purred the Baron, his voice floating through the air, “I fuck a lot of other women.”

You were joining an already complicated conversation, you knew it, and maybe it was nerves clawing at your throat that forced your mouth open to say, “Doesn’t Maman Bridget help women with unfaithful lovers?” The air chilled for a moment, but nothing rang untrue in your skull. You glanced up from the bottle of pepper-infused rum in your hand. “What?” you asked, “I’m not wrong.” You were defensive, yes, your voice sharper than you intended.

The woman, who you knew had left through a door before, was standing next to the Baron behind the bar. She arched an eyebrow and smiled. “I like this one,” she murmured. She released the man and rounded the bar again, almost materializing by your side with her smooth movements. No wonder you hadn’t noticed her return. “I wouldn’t mind keeping you around,” she said, leaning against the bar, “The Baron might even warm up to you.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” you replied, “No offense.”

The Baron laughed – loud and full, a sound that echoed a little harshly in your ears – and leaned towards you. “She’s right,” he murmured, “I like you.”

You smiled. There was an air to him that was familiar, and you voice as much when you said, “You remind me of another friend who owns a bar a lot like this. I think you two would get along.”

He snorted as he leaned back, eyeing Bridget over your shoulder as she slipped behind you. “Maybe you could introduce us,” he replied.

Sweeney sat heavily on the stool next to you, grunting and leaning into your warmth. “How’s about we stop makin’ nice,” he grumbled, “I gotta favor.”

Bridget smiled. “From what I hear, it’s not like you to do favors, Sweeney,” she sighed and your smile grew tighter, “Hasn’t that been your friend’s job?”

You frowned at the way she said ‘friend’. Sweeney huffed, shifting in his seat and leaning away from you.

“The Dead Wife,” he sighed, waving a hand towards Laura on his other side, “Is dead.”

The Baron flicked the rim of his hat up and leaned close, spreading his hands along the bar. “Don’t look dead,” he said. He sniffed, long and loud. “Don’t smell dead, neither.”

“Smells Norse,” Bridget commented with a sigh. She leaned towards Laura and picked up her hair, sniffing it. “A bit Greek? A bit…” Her hand snapped out and slapped the side of Sweeney’s head. He started to protest when Bridget opened her mouth and let loose a violent rant of Gaeilge so fast it didn’t sound like words.

Laura leaned back to share a wide-eyed look with you.

The Baron laughed.

Sweeney hunched his shoulders around his ears as Bridget swore. Her voice dropped as she switched to English, “You lost the Sun’s treasure?!”

Your leprechaun swung a hand towards Laura. “It ain’t lost, it’s in there!”

“It’s not yours anymore, is it?!” Bridget snapped, “Not the Sun’s but some dead woman’s!”

“And she’ll only give it up if she ain’t dead!” Sweeney shouted.

The Baron stood straighter. Bridget’s mouth clicked shut and her eyes glanced past him to you.

“Why we’re here,” Sweeney finished.

“That’s powerful magic,” the Baron murmured, “With a steep cost.”

“We’ll pay,” Laura replied, unknowing.

Sweeney shoved his hands through his hair and leaned on the bar, ducking his head low.

It was quiet for a moment. The Baron and Bridget exchanged looks. Then, Bridget cleared her throat. “Come back at closing,” she answered, “We need time to prepare.”

Sweeney was up and out the door before she finished. You stood to follow, stopped only by the woman’s hand on your arm. Laura lingered at the door.

“You shouldn’t come back,” she said, “It’s not magic involving you.”

You frowned, feeling a calm warmth seep into your skin, but pulled away. “We’ll see,” you replied.

You left.

Laura waited outside, talking about places to stay, and started towards the main road like she knew the area. Sweeney shuffled behind her, and you after him. He didn’t look at you, didn’t slow to walk next to you. He just walked, shoulders hunched, hands shoved in his pockets.

The three of you eventually made your way to a small hotel not far from the French Quarter. They had one room left, and the cost left you lightheaded, but you dug the cash out of your bag and paid regardless. Once you were given the keys, you turned to see what Laura and Sweeney wanted to do until it was time to go back, but found Sweeney gone.

Laura shrugged when you asked her where he’d gone. “Dunno,” she said, “Didn’t even see him leave.”

You frowned. “Okay,” you sighed, leaning to see if you spotted him anywhere. “What do you wanna do until he gets back?”

A smile lit up Laura’s face. She led you back outside, and down the street, stopping at every shop between the hotel and the bar. You found ink for Mr. Ibis, an antique set of mortician’s tools for Mr. Jacquel, and a new toy in the shape of a bat for Bas. Laura found a cute dress, which she showed you only after you had left the store, and she changed in an alley. There were other stores, other things purchased or stolen, other smiles shared and memories made.

It was dark soon enough, and the two of you stumbled back to the bar in each other’s arms, laughing like schoolgirls.

Sweeney was already there, waiting, face drawn as he pushed the door open. He didn’t say anything as you walked past him, didn’t even look at you.

Bridget looked away from the Baron with a smile that fell the moment she saw you.

(Coward. What a fucking coward.)

“I told you not to come,” she said, leaning on the bar, “This doesn’t involve you.”

“Why wouldn’t I be here?” you asked, confused, a bit incredulous, “They’re my friends.”

Even the Baron looked a bit lost as he watched Sweeney. “Sex magic only calls for two people,” he explained slowly, “That who requested, and that who benefits.” He tilted his head. “And those who cast it.”

“What?” His words rang in your ears. Laura’s hands disappeared from your arm as she said something, then the Baron, then silence. Three sets of eyes burned into your face as a fourth actively avoided looking at you. “What?” you asked again.

“It’s magic,” Bridget said at the confused look in your eye, “Just magic.” It was like she was trying to soothe a burn, but instead of aloe, it was lemon juice.

“Potent magic,” the Baron added. He slid his hand up over her ass. “Only kind that’ll work for this, too.”

Laura whispered your name.

You smiled. You had to – for her, who you’d come all that way for, and for Sweeney, who…

The smile hurt. You’d rather the platitudes from Bridget.

You nodded, glancing around the room. “Yeah, I know,” you said, voice cracking, “Why we’re here.” You cleared your throat. It burned. “I’ll be at the hotel then.” The door thumped against your back as you reached it. Laura had the grace to look away as you fumbled it open and left.

Once outside, the door slipped from your fingers and shut with a heavy thunk. The hot night warmed your clammy skin and sunk into your clothes until you started to sweat.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Just don’t wanna see ‘em.”

“You’re a liar!”

He knew.

(He really was a coward.)

You walked, shouldering through the thick evening crowd as your thoughts wandered away.

Why were you upset? He wasn’t yours, despite all your wants, and thoughts, and wishes. He never was, and, if you were honest, he never would be. You weren’t supposed to be there in the first place, weren’t supposed to be trailing after a man who worked for a god you shouldn’t have met. You were supposed to be home in Cairo. In your bed. Alone.

Fading.

Dying.

Dead.

Your feet shuffled to a stop. People milled past you, unseeing, like you were just something in their way and not a person on the brink of an abyss. You couldn’t tell what you were staring at – a swirl of blurring colors that spanned what must have been the road or the crowd or the buildings, it was all bright and it hurt. Heat spilled down your cheeks and your vision cleared.

A shoulder clipped yours. You stumbled, the rest of the tears rolling down your face, jolting back into your body when you weren’t even aware you’d left it.

“I’m sorry—oh,” a voice thick with a deep southern twang danced in your ears. Warm hands brushed your shoulders. “You alright, darlin’?” Your tears continued. They wouldn’t stop, even as you lifted your eyes from the ground, up past a white collar framed by metal filigree points, and met a warm, brown gaze set into a tanned and tired face. The Preacher’s brow furrowed as he muttered a soft, “Shit.”

You shrugged a shoulder away from him, mumbling something you knew was a lie, but that might’ve also been an apology.

He followed, standing close, staring past you, then turned you around towards a door. You barely heard his voice. You tried to take in more of his features, wondering why he bothered when no one else did – his hair was messy but stood in soft peaks around his head, while the sides were shaved close, and a splatter of dark freckles covered the bridge of his nose. He spoke again, meeting your gaze when he did.

The air trembled around you. Something traced his words out onto the air. You could’ve mistaken the anomaly for a heat wave if it hadn’t been at the end of your nose.

He guided you through the crowd and into a cold bar. You shivered at the sudden change, you sweat suddenly ice on your skin. His hands left you to remove his coat and drape it around you. You watched him roll up his sleeves. Hs pressed a hand between your shoulders and led you to a booth. Two other people were already sitting there, arm against arm.

“Padre?”

“Jesse?”

“Now,” the Preacher – Jesse – motioned you further into the booth, taking up the edge seat when you complied. “This here is Tulip, and Cassidy,” he quietly introduced.

You were pretty sure you gave them your name, but you couldn’t be sure.

“We ain’t here for—” Cassidy’s voice cut off with a yelp.

Tulip adjusted in her seat, shooting the man, Cassidy, next to her a glare. She smiled at you. She was lovely. “You alright, hun? You look down,” she asked. Jesse next to you suddenly jumped, swearing under his breath. “Why don’t you and Cass get us all some beers, yeah?” she politely demanded. She even moved for Cassidy to scramble out of the booth.

You took her in as she shuffled back across the booth seat – her tight brown coils kept the sunglasses sin her hair in place, and her brown eyes were bright as she stared at the men at the bar. She wore lip gloss, and her freckles were just a shade darker than her soft brown skin.

She flashed you another smile, this one not as awkward. “You okay?” she asked again. Her eyes darted over your face. “I mean, you don’t really look okay, but do you wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head. You mulled over her words, adjusting yourself in Jesse’s coat as you struggled to settle back into your skin, forcing yourself into the situation. Out of all the stupid things you could’ve done, you were led into a bar by a stranger, and stuck in the corner seat of a booth.

Though, there were worse things you’d done, too.

And it was a Priest that led you into the bar. Out of all the strangers, that was one that you could, maybe, trust more. And given the weird thing that happened when he spoke, it really reminded you of Anders, and you scrubbed your face with your hands with a groan. Fully covering your face, you dropped your elbows on the table and rambled out everything that had ever happened – from meeting Sweeny in Cairo, to sitting in the bar with her at that moment. Your voice cracked as you spoke, and you barely registered Cassidy or Jesse returning sometime towards the early middle of your tale.

Tulip took your hand and wrapped it around a beer, the polite look on her face replaced with a familiar frustration.

“Now, I ain’t one for religion,” she started, quickly rolling her eyes as Jesse cleared his throat. “Wasn’t,” she corrected, “But someone wanted us to meet because I think we are uniquely qualified to help you out right now.”

Cassidy slapped his bottle on the table, leaning in curiously. “Yer man really a leprechaun?” he asked, “Flighty fuckers, ain’t they?”

“I’m sorry?” you laughed, clearing your throat.

“Nah, I’m old, yeah, been everywhere in my hundred years, and I ain’t ever come across a shrewder or fucked fae than a fuckin’ leprechaun,” he answered.

You properly grabbed the beer and had a long drink. “And how—”

“Oh.” Tulip slapped his arm. “Cassidy here is a vampire,” she said casually, then waved a hand at Jesse next to you, “And Jesse has the literal word of God in his chest.”

“Tulip,” he sighed, as though it was a long-worn topic of contention.

The edges of your world became a little more defined the longer you sat with them. “A vampire, a priest, and a woman,” you mumbled, “I’ve been in weirder situations.”

“Yeah, alright,” Cassidy said, waving his hand in a circle over the table as he adjusted in his seat, “Circle back – how the fuck did ya land an invitation to the Oester party?”

“Oester?” Jesse whispered to you.

“Easter,” you clarified.

He nodded slowly and sat back, draining his beer in one long gulp.

“Everyone’s always clamberin’ for that, fuck, even the Oester in fuckin’ Qatar has a hard time gettin’ invited some years!” Cassidy continued.

“There’s more than one?” asked Tulip.

“You also said there were multiple Jessues?” butt in Jesse over her.

“Jesi,” Tulip corrected.

“I think it’s just Jesus, ya know, both plural and singular,” Cassidy mumbled.

“We’re lookin’ for God,” Jesse continued, sighing, “Big G, God. Was he—”

You shook your head. “Sorry, Father. Just Jesus.”

“Jesse,” he insisted.

The conversation continued in a similar vein, you giving them more details, them sharing their story. The table collected a large amount of beer bottles as the hours passed.

Sweeney drank just as much as Bridget danced. It was a dance she’d done numerous times, one that he partook in at least once, one she’d done in front of others who owed favors, who needed magic so desperately that they’d toe the line between death and sex just to taste it. She twisted in time to music that formed on the air. Sweeney’s eyes slipped past her, past the figures that appeared around her, to someone she had yet to see. She threw her head back as old words slipped past her lips, and spotted the figure, the one who clouded the Irishman’s mind as the world grew hazy and the magic grew hot. Bridget was grinning when she turned to him, traced her slim fingers up his thighs, which parted for her.

“And, for a moment, I thought you were hung up on the dead girl,” she crooned against his clothed stomach.

Sweeney snorted.

“But it’s someone else,” she teased. Her lips grazed the skin of his neck. He twisted his head away from her. His knee started to bounce. “Bet you’d be more into it if the Informant were here, kneeling between your knees.” She pressed an open-mouthed kiss against his ear. “Just as eager to take your cock as you are to give it.”

He shrugged her off with a growled, “Shut up.”

She arched an eyebrow as she stood, though that Cheshire stretched further across her face. “C’mon, let’s play pretend, hm?” The room filled with an eerie glow. Sweeney rose from his eat. “You be the burly Irishman.”

“Shuddup.”

“I’ll grant your favor,” she purred, voice lilting as Sweeney stepped closer.

“Shut. Up.”

It wasn’t her voice that said, “Make me,” but she squealed when Sweeney scooped her up and pinned her to the wall, anger and frustration brewing hot in his veins. It wasn’t her he saw when he hiked her skirt up and pulled her legs high around his waist, nor when he tilted her hips up and pushed his cock into her with no preamble.

In the haze, he heard the Baron and Maman Bridget laugh.

As the red settled over his eyes, he slid a hand up the back of the figure on his hips, swinging them around, pinning them to the column behind him. They were tighter than hell on his cock and warmer than the sun against his chest and he felt himself swallow his own name as he kissed a mouth he’d become familiar with.

The fingers in his hair were yours.

The thighs he gripped tight were yours.

The voice that mewled and moaned in his ear as he touched and bit groped the right places was yours.

And while part of him knew it wasn’t you – wasn’t really you taking his cock like you were built for it – the rest of him desperately wished it was, and convinced him to enjoy the fantasy while it lasted.

(Laura knew that Sweeney only touched her the way he did was because he imagined it was you, and she desperately wished her imagination was powerful enough to picture the man she kept telling herself she loved, rather than seeing the one she really did.)

Jesse fumbled with the lock to your hotel room for the third time, swearing beneath the din of a party going on down the hall. Cassidy stated that he was sober, that he could open the door, but Tulip hushed him and pointed out that he was carrying you on his back, so he was too occupied to do so. He didn’t argue with her, nor point out that she, too, was drunk.

You cheered when Jesse finally opened the door.

“’ey, I got it,” Cassidy said as he shuffled inside. You were vaguely aware of him ushering Tulip and Jesse away, of him telling them that they needed to get home, and to call a taxi or an Uber.

“You text me!” Tulip halfway shouted around him, waving at you as you were deposited onto the bed.

You flashed her a thumbs up before Jesse pulled the door shut.

Cassidy turned to you, rubbing his neck, and dug through the only bag in the room, mumbling something about getting you a change of clothes.

It gave you a chance to really look at him, really take in his features. He was tall, with hair long enough to stick out in difference directions, and soft brown eyes, and was freckled from his previous days in the sun. His voice was soft as he handed you the clothes and advised you to change. He steadied you, helped you tug off your stubborn shirt and put on your clean one, then sat you on the toilet and grabbed a washcloth.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, surprisingly sober, given how much you drank.

He knelt and started to wipe your face; his brow knitted together at your question. Then, he sat back on his heels, his arms draped on his knees.

“I’m a real right bastard, love—”

You swiftly corrected him with your name.

He lifted his hands, apologized, and continued, “But I ain’t gonna leave someone alone when they’re hurtin’.” He paused, then sighed. “Specially with somethin’ like this.” He gave you a small smile.

“I don’t deserve it,” you whispered, sniffling. You wiped your nose with your hand. Cassidy held out the damp cloth. You took it, chin trembling, “I don’t deserve any of this.”

“You don’t,” Cassidy agreed. “Fact, from what y’ said, that Sweeney’s a fuckin’ arsehole and deserves an asskickin’, but that’s from the outside.”

You waved your hands, rolling your eyes. “No, I—” You sniffled against and dabbed your nose with the cloth. “No, I don’t deserve your kindness. I don’t deserve your company, I don’t…” Your voice cracked and dropped to a whisper as you continued, “I don’t deserve to be here. Someone else does. Someone stronger, someone kinder, someone smarter.” You hiccupped and covered your face with the cloth, leaning over your knees.

Cassidy sat on the floor at your feet, folding himself around your legs and the toilet as much as his long limbs would let him. He looped his arms around your back. “That’s the shitty booze talkin’, y’know…” he murmured, sighing gently, “An’ I dunno who you think is better. Yer plenty strong, from the sounds of yer story. Kind, too. Smart as a fuckin’ whip.” He frowned. “You deserve what ya put into the world, and y’ve put a lot of good out there.”

Your sob tore through his chest like a stake.

(Cassidy’s heart broke a bit and stitched back together with a bit of love he carried for you until the day he died.)

“Then why…” you trailed off.

He sighed. “Others just put shit out there, too, and that’s a bit bigger than the good sometimes.”

You scrubbed your eyes with the cloth until they burned, then sat up, wiping your cheeks. He took the washcloth, carefully wiping your nose with the corner.

“Know it ain’t much,” he whispered, “But ‘m glad someone like you’s here.”

“I wanna go home,” you whispered, and he felt it in his gut that you didn’t mean a place.

He sighed. “Me, too,” he said, and in that moment, you knew he didn’t mean a place either, and wondered if Tulip was right about the serendipitous meeting.

Your chin trembled. He helped you up, guided you to the bed, tucked you in, then sat next to you. He flipped the television on. You reached over and flipped it off.

“You’re a vampire,” you mumbled, resting your head on his shoulder, “Tell me a story. Tell me your story. I’ll commit it to memory.”

He snorted. “Why you wanna do somethin’ so silly like that, huh?” he asked.

“Everyone deserves to be remembered,” you sighed, closing your eyes. “And everyone’s important enough to be remembered.”

Your phone buzzed on the blankets. Cassidy scooped it up. He tilted the screen towards you.

“He’s really enjoying fucking that dead flesh,” read a text from your sister, sent over one of the social media apps on your phone.

“That somethin’ she’d say?” Cassidy asked, glancing at the phone, “You said somethin’ about gods and the like, too, when y’ were tellin’ yer shit.”

“Never,” you whispered.

He turned the phone off. “None a that, then,” he mumbled, tossing it somewhere on the bed. He threw an arm around your back. “Get comfortable. It’s a long story.”

“Those are the best,” you yawned.

He spun you a tale of two kids playing at being Freedom Fighters in a land you’d grown familiar with, about how one died in battle, another in the streets.

You drifted off sometime during his re-telling of the 70’s.

Old stone homes crowded the darkness of your sleep, looming over you like specters of a past you didn’t know well. You padded barefoot down cobblestone roads and turned a corner to find your familiar library at the end of one.

“Hello, you,” you whispered as you made your way over, pulling open the clean doors. They creaked and slammed shut behind you. It was dark inside. Not dark enough that you couldn’t see, but the once warm candles were no longer lit, instead being scattered, and broken across the floor. You stepped over them with a frown as you walked in.

Thrown across the main room were books – the floor was covered in pages that were ripped and stained, and shelves were knocked against each other. You knelt to pick up a book and sighed. An ache bloomed behind your eye as sobriety quickly approached.

“Leave.” A voice in the sudden silence made you jump. You dropped the book, rising to your feet. A figure stood beside a tipped over shelf. Its eyes reflected what little light filled the room. You gulped, shifting back as it inched towards you. You scrambled for the door and the bright light beyond it, panic clawing at your throat as the thing ran after you. You pulled the door open.

Its hand smashed the door shut. “You don’t get to run away from this!” it snarled over your startled screech, “You don’t get to just decide it’s over!”

“Stop it!” you screamed. It roared against your back, then fell silent. Its heat surrounded you. You swallowed, turning to see whatever it was that haunted your library.

You stood toe to toe, its bright, knowing eyes watched you. Its chest heaved and its arms trembled. You shivered, backing up against the door. It stepped back.

“Who are you?” you whispered.

It opened its mouth and hundreds of names poured out. You covered your ears as the sound of them echoed in your head, pounding against your skull, everything building until it was undecipherable noise.

Fingers wrapped around yours, cold against your hot skin.

Rose opened her eyes, leaning away from her two lovers to pick up her phone. She’d sent a message hours ago, calling on an acquaintance she hadn’t met in decades, cashing in her one and only favor to him.

Her message was the address of the hotel and your room number, attached to the request, “Take them home. Cairo.”

He’d replied, “Done,” and dropped a pin showing that his phone was at the same location.

She sagged with relief and sat back against the couch.

The man saw the read notification beneath his pin, then slid his phone into his pocket. It was easy for him to pick the lock of your room – old doors, old locks, they were nothing for his deft fingers. Though, he swore when he dropped the lock pick, scooping it up into a wide palm as he checked the door. Satisfied, he swung the door open.

Cassidy looked up from gently prying your hands from your head.

The strange man looked around the room. The television had been unplugged at one point, as had the small clock radio. A cell phone sat on the blankets, turned off. And a vampire was tending to the one Rose had sent him for.

He laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Cassidy grunted, standing tall, making sure he was between you and the stranger. The man laughed harder.

The sound was finally enough to wake you. You pushed yourself up, rubbing your sore eyes, and squinted at the man standing in your room. He tilted his head back, somehow larger than Cassidy was before you. “Rose sent me,” he said, waving a hand, “Here to take you home. To Cairo. Let’s go.”

Cassidy glanced over his shoulder at you. You swung your feet off the bed, shrugging, still half asleep and not quite sober as you groggily responded, “Take me home.”

“Y’sure?” whispered Cassidy.

You looked up at him, smiled, and nodded. “I’m sure.” Then, you pointed at your bag. “Give me your number. I’ll update you. And stay here, at least until nighttime. The room’s paid for.”

He hesitated, and gave the man another wary look, but did as he was told with a shrug. He eventually turned back to the man again. “Wait, who’re you?”

The strange man grinned, his laughter finally subsiding. “Call me Iartaithe,” he answered with a wink, “It’s a name.”

“Okay, but why’re you laughin’?” Cassidy asked as he grabbed your bag. He fished for the pen you pointed towards, glancing over when you saw you rubbing your eyes again.

“Just absurd,” Iartaithe replied, “Whole thing. Absolutely fucking absurd.”

“Yeah,” you muttered as you stretched your arms above your head, “Tell me about it.” You waited as Cassidy scribbled down his number, then stretched to grab your phone and turn it back on. You looked up at him. “Can you tell Sweeney where I’m going?”

“I can tell ‘im to fuck right off,” Cassidy replied. You smiled. “Guess I can,” he muttered.

“Thank you,” you said, “He’ll worry.” Then, you frowned, wondering if he’d show back up at all, and remembered that, despite what you wanted from him, he really was still your friend. He’d show up. And he’d worry. But you also knew that you couldn’t stay there anymore, especially alone. You appreciated Cassidy’s company, but you knew he couldn’t stay. You needed to go home. You needed to see Bast again. “Thank you,” you repeated, looking up at Cassidy, “Really.”

He flopped onto the bed with a loud sigh, tapping your phone with his finger. “You better fuckin’ message, or I’m comin’ to find you instead,” he threatened, “Fuck God. He can wait another fuckin’ day.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, yawning, and stood, scooping your bag off the floor. “Promise,” you swore.

Iarlaithe leaned back against the door, and stepped out into the hall when you followed. You gave Cassidy one last glance, waved when he did, and shut the door on him and everything that New Orleans had brought you.

~*~Thanks for Reading~*~ ~*~Tag List~*~

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[jedineedlove]

Legend VS LMK Characters:

Kui Mulang (LMK):

[Kaui Mulang, Guard of the Celestial Court, Mansion of the White Tiger, Devourer of Earthly Souls]

Korean: Gyumokrang Mandarin: The Wood Wolf of Legs

Former Celestial Guard turned Yellow-Robed Demon.

After Falling in Love with Jade Maiden and having their love rejected by the Celestial Realm. He gave up their immortality and he awaited for her to reincarnate. As he waits to make sure he will be there to see her he consumes mortal lives to longavit his own.

The 28 Mansions mentioned by him are part of the Chinese constellation system as to why there is so much star imagery is in his castle.

Kui Mulang (Ledgend):

Kui Mulang originated from the ancient Chinese worship of the constellations, a spiritual practice that combines Chinese mythology and astronomy. He is considered to be one of the 28 Mansions, which are Chinese constellations. These are the same as those studied in Western astrology. He appears in Chinese mythology literate notably the JTTW & Fengshen Yanyi.

He is linked to a historical figure called Ma Wu, a general who hailed from the town of Huyang in Tanghe, located in the Henan province.

Kui Mulang is associated with the constellation Andromeda, which appears in the sky in the middle of November. In this constellation is Kui Xiu, described as the "four-legged fish palace" of Heshansu (和善宿) because its shape is similar to a fish. Another constellation, the White Tiger, is also associated with this cluster of stars.

According to the novel Investiture of the Gods (Fengshen Yanyi), Kui Mulang was originally named Li Xiong. After he died in the Battle of the Ten Thousand Immortals, Jiang Ziya deified him as the Wood Wolf of Legs, one of the twenty-eight stars.

In JTTW

Kui Mulang appears as a demon named Yellow Robe Demon . He lives the Moon Waves Cave on Bowl Mountain in the Kingdom of Baoxiang. In his past, the Yellow Robe Demon falls in love with the Jade Maiden in Heaven and decides to elope with her. He becomes a demon lord and the maiden is reincarnated from a goddess to a human who is named Baihuaxiu . She is the third princess of the Kingdom of Baoxiang. The demon then kidnaps the princess, though she has no memory of her existence as a Jade Maiden. He marries her and the couple has two children. Sun Wukong manages to defeat the demon, which mysteriously vanishes after his defeat. Wukong then seeks help from Heaven to track down the demon and learn his true identity. The Jade Emperor discovers that one of the 28 Mansions is missing, so he orders the remaining 27 to subdue the demon. The demon is revealed to be a disguised as Revatī, the Wood Wolf of Legs, a star deity in the heavenly court, and one of the 28 Mansions. The Wood Wolf is then subdued and brought back to Heaven. As punishment, he is ordered to become a furnace keeper under Taishang Laojun.

Jade Maiden:

Considering she is a huge part of Kui Mulang's life I thought maybe also some info about her as well.

[ Yunü / Jade Girl or Jade Maiden]

Yunü is a common designation for a beautiful woman or, in Daoism, for a fairy or immortal

A Taoist deity or goddess in Chinese mythology and Chinese traditional religion who, along with her male counterpart Jintong (Golden Boy), are favored servants of the Jade Emperor and Zhenwudadi. 

They are also believed to serve as guides in the underworld and the protectors of houses and temples. Some of the Golden Boy and Jade Girl pair could be found on some graves at Bukit Brown Cemetery as they are believed to serve as guides in the Spirit World or the Underworld.

During the spring festival, pictures featuring the two can be found on the doors of many households.

This couple helps virtuous souls over a golden bridge to paradise and helps souls whose good deeds outweighed the bad, over a silver bridge to paradise. Therefore by erecting the Golden Boy and Jade Maiden by the grave of the deceased, living family members hope that the deceased will not venture into the courts of hell but instead lead their afterlife in paradise. Yunü and Jintong have appeared in several stories since the Song and Yuan dynasties and have become important figures in Chinese mythology.

There are several mountain peaks bearing her name.

In Journey to the West, Yunü is a servant maid of the Jade Emperor in Heaven. She falls in love with a star god called Kui Mulang and decides to elope with him. However, she doesn't want to ruin Heaven's pureness, so she decides to reincarnate as a human. She enters the human world as Baihuaxiu, the third princess of the Kingdom of Baoxiang.

In Other Literature:

Specific examples are the southern opera version of the legend, Jintong and Yunü, In this context, Yunü is called Longnü and Jintong is called Shancai Tongzi. According to the Shenyijing, Yunü and her companions loved to play touhu, a Chinese game in which arrows or darts are thrown into a vase. In the Avatamsaka Sutra, she and Jintong seek enlightenment and are acolytes of Guan Yin. In this context, Yunü is called Longnü and Jintong is called Shancai Tongzi. Some folktales say that Xue Dingshan and Fan Lihua were originally the Golden Boy and Jade Girl. The Jade Emperor was furious with them and wanted to punish them for breaking the celestial utensils. Fortunately, the Old Man of the South Pole begged for their mercy and was demoted to the mortal world. In the Hanyi ji play, the protagonists Qi Liang and Meng Jiang are reincarnations of Jintong and Yunü. In most popular versions of The Butterfly Lovers, the protagonists Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai are human reincarnations of Jintong and Yunü who are expelled from Heaven Court by Guanyin or the Jade Emperor for their sin and forced to live as a thwarted couple for three or seven generations before being reunited and restored to their original status.

Thoughts:

Yunü has a lot of love and being kicked/leaving heaven tales.

But did love she was more than just known for this story alone.

The JTTW and LMK versions of Kui Mulang are not too different. However, in the retelling of their love tale he only mentioned himself ridding them of their immortality it almost sounded like in that tale she might have had second thoughts and he did it by force. But I hope not but we can never know because the LMK changed a lot of the characters and tweaked some backstories.

I think the real change in the LMK is that Kui Mulang captured Ao Lie before the JTTW. From the way he talked about the Jade Maiden, she had not been reincarnated or at least he had not captured her yet. For Ao Lie It had to be after his banishment of course because he talked about his powers causing damage he felt bad for aka when he burned his dad's stuff.

Well, I hope you, readers enjoyed:)

[googleitlol]

Gonna post a longer one in a bit, but I wanted to add this quick little bit for setting up what I'll post later. I actually love the next bit so much when they're not being complete douches but just petty af–

Dove Masterlist

Party Tricks

You hum to yourself, taking in the decor of the monastery that has so kindly taken you in for the night. After several weeks in the wilderness, spending a night in a place with such civilised and well-mannered individuals feels like a welcome change of pace. Tripitaka continues to be a good source of company– that is– when he isn’t being terrified by the occasional demons we pass that try to attack. However, Monkey King continues to be difficult. You wouldn’t expect anything less from him anyway. The newest addition to your pilgrimage, Ao Lie, was a more silent companion. Whether or not his more quiet demeanour stems from maintaining his form as the monk’s steed, you’re still unsure of.

The dragon-horse is now being taken care of by some of the attendants that serve in the monastery while the eldests of the monks makes conversation with Tripitaka. As old as he appears, it was still a shock to everyone, Sun Wukong included, that he has walked the earth for well over 200 years. The old monk smile is still as lively as the youngest one in the monastery. “So you have already travelled ten thousand miles in your pursuit to deliver these scriptures?” The man questions as he and Tripitaka walk side by side.

“Yes, I am accompanied by my two disciples and a disciple of the Bodhisattva you worship in this monastery.” The young monk answers, smiling to you as you nod in acknowledgement. It was a pleasant surprise to find the main hall of the building was named for Guan Yin.

The older man shakes his head lightly. “Well then, I am sure you would all like a moment to rest. I will call for tea to be served, then you can be shown to your rooms where you may rest for the night.”

Thanking the man, you all move to a room where your group can sit and drink together. You find it amusing how much joy Tripitaka shows when everyone is given their cups, their edges lined in gold. Whatever tea they served the three of you adds to his wonder, the brew colourful and fragrant as a flower.

While the two monks continue their conversation, you catch the eye of another carefully approaching. There seems to be a small group of monks that have gathered just by the doorway you all entered from, whispering excitedly amongst each other as they watch their fellow monk grow closer to our group. Maybe they want to talk with Tripitaka? You’re sure it must be exciting to hear that the one chosen to collect the Buddha’s scriptures is in your very own monastery. Of course they’d want to talk with him.

“Pardon, miss?” You blink, the monk you had noticed approaching now looking at you.

You nod with a smile. “Yes?”

The younger monk is quite soft spoken, his voice just above a whisper as he speaks to you. “Is it true what your companion says? Are you a disciple of Guan Yin?” The question takes you off guard for a moment, not expecting it. Looking back to the small group, you see they keep their eyes not just on their companion, but on you as well now, their gaze curious.

“Yes, the Bodhisattva took me in as her disciple when I was just a young girl.” You explain, shifting slightly in your spot as you take another sip of your tea.

Almost immediately, another joins her friend in approaching you. “You mean to say you’re a disciple of the Bodhisattva of the south seas herself?”

“Yes, I–”

“You’ve met the goddess of mercy? In person?” Another joins them, quickly followed by another.

“Well–”

You can barely get a word out when the rest of the group migrate to your person. “You’re telling the truth?”

With so many now quickly surrounding you, the words become lost in your throat. You can barely answer one question before another is asked, the group quickly encroaching on your space. You quickly begin to feel flustered as you look to each of them, unable to figure out what to say to who.

And as if it can’t get any worse, that stupid monkey just has to butt in. “She was blessed by Guan Yin!”

The group grows silent as Sun Wukong enters the conversation, quickly squeezing through the monks before dragging you to your feet by your arm. “With one touch, her magic will put your mind to rest and vanquish any stress in your mind!” He raises your hand into the air before you’re able to snatch it back.

“You blabbering–”

Before you can finish, the first monk steps closer. “Please, could you use your gift on me? These past few days have been stressful, to say the least, and I would appreciate such a gesture.” He looks at you with eyes as wide as a child’s, his gaze pleading.

You pause for just a moment, trying your best to process everything being said before slowly nodding. “A-Alright, give me your hand.” You offer a polite smile before taking his hand in your own and using your gift. It only takes a moment, and the monk’s eyes flutter close. He opens them quickly, his face lifted and his smile even brighter.

“Incredible!” He beams, amazed by his newfound peaceful state. His joy makes you smile brighter, but it quickly fades as the other monks jump to join their companion in requests.

Suddenly, it’s just like before, with everyone speaking over one another as you struggle in your fluster to pick out one person’s question from another. Overwhelmed, you look to Tripitaka and the elder monk for assistance, only to find them walking away with Sun Wukong. “Master, you must show your cassock! It was gifted by Budhha himself, wasn’t it?”

“Really? I would like to see that.” The old monk hummed at that, and you can just see Monkey King looking back at you with a devious grin before ushering your last to chances of getting out of this mess away.

That bastard!

[preciouslandmermaid]

quiet fury in your head [vii]

Dream of the Endless x F!Reader!Goddess / Sandman Fanfiction

Note: I wasn’t sure how Dream’s manifestation into the waking world worked like—is he always visible? Or does he pick and choose? So for the sake of a certain scene, I made it so both Dream and Reader are invisible to mortals. Anyway, You and Dream go into the mortal world.

No use of Y/N. See part 1 for all the tags tbh.

Warnings: This chapter has mentions of child abuse. There is nothing explicit described, but it is mentioned.

Rating: 18+

(Read on AO3)    ||   (masterpost for other chapters)  

You follow Dream across the pier. His request for your help in the mortal—the waking world—is odd. He’s never asked this of you before. But, you are bound to the Dream Lords will. Your skin prickles. Your heart feels tight. The longing you feel when he is distant has doubled—no, tripled—as you admire the straight and narrow line of his shoulders. He is often stiff. Sometimes you wonder if you dreamed your first kiss, if you imagined the way his soft lips moved over yours like shifting sand and how his pale, large hands cupped and clung to you.

He stops and extends that same, large hand to you. His fingers long and slender and elegant. A Dream-Weaver’s hand. You step forward and take it. The mounds of his palm fit perfectly within your own. His long fingers interlace yours. He steps off the pier with you in tow and the spinning that occurs is less dizzying than the pleasure of Dream’s touch. Do not let me go, you think as the whirls of color expand and spin, because I will give myself to this vortex and be done with it. The ache to be closer to him is an acute, masochistic agony. If I took other lovers, then I would not feel this way toward the Dream Lord, but—I don’t want anyone else. I want only him. But I doubt he will ever take me as a queen—as an equal—and I will accept nothing less.

The world manifests around you. The air is warm and balmy. Dream is slow to release your hand. He settles his Helm onto his head, hiding his unkempt dark hair and fathomless eyes from you. Your palm and fingers tingle from the lack and you miss the comforting pressure, the warmth of him. Yet pride stops you from reaching for him.

Remember your place here. You are his servant, he is your keeper, and no matter what desire burns inside you—the Dream Lord is to be your ruin. Remember who you are. Remember your sisters.

“This way,” Dream’s voice is strange from within his helm. It’s like flint scraping against stone. He leads you through the warm, crowded streets. A group of men pass you wearing uniforms and smoking rolled cigarettes.

You feel the war and conflict thrumming through the threads of the world. A long conflict, no less. Saliva pools inside your mouth when you inhale deeply. The knowledge drops into your mind like a stone (for even a Goddess without worship is given information). Your presence in the waking world has opened your mind to all the history and knowledge you’ve missed since being sequestered in the Dreaming. You understand all the language, the history, technology and culture in seconds.

You go within yourself. You peer through the layers of history, the shifting timelines, the strings of Fate. You see thousands of battles—old and new—flick through like the fast-flipped pages of a book. This war will last another ten years.

You sigh longingly. If only this war could be fought in your name. You would return to power. This is who you are. A Goddess of War. Desire said you were forgotten. But that didn’t mean your essence didn’t sing at the sight of battle. The large galley ships within the ports, the men in uniforms carrying guns, the cannons, the crates of supplies and gunpowder.

“We will wait here.” Dream stands off to the side of the busy street and you use this moment to scan the area. You peer over the shoulder of a boy selling papers. The year is 1805. Meaningless numbers to a God. But, you heart aches for your sisters and fellow Gods that have been lost for eons now. They pray to something else now…

“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?” You ask. You lean your spine against the stone building behind you and fold your arms. The salty, bay air from the port floats between your legs and over your exposed arms.

“We’re waiting for someone…” Dream replies. You roll your eyes.

“Can I wait somewhere else?”

The ruby on Dream’s necklace glints in the hot sun when he turns toward you. The large, almost insect-inspired glass of his helm reflects your personage. You cannot see his eyes, but you feel them graze over your face, neck, and chest like the sharp ends of a thorn.

His voice rasps against your flushed skin, “I need you beside me.”

“To what end?” You challenge pushing from the wall and invading the Dream Lord’s personal space. You wish you could tear the helm from his head and stare him down properly. Morpheus does not flinch or step back at your approach. He stands, hands clasped behind his back, ruby and helm shining in the sun. Your impassive, imposing, and infuriating Dream Lord.

“I need you to incite a frenzy to draw out a nightmare that has escaped.”

Your face crumples, anger turning to disappointment, to shame. “I can’t.” The words taste like acid. “They leave no offerings to me, Morpheus. They do not sing. They do not memorize our stories. The powers I once had have weakened over time”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, “they have...nearly disappeared, in truth.”

Within the Dreaming, you can shape-shift, but you suspect the reason that power remained was because Badb gave it to you. It wasn’t connected to Desire’s gift. It wasn’t connected to the Mortals who once feared you. It wasn’t connected to your Dream-Weaving abilities that are trapped inside a ring that Morpheus wears on his pinkie finger. Dream’s silence stretches and chaffs like rough sand.

Maybe he will release me...now that I have no use to him.

He says slowly, “If I offer something to you,” He tilts his head, studying you through the dark lens of his helm, “will that be sufficient?”

You purse your lips. “You would need to do it properly.”

“Very well. What is it you would ask? If it is within my power, then I will give it.”

For a moment, your thoughts quiet and your heartbeat slows. You and Dream stand in a port city in Spain, heat and saltwater, the call of gulls and the rich, melodic Spanish language dancing through your eardrums. Something inside of you tightens like a winding spring. You think of your earlier desire—to remove his helm—to touch him. Desire once said to you: “Do as you desire, always. Forget honor, or cowardice, or shame. Become the envy of all other Gods.” You aren’t their champion anymore, but the truth they spoke lives inside your core.

You are Nemain of The Morrigan, the Goddess of war, and rage, fear, and destruction. You have lived powerless for too long. A shade of a woman. A wraith. A ghost. Not even powerful enough to call yourself a Banshee. Now, Dream is offering you a gift. Anything you desire so you can help him find his missing nightmare.

Yet, there is only one thing you desire right now—in this moment—beneath the hot Mediterranean sun.

“I would ask for a kiss, Dream.”

He lifts the helm from his head, his hair stuck in every direction like the ruffled feathers of a raven.

“That’s all?” He sounds dubious.

“Yes.”

You wait for him to reject you and ask for something else. Without the helm, you stare into his ageless face, the sharp planes of his cheekbones, the universal depth of his eyes, and the soft pout of his lips. His stony expression reveals nothing. His thoughts and feelings remain a mystery to you. How infuriating...

Dream closes the small distance between your bodies. You inhale sharply. The dark, woolly fabric of his long coat brushes against your chest. His hand settles at the back of your warm neck. You crane upward to meet him. His face blocks the sun and the light is absorbed within the strands of his dark hair and forms a muted, yellow halo behind him. Your fingers clasp around the lapels of his coat for the sake of something to cling to.

“The incantation.” You remind him. Your words are a breathy whisper against his lips.

“I offer this to The Morrigan, Goddess of War and Rage, to the aspect known as Nemain of the three sisters. She who incites fear on the battlefield, whose scream foretells death, whose presence inspires courage to those who worship her.” His voice is husky, intimate, quiet for only you to hear—even though the mortals walking pass cannot see or hear you.

His long, pretty eyelashes slip closed as he inclines his head towards yours and your lips finally, blessedly meet. The lively sounds of the port become white noise in your ears. Dream’s kiss is intoxicating. You feel the burbling rush of power as it fills you like sweet rich chocolate. It feels like floating. The raw power is injected into your veins. Your heart pounds, your fingers tighten around his coat, and your mouth opens willingly to the gentle, probing touch of his tongue. You sigh into his mouth, winding your arms around the graceful curve of his bowed neck, and pressing your body flush and tight against his.Too long, too long...You lament. It has been too long since someone—a being of great power—gave anything to me.

Dream coaxes his tongue along yours in languid, teasing motions. What began as a simple offering, a mere singular kiss, has turned heady and intense. Your spine meets the sun-touched, warm stone of the building behind you. You drag your leg up, pressing your inner thigh against Dream’s hip, allowing yourself the pleasure and delight of feeling his body snug against yours. He holds your jaw, tender, your jugular exposed, and swallows the breathy, quiet moans that escape from the back of your throat. His obvious desire for you cannot be understated or imagined. He does want you.

But he will never take me as an equal. The thought is sobering and you drag your mouth away from his. Dream doesn’t move, nor does he break eye contact with you, and your bodies are pressed together as if bonded by melted wax.

His dark eyes roam your face, seeking answers to a question he hasn’t asked.

He releases his hold on your jaw and takes a pointed and deliberate step away. He returns his helm and indirectly (or perhaps directly you think) hides his face and expression from you.

“There,” He inclines his head toward of group of soldiers, “the nightmare had been following them.”

You square your shoulders. It’s time to get to work then.

The art of inciting fear is subtle like plucking the strings on a harp. You strum gently, your fingers are light, your brow is folded in concentration. Dream asked for frenzy. But there is more build up to it than one might. It’s akin to building a tower of cards. It requires a delicate hand as you follow the group of soldiers. Your concentration doesn’t waver…

Until you hear a familiar, bright voice.

“Stinky!” The child chastises and tugs on the leash of her white dog with crusty-gunk inside its eyes. You turn and face the child—I know you from the Dreaming, you think, and the little girl looks up toward you. She cannot see you. You know this. Yet, you stare into her innocent brown eyes and fear overtakes you. The memories and emotions are brief and fast like hard slaps across your face: Anger. A man’s voice screaming. His brown eyes brimming with rage. Shame. A broken vase with the porcelain pieces scattered across the floor like bone shards. Confusion. A dark place. Hunger. A dog’s paw scratching at the door. Fear.

Morpheus lightly touches your shoulder and draws you from the vortex of the girl’s memories.

“The child…” You wrestle the words from your throat, “her father harms her.”

“There is nothing we can do for her.” Dream says.

You look up at the Dream Lord, your expression and voice serious, and a simmering anger builds beneath your words. “You could send a nightmare to him. Scare him.”

“He would not change his ways.” Dream replies. “My nightmares are a reflection of the human condition. I give sleep, I give dreams and nightmares, and nothing more. I cannot interfere with the child’s fate.”

“Even if she called to you?” You ask hotly. “Left offerings and cried out for your aid?”

“I am not a God.”

You narrow your eyes and turn away from Dream. The little girl has scooped her grumpy-looking dog into her arms and is walking in the opposite direction of the soldiers you’re following. You clench your jaw and curl your fingers into fists at your sides.

The card tower falls.

A solider trips.

Their rifle misfires.

And the plaza erupts in a frenzy of alarm—fear that the enemy has crept up on them, fear that someone is hurt, fear that the bullet has hit them. You cannot even enjoy the sensation of terror. Your eyes linger down the street where the little girl went. You seek the knowledge within the fabric of the world and learn that the girl’s father is planning to get onto a boat soon.

If Dream won’t help her...there is no reason why I cannot.

************

“Dima,” You step through the cloudy mass of her homestead. “I have need of you.”

Dima places one hand over her heart and her blue skin crackles like lightening, “Anything.”

“I have need of a storm…”

Dima smiles widely and kneels upon one knee. “For you, I would conjure a hundred storms, my queen.”

You place your hand on her shoulder. It feels damp and tingles softly beneath your palm. Her loyalty is strong and welcome and you feel your lips twitch upward into the first smile in centuries.

*************

You use your connection to the child to find her father within the Dreaming. The Dream manifests as a galley boat similar to the ones you saw within the Spanish port, but the father is not alone. Corinthian sits on the bowsprit, his legs dangling and staring out at the dark ocean below. Did Dream send a nightmare after all? You approach Corinthian slowly.

He looks over his shoulder toward you, “There’s a sight I rarely see.”

“You tend to make yourself sparse, Corinthian.”

“Can’t help it.” The saltwater sprays against his dark glasses, “I think I make the other dreams nervous.”

“As you should.” You lean your hands on the wet wooden railing, “it is in your nature to be discomforting.”

“The nature built into me by Dream.”

“Did Dream send you?”

“No.” Corinthian scoffs. “This one…” His gaze trails to the father pacing the main deck below and wringing his hands together. “His darkness calls to me. His desire for wealth, his hunger for power and control, his pleasure in…” Corinthian trails his dark and reflective gaze back to you, “causing pain.”

The power Dream gifted you bubbles beneath your skin. I have the strength to cause madness again...You will need that power to deal with this disgusting pest of a man. You will eradicate him. You will ensure the child is safe and free.

“I would like some time alone with him.”

Corinthian tucks his legs beneath him, raising to his full height, and balances on the long bowsprit with ease. His blonde hair tousles softly in the warm, salty wind and the flaps of his coat flutter. He slides his hands into his pockets.

“You can have him for a price, Queen of Nightmares.” He drawls, “And I’m sure you can already guess my terms.” He tilts his head. You recall your first meeting with Corinthian and his desire to escape the Dreaming. Even at your current strength, you are bound by your duty to Desire. You cannot leave even if you had the power to.

You glance at the man pacing the deck and your righteous anger pushes you to action.

“I am bound until Dream frees me as decreed by Desire, my Maker.” You explain calmly, “But once I am free – I will be free from everyone. Gods. Endless. Mortals. If you allow me to be alone with this wretched creature then I will owe you a favor.”

“A favor?”

“Anything you wish.” You say solemnly. “And if it is within my power then I will give it.”

Corinthian asks, “Even if I ask you to harm your precious Dream Lord to ensure my escape?”

You bow your head in the barest of nods. “Yes, Corinthian.”

He jumps from the bow onto the ship deck near the large wooden wheel. “It does not hurt to have an Old God in my pocket.” He grins, his smile lean and sharp and perfectly white. “Very well, you can have him.”

Corinthian vanishes. You are alone alongside the dreamer and a wave of nostalgia crashes over you. A dreamer trashing inside their bed wrecked with paranoia due to your influence as you desperately tried to save your family. You slink behind the man. He smells of booze and sweat. You place your hands delicately on his shoulders and bring your lips close to his ears.

“The ship is sinking…” You whisper, your voice low and almost seductive. “You must save yourself.” You weave your fingers around the man’s unease regarding the war and fill toxic paranoia into his nostrils. “The storm is too strong. You must jump now! You must swim to shore.” You hiss. Your voice melodic and guiding. The man’s heart echoes the thundering clouds above your heads.

“Hurry!”

****************

In the mortal world, the ship known as “Indomptable” is taken by a storm conjured by Dima. Her anchor chains are broken and she drifts toward the offshore rocks. The man—the awful, coward—jumps from his bunk with the bite of his nightmares on his heels and throws himself from the ship.

The storm drags him deep, deep, deep.

His body is never recovered.

****************

You lounge on the grass of Fiddler’s Green. The meadow is comforting, quiet, and calm. Your skin glistens with sweat from your exertion of using your powers on the mortal. A few colorful butterflies float over your head and you smile to yourself.

The child is safe. They can call me the protector of children now. The thought elicits a queer feeling in your chest. Something close to pride and excitement. This could be my calling once I leave the Dreaming. I can travel the mortal world and incite fear in those who harm others. I could make them regret ever abusing their power.

Your hand reaches up and plays with the sunbeams flowing like golden ichor through the clouds. For the first time since your sister’s deaths and Lugh’s betrayal, you feel a lightness inside your heart, a softness that did not—could not—exist before.

Dream’s thunderous voice cuts through the calm silence, “Morrigan.”

You sit up and brush the loose grass from your cloak. You peer up at him with a bewildered expression. Why has he come to find me now?

“What have you done?” He looms over you. The grass in the meadow sways away from his tall, imposing form.

Ah, he knows. You raise to your feet and regard him coolly. He cannot make a God, a Queen, bend no matter how much he huffs and puffs and glares.

“You could not intervene on the girl’s behalf.” You cross your arms, “But I could.”

“That is not your place.” He glowers, “And it was not my command.”

“I have my free will within the Dreaming, Morpheus.” You snap, anger rising to the surface, “I made the father pay for his transgressions.” You cannot hide the pride from your voice. You are proud of what you’ve done and Morpheus cannot take that from you.

“Your meddling has cost lives.” His voice is ice and you suppress a shiver. “As long as you are within the Dreaming, you are my responsibility and your actions reflect on me and all of the Dreaming’s inhabitants.”

“If you are seeking an apology, Dream Lord, I will not give it.” You lift your chin. “Regret does not eat my heart.”

“It will.” Dream replies cryptically, “when you learn what your actions have cost you.”

Your brows furrow. Morpheus lifts his pale, long-fingered hand and Fiddler’s Green vanishes from beneath your feet and the static taste of Dima’s home fills your mouth. Dima emerges from her hut at your arrival and her smile drops when she sees Morpheus alongside you.

“Dream Lord, what do I owe the pleasure?”

Morpheus’ gaze is hard and unyielding.

******************

“You are hereby banished from the Dreaming, Dima Storm-Weaver.” He says coldly, “For your actions in interfering with the waking world at the request of someone who isn’t me.”

“Wait, Dream Lord, please!” Dima prostrates herself at his feet. “I’m sorry!” Her blue cheeks dampen with a sudden burst of tears. Your expression tightens into white-hot anger and you throw yourself in front of Dima. He would expect nothing less. Your loyalty is to be commended, but your actions do not move him. He must restore balance within the Dreaming. He cannot have his subjects bending their wills to your whims. Your gaze pins him.

And Dima succeeded where you could not. A small voice nags in the back of his mind. She had the power to help while you couldn’t. Dream forcefully pushes the thoughts aside. No. That is not the reason. He must keep control and balance within his own Realm. He can’t have you undermining him.

“If you wish to punish someone then punish me.” Your lips curl into a snarl. You are ever-so-ferocious.

Dream replies flatly, “Be grateful I am not extending your time in the Dreaming.”

“Grateful!?” You shout and lightening cracks through the clouds beneath your feet, “You ask for my gratitude when you would rip my only friend from me?”

“Perhaps you will make a different choice next time.” He tears his gaze away from your grief-stricken and rage-filled face.

“Dima.” He addresses the creature that embodies storms and rain. Dima is pure elemental force at her core. She looks up at him from her kneeling position and clasps her hands in front of her chest. Her chest cavity flashes rapidly like a heartbeat made of lightening.

“Your banishment begins now.”

“No!” You yell, throwing your arms around Dima’s shoulders, as if your physical touch could tie her to the Dreaming. “Punish me, Morpheus. Not her. She did nothing wrong but listen to me!”

********

Morpheus stares blankly at you. There is nothing of the man who kissed you and pressed your back against the warm, sun-soaked stone wall. You grit your teeth and dig your fingertips into Dima’s soft, blue-colored shoulders. Morpheus says nothing. The wind pulls at the coattails of his long, dark jacket and Dima fades beneath your fingers.

You fall forward on your knees onto the soft, white clouds and stare at the Dreaming world below. Your throat burns with a familiar, painful prickling sensation.

This is the cost of love...the cost of friendship...that it could be taken away. You blink back the tears and are adamant that Dream does not see you cry. You inhale through your nostrils and look up at him as static discharge dances across your skin and pulls small pieces of your hair.

Your voice is clear and sharp, like a silver blade running through someone’s rib cage, “Never speak to me again lest to release me from my wretched service to you.” Your words hang heavy in the air of Dima’s absence.

Dream inclines his head slightly and disappears in a gust of rain-dappled wind. You bow your head and scream into the clouds. The thunder muffles the noise, but the Dreaming trembles at the raw, painful sound of your grief.

[songbird-oracle]

Live thoughts watching Fantasy High Junior Year episode 5

Spoilers ahead

Im so nervous already about Cassandra

These dudes getting swole

It IS spicy tonight in the dome

Screaming

I WANT A BOGGY KISS

OH FUCK SHES HOLD MONSTERING KRISTEN

THE SECURITY COMING THROUGH OH SHIT

“Do you want me to kill that guy for you 👀” vibes

OH NO PLEASE NO NIGHTMARE KING OH NO OH NO

I’m Shittering my pants rn

No not the girlies!

Located in the astral mall, This place has *everything*. Ripped valley girls, a goddess and prophet and familiar going through a very tumultuous time in their relationship, a frog wearing a paper hat, and a weird ass clock

I live for the hangman banter

Oml I love the Yarrbucks coffee art

LOU HOLY SHIT

BOX OF DOOM DC5!? The stakes are seriously so high though

Okaaaaaaaay 13 works ig

“Does she need scratchies?”

Wooo Murph!!

THE STAR TALKS!?

I love Emily’s reaction to “banging out a 1st level spell”

Riz sadly flossing

Oh no Kristen oh no Cassandra!

No stop attacking Cassandra!!!!

🎶non-a-crits🎶

Thank goodness no failures

Break it up guys come ooooooooon

Damn, man needs strudel with sauce at a time like this

Profiling the minis 🤣

NOT THE TAP DANCING

“I don’t think you’re scared, I think you’re mad. And that’s okay” I’m sobbing

YES THE FUCKING SECURITY DETAIL

Kristen is so low, oh no

A 0 initiative 🥲

FUCK THIS IS WHAT RAGHS MOM ABSORBED!?!? Gorgug is the greatest wizard of our time

Abjurative grammar is prescriptive. Iykyk.

I knew the DC would be high

NAT 20 BEARDSLEY IN THE FUCKING HOUUUUUUUSE

YESSSSS HEALED CASSANDRA 😭

Oh fuck oh fuck bad stars

Let it out Cassandra, feel your feelings

Oh my goodness, philosophers scone

OOP PAUL BLART INTERGALACTIC MALL COP

It’s not the nightmare king??????

41 damage each, damn Adaine

We aren’t even half way through guys

BAHAHAHAHAHHA playful picking on Riz

Mass dispelling?? Damn

????? TUMMY ACHE SURVIVOR????

THE SHRIMP!!!!!!

Why is Fig a walking embodiment of Murphy’s law rn???

WHAT THE FUCK

NO NO NO DID GILEAR STEAL HER LUCK??????

IS THIS QUADRANGLE FUCKERY??????

Okay it’s just a curse

WAIT WHAT???

Cloaca why 😂

Whoopsies, shattered the shatter star

Oh fuck, rage Adaine is scary dude

Is this some rage and revenge deity??

Anyone but Conor

BAHAHAHAHAHA “no no, this is gonna happen”

“Stay hot Conor”

NOT KALINA NO

RAGH??????

Not the shimmy

WHAT IS KALINAS AC

44 DAMAGE??

Old Fabian

Legend has it the wizard is still waiting for his strudel with sauce

WHAT THE FUCK NO NOT CASSANDRA NO NO NO

“Unfortunately stop flossing”

COMPELLED DUEL ON KALINA OH FUCK

3!!!!! Woooooo!!!!!

Worst mall cop ever, Paul Blart would never

🤣 “is that not property damage??”

I’m so scared for Cassandra guys

Kristen and Cassandra are down oh no 🥲

BARDIC SHRIMPSPIRATION

NO NAT ONE NO NOOOOOOOO

Somewhere Katja Cleaver is raging because Conor Counterspell said he hates horses

A ball. Not *the* ball

ARMOR ZOMBIE AND LICH IM LIVING FIR THESE NAMES

Bards and Noble 🤣

Kristen coming in with the hugs

Box of doom has been working hard this episode

Shake out the bad ones

Screaming crying throwing up

I can’t look

Dammit Murph

Ecaf again

“What are you talking about girlieeeee?”

Brendan’s stare scares me

FUCK

Strudel for the win Girlie!!!

“One more roll girlie 🤪”

Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no circle of death oh no

COUNTERSPELL MY BELOVED

“How old are you” “45” “gross”

WAIT WHAT TIME REVERSE TO- TEN SECONDS

Conor, you’re the best secret service agent ever

WHAT????? WHERES CASSANDRA??????

WHAT????????

I’m so fucking scared right now

Wait is Cassandra a triple goddess? Like how Hekate is a triple goddess, is Cassandra one? Cause Cassandra, Nightmare king, and a divine thing that isn’t a different divinity?

I want to enjoy “we got that bad boy buttered” but I can’t 🥲

Dead stare 🥲

I love Hangman 🥹

Feral Murph

NAT 20 SHRIMP JUMP

Thousand yard stare

Best shrimp jump ever

Maximum legend

That’s right, kick flip the system

Fuck KandyKorn Lullaby

See you at Basrars, I’ll be sobbing into my ice cream