#the line weight and the shading saved it and the more i look at it the less i hate it

[lazylittledragon]

forgot to post this the other day but i gave myself a little nameless ghoul :3

[girlrotterr]

꒰ lick it up, fucking eat. ᮫ ⭒

married!ellie x interior designer! reader Summary: Ellie hires you to bring her shitty wife’s so-called "dream home" to life, but you end up fufilling something else.

The house was silent, save for the low hum of the air conditioning, which flowed through the sprawling, half-renovated living room. You stood in front of a swatch of paint samples, holding each one up to the fading light from the bay window. The sun dipped low, casting golden fingers across the unfinished floorboards, hinting at what the space might look like when it was finally complete. Ellie watched you from across the room, leaning casually against the doorframe with her arms crossed, her gaze drifting between you and the wall.

“That one,” she muttered, jerking her chin toward the beige sample you held. Her voice was laced with something close to disdain. “She thinks it’s ‘elegant.’ "

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the shade—a flat, muted tone that felt as lifeless as the drywall it would cover. "Well," you replied, “if she wants ‘elegant,’ I’m sure we can do more than beige."

Ellie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, a glint of something both dark and playful in them. She pushed off the wall, coming a little closer, her boots scuffing against the rough wood. "Exactly what I was thinking," she murmured, her gaze lingering on you a second too long before shifting to the wall.

You let out a quiet breath, suddenly very aware of the way her presence filled the room, heavy and warm, with a pull that seemed to demand attention. Her sleeves were pushed up, revealing her tattooed forearm—faintly smudged paint stains and a few scratches etched across her knuckles. Her messy hair fell into her eyes, and she brushed it away, glancing down at the floorboards as if they might give her the answers she was looking for.

“So… if it were completely up to you,” she continued, her voice softer now, “what would you do with the place?”

You felt a small jolt of excitement, surprised that she cared enough to ask your opinion. You took a slow breath, letting yourself look around the room with fresh eyes. "Something warm, to make the room feel alive. Maybe custom furniture, something that doesn’t look like it’s from a catalog."

She nodded slowly, her gaze following yours as you spoke, but there was something deeper, something unspoken in the way she looked at you. Like this wasn’t about the walls or the furniture.

"We could go for that," she said, and her voice dropped, quiet, the weight of her words sinking into the empty space between you. "Anything that makes this place feel less… hers."

Your heart fluttered at the faint edge of bitterness in her voice, the quiet rebellion hiding beneath her sarcasm. She was closer now, close enough that you could feel her warmth radiating toward you in the cooling room, close enough that you could see every detail of her: the subtle flecks of green in her eyes, the faint line of a scar near her temple.

You reached out, brushing your fingers over a scratch on the windowsill. "This place could be incredible. It just needs to feel lived in, loved.”

Ellie swallowed, her eyes following your hand. “Can you fullfill that?,” she murmured, and there was a softness in her voice now, something that made your stomach flip.

Your breath caught, pulse quickening as you felt the subtle shift in the air between you. The moment held a thread of tension, tight and fragile, like something waiting to be snapped. You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’d love to show you. Just need a little… freedom with the choices.”

Ellie’s smirk returned, faint but laced with something deeper, "Freedom, huh?" She stepped back, giving you a lingering once-over before nodding, her voice a low murmur. "Yeah… I think we can work something out."

She pulled her gaze away reluctantly, as if forcing herself to break the spell, and you felt the strange tug of her absence, the fading warmth of her presence as she retreated toward the hallway. "Just… no beige," she added, her back already turned, her voice drifting down the hall like an invitation. 

You stood there, the glow of the setting sun washing over you, you realized you felt a thrill. 

The days passed in a blur of decisions, late-night calls with suppliers, and a dozen small, carefully calculated adjustments to make the space feel warmer, more vibrant—despite the rigid input from Ellie’s wife. You’d spent the afternoon with her, going over fixture placements and fabric swatches. She was precise, clinical, every suggestion an opportunity to correct, to refine, to turn down anything that dared to stand out.

Ellie’s wife stood in the middle of the room, studying the sofa with a critical eye. She let out a sigh, her fingers skimming over the velvet, dismissing it as though it were somehow beneath her. “I thought I made it clear I wanted something more sophisticated. This feels… almost flashy.” Her gaze landed on you, thinly veiled irritation simmering beneath her smile.

You opened your mouth to explain the intention behind the choice when the front door opened. Ellie walked in, still in her work clothes, a slight weariness to her step. Her gaze moved from you to her wife.

Ellie’s wife immediately turned to her, her posture stiffening. “There you are. I was just telling our designer here that this,” she gestured to the room around her with an air of distaste, “is not what we discussed.”

Ellie’s face tightened, a frustrated, almost exasperated look clouding her eyes. “ A little color wouldn’t kill you.”

“Yes, but I expected you’d listen to what I actually wanted.” She crossed her arms, her gaze pointed. “This was supposed to be tasteful, Ellie. Not… whatever this is.”

Ellie let out a dry laugh, brushing past her, stepping closer to you as she took in the room. “And by ‘tasteful,’ you mean dull walls and soulless furniture. Right?” 

Her wife’s eyes flashed, and she folded her arms tighter. “It’s not my fault you don’t understand the concept of refinement.”

Ellie’s jaw clenched, her hand flexing at her side. “God, do you even hear yourself? It’s a fucking home, not a damn workplace. Just—" she glanced over at you, her face softening briefly as if realizing you were caught in the middle. "Never mind.”

You held your breath, feeling the tension swell, a raw kind of frustration radiating between them. But Ellie’s wife was relentless, her voice sharp and dismissive. “Oh, here we go again. You act like I’m asking for something ridiculous. Just admit it—you’re the one who’s never satisfied. You’re the one who thinks everything has to be some big, meaningful statement. Not everything’s about you, Ellie!”

Ellie’s face flushed, her eyes flashing with something dangerously close to anger. She opened her mouth, then closed it, a defeated breath slipping past her lips as she seemed to reconsider. She cast one last glance at you, and you felt that familiar pull between you—a silent, unspoken understanding—and then, with a shake of her head, Ellie stormed off, her shoes echoing down the hallway until the door slammed behind her.

Silence swallowed the room, leaving you and her wife alone once more. 

“See what I have to deal with?” she muttered, shaking her head. "She gets these weird ideas about what’s ‘creative’ or ‘cool’ and just… doesn’t listen to reason. She doesn’t even understand what it takes to make a space look sophisticated. Her taste—it’s like a teenager trying to decorate a dorm room."

You felt your grip tighten on the sample book, but you forced yourself to stay professional. “Well, Ellie did mention she wanted something with a bit more character.”

Her wife snorted, crossing her arms with an exasperated sigh. “Exactly. Character. She’s so out of touch with what a home needs to feel welcoming. She can’t just accept that maybe—just maybe—she doesn’t know better than me.”

She flipped past a deep, velvety forest green swatch Ellie had specifically loved. “This green? I mean, it’s hideous. Who even wants a dark color like that in their home? It’s depressing.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking at the swatch she’d just discarded. “It could add some depth to the space. Sometimes dark colors bring a warmth that—”

Her wife gave you a sharp look, like you’d crossed some invisible line. She forced a tight smile. “Trust me,” she said, voice dripping with condescension, “there’s nothing to ‘deepen’ here. I know what I want, and I don’t need Ellie’s… outlandish tastes cluttering up my vision.”

The house had transformed into a hive of activity, buzzing with the sounds of hammers, paint rollers, and snippets of conversation as workers bustled around. Every corner of the room felt alive with movement, a stark contrast to the emptiness you’d felt days prior. Furniture was being hauled in, drapes were hung, and the walls were beginning to take on their new colors. Yet despite the flurry of activity, your attention was divided, searching the room more often than not for a familiar face.

And then, as if on cue, Ellie appeared.

She wove through the workers, carrying a crumpled paper bag in one hand and balancing two cups of coffee in the other. She wore a smile, her messy hair peeking out from under a faded baseball cap, a glimmer of excitement lighting up her face as she caught your eye. She slipped between a worker with a paint can and another adjusting a lamp, until finally, she stopped in front of you. 

Ellie held up the bag with a faint smile. “Thought you could use a break,” she said, nudging the bag into your hands. “There’s a place around the corner that makes delicious pastries.”

Surprised and a little touched, you opened the bag, the warm, sweet scent wafting out immediately. “Thank you.”

The noise of the workers faded into a distant hum, becoming a mere backdrop to the moment as you took a bite of the pastry. The warm sweetness melted on your tongue, rich and comforting, drawing a soft sigh from your lips. But in your enjoyment, you didn’t notice the crumb that fell, catching just at the corner of your lips. 

Ellie did, though.

In the midst of all the clamor—the sharp buzz of saws cutting through wood, the metallic clinking of hammers striking nails, and the sound of her wife’s sharp voice scolding a worker about the paint application—Ellie stepped closer, her expression suddenly serious.

Her fingers were careful, warm, and impossibly soft as they brushed the crumb from your lips. You felt her fingertip linger there, feather-light, barely skimming your skin, but enough to make your breath catch.

Her gaze held yours, deep green eyes flickering with an unreadable emotion that pulled you in. Ellie’s fingers felt electric against your skin, her knuckles resting against your cheek, the warmth radiating from her touch contrasting with the cool air of the room. Ellie’s eyes dropped for just a heartbeat, shifting from your gaze to your mouth, where her thumb hovered near your lip. You could feel your heart racing, each beat echoing in your ears as she lingered just a moment longer than necessary.

You could hear her breath hitch slightly as her fingers finally pulled away, leaving your skin cold in their absence.

“Fuck” she murmured, voice low and just a little hoarse. Her gaze drifted to your lips one last time, almost on purpose, before she forced her eyes to focus anywhere but on you. 

You remember when the affair began.

It was a cold winter, the kind that seeped into your bones, making everything feel heavy and muffled. Snow blanketed the world outside, a serene white glow through the window. 

Ellie was pressed against you, her body radiating heat as she leaned in closer, her face achingly near yours. You could feel the warmth of her breath mingling with the cool air between you. Her hands flexed around your hips, desperate to grip them, to anchor herself to you. 

There was a desperation.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” She pleaded, her voice strained,  a wish that perhaps if you rejected her, if you spoke the words she needed to hear, the desires swirling for you would vanish. 

But as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against yours in a feather-light touch, the world around you blurred.  A shiver raced down your spine, igniting something deep within you—a spark that flared into a flame, daring you to give in. 

“I need you,” Ellie breathed, the urgency in her voice sending warmth pooling in your stomach. Her words ghosted over your skin, leaving a trail of heat that made it impossible to think straight. “I need to feel you, to taste you. Please, let me have you…” 

You could see it in her eyes—the hunger, the need. 

Your lips touched Ellie’s, slowly, tentatively at first. You hesitated for a moment, searching her eyes for any sign of hesitation, any hint that this was a mistake. But all you found was a dark hunger reflected in her gaze, a need that mirrored your own. The soft sound of falling snow outside barely registered as you leaned in closer, feeling the warmth of her body.

Ellie’s lips then pressed against yours, slow and soft, “Oh, fuck.” she gasped, her breath warm against your mouth. 

It was all you needed. 

You kissed her again, this time deeper and more sensual, losing yourself in the taste of her. Every brush of your lips was a question, every stroke of your tongue an answer. Savoring the way her tongue stroked against yours with caresses that left you breathless.

“God, you taste amazing,” she murmured against your lips. The way she spoke made you feel seen, desired, as if every part of you was exactly what she craved.

“Ellie…” you breathed, her name slipped from your lips so easily. 

Ellie’s kisses grew more urgent, each one a desperate plea for more as her hands gripped your hips with bruising force, anchoring you against the wall. Her lips trailed down your neck, gasping as her teeth grazed over your skin.  And then, without warning, she sucked hard, her mouth forming a seal against your neck. 

“Oh fuck..” you breathed, your voice aching to be more than a whisper. 

Ellie was already lost in her own world, her focus entirely on you, on the way your body responded to her touch.

"Shhh, we need to be quiet," she whispered, her voice low with need, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, pupils dilated with lust, a fiery spark that made your stomach knot.

Her hands wandered down your body, fingers tracing the contours of your ass, kneading the soft flesh as she pulled you closer, digging into your skin and leaving dents where her grip tightened.

"God, I can’t get enough of you." she breathed, her hands slipping to unbutton your jeans. Her fingers teased the waistband of your panties, dipping just beneath the fabric to caress your folds, igniting a heat through you. She kissed and nipped at your neck, her tongue flicking out to taste your sweat-slicked skin.

Her hand slid further into your panties, her fingers parting your slick folds to stroke your sensitive clit. You gasped, your mouth agape as she circled the swollen nub with a feather-light touch. Her other hand slid up your body, cupping your tit and kneading the soft mound. Her fingers found your hardened nipple, pinching and rolling the sensitive bud between her thumb and index finger.

"Oh fuck.." you hiccuped, “please.." 

Leaning down, ellie’s hot breath hovered over your sensitive skin before she took your nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it. She moaned against your nipple, her tongue flicking against the hardened bud as she sucked hard, her teeth grazing your skin, making you gasp.

"Ellie," you begged, your voice strained with need. "I need more.”

Her eyes darkened with lust as she gazed at you, turned on by your desperate pleas. "Beg for it," she groaned, her voice low. Ellie's fingers stroked your slick folds, teasing your entrance but not yet delving inside. She circled your clit with light touches, making you buck your hips, seeking more friction.

“Please," you moaned. "Please, fuck me."

Apparently she didn’t need much convincing.

With an urgency, Ellie plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into your soaking cunt, curling them upward to stroke that sensitive spot inside you. The lewd sound of your juices squelching filled the air as she pumped her fingers in and out, stroking your inner walls with each thrust, her thumb rubbing soft circles around your aching clit.

"Atta girl.." Ellie groaned, her voice thick with desire. "Ride my fucking fingers."

"fuuck, right there," you moaned, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. 

You reached down to slide your hand to unbutton ellie’s jeans. Her belt clinking as her hips bucked forward. Your fingers crept beneath the waistband of her boxers, feeling the slick flesh of her dripping hole.

"Fuuck me," Ellie moaned, grinding her hips against your hand, spreading her thighs wider to give you more access to her aching cunt. Her movements were desperate, urging you to rub her swollen clit, the sensitive nub pulsing beneath your touch.

"Yes, fuck, just like that," she groaned, her perky tits bouncing slightly with each thrust. Her head rolling back in pleasure, eyes fluttering shut as she lost herself.

"Yes, just like that," You moaned, ellie’s fingers pumping faster in and out of your dripping cunt. She could feel your slick coating her fingers, your juices dripping down her wrist. Your hips jerked erratically, your stomach beginning to knot. With a sharp cry, you came, your pussy spasming around her fingers as you rode out your orgasm.

"That's it, cum for me," she moaned, rubbing your clit faster to prolong your pleasure. "Come all over my fucking fingers." Your body shuddered, your walls clenching around her as you milked her fingers for all they were worth. She could feel your juices gushing out, coating her hand and dripping onto the floor. Your moans filled the room, echoing obscenely off the walls.

Ellie slowly withdrew her fingers, feeling your walls clench around her as she pulled them out. Your juices coated her hand, glistening in the low light of the room.

She grabbed your shoulders, pushing you down to your knees. She hooked her thumbs in her waistband, shimmying her boxers down her thighs before stepping out of them. Ellie's pussy was glistening, she parted her folds to reveal her throbbing clit. She straddled your face, her dripping cunt hovering just above your mouth

“Fuck I -" Ellie moaned, grinding her hips down to press her pussy against your lips. “Fucking taste me.” Ellie's juices coated your mouth as you flicked your tongue out, lathering it along her slick folds before delving inside her dripping hole. Ellie's poor thighs trembled, her hands gripping your hair as she rode your face frantically, bringing her fingers to her lips, sucking your slick off of them with a low moan.

“You’re so fucking good," She groaned, her juices coating your mouth, dripping down your chin.

"That's it, right there," Ellie panted, her thighs trembling around your head. "Fuck, your tongue feels so good." Her hands gripped your hair, pulling you closer as she rutted against your mouth. 

"That's it, fuck, I'm gonna cum-," Ellie moaned, her hips jerking erratically. You plunged two fingers deep into Ellie's soaked cunt, her walls clenching around quickly, her juices gushing out. You sucked ellie's clit faster, feeling it twitch beneath your tounge as she came. 

“What the fuck!?” ellie’s wife excalimed. 

She had walked in, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the scene before her. 

Ellie was still straddling your face, her dripping pussy pressed against your mouth. The obsecene sounds of slurping and moaning filled the room, leaving no doubt as to what had been happening. 

You remember when the affair began. 

You remember when the affair ended.

[enviedear]

YOU SHOULD LET ME RIDE SHOTGUN

₊ ⊹ JASON TODD

🧸ྀི in which JASON TODD shares in your dilemma of keeping this security arrangement professional. lines tend to blur so easily though.

CW | bodyguard!jason & socialite!reader, sarcastic pet names, jason is so bad with feelings, but he's so good at upkeeping professionalism, baby-angst, and the fact this is probably getting a part two. 1.9k words. 🎧ྀི

your bodyguard unnerves you. not for his stature or his brooding presence—but for the way he stares at you. blue-green eyes always steady and with an unflinching watch. JASON TODD is certainly unlike any paid security you've had before.

sometimes, you dared to meet his gaze and match it for as long as you could ward off discomfort. you never lasted too long. his gaze had an uncanny ability to go right through you, picking you apart entirely. despite only engaging in polite conversation on rare occasions, the pair of you didn't truly speak—yet somehow you still felt he knew you wholly. just by the look in his eyes. that, was the unnerving factor.

he never inspired fear in your mind, just persistent questions. questions about who he really is? where the hell he came from? and why he seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders?

you sneak in as much interrogation as he allows, which is much more than you would have first believed. you know a good deal about him now: he's an excellent cook, especially when you're nursing a hangover. the white streaks in his inky dark locks are naturally occurrent, somehow. he knows a lot about the bat, frequently muttering invocations of "idiotic" and “too easy” whenever the local news covers the hero. most importantly, you learned just how deceptively shy the big brute truly is.

the observation had you doubting yourself at first, because, how on earth could a man with a mere presence of imposition ever feel timid? but it was a truth undeniable—the way he studied the exits instead of your face after you'd start up your saccharine interrogations. how his legs bounced up and down in the car, fingers mindlessly twirling. the way his voice wavered before responding to your questions, lashes fluttering as he contemplates response. yes, deceptively shy.

tonight, he's been no different. save for the expensive suit you offered him, he looks the same. shadowed in the corner of the ballroom, eyes scanning the crowd over and again, pale pink lips curled into a restful sneer—unwelcoming and formidable.

but not for you. you make your way over to him, equalling tired of your fellow socialite peers and undeniably intrigued by your bodyguard's uninterested expression. when he spots you, sooner than you expected, you're still halfway across the room from him. when his head upturns and signals for the exit, you find yourself nodding.

he waits for you just outside, in the hallway—figure eclipsed in dim shades. the faint hum of the ballroom drifts through the open door, but it’s distant now, muted by the heavy walls of the estate. he doesn't say a word when you step beside him, just a brief glance. his eyes flick to yours before they return to scanning the area, ever watchful.

you’re not entirely sure why you followed him. you could have stayed, should have stayed—rubbed elbows with your peers to keep up your pristine reputation.

maybe it was the growing restlessness in the crowd, the way their empty smiles and shallow conversations felt suffocating. or perhaps it was the fact that jason, even standing in the corner in total silence, felt more natural than any of the people in that room.

he adjusts the collar of his suit, a clear sign of dicomfort, and it gives you a small jolt of satisfaction. no one else sees this—the subtle tells, his awkwardness beneath all that mystery.

“you didn’t have to wear the suit, you know." you murmur, folding your arms. “i said it was optional.”

his eyes flick to you again, and this time he holds your gaze for a beat longer than usual. “it’s fine,” he replies, the stiffness in his voice softened by the quiet space. “figured it’d help me blend in more.”

to that, you let out a rather uncouth chuckle, "you call that blending in?"

he stares at you, barely a hint of humor dancing upon his stoic face, "yes. i was unbothered all night, kept up the appearance, and had you safe the entire time. but sure, honey—feel free to give me some tips." the sentiment is used mockingly, but not demeaning. a thin line you've learned jason enjoys towing.

"still have to get me home in one piece, hotshot. let's not get ahead of ourselves." your quip is less hard-hitting, of course, he'll get you home safe—he's jason. he's never let you down before. no, somehow he excels where all the others faltered.

he tsks, falling back into silence as you walk towards the partition outside to wait for the car. you tilt your head, studying his profile. there’s that distance again—that subtle retreat whenever things get too close. it doesn't annoy you but you do find yourself running lines for something, anything, to get him talking again.

the air is tepid, barely even a breeze in the night air, but your nerves provide goosebumps along your exposed arms. you naively pray jason doesn't notice in the darkness.

jason's posture is tense, his broad shoulders squared, and he’s staring straight ahead at nothing in particular, his mind likely working through some invisible checklist of exit points and threats. the usual.

you want to, but you can’t ignore the way his presence affects you, how much calmer you feel standing beside him, even in silence. it’s a strange dynamic—and one you haven't entirely deduced.

the quiet lingers, stretching longer than you expect it to. with anyone else, it might be gauche, but with jason, it's genuine. his presence doesn’t demand to be filled, doesn’t prod for conversation. there’s a kind of comfort in the stillness, and yet, you can’t help the urge to fill it anyway.

“you always do that.” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear, motioning to his form.

his eyes flick to you, a single brow raised. “do what?”

“go quiet when it’s just us.” you shrug, feeling the weight of his gaze settle over you like a heavy shroud. “not that i mind. i just…wonder what you’re thinking about.”

jason doesn’t respond right away. instead, he shifts his weight, the muscles in his jaw tensing as if he’s biting back whatever words on the tip of his tongue. it’s a familiar look—you’ve seen it before when you ask too much, pry too far. you’re used to him brushing you off, deflecting with a gruff remark or a half-hearted excuse.

but tonight feels different. maybe it’s the suit, the fact it may have thrown him off his game, or something else entirely. but he seems less rigid.

“i think about a lot of things.” he says eventually, voice low and a little unpolished around the edges. something undiscernible cracking through.

it’s not much, but it’s something. enough to keep you pushing, just a little. “like what?”

he lets out a breath, slow and deliberate, before turning to face you fully. for a moment, his eyes search yours, and you can’t quite read what he’s looking for. but there's a vehemence there, as always. that same gaze that unnerved you from the start, the one that seems to strip away every veneer you wear, leaving you exposed in ways you can’t fully understand.

finally, he speaks, "like how long you're plannin' on keeping me around."

you blink, caught off guard. “well i'm not planning on firing you. unless you want to quit?”

jason's expression doesn't change immediately, but there's a subtle shift in the air, like he’s bracing for something, eerily prepared for impact. he gazes down at you, eyes sharp yet somehow gentler than before, his usual forbearing walls giving way to the faintest glimpse of openness.

he shakes his head, his voice quiet, almost too low for you to catch. “it's not about me quitting.” his hands clench and unclench at his sides, as if grappling with the right words. “just…wondering how long you think you’ll need me.”

there’s something suppressed beneath the surface of his question, something that feels much heavier than the simple contractual relationship you two have. it throws you.

you were expecting a sarcastic comeback, maybe even for him to opt to brush-off the inquiry, but this? it’s not like jason to expose any hint of doubt, let alone ask a question that sounds as if he’s questioning his own value.

you meet his gaze head-on, this time holding it longer than usual, trying to figure him out the same way he seems to do to you. but jason, for all his candor in the last few seconds, remains a closed book. his eyes give away nothing but that steady, unnerving intensity that always makes you feel like he's seeing every single part of you.

“i don’t think that’s really up to me,” you say, a little softer than you intended. “you’re not just here because i need protection, jason.”

his brow furrows at that, a question clearly dancing on the edge of his lips, but he stays silent, waiting for you to explain.

you shift on your heels, suddenly aware of how exposed you feel under that stare of his. it's the same feeling from earlier in the night, when you found yourself drawn away from the crowd and towards him. that pull between you both, implicit and still so absolute. he never asked for it, and neither did you, but here it is. and for some reason, you feel the urge to name it, to make it clear.

"you’re not just some hired muscle to me," you continue, keeping your voice low. "i mean… you’re good at your job, don’t get me wrong. but it’s more than that." you fight the urge to add an imperative, 'right?'.

jason’s eyes darken, his stance shifting, but he says nothing, just watching you. the tension between you both thickens, and the night air feels suddenly chilled.

you swallow, your heart picking up pace. “i trust you,” you start, because it feels important—like he needs to hear it. “more than i trust anyone else around me. and maybe i shouldn’t, but… here we are."

his gaze softens, just barely, but it's enough to let you know your words have hit home. he’s still tense, still holding something back, but the way his shoulders ease slightly and the slight shift in his posture tells you that he’s heard you. really heard you.

"trust, huh?" jason hums, almost like he’s testing the word out. he doesn’t say anything else, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes, something close to appreciation, even if he won’t admit it.

you nod, not trusting yourself to say more. the silence stretches between you again, this time it feels less heavy, still unsure and uncomfortable—but your heart feels lighter, less weighed down.

after a moment, jason turns his head toward the street, eyes scanning for your ride. “car’s here.” he says, his voice back to its usual low grumble, but there’s something different in his tone, something gentler.

you follow his gaze, but your thoughts are still on him, on the way his presence has become more than just protective. it’s grounding. familiar. safe. strangely so.

as the car pulls up, jason steps aside, opening the door for you without a word. but just before you slide inside, you catch his eyes again—those blue-green chasms that seem to hold more than he ever lets on. you decide promptly that one day you'll tell him how pretty they are, one day.

"thank you, i'll see you tomorrow. bright and early." your voice is barely a whisper, as you step into the car. for once, he doesn’t brush off your remark with a snarky comment.

he just nods, watching as you disappear into the back seat, that same steady, unreadable gaze following you until the door shuts between you both. the car pulls away, but your mind remains fixed on the man sworn to be your protector. unnerving.

[neominthe]

Practicing character design with some novel's MCs. Here are my headcanons:

Cheong Myeong

Bulky and beefy body. Big arms and hands, which can't be seen as his robes are too big on him

Tanned skin as he trains in the sun a lot, but only on the hands, face and neck since they aren't covered by his Mount Hua robes

I headcanon him as short since he started exercising from an early age in unhealthy amounts, stunting his growth

Super curly hair which Cheong Myeong keeps constantly in a ponytail. At one point in time he will pull in a bun to keep it from tangling

Sharp eyes with extremely long eyelashes

Han Yoojin

I'm a sucker for gaining weight representing character is in a safe and happy place for them

His nose is like a button, a feature he shares with Yoohyun

Yoojin has curlier hair than Yoohyun, though does not care for it. As a result, it's constantly messy and tangled, adding to the 'single mother who has two jobs' look

In the novel (I can't remember which chapter) it is mentioned that Yoojin gained a bit of skin color, making him look healthier. I followed the webtoon skin color (which was like white paper) and darkened it a bit, to look healthier but still very light

Yoojin has pieces of Sung Hyunjae's wardrobe on him. The guy has a lot of money, surely he won't be missing his 100k dollar suit right? (Hyunjae allows it since it is Yoojin stealing and it kinda "marks his territory". You know, like a dog)

Park Moondae

After receiving Idol Inc' sweather, he always wears it as Moondae is too lazy to go buy his own clothes (and to save money)

He got the shoes from Seon Ahyeon, which were one size bigger than his. Moondae doesn't bother telling Ahyeon he got the wrong size, so wearing it causes blisters

Moondae has "dead fish eyes" and a small mouth, making him look like the emoji '-' Fans find it adorable, though

He got a soft jawline and a thin face, as well as a pointy nose

It's possible to determine Moondae's emotion by the glint of his eyes, but only his close friends can do it precisely

Kim Dokja

I didn't intend to make him look like a corpse, but as I kept drawing it felt more and more right for him to be that way. He was an office worker and only had one happiness: a webnovel

Dokja spends most of his time indoors, so he is very pale and lacking of vitamin D. As he became a constellation and Demon King, his complexity worsened and looked inhumane, turning grey ash

He is able to retract his wings, but not his horns. They are constantly out and a burdensome, since Dokja often forgets they are there, making him hit the doorframe several times

Dokja's hair covers a part of his face (an ode to the damn censorship Bihyung added) and is choppy because he cuts his own hair. If cared and brushed almost every day, it would be like his mom's: flowy and soft

He has long eyelashes, especially on the lower lid, and downturned eyes, which makes him look gloomy and teary-faced

I imagine Dokja having a bit of a hunchback from all the time he spends in his phone and working in a computer

Dokja also has long legs, which he keeps hidden under his tattered coat

Cale Henituse

The man has a thin and tall body, to the point he seems both elegant and fragile at the same time

Cale has light skin due to his time spent indoors or under every shade he can find whenever he has to go out

Cale's features are mostly pointy, with sharp angles and straight lines running down. His nose is upturned, has arched eyebrows and sharp eyes

The straight hair was inherited from Deruth's parents, Cale's gradparents and red obviously from Jour

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Love and Loss

Summary: Despite being married for centuries, the two lovers have yet to produce an heir. Desperate for a child, she makes a deal with Phanes, God of Life, unbeknownst to her that motherhood has its own complications much like love and marriage. Now she must find a way to save both her child and her love.

Notes: ~11k words, only lightly edited... so yeah. Also, this is my first time posting any of my writing so I'm nervous as fuuuuck. I keep switching between past and present tense but I think I caught them all but idk. Let me know if I miss any tags or warnings! (There's so many plot holes but shhhh)

Warnings: MDNI - 18+ content, one use of Y/N but written in 3rd person, Reader has a "name" that's only used twice, pregnancy, loss of pregnancy, metaphorical use of surrogation, usage of miscarriage themes, jealousy, P in V, oral (F! receiving), unprotected sex, jealous Dream but that's to be expected really, regency-esque, diverges from cannon

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

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Despite having been in the Dreaming for so long, its frigid air was something she could never get used to. The temperature always fixed itself somewhere between an unheated house on a winter’s day and a spring day in the shade. Despite her title in the realm, she always felt like a child walking to the kitchen late at night to grab a snack whenever she meanders into the great hall. 

The castle of the Dreaming was her home, and she was the owner in every right as her husband. A small black cat accompanies her, its green collar and bell jingle with each step in its preppy trot. Her Lady wore simple garments, a dark green dress with slits to match her feline friend. Its light-weight fabric billows around her with a breeze that never seems to stop and some golden jewelry decorated her neck and arms, all gifts from his Lord. She opted to walk barefoot, skin to soil, so as not to hurt her feet necessarily before the upcoming dinner the Dreaming would host later today—the idea her own entirely that her husband agreed to for her sake. 

Her legs move her toward the throne room, where she is certain her husband presides. Still, her feet are cold and thus she picks up the pace. Her steps are lighthearted as she prances on her tiptoes, heels dangling from her fingers. 

Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, King of the Nightmare Realms, Prince of Stories. She was sure there were more, but if she were to start listing them all in her head, she’d be stuck there all day. Morpheus was as old as humanity itself, perhaps even older. But as she sees him spread out on his throne, the air of authority is never questioned. Age has only made him more intimidating. 

Morpheus commands any space he enters. His shadow fills each nook and cranny it seemed fit, aura chilling and distant. Yet he himself was a beautiful creature indeed. His modern form molded himself into a lean body, distinct muscle lines, and a strong jaw. His dark hair always looked tousled as if he had rolled out of bed a mere minute ago, and despite how often she would run her hair through the silky strands, they never behaved as they should have. 

“Wife, mine,” Morpheus greets as she nears the bottom of the stairs. “What ails you to seek me out?”

The Lady smiles and gives a small curtsy before she ascends the curved stairs. “Nothing ails me, my lord. Must one have a reason to see her husband?”

Morpheus lets out an entertained breath before opening his arms in invitation. Another graceful smile appears on her lips as she sits comfortably in his lap, his arms encircling her. 

“No, I suppose not,” He replies. He watches as she makes herself as comfortable as she can, leaning her head on his shoulder in a way that wouldn’t mess up her hair. The handmaidens would not stop fussing over it if a single strand was out of place from their original design.

“I simply wish to spend some time with you before our feast. I fear that I will be whisked away as I entertain guests for the evening.” She closes her eyes and steadies herself on the patterned breathing of her husband. 

“I will stay by your side if you so command it,” Morpheus says. He runs his thumb in circles on her bare shoulder.

“And have everyone afraid to approach me? With your dark and brooding act?” She jests, her eyes opening briefly to look into his. 

He can’t help his eyes rolling at her slight tease. “As you wish, my love.”

The two lovers sit for a moment. The sounds of her cat purring and their breaths mingling fill the air. But serenity such as this never lasts long in a castle like theirs. Lucienne comes from a hallway, presumably, the library’s, dressed up as well. Her coat was tailored to fit her body, her shoes freshly shined, and her glasses cleaned. 

She gives a curt bow to the two sovereigns. “My lord, my lady,” She addresses. “The guests will be arriving soon.”

“Thank you, Lucienne,” Her lady says. She reluctantly releases herself from the warmth of her husband and uses the throne as a brace to put on her shoes. Her husband’s hand rests on the small of her back to further assist her. 

“I will see you very soon, my king,” She says leaning down to peck his cheek before descending the stairs. She looks back once with another smile and then follows Lucienne to greet the arriving guests. 

Morpheus’s eyes watch her figure until she turns a corner. He was still underdressed, his day previously preoccupied with trying to find a certain nightmare. He was simply idling on his throne in a simple black attire with his long coat. After all, a king need not worry about how he looks if he commands respect without golden bribes. With a wave of his hand, sand befalls him and covers him like ivy to a broken wall. When they recede he is dawning a tight button-up undershirt and vest, its fabric weaved with intrinsic cloud-like designs. His coat is now replaced with another of a similar shape and design but resembles cotton instead of the original felt. He fastens the raven cufflinks and smooths down his pants before rising from his throne and going to the Dreaming’s castle garden.

When Morpheus enters the gardens he immediately spots his wife at the entrance, standing underneath a pergola of purple wisterias and climbing hydrangeas. The flowers slowly lean towards the goddess as her presence fuels them by simple proximity.  Her cat is nowhere to be seen and probably ran off into the gardens after a rodent caught his eye. 

Morpheus slides up beside his wife as she greets the last of the guests arriving. He turns his head towards the decorated table and can see a great spread of gods, goddesses, fairies, nymphs, and other mystical creatures that his wife had managed to befriend—the feeling of her arm wrapping around his redirects his attention. 

“Shall we, lord husband?” She gives him another one of her smiles and he understands how the hanging flowers feel. How he had ever lived without her before was still a mystery to him. To be him without her, it is like the Earth without its Sun - and he wishes to always feel the gravitational pull of her love. 

Morpheus leads them towards the aggregation of guests, all of whom devote their attention to them. 

“Beloved guests,” His wife starts speaking in her nectar-like tone, “Despite what is currently happening in the waking world, we are pleased that you could make time and attend this wondrous dinner.”

The goddess pauses for a brief moment as her guests clap in agreement. When they stop, she continues. “The feast is served buffet style, please eat and enjoy yourself to the fullest content. The Dreaming is here for your convenience.”

With her open palm, a long table appears with dishes of all types. Wreaths and fresh flowers decorate any empty space, which is to say, not much. Lambs, beef, and several types of poultry and fish take centerpieces along the table. Fruits, vegetables, and freshly baked bread weave in between the large plates as palate cleansers and small plates appear on the very corners of the table. A satisfied smile appeared on Her Lady’s face as the guests began grabbing food.

As the dust settles and smaller niches of guests start grouping, Morpheus is displeased when his wife leaves his side to mingle amongst the other gods. He watches from the shadows, small fruit plate in hand, glooming as she smiles with her guests. A hand comes up to hide her mouth as she laughs at something Phanes, God of Life, said. Jealousy brews and grows bitter like spoiled milk. 

Morpheus stands, ready to come to his wife’s side in hopes of deterring the god, but before he can a nymph comes forward and gives an exaggerated curtsy. He can’t help the slight roll of his eyes as she begins to talk him up. The nymph’s voice carries a small lithe to it and he becomes unfocused, only noticing the movement of his wife’s green dress and Phanes walking off into the hedge labyrinth. 

A frown etches itself onto his face. The nymph choosing to ignore the frown finds the courage to lift a mossy hand to caress his coat’s lapel, to which the Endless notices. Morpheus looks down at the nymph, his hand tightly grabbing into her wrist and dropping it away from him. 

“Do not presume you may touch me, insolent child.” His voice is deep and grave as his frown deepens. 

The nymph’s face contorted into embarrassment as red poppies boom across her cheeks and ears. She briskly walks away, forgetting to curtsy, with her tail tucked between her legs. The forest nymph looks forward to the next time she meets the Dream King, but she does not know that this will be the last time the doors of the Dreaming will open to her. 

Dream makes a beeline towards the hedge labyrinth, taking a right turn as he had witnessed his wife doing moments ago. But, as something as lucid as the Dreaming, the labyrinth path twists and turns in new ways each moment. Morpheus turns left and right based on where he could feel his wife’s presence, but seems that she does not want to be found.

As a deity in her own right, should she so command it, she would not be found. Something that the Endless found infuriating at the moment. What could she possibly be doing with Phanes? Did she invite him for a personal reason? Was the dinner event a ruse so she could speak with him without raising any questions? Well, Morpheus surely was starting to ask questions. 

Jealously turned into guilt quickly like the crack of a lightning bolt. Has he not been a good husband? Was she getting bored of their marriage? It has been several centuries, after all. Guilt turned into sadness as the questions he asked started bringing down his spirit. Surely there is something he can do to make her happy again. Surely she is faithful, surely, surely, surely…

Morpheus stands still, the drive to find his wife lost. The hedge leaves shiver as the temperature grows colder from the king’s mood. The lovely sunset leaves the last of its warmth before disappearing, leaving the sky full of stars. He turns around and retraces his steps, if his wife does not want to be found, he will grant her this wish. 

Morpheus would never admit to anyone that he mopes. But with his sluggish walk and downturned lips, he clearly was. He sees his wife had made it out of the labyrinth quite some time ago and is already waving her guests goodbye, Phanes nowhere in sight. When she sees him emerging from the hedges, she perks up and excuses herself from her conversation. 

“Dear husband, where did you run off to? Too many people in your presence?” She jokes, latching herself onto his arm. 

“I was merely looking for you,” Morpheous murmurs. He starts walking with her back to the castle. 

He waits as his wife takes a pause, slowing down in step. “You followed me into the labyrinths?” 

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting her to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. 

“Yes…” He draws out, trying to tread lightly, hoping that she would open up without much prompting. “I saw you and Phanes entering together.”

An amused huff escapes her. “I see.”

The silence lingers like the plague: uncomfortable and heavy in the air. 

“Will you not speak as to why?” He questions and he almost hates how desperate he sounds. 

The lady takes a seat on his throne, only to lean down and take off her shoes with a satisfied sigh. She rubs the ankles of her foot when she speaks again. “I believe it to be a personal matter.”

The answer was vague, and Morpheous hated it. Angry, gray storm clouds formed overhead and the ice-cold rain started to hit the stained glass behind her. 

“Am I not worth sharing with?” He asks again, but he doesn’t stop to let her answer. With her eyes wide in surprise, he continues. “Am I not good enough? Faithful enough? Am I not devoted enough to you, my love? Will you command me to beg on my knees, I shall if you so ask.”

He falls to his knees before her and runs his hands from her ankle to her knee, slowly, deliberately. His lips follow soon after, tracing the same path his fingers had. Her breath hitches and her hearts start beating faster. 

“How can I show my devotion to you, my love?” He kisses. 

“My wife?” He kisses again. 

“My forever goddess?” And again. 

“Morpheus,” She breathes out, and it’s all he ever wants to hear. She is all he ever wants to breathe and all he wants to taste. 

“I pray to Daleena, Goddess of Husbandry, for forgiveness. I have left my wife unsatisfied and feel the crop of our love withered. I shall repent for my sins by your guidance.” Morpheus says in a hushed tone as he slowly inches higher on her leg. 

The goddess feels power surge through her as the prayer leaves her husband's lips, and she craves the touch of them on her own. Heat pools between her legs as her husband’s breath fans across her lower regions. Her dress slits exposed her legs deliciously to Morpheous but there were still her undergarments, which he removed slowly, keeping contact with her silky skin as it slid down. 

Her Lady looks down at him with uneven breaths and waits for him to give her what she wants. Morpheus, however, is patient. He traces his lips higher, he kisses all the spots she wants, but not where she needs it the most. 

“Morpheus,” She pleads, and it is all he needs. One moment it is the cold air of the Dreaming and the next it is the warmth of his lips, tongue languishing the length of her slit. 

She jerks in place, strong hands holding down her hips. Her own hands shoot out, desperate to grab onto anything. One, bear-clawed and desperate, on the arm of the throne and the other weaving itself into the silky strands of her husband. She gasps at the wet sensation and her head is thrown back in pleasure. 

The Endless is unmovable, driven solely by the purpose of satisfying his wife. A low groan emits from deep in his throat at the unapologetic sounds she cries, babbling in a series of his name and other obscenities. He tilts his head higher until he finds her clit and relishes in the pain of her nails in his hair, lapping at her arousal with contentment until it drips down his chin. He is a starved man and she is his salvation. 

Morpheus continues his demonstrations, alternating between her clit and her needy cunt. She clenches her thighs hard as she feels the impending rise of her orgasm. Her fingertips buzz with excitement as he continues to ravish her sensitive clit. His pace continues, and her eyes roll to the back of her head. 

She calls out his name again, and a high-pitched whine leaves her lips as he easily adds two digits into her weeping hole. He moves them slowly, slightly curved to touch that delicious spot inside her that has her arching her back taught like a bow. From below, Morpheus looks at her through his lashes, and he can’t help the smirk that tugs on his lips as his wife tries to thrash from the sensations. She tightens around him, cunt pulsing sporadically, and he is flooded with her orgasm where he drinks greedily from the taste - sweet like a plentiful summer wine. 

He places a final gentle kiss on her clit before looking at her again, the skin of her extremities glowing ethereally as she tries to control her ragged breaths. She is still in the midst of her orgasm, trying to calm herself from the high and he finds it the perfect time to leave a bruising hickey on the inside of her plush thighs. Morpheus gets up, dick painfully hard as it brushes against his pants. He takes hold of her hands to help her stand on wobbly legs and leans back. 

He leans until he falls, through the throne room floor and then onto the plushness of their shared bed. His command dematerializes both of their clothes and he basks in the sticky warmth of his wife on top of him. He runs light fingers down her spine, shivers following behind like a loyal companion, whispering sweet nothings into her ears.

“Come back to me,” He murmurs, kissing her sweat-filled brow. 

“Hmm,” The goddess exhales after a few more seconds of silence, eyes opening languishingly, lashes tickling the skin of her husband. 

She looks around the dimly lit room for a moment before realizing that she is in their bed. Using her husband’s chest, she props herself up, effectively straddling him beneath her. Morpheus remains unmoving, ignoring the way his tip brushes against her lower lips, only messaging the meat of her hips with his thumb. 

When she meets his eyes again, he speaks. “Have I proven myself, dear wife?”

It takes a moment for the goddess to remember what he was talking about and her feelings crash down again. “You had never needed to prove yourself to me, Morpheus. What happened between me and Phanes will remain between me and Phanes.” 

She lifts herself on sore thighs, but can’t get far as gentle hands turn rough. The next moment, she is lying down with her husband looming over her. There was not enough light to illuminate his face, leaving only the impression of his merciless, mercury eyes. Deep down, she knows no harm will ever befall her, but in this moment, something primal presents itself.

Perhaps it is how his eyes bore into her very soul, to the very moment she was born several millennia ago. Or perhaps, she was just crazy about how his touch was driving her mad. She was very aware of the appendage that settled between the two of them and the way that her slick was coating it. His hands cup her cheek and slide down her neck and her head tilts back at the ticklish and yet pleasurable sensation. She swallows thickly and a broken sigh escapes her as his hand ghosts over her nipple.

Shivers bloom once more as his mouth incloses over the perk nipple, suckling at it in a way that has her legs wrapping around his waist. Her arms come up and snake over his shoulders, fingers gliding over the smooth marble-like skin, then resting behind his neck. One of her hands finds itself back into his hair, clenching as he gives continuous pleasure to her body. 

Her hips buck up, her pussy clenching down on nothing. Cold fingers glide down the center of her stomach, going lower and lower until they cup her heat. A thumb gently circles her clit, understanding the overstimulation it recently received. They trace over her outer lips, downwards, then upwards again, coating themselves with a mixture of spit and arousal. 

Morpheus removes himself from her breasts and presses his lips at the junction between her neck and shoulder. He licks at the sweat that accumulates on her collarbone and continues up her neck. When he faces her again, he speaks. 

“Beg for it.” He commands. 

Her Lady remains silent, slowly chewing on the inside of her lip, weighing the options in her head. Morpheus, as always, is patient and he continues running his fingers between her folds, keeping his pace but occasionally rubbing his pointer finger in circles around her clit. When she realizes that he really would just keep rubbing her and nothing else, she opens her mouth. 

“P-please,” She stutters, the mere idea of begging or pleading foreign on her tongue. As a goddess, one would never allow such lowly behavior. Nevertheless how her husband will give her whatever she asks for. 

Morpheus hums in approval, removing his hand to hold his dick instead. He rubs it this time in lieu of his fingers around her cunt and the goddess almost begs again. Before she can, a moan releases from both of them as he inserts himself into her and she whimpers at the familiar dull ache of being stretched out. Morpheus dips his head between her neck and shoulder again and remains stiff, feeling the warmth that only his wife can provide. 

He pulls out and she mews beneath him in pleasure, ushering him to fill her up once again. Her cunt sucks him back and he wraps one of his arms underneath her waist to ground him. The other slams against the headboard of the bed, and he grabs on for all he is worth. His thrusts grow harder as her cries grow louder and he feels the way she clenches down on him.

“How divine you are, my love,” He says with a shaky breath, kissing more bruising hickeys that he hopes will last for millennia. He blows cold air over them and goosebumps rise in place, her back arching again and he can feel each perk nipple rubbing against his chest. 

She moans his name again, losing herself in each drag of his cock, screaming curses when the head brushes against her sensitive spot, and whimpering when it kisses her cervix. Morpheus rises, looking down on his wife with half-lidded eyes, running a hand down between the valley of her breasts, feeling each desperate breath of air. He goes lower and groans when he sees how the two of them are connected.

Each thrust creates an unholy, slick noise and he can see the inflamed clit begging for attention. He presses his fingers on her lower stomach and she cries out for him. 

“Can you feel me, my Queen?” He growls down at her, feeling the way his dick moves within her. 

“Yes!” She cries back, her brows furrow and her cunt pulses around him, gripping him like a vice. 

“Do you love me, my Queen?” He asks again.

“Yes!” She cries again. She starts begging again. Please, please, please, please. “Don’t stop, please my King. Please, don’t stop!”

“Will you tell me why you spoke with Phanes?” His last question. 

Her eyes snap open, all the build up from her orgasm lost in the question. With her legs still around his waist, she twists her hips and topples Morpheus over until he is beneath her again. 

“No,” She whispers, rocking her hips back and forth to regain the momentum they had lost. 

This time, it is him who pleads. “Please,” He whispers back. His hands cup at the roundness of her ass cheeks, loving how soft they were. 

She increases the ferocity of her grinds, looking down at her husband like he had just done with her. His head tosses back and she loves watching his Adam’s apple slide up and down his throat as he moans for her. His eyes are squeezed shut and his grip tightens but she doesn’t relent.

That familiar searing hot feeling appears again in her lower stomach and with one final grind she releases her orgasm all over him, falling onto his heaving chest. Morpheus cums right after, shooting his release into her in hot loads and she feels each jolt inside of her. 

Her orgasm rocks through her body, feeling both too hot and too cold at the same time. It tingles in her fingers and toes and when she closes her eyes, she sees the stars of the Dreaming shinging back at her. When she comes back to her senses (again) she can feel her husband’s hand running through her bed hair, untangling it as much as he could with the one hand. The other hand holds her waist flush with his. The two lovers share a quiet moment after their throw of passion before she speaks again. 

“Phanes and I…” She starts, and she can feel Morpheus stiffen under her. She groans as his cock is still deep in her, semi-hard and the only thing keeping them together. 

She shifts a bit and some of their combined release pool down onto his abdomen. He would never admit to her how filthy he thought it was, nor the fact that he loved it all the same. 

“Yes?” Morpheus urges, looking down at her on his chest with full attention. 

“We made a deal.” She finishes her sentence. 

Everything stops as Morpheus sits up. “What deal did you strike? I can do it instead, terminate the deal at once, my love.” He says with anxiety. 

His wife grabs onto him as she is rocked back and a smile appears on her face. “Morpheus, my love, you have done your part.” Her smile turns sad and a forlorn look cloaks her face and she casts her gaze downwards. “We just needed some extra help.”

A confused look crosses Morpheus’s face. He brings a hand to lift her chin to look at him. With the raise of an eyebrow, he doesn’t have to say anything for his wife to know he wants a better explanation. 

“I asked for a child, Morpheus.” 

When her husband remains quiet, her lips start to tug downwards and his heart lurches at the sight. Her waterline soon floods with tears. 

“We have not been able to produce an heir once.” She says, voice wavering. She dares not to blink for she is afraid if a single tear were to fall, all of them would. 

“What in return?” He asks. 

“I look after his pet snake for a weekend.” She replies simply. Morpheus has returned to his previous position. 

The tears start to fall, each fat drop hitting his skin seemingly striking him directly in the heart. “You need not worry, wife. This time it will take, with Phanes’s help or not.” He whispers into the crown of her head. 

She nods once, sniffling as her nose starts to run, too. The rhythmic breathing below her and the continued brushing of her hair rocks her to a dreamless sleep. Morpheus wraps his arms protectively around her frame and should he have known, he would’ve stayed longer. He would’ve held her tighter, kissed her longer, and promised her that he would be there when she woke. Alas, there was a missing nightmare, rampaging through the waking world, something that was his responsibility as king. 

When she wakes up the next morning, with a satisfying ache throughout her body, the bed was cold and empty, and her husband was nowhere to be seen. To say that this was new behavior would be a lie, unfortunately. The number of times that a night of passionate love-making ended in a cold and lonely morning was more than she could count on her fingers and toes. That isn’t to say that Morpheus didn’t want to stay in bed with her, it’s simply a sovereign that understands his responsibilities, and she could never blame her husband for that. 

Avoiding the difficult conversation the two lovers shared last night, her Lady avoids the locations her husband is most likely to reside in. Instead, she chooses to look towards her duties in the Dreaming. She finds herself amongst a simple dream from a small farmer who looks after sheep, who struggles with getting their weight to increase during the harsh winters. Carefully, she admits herself to him, dressed in a light yellow dress, sunflowers decorating the fabric and her hair. Her hands were covered in dirt, and she held a shepherd’s crook that had a bell attached to the end. 

The farmer looks up from his rocking chair, prized sheep chewing lazily around him, and smoke from his pipe circles him. His face was rough - old and wrinkled from long days in the sun during his youth. But she smiles gently at him when his laugh lines appear around the edges of his eyes and mouth. 

She stands next to him and they stare out on his flock together. He shares his life story. The story of a young boy whose father was also a farmer, and his father before him, and his father before him. He talks about his first puppy, named Barkly, his first love, whom he lost after he was drafted into the First World War, and how he now finds solitude with his late wife’s grave and his grandchildren. 

He mentions that he needs to fatten his sheep up for the winter as he can’t lose any more stock so he may afford medicine for his sick grandson. He confesses that he has tried everything and nothing seems to have worked. He looks up at her now, tired, and slumped over, and realization dawns on his face as she smiles down at him.

She whispers at him a simple solution, one he can’t quite hear over the muddle of a dream. He stands abruptly as her figure distorts, the dawn is rising and a farmer’s body rises with it. He thanks her - he offers a sheep for her, which she nods at before he wakes from his dream. 

The goddess visits a few more dreams, each giving her ethereal presence. Some were like the one she was just at, some needed comfort from the loss of animals, and some dreamed of a new pet to have. By the 5th dream, she realizes that several days had passed in the waking world, and her husband was nowhere to be found. 

She admits to herself that she had been avoiding him longer than she intends, but perhaps it was time to face him again. She teleports to the castle, summoning herself before the drawbridge of the magnificent building. The ivory dragon perks up at her arrival, but otherwise pays no attention to her, going back to hoarding its gold coins, a few of them falling when she crosses the large doors. 

As always, the castle is slightly colder than what she likes. A small sense of deja vu encapsulates her as she walks to the all-familiar throne room. This time, however, it was empty. No figure on the throne, nor the stairs as he sometimes preferrs it. Odd, she thinks, but not impossible. So she turns a corner to the library, she often finds him here as well, looking over the books of his dreamers. She searches high and low, through each aisle and reading spot, but still nothing. Anxiety and thoughts of doubt begin to fill her. Perhaps she did mess up, making that deal with Phanes.

Her last stop was Cain and Able’s homes. She finds the two brothers in front of their own homes, tending to their garden and playing with the gargoyle that Morpheus had given them. The two were of no help as they were unable to answer something worthy of even a hint of where her husband was. 

She rolls her eyes as the walk away from their homes was accompanied by the sound of a scream and the resolute bang of a metal shovel hitting a skull. 

As her last resort, she calls for Lucienne. Often, she hopes to never bother her, understanding that the work she puts into maintaining the Dreaming is never-ending. And, she knew that if she were to ask something of her, Lucienne would stop everything to help her. 

“His Lord left several nights ago to fetch the Corinthian,” She spoke, pushing up her round glasses. 

“And since then?” She questions, her hands wringing with themselves. She hopes for an answer she knows she won’t get.

Lucienne shakes her head no. “My Lady, Jessamy hasn’t returned either. Perhaps his Lord is simply taking longer than usual.” 

“Let us hope,” She says defeated. 

For the next few months, the goddess stays within the Dreaming. Each day that passes, more hope was lost for her husband's return. Doubt and anxiety cloud her mind at the uncertain future.

She looks down at her stomach, a distinguishable bump had made its appearance and she rubs it gently with her hand. The deal with Phanes went through, she is with child. She should be happy right? Except for the obvious fact that Morpheus still had not returned. 

Her cat lounges at her feet where she sits and she pets its head. With a trill, it looks at her, similar mercury eyes of her husband stares back. She had no choice but to find him herself. 

“Go,” She asks of it. “Go to the waking world, find Morpheus.”

The cat sits up and stretches, hind high in the air. Its claws grips into the plush carpet it rests on. With another stretch to its lower back, it trots off, the jingling sounds of its bell disappearing as it crosses over to the waking world. 

All the goddess could do was wait and hope. She runs another anxious hand across her stomach and a tear escapes her. 

Lucienne had mentioned it to her in passing a few days ago. The librarian stated that it probably was nothing to worry about, but the conversation had stuck with the goddess since. 

The Dreaming is dying. 

As much as the Dreaming is hers through marriage, it is suffering without its true ruler in the realm. She could see it in the dying leaves and small cracks of the castle. The ivory dragon that rests above the castle has gotten more restless in the past few weeks. And despite her best efforts to comfort the animal, the dragon did not listen to the Goddess of Husbandry. 

This brings up a second concern of hers. The child she carries is as much a part of her as it is the Dreaming’s. It embodies a part of the Dream Lord and if the Dreaming is suffering, there stands to reason that her husband is suffering as well. If both of these entities are suffering, what is to happen to her child?

This child that she already loves until she is forgotten and nothing but stardust and she had been asking for centuries. This child that Morpheus is finally ready to love after the untimely death of his son. She must find Morpheus, and soon. 

For the sake of the Dreaming and her child. 

Several more weeks pass and her cat had yet to come back. She only hopes that it was due to the difficulty of finding an Endless and not because it got distracted with a family whose heart was big enough to take in a “stray” cat. Each day that passes, she grows significantly weaker. The prayers of her followers still ring in her ears, but she could not leave the Dreaming to help her devotees. 

Another war broke out among the humans, the one they call World War II. Less and fewer people were crossing over into the dreaming and slowly, the once beautiful realm was losing its colors. The goddess couldn’t stop the residents of the realm from leaving its gates, the Dreaming was no longer a place they wished to stay. Furthermore, there weren’t enough dreamers for them to bother staying. She only remains thankful for those who decided to stay. 

She sits on Morpheus’ throne, the castle colder than ever. Behind her, the once beautiful stained glass had shattered. The Corinthian had still not been captured, or else her husband would have been home and Fiddler’s Green had decided to leave. She runs a hand through her hair at the issues that seem to keep piling up. As she ignores her prayers, her powers start to wane. Fewer and fewer people were still believing in her. 

And how could she blame them? She hasn’t made herself present in any of their prayers and with the war, people were less concerned about animals and more about themselves. She sighs. 

A sharp pain yanks her out of her thoughts and a scream rips from her throat. She doubles over from the throne and kneels, hunching over on the floor. The pain spreads across her lower abdomen and a shaking hand holds her stomach. Immediately she knew something was wrong and it involved the safety of her child. 

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, too focused on staying conscious. The throne room was empty, her fall echoed around and bounced across the wide walls. When she thought the pain was over, she took in a large breath, inhaling shakily in gulps. 

Salvation lasts a few seconds before another wave of pain overwhelms her. It wraps around her like a hot blanket on a sweltering day, sticking to her skin and making her overstimulated. Too much was happening at once and it was almost too hard to bear. 

“Lucienne!” She screams between cramps. Tears fall in fat drops onto the floor and wets the hand propping her up. 

Lucienne appears quickly, followed closely by Mervin. Hands grab at her weak body and hoist her back onto the throne. Where she had fallen, blood pooled and more fell from between her legs. 

Her whole body shakes with shivers and a whimper leaves her. 

“My Lady,” Lucienne says with concern. The librarian couldn’t stop from staring at the growing pool of blood below her. 

“What do we do?” Mervin asks. Even though he was a glorified janitor, constructor, and destructor for the Dreaming, he didn’t know how to fix this. 

“Call for Phanes,” Their Lady said weakly. Sweat begins to appear like morning dew across her forehead. For once, she was grateful for the cool temperature. 

“Mervin, take her to his Lord’s chambers,” Lucienne instructs. She doesn’t stay to watch as she sprints to the library. 

She flips through leather-bound books, old and new until she finds the correct summoning spell she was looking for. The loyal librarian could only hope that a god would listen to a dream like her. 

She hauls the large book into the room her Lady lays in. Labored breathing came from both women, although for two vastly different reasons. 

“Forgive me, my lady, but I require your assistance,” Lucienne said next to the goddess’ bed. 

The goddess gives her a hand limply and Lucienne starts chanting the words on the page while holding her cold fingers. The wind whirls around them and Mervin holds onto his pumpkin head to not have it knocked off. 

Lucienne finishes the spell and looks down. Her Lady was glowing with power but she could not have looked any more weak. Nothing happens for a few bated breaths, only the sound of howling wind around them. Then nothing, not even the sound of crickets could be heard. 

Enters Phanes, golden and warm like the sun. He materializes in a cloud of golden dust. He slams his staff down, and his golden snake slithers up from under his robes. 

“Who dares summon m-” 

“Lord Phanes,” Lucienne interrupts, something she knows she would be punished for, if not for the more important matter at hand. 

A glare is thrown her way and softens at the familiar face. Phanes’ eyes travel across the intertwined fingers and land on his friend. 

Weak eyes open and meet his. The godly figure is almost too much to stare directly at. 

As if understanding what was happening to his friend, he drops the golden light he had been shining. The Dreaming returns to its cold blue, and it was just two deities and two dreams in understanding. 

“A new deal,” Phanes announces and the goddess wants to weep again. Judging by how her husband acted the last time she had done this, she was going to be doomed. But the decision was easily made. 

“Anything,” she whispers. Her eyelids are starting to feel heavy. She had delivered countless calves, kittens, and cubs, but never another deity. Was she supposed to feel this weak? 

Silky scales slide across her feverish skin and she is face to face with Phanes’ serpent.

“Give your child to him, he will keep them safe until they may come to fruition. Until then, you must look after the serpent as if it is of your blood.”

The goddess could barely pay attention but understood in a way without words. She nods in agreement and the relief begins almost immediately. 

Pain seeps out of her body, slow, like molasses and her body starts to glow again. Lucienne shields her eyes and peeks through her fingers. The goddess’ stomach glows and deflates. 

A small glowing ball releases itself from the warmth of her womb, its dim light is warm and lights the room like a lantern on a foggy night. A weak hand cups it and it sits in the palm of its mother. 

“Hello, darling son,” She whispers. The ball stays still, a small high-pitched noise emitting from itself.

The goddess smiles. “Darling daughter, then?” This time, the ball bounces gently a few times in response but otherwise doesn’t do anything. 

The golden serpent is slowly making its way up the arm that holds the glowing orb. A tongue flicks out and smells it. Then with a nod from the goddess, the serpent unhinges its mouth and swallows the child whole. The light shines through the crevices of its eyes and ears as it makes its way down the serpent's throat. Eventually, the light dissipates and the serpent looks all the same, save for the bulge in its stomach. 

A sense of longing borrows itself into her chest where her heart lies. Quite literally, the light disappears right in front of her. Physically, her pain had been removed, only the dried blood between her legs reminded her of what had happened just moments prior. And yet, a dull pain resides. Something she couldn’t put her finger on, but she could feel it behind her eyes and how it lodges in her throat. 

Her gaze is unfocused as she pets the golden snake, her golden snake now, her child. For the rest of the night, she rests and Phanes leaves without a word. Lucienne stays by her side the whole time, eyes only moving when the serpent shifts. Mervin went back to work after a few hours, the castle’s foundation still cracking under their feet. He left with a sorrowful look, well, as sorrowful as a pumpkin head could be. 

As the sun rises the next day, the goddess wakes up to not only the snake by her side but the librarian and her long awaited cat. Lucienne wakes up at the first shift that her Lady makes and stands. 

“Let me draw you a bath,” She said before any debate. 

“Lucienne,” Her Lady calls after her anyway in rejection. All of her handmaidens had left. They were only there to help the goddess under the instruction of the Dream Lord who created them. Without him here, no one would punish them for leaving and not attending his wife. 

Still, the librarian doesn’t listen and disappears into the joined bathroom. Meanwhile, the goddess looks down at her cat and raises an eyebrow. It has certainly gotten fatter. And a new name tag was attached to his collar next to his bell. 

“Buttons,” She said out loud, reading the new name. At that, the cat perks up and stares back at her disappointed face. “You got distracted on your mission didn’t you?”

She pets his rounder stomach and scratches his head. “Well, they certainly loved you…” The hidden passive-aggressive message was evident. 

The cat, now Buttons, doesn’t bother with a response. Instead, it lays back down, flicking its tail aggressively at her comment. 

She rolls her eyes. “Did you locate his Lord?”

Buttons rolls onto his back and stretches, belly exposing to her, and opens his mouth in a yawn. “Burgess Manor,” He says and turns his body away from her. 

Finally, an answer. She throws the blanket off her body and goes to stand. She looks at her closet, thinking of what to wear to the waking world to retrieve her husband. 

“My Lady!” Lucienne exclaims as she walks out of the bathroom. The goddess looks over at her and notices her staring at her dress. She looks down as well and remembers all of the blood that she spilled last night. It had caked itself into the fabric and was still crusted on the inside of her legs. 

The librarian’s shock was still on her face when she realizes that her Lady fully intends to go to the waking world looking like that, having overheard the conversation between her and the cat. Lucienne insists she take a bath first and that she would find something for her to wear. 

Her Lady doesn’t disagree and disappears into the steaming bathtub that was made for her. She doesn’t regret it for a second the moment she steps in. The warmth was comforting like a mother huddling to keep its cub warm. The water washes away the filths of yesterday and within the embrace of the water, she finally cries. 

It’s not a gentle cry, it is hiccups and gasping for breath. The pain of yesterday that she felt behind her eyes and in her throat spills out. Her bathwater which used to smell of apples and cinnamon now turns into a maroon as her blood washes out. It starts to smell of iron and salt and it reminds her of war. 

Her hand runs over her stomach and a whimper leaves her again at the lack of the bump she had grown so accustomed to. Logically, she knows that her child, no her daughter, was safe. But, one would have to admit that having their daughter in the stomach of a serpent was a bit unnerving. 

A golden head peaks at her over the side of the ceramic bathtub and flicks out its tongue. 

She sniffs the last of her tears away and pets its head with her index finger. “I’m sorry for leaving you already, dear daughter.” 

The serpent’s stomach had grown twice as large since last night and since this is new territory for her, she must make haste so she may be back in the dream to witness the birth of her daughter. 

Before she left, though, she walks into the castle gardens and gets to work. From her fingertips she grows a birch tree, its white branches and muted green leaves fit right into the dying realm around them. She sprouts flowers and brushes for scenery and a bed made of straw under a tunnel that she dug out. 

The golden serpent follows her and slithers up her body, wrapping around her curves. When its head was next to hers, it let out a rattling-like noise in agreement with the small open enclosure the goddess had made for it. It slides back down her body and makes it home in the tunnel. 

“Mommy will be back,” She whispers to it when it settles in and gives it a quick peck on the top of its head. It flicks its tongue at her and moves further into its nest. 

The goddess stands back up and dusts off any dirt that could have gotten on her dress. Lucienne helps her pick out an appropriate attire for the waking world. Something she wouldn’t personally wear, but it certainly helps to blend in with the mortals. She quickly had to locate her husband. After all, she has no idea how long it takes for a snake to incubate a child. 

It was easy to find the Burgess Manor when she arrives in the waking world. Everyone who was anyone spoke about the grand magus who managed to capture the devil in his basement. That the devil had granted him eternal life and some other rumors. All she had to do was flaunt a smile and go where the fingers pointed. 

The rumors, of course, were mere rumors. The devil? No. Without knowing it, Rodrick Burgess managed to capture something even more powerful. How he had managed to keep him captured was a different question entirely and the goddess had a sneaking suspicion that he had some help. 

It was nightfall when she arrives at the gates of the manor. Thousands of people clamor in the front garden, talking amongst themselves. Suddenly, the clothing she had worn was not fit for the environment she was walking into. Using a little bit of her powers, she changes the outlook of her clothing into something else. It was a bit more formal, growing longer and softer to the touch. However, if someone were to squint and stare hard enough, they would be able to see the original dress she had worn. 

She weaves her way to the front and listens carefully to the words around her.

“I had arrived this morning, my feet are killing me.”

“Ha, me as well. But anything to get into the manor. I want to see what the Great Magus is hiding.”

“Not to mention the party of your lifetime!” They joke together. 

Someone taps her on her shoulder. Another young man was waiting to be let in. 

“You are a new face,” He comments and takes her hand. He presses his lips to the back of it. She takes her hand back and wipes it away on the back of her dress while keeping a smile.

“Yes, I wish to see the Great Magus himself.” She half-lies through her teeth. The young gentleman offers an arm to her which she reluctantly takes. Perhaps he will be the key to getting into the manor. 

The doors of the manor open and people slowly trickle in. She peers over shoulders into the manor but couldn’t immediately find anything of note that would be dangerous. The warmth of the building fans over her as she enters through the large doors and a breath of relief escapes her. 

“Isn’t it everything you could ever dream of?” The gentleman asks. He looks down at her with a smile. 

She looks around, the manor was certainly lively. Foods of all kinds sprawl out on tables, fresh flowers almost too sweet to smell, and candlelight flickers and dances from the sudden wind. There were some party tricks as well, the flames seem to sparkle a bit more, bubbles were floating around in the air without popping, and the statues follows her with their eyes. But, they were all small party tricks, nothing to indicate this holier-than-thou man. 

Through the buzz of it all, she could feel it. The string of fate that connects her to her husband. It was faint, but it was there and she knew she was in the right place. She just had to find out where. 

A man emerges on the top of the stairs to the second floor and opens his arms in a flourish. She frowns at him because there he was, Rodrick Burgess, the man who took her husband. By the end of tonight, she promises herself, there will be no Rodrick Burgess. 

“Ow, dang you’ve got a grip on you,” She breaks eye contact with Rodrick when her escort for the evening exclaims out. She releases the iron grip she had wrapped around his lower arm and apologizes. 

“I am terribly sorry,” She apologizes. “Actually, I am parched, can you be a gentleman and fetch me some lemonade?” She bats her eyelashes and gives a smile. His face lights up in a blush and runs off to fetch her the lemonade she wants. 

As soon as he was out of eyesight, the goddess began moving. She moves between bodies like wind on the beachfront - gracefully, wistfully, but with purpose. She uses her senses to locate where her husband could be. It was like an invisible dance. 

When the sense weakens she backtracks, when it strengthens she moves forward. She was so lost in her quest that she almost did not register when she ran into a wool-covered chest. Surprise overtook her face as she looks up, ready to apologize and continue on her way. But she stops when she realizes that the man she bumps into is the very host of the party. 

“Rodrick Burgess,” She says almost breathlessly. Oh, how she wants to commit a grievous crime to this mortal. 

The old man chuckles above her and grabs onto her shoulders. His fingers are cold when they come into contact with her bare skin and she wants to cringe away from his touch, but he holds on strong. 

“You seem like a curious creature, my little dove,” He comments and starts to walk. Without much room to budge, she is reluctant to follow him.

“Yes,” She drawls out much like how Morpheus tends to do. She suddenly acts with interest when she realizes that the bond strength between her and her husband increases. She holds on tighter and presses her body against his arm.

“I heard that the great Magus kept the devil in the basement of his manor. Can we see it?” She fakes a supple voice and looks up at him with an innocent smile.

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t think a small thing such as yourself would want to see the devil.”

“No!” She belts out, a bit too quickly. But she recovers smoothly. “What I mean to say is, I am far too excited to see him. Please don’t deny me this one pleasure Great Magus.”

“How loathsome,” She thinks to herself. 

“Very well, I can’t deny you anything if you keep looking at me like that.” He confirms. 

Rodrick Burgess leads her away from the party, down a long and quiet hallway. It is decorated with antique and rare collectibles. The older man talks about each one, dragging on his time that leads to her husband, but she nods along anyway. 

She had waited decades to be in the arms of her husband again, a few more minutes surely wouldn’t hurt. Soon, she is led to a dark and demanding set of double doors. Locks and bolts seal it from top to bottom. With a nod of Rodrick’s head, the guards stationed outside open the door slowly and a cold air seeps out and blows her hair back. The basement smells musty of old water and stale air. A cough emits from further down the stairs and she frowns. 

“Scared yet, child?” Rodrick says to her mockingly. 

She only shakes her head no as she continues down the steps. 

The smell grows stronger as she gets closer and she can also make out a small portion of dirt and sand amidst it all. Despite it, the air was crisp and cold, suitable for a stone basement. 

A light emits from the end of the long staircase downwards and she can’t stop her jaw unhinging as she finally sets her eyes on her husband. Tears well up in her eyes as they dart across the room.

Arches supported the basement throughout the floor and a moat still separates between her and her husband. A singular fluorescent light is cast on him in a glass prison as if he were some circus animal on display. Below the glass prison were some sort of gold runic markings and even from far away, she could feel the real magic emitting from them. 

Rodrick releases her hold on him and turns to the two guards on duty that night. “You two may go,” He instructs, and the two leave without debate.

At the sound of his voice, Dream opens his eyes but remains in his laid position. His gaze pierces into his corrupt heart, if he even had one left, but quickly notices his wife by his side. With this, he sits up and gently places a hand on the glass barrier. 

“Would you look at that!” Rodrick boasts. “He moves, he doesn’t do that much. Perhaps he has feelings for a pretty thing like you.” 

The goddess doesn’t hear him and walks up to the glass cage in a trance. How does she free him? Tears fall restlessly down her face and her stature dejects. She snaps out of her trances on the small bridge above the stagnant water when a rough hand squeezes her upper arms. 

“Stop, you must not get any closer. He is trying to seduce you into releasing him!” Rodrick hashes out between gritted teeth. 

She opens her mouth to tell him something, anything, to release her husband but stops when she hears Dream’s voice again. 

“Wife,” He calls simply and her body fills with all of the love and adoration she had been missing for decades. 

Rodrick’s grip tightens at his voice, the first time he remembers hearing it. With a shocked face, he looks down at the woman in his grip. “Wife?!” He screams at her furiously. 

She takes a deep breath and steels herself, ripping herself away from his bruising grip, and stands between him and her husband. The tears had dried and only anger left in its wake. 

“The one before you is Daleena, Goddess of Husbandry, Mother of Agriculture and Protector of Animals, Saint of Farmers, Queen of the Dreaming, wife of Dream of the Endless. You face me now, mortal.” 

Wind swirls, somehow, in the basement but it is the least of Rodrick’s worries. He plants himself firmly as the wind picks up and sand envelops the two of them in a vortex of anger. 

“I have captured something more than a god! I have an Endless!” He points a finger at her, eyes scrutinizing. “What makes you think you can defeat me? The Great Magus Rodrick Burgess?” 

Walking a few steps forward, her shepherd’s crook materializes in her hand, the bell jingling violently in the wind. Her extremities start to glow their familiar light as she musters power. She points the staff at Rodrick as billets of wheat start growing around his feet and crawl up his legs, the nice wool of his pants long forgotten against the harsh stalks of the plants. The plants bloom as it sucks the life away from the very thing they grew on. 

Rodrick starts chanting in Greek. 

“Prostasía,” He chokes out. “Prostasía.” He chants again and he breathes easier. “Prostasía.” He chants one more time and he’s back to standing at his full height. The plants that were wrapped around him wither away and fell into dust, sucked into the sand vortex around them. 

The goddess frowns, she did not realize how much power she had lost until now when a simple protection chant could stave off her attacks. Rodrick lunges at her, hands open and clawed, ready to grab onto any piece of her clothing. In turn, she slams her crook into the ground and a fissure opens up, but not before he can shove her further and her body slams into the wall of the glass prison. The fissure separates the two opponents away from each other and Rodrick steps back before he falls into the Earth. 

She braces herself on the glass wall at the impact and loses her breath for a moment. She could feel the warmth of her husband’s hand and she turns away from Rodrick to look at him. His hand was aligned with her own, so close, only inches apart. 

“The runes, my love,” Morpheus tells her. She looks down at looks at the graphics that surround them, the sand had erased some of it through the abrasive nature of itself. The magic within the runes would still be strong if not for the defiant smudge she creates with her foot, just in time for the fissure to finish opening. With a final look at her husband, she walks closer to the fissure, pulling the sand vortex smaller so it was just her and Rodrick again. 

From the fissure glows a golden light, soft and merciful but quickly overshadowed by the growing dust. The light expands as the golden serpent which holds her daughter emerges. It had grown in size since the last time she had seen it. Its length and mass have nearly tripled in size and the baby bulge it used to flaunt was now merely a small bump. 

Rodrick’s stare grows higher and higher as the snake continues to emerge, it stares at the man, tongue flicking angrily at him for daring to harm the goddess. The snake lunges, all fangs and dripping venom, its large scales clattering against each other like gold coins. Rodrick moves to the side and the serpent misses. It hisses in retaliation and comes around again, this time wrapping its body around the legs of the Great Magus. 

Panic sets in as the serpent starts to constrict around the man and he can feel his pulse pounding against his head and the blood circulation gets cut off. The bones in his knees pop as they press together. 

“Father!” A young boy’s voice screams across the vortex and the goddess sees a glint of silver cross into the vortex arena. 

The serpent is halfway up Rodrick’s body when the goddess notices the sharp dagger that Rodrick now possesses. He rises it high in the air and with a large gasp plunges it into the flesh of the serpent. The golden scales provide little to no protection against the artifact. 

“No!” She screams and takes a step forward, only to be stopped by the protective tail of the serpent. 

The metal hisses as it melts against the golden scales, melting the scales together until they become smooth around the wound. Rodrick slides again and again until the weapon becomes too slippery with blood and he loses grip. The snake is now a mosaic of gold and red as it tightens one last time. 

“Curse… you…” Rodrick strains out, his face turning purple as the last bit of air leaves him. The serpent weakens and falls in a slump like an inanimate rope and the sand around them falls like rain. 

The goddess leaps over the fissure and after making sure the man is dead runs to the head of the golden serpent. Its eyes were dim, mouth agape as its muscles weakens and she can no longer feel it breathing on her skin when she places a hand above its nostrils. 

“No, no no,” She mumbles to herself. She grabs her dress up and away from her feet as she makes her way down the length of the serpent. When she reaches where she last saw the small baby bump, she runs her hand along its underside, soon becoming slick with cooling blood. 

She finds a particular cut that was deeper than normal and when she sticks her hand in there, they grab around a small appendage. A cry of relief leaves her lips as she digs deeper. She pulls her baby from the dying body and cradles it to her body. Golden scale imprints are decorated across her arms and legs and a few more along the spine of her back.

Her breath hiccups as silence fills the air. She pats her daughter’s back and wipes her mouth clean and panic seeps into her bones when still she remains quiet. 

Morpheus appears behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She turns to him, tears streaking down her neck. 

“Crying, why-why isn’t she crying?!” She wails and clutches her child harder against her chest. 

Morpheus hugs her from behind and holds the two of them to his chest. 

“Y/N,” He calls her name, her real name. Not her titles, or what the mortals call her, but the name given to her since her creation. 

She weeps into his form, salty tears mixing with blood and the amniotic fluid that covers her child. Her tears fall into her daughter’s mouth and feed into the child her grief, regret, and guilt as well as the hope she still had in her. 

A soothing hand pets her and the silence disappears. Loud wailing comes from below and her eyes shoot open. Her daughter was finally crying, her hands in fists as they move around in the air. 

“Praises,” She sobs again, this time tears of joy. Her child's eyes peel open and smiles as she grabs at her mother’s hair. 

Morpheus smiles, a rare one, all teeth showing as he touches his daughter’s head gently. The three, now a family, return home to the Dreaming. There will be more to do, especially for Morpheus but for now, a small victory lies within the hope that is their daughter. 

Extra:

“Well I’ll be baffled, bamboozled, and befuddled,” Phanes says, hands on his hip and his staff leaning against one of the walls of the basement. 

He stares at his serpent covered in dried blood and dearly departed, lying alone on the cold basement floor. 

“Look at how they massacred my boy!” He screams to no one in particular, arms out in disbelief. 

He lets out a huff and crosses his arms. “I’ll let you borrow my snake, blah, blah, blah, take care of it like it’s your own, meh, meh, meh,” He mocks.

Phanes runs a hand across the top of the snake’s head and watches as the dried blood rehydrates and moves thickly back into the cuts. The gnashes done by the weapon stitch itself back close and the gold scales return to their original form. 

The snake shrinks smaller and smaller until it is back to its original size. At which, it perks up and flicks a tongue out in thanks to its god. 

“All right, let’s go,” Phanes says with a sigh as if this was a mundane chore. He extends out a hand for the serpent to slither up to.

“I am never making a deal with those two ever again, that was crazy.” He says to his snake. 

The snake flicks its tongue again and rattles the scales on its back.

“Ohh, that’s nice that she made you an enclosure.” He responds, then remains silent as the snake says something else. “What do you mean she forgot to put mice in the enclosure for you to eat?!”

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

[odoraful]

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐔𝐌 𝐩.𝟐

zayne finally meets with you again in his dreams, though he is unprepared to face the harsh truth

read part 1 content: dawnbreaker!zayne x reader; a direct continuation from zayne’s anecdote 'still in dark' (spoiler warning); 2.2k words; angst :( reading bgm ♫ It is The Nature of Dreams to End (Julia)

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It took a few seconds for Zayne’s brain to register that he should reply to you. 

Stop staring with your mouth agape. Say something. 

The words were lodged in his throat.

You fidgeted with your hair, eyes turned downwards. “Excuse my manners. I should stop addressing you incorrectly and ask for your name.”

Zayne cringed internally. A great start — he now gave the impression that he was deliberately ignoring you for your supposed impoliteness. 

“No, please, it's alright.” The sentence tumbled out of him. “My name is Zayne.” His arms remained glued at his sides. 

“It's the same as his… everything is the same,” you murmured, shaking your head in disbelief. Your brow was in a deep furrow, as if you someone had given you some incalculable equation to solve. He could tell that a million questions were flooding your thoughts right now. 

“If it’s any consolation,” he tried his best to give a reassuring smile, but he felt his lips tremble as he lifted the corners of his mouth, “I also have questions about how we’ve come to meet.”

You raised your head, finally meeting his gaze. In all his dreams with you, he'd never seen such worry on your face. He felt a crushing urge to take you in his arms, smooth a hand over your hair, whisper in your ear that he was here for you, that he was here to protect you. Instead, he squeezed his fists tight.

“Then, should we go somewhere more comfortable and have a talk?” You offered, turning around to face the pavilion suspended on the river. You lifted a hand to shade your eyes. “The sun is too bright to be standing outside.” 

Zayne nodded. It would be too embarrassing for him to say that the golden sunlight targeting you was likely a product of his own subconscious. Moving to your side, the two of you headed towards the bridge leading to the pavilion. As he walked, Zayne relaxed his fists, feeling the sting in his palm from his own digging fingernails.

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Your eyes went wide with alarm. “Humans that slowly transform into wanderers? That’s horrifying.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, goosebumps forming on your skin.

Sitting now on the bench that lined the inside of the pavilion, the two of you conversed about your respective worlds. With embarrassment, he mentioned how he dreamt about you since he was 12. You laughed at how shy he was getting, as he turned his head away from yours, not wanting you to see the break in his coolness. When you spoke, he acted as a dutiful listener, despite having already extensively researched the fabled Linkon City. It felt surreal to hear your experience first hand. It made him feel less crazy to hear everything he learned was true. 

“And are there hunters to help control this? To keep everyone safe?” You asked. 

Zayne inhaled a long breath. He looked out past your shoulder at the shimmering river. He turned solemn, his eyes unfocused. 

“I don’t know of anybody in my world who has an evol, as you’ve called it, besides me.” 

He felt no pride in owning this power. It was a burden he shouldered since he was a child. Yet, he understood the gravity of the responsibility forced upon him. If he abandoned this role, what would become of his world? The cards he were dealt gave him a singular purpose in life. 

That was until you entered his life. 

You remained silent, digesting the information he had given and what it implied. Zayne felt acutely aware of every one of his senses. The rhythm of his breaths, the weight of his hands clasped in his lap, the stiffness in his posture. 

“You save people’s lives.”  His eyes shifting back to you, Zayne unexpectedly saw a wistful look on your face. “It reminds me a lot of my Zayne.”

This should have been the part where you condemned him, like everyone else in his world. Called him a monster, a killer, nothing but a story to scare children into behaving well. If he wasn’t mistaken, the faint smile on your face was one of admiration. Never had he seen himself as heroic. Those few words you spoke made him crumple. He placed his head in his hands. Not only that, you said it reminded you of your Zayne. 

He heard the rustle of your dress beside him as you sat closer to him. Your legs almost flush against his. If he leaned barely a millimetre to his right, your arms would touch. 

“I want to know,” he started, finding his voice again. “In the past, you never realised I was someone else. What changed in that last dream?”

Humming in thought, you tapped a finger on your chin. “I’m not too sure about it myself.” You began to chuckle sheepishly.  “I do have a working theory, but I would need to…” Your sentence trailed off. Zayne stared at you, confused. You seemed to shrink under his gaze. 

“Is it alright if I…” Biting your lip, you fidgeted with your fingers. “Touch you?” 

What kind of theory is this? Zayne could never guess your next move. Freely speaking your mind, acting on your first instinct, these were traits so foreign to him. Your unpredictability was something he loved and feared.

“Of- of course,” he blurted out, less composed than he would’ve liked to show. He prayed his cheeks didn’t betray him by turning bright pink. Turning his body towards you, he rested his hands on his thighs, waiting for what you would do. 

You reached a hand and gently cupped his cheek. 

Unable to contain his reaction, Zayne let out a shuddering breath at the contact as he leaned in. The casual affection that was so natural for you to show completely overwhelmed him. As you leaned in, your eyes slowly examined him, moving up and down his face. All Zayne could do was yield under your attention. Despite no words being exchanged, he felt more vulnerable to you than ever before. 

He grasped your hand, holding it against his face. You felt so real. How could his mind conjure something so tangible? The shape of your knuckles, the creases on your fingers, all of it was warm and alive under his cool touch. He was certain that if he touched the underside of your wrist, he would feel your steady pulse. 

“Zayne.” Your voice was a hesitant whisper. “You’re hurting me…” 

Caught up in exhilaration, Zayne didn’t notice how tight his grip had become. Your fingers were being crushed together by his. He immediately released his hold, cursing inwardly at himself. What was he thinking? Your Zayne wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have been so aggressive, so overly emotional. 

“I remember now.” Feeling your breath graze his skin as you spoke, he fought off the urge to shiver. “I started to notice that there was something about your gaze…” Your eyes softened with sympathy. “There’s no warmth to it.”

Your hand trailed down his cheek to his neck. “And when I touch you.” Tingles followed wherever your fingers went. “You tense up everytime.” Emphasising your point, your hand rested on his shoulder, forcing him to relax his muscles. “Almost like you’re scared of me, somehow.”

No, this wasn’t how it was meant to go. He had expected you to say something trivial — his appearance was slightly off, or he had just forgotten to say or do something that was an obvious tell. These were easy fixes for him.

Zayne screwed his eyes shut, defenceless against your pity.

After all these dreams living in snippets as this doctor, this perfect version of himself, he still couldn’t get it right. No matter how well he could copy, from watching all those medical show episodes or tasting as many desserts as his barren world could offer, there were fundamental things about himself he couldn’t change.  

“I-I don’t understand.” He said, strained. He felt like a child again, terrified of making the wrong move. “I thought I did everything right.”

“You did!” You exclaimed. Bringing your other hand to his other shoulder, you gently squeezed them. “You treat me so kindly whenever we met, but my Zayne is the one back in my world, in Linkon.”

Your hands withdrew from his shoulders. “And in any case, this-” You gestured around, “- is just a dream. I might not even remember this exact conversation when I wake up. I don’t think I’m even real in this-”

“Don’t say that.” He snapped. 

His voice seemed to reverberate around the garden. The severity of his tone silenced you instantly. 

Sitting still was too restricting for him now. He ran a hand through his hair, needing to move around. He stood up, nausea swirling at the pit of his stomach. Rubbing his eyes with the edges of his hands, he saw stars in the vision. 

To hell with composure.

“I’ve known you for so, so long.” It was difficult to speak when every word constricted his throat. “Do not tell me that you’re not real because then everything I’ve worked towards would be for nothing.” 

You cocked your head, confused. “Everything you’ve worked towards?”

Sparing himself the shame, he stayed quiet. He wouldn’t tell you how he spent his entire life in a fruitless endeavour to become the person you loved. It was a shattering realisation he arrived at. He was nothing but an imposter, a poor imitation. He could never be your Zayne. Desperation bubbled rapidly within him. The pressure reached a tipping point. 

“You told me before that you’d always stay by my side" His tone wavered, struggling to keep stable between his quickened breaths. "Don’t leave me, please.” He pleaded, face contorting with agony. This loss would be more painful than any Abomination strike to his heart.

Your eyes were downcast, shoulders slumped. “Of course I can meet with you again, but I don’t think I can stay with you forever.” You wrapped your arms around yourself. “I’m so, so sorry, Zayne. It- it just doesn’t feel right for some reason.”

The floor of the pavilion swayed under his feet. The tranquillity of the garden felt more like a mockery now than a solace. Why did you have to see through him? Could he have prevented this from happening? Seized by his own racing thoughts, he didn’t even detect you moving towards him. You encircled his waist with your arms and he crumpled into the hug instinctually. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. Nobody would be there to comfort him when he woke up. He’d share his misery with only the birds that nested at his window in the mornings. So, he savoured the feeling of your hand rubbing his back soothingly, letting your warmth consume him.

”Perhaps there’s an equivalent version of me in your world.” He could just hear your voice over the thumping heartbeat in his ears. “If there’s me and my Zayne in Linkon, then shouldn’t there also be someone for you?”  

A version of you? He couldn’t begin to process what you were saying. No one could replace you, it was a ridiculous suggestion. How easily you would brush him aside like this.

He dared to look at your face once more. There was no contempt in your expression like he thought there would be. There was genuine care in your eyes. Of course, you were always the hopeful one. 

“It’s not too late for you to find out who you truly are, Zayne.”

That was the last thing he heard before he was abruptly pulled from you. 

Dreams seldom have satisfying endings to them — bouncing from one scene to the next, blurring beginning, middle, end, and finishing far too soon. And so, like the snapping of thread, he was flung back into the waking world. 

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When Zayne awoke from previous dreams, he’d always feel at peace. However, this time he jolted awake, gasping for air. Taking in deep breaths to steady himself, he saw the blankets had been kicked aside onto the floor. Sweat slicked the back of his shirt and beaded down the side of his head. 

Zayne sat up against the bed head, letting his head roll to the side to gaze out the window. The sun was just beginning to rise, the landscape outside diffused by pale blue light. A bird flew up to the sill, hopping curiously on the ledge. It then settled down, legs disappearing into its feathery body. 

He opened the drawer of his bedside table and wearily reached for his journal and pen. With a heavy heart, he scrawled down everything he could recall about the dream. Where he was, what you wore, what you said. The occasional lilting chirp from the bird cut through his pondering.

“Another version of me.”

Could there be someone like you in his world? Someone who would want to spend time with him? He’d never thought to talk to anyone else, he only ever needed you. 

He finished his final sentence, the writing almost unintelligible.

“Who you truly are.” 

When he wasn’t chasing down the person in his head, when he wasn’t trying to be someone else, who was he, truly? 

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a/n: thank you for reaching the end xx 🥹 you've hit the surprise author note! i'm putting it here this time cuz i didn't want to detract from the main story with all my yapping at the start! i thought the bgm had a title fitting for my interpretation of dawnbreaker zayne's arc, and it does have the appropriate melancholic vibe to it :') this was my first time writing something longer and angst-ier, so apologies if it reads awkwardly D: i will continue honing my writing! i wish you a lovely day or night <3

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[linnamonrolls0]

The Winner Takes It All

LMM!Hermes x Reader

Summary:

“devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes what doesn’t kill me makes me want you more…”

You accidentally find your way into the Lotus Casino, where a certain Greek god takes a keen interest in a game of poker, a sweet deal, and… you.

Rating: Mature

Words: 4,480

A/N:

I wasn’t gonna write this… until I saw some hater saying they’d [redacted] if they saw a LMM!Hermes x Reader fic show up - so naturally, being the disastrous Lin simp that I am, I HAD TO DO IT. After all, learning from the best in proving the naysayers wrong…

A lot of this was written pre-episode, allow it with a few inconsistencies and a lot of research-induced additions!

Mixtape... bloop - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6v2ZfRamJRh8eP6qOqz4ND

Chapter 1: When The Chips Are Down

Contrary to popular belief, apparently it is possible to get lost in Las Vegas.

You were only strolling the Strip with a group of friends on the last day of your whirlwind vacation, but soon enough you found yourself at a dead end, unsure of what turn you’d even taken to get there. 

Hoping to locate a restroom and some means of connectivity to contact your friends, you beelined for the nearest building, flashily labelled the Lotus Hotel and Casino: upon glancing upward, you were met with the sight of a forty-storey tower, with a wide open entrance marked by a blooming neon-bright lotus flower in front of you. It was the sort of place you would expect to be buzzing with life, but oddly enough nary a soul lingered by the shining silver doors; just stillness and silence, save for the muffled music pounding from somewhere inside.

Though you felt overwhelmingly uneasy, that entrance carried a strange magnetism that compelled you to step inside. Something that suggested all your fear would be put to rest the moment you walked through those doors… or into that flower, at least.

You tucked your hands under your sleeves and drew in a deep breath, before you crossed the petalled threshold into an opulent lobby decorated with lotus plants in intricately designed pots and inviting plush couches around the circular hall. The air conditioning was a welcome relief from the Nevada summer heat, and the whole place seemed to glow in a dark shade of pink. 

You immediately felt an invisible weight ease off of your shoulders as you entered… What had you come here to look for, again?

Right, a phone charger and somewhere to pee. Of course, basic human necessities, how could you forget those so quickly?

Interrupting your line of thought, you paused in your tracks when a tall Barbie doll materialised in front of you, dressed in bright pink from head to toe; upon first glance she looked like some sort of projection, as though she wasn’t real at all.

“Welcome to the Lotus Hotel and Casino,” she greeted you in an almost robotic voice, with a plastic smile stretched across her face, holding out a shimmering green card. “Here’s your Cash Card, have a great time!”

“Cash… what? Do I have to pay for this?” you stuttered, confused beyond belief as you took the card. What was this place?

“No, not a penny!” She shook her head; not a single strand of her perfectly coiffed blonde hair shifted out of place. “Would you like a tour? Here, have a drink. Only the best in the world here!” 

She offered you a glass goblet, filled to the brim with a dark maroon liquid and topped with blueberries, bearing the same eerie magnetism as the doors had done minutes before. You eyed the drink dubiously, brows furrowed as you sniffed it in a futile attempt to ascertain what exactly it was.

“I’m alright, thank you,” you politely declined, “What is—”

But before you could finish your question, the Barbie doll had disappeared as suddenly as she’d arrived, and the moment you sipped the strong floral drink, your questions completely evaporated.

Following your curiosity, you craned your neck and looked up to see endless floors lined with rooms and doors and glass balconies, with a pair of glass elevators in the middle. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if the great glass elevator could shoot through the ceiling like something out of a children’s book.

At least there were more people in here, though you were certain they too had just appeared as if by magic; not acknowledging you at all, they milled about in the lobby and outside the doors to the casino, beside to what appeared to be an arcade full of excited children playing classic and modern video games alike. Regardless of age, all the guests were clad in fancy-dress costumes; you figured perhaps there was an event taking place that had its attendees reflecting different eras of fashion. Wouldn’t be unusual for this town, everyone was dressed crazy and after three days traversing Sin City’s myriad clubs and casinos, nothing fazed you - or perhaps the effects of whatever you’d taken at that club last night still hadn’t fully worn off, who knew…

Still in a bit of a daze, you floated toward the immense double doors leading to the Casino, already hearing the jingling of slot machines singing proud over the pounding pop beats as their backing track.

The casino was lit by ornate chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, deliberately dimmed to give way to the bright, flashing lights of the various gaming machines assembled around the hall, surrounding a set of card tables in its centre. Chatter and laughter filled the room and people crowded around the tables, playing without a care in the world and having the time of their lives; everyone seemed to have a goblet in hand and a cash card in the other, not dissimilar to your current state. It was warmer in here, though still comfortable enough that you could breathe… Just about.

You wandered through and your attention was glued to a game of roulette at a table beside you, where a couple had just won who knows what, when you were interrupted by a greeting that you just somehow knew was directed at you.

“Well, hello, there,” you heard in a smooth, low tenor behind you.

You whirled around on your heel to be met by… a guy. Literally just a guy, casually leaning on his gorgeously tanned forearms on a nearby craps table, aimlessly toying with a pair of dice in his left hand as he gazed over at you. He was certainly easy on the eyes with his vaguely familiar but handsome face, a mischievous little smirk on his lips, and pretty brown eyes that sparkled in the flashing lights… There was something about those eyes that drew you in. And for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to look away…

He looked like the most normal person in the room, but he seemed entirely out of place, given that everyone else was dressed to the nines - meanwhile he wore a comfy tan hoodie and sweatpants set, as if he perhaps owned it all and subsequently had no rules to follow in this already-lawless land. When he stepped around his table to approach you, he certainly did swagger around like he ruled the place, and his companions nearby looked at him like they worshipped the ground he walked on. Perhaps he was important, but how were you to know?

“You come here often?” he flirted, just about the most awful pickup line imaginable, but you were past the point of questioning why it still sounded attractive.

How had you ended up here, anyway? Hell knew… But this was Sin City, after all; a little harmless flirting could do you no harm, surely… 

“Nope, never been here before. But weirdly, I don’t want to leave…” you shrugged, taking another sip of that strangely addictive drink.

“Sounds about right, Miss…”

“[Y/N],” you offered casually, uncharacteristically not hesitant.

“Pleasure to meet you…” he said with a playful lilt to his tone, holding out a hand, “They call me Hermes.”

When you shook his hand, for a split second you could’ve sworn you weren’t there anymore - when his smooth hand held yours, something akin to a firework went off inside your mind, and you’d put it down to just sparks if not for the phantom breeze you felt just then, a gust that nearly knocked you off your feet.

You couldn’t place what it was, exactly, but there was something strange about this man. He bore an almost otherworldly quality, as though he wasn’t human at all… But how could he be anything else? Come to think of it, there was a similarly supernatural energy about the casino itself; no wonder he fit right in to this weird wonderland.

“What, you got a Birkin in your back pocket or something, Mr Hermes?” you laughed, trying to shake off that odd suspicion, only to be met by his indignant scowl. Even that was cute.

“And what business do you have with my back pockets?” he teased, tucking one hand into the front pocket of his hoodie, to which you raised an intrigued brow.

You shrugged, nonchalant, still reeling from that strange feeling. “Nothing yet, but perhaps I’d like to find out…”

“Obviously I do not, but I could hook you up.” The innuendo wasn’t lost on you, least of all when Hermes smirked, that patented brand of mischief you were quickly growing quite fond of as he swaggered across to the card table; the players welcomed him back gladly. “Care for a game?” he asked, seemingly winning one without even paying attention to it as he rolled the dice carelessly onto the table that stood between you.

As he retrieved the dice, you eyed his hands curiously; they could only be described as pretty, as though he might be a pianist or… an artist of some description. He had his sleeves rolled back and a gold-plated Rolex glimmered on one wrist, a chunky gold chain-link bracelet on the other, and something about that on him was distractingly attractive. It all screamed money, despite his casual tracksuit getup, which would’ve been nothing special if it didn’t look so needlessly expensive in itself. You absently wondered what that obscure tattoo on his ring finger meant, for surely it couldn’t imply he might be taken…

“It’s not like you have anything to lose,” Hermes commented, interrupting your line of thought as he set a few chips down on the table and retrieved his own green Cash Card from his pocket, holding it up to show you. So everyone had them; then, what was the point?

Oh, right. You likely couldn’t do anything with the money outside, so, go figure it was an unlimited free pass.

“I guess I’m in. After all, what you gonna do when the chips are down?” you quoted a challenge, holding your own smug look at the recognition in his eyes.

“I see you speak my language…” he teased, “Even if those aren’t exactly my words.”

“Funny you should mention that. Has anyone ever told you you look a bit like Lin-Manuel Miranda?”

“So I’ve been told! Though, I think the correct expression would be that he looks like me. Same difference, he’s me, I’m him, whatever.” He waved a flippant hand, as if instructing you to ask no further questions on the topic.

“Gotcha…” You laughed, putting this all down to a wacky dream by now as you joined him by the card table. “What is this, anyway?” you asked him, raising your goblet in his general direction. He was the only person here without one, which didn’t entirely make sense to you, even in the logic of twisted fever dreams.

“Raise a glass to freedom… and throw it the fuck away,” he sang with a laugh, “Seriously, though, that’s a little addictive psychedelic beverage called blue lotus wine. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t drink a drop.”

“And what if I already did?”

“Well, then you’re well and truly screwed…” Hermes grinned, mischief dancing in his dark brown eyes. He swiped the half-full glass out of your hand and knocked back the remainder of the wine in one quick gulp, his gaze never leaving yours as he deposited the empty glass on a tray carried away by one of those apparating Barbie waitresses. “And now, so am I.”

He waved over another waitress and grabbed two new glasses of wine off her tray, politely handing one to you. He brought his glass to his lips, slowly sipping at the wine as you eyed his hand wrapped around the glass, absently wondering what that seemingly delicate touch would feel like on you… There was no reason why the simple act of this man drinking hallucinatory wine should’ve been remotely sexy, but you could say the same for him in general; this shouldn’t work, but god damn, it does.

“Was that really the best idea if it’s—” you began, and he quickly cut in.

“Absolutely not, no, but if you come here to forget, you may as well do it right…” Hermes sighed, a momentary flash of resignation in his stance as he briefly let his shoulders droop. “Anyway, whatever, fuck real life. Let’s play?” he offered, running a hand through his dark hair, seemingly shaking himself out of the memory of whatever haunting reality had led him here. As a matter of fact, what had led you here?

“Sure,” you smiled, “What are we playing? I’m pretty sure I saw an arcade on my way in…”

“Come on, there’s no stakes in that! This is where the real fun’s at,” he said with a light laugh, gesturing to the craps table in front of you.

“Speak for yourself. I’ll have you know, I’m amazing at air hockey!”

“Yeah? I’m a killer at the claw machine, so go figure.”

You rolled your eyes at him, “Cute. Shame they don’t have an escape room.”

“Just as well, I’ve always been a little too good with locks… Besides, this place itself is an escape room. Only, there’s no escape…”

“Wait, what?”

“Because… You want to stay, right? What’s waiting for you outside?”

Suddenly, you found yourself struggling to answer his question. Where barely a few moments ago, everything had been so clear, now you could see a hazy cloud inside your mind as you desperately searched for the answer to no avail, almost as though that hallucinogen was beginning to hit hard… 

“Outside? What’s outside? I — I could stay here — You’re… Huh?” you stuttered, “I don’t know where else I’d go.”

Hermes sighed, glancing over at you. “Literally anywhere but here.”

“Sorry?” you questioned, brows furrowed. Had you misread his signals?

“Walk with me,” he offered, and so you obliged as he stepped towards you again. You followed his lead as he strolled on within the confines of the casino, glancing surreptitiously around as though making sure you weren’t being eavesdropped on - though you could only wonder why.

“Alright, I don’t normally do this…” he drawled, “But for some reason I’m taking a liking towards you; and all trickery aside, I don’t take unfair advantage, so here’s the secret. You ever heard of Odysseus and the Lotus Eaters?” he asked seriously; you nodded your assurance. “Well, this place is kinda like their island… Only, now it’s here in the modern world, and what better place for it than Sin City? Hence the lightness in the air and the endless supply of blue lotus wine…”

You eyed him curiously, willing him to go on and trying not to focus on his initial confession. “I guess that explains a lot. So this is… eternal psychedelic bliss?”

“Yep, that good old adrenaline and dopamine rush, forever and ever and everrrrr… Half of Olympus has tried to claim it, but nobody really knows whose work of chaotic genius this was.” He shrugged nonchalantly, not at all like he was explaining such an outlandish concept. “When you’re in a casino, time just seems to work differently - and just like that, time moves at its own distorted pace in here. Lost travellers often find their way into this place, it has that draw when you stray off your path - and that’s why I hang out here, not just to wander astray from my own shit, but to guide you back to yours. I’m not immune to this,” he raised his glass, gesturing to the wine, “But I can handle the air just fine, unlike most mortals…”

“And what if I want to get lost?” you challenged, plucking his glass out of his hand, holding his gaze as you brought the drink to your lips. His gaze remained fixed on you as he bit his own lip, his eyes flickering to your lips for a millisecond as you sipped the wine; thirsty, not dissimilar to the way you’d been eyeing him mere seconds ago.

“Mmkay, lucky for you, I have some semblance of sense about me,” Hermes said, stopping by a poker table nearby, where the players immediately cleared a spot for the pair of you. Entirely nonchalant, he swiped a deck of cards off the table, expertly shuffling it as he spoke, “So win the next deal, and I’ll get you out of here.”

“So if I lose, I’m stuck in here?” you attempted to clarify the stakes, trying not to get distracted as you watched him shuffle those cards. Hell, he had such pretty hands, what else could you do but wonder what else he could do with them?

“Pretty much.”

“And what if I ask for a better deal?”

“Better than having your real life back?”

“Yep.”

“Try me…”

“Okay. If I win, my prize is you.”

“Me? What’s the catch?”

“Nothing. Just, you and me, until not even the gods above can separate the two of us,” you teased, peak dramatic, somewhere between flirting and floating. You could get used to this, the weightless feeling of flight…

Hermes quirked a brow at you, undeniably amused. “Interesting thought, given that I’m… well, not above, per se, but one of them.”

“You’re… what now?” You tilted your head to one side, looking curiously across at him. What in the world was he on about?

He shot you a pointed stare, isn’t it obvious? But it wasn’t, until now… when it all began to make sense, slowly: what this place was, how he knew so much about it, why he had a more heightened sense of awareness despite the inherent hypnotism of the literal and metaphorical lotus flower you’d stepped into… And he could guide lost travellers out. Your jaw dropped as your hand flew to your mouth when it finally dawned upon you who and what he was, and what that entailed —

And out loud, all you could manage was a whisper; “Oh, my god…”

The Greek god in front of you heaved a dramatic sigh, aiming a playful eye-roll in your direction. “Please, like I haven’t heard that one before,” he chuckled lightly, the sarcasm heavy in his tone.

And so you let him deal your hand and you played, stopping every so often to laugh, for Hermes was surprisingly fun to be around and perhaps staying here with him wouldn’t be so bad… Only, this couldn’t be his permanent residence. He was the god of travel, it made sense that he never hung around one place long enough to settle. It was obvious he had a natural charisma about him that clearly worked in his favour more than once; and not that it really mattered, but you absently wondered how many like you had crossed paths with him before, and the past baggage he’d been trying to forget was certainly not lost on you…

He had his right arm slung casually around your shoulder, his left occupied by his cards, not caring if you could see them. You tried your level best to stay focused; for you were feeling a little lightheaded by now, a combination of the wine and the strong scent of his cologne… He was close, enough that you could pick up the gentle sweet notes beneath the woody cedar scent he wore.

“All in?” you suggested, nudging your chips toward the centre of the table, glancing up at the literal god beside you.

“I am if you are,” Hermes smirked, pushing his own ridiculous amount of chips into the pot beside yours.

The game went on; and as if out of nowhere, thanks to a sudden turn in your luck and a surprise royal flush - which if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve attributed to him - you had finally won. Caught up in the daze, you stepped up onto your toes and threw your arms around his neck in an excited hug. He was momentarily taken aback by it, but quickly regained enough composure to gently wrap his arms around you. His soft touch bore a pleasantly startling contrast to his mischievous demeanour, and you found yourself not wanting to let go.

“Well played…” he congratulated you in that same teasing tone as he gently drew you back, briefly glancing at his watch and tapping two fingers against the side of the dial.

Perhaps you would’ve wondered why, but spurred on by your victory and high off the adrenaline, you hooked one finger in the gold chain around his neck and gently tugged at it to urge him closer, until the distance between you was barely a hair’s breadth. You could feel the warmth radiating off him in waves, his intense cologne flooding your senses. And suddenly it didn’t faze you that you were in public, and you paid no mind to the way all his casino companions were frozen around you instead of continuing their games… Suddenly, all you wanted was him. 

Was it blasphemous to lust after a god?

Hell, you could deal with the consequences of that later, for right now, his magnetism was pulling you in and you couldn’t bear to look away from those deep, dark brown eyes… Until Hermes leant closer to you and his soft lips brushed yours as he spoke, barely above a whisper yet you could hear him clearly despite the noise, “Not at all…”

Your breathing hitched, at his comment, at his proximity, at… everything about this. How the fuck did he know what you’d been thinking? 

Perhaps you’d dwell on that longer, but just then he reached up to cup your cheek. Though unexpectedly tender, his touch was white hot where his skin met yours, but pleasurably so as you let yourself get lost in it, in him… He pressed his lips to yours in two delicate little pecks, clearly just teasing, and you just about caught sight of his smirk before you stepped up onto your toes to kiss him again, for real this time. His other hand smoothly dropped to your waist, holding you against him and you pulled at his chain with your finger still caught in it, curling your other fist in the soft cotton of his hoodie.

Apparently, even the gods weren’t immune to carnal need, and Hermes was evidently faring no better than you; he gave in to the kiss quickly, all but melting into you, his tongue swiping insistently at your bottom lip, and you weren’t about to stop him. You parted your lips for him, granting him access instead of prolonging this teasing that had left you both desperate. He tasted of something indescribably sweet, mixed with the rich taste of the blue lotus wine that you’d both downed not so long ago, and you already knew he was a far better intoxicant than any drink you’d find here… As he deepened the kiss, his tongue brazenly tasting yours, borderline hungry; you saw a flash of light behind your eyelids, gripped by the feeling that you were flying, all for a mere moment before you became hyperaware of his heated touch and the fact that your feet were still firmly planted on the soft floral-patterned carpet of the casino.

It felt like time had frozen, the world had stopped around you, and nothing mattered except for him and you and the most perfect kiss you’d ever had…

But somehow, instead of clouding your thoughts like you’d expected, you drew back from his kiss with some clarity. Hermes had told you he could never lose. So why, then, had you just managed to win this? You were no expert when it came to these games, and he was clearly a well-seasoned gambling master… Had the notorious trickster god manipulated the deal in your favour? Had he purposely thrown this away for you?

The glimmer in his eyes only looked brighter as you separated, yet somehow those deep browns looked darker, lust clearly getting the better of him; and he made no effort to hide it, despite his small smile and the lightest hint of a blush on his cheeks. You were fairly sure you mirrored it all, and you were in no hurry to let him go…

Only, as the world began to come back into focus, you realised time really had stopped around you: everything and everyone in the casino was frozen, and you glanced up at the god in front of you with a mix of curiosity and fear in your eyes. “When you said you could stop time…” you began, still in disbelief.

Hermes nodded slowly, meeting your gaze with that characteristic smirk. “Yeah, I meant that literally. I may have had a running out of time crisis once, hence… this stolen life-saver,” he explained, raising his wrist to show you his watch - now upon closer inspection, you realised the hour, minute and second hands all pointed to 12, and he hovered a finger over a button at the side of the dial. “It’s up to you. Want me to bring it back?”

You shook your head. Not only did that beautiful gold timepiece look unfairly gorgeous on his wrist; it also held a piece of magic that could be incredibly useful… “No,” you whispered, “I’m in no hurry. Let’s make this last…”

You tilted your chin up towards him again, and he obliged you with another sweet little kiss. “Well, then… Perhaps I could show you some of the wonders of existing beyond space and time…” he murmured, “What d’you say to that?”

“I say, make time stop for us a little longer. Take me to another world, Hermes…”

The look he shot you just then, could’ve brought you to your knees on the spot - somehow you just knew he was fixated on the sound of his name as you whispered it, and you wondered how he could make you feel that just from a simple touch.

“C’mon, sweetheart; let’s get out of here,” Hermes suggested, offering you an arm; you linked your arm through his as he tapped the side of his watch, resuming the world around you as if it had never paused at all. 

You gazed up at him in awe as he led you out of the casino, back to the lobby and towards the opening of the blooming flower you’d walked in through. The humid summer air hit you both as you stepped outside together, thereby breaking the spell - but you were still captivated by him, regardless. He briefly let go of you to do away with his warm hoodie, leaving him in just a fitted white t-shirt that had no business looking so goddamn gorgeous on him.

You couldn’t help but smile as he hummed softly in your ear, “There’s a place I know in a nearby park…”

Part 2 via AO3 (blasphemous smut ahead)

[genericpuff]

to add to that last ask about highlights, can you explain how you think the colors don't work now? bc as far as I can tell the colors for the background and characters are still the same as they were in s1, but they for some reaosn don't work now. is because of the lack of values? the lack of shading and highlights? no use of textures? you can explain it better than me

A lot of it comes down to color theory and lack of proper rendering.

Concerning the colors, they definitely aren't the exact same as they were back in S1. Someone on reddit actually did a far better visual breakdown of it than I have time to put together, so full credit goes to /u/LowPHvinegar for the following images!

There's this problem with the undertones and shading used now that makes the characters look very 'plastic'. Before they looked ethereal, now they look rubbery and artificial. And there are a few reasons for this, one of which includes how Rachel shades the comic now compared to S1.

There's also the backgrounds themselves. LO's always been minimal in its backgrounds, but they used to have loads of texture, lighting effects, and glow.

(seriously, when was the last time we got an iconic panel like this? So many of the panels in S3, even the ones that TRY to feel 'iconic', don't come anywhere near the level of the S1 art that was truly memorable).

Rachel's also clearly uh... checked out of the comic in a way that shows through her lineart specifically. Rachel's old art is known for having very thick, varying, distinct lines, and there's been a lot less of that lately.

Rachel's lineart:

Who the fuck:

And what happens when the backgrounds stop pulling their weight? The colors look even worse.

The void backgrounds, unlike in S1, have been VERY muddy and dry. So it makes those hyper-saturated colors look even MORE saturated and ugly.

Now, to Rachel's credit, there have been more backgrounds as of late:

But see how the characters still look whack? It feels like Rachel's making attempts to address the criticism while still avoiding the massive elephant in the room - she's not putting in the same efforts anymore and any efforts she does make feel performative and hollow, and it shows. And this happens a lot with Rachel attempting to address criticism, she's trying to address a specific point that isn't taking into account the larger picture where the grander point is coming from. It feels very "SEE! SEE!" while turning a blind eye to everything else.

And yeah, it means even using some of the same colors from S1 can't and won't save the comic from looking like cheap reproduced garbage. Because just using those colors on their own is missing the forest for the trees, the old colors were only part of a much larger thing. Lore Olympus used to be the sum of its parts - now all those parts have been smashed up with a hammer and left in a mess on the floor, and Rachel is simply trying to pick up those individual parts and call it "fixed".

Frankly, until she understands this and is willing to play a more active part in creating the comic genuinely and with real effort that isn't purely performative or meant to "get back" at her critics, then what LO used to have will forever remain a mess on the floor.

[trashogram]

I have to ask for that devil summoning sexy roleplay scenario with our dear Luci.

Kinktober Day Twenty-Nine — Roleplay

Warnings: Demon Sex, Blood, Ritual Hodgepodge

In a circle of salt with Summoning Demons for Dummies in your lap, you watched the candles flicker all around you. Their light cast shades and shadows on the attic walls, the kind that stretched and morphed into frightening creatures if you looked too long.

You winced, squirming on the floor as if you might be able to escape the oozing cut on your leg. Blood glistened in the soft crush of light, sliding down your knee until a drop fell to the floor.

The entire room groaned.

Something appeared in the corner of your eye — something too bright and moving — but it fled before you could turn and view it properly. The trick flipped to the other side of the room, evading you when you faced it. You sucked in the icy air, skin fraught with horripilation as you felt your control of the situation slipping through your fingers like sand.

Rain splattered against the oval window of your room, the only other sound to rival the sudden scrabble of something else in front of you.

Yellow eyes illuminated before you, stopping your heart in your chest. They hung suspended in a darkness too full of ichor to be real, untouched by light until it was blacker than black.

“Curious.” The voice was an overlap of tones, hushed and high and low and deafening. You felt it raise your flesh and crawl inside, tickling over your nerve-endings as it slithered inside and up your bones.

“What is?” You couldn’t move, chest heavy as a lead weight.

The eyes rolled over your body, red slits glowing like ruby crevices. “You’re such a soft thing. I could tear you apart like wet paper.”

Your torso jerked back violently, ignoring the meek protest in the back of your mind. The Summoning instructions stressed the importance of remaining calm as much as they did staying in your circle. Your reaction was so telling, you felt the rumble build up to shake the floorboards before you heard the demon’s laughter.

“Does that scare you, sweetheart?”

The darkness spreads like a living thing before you can blink. It moves like water, quickly flooding every inch of free space it can reach while that yellow stare closes in on you. The candles around you blow out one by one, shadows disappearing in the overflow of tangible night.

It chills you. Your eyes are so wide in your skull, yet you can hardly comprehend the change. The demon has bathed your attic in total darkness, save for where you sit in your silly little circle.

Golden sickle eyes regard you like a joke. You’re nothing but an amusement to toy with, a mouse scared to death while at the mercy of a clever feline.

“It does scare you.” The demon teases. “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

You dig your nails into the flesh of your thigh, trying to center yourself. Taking a breath, you picture your skin turning into a diamond hide. Invincible.

“I brought you here to do my bidding.” You stated. “You cannot act without my permission, and I will command you at my will.”

A kernel of something, youthful and lilting, sounded through the layers of the demon’s laughter. An image sprung to mind, of a young man with silvery-blond hair and rosy cheeks. And with that came the unbidden thawing of your heart.

The demon stopped laughing, claws crackling over the wood floor as it moved at the edge of the salt line.

“Command me then, Sinner.” That youthful tenor solidified, backed by whispers.

Lucifer had dragged you across the floor and underneath him, still mostly camouflaged by the darkness as he dove down to claim your lips.

You had broken the salt circle of your own accord, wriggling your toes through it like sand. The Devil had taken his chance to snatch you, groping your ass and lifting you up to . Whatever empty platitudes he’d rehearsed to coax you out and continue the game were abandoned when he plunged his dick into your weeping cunt.

The King couldn’t help but cry out at the feeling of you wrapped around his sheath. His overgrown claws raked down your alright sliced thighs at your answering squeal, creating lines of blood to glide down your soft skin.

You’d pleaded with him to handle you roughly, to scratch you up.

‘Just a little bit.’ You had mumbled into his neck in between hickies.

You knew just how to drive him to madness, take him into your arms and drink him up. Lucifer went cross-eyed as your hand came into view, wet with your own blood.

“Just a little bit.” You smirked with slivered eyes, moaning as Lucifer obeyed, curling his forked tongue around your fingers.

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 18 - Body Modification

Ghost x Soap - 4.9k (on ao3)

summary: Johnny's tattoo artist doesn't give him the design they'd agreed on. (Johnny POV)

cw: noncon!!, trans johnny, kinda mirror sex, implied future kidnapping

“It looks great!” Johnny confirms as he looks down at the design Ghost holds up for him. 

It’s the very bottom of what will become a full back piece further down the line, but Ghost had explained that for a piece as large as the one Johnny was looking for he’d have to get it done in sections. He mostly knew that - his sleeves hadn’t been done in one day, after all - but he also hadn’t been expecting to have one full section done with nothing anywhere else. Maybe lining, then color, then shading, but he trusts Ghost’s process.

Johnny’s been going to Ghost’s tattoo parlor - 141 Ink - since he was twenty-two and drunk off his ass, looking for anything fun to do after a night out with Kyle. The two of them had stumbled into the tattoo shop close to midnight, half-way to blacking out already, and gotten themselves a pair of matching tattoos. The owner of the shop, the eternally grouchy John Price, had talked them down from matching rifles on their thighs to a pair of puzzle pieces on their ankles - something to laugh at in the morning, not something to start saving up for a cover-up after seeing.

Johnny had come back a week later to get something done on his kneecap - a skull with an open jaw - and the only artist open for walk-ins had been Ghost. He’d thought the man hated him for most of the process when he didn’t respond to any of Johnny’s attempts at small talk or jokes, so the next time he planned to get something done he’d scheduled an appointment with Price. But when he got there he was told his artists had been switched, and that Ghost would be working on his piece instead. He was almost as quiet as the first time, but the tattoo came out perfectly, and Johnny figured it was a fair trade.

Ghost has done all of Johnny’s ink since - the matching kneecap, both of his full sleeves, and now the start of his back piece. It hasn’t even occured to Johnny to try finding someone else to work on him. He’s working up the nerve to get a tongue piercing done, but the idea of having Ghost so close to his face with his fingers in Johnny’s mouth… he’s got to get his rampant crush under control a bit more before that can happen.

“Good,” Ghost grunts, nodding over to the leather chair set up in the middle of his office. “Shirt off, pants down, chest to the back of the chair.”

Johnny’s already pulling his shirt off before what Ghost said registers, and he pauses halfway to the chair, laughing a little awkwardly. “Sorry- pants down?”

Ghost makes a noise that Johnny interprets as yes, idiot. He’s never had to fully take his pants off for a tattoo before but… well, he’s also never had his lower back tattooed. So he trusts Ghost, kicking off the sweats he’d worn in preparation for a long day.

“Boxers too, Johnny. Come on, we don’t have all day.”

Johnny blushes as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, hesitating with a thumb hooked in the fabric of his underwear.

“Uh, you’re sure-?”

Ghost sighs, raising his head from where he’d been preparing his ink and shooting Johnny an unimpressed look. “Don’t get prudish, MacTavish. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

That’s not actually reassuring, but Ghost’s dismissive tone makes Johnny feel… well, not more comfortable necessarily, but more like he was the one being weird in this situation. He takes a deep breath and quickly takes his black boxers off, folding them on top of the rest of his clothes and quickly straddling the chair. He hasn’t mentioned his transition to Ghost before, but there’s a pride flag hanging in the shop’s lobby, so he knows he’s at the very least not a bigot.

“I’m not a prude,” he defends, wrinkling his nose as he glances in Ghost’s direction to see if he’s looked at Johnny yet. “I’d bet I’m more than you could handle.” 

A snort from Ghost, and Johnny resists the urge to look over again and see if he’s wearing one of those half-smiles. “That’s a good joke, Johnny. You might have a career in comedy.”

Johnny rolls his eyes, smiling. “Yeah, real funny, Ghost.”

He shifts a little in the chair - he’s uncomfortably exposed like this, despite the banter. With one leg on each side of the chair, he’s spread just enough for his cheeks to part and a cool breeze to blow over very sensitive areas. He has to hover a little awkwardly to avoid just pressing his spread folds to the leather. It takes a bit of wiggling for him to lay a bit more comfortably as he speaks, but he isn’t able to quite shake the feeling of being too exposed. 

Ghost lays a hand on Johnny’s shoulder as he sits on a stool behind him, and Johnny can’t help but jump a bit at the sudden contact.

“Steady,” Ghost commands. “You’re fine.” He pushes down with just enough force that Johnny is pressed to the chair, and he winces a bit at the shock of cold from the leather

“Easy for you to say,” Johnny snorts, shaking out his shoulders and trying for levity even as goosebumps race down his arms. “You’ve still got your drawers on.”

Ghost laughs a little in response, and Johnny counts it as a win.

“You want me naked too, Johnny? Gotta pay extra for that.”

Johnny’s glad they’re not facing each other so he doesn’t have to fight down the heat rising in his cheeks. “Och, I’m paying you to get me naked here, and I’ve got to give you even more for some reciprocation? Feels unfair, Ghost.”

“You’re paying me to stab hundreds of needles into your skin for a pretty picture,” Ghost corrects, the machine buzzing to life. “Now settle. You know it feels better when you relax.”

The innuendo there has to be intentional, but Johnny chooses - for once - to be mature and swallow all the jokes sitting on the tip of his tongue, instead sinking into the leather and forcing the tension from his muscles. He’s glad he’d shaved before coming, he’s not sure he could handle both of Ghost’s hands cleaning him up like that right now.

Johnny’s always enjoyed getting tattooed - enjoyed it maybe a little too much, honestly. He’d done a few stick and pokes in university (faded from lack of care and easily covered by the black and gray work on his arms) and knew even then that pain felt good in a way very inappropriate for the public eye. 

That fact has only been reaffirmed again and again with each tattoo he’s gotten professionally, and Johnny always finds himself trying not to squirm in the leather chair as he grows more and more slick.

He’s pretty sure he’s hidden his clenching thighs and shivery breaths from Ghost, but he tries to tamp it down as much as possible just in case. 

But sitting like he is, legs spread and completely nude, it’s a little harder to hide the way his hole starts to drip, the cool air making his t-cock twitch. He goes limp in the chair as soon as Ghost starts working, the pain a comfort despite his impending embarrassment, leaving his cunt pressed awkwardly into the seat.

Usually Johnny would talk endlessly during one of their sessions. Ghost plays at being annoyed by his rambling, but the man also got offended when Johnny mentioned another tattoo parlor across town, so he’s confident there’s at least some affection there. Plus, Johnny’s seen Ghost shut down rowdy customers without any hesitation - if he was really bothered by the endless talking, Johnny would know.

He’s not keen on babbling this time, though. Not when he feels like an exposed nerve, skin and muscle stripped away and leaving him bare. He sits with the pain, lets it sink into him, and just rides the sensation. Ghost never talks much while tattooing, so they’re left with just the sounds of Ghost’s machine buzzing.

He doesn’t bother to ask Johnny if he needs a break when he pulls away to swipe at certain areas of the tattoo. The first time Johnny had asked for one - his first sleeve, and because he needed to use the restroom - Ghost had levelled him with a distinctly annoyed look and gone back to his work without responding. Johnny had nearly pissed himself, but he hasn’t bothered asking for a break since.

It’s not like he does need one. The few seconds Ghost takes to change ink or clear some of his skin is more than enough for him to catch his breath from the pain. On one such break he shifts his legs a little closer together, squeezing the chair between his thighs. It gives his core a little more cover, makes him feel less like he’s just spread wide for Ghost to see.

Ghost grunts when he turns back to Johnny, giving the outside of his thigh a few harsh taps. “Relax again. Can’t have you tensed up like that.”

Johnny glances over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. “‘M not tense. Just putting my legs together.”

Ghost scoffs and rolls his eyes above the black surical mask. “What, like a lady? No need for modesty here, Johnny. Spread ‘em.”

Johnny goes crimson at the comparison, burying his head in folded arms while he reluctantly spreads his legs again. The wetness between them feels more obvious now, and he bites his tongue to keep from ignoring Ghost’s command.

“Good boy,” Ghost says, then goes right back to tattooing. Johnny just has to sit there and pretend those two words don’t have him leaving a puddle on the chair below him.

The session passes mostly without incident after that. Johnny’s blush never fully abates as the wetness pooling beneath him becomes more and more obvious, but Ghost doesn’t say a word about it so neither does he. The pain is easy to manage, and they’re done before he’d even expected.

Ghost is, as always, a little harsh as he wipes the fresh ink off. “Alright. Looks prettier than I expected. Wanna take a look?”

Johnny’s a little confused by that - they’d agreed on an epic battle scene for the piece, it certainly shouldn’t be pretty - but he’s excited to see the finished product, so he’s quick to hop up.

“I’m sure it’s great, Ghost,” he compliments, stretching and moving towards the mirror hanging against the wall. Before he can get far, a warm glove wraps around the nape of his neck, pointer finger and thumb squeezing. Johnny freezes, his back arching instinctually.

“You gonna leave that mess on my chair?”

The slight growl to Ghost’s voice is unfairly sexy, and Johnny prays that he doesn’t start dripping down his thigh. He tries to laugh off the humiliation at being caught once the words register. “Sorry, sorry. You got any towels?”

Ghost grunts, then muscles Johnny forward without warning. He can hardly keep track of what’s happening as he’s forced down, bent at the waist with his nose pressed to the leather, hands just barely darting forward to catch him in time.

“Be quick about it.” Ghost’s tone is dismissive, like there’s nothing out of the ordinary here.

Johnny isn’t quick. He stays like that, Ghost’s hand on his neck and hip pressed against his side, and breathes heavily with wide eyes. The puddle right in front of his mouth is tiny, but noticeable, and he feels a little choked up at the notion that Ghost had seen it.

“C’mon,” Ghost pushes his head a little further, until he makes a small noise in his throat from the sharp pressure in his nose. 

He feels a little like he’s living in a fever dream, like at some point while getting tattooed he fell into another dimension where it’s socially acceptable to bend over your naked clients without batting an eye. But Ghost’s hold is firm and unrelenting, so tentatively, Johnny sticks out his tongue.

“Good boy,” Ghost rumbles, squeezing the nape of his neck again. Not harshly, like he had before, but almost like a massage. “The rest of it now.”

Johnny shudders at the tone but listens, darting his tongue out in quick little licks to clean up the slick and sweat from the session. It doesn’t take very long, but he feels every second like a heavy weight on his shoulder.

Once he’s done, Ghost pulls his hand away. “There you go, attaboy. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Johnny doesn’t respond as he stands back up, blushing from his hairline to his chest. He can’t quite work up the nerve to glance up and see if Ghost is staring at him, instead focusing on taking a few deep breaths and stomping down the insistent throb between his legs. He probably shouldn’t be okay with what just happened, certainly shouldn’t be aroused, but his clit isn’t on the same page.

“Come have a look now,” Ghost says, laying a hand on Johnny’s shoulder and giving him a slight nudge towards the mirror. He walks over on slightly wobbly legs, heart still beating a little too fast in his chest. His mouth is dry now and he compulsively licks his lips to try and alleviate the sticky feeling on his tongue.

He’s still a bit shaky in front of the mirror, and he has to twist a little awkwardly to see the tattoo, but once he manages to get a good look his heart stops.

There, in two thick lines right over the crack of his ass, is a large bold script reading “PROPERTY OF SIMON RILEY”.

Johnny can’t quite get a breath in. He hadn’t even known Ghost’s real name - if that is Ghost’s name at least - and now… now it’s tattooed onto him. What the fuck?

“What-” he can’t even get the words out, takes a shuddering breath and tries to twist to get a better look as he starts again. “What the hell is this?”

He reaches back to run a hand over the reddened skin, like touching will make it less real, and Ghost - Simon? - catches his wrist mid-air with a tsk.

“No touching fresh ink,” he scolds. “You know better, Johnny.”

He meets Ghost’s eyes in the mirror, confusion painting every inch of his face. Ghost looks calm and collected, cocking an eyebrow just slightly.

“What the fuck?!” Johnny’s voice rises to a near shout, and he tries to yank his hand away from Ghost while throwing himself back. “You- how dare you- why- why would you do this? What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Ghost follows him when he pushes himself into the mirror, one hand dropping to grip his ass and pull his hips forward so the only part of him touching the glass are his shoulders and head.

“No touching,” he purrs, pressing their chests together and leaning so close they’re nearly nose-to-nose. “Didn’t I just say that? Someone should teach you how to listen.”

Johnny’s breath hitches in his chest and he pushes against Simon’s shoulder with his free hand. “I’m not fucking listening to you, you bastard, you’ve- you fucking mutilated me!”

Ghost scoffs and rolls his eyes, pressing even closer. “Don’t be such a drama queen. My name looks real good on you.” His voice pitches a little lower and he pulls Johnny fully off the mirror, looking over his shoulder and down at the reflection. “Yeah, fits you perfectly. Now everyone will know who you belong to, hm?”

Johnny’s in shock, that must be what this is. He’s fallen into some sort of wormhole and entered an alternate universe, and now he’s in shock. That is the only feasible explanation for his tattoo artist - who he’s only ever seen at scheduled appointments - is making a claim on him via non-consenual tattooing.

He’s pulled even further away from the mirror, left stumbling into Simon’s chest when he can’t catch his balance. Ghost grabs him by the chin and cranes his neck back around, forcing him to stare at the tattoo.

“I don’t-” Johnny cuts himself off when he can’t quite get enough breath in. His voice is almost embarrassingly quiet, but he can’t bring himself to be any louder. “Why the fuck would you do this?”

Ghost hums low in his chest, stroking his hand over the curve of Johnny’s ass and to just below the fresh ink, careful not to touch the reddend skin. “It’s easier this way. Now you and I and everyone else knows who you belong to. No more confusion.”

“There wasn’t any confusion,” Johnny protests, one hand pushing weakly at the arm holding him in place by his shoulder. “I don’t belong to anyone, let alone you. We don’t even really know each other. This isn’t- this isn’t okay.”

Ghost snarls at that, a shockingly loud animalistic noise that sets off every warning bell in Johnny’s head. He’s gone completely stiff as Ghost pulls him closer by the hand on his ass, ducking down to snap in his ear. “You’re covered in my work. You’re mine.”

He doesn’t get a chance to respond as Ghost hauls him away from the mirror, throwing his body over the leather chair in the center of the room. He’s left splayed onto his stomach with the mirror right in front of him, bent over at the waist with his ass facing towards Ghost.

Just as he gets his hands beneath him, complaint already on the tip of his tongue, a hand lands between his shoulder blades and pushes him down with such force that the air is knocked straight out of his lungs. He blinks dumbly at himself in the mirror as Ghost steps behind him, his all-black outfit a sharp contrast to Johnny’s tanned skin. 

“Wait-” Johnny starts, some primal part of him (or maybe the part of him that’s watched too much porn) knowing exactly what Ghost wants to do. “Wait, Ghost, you can’t-”

There’s a sudden, stinging pain on Johnny’s ass, and the sound of a smack echoes in his ears. It takes a minute for him to realize that Ghost spanked him.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare-” he snarls, rearing back as much as he can under Simon’s hold. He gets another harsh slap for that, then several more. Ghost lands blow after blow across his ass, each hit thudding and heavy. Johnny bites out insults he’s never used before, fighting as much as he can to no avail.

Eventually the pain sinks a little too deeply, and he goes limp beneath Ghost’s palms. That gets him a purring rumble, and the hand on his back strokes across his shoulders.

“There you go,” Ghost purrs, leaning his hips into Johnny’s reddened ass and shushing the ensuing whine. “Fight all you want, I’ll beat you into submission as many times as you need, Johnny.” He chuckles a little, pressing a kiss to Johnny’s back. “That’s what good boyfriends do, huh?”

Johnny whines at that, a little choked up. He gets his words a minute later, forcing out, “Not- not my boyfriend. You’re gonna rot in jail for this, jackass.”

“Oh?” Ghost coos, leaning to Johnny’s ear and whispering his words, like they’re just meant for him. “Will you come see me? Maybe a couple of conjugal visits from my sweet cunt on the outside?”

His free hand creeps down Johnny’s body, and he has no time to prepare for the palm suddenly stroking over him. Johnny almost dances on his feet, trying to find any way to get the stimulation off.

“St-stop!”

“Stop? But you’re so wet, baby, why would I stop? I can tell it feels good.”

“No, it doesn’t. I don’t let perverts fuckin’ touch me, get off.” He tries to throw his head back into Ghost’s shoulder, but the hand on his shoulder quickly catches him by the mohawk and yanks him back instead. Ghost’s face - mask now taken off - hovers upside down above him, a smug curl to his lips.

“Really? I think you might be a little pervert yourself. Look at how wet you are.” He delivers a quick slap to Johnny’s folds, and the wet sound is humiliating in the otherwise silent room. “You liked licking your mess up that much? Don’t worry, you’ll be cleaning up all your messes from now on. I’ll teach you how to behave properly once I take you home.”

“Home-?” Johnny blubbers a bit, wriggling around but only managing to shift a few inches in any direction. Simon works insistently at his dick, jacking and rubbing the bundle of nerves in an agonizing pattern that has Johnny dripping. 

“Yes, home, Johnny. Did you think I’d give you my ink then leave you wandering the streets?” Ghost snorts as he shifts to stand up more fully, forcing Johnny’s head forward more so he’s staring at the pair of them in the mirror again. “What if you got lost, baby? Then some horrible pervert might just scoop you up all for themselves. No, you’ll come home with me, and stay right there, safe and sound.”

Johnny’s past words - he just sort of gapes at himself in the mirror, mind still stuck thirty minutes ago, when everything still made sense. Ghost doing all this, having him bent over, rubbing his pussy in the perfect way… it doesn’t make sense. He has to bite back the confused noise wanting to escape him,  tears welling in his eyes from the restraint.

To his chagrin, Ghost notices.

“Oh, baby,” he hums, condescending tone out in full force. “You’re just so needy, huh? Need fucked so bad you’re crying over it? Don’t you worry, Johnny, will fix that for you. Here - I’ll even skip the prep.”

That hreat along with the sound of a belt being undone jolts Johnny back into his body, and he desperately pushes himself up on his hands. Simon’s grip doesn’t let him fully stand, but he manages a bit more leverage.

“No, no, Ghost, you can’t- you can’t fuck me, please-”

“Why not?” Simon just hums, perfectly at peace as his jeans fall to the floor. “Your cunt’s soaked, Johnny. Might be a bit of a stretch, but I’m sure a slut like you can take it. Price’s out, so no one will hear your cryin’ and beggin’.”

“I’m not gonna fucking cry-”

Johnny immediately proves himself a liar as Ghost pushes the head of his cock into his slick hole. He doesn’t push any further than that, but even just the head has Johnny’s arms giving out and leaving him to slump back to the chair.

Ghost is fucking massive. Johnny’s not sure he can even breathe past the stretch, his hole feeling like it’s on fire. He’s sure he’s bleeding - there’s no way something can hurt this much without blood.

He doesn’t even notice he’s crying until a hand turns his head to the side and wipes at his cheeks. “What was that?” Ghost asks, the smugness palpable in his tone. “What were you not gonna go, Johnny?”

He can’t make any sound past a whine, desperately trying to breathe through the stretch.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Ghost pulls back and rests his hands on Johnny’s hips, fingers stroking soothingly. “You’re not bleeding, so I think you can take a bit more.”

“No, no-” is all Johnny manages to gasp out before Simon moves forward, and everything he just felt is multiplied by ten.

He’s almost certain he blacks out from the first push to the press of hips against his sore ass. He feels split down the middle, like the things shoved inside of him is going to keep going forever, come right up out of his mouth and leave him in two pieces. He can feel the tip of Ghost’s cock at his fucking cervix.

By some mercy, Ghost doesn’t fuck him immediately. He coos and whisperes condescending comforts, little hums that humiliate more than they soothe.

“You’re alright, baby boy, just relax. Deep breaths, relax into it. You know how to relax for me Johnny, seen you do it beneath the machine enough time by now. Your body’s meant to take my cock, you’ll be fine. You really are a little drama queen, huh? All those pretty tears and I haven’t even started fucking you yet. You gonna be my little pillow princess, baby? Lay there and let me do all the work?”

Johnny doesn’t even try to work up the energy to respond.

“Alright,” Ghost eventually says, giving the side of Johnny’s ass a pat. “I think you’re about as comfortable as you’re gonna get. Deep breaths now, Johnny, be good for me.”

Johnny’s so deep into sensory overload, he hardly notices when Ghost pulls out. He definitely notices when he thrusts back in - the sudden punch at his cervix has him crying out, even as drained as he already feels.

Ghost chuckles behind him. “I know the pain feels good, Johnny. Just lean into it, baby, it’ll feel good soon.”

He’s right - it only takes a few well-aimed thrusts for Johnny’s body to turn even further against him. The sharp pain of a too-soon stretch is still present, but the drag of a heavy cock inside of him, the way Ghost rubs at his clit and manages to hit his g-spot, it all leaves Johnny with a slack mouth, drool dripping to the tile.

Each touch to his cervix is a shot of pain directly up his spine, but that pain just sets sparks off in his cock. He’s closest to orgasm at those moments, every press deep inside of him nearly shoving him into a pleasurable abyss.

Ghost keeps him riding the edge for a while, doesn’t give him the rush he wants so badly.

“Want to come, sweet thing?”

Against his own better thought, Johnny can’t help but gasp, “Ye-es, need it, oh god…”

“Yeah? Go on then, Johnny, beg for it.”

“Nooo,” he hiccups, hips jerking back into Ghost’s movements before he’s stilled by a harsh squeeze.

“Yes,” Ghost hisses mockingly. “You can feel good once you start to behave. Now come on, beg for it.”

Johnny bites his lip, determined not to give in.

He barely lasts two more thrusts before he can’t take it any longer, riding the knife’s edge of an orgasm driving all rationality out of his head.

“Alright, okay, please, please, need to come so bad, Ghost. Come on, please let me come? I’m right fucking there, I can’t- I can’t fucking breathe, please, ‘m gonna die, needta come, please, please…”

Another laugh from behind him, and somehow the fucking gets even rougher.

“You’re gonna die? There’s my favorite little performer, you just need it so bad don’t you?”

“Yes! Please, please, please-”

“Alright, alright, I hear you.” If Johnny were anything less than completely cockdrunk, he’d have the wherewithal to be offended by how non-chalant Simon manages to sound. “That was a good start, baby. I’ll teach you how to beg properly once you’re home, okay? You can go ahead and come, c’mon, let your cunt milk me.”

Like his brain is already trained to obey Simon’s every whim, Johnny comes as soon as the words are out of Ghost’s mouth. He feels shattered by his orgasm, his vision whiting out as he screams from the pleasure. He clenches down so strongly on Ghost that the stretch feels like too much again, and the sparks of pain just prolong his orgasm.

“There you go,” Ghost moans, hips pumping slowly into Johnny’s snatch. “Gonna make me come, baby.”

He’s got just enough presence of mind to whine at that. “Not- not inside…”

“Not inside?” Ghost almost sounds offended. “What, you want me to come on your back? Johnny, you just got a tattoo done. You want me to give you an infection? No, no, you’re gonna keep my come nice and safe in your cunt. Say, thank you, Simon.”

Johnny whines at the first spurts of come painting his insides.

“No - not quite,” Ghost leans his weight over Johnny’s back, panting heavily. “Try-try again, baby. Come on, be good for me.”

The words don’t encourage Johnny much, but the series of sharp taps to his sensitive clit do that trick.

“Ow- ow, fuck, th-thank you, Simon…” he gasps out, squriming against the pain and then moaning as Ghost just shifts further into him.

There’s a long, content sigh over him. “Good boy,” Ghost praises, then huffs a laugh at the clench of Soap’s cunt. 

They lay there in silence for several long moments, both of them slowly sinking back into their bodies. Johnny stares with half-lidded eyes at the mirror, still partly unable to really grasp what just happened.

 Eventually, Simon pulls out, shushing Johnny’s whine and wince at the sensation.

“We’re done now, Johnny, stop your cryin’. You’re gonna be alright.”

Looking at the pair of them in the mirror - Johnny, soaked in sweat, tears, and come, and Ghost, standing tall and proud seemingly without a care in the world - he can’t help but doubt the words.

But he doesn’t have the energy to think about the future right now, it’s all been fucked out of him. So Johnny lets his eyes drift shut, figuring that things surely couldn’t be any worse when he wakes up.

[tourettesdog]

Concept:

Danny and his friends go missing and Jazz (werewolf, cause vibes) starts exploring the GZ to find him. She's never been there before and only has a journal Danny left behind to go off of as she tries to navigate who is friend and foe. 

Wulf eventually becomes her travel companion.

I also wrote a story blurb to go with this (using speech to text while I worked on the shading lol) Word count: 1532 Warnings: isolation

A frigid wind wrapped around her, stirring the snow and ice. Jazz had never much liked the cold, always preferring relaxing spring days and warm summer nights. Always a bit too cold in their house, where the chill from the lab seemed to creep its way into each corner.

The cold didn't bother her as much now. It hadn't for a long while, not with thick fur to guard against the chill. Still, in the endless field of snow, even her thick pelt did very little to ward off the freezing temperature. 

It stung at her ears, lashed at her snout, and worked its way through the tough pads of her feet until they were numb. The specter speeder lay behind her, the metal hull already being swept beneath the wind-tossed snow.

This was it, Jazz thought. She had finally found her most promising lead, made her way to the far icy reaches of the Far Frozen that Danny's journal mentioned with such reverence, and here she would fall.

Lost in an endless expanse of snow. Buried where none would find her. Forgotten, even by the ghosts.

Lost like Danny was.

Jazz stumbled onward, focusing only on putting one foot before the other. It was all she could do. She could see nothing, save for the white glare of snow, dappled with a green and blue hue that swirled and rippled with the flow of the ectoplasmic sky.

It was beautiful, in its own way. In the strange way that an abstract painting could be beautiful, with its hapless array of colors and shapes. Jazz stared up at it, wondering if it would be the very last thing she ever saw.

Wondering if it was the last thing Danny might have seen.

She still didn't even know if he was in the Ghost Zone. She still didn't know where to start looking for him. Every ghost she had met so far, from the cruel to the kind, had no leads.

No one had seen Danny and his friends, or at least no one was willing to say that they had.

Her legs ached with the effort of sifting through the snow. Great weights dragged at her each step, and it was all Jazz could do to make another. She wanted to rest. She wanted to turn around and go back to the specter speeder, sinking into the seats where she might find at least a trace of warmth.

Jazz turned her head to look for the speeder, but she could no longer see it. She hadn't gone very far, yet the one thing tethering her to the outside world had left,  lost to the swirling white snow.

She took another step.

When jazz was ten-years-old there had been a large blizzard in Amity Park. It happened in late February, just after Valentine's Day, and had buried the town in a sea of snow. Jazz remembered how excited Danny was when it first started to snow. He was gleeful that they had a few days off of school and was prepared to throw himself into the snow with Tucker and Sam for the duration of it.

He hadn't had much time to enjoy that snow.

(Not that Time ever cared how much it gave to Danny.)

The ice on the power lines had left them without power, and without a stove to cook on the already-questionable meals that Maddie prepared became even more so. They huddled up by the fireplace with blankets, staying as warm as they could, but Danny still managed to get sick .

(He was never very lucky.)

Those five days off of school hadn't meant much when Danny spent the majority of them lying in bed, shivering and coughing, and Jazz spent that time worrying over him while their parents worked by candlelight in the lab.

Tears welled at the corners of Jazz's eyes and she couldn't be sure if they were from the sting of the wind or the ache in her chest. 

She took another step.

Jazz wondered what the Far Frozen yetis were like. Danny had described them quite a lot in his journal, much more than many of the other ghosts, and much more kindly at that. He had mentioned a Frostbite, a massive yeti with a frozen arm. He sounded nice, though the name 'Frostbite' felt awfully cruel and ironic to her now.

Maybe they would find her, at least. If she couldn't find Danny, if she was truly doomed to freeze, maybe this Frostbite would find her and be able to give Danny some closure.

(The same closure Jazz so desperately sought now, if nothing else.)

Jazz's chest constricted with a cold that had nothing to do with the frozen tundra around her, just imagining Danny endlessly searching for her.

(Following in her lost footsteps, she supposed.)

Jazz would sooner consign herself to endlessly wander the Far Frozen than she would have Danny fruitlessly search for her.

(And what if her own search was fruitless to begin with? What if she had thrown her life away searching for not even a ghost?)

The horizon blurred together, the crisp white snow melting with the hazy green of the sky until it was all a swirl in her mind. Ectoplasm and ice, every bit a reminder of who she had failed to protect.

Jazz tried to take another step, but her knees buckled.

She hoped that, wherever Danny was, he still had Sam and Tucker beside him. They were always close. Always willing to have each other's backs, no matter what stakes they were facing. 

Jazz wished she could have been a part of that more. Maybe then she would have found Danny sooner. 

They could have been home already, wherever home was now.

The snow piled around Jazz. She no longer had the energy to stand, and hardly had enough to sit up.

Maybe she'd return as a ghost, at least. There was certainly enough ectoplasm to sustain her as one here, and Jazz felt enough aching desire to keep going that she thought it more than possible.

Maybe she'd just rest for a little while. Sink into the snow, which was already blanketing her more and more as she slumped into the drift.

Surely, Danny was never this cold. A cold beyond cold, sinking into a hollow numbness that had Jazz's mind drifting with the wind.

The sky shifted, the sea of green above flickering with streaks of deep blue, an aurora borealis if ever she saw one. 

She remembered how Danny had described it in his journal. He hadn't done it much justice .

The snow shifted, warping, moving. Jazz could hardly keep her eyes open, her thoughts slipping with the drifts of snow.

She wondered what sort of ghost a werewolf would make. Danny had mentioned a wolf ghost in his journal, though Jazz couldn't be sure if he was a werewolf in life or had simply taken that form upon his death. Ghosts could be strange like that.

The roar of the wind was distant, hardly more than a whisper now. Jazz thought she could hear the crunch of snow and the echo of voices lost on the wind.

At least she would get to rest. Maybe not for a long while, but enough time to shut her eyes before she accepted whatever form fate would give her.

Eyes shut, numb to the strange world around her, the snow swallowed Jazz whole.

Warmth. She couldn't remember the last time she felt warm, lost in the zone without a sun to warm her back. Jazz had grown used to the cold, even before the snow of the Far Frozen claimed her. 

And yet she was warm. 

Jazz could remember falling into the snow, accepting her fate… and yet she was warm .

Opening her eyelids was a Herculean task, made no easier by the bright glare that welcomed her bleary sight. Jazz shut her eyes tight again, groaning as she turned her head to the side.

A murmured voice reached her ears, followed by another. Jazz heard a creaking sound and felt the air shift beside her.

She tried once again to open her eyes, this time squinting and finding that the glare had diminished somewhat.

"I'm pleased to see that you are awake at last," a voice said. It was a low rumble, almost more of a growl than a humanoid voice, but the words rang through clearly, as kind and gentle as any voice so deep could be.

Slowly, aching moments that stretched on for ages, the world swam into view. Rich blue hues, underscored by vibrant whites. Fractals of ice, deliberately shaped around dark stone. It looked as though they were in some sort of cave, though it had been altered into a living space with draping furs and woven tapestries.

A hulking form sat beside her. If Jazz ever thought that there was a creature fit to be called a yeti, it was them. He had snowy fur with gray markings, a cloak of deep blue, and icy horns that matched a frozen arm. 

Frostbite. The name suited him; he was every bit the ghost Danny described in his journal. 

[observeowl]

Second Chance | Chapter 12 - A Slip

Series masterlist

“Sorry for having to postpone the meeting time, guys.” Wanda said as she took off her bag and sat down at the seat that was saved for them.

“No problem at all.” Steve shook his head. “Clint said you were inviting Y/N?” He asked when your presence was nowhere to be seen. 

“I did. But she said she wanted to get as much rest as she could before an early day tomorrow.” Wanda relayed your explanation. 

“Wise choice. Y/N is always going for the morning session for archery.” Clint said, knowing the schedule. 

“That’s something you’re missing, Clint, being able to make good decisions.” Maria teased.

Clint gasped and placed a hand in front of his chest in faux hurt feelings. “Forgive me for wanting to hang out with my friends.”

As the whole gang was here, they began ordering food and drinks, excited to be able to spend time with their friends and learn about other’s experiences in school. Even though they may be attending the same school and overlapping modules, there was a whole lot more to explore outside of class. Once they had lined their stomachs, they began ordering heavier drinks, and Natasha could be seen drinking faster than anyone else. 

As with any alcohol involved, people start speaking loudly and nonsense starts coming out of everyone’s mouth. Lots of complaints start coming out and even if they feel strongly about it then, nothing would be done when they are sober. 

At the end of the meeting, Steve made sure that everyone has a way of getting home to their dorms or home. Natasha, not being able to stand on her own feet, had to be brought back to her dorm by Maria. 

“Nat, come on, I need your keys.” Maria grumbled when they arrived at her door. It was hard to balance Natasha with one arm when she wasn’t staying still and trying to reach for her keys in her bag. More than half the time, Nat’s roommate was nowhere to be found and Nat kinda scored in that department, having more space and privacy for herself. “Why do you have to drink so much today? You always end up needing help to get to bed.” Maria dropped Nat on the bed before shaking her limbs. 

“Y/N… I’m sorry…” Natasha mumbled into her pillow but Maria caught it. “I’m so sorry…” She ignored what Natasha said and moved her under the cover. Once she was sure that everything was settled, she made sure to lock the door before leaving. 

===

The next morning, Natasha was woken up by her alarm incessant ringing. Feeling like her head was loaded with bricks, she shut it off without looking at the time. “Fuckkk…” She held her head when she sat up. Usually Natasha would head to class even if she was late, but she decided to skip this time. She can afford to miss a few lessons with her current knowledge. 

She looked around, noticing that her roommate didn’t come back from last night again. If not for the huge ass sign at the wall, she would have forgotten her name with the amount of time they met. “God, Natasha, why did you drink so much?” She pulled herself up to the washroom to freshen up and get changed into her gym clothes. If she cleans up quickly, she can still make it to the gym in the morning session where there are less people around. The school’s gym was definitely great but it’s often occupied by those dragon boaters or law students who seemed to focus on bulking as much as memorising their statues. 

Natasha got on an empty treadmill at the end of the lane and began her warm up for ten minutes before moving to the weights for some bicep curls. She was going for endurance instead of a fixed number of sets. After working up a sweat and her grey shirt turned a darker shade, she stopped and moved onto some squats and lunges. 

More people started streaming in and Natasha decided that continuing on without eating would not be a wise choice. She returned the weights and before making her way back to the dorm, maybe she’ll head home to see how Yelena’s doing. 

“Nat!” She turned her head to Maria's voice at the hall. 

“Maria? What are you doing here?” She knew the class was still ongoing. “Did we just leave Clint alone in class today without telling him?” 

“It’s time he learned some independence. That guy needs to build some backbone.” Maria shrugged as she approached Natasha. “We haven’t been on a date for a while, shall we?”

Natasha looked dazed at Maria before replying. “S-sure, do you want to come in and wait? I have to shower after a session in the gym.” Natasha unlocked the door to her room and invited Maria in. “I’ll be quick.”

Maria sat at the edge of her bed, looking around this time with more light in the room. Natasha was the definition of organised mess. Her things are laid everywhere, but you could see how things were sectioned. Her hoodie you’d often see her wearing hanging at the back of a chair. There weren’t any sentimental things hanging at her wall or any cork board pinned with pictures. “Hey sorry for waiting.” 

“It’s not a problem.” 

“Do you have anywhere in mind you want to go?” Natasha asked as she chose a jacket to wear from her closet. 

“I was thinking about the new place that opened in the school grounds. They serve curry katsu of sorts.” 

“Sure, let’s go there.”

There were quite a lot of people since it was a new store and the lack of good cheap food around the school. Thankfully, not all of them had their food in the store, and they were able to get a table. The restaurant had a simple menu, and with a quick glance, both of them were able to decide what they wanted. 

“Are you alright?” Maria asked as they waited. 

“What?” 

“You seemed off yesterday. You normally have more control over how much you drink. It’s like you’re trying to forget some things.” 

“Well-” Natasha was trying to figure something to say where their buzzer sounded, indicating to them to collect their food from the counter. “There’s nothing much, actually. It’s just the usual stress of work and friendship.” Natasha said as they got ready to dig in. “It’s like what Clint said yesterday. There’s only so much time in a day, so how do you divide your time between your friends and work?” 

“There’s a lot of answers to that question. I could say it depends on where your passion lies. I could also say it depends on what makes you happy. After all, the whole point of everything we do in life is to be happy in the end. If you’re miserable in your choice, then there’s no point being there. If you start to think of some other things other than the person in front of you, then I’d say you’re at the wrong place.”

“Wow…” Natasha dragged. “Did you think about this before? This was surprisingly very in-depth.” She only shrugged her shoulders and continued eating. 

“I’m planning to specialise in family law. And hopefully, be able to rescue more than separate.” 

That caught Natasha by surprise. She knew Maria took up corporate law in the end with her. “I thought you would venture into corporate law.” 

“I’m looking at both.” 

Natasha nodded, unsure if she was changing the history here. But should she be worried about that? The fact that Y/N and her aren’t together has opened up lots of different paths the universe could go. “Do you want to come over to my house? I was planning to see how Yelena’s doing.” 

“Sure, this is her first year at Uni, right?” 

The food wasn’t anything to rave about, but it was something new and interesting. Something that could satisfy students on a budget. They finished up their food, and Natasha drove them both to her house.  

It wasn’t a long ride but enough to make Natasha get a dorm near the school to save on those minutes of travelling each day. 

“It’s a nice neighbourhood.” Maria said when she surveyed the area. “Nice and quiet.”

“Yeah, well, everyone knows most people around here. It’s hard to keep eyes away.” Natasha provided. Parking her car by the road, she was stopped by Maria, who wanted to bring up something important. 

===

“Yelena! Check the driveway! I think your sister is here.” Melina shouted from the kitchen for her daughter. Yelena perked up before looking at her window from the second level to see that Natasha was indeed here with her friend. Hearing the thundering steps from above, Melina knew she was right. 

“Hey!” Yelena shouted as she opened the door, planning to scare her sister and her friend, but Natasha was seen standing alone in front of her car when she did. “Where did your friend go? I thought I saw her.” Yelena approached her sister, who was standing there in a daze. 

“She had to leave. She remembered something important.” 

“Why are you standing here then? Being a tree? You are really getting weirder by the day. Is that what Uni does to you? Is it contagious? Should I drop out?” Yelena looked at her sister weirdly before distancing herself.

“You get over here!” Natasha was not going to allow Yelena to trample all over her like this. “I’ll destroy you before Uni gets to.” They started play fighting in the house until Melina told them to stop, but not without making weird faces at each other. 

“Nat, we love you being here. But aren’t you supposed to be in school?” It was the middle of the week, and there were times when Nat wouldn’t return home during the weekends. 

“Class was cancelled.” She went to the fridge to get a glass of cold water to get away when Alexis came in. 

“Ahh, Natasha!! My eldest is back!” He loves to announce his arrival loudly as he goes to hug Natasha. “Did you already finish school?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. It has just passed half of the semester, she still has another month and a half to go.” Melina came to her rescue as she tried to get out of her father’s embrace. Natasha quickly used this chance to retreat to her room, far away from any questions and stares. 

===

“Diana and I are going to the club on Friday before the presentations and heavy lifting start. Do you want to give clubbing a try?” Camellia asked you before the professor came in. You agreed, thinking it could be a new experience. Previously, you rejected, not feeling confident enough to enter and enjoy the loud music, drunkards and how easily it was to lose someone. However, you had to attend a few while working to entertain your supervisors and managers. 

“Great! Diana’s brother will drive us there, so let’s meet at her house around 7 pm.”

You weren’t able to pay attention in class that day, having to wake up at 5 in the morning. You thought the short rest between the end of Archery and class would be sufficient, but clearly, your body was asking for more. An hour in, your eyes were already fighting sleep. When the professor finally announced a break, you placed your head down, ready for the short and sweet 15-minute break. 1 hour down, 2 more to go. 

===

You didn’t think much about it when you accepted the invitation to go. Now that you have rested and are more rational, you remember there were hardly any items of clothing you owned that were suited for clubbing. You wouldn’t want to be the only one to look like fish out of the water. 

You ransacked your closet for something more appropriate. Something that would be considered revealing to you, but normal for them. After adjusting them numerous times, you were ready to head out after telling your parents where you were going. “Don’t go to sleep so early! I may need a ride back!” You heard them complain jokingly before agreeing as you stepped out the door. 

“Don’t do anything stupid that you’d regret!” Your mother said.

Diana’s brother drove us to the popular club that was having free entries for the middle of the week, knowing that there would be fewer people taking up that promotion. 

Regardless, there were still lots of people queuing up to enter, but as you kept chatting with your friends, you were in the front of the line. As you were showing your IC, you could already hear the music leaking through the walls. They were playing some music you heard of, but did not know well enough to know its lyrics. 

“Come on! Let’s just find a spot before we do anything else.” Diana led the group. You ordered a beer and the rest ordered some sort of a cocktail. You admit, you were a bit of a lightweight and often stayed at the safe side drinking. You’d occasionally try some soju or wine, but that’s usually in smaller amounts. 

“How do you guys find something like this enjoyable?” You shouted over the music.

“This is yet to be the good part, wait till the games start and you wouldn’t be able to stop.” Diana instructed as they waited for their drinks to be served. 

You find people in clubs to be open minded, as long as they see that there is space where you’re sitting, they’d find all sorts of reasons to sit at your table. Unfortunately, you were sitting at the edge which meant that you were seated closest to them. 

“You ladies students?” He asked. You nodded while looking at your friends, wondering how they were going to deal with this. “That’s great! Reminds me of the time I was one. I’m John by the way.”

“John, we are not looking for company, why don’t you offer your service somewhere else.” Diana said, shooing him off. “You wouldn’t want to be banned from entering the most popular club in town.”

“Whatever man.” He grumbled before leaving. 

“Now that’s settled, let’s play some truth or drink!” Diana pushed your drinks into your hands and started the game. 

There were a few embarrassing stories revealed and most importantly, love stories and experiences of first kiss etc. They love to get those stories out of you, and you struggled to tell them anything, knowing you had a pretty mundane life until you got with Nat. You spend the entire time thinking about Nat that you didn’t bother looking at anyone else.

“Have you developed things with Andrew?” Camellia asked when it was your turn. 

“Developed things?” You asked.

“Yeah, you know… have you guys made out?” 

“What the fuck, guys! No! Those kinds of things are private anyway!”  

More questions were thrown around and would never have known that there were many people who confessed to Diana who got turned down immediately. You never knew you had a popular friend. 

Finally after drinking the entire can of beer, they relented and asked a few questions about their friendships and if there was anything you were hiding from them. You admitted that you were jealous of them, being so confident and amicable that they attracted friends easily. People recognise their efforts easier as you hide behind their shadows. They were stunned in silence as you spoke. “Don’t worry, I’ll still support you two. You deserve every ounce of recognition and award you receive.”

“Let’s go to the dance floor. I know you know this song. Come on!” Diana went around the table and dragged you out closer to the action as the beginning of the song played. You took your drinks with you as you tried to dance along to the song. Perhaps with the alcohol, you were able to loosen slightly as you break out some moves. 

Camellia gave you her cocktail to try, and it was sweeter than you thought it’d be. You liked it so much that you asked for the name of it to order it from the bar. 

“Y/N? Is that you?” You couldn’t tell who it was with the music, but you were sure you heard someone calling your name. You turned around to see who it was. It was Natasha. “It really is you. I never thought you would appear in a club, and I saw wrongly.” 

“What are you doing here?” You also knew that she would never appear in a club on weekdays other than friday.

“Yelena wanted to come. So the whole family came. You know how Melina and Alexis party.” She shrugged before giving her order to the bartender. “Venturing into new drinks?” She nodded towards the glass in your hands.

“Yeah, Camellia introduced it. I quite like it.” 

“You’re with Camellia and Diana?” Nat asked. 

You nodded. “Speaking of, I should get back to them before they think I got lost.” Natasha nodded as she saw you walk away. 

“Why did you take so long?” Camellia asked. 

“I met Natasha.” Her eyes widened in surprise that she would be here. 

“Who cares about her.” She waved her hand. “You don’t have a crush on her anymore anyways. Come on! Diana said we’re only going to be here for the next three songs!” You could tell she was drunk, taking your hand as the extension of her body as she dance around. 

By the time Diana came back from wherever she went. You were already holding onto Camelia’s waist, trying to keep her from falling to the floor. “She drank too fast, didn’t she?” You shook your head and shrugged. 

Guiding Camellia out was kinda funny as she kept jumping and trying to head back. Thankfully, Diana was there to persuade her out. “You know, I definitely thought you’d be the one we have to drag out.” You smiled, you definitely gave off the vibe of needing to be taken care of as you look younger than you are. 

Camellia gets dropped off first before you, and you said your thanks to Diana’s brother as you waved goodbye to both of them. 

Seeing that you were able to discern part of the house interior, you knew at least someone was still up, following your instructions to remain awake. Hearing your keys opening the door, your mother turned away from the TV to look at you. “Your face is red.”

You forced yourself not to roll your eyes. “Thanks for pointing out the obvious, as if I don’t already know that.” You went to the kitchen to grab a bottle of cold water and Advil, deciding to use them later when you can’t sleep. “I’m going to head straight to bed. Don’t wake me up so early in the morning tomorrow.”

Series masterlist

@queen-of-chaotic-surprises @esposadejoyhuerta @gemz5 @natsxwife @dyslexic-dreamer @unexpected-character @eternalnight410 @leenasayeed @oh-thats-sad @skz-xii @gay-frogs-dancing-around @justspance

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

I Choose You

Gale x Single Mom!Tav, Gale x OC, Gale x Gwen, Gale POV, Hurt/Comfort, Light Smut

Summary: Gale knows the end is coming, sooner rather than later. The only question now is, whose will is stronger? A goddess or the woman laying in his arms.

Based on prompt from @kaldurcalm: “forever mine” kisses

Warning: Thoughts about Death, Nudity, brief descriptions of PiV Sex

A/N: This kinda got away from me. It’s a little spicer than my usual fair, but hopefully you all still like it. If you want the run down on Gwen, I’ve got the basics here.

Word Count: 1.5K

Gale couldn’t sleep. Nobody would blame him. The specter of death would keep any man staring at the ceiling. A second unconscious sacrificed a second of one’s sight, smell, speech, even the simple awareness of every intake and outtake of breath which felt so precious to him now.

He was luckier than most in that regard. He at least had someone other than himself to place all these weighted attentions on.

Gwen laid sound asleep in his arms, her head resting peacefully against his chest. He took the time to just look at her, taking everything in from the curve of her cheek to the sporadic strands of white peeking through her dark red hair. Laugh lines touched the corners of her mouth. There were just the hints of freckles across her nose. She had a small bump just below the tip of her left ear. He suppressed the urge to kiss that ear, contenting himself to simply take it in, cataloging every detail.

If they had the time, he’d conduct a more thorough examination. Their time in the field had been a start, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. It had been so long since he had been with someone wholly in his own body, he had forgotten all the detailed sensations the material plane could provide.

The taste of her skin was addicting, made more potent with every bead of sweat he worked down her body. Her breasts fit perfectly in his hands. She had a scar on her right knee and was slightly ticklish around the waist. She wasn’t loud when she came, but the breathy moan of his name whispered warm and real against his ear was a sound he could spend the rest of his life chasing. Of course, that really wasn’t saying much these days.

“You should be sleeping.”

He blinked, his fingers pausing in their absent minded pacing up and down her bare back. Gwen only smiled, her eyes clearly tired but still crinkled at the edges in genuine amusement.

“Sorry,” he said, softly. “Did I wake you?”

“Clearly, but I’ve woken to worse.”

She shifted forward then, pressing a breath of a kiss to his jaw line.

Even that simple touch was enough to remind him of his own naked state and how perfectly their limbs were already wrapped together.

He hand moved up, curling into the thick strands of her hair, tilting her head back to allow for a proper kiss. She smiled against his mouth, her nails scraping deliciously against his skin. Without even thinking he grabbed the back of her thigh pulling her closer so she was straddling his hips. He wasn’t as young as he once was, but he’d be damned to all nine hells if he wasn’t going to savor every moment he had left to have this woman in any way she’d let him.

She pulled away, bracing her hands on his chest. Her lips were beautifully full, wet and swollen from his kisses. He let his hands wander, moving up and down her thighs, across her belly and to the swell of her breasts.

Every part of her was so soft and inviting. Her eyes closed, a small hum of pleasure coming from her chest as he continued to touch her.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was as close to a purr he’d ever gotten from her, save for the odd wild magic surge.

“Thank you,” he whispered, unable to keep it inside him any longer.

She looked down at him, her expression caught between surprise and the daze of pleasure.

Her eyes were green, the purest green he’d ever seen. No hints of brown or gold. Simply a difference in shading, forest green around the edges before fading to something paler towards the center. Although, that black of her pupils were much wider now.

“For what?” she asked.

“For being with me.” His hands moved up her body, allowing his thumb to brush against her nipple before moving further to caress her neck. “For letting me touch you like this.” Her breath hitched, her hips rolling instinctually against him. He could feel his cock harden against her sex. She was the single most intoxicating creature he’d ever beheld.

“I could never have dreamed my last nights would be spent like this,” he confessed.

She stopped then, her body becoming still as her eyes blinked clear. His hands were still on her, but she paid them no mind. Her attentions were solely on him.

“No,” she said, so plainly it took him aback.

“No?”

“No,” she repeated. “These aren’t your last night.”

It wasn’t a statement one was meant to argue with. He couldn’t imagine most people would. It was how she had found herself as the leader of their party. Her will would be done. This time, however, another’s will came above hers.

“Gwen—“

“And don’t “Gwen” me,” she said sternly. She leaned forward, bracing herself on the bed as her other hand cupped his cheek to ensure he didn’t look away. “You’re not dying. We’re going to find another way.”

Gods above, as if he couldn’t love her more. She spoke with such clarity of purpose, he almost believed it was true.

“I’m open to ideas,” he said.

Her expression remained firm, but her silence was telling. It was a valiant effort.

He leaned into her touch, placing his hand over hers.

“I want to live,” he assured, gently. “Believe me, I want to live, but my life cannot be more valued than the countless that will lose theirs to the Absolute.”

“That’s assuming Mystra is right,” she countered. “Are you going to look me in the eye and tell me the gods are infallible?”

His lips parted to speak, but he fell short. Even the most diametrically opposed religious scholars could agree the gods, every god, had their flaws. He was certainly aware of Mystra’s, perhaps more than many could boast, even if he had been blind to them for so long. The fact of it made him falter. Just how much had his worship blinded him?

Gwen’s eyes softened, as her nose brushed against his.

“You told me you were in love with me,” she said, her voice gentle. “Were you telling me the truth?”

His grip tightened around her, a sudden twist of guilt settling in his stomach. “If I’ve made you doubt that for even a second, clearly I’ve been doing something wrong,” he said, firmly.

“And would you let me sacrifice myself on the word of a god?”

He shook his head. “That’s different.”

“How?”

Again he found himself at a loss. There are so many things he could say. There were the logical reasons: the fact she was a mother with a daughter relying on her, her position as the leader of their merry band, her prowess as a caster which would be too useful to lose in the coming battles. None of these sprang to his mind. His only thought was his own selfish desires. He loved her. He didn’t want her to go.

She seemed to understand, as her thumb traced soft reassuring circles against his skin.

“I’m no goddess. I can’t claim to know every possible outcome to every possible scenario. I only know that I love you. And I’m not letting you go, not for anything. You’re not going to die.”

She kissed him then, her touch just as true as her words. He was hers and nothing, not even the will of a god, could take him from her.

He sank into the kiss, surrendering to her without a thought of protest. This was so much more than the possessive nature of a goddess. It held a desperation only mortals could feel, a need that acted as a drug in his veins. Her time on this earth had a limit and she chose to spend those precious seconds with him.

She loved him.

He pressed her tighter against him before flipping them both over so she laid beneath him.

He couldn’t wait another moment. Taking his cock in his hand he guided himself into her tight heat. Pure pleasure and a sense of rightness pulsed through his veins as he sunk deeper, pressing hungry opened mouthed kisses against her lips.

“Gale,” she gasped. Her legs wrapped tight around his waist, her fingers tangling in his hair and nails digging into his back.

Fuck, he needed this. He needed her.

Without another word he set a hard pace, pushing a strangled moan from her throat. He didn’t stop. Nothing short of her command could make him.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I’m yours. I’m all yours.”

It was the only thing he could say. Those three sentences repeated again and again in different orders, all declared in shaking breaths against her skin. Only when she brought his lips to hers did he finally fall silent.

“Then don’t leave me,” she pleaded. “Love me. Don’t stop.”

He didn’t have the words. All of them became lost as he kissed her with a passion that would defy the gods.

Of all the people in the world to love, she chose him. And Mystra be damned, he chose her. He would always choose her.

[artemismoorea03]

Monkies Deserve Better References pt 1

This is a bit of a long one so to save people who follow me for my other series I'm going to put it behind a 'read more' line. Both for that reason and because I couldn't be bothered drawing clothes so the references are naked (not like anything graphic though, they're basically shaped like barbies, don't worry)!

The reference I used I found on pinterest but was made by Toresoza on Twitter for those who want a better high quality version with all the hand shapes will have to find it on Twitter, but for now have this low quality Pinterest one to start out.

Now! Onto the proper references! Keep in mind this is how the characters look from anything before Macaque's Not Alright! There might be some missing scars that the characters should have in canon that they don't have here (namely MK because it was 4 am and I forgot) so they might change slightly but for now here we go!

Let's start with Wukong! First with his glamours up and then with them down! (Peach included because I couldn't get the little shit's hand to work with me so I fed him).

The scar on his brow and cheek would very likely be canon as well as the one on his upper left arm and right elbow which would have all happened during the fight with Nezha.

Included on his face are also the headband scars, burns around his eyes which are red after the Demon Hospital fiasco. Also from the demon hospital fiasco are most of the dark patches on his body (realizing now I missed another burn spot on his inner right forearm that's older than the rest but that's fine). When he was tossed in the forget his fur was magically burned whever it was touching the table which is why he has lines on his tail, wrists and ankles (noticed another mistake on his tail but AGAIN IT WAS LATE LET ME LIVE /lh /j). I'll fix it later but I'm too tired to bother now.

The injuries on his chest and stomach are a mix of the Demon Hospital stuff and MK's Not Alright injuries while the white on his back, shoulders, sides and hips are all from LBD :3

Other details about MDB/MAA Wukong as well as all of the monkeys is that his fur and hair are slightly different shades that are barley noticeable (I'm even questioning if I did it for him but I'm going to hope I did x'D). Wukong is also covered in freckles which he doesn't bother glamouring due to how much energy it would take.

Wukong also shares a bit of a 'dad bod' with Canon Wukong (I'm still learning how to draw weight, so ignore that he looks pregnant he's just supposed to be a little squishy). He is also the tallest of the three monkeys I have done, standing at a super tall /s 5'6" (167 cm/66 in (according to Google)).

-----

Next is Macaque who until I actually did this I thought had the most scars. Nope. His scars are the biggest but he probably has the least amount of scars x'D

Macaque's canon injuries on his chest and eye are visible when he's not glamoured but not nearly as obvious as his newer scars.

On his back is a whip scar that he got from Havoc and Confusion - the timeline on this is messed up and will be edited sooner or later -but it happened when he was quite young and doesn't bother him nearly as much as some of the other scars.

The scar on his right thigh, palms of his hand, horizontally across his chest and through his stomach all came from the Seven-Star Sword.

The three scars across his chest are from Wukong's Not Alright when he was cut down by the giant cat monster. This is also when the edges of his fur started to grow in white when they grew back (he should have a couple of other white patches on his body from smaller injuries but they don't have set spots other than *maybe* in his inner elbows, but again, it's not set).

Then, the final and newest scars are on his hips which he gained during the most recent run in with Confusion.

The white on his fur and in his hair is his 'natural' color from before he was killed the first time (not when Wukong killed him) while the blue is from LBD. The blue will likely never turn fully white but might lighten over time to be a more gray color than blue, but that will take a long time and unless Macis willing to shave himself completely most of his fur will always remain black

Other details about Macaque are his six ears in his unglamoured form which are red, blue and teal based on the colors from the 2009 Monkey King series which also inspired a lot of Macaque's background and life story.

Macaque is the smallest of the three monkeys and stands at 5'3" (160 cm /63.6 In).

--------

Finally, there's MK and oh boy. I didn't realize how much of a break this kid needed after all of this but considering how his scars look I'm about to send him on vacation. A paid vacation with therapy included because holy shit.

After I finished making MK I realized I forgot to look for any canon scars that he would have, but considering most of them would be covered by fur I'm also not in a rush to go through and look through them.

His oldest scar is on his forehead mostly hidden by his hair which is the scar mentioned in the third chapter in the series. From there the scars get bigger and more dramatic the longer it goes on, so let's go through the list.

The scars on his right shoulder is from the snakes that infest the Earth Turtle! Also from his adventure on the Earth Turtle are his top surgery scars which he doesn't glamour (he spends too much time/energy glamouring everything else and he's proud of them, so why bother).

He has a matching wound to Macaque on his lower left stomach (which might be in the wrong spot but again i'm tired) came from Monkies Aren't Alright when Chang Liu stabs him with an immortal killing weapon to have access to what 'makes him tick'.

Then in MK's Not Alright he got attacked by another non-venomous snake that bit his left shin and left deep scarring there as well but oddly enough that was the only scar he gained from that one.

In Wukong's Not Alright he gained two scars, the one through his right shin and the wound to his left shoulder blade.

The rest of the scars - the one on his face, most of the ones on his cheek, chest, back, legs, and tail all came from Macaque's not alright with some other minor scars that I forgot about x'D. They are a mixture of whip wounds, slash wounds and burns all came from Havoc, Ginger and Confusion trying to control him.

Other details include slight discoloration on his fingers from the same torture he went through to get the majority of his scars. Part of his bangs are discolored to be white and he's covered in countless white freckles giving him a very 'starry' appearance to him. (which in a way makes his fur look like space with the scars being shooting stars and planets).

MK is the 'middle' monkey and stands at 5'5" (165cm/65in , only an inch shorter than Wukong.

-----

That's all that I have done right now but I'm hoping to make Loi, Red, Mei, and Nezha at some point as well as Tu, Yuanhou, Mihou, Changpu, Pengu and a super secret fifth option too ;3

That being said, if there are any characters you want me to try to make a reference for, just let me know. These were just some of the ones most requested by my discord and friends so I thought I'd do them first. Once I have the others done though, I'll post them.

[princeoferror]

Echoes of Wisdom revealed!

I love Zelda's new design and Tri is so cute!!

I drew this piece immediately after the direct ended lol, just took a bit more time to post cuz of glazing and editing vids :p

Commission info | inprnt | portfolio | Twitter | insta | Discord server

Progress pics below if you're interested!

Sketch:

I didn't really think too hard about the layout of this piece cuz I got possessed to draw the second the direct ended- I'm mainly just showing off the new princess zelda design, tri and the tri-rod. Lotta tris here-

Line:

Line art is standard of just basic line weight rules

Flats:

I stole all these colours directly from the promo art i didn't wanna do anything too fancy cuz I'm showing off the design as it is for this piece

Rendered:

(See above)

And here's the finished piece with it being shaded! I can't lie cuz I was rushing with this I thought it was gonna be a bit mid but I actually saved it just by adding that extra blue rim light, it added more fun to the colour and stopped it from looking too flat. So when in doubt just add random light sources in random colours ART!

I'm so pumped for the release of this game, the og format paired with the newer mechanics is such a smart decision. I'm already speculating this game takes place around the Oracle games loll

[alezangona]

The Sweetest of Nights

My Submission for #varadevaloveday!

Deva squints through one eye, focusing on the sapota that hangs from the tree’s highest branch, slingshot pulled back and ready to disarm. He hesitates for a moment, tucking in his lips as he moves his hand just slightly lower to fix his position. Then, taking in a deep breath, he releases the shot. 

The rock sails through the air, making its way to the mark, before missing it by a hair’s breadth. The rock tumbles to the ground joining its fellow fallen comrades in a small heap. 

Deva curses, irritation passing across his features and he runs his fingers through his thick curls, wanting nothing more than to tug them out of his head as the humidity smothers his dwindling patience. 

“Your curls are your money makers, idiot. Don’t go bald already, it’s bad for our reputation.” Deva huffs, turning around to look at his friend, unamused. 

“You try to spend fifteen minutes failing to shoot down fruit in this weather and let me know how you fare.” Varadha just smiles at that, plucking the slingshot out of Deva’s hand. He picks up a stone from the ground, throwing it up and down as he tests the weight. Seeming satisfied with whatever result he was looking for, he loads it into the shot and aims up towards the top of the tree. Within the blink of an eye, the rock disappears from his grip and the sapota falls to the ground, only to be picked up by Varadha.

“Here!” He places it into Deva’s waiting hand. 

Deva wants to look unaffected by it all. But seeing Varadha’s face breaking into a pleased grin at the thought of being able to do something that made Deva’s life easier stops him in his tracks. He doesn’t understand why that smile is so disarming, to the point that it has stopped his breath at times. Or why even just a hint of it makes him lose track of his thoughts, mind wandering instead to the flawless shape of Varadha’s lips that resemble the curve of Madhana’s bow. So, he looks down at the fruit in hand, peeling it as he tries to calm the pounding of his heart. 

“Here.” He hands Varadha half of the fruit, looking up at him once more. Deva didn’t think it could be possible, but Varadha’s smile deepens further at the gesture and he pops the fruit into his mouth, eyes closing in pleasure as the sweetness of the taste overcomes the humidity of the summer day. 

Nothing else needs to be said as they spend another hour among the grove, Varadha shooting and Deva peeling the fruits. Sometimes they’d stand together, watching as their mark would hit the ground. At other times, they’d sit under the shade, chewing leisurely as they discussed anything and everything, including how much they were annoyed by Rudra and his gang of miscreants.

“So…” Finally, Varadha turns towards Deva, wringing his sticky hands together. “My dad gave me money earlier today as a gift for doing well on last week’s exam. I was thinking, maybe you and I can use that today to go to the fair?” 

“I thought you were trying to save up to buy that game?” Deva’s brows pull together as he studies Varadha. “Why the fair?”

Varadha shrugs, his long face turning off to the side. Once again, Deva is overcome by the sheer beauty of Varadha’s profile among the light of the setting sun that bounces off the greenery of the grove, to which he could find no other comparison but the intricate sculptures that lined temple walls. 

“It’s your birthday tomorrow and I know your dad is going to be taking you and Amma out of town for a few days to celebrate. I just wanted to spend time with you before then.” 

Warmth spreads through Deva’s body like wildfire at the statement. He knows how important that game is to Varadha considering it’s the first thing he will ever gift his brother Baachi. He’d been saving up for months to buy the Chaturanga set by Rakhi, hoping to teach his younger brother all the strategies the way his father taught him. Yet, he’s willing to put his goal aside for a second just to what? Celebrate Deva’s birthday? 

“We don’t have to do that, Varadha.” Deva remarks as he nudges his shoulder, brimming with happiness at the implication of Varadha caring about him. For a second, Varadha’s face falls and his hand comes to scratch against the back of his neck. 

“You have other plans then for tonight?” 

“No, that’s not what I’m saying and you know it.” Deva tilts his head, gazing rather fondly at his friend. It always amused him how Varadha seemed to be the smartest boy he knew, yet the dumbest at the same time. Charming. “I’m saying that I don’t need to be at a festival with you to enjoy my birthday. I’m just as happy here as I would be over there. What it ends up coming down to is you, ra. There’s no need to go around doing something like wasting your money on me when you should be saving it up for Baachi.”

“You’re so thick-skulled sometimes.” Varadha shoves his shoulders, sending Deva tumbling towards the roots before springing back to his original place. “I’m asking because I want to do this with you, asshole. So, can we just go and celebrate before you disappear for an entire week?” 

Deva couldn’t possibly say no.

~*~

“It’s your birthday, Deva. I’m pretty sure I should be getting you something, not the other way around.” Varadha huffs as he tries to settle the giant toy Deva won him somewhere across his shoulders. Deva refuses to hold back his laughter at the sight of the big, orange monkey draped colorfully across the black canvas of Varadha’s lanky frame. At the sight of the laughter, Varadha replies with a playful push against his arm, almost toppling over when he forgets to balance out the extra weight of the stuffed animal. 

Deva catches him in the nick of time, pulling with slightly too much power that it brings him and Varadha chest-to-chest, so close that he could make out the fading details of a dark mark on Varadha’s cheek. He swallows tightly, not understanding the sudden constriction of his chest as Varadha’s gaze meets his, so open and tender, despite the annoying primate dangling behind him. 

“Learn how to be careful will you? I won’t always be around to catch you, you clutz.” Deva means for it to sound firm, but is almost embarrassed by how breathy it comes out of him. Varadha doesn’t seem to notice however as he steps away with a roll of his eyes.

“Please, there isn’t anything we could fight about that would break us up like that.” Finally, he ties the legs of the animal around his waist, a triumphant gleam in his eyes when it stays in place. “Hell yeah! Finally figured it out!”

“You know you also could’ve given it away or left it on the streets? It’s just a toy.” Deva laughs, catching up to him again.

“Are you insane? It’s mine now. I’m not parting from it for all the gold in the world.” 

They spend the rest of the night aimlessly wandering around the festival. Sometimes they play the games set up by vendors, winning too many prizes by the end of it all, that they end up giving them away to the smaller kids around them. They go up to the food stalls, ordering chaat and sharing it as they watch people go by, idly commenting on what must be going on in each of their lives. They hop on the roller coaster, pendulum, and wipeout in quick succession, taking a moment to soothe their stomachs by riding in a swan boat across the small pond. 

Finally as the night draws to an end, Varadha tugs a pleasantly tired Deva along to grab a bag of cotton candy that he insists they eat on the Ferris Wheel where they can get the best view of Khansar. They walk through the crowds of people, under the glowing canopy of lights, dragging the monkey and bag of cotton candy behind them as they make their way towards the giant circle that looms over the festival. To Varadha, it looks like it could almost be as big as his Shiva Mannar’s court. Though, that might just be because of the balmy buzz that was overtaking him this night as he spends time in Deva’s presence.

He hadn’t let Deva know, but Varadha has been on edge for days now as the family trip approaches. It’s selfish of him to want Deva near him at all times when he knows how much Deva looks forward to the outings since Dhaara is a busy man and can only spend so much time with his family. But when he is able to make time, he takes them to some of the most beautiful locations across the world. 

During a dinner at his home one night, Deva expressed his favorite place so far had been the Channakeshava temple in Belur, where he claimed the intricacy of the sculptures was so mesmerizing that he felt as if his eyes weren’t enough to take in the beauty. Dhaara meanwhile, explained to Varadha with pride how the temple took three generations, over the span of a hundred years, to be built, and despite how many times it was pillaged and plundered, it was repeatedly rebuilt and repaired and has lasted to this day. 

Then, Dhaara looked at Varadha, really looked at him, stating the history of the temple wasn’t quite so different from that of Khansar. That the beauty of this city too, came not only from its foundation but its ability to grow and thrive despite the toils it faced during its history. There was something about the conviction in his tone that shook Varadha to the core and he could suddenly understand why his grandfather had such a soft spot for this man. Then Dhaara’s demeanor changed and he was back to being a jovial man who’s charming nature was enough to light up the dim room they were sitting in. 

That night, as Deva walked him home, he handed him a picture he had taken of one of the sculptures with a shrug, stating how he didn’t have to take it. It was just something he saw that reminded him of Varadha. 

To this date, the picture was taped to the wall in his room, above his desk. Sometimes he’d catch himself looking at it as he finished his homework, wondering what exactly Deva noticed about it that reminded him of Varadha. In the end, all he could make out was a stunning sculpture with a sweet smile. 

Still, the small picture and the never ending trinkets lined up beneath it, always brought with them a deep sense of euphoria because it seemed that Deva too would think of him when he was away. It wasn’t just Varadha waiting for his return. 

It won’t be till years later, during Deva’s absence, that Varadha will come to understand his feelings. It won’t be till then that he realizes that he didn’t just love his dear friend, but that he was in love with him.

But for this night, he tried to set aside his anxiety surrounding Deva’s departure and let a glowing smile light his lips as they sat across from each other in the small compartment of the wheel, their knees brushing against each other. As they passed from point to point, they’d gaze out of their cart, letting the sweet candy melt against their tongues as they took in the bright lights of the city. 

“Thank you for this,” Deva murmurs once they get high enough that the sounds of the festival begin to dim. “I had a lot of fun.” Varadha shakes his head at him, getting up from his seat and plastering himself next to Deva instead.

“I feel like I remember telling you before that there’s no need for please and thank you between friends?”

“Yeah, yeah. But still. It’s been a lot of fun and I know it’s dumb to say since it’ll only be a week, but I’ll miss you when I’m gone.” 

Varadha doesn’t know how to answer, so he throws an arm against Deva’s shoulder and pulls him in closer. 

“I guess we’re both dumb then because I’ll miss you too.” At that, one of Deva’s arms comes up behind him, wrapping across his torso. They rest their heads against each other, young minds not being able to put a name to the feeling expanding between them, but content to be in each other’s company without seeking an answer. 

A clanging sound interrupts them and they pull apart in time to see the distant clock tower striking midnight, their cart coming to a stop at the top-most point. 

“Shit, Amma’s gonna kill me.” Deva shoots up in his seat, panic shutting off his ability to think. He can’t believe he didn’t notice just how much time had passed. 

“Rey!” Varadha grabs his arm and pulls him down when the cart begins to swing from the momentum. “Sit down will you! What are you going to do? Jump off?”

“I don’t know! Maybe.” Deva groans, burrying his face in his hands. “I already got in trouble last week for going home late after we went to the movies. She’s going to murder me, ra.” 

“Don’t worry,” Varadha peels his hands off his face. “I already talked to her and got permission to keep you out late today. She won’t kill you, not for this.” The tension melts off of Deva’s face, only for confusion to take over in its stead. 

“This late? Why?” 

“Na potti bangaram kosam (For my short gold). Happy birthday, ra.” Varadha playfully pinches Deva’s cheek and laughs when he shoves him away, face souring. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a short necklace, handing it over to Deva who observes the square pendant hanging from a black thread. “My mom helped me find it, she said it’s a charm for good luck. I just thought it looked cool.” Varadha shrugs, trying not to make it seem like too big of a deal.

Deva just swallows, looking intently at the silver pendant resting in his palm. It makes Varadha nervous enough that he grabs it out of his hand and pulls it over Deva’s head. 

“See! It looks great on you!” Varadha beams at the choker lying at the dip of Deva’s neck. “Mannarsi craftsmanship is unbeatable you know?” 

“I beg to differ,” Deva says immediately, but then his voice softens noticeably. “But yeah, this gift is hard to beat.” 

~*~

When they walk home that night, it’s in anything but silence. Varadha shares the story of how he happened upon the necklace and thought it’d be perfect for Deva considering how he keeps ending up in dangerous situations. Deva defends himself saying that he only gets roped into those things because of Varadha, to which he can’t argue. The words keep drifting from their lips even as they approach the intersection where they need to separate to get home. Yet, they stand at the street corner, bringing up the most redundant of tales in an effort to make the night last longer. 

Finally, they pull themselves into a bone-crushing hug, clinging to each other as the cool breeze brushes against them.

Unable to part just yet, they stay there for a while longer, letting time pass them by under the midnight sky.

~*~

Author's Note:

So sorry for the late post! Really tried to get it out by Valentine's Day but I was traveling and kept falling asleep as I wrote. But I've been having so much fun getting to see everyone else's work! Love the talent in this fandom!

A huge thank you to @rambheem-is-real and @deadloverscity for hosting this event!