#moonstone and diamond earrings

[gemville]

Temple St. Clair 18k Swing Earrings In Blue Moonstone, Diamonds and The Company's Signature Yellow Gold

Photo Courtesy: Temple St. Clair

Source: forbes.com

[vasupradasilvercraft]

[masterscrafts]

A Stunning Pair of Belle Époque Moonstone, Sapphire & Diamond Pendant Earrings, Circa 1915

Silver Topped 14K Gold Cabochon Cut Blue Moonstones, Calibre Cut Blue Sapphires, Old Cut Diamonds.

Estimated Total Diamond Weight 1 Carat. Length 45 mm (1 3/4 in.)

[chordiajewel]

Natural 7x5mm Oval Cut Rainbow Moonstone Earrings in 14k Solid Gold

Natural Rainbow Moonstone Earrings in 14k Solid Gold | Half Halo Studs | White Diamond Earrings | 7x5mm Oval Cut Handmade Earrings | Birthday Gift | Bridesmaid Gift | Everyday Studs | Dainty Earrings

[luniary]

✧ drop earrings by karen nottonson ✧ rainbow moonstone, diamonds

[eriebasin]

Part of our EB Modern collection which incorporates antique elements into modern jewelry, this pair of earrings has large oval rainbow moonstones over spike shaped rose cut diamond pendants. Built in silver and 14K yellow gold.

eriebasin.com

[olaqueenbeeofastrology]

#soul🚊

#Shopping #charity

💃🏽

🌞

#egypt 🪩 #carnelian #power 💎stone

Via @pinterest

😍🛒🛍️

👇

@harleydavidsonunofficial

And more

😍

👇

[vestaignis]

Российский ювелир Ильгиз Фазулзянов из украшений создает предметы искусства. Russian jeweler Ilgiz Fazulzyanov creates art objects from jewelry.

Ильгиз Фазулзянов — единственный российский ювелир и эмальер, получивший громкое международное признание. Он дважды обладатель ювелирного «Оскара», гран-при конкурса International Jewellery Design Excellence Award в Гонконге, сотрудничал с легендарным часовым домом Bovet и Van Cleef&Arpels, его галереи отк��ыты в Москве и Париже.

Его коллекция «Великие вершины мира» — это пять колец, посвященных пяти известным всем с детства горам- это драгоценно-эмалевые миниатюры Фудзиямы, Килиманджаро, Арарата,Гималаи и Везувия.

Ilgiz Fazulzyanov is the only Russian jeweler and enameller who has received great international recognition. He is a two-time winner of the jewelry Oscar, the Grand Prix of the International Jewelery Design Excellence Award in Hong Kong, has collaborated with the legendary watch house Bovet and Van Cleef&Arpels, his galleries are open in Moscow and Paris.

His collection “Great Peaks of the World” consists of five rings dedicated to five mountains known to everyone since childhood - these are precious enamel miniatures of Fuji, Kilimanjaro, Ararat, the Himalayas and Vesuvius.

Кольцо Килиманджаро-золото, эмаль, бриллианты, сапфиры, танзаниты. Ring of Kilimanjaro-gold, enamel, diamonds, sapphires, tanzanites.

Кольцо Фудзияма -золото, эмаль, бриллианты, лунный камень. Ring of Fuji - gold, enamel, diamonds, moonstone.

Кольцо "Гималаи"-золото, эмаль, бриллианты. Ring "Himalayas"-gold, enamel, diamonds.

Кольцо "Везувий"-золото, эмаль, опал. Ring "Vesuvius"-gold, enamel, opal.

Кольцо "Арарат"золото, эмаль, бриллианты, сапфиры, танзаниты. Ring "Ararat" gold, enamel, diamonds, sapphires, tanzanites.

Сегодня Ильгиз Фазулзянов - один из немногих мастеров в мире, в совершенстве владеющий всеми известными ювелирными техниками: филиграни, гравировки, чеканки и эмали и сочетающий их самым неожиданным и оригинальным образом. Мастер использует яркие эмали для создания цветовых эффектов и реалист��чного изображения природы в стилистике ар деко и ар нуво.

Today Ilgiz Fazulzyanov is one of the few craftsmen in the world who is fluent in all known jewelry techniques: filigree, engraving, embossing and enamels and combines them in the most unexpected and original way. The master uses bright enamels to create color effects and realistic images of nature in the Art Deco and Art Nouveau style.

Брошь-подвеска «Маки». Brooch pendant “Poppies”.

Браслет “Ласточки”, золото, эмаль, горный хрусталь, бриллианты. Bracelet “Swallows”, gold, enamel, rock crystal, diamonds.

Коллекции драгоценных колец вдохновленные природой. Collections of precious rings inspired by nature.

А также чудесные серьги, колье, броши и подвески в которых нашли свое отражение птицы, рыбы, бабочки. And also wonderful earrings, necklaces, brooches and pendants in which birds, fish, and butterflies are reflected.

Источник:/www.livemaster.ru/topic/1786805-sovremennyj-modern-ilgiza-fazulzyanova, /antiquesalon.ru/news/476-yuvelirnyie-ukrasheniya-ilgiza-fazulzyanova.html, /lomovskaya.livejournal.com/1850827.html, /pikabu.ru/story/yemotsionalnyie_ukrasheniya_ilgiz_fazulzyanov_7680435, /dzen.ru/a/Y429SAZm_QjwrixG, //www.kommersant.ru/doc/3587235, /moskvichmag.ru/lyudi/yuvelir-ilgiz-fazulzyanov-lyubovatsya-hotyat-bolshe-chem-pokupat/.

[theostrophywife]

the prince of hell | part two.

we might just get away with it, the altar is my hips even if it's a false god, we'd still worship this love

author's note: i have chosen violence today and i won't apologize for it. anyways, enjoy this soft fluff.

song inspiration: false god by taylor swift.

The underworld was nothing like you expected it to be. 

It was a land of perpetual night, but it wasn’t the frightening unending darkness of nightmares, instead it was moonlight and constellations, twinkling stars and violet skies. Never in a million years would you have predicted hell to be dreamy. 

But it was. Everything about the place was an absolute dream. None more so than the winged male carrying you in his arms. 

The Prince of Hell smiled softly as he cut through the cumulus clouds, flying towards an enormous castle perched atop an obsidian mountain. The peaks glittered like dark diamonds, the gothic spires and turrets spearing through the endless night as you floated through the sea of stars. The moon shimmered overhead as Azriel landed on the open balcony. 

Though his feet hit the chequerboard floor, Azriel made no move to release you from his grip. He merely continued carrying you through his home, past the moonstone walls and marble pillars, through countless rooms full of lavish furniture and extravagant paintings, and underneath a crystal chandelier that projected starlight onto the polished onyx floors. 

You gaped in wonder as he slipped past mahogany doors and into a bedchamber with a four poster bed. The sheets felt like silk to the touch as he carefully set you down. Across the room, you stared at your bewildered expression through a gilded mirror, your hair wild and unbound, your wedding dress smeared with blood and ash. 

Azriel’s brows furrowed in concern as he wiped a streak of dried blood from your cheek. “Are you sure you’re alright, my heart?” His fingers skirted over your hairline, brushing a stray strand behind your ear with surprising gentleness. “You’re shaking.” 

You gave him a watery smile. “I’m fine. Just a little rattled, that’s all.”

“I won’t apologize for what I did to that mortal, but I am sorry if it frightened you. The way he spoke about you, the way he grabbed you—” he released a shaky breath as if the memory still stoked his anger. “I wanted to do more than just rip out his wretched heart.”

You grabbed his hand and squeezed in reassurance. “You saved me.” Honey eyes dawned on you like sunset, disbelief dancing in Azriel’s gaze as though no one has ever said such a thing to him. “You saved me and I owe you my life.” 

“You owe me nothing,” Azriel declared with determination. “You will never owe anyone anything ever again.”

Those words released another floodgate of tears. As the Prince of Hell cradled you in his arms, his soft voice a soothing lullaby in your ears, the realization that you were free—truly free slammed into you. You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, maybe minutes, maybe hours, but what you did know was that Azriel was a refuge in the storm.

As he had been in your dreams for far longer than you could remember. 

“I thought I’d dreamt you up,” you said, looking up at this stranger who really wasn’t a stranger at all. “How are you real?” 

There was something about the way those golden eyes softened that made your heart leap in your chest. Azriel brushed a tear away and took a deep breath. “Once upon a time, there was a raven with a broken wing. It searched high and wide for shelter, but because of its injuries, the raven couldn’t fly very far. One day it landed in the countryside, half-frozen and half-starved, where a girl found it buried amongst the snowbanks. The girl took pity on the raven and brought the bird home, offering it shelter and mending its broken wing. As she nursed the raven back to health, he did something very foolish. He fell in love with the girl. The raven knew it was a mistake. She was beautiful and gentle and kind and he was a creature of nightmares. Eventually, he healed and she set him free. That should have been the end of the story, but the raven was a selfish bastard. It kept coming back—watching over her, leaving her gifts, and visiting her dreams.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you listened, realization slowly washing over you as Azriel spoke. “Then one day, the raven heard the girl’s father praying to the old gods. Heaven ignored his pleas, but Hell listened. The raven listened because he had never forgotten the girl’s kindness. What the girl didn’t know was that the raven wasn’t a raven at all. He was the Prince of Hell. The day she found him, he had been attacked by his step brothers who sought his throne for themselves. They held him down and drove a spear through his wing, nearly severing it.” 

His right wing flared out and you saw a large scar running through the underside of the red and gold membrane. “Before they could kill him, the Prince of Hell shifted into his raven form and fate took him to the small village where the kind girl rescued him. The raven would have died if it weren’t for her. When she set him free, he knew it killed her to do so. But the girl understood what it was like to be in a cage and she didn’t want him to have the same fate as her, so she let him go. As the girl watched the raven fly away with a heavy heart, he promised that one day, he’d set her free too.”

The room was silent as Azriel’s fingers raked through your scalp. “So the raven bided his time. Bargained with the girl’s father. Slaughtered his greedy step brothers. Reclaimed his throne. Then finally, the raven fulfilled his promise. The girl thought that he had set her free, that he had saved her, but what she didn’t know was that she saved him first. Before he met her, everyone always said that the raven had no heart and they were right because his heart was tucked away in that small, snowy village.”

The Prince of Hell brushed his lips over your temple. “That’s what you are to me,” Azriel said softly. “My heart.”

“Why me?” you asked. The memories flashed through your mind. Finding him in that snowbank. Bandaging up his wing. Your father had scolded you for it. Called you soft hearted. Always bringing in the strays of this world. The girl who desperately clung onto magic and fairy tales to escape the harsh reality of her own life. “I’m just a girl who has a weakness for the wild things.”

“Being kind is not a weakness,” Azriel said firmly. “I used to think it was. My father taught me as much and so did his father before him. But they were wrong. It was the kindness of a stranger that brought me back to life. A girl who gave me everything when I had nothing to give in return. That is true strength.”

Tears fell from your eyes like raindrops. It felt good to be seen. To have the whole of you reflected so clearly in someone else’s eyes. “You’re my freedom. You’re my salvation,” you stroked his cheek almost reverently. “I think I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

“As have I, my heart,” Azriel whispered softly, pressing his forehead against yours. “As have I.”

“You saved me,” you said once again.

“We saved each other.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as he traced the outline of your jaw, his thumb brushing against your lips. His touch was featherlight, but it set your entire body on fire. Azriel’s gaze marked you, burned you. It felt like he was embedding himself upon your soul.

“Azriel?” Your voice came out in a whisper, low and breathless. 

“Yes, my heart?” 

“Kiss me. Please.”

The Prince of Hell shuddered a breath. Then his hand slid into your hair, tilting you back. There was nothing but tenderness in his eyes as he closed the gap between you. Lips brushed against lips, tasting, testing—it was excruciating agony, it was sweet release. The kiss sparked a fire in you and you burned for Azriel, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling through his silky locks like you were trying to get lost in the dark paradise that was him with no desire to ever escape. 

Azriel pulled you into his lap, his lips never leaving yours. The way your bodies moved in perfect synchrony, melding together, melting together seamlessly made you think that maybe you were created just for this purpose. He was intoxicating; there was nothing more divine, nothing more sacred than the feel of his mouth against yours. Kissing him was an act of worship. 

You had the vague sense that you’ve never felt true hunger until Azriel’s tongue slipped past your parted lips and filled you with lust and desire so strong it made you feel like a depraved hedonist. There was Azriel and only Azriel. 

Desire was a lit match catching fire on a field soaked with gasoline. The need for Azriel was endless, like staring into an empty abyss and realizing for the first time in your life that you were finally seeing what lay inside this whole time. You were hungry. 

Azriel groaned as you rolled your hips against him. His hands found your waist, gripping you like his life depended on it. The gold dancing in his irises flickered to black. His eyes fluttered close as he nuzzled his nose against yours, reeling himself back to reality. 

Then, in a voice full of care and restraint, Azriel said, “We don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready to do. It’s your choice, my heart.” The words cracked your heart open, letting sunlight into the shadowy crevices. “From this point forward, it will always be your choice.”

You cupped his cheek, marveling at all that he was. “My entire life, every decision has been made for me. Other people have always told me how to dress, how to speak, how to act. Tonight is the first time that I actually get to choose something for myself. I want my first choice to be you, Azriel.” 

The words seemed to unleash something within the Prince of Hell. Azriel surged forward and kissed you, his mouth full of passion and heat. You arched into him and he took the opportunity to graze his teeth against the column of your throat before flicking his tongue over the sensitive spot just below your ear. 

“I choose you, too,” he said softly. 

You smiled, tugging him down until you both tumbled against the mattress. Azriel pinned you underneath him, taking his time to stroke your curves, his featherlight touch awakening goosebumps along your arms. He peeled the dress off of you gently, kissing your collarbones, your breasts, your stomach, and your thighs. You helped him out of his clothes, peeling layer after layer until the two of you were bare to one another. 

You had no idea where to look first. Azriel was a work of art, a sculpture carved out of marble, every inch of him perfectly crafted by the gods themselves. The forbidden fruit seducing you to taste, to bite, to savor. He shuddered as you pressed your palm against his chest, feeling the beat of his heart as if it were your own. 

“You will be my undoing,” the Prince of Hell declared. “I would worship at your altar tonight. You are my own little piece of heaven.”

“I don’t want to be your heaven,” you said, voice stern and unwavering. “I want to be your hell, because their god is the only one who has ever answered my prayers.”

Azriel looked down at you as though you were a god yourself. A treasure that he would give his life to guard and cherish. With your legs wrapped around his trim waist, Azriel hovered above you. His gaze was contemplative, searching for any sign of hesitation. 

When he found none, Azriel kissed you gently while easing his way in. You were wet, soaking with arousal, and the length of him stretching your walls was a welcomed sting. He kept his eyes on you as his cock filled you deliciously. You moaned into his mouth and the sound seemed to completely unravel him. 

It was ruin and restoration, life and death, pain and pleasure combined in one single act. Azriel twined your fingers together, holding your arms above your head as he made love to you. His wings flared behind his back just as his shadows swirled above his head, encircling him like a crown of smoke. The Prince of Hell was a dark god. He was night and mist and shadow. The space between the stars. 

You would pray to him a thousand times over. 

“Gods,” you moaned, the word falling from your lips like a solemn prayer. “It feels too good. You are too good, Azriel.”

He kissed you deeply, fusing your very souls together. A white hot heat seized your body and suddenly you were careening towards the cliffs, falling hand in hand with Azriel. The Prince of Hell growled into your mouth, his forehead pressed against yours as you both surrendered to release. 

For a moment, nothing else in the realm existed besides the two of you. 

Azriel opened his eyes and it was like staring directly into the sun after centuries of darkness. With a soft smile, he pulled you into his arms and kissed your temple. Like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, your limbs locked and something within you just clicked. 

This was right. 

He was right.

You nestled against Azriel like you belonged there all along. “You never told me.”

“Told you what, my heart?”

“How the story of the girl and her raven ends.”

Azriel smiled, pulling you into his arms. “It doesn’t. They just find a new beginning instead.”

taglist: @viradeity @moony-thoughts @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @demirunner @swansworth @heart-defendor @momlo @mali22 @roselensage @searchingford@nessianxgwynriel@azriels-angels@brekkershadowsinger@morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @mattte-black @marina468 @lillithathecathecat @highladyofillyria

[daenysthedreamer101]

Daughter of Steel and Bronze ~ HOTD

Targaryen!OC Headcanons

Princess Daena's personal style during her youth

HOTD masterlist

This will cover Daena's youth and her style while she was still a maiden and before her marriage and pregnancies (110-115 AC)

She grew up in a time of decadence when the Targaryens were at the peak of their power and wealth

Plus she is a Princess of House Targaryen and her uncle is the King, ofc she's spoiled to the core

Lots of jewelry! Earrings, necklaces, rings, headbands covered in pearls and gems, you name it she owns it

Variety of precious stones and gems; amethyst, sapphires, diamonds, moonstones, pearls, opals, jade; but mostly rubies and red garnets.

Silver compliments her fair skin the best but also wears gold

Owns a special necklace of Valyrian steel given to her by her father, Prince Daemon

Owns plenty of chunky, chandelier necklaces with big gems - she mostly wears these in court

When she's hunting or flying she wears dainty earrings or studs so they don't mess with her hair

Has a habit of playing with her earrings when she's nervous

Wears at least 3-4 rings

Now, outfits

Silks, velvet, Myrish lace - nothing but the best for the daughter of the Rogue Prince

the classic Targaryen colors, red and black, are a staple in her closet

Once she claimed Vermithor bronze and copper became another prominent color in her wardrobe

Besides, bronze also represents her Royce side and her mother

Also purple! So much purple!

She fully embraces her Valyrian heritage and doesn't care to adhere to Westerosi standards; something she inherited from her father

Most of her dresses are cut in a way to emulate the styles of Old Valyria and the ancient dragonlords

Long flowy gowns with long, cape-like sleeves that spread like wings when she struts down the halls of the Red Keep

All of them cinch at the waist or have a belt that accentuates her figure

Ofc, she owns gowns that are more in line with Westerosi standards; she mostly wore these when she was young and still lived at Runestone

As she matured and developed her own sense of fashion, she started dressing more in line with her Valyrian side

It was partly because she genuinely wanted to honor her ancestors, and partly to make a political statement; she was a Targaryen and she will always be one and she will proudly show off her heritage

All of them are covered in rich embroidery and fine details

Her dragon riding suits are more angular and structured, with shaper lines

Some are made of leather, and some of harsher materials that are more durable

She has several riding coats in various colors; black, red, dark brown

All of them have belts because when she's flying she needs to secure all the chains of her dragon saddle to it

Next, her hair

She has the classic silvery hair of House Targaryen

It's a silvery blonde with a pearlescent shine to it

Keeps it long; it's past her shoulder blades

She has curly hair thanks to her mother, Lady Rhea

She doesn't straighten her hair like Rhaenyra

When she's flying or hunting, she usually braids her hair into a single plait or pulls it up into a braided bun

When she's at court or in her free time she usually wears it down but always has a couple of braids adorning her head

Owns plenty of headpieces and always has some sort of jewels in her hair

DRAGON HAIR CLIPS!

She takes great care of her hair and applies oils imported from Dorne and Lys to make it extra soft and shiny

Her hair smells like lemons and rose water

[gemville]

Tiffany & Co. Earrings In Platinum and 18k Yellow Gold With Unenhanced Sri Lankan Sapphires, Tanzanites, Moonstones, Additional Sapphires and Diamonds

Source: hauteliving.com

[quitealotofsodapop]

So I couldn't help myself plz stop me it's consuming my brain!!!

"Chang'e!!" The goddess startled at the sound of her name as a monkey suddenly spouted from her shadow. Holding a hand to her chest as she tried to catch her breath, Chang'e glared at her little brother who looked sheepish as scaring her, but before she could reprimand him for his antics she took in Liu'er's appearance. The Six-Eared Macaque's fur was puffed up in distress, and he was clutching something small close to his chest, eyes wild with panic. "Liu'er!? What happened?" The goddess gasped as he pounced upon her, pulling her into a hug. "I messed up, I messed up big time!" The monkey was babbling, "Can you help me, jiě jie?" "Of course! Oh my xiǎo yuè guāngshí, what happened?" Chang'e ran her fingers through his fur, taking in the scent of the forest and fruit that surrounded him. She hadn't seen him in many years, not since he left to live with his own kind after hearing tales of a monkey born from stone like himself on the breeze. They'd tried to stay in contact through astral projection, but that's hardly the same as seeing each other face to face. "I..." Liu'er gained a lost expression as he pulled back, holding out his clenched fist and allowing her to see what he was holding. It was a gemstone, a citrine to be exact, braided into a pendant with orange cord that looked to have been weaved from fur, the design if the pendant and braid had clearly been done with care and she coupd sense a multitude of protection charms from the stone. A faint scent of peaches wafted from it, "Shíhóu gave me this. I- I didn't know what it meant at first, but... according to the spirits, it's a really big deal!" Realization hit the goddess at the implications. She is an old goddess, old enough to remember some of the tales. Sun Wukong, the Monkey King, had given her little brother a courting gift! "Alright." Chang'e forced herself to remain calm and neutral, "What do you want, Liu'er? Do you accept this?" "I-" Her little brother's face turned red as he cleared his throat, adverting his eyes, shy. "I... I didn't know what it meant when i accepted it, but... now that I do, I... I kinda of want to? Reciprocate, I mean." Chang'e nodded, accepting his answer. A grin slowly spread across her face as she let her excitement finally show. Her little brother was growing up and getting engaged!! "What do you need?" "Do... do you still have the geode form my egg? I want to... to make him a pendant in return. The spirits say stone monkeys exchange pendants with their mates using one of the gems from their eggshells as a symbol of their devotion, usually with a bunch of protections charms and spells attacked and braided with their own fur." That... that was so cute! The thought of it sent a pang through her heart as she was reminded of Hou Yi, forever lost to her. Perhaps if they had something like what Liu'er was describing, the distance wouldn't feel so far. "Of course, I'll add a few charms of my own to help! Goodness knows you're not the best spell weaver when it comes to that type of thing!"

referencing.

uwaaaah!! Chang'e calling Macaque her "little moonstone"!!! X3

And she's trying her best to stay calm cus little brother is getting ENGAGED!! Chang'e is the biggest romantic out there - and she knows true love when she sees. And at that moment she sees it in the face of her little brother as he holds and gazes upon the pendant Shíhóu gave him.

Chang'e had only really heard of Shíhóu before, but he was clearly a kind and protective person. So much of his stories of valor reminded her of her dearest Hou Yi.

She knows what it's like to mate for life.

Chang'e helps Macaque's unsteady hands form the rope of the pendant from his long silky fur. Stone monkey fur is thankfully stronger than the average locks, so it's nearly like diamond filament keeping the gemstone in place. Lots of trial-and-error is done to get the gemstone secure.

Chang'e of course adds her own charms to the pendant - she's a powerful goddess after all. She's also so honoured that Macaque agrees for her to be the one to bless it - she was really worried that he resented her for raising him as a celestial would, and cried when he told her that she was the closest thing to a sister/mother that he had.

She blesses the pendant to bring the owner warmth when away from it's partner, and to grant comfort when they feel their loneliest. It's blessings she's wished for herself for many years.

I love the idea of Macaque being terrible at complicated magic when he was little, lots of Nat 1s for this little guy XD

After barely half a day after her brother's return to Earth; Chang'e receives two excited astral calls from Earth. One her little moonstone, and the other an unfamiliar ginger monkey. Now she finally knows what Shíhóu looks like - and he's the sunshine to her brother's moonlight. She wishes them the greatest of happiness.

All this talk of pendants and marriage reminds me of another Chinese mythology work including Chang'e;

[silkmoon777]

Dove | Simon "Ghost" Riley

A/N: Hello lovely people, I have a backlog of short stories written for things like Avatar: The Way of Water, MWII, Stranger Things, The Arcana, Outer Banks, and many more that I have never posted and keep to myself. I'm talking hundreds of pages worth of fluff, angst and eventual smut - you've got to get through some plot first, though. HOWEVER, if anyone likes my writing and wants to task me with stuff to write, like straight smut, I'm all ears. Anyway, if anyone is interested in reading stuff I could potentially post, here is a snippet for a little Call of Duty fic.

Synopsis: You're to play the materialistic wife of a rich, well-connected husband during an undercover mission. You're to-be husband is a temporary recruit of the 141, who is to supervise your every move. While getting ready, you have a surprising interaction with your Lieutenant, Ghost, who you swear has made it his mission to treat you like a stranger day after day. Until now.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

Contains: pretty much nothing of importance, just Ghost being as unreadable as ever, causing reader to have their mind blown by the smallest of crumbs

• • • • •

I look in the mirror at the woman who is supposed to be Lyanna Winstead. She’s the partner of Dario Winstead, son of a wealthy businessman. Everything about Lyanna is a carbon copy of myself. Her smile, her hair, her figure, her voice. Only, she presents herself in a way I haven’t in a long time.

Gone is the tactical gear and camouflage colours. Instead, she wears the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. The outline of the dress is simple yet captivating to suits the old Hollywood theme. Silver cascades down her body, creating the illusion of a mercury waterfall. The sweetheart neckline and thin straps compliment her full breasts and soft arms. Adorning the bodice are glistening silver designs that remind me of old, swirling boarders on French mirrors. The designs fall away, melting into plain silver threads that fall to the floor and pool at her feet. The dress hugs her body like a second skin, only melting away at her knees. The silhouette fit her hourglass figure well.

The silver jewellery she wears is modest so as not to take away from the dress’s magnificence. On her neck is a dainty Vivienne Westwood necklace, the inner planet of the pendant a pearl. Matching dangling earrings hang from her lower lobe piercing. The rest of her ear piercings are small diamond studs and silver hoops. One wrist displays a thin diamond tennis bracelet and a Van Cleef one with emerald clovers. On the other is the only ode to myself: the evil eye bracelet I never take off. The thin silver chain and bejewelled eye thankfully blend into the rest of the accessories. Small rings cover her fingers, few in number and easily ignorable. The bands are thin and any jewels are small and clear. However, one stands out; a breathtaking sight on her left index finger.

Glittery diamonds cover the band, giving way to a large, circular moonstone. Rainbow shimmer comes to life in the milky stone when the light hits it just right. Separating the band and the centrepiece are two small flowers with diamond centres. Two separate rings sit beneath and below the main one, shaped in V’s to follow the curve. At each point are flowers similar the the others, with curved leaves flowing from the petals. All three are gold, contrasting against the silver to make a statement.

I’m not just looking back at Dario’s partner. I’m looking at his wife.

I’m Will’s wife. 

Fake wife, really. I nearly shake my head in wonder. I still look like myself, but everything about this makes me feel like I’m wearing a second skin. Lyanna’s skin. Every so often I stare at the ring in amazement. If anyone ever proposes to me, I would hope for nothing less than the magnificent that is this ring. All that adorns my body is courtesy of Will. Unbeknownst to me before this mission, he’s filthy rich, and a filthy rich man needs a filthy rich wife. All the designer jewellery, the dress, the shoes, and the engagement ring are authentic and top dollar.

After the last touch-ups of make-up, fragrances, and hair, I’m making my way to the courtyard. I’m to have one last briefing and run over of the plan before getting in Will’s blacked-out Corvette. I have to give it to him: he really knows how to pull off a lavish life with style.

Already am I wishing to rip off the damn stilettos on my feet. While I could live in the dress and jewellery, this is the one day a year I’m willing to wear heels.

The air is cool, the last golden light of day painting the courtyard and walls of Alejandro’s HQ in a luminescent glow. A low rumble fills the air from my 'husband’s car. Will leans against it, speaking with the 141. Ghost lingers back by the front door, arms folded and back leaning against a pillar. Weaving between his fingers with precision is a small dagger. His head turns at the sound of approaching heels.

“Was starting to think you were a no show,” he says gruffly.

I stop beside him to adjust my dress. It doesn’t really need adjust, but suddenly being subjected to his gaze makes me anxious. “Told you it would take a while. Gotta look the part.”

The way his eyes travel over my body almost makes me shrink away. Every curve is on full display. The tight bodice holds up my already full breasts, and somehow my waist-to-hip ratio is even more accentuated. Wearing my uniform doesn’t exactly hide my figure thanks to the tight shirts and cargo pants that aren’t exactly loose from my mid-thigh up. However, a lot of me is lost beneath the vests and belts.

“Stop...inspecting me, or whatever you're doing,” I mumble. “Makes me think I need to fix something.”

I begin taking the skirts in my hand as I survey my descent. It’s not too much, but the steps are steep enough to be an issue. The heels on my feet are no help.

Ghost shakes his head. “Don’t. You look…”

“Important?”

“Pretty.”

I stop in my tracks to look back at him, unsure if I heard him correctly. He doesn’t look away or seem embarrassed to have said so. Then again, when does he ever. No-nonsense and prideful in his emotionless character, Ghost is not one to regret his words. Everything he says is a calculated move. Compliments are certainly something to be calculated in a sense, but I don't think of it to be a compliment, even when a small part of me screams for more. I'm playing my part well; there'd be a problem if I wasn't looking pretty. A slow smile quirks at my lips, teasing in nature as I raise my brows. The teasing turns to surprise, however, when he offers me his arm.

“How chivalrous,” I quip as I lightly take his offered arm. Even the slightest contact sends thrills beneath my skin. “Careful, Lieutenant. I might start to think you actually like me.”

Ghost’s eyes train on the ground. At first, I wonder if he doesn’t want to meet my eyes, only then to realise he’s watching my footing. I barely catch a glimpse of his squint.

“I like you in one piece,” he corrects. “This job will be over the second you sprain your ankle on a flight of stairs.”

I hum. “Ahh, there it is.”

He looks up at me then. “There’s what?”

“Thinking about the job, as always.”

As always, I keep my tone light and teasing, but there's an accusing hint. A subtle jab I let slip that I pray goes unnoticed.

There's no room for emotions in this job, and though I've compromised that with the rest of the 141, Ghost is a difficult case. An impossible riddle, a mind-numbing equation with no real answer. Nothing about him should be likeable. He's painfully honest and dismissive when he bothers to speak, he's angry half the time, his attention is never lingering and his mind is an impenetrable fortress. It would make more sense to give in to Alejandro's shameless flirting or Gaz's sleazy grins. Only, it's Ghost that keeps me up at night. It's Ghost, who sends a pang through my chest when he reminds me any care is from pure investment in performance. I'm useful, nothing more.

I can count on one hand the number of times he's thrown me small morsels of care as if I were a stray dog whining and begging for food. Even then, I wouldn't have made it past three fingers. A greedy piece of me spins those memories into something that serves my desire. See, he's returning your interest, that hopeful voice purrs in my ear while feeding me botched versions of what really happened. I know better than to give in to the delusions. The ending of those memories is what sobers me, and it's no different now. I need you in shape for tomorrow. Keep your head in the game. I'm just making sure this isn't interrupting the job. He's always quick to redirect any concern from me to the job.

Maybe, just maybe...what if he was trying to save face? Does he not want to care?

Ghost remains silent for a moment. In consideration or because he doesn’t care to answer, I can’t tell. But when he does answer, his voice has my full attention. It’s low and rough, each syllable laced with something intoxicating. Something I've never heard before and never thought I would hear. Something I want to hear again and again.

“You have no idea what I think about, dove.”

Dove.

The response catches me so off guard I almost forget to take another step. We’ve reached the bottom of the steps, now. The second both my feet are on the flat expanse of the concrete driveway, he breaks away from our linked arms. There is no follow-up, no hint of a miscommunication, not even a look in my direction before he's gone from my side. All I can do is hesitantly trail behind him, lost in my thoughts.

Ghost has never given me a nickname before. Hell, he barely refers to me as anything other than my callsign. When I do hear my real name, it's never for good reasons.

The nickname that pours from his lips comes in a deep voice curled into a sensual tone, sounding like silk-covered marble, low and intended for my ears only. It's strangely intimate—something a lover would purr with lustful eyes and a seeking touch. Somehow it seems to invoke a phantom touch that glides across my skin. Gooseflesh puckers in its chilling wake. In the span of only a few seconds, I seem to experience every emotion humanly possible. Shock, surprise, a sickening, perverse enjoyment...and irritation that I must now join the rest of the team as if a mind-numbing heat was not boiling in the pits of my stomach

• • • • •

I'll get the formatting of posting these to be prettier btw I promise 🙏🙏 But anyway just interact with this or tell me directly if you want more.

[aralezinspace]

Masquerade

Combining two requests, both from Anonymous: Morpheus and s/o doing each other's makeup, Morpheus and reader kissing, reader teases him until he's at their mercy

A/N: The inherent eroticism of a masquerade *chef's kiss* partly inspired by All Yours by @roguelov (I love your writing so much!) Enjoy! Tagging @fangirlmary - If you want to be tagged in any of my writing let me know!

~~Requests are open!~~

“Morpheus?” I called from my bathroom, “Are you almost ready for me?” I knew time passed differently in the Dreaming, I still couldn’t help worrying we were going to be late. The Faerie realm was hosting a huge masquerade ball in honor of Cluracan’s birthday, and as rulers of the Dreaming we had both been invited. I had never been to a faerie masquerade, so I was more than a little nervous- even newly immortal, I was still only human, about to be surrounded by beings with more power in their pinkies than I had in my entire body.

I heard Dream’s footsteps pad from our bedroom into the bathroom before I saw his reflection in the mirror. I applied the last touch to my lipstick before turning to get the full effect, and my heart stopped in my chest.

He was dressed in his usual black, but the material seemed to be deeper, darker, a void where even the brightest of stars diminished. Within that void there swirled sparkling lines of blues, greens, purples, and reds, dotted with large silvery sparkles I’d bet were diamonds sewn into the fabric. The shirt and pants seemed painted onto his form they fit him so well, moving with him, not even creasing when he walked or moved his arms. The shirt’s collar covered his neck, and his hands were wrapped in black silk gloves.

The cloak he wore when being Dream of the Endless, Ruler of the Dreaming and Nightmare Realms was attached to his shoulders with silver brooches, each cradling a sapphire the size of a walnut. A silver chain connected the two pieces, swaying gently when he moved. Flames still flickered at the bottom, but this cloak was made of the same living void as his shirt and pants. His hair was only slightly more tamed than usual, which only added to the affect. Black pointed boots with slight heels and soft soles were on his feet.

I needed to stop gaping, before a dream spider crawled into my mouth.

“Holy shit,” I gasped, taking it all in again and again, the words hardly doing my sentiments any justice. He was ancient and beautiful, distant and awe-inspiring. “You look incredible.” He smiled gently at me, and I could have sworn his chest puffed out just a little bit as he approached me.

“As do you, my star,” he replied in a murmur. His eyes roved up and down my body, taking it all in as one would a piece of art. I could feel the slight tremor in his hand as he brushed a stray piece of hair away from my face. “Although there are no words in any language to do justice to your beauty.”

I felt a blush rise to my cheeks and bashfully glanced at the floor. “Flatterer,” I teased, but did a little twirl anyway before going back to the mirror.

He was right though, I looked just as otherworldly as him in the clothes he fashioned me. If he was attending as a galaxy, then I was the star at the very center. The whole ensemble was silver-blue and shimmering, made of countless layers of a light, floaty material that swirled around me like mist when I moved. The gown had a sweetheart neckline, and sleeves of fine silver mesh covered my arms, making them appear longer and more graceful. Moonstones and diamonds dotted the dress and sleeves, catching the light and reflecting it back. Small diamond earrings went in my ears, and a strand of silver and moonstone was around my neck, with a large opal pendant hanging just below my collarbones.

I had a cape of my own, made of the same shimmering material and dotted with flecks of gold, flowing out behind me from my shoulders. My makeup had the same slight rainbow and silver shimmer, my eyes outlined in pale blue liner. I looked every inch a monarch.

“Just have to do your eyeliner,” I said as I gestured for Morpheus to sit on the stool in front of my vanity. He swept across the bathroom and sat on the stool as if it were a throne while I gathered my liquid and pencil eyeliners, along with a few shades of eyeshadow. “Close your eyes and hold still?”

Morpheus smiled and did as I asked. His lashes were long and dark and utterly gorgeous against his pale cheeks. He was holding still as he could for me, which was the equivalent of a marble statue. Leaning over him, I carefully lined his upper lash lines in black ink before buffing it out with a brush. “Open and look up?”

Tongue between my teeth as I concentrated, I did his lower lash line as well. The black liner made the blue of his eyes even more startling, and I just knew that his eyes would appear even more like bottomless pits if they shifted to their usual black and silver over the course of the night.

“Okay, look ahead?” Rather than look straight ahead, Dream decided to look up at me, stopping the breath in my lungs with his gaze. With slightly clumsy fingers, I put the eyeliner back in my makeup drawer and grabbed the two eye shadows I had picked for him: a slightly sparkling red, and a shimmering silver. Using my fingertip, I gently pressed some of the red into the outer corners of his eyes, and some of the silver into the inner corners.

If I thought he looked incredibly beautiful and powerful before, I was wrong. Just adding the eyeliner and colors around his eyes had made him arrestingly gorgeous, and I couldn’t look away. My eyes widened at the being before me, heat flooding my entire body. That hint of red and silver was the most beautiful mistake I had ever made. It added more than a hint of mischief to the blue of his eyes, gave the power of dreams the attitude of the devil.

Oh, I was going to have a very hard time keeping my hands off him for however long we stayed at this party.

~~

The fae had truly gone all out for Cluracan’s celebration in a dazzling display of magic, wealth, and the otherworldly beauty of nature. The giant ballroom hummed with life, my skin tingled from the strength of the collective vibes. Even as my eyes absorbed the vibrant colors and wondered at them until they burned, I felt distinctly out of place. Just a tiny human at the side of an Endless, almost like a pet. I wanted to shrink into a gilt corner and hope that none of these beings paid me any mind. But, I was a monarch of the Dreaming. If Morpheus couldn’t hide in a corner, neither could I.

I could tell from his slightly tense grip on my hand that he’d rather be anywhere else. Even with our masks covering the top halves of our faces, it was easy to see how much he detested being here. There were too many people, and wearing the face of a monarch for all of them was taxing. I gently rubbed circles into the back of his hand with my thumb as we waited in line to pay our respects to the king and queen, taking in the sights and sounds and smells.

A beautifully haunting waltz came from the musicians on the modest stage at the back of the room. Fae and gods and other creatures of myth mingled and danced, their movements flickering like mirages. A shiver went down my spine.

The fae herald announced us to the waiting monarchs, and Cluracan sitting beside them: “Dream of the Endless and Lady Y/N, monarchs of the Dreaming, rulers of the Nightmare Realms.” I plastered a smile on my face as we approached the thrones. Morpheus gave a slight, respectful bow, and I dipped my knees in a little curtsy.

“Lord Morpheus!” Cluracan yelled with a beaming grin, extending his hand for Dream to shake. “I am so pleased you were able to attend! Both you and your beautiful wife.” Morpheus shook his hand with a strained smile. “Thank you for the invitation, we are honored to be here.”

Cluracan then extended his hand to me. I did what was expected of me, and placed my fingers in his waiting grasp. “Your visage this night is a true blessing,” he murmured against the skin before brushing his lips over my knuckles with a flirtatious smirk. I could feel Morpheus tense beside me.

Dream exchanged the necessary pleasantries with the king and queen, something I was content to let him handle. After the fae monarchs wished us well with the encouragement to enjoy their hospitality for as long as we wished, we were finally free from royal obligations to enjoy the party.

Morpheus was a wallflower at social engagements on the best of days, but I could tell that being in a ballroom surrounded by fae and magical creatures of every kind made him especially uneasy. His hand never left my lower back as we mingled with the other guests, sipping on sweet wine to take the edge off.

After we took our leave of some forest spirits, the orchestra struck up a tune I recognized as old Dreaming folk music. I gave Morpheus’ hand a squeeze and whispered excitedly in his ear, “I’ll bet you anything Cluracan asked them to play this for us. It’d be rude not to dance.” I gave him my best sparkling puppy dog eyes. “Please? May I have this dance?”

Dream sighed, but agreed with a small, loving smile. The image of a perfectly refined and dignified ruler, he led me to the dance floor, holding my one hand aloft while the other rested at my waist. We swept around the dance floor in time with the music, our garments flowing out behind and around us- a supernova and a black hole, swirling around each other in perfect harmony.

“They’re all staring,” I breathed, my eyes darting quickly to the assembled crowd.

“They cannot help but be entranced by you, my darling,” he purred back, “And neither can I.” My eyes flickered up to his, my heart stopping in my chest and lips tugging up into a smirk when I caught the expression on his face. There was no way he hadn’t noticed the hitch in my breath, or the flush in my cheeks, and his tiny smile became unbearably smug. Oh, so that’s how he wanted to entertain himself tonight. Well then, two could play at that game.

“They’re staring at you too, you know,” I breathed against his lips just before he twirled me out and then back in to his waiting arms. “You’re easily the most powerful being here, I bet they’re trying to decide whether they want to be your ally, or stab you in the back. Not that I’d let them.” The hand that was resting on his shoulder slid up, up, so that I was caressing his neck. “And I bet the women are just burning inside, aroused by your demeanor and aggravated their husbands could never hope to measure up.”

It was soft, but I could hear the growl that rumbled low in Dream’s chest. I could feel the way his fingers tensed into the flesh at my waist. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly- he now knew I had caught on to his game, and was not only willing to play, but playing to win.

When the song was over, I pulled away to bow to him, low and slow and graceful with a smile that was anything but submissive. Dream returned the gesture, a perfect gentleman, one who knew exactly what effect he was having on his partner. Rather than take his hand to leave the dance floor, I turned away from him, throwing a flirtatious smirk over my shoulder as I walked towards the buffet. I could feel his eyes burning into my back as he watched, intending to follow, but stopped by a fae lord wishing to speak with him.

I could sense Dream’s growing tension as the night wore on and I refused to stay by his side, rather flitting just out of reach. I made small talk with the other guests, even exchanged a few more words with Cluracan- that really got him going. It was only a matter of time before he came to sweep me away. I intended to beat him to it.

It was hard to evade the stare of an Endless, but I managed well enough. Just enough to catch Dream’s eye before leaving the ballroom and disappearing around a corner into a quieter hall. I could hear his footsteps following me, letting him catch the occasional glimpse of my skirt fluttering around a corner. Almost there…

I turned the next corner and hid in the darkened space between two stone columns encircled with vines. My heart pounded as Dream drew closer. When he was about to pass my hiding place, I reached out and snatched his arm, pulling him into the shadows with me and pressing him against the wall. The air left his lungs on impact in a breathy moan. I stepped in closer, pressing my nose into the hollow just below his ear and taking a deep breath. I was already warm and fuzzy from the wine and fae magic in the air; breathing Morpheus in only made it more so.

With a soft hum, I gently pressed my lips to his, moving them slowly, carefully, testing just how far I could push him. I teasingly ran my tongue over the seam of his sweet lips, and he immediately parted them for me. I flitted in for the slightest taste, the sweetness of the wine still lingering in the corners of his mouth. I pulled away the moment he tried to deepen the kiss, letting him lick beggingly at my closed lips.

One hand cradled his chin while the other slipped under the edge of his mask, mussing his hair slightly as I lifted it over his head and let it fall to the floor. He gasped against my lips and his breath immediately hitched, like he had been caught in the act of showing just how much I was affecting him.

His hands found their way to my hips, fingers digging in to soft fabric as he tugged me closer. My fingers threaded into his silky hair, gently caressing for a few moments before tightening around the strands and giving a gentle yank to expose his neck. Another gasp left him, his eyes fluttering.

I attached my lips to his jawline, kissing and nipping, just hard enough to sting. His fingers bit into my hips, holding me closer. I chuckled low in his ear, more than a little proud of how little it had taken to tease him into a gasping, trembling mess. “I think we’ve stayed long enough,” I cooed, “Unless you’d rather have another dance, or talk with Cluracan some more…”

Dream’s eyes flashed open, no longer ice blue, but deep black, and somehow still burning and sparkling. I had been right before: the eyeliner and colors at the corners of his eyes made me want to sink into those bottomless pits that looked as though they wanted to devour me whole. A breath shuddered out of my lungs and heat flooded my body. Dream smirked, smug and feral.

A hand left my waist to rip off my mask and cast it aside. Dream’s eyes raked over my face, eyes burning with desire. “My little star…” his low growl rumbled through me like thunder. “You are making it incredibly difficult to keep my composure.”

I slowly licked my lips, smooth and sultry. Dream’s eyes tracked every movement of my tongue. I stepped in even closer: “Then let it go.”

When I felt the vortex of sand carry us back to the Dreaming, I knew I had won this round, and also that Dream was more than alright with losing.

[unhinged-summer-fun]

the foolish heart's guide to not repeeating history - chapter 5

Pairing: Dream of the Endless "Morpheus" x F!Reader

series masterlist

chapter 5: folly of man

Things are… different after that.

You keep a place on Earth, the standard ‘flat in London’ that the Endless enjoy—even Despair seems to have one. You decorate it in the same eclectic style Death had done in her own space, but with crystals that catch the light and all manner of reflective surfaces to illuminate the otherwise dim interior. Hob likes to stop in to gossip and meet another bogglingly old bastard like himself.

Despite the tentative trust in the joys you have, Death’s question from three thousand years ago follows you with every footprint you leave behind.

“What will you do when this is done and he is… saved?”

You still have no idea.

Even the rules are different here now. The Destruction from your old universe had mentioned it a few times, but you didn’t truly understand what he meant until you started playing by them. You knew some fundamental things: The Endless cannot dream. The Fates cannot dream. You had always been told that you could not dream.

Until the night you do.

The Dreaming is unlike how you’d ever seen it before.

You remember the palace as it had been, spires and battlements kept away from the rest of the realm by miles of bridges, forests, and jagged stone mountains. You remember the gigantic monument where a grand funeral had been held. You remember an ozone-scented scorch mark atop a lonely ledge in the Frontiers of Nightmare. You remember a burning, lonely star in the sky.

This is not that place.

Your memories and expectations of the place are vastly different than what you expect.

Where the palace was distant and inaccessible before, it is now surrounded by a vast, lively royal city full of joyful dreams and clever nightmares. They go about their lives just as humanity does in any other place in the waking world. The hollow, echoing stretches of land from your memory are now full of crowded streets made of comfortable moonstone cobbles, dirt-and-diamond paths, and staircases made of solid emerald and jade. For all its twists and turns, you never once feel lost.

You take one of the verdant staircases carved into the western city wall. While admiring the view, you quietly accept the defeat of your preconceptions of the Dreaming. Small lakes of many colors dot the landscape like a painter’s palette in that empty vale that once held a massive funerary hall (and hopefully never would). When you cast your eyes to the north, where Nightmare looms dark and persistent, you imagine the lonely ledge among the gray-stone canyons would be free of any marks.

In the daytime, you can see the stars. Not a one is blotted out by the soul of a dead king.

This is the Dreaming, and it always reflects its monarch. And its monarch is very much alive.

He finds you watching a sky battle starting thousands of feet in the air: triple-masted sky-sloops cleave through clouds to battle an approaching fleet of sky pirates.

“Do you like it?”

His voice still startles you each time you hear it.

Dream stands in a cloak of deepest night, ready to sink into peripheral thought at a moment’s notice. He keeps his hands in his pockets to give off a relaxed air, but you note the tension in his shoulders and the carefully relaxed expression on his lovely face.

“What?”

He gives you a look that’s half-anxiety, half-sarcasm. Any of it, do you like any of my kingdom at all?

“It’s the Dreaming,” you answer. “What’s not to love?”

He joins you, leaning against the stone railing and tilting his head back as you’d been to watch the ships overhead. You watch him for a moment longer, gleefully admiring the silver in his hair before returning your attention to the gathering action.

A small explosion rocks the great ship high above, the pop of noise reaching your ears a moment later.

“You say that like you’ve never had a nightmare.”

Several sky pirates swing aboard on grappling hooks over the gap between ships, primed for battle. It doesn’t look good for the sky-sloop.

“I haven’t.”

He looks away from the battle to stare at the city within the walls, processing what you said. When understanding dawns, he turns his gaze to you, but you’re still doggedly looking up.

A few skynauts fall off the side.

“I don’t take your meaning.”

“I’ve never had a nightmare before.”

“You do not dream?”

“Before,” you start carefully, “I existed in conflict with your realm. You govern reality and the imagination of all who touch your realm. I was unreal: I could not be found in stories, thoughts, or ideas of the waking and living. I did not exist in any perpetual sense until I came to this universe… if I am honest with myself, I haven’t let myself start to believe it until recently.”

The plummeting sailors activate their jetpacks and return to the action. A dark green and black storm moves forward as a maelstrom made of clouds, but the ships locked in battle pay it no heed.

“Are you saying this is the first time you’ve slept in three thousand years?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds bad,” you wince.

“How would you spin the truth to make it sound good?”

“…touché.”

The storm starts to touch the edge of the battle, obscuring the scene in a hazy mist of green-black smoke. Within this arm of the storm, the only signs of battle are brief flashes of light that could be cannon fire or lightning. You frown, wishing for the wind to show the skirmish again.

“And there was nothing to be done?”

“He declared it impossible very early on.” Using that tone, you never have to indicate who you’re talking about—the other Dream. “When he cared to, he would agonize over it and offer to bring me personally into his realm, but I could already do so on my own. He didn’t like being told he couldn’t help, even when it was himself saying so.”

“I understand his side of things.”

“You would.”

A few pirates drop out of the cloud, still firing shots at the ship as they fall through the sky without a safety net. It seems that the sloop has found some foothold within the safety of the chaotic storm.

“You say you could always visit my realm, but in the three thousand years you’ve been here, you did not?” Were you not sure it would be impossible, you would have thought he sounded hurt by the idea.

You finally look away from the battle. His face betrays little insight toward the impossibility you’d pondered in his voice.

“Distance was necessary. I had to see how the world played out after my interventions. It wasn’t easy.” Yet, you hadn’t seen how things played out. You’d avoided Earth nearly as much as the Dreaming and had to be tricked into seeing the fruits of your labor in both places. You’re distantly aware of the cup of chamomile tea Hob had shared with you the night before, spiked with just a nip of honeyed whiskey before he’d left. Hob Gadling has officially made your shit list.

Twice, now. You’d been tricked into seeing Dream twice.

His eyes scan your face, jumping around and taking you in like a rushed museum-goer. You’re confused by his urgency. A lovesick (and foolish) part of you wants the reason to be: he has ten billion years of knowing your face to make up for.

Foolish.

His gaze falls a little, and you hope he’s just lost in thought as much as you hope he’s looking at your lips—

“May I ask you something?” you say, breaking the tension and looking for a worthy question of your interruption.

“Of course,” he says, blue eyes back upon you.

Your gaze catches his hand, glimmering gold in the dappled light of the Dreaming. “Your tattoo,” you say, your voice filled with intrigue. He raises his hand for you to inspect it. “How long have you had it? And what’s the story behind it?”

Touching his hand seems taboo, but you hold his graceful hand anyway, peering closer at the scattered stardust cascading over delicate bones and skin. At some angles, the sparkle disappears entirely, leaving only pale skin. Looking up at him, you see the same effect in his hair, silvers going invisible, though you just saw them a moment ago among the black.

“Near two hundred years.” 

“Following what?”

He heaves a sigh, looking up at the battle again and wincing when it’s still mostly stormcloud.

“My tools were stolen from me.”

“But… didn’t Burgess—”

“My sister has a centennial tradition of her own. She chooses to walk one day as a mortal every hundred years, experiencing the life she gives humanity and the end of that life. I joined her at her request, and once a century, I would set down my vestments and surrender the authority of my station into an hourglass, just for one day…”

The hourglasses were truly magnificent. I put thought into all my creations, but this day always excited me, and with each passing century, I kept the tradition; its design grew more elaborate to accommodate my tools. I kept the sand within a red crystal bulb fashioned from the very material of my ruby. The outer structure of the hourglass was made from the bone and steel of my helm. 

The day would begin when the hourglass turned over, and I could not reach for my powers until each grain of sand had passed through the neck. Until then, I could live as mortals lived, and in all honesty, I spent most of that time finding comfortable places to doze off.

Don’t laugh; there are few things better than a good nap.

Each time the hourglass would run out, the next time I fell asleep, I would meet myself there and return my symbols of office, resuming my functions as Dream of the Endless. It’s no different than my sister coming to claim herself at the end of the day, though perhaps a little less morbid and existential.

These days were chosen randomly, and it was only after I’d spent my day looking at humanity from one perspective that I realized I had missed out on many other things. Humans often ask themselves about when they would go, were they able to travel through time. If I had been asked, I would have spent that single day in each century a thousand times over again, doing a hundred thousand things differently.

The tradition changed after I met Hob Gadling, and in 1394, I asked him to be my guide to spending a day in the waking world. He would be guaranteed to see me twice a century: once as an Endless and once as a man. The days were much more enjoyable in the company of a friend, and I found I regretted less at the end of each day as a man.

It all went well for four hundred years.

In 1789, Hob had spoken at length about the wonders of travel, journeying for the journey’s sake. I’d never done such a thing, and he’d convinced me to try it. In 1794, he’d planned passage for us from London to the south of France, and I turned what was already a potentially risky event into an assured disaster.

Hob spoke of finding things on his various journeys, and I sent my tools to be found somewhere in the waking world.

Specifically in Paris.

During the Reign of Terror.

Yes, oh no is right.

Do you want to know what made this century’s hourglass worse? The crown atop it. It was a magnificent, bejeweled golden crown sent to the heart of anti-royalist France. When crafting the hourglass, I had allowed three weeks to pass for the passage by sea and across France.

It took us three entire months to locate the hourglass.

Like all other things that displeased les amis, it had been moved to the Luxembourg prison. Among the treasure cells, my hourglass sat among crown jewels, books of poetry, and the vestments of many other monarchs than myself. Robespierre had been elected mere days before we found it, and the beheadings forced us to rely on stealth and clever planning. I did not worry for my mortal form, but as the guillotine fell over a thousand times that summer, I worried more for my companion should we be found out.

Hob is a Londoner, through and through. It was a miracle he was not found out and summarily executed, for as little as that mattered to a deathless man as he. His French was abysmal at the best of times, so it fell to me to attempt any subterfuge within the prison walls. I determined that the best way to get into the palace was to be arrested for something annoying enough to be put away but not egregious enough to warrant execution. It worked, and I was put where everything was sent to rot. That indignity was worth the—

What did I do? Ah.

I spilled wine on Maximilien Robespierre. As I said, it was annoying enough to be arrested but not enough to be charged with crimes against the state.

While I worked on getting myself out of my cell, Hob Gadling did what he was best at: causing trouble. His French had become passable enough to spur some revolutions of his own, but his hand in military strategy was always more on the lower-ranked end of things. Don’t tell him I said that. Regardless, the chaos allowed me enough distraction to escape my cell and safely retrieve my hourglass.

And if I freed some poets and philosophers along the way, who could blame me?

“But how does that tell me how you got your tattoo?” you say, walking with Dream along the battlements. The sky battle above had dissipated into nothingness, to your annoyance. Now, your eyes are either drawn to him or a gleaming set of windows at the top of a tower in the castle. It’s so bright it could be a lighthouse.

“Ah. Well, I’d found my hourglass and learned that putting all my eggs in one basket was decidedly unwise. Hob had, before turning to more profitable forms of shipping, briefly served as crew upon Captain Cook’s expeditions to the Pacific. He’d quickly learned how to tattoo from the native tribes they encountered and had taken the skill back to England with him just in time for our meeting. That said, while I was still mortal, I had Hob find some needles, and using ink made from the sand in the hourglass and the crushed dreamstone, he could ensure I wouldn’t be caught without at least all my tools again.”

“This is your sand?” you whisper, stopping and holding his hand up in the waning light. He’d been speaking for some time, and you’d been loath to stop him. You twist his hand this way and that, watching it glimmer. “And your ruby?”

“Well—” he raises his other hand and moves his sleeve out of the way. On the inside of his other wrist sits the image of a very angular red rectangular gem, so stylistic you almost think it’s made of text. This tattoo does not shine and glitter like the sand-stars, but glows softly. You brush a thumb over the surface. It’s long-healed, but the sheer depth of power within the tattoo is undeniable.

Dream has gone unnaturally still beneath your touch. When you realize, you drop his wrist and hand at once, flushing furiously with embarrassment. “My apologies, I didn’t mean—”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he says quickly, his voice soft, without reproach.

Still, after ten billion years of being denied his touch in another place and time, the instinct to scold yourself remains. You ball your hands at your sides and look down at your feet. “It’s impertinent to be so bold, especially without asking if you wanted to be touched.”

“Darling, do you think I would have let you touch me if I did not want you to?”

You look up at him then, just a little stunned. He’s right. This is a being who has never let a single enemy triumph over him for longer than it took to outsmart them. Neither is he a shrinking violet, determined to please every crowd. He is Dream of the Endless.

And he is standing so close to you.

He holds his hands before you again, offering them once more.

You are about to reach out and take them when a voice cuts through the two of you.

Star-treader. I stand in my gallery, but you have no sigil. I bid you speak with me. Come.

And the Dreaming drops out beneath you.

This place is unchanged each time you come to it.

Still, this is new.

Summoned against your will, your back and shoulders hit the coarse gravel path in the Garden of Forking Ways.

Garden of Forking Bullshit, more like.

Destiny of the Endless holds all seven-and-a-half feet of his height above you in as looming a posture as possible. Behind him, seven gigantic statues of the Endless loom over him. “I greet you, star-treader.”

“Yeah. Greet you very much.” You roll onto your side with a cough to get your lungs working correctly again and stand, groaning. “You could have asked me to come and spared me all this.”

Destiny does not answer because he does not need to. Destiny of the Endless does not stoop to such depths as politeness.

Petty, you put a heel over the path’s edge just to revel in the way his frown deepens.

As the silence stretches, your annoyance grows. “Was there a reason you—”

“You have appeared in my Book.”

Yeah, that’s a pretty good reason.

“Oh.”

“Seventy-seven days ago, when you met my brother Dream, your life grew fate upon these pages.” He is too tall for you to see what he is reading, but when he taps something on his book, you hear your voice speaking with graveritas:

I belong here.

“It’s only started then? It hasn’t… I don’t know, it wasn’t retroactive?”

“It was.”

“Well.” You put your hands on your hips and walk around a bit, processing. Destiny remains where he stands, patient or waiting for his cue. Of all the Endless, he keeps his own counsel the most. “Does—”

“My brother Dream has theorized on this topic and does not need my verification to support his beliefs.”

“A pity you never believed it before, my wishing star,” a warm voice speaks from behind you.

The Three-In-One stands off the path you and Destiny share. A glance tells you Destiny also disproves of the Hecatae acting thus.

You bow your head to them in respect. Sensing you’ll get more information from them than him, you take a breath. “Am I still an agent of Fate as I was before?”

“Unfortunately for us all,” the Crone says with a roll of her (your) eyes.

“You are distinct from us, sister,” the Maiden says placatingly.

“But our sister, nonetheless.”

“As you ever were, my sweet.”

You shake your head with a sigh. “So I have my own fate, and I guide Fate when I speak.”

“Everybody guides their own fate, girl. You’re just the last one to know it.”

You scowl at them. “Thanks,” you say, dripping with acid.

The Sisters cackle and disappear in a flash of lightning with no thunder.

Destiny raises a hand. “The purpose of your visit is concluded, star-treader. We can answer you no more. Return to Dream.”

You’re given little choice, for an unseen force pushes you through a golden frame that feels like home.

Skipping between worlds and galaxies can be as simple as changing your mind.

Other times, it’s as simple as waking up.

Several things occur to you at once. 

When you’d fallen asleep in your flat last night, you’d gone to the Dreaming like all of humanity already knew how to. The relationship between your newly-fated soul and your tangible form on Earth was still complicated, but your soul had gone there. You’d been summoned to the Garden nearly right out of Dream’s arms and then dispatched back to your body.

The snap-back of your soul from the Garden is intense enough to wake you. You blink into awareness, body feeling a little shimmery-strange as parts of you reincorporate together.

It’s daybreak in your flat in London, and Dream of the Endless is standing over your bed.

“I suppose a conversation is in order?”

CHAPTER 6