#this is also my way of molding Shade's personality!)) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thoughtsfromlayla · 9 months ago

Text

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

================================================

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

#morpheus #morpheus x reader #morpheus x reader smut #the sandman #the sandman x reader #dream of the endless #dream #dream x reader #dream x reader smut #angst with a happy ending #light angst #the sandman fanfic #morpheus x wife!reader #morpheus x wife reader #dream of the endless smut #dream of the endless x reader

233 notes · View notes

myster-roca · 1 year ago

Text

Desires and Deception: Full Undercover

"Your assignment: Assume the identity of a high-profile businessman and fitness guru with deep connections to the underworld elite.

Your objective: Infiltrate a high-stakes bodybuilding event where one of the underworld's most influential figures, deeply involved in a clandestine affair, is about to take center stage. A complete physical transformation is your only cover."

On the surface, his existence seems so different from mine. He's deeply entrenched in the world of luxury, surrounded by the glitter and glamour of the upper class.

I lead a life of shadows and secrecy, a chameleon in the backdrop of society. While he basks in the spotlight, I thrive in the darkness.

Yet, as I become more familiar with his life, I realize that beneath the facades, we're not so dissimilar. We both wear masks, albeit of different kinds.

He portrays an image of power and wealth, and I craft identities to delve into the hidden realms of espionage. We're both performers, navigating the stage of our own making, just on opposite sides of the curtain.

Within the covert operations division, our team constituted a rare breed, masters of disguise, each possessing an exceptional talent for the craft of metamorphosis.

We shared an unspoken bond born from the countless secrets we held and the trust we placed in one another.

The intricately crafted muscle suit lay before me like a silent partner in this clandestine masquerade. I'd done this countless times before, but the excitement and tension of the moment never ceased to grip me.

This moment brings a complex blend of emotions to my entire body.

There's the weight of responsibility, knowing that I must seamlessly become another person, thinking, speaking, and moving as they do.

But there's also the thrill of the challenge, the adrenaline rush that comes with immersing myself in a persona utterly distinct from my own.

As I slipped into the suit, the material stretched and molded to my physique. My hands found their way to the attached silicone gloves. The snug fit accentuated every contour, making me look more sculpted than ever.

My team of ingenious innovators had left no stone unturned to make the muscle suit as lifelike as humanly possible. Their unwavering dedication shone through in the meticulous attention to detail.

My pulse quickened with anticipation as the muscles subtly inflated, intensifying the illusion of strength and confidence.

With every stroke, the skilled hands erased my facial hair, and I could almost sense a new identity taking shape.

The skintone had been impeccably matched, with the paintwork skillfully blending the boundary between reality and artifice.

I marveled at their exceptional precision as they carefully placed the snow-white silicone prosthetic skin onto my scalp, deftly concealing the intricate details at the rear.

Each brushstroke they applied infused the blank canvas with a spectrum of shades and tones, gradually merging it with the flesh-colored muscle suit.

The cap clung to my scalp, obscuring any hint of my natural hair. Their unparalleled expertise accomplished an astounding feat, vanquishing visible seams and ensuring a flawless integration with the rest of the suit.

As I rose to my feet, I could feel the muscles discreetly swelling, enhancing my size and making me appear more imposing. Enthralled by this transformation, I locked my gaze onto the mirror, realizing that, except for my own face, the reflection before me resembled that of a complete stranger.

The next phase was even more unsettling. I couldn't help but feel vulnerable, yet excited, as I closed my eyes and immersed myself in embodying the fitness guru's charisma and unwavering drive for power.

Seated before the vanity, I felt the cool touch of silicone on my skin. With each prosthetic piece, I watched myself morph into the figure whose aura and allure I admired and now emulated.

My own features were vanishing, slowly replaced by the chiseled jawline, pronounced cheekbones, and the perfectly shaped nose.

Each adjustment, every little tweak, brought me closer to becoming the fitness influencer I needed to become.

The transformation has reached its halfway point, yet I can't shake the persistent unease that lingers within me. Something feels awry, lacking in authenticity.

This void echoes the emptiness I've felt in past impersonations. The team is well aware of this predicament, which motivated them to develop a new technology aimed at resolving the issue. Although they conducted numerous beta tests, this marks the first field trial.

I stood from my chair and began to don the silicone muscle pants, preparing myself for the next step.

The pants appeared remarkably sophisticated, quite different from the silicone muscle pants I had initially envisioned. Nevertheless, the team assured me that this unique design was intentional, tailored to fulfill its specific purpose.

As I settled into a sleek, state-of-the-art machine, they assured me that it would serve as the catalyst for the forthcoming comprehensive transformation. The team then delved into an explanation of the pants' fabric and the silicone prosthetic pieces they had attached, emphasizing their integration with nanites.

They elaborated on how these minuscule marvels were precisely programmed to discern the unique contours and characteristics of my body, thereby enabling the seamless fusion of the material with my own skin. This intricate process would ensure an astonishingly lifelike and untraceable metamorphosis.

The machine enclosed around my waist with a gentle yet firm embrace. I could feel its mechanisms hum to life as it began its work. A warm, viscous liquid began to flow from the machine's hidden nozzles, gently cascading down my legs and torso.

The sensation was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was as if I were being submerged in a pool of liquid silk. I watched, my heart racing, as the substance encased my legs and torso. It was as if the nanites and the liquid skin were in perfect harmony, dancing a choreography that was breathtaking to experience.

The machine released me, and I fell forward, landing on my hands and knees. The ground was cold and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the heat that surged within me. As I struggled to regain my footing, I realized that I was sweating, my skin tingling with life.

My skin glistened with sweat as the nanites engulfed my whole body. My senses were on fire as the second skin adapted to the shape of my own body, molding itself to me with an almost sentient understanding. I could feel the air against my skin as I breathed deeply, savoring the newfound sensations.

I stood on my feet, and a tidal wave of power surged through my veins—a breathtaking rush of unearthed strength that sent shivers of exhilaration cascading down my spine. I was utterly captivated by the profound transformation I had undergone.

It was as though this second skin had reshaped the core of my existence. It was no longer just a disguise; it had become a part of my own being.

Overwhelmed by curiosity and newfound confidence, I couldn't resist the urge to explore my transformed physique.

As I flexed my thighs, I could feel their utmost solidity, the sensation of unyielding strength resonating through my body. My legs, once unassuming and lean, now bore the weight of sculpted power.

Running my hands across my chest, I felt the hard contours beneath my fingers, swelling with a sense of pride. My pectoral muscles were now pronounced and firm. I couldn't resist running my fingers over the chiseled ridges of my new washboard abs.

With each movement, I admired the pronounced biceps and triceps, each muscle responding to my command. Flexing my forearms, the veins stood out like a roadmap of my uncovered power.

I had truly become the living embodiment of the role I was about to play.

With the transformation complete, I am reborn in the shadows, ready to dance into the abyss of intrigue and danger, playing my part in a game where trust is a currency of uncertainty, and the truth remains veiled forever.

To Be Continued . . .

#male body transformation #male bodysuit #body change #male transformation #male skin #male disguise #male body suit #male form #hot male

283 notes · View notes

cokoweee · 4 months ago

Note

Enjoy some good ol cringy angst

🎵all I’ve ever done is hide🎵

Music flitting through the air as she laid motionless on the bed. Her arm erupted in goose bumps bed as she reached her hand out to grab a pillow and squeeze it to her chest. The contact she’d been craving so violently was lost against the frigid pillow. She wrapped it against herself tighter anyway, hoping that if she held it long enough it might morph into something that would hold her. Someone warm, with blood pumping beneath their skin; a heart beating in tandem with hers.

But it didn’t.

She was alone.

She didn’t have anyone.

🎵I feel like a person for a moment of my life🎵

She didn’t cry. It didn’t do her any good to cry over something that couldn’t be fixed. To cry over the fact that she was unwanted. Unloved. Her own family hadn’t reached out in months. She missed them. And just when she thought she’d started to get comfortable around Othello he’d pushed her away.

🎵To feel your weight in arms I’d never use 🎵

She looked down at her pillow, a soft shade of purple. What was it like to be someone’s favorite? Was it really as nice as her mind made it seem? Were their hugs warmer? Their smiles brighter? Would their eyes light up as they saw her? Would they think of her often, reaching out to her when she needed it, and even when she didn’t just because they wanted to head from her. Would they make her feel safe in a way she’d never felt before?Would they hold her tight and strong as she slept basking in their warmth?

🎵Oh to be alone with you 🎵

What was it like, she wondered, to be wanted?

Really wanted. Not for her body or looks, but for her. For her stupid laugh and her interests. To be wanted despite her mistakes. For someone to want her even after she messed up time after time. She didn’t need someone to love her, just to want her to be happy. For someone to want need her to be there and expect nothing out of her except that she be herself.

Would she ever know? Had she ever known? She thought her family wanted her when she was younger. She remembered her parents praising her for her tech achievements. That they’d held her when she woke from a scary dream. How they’d make her favorite meal just to cheer her up. How much of it had been real? Was it all a facade to make her feel better about her pathetic life?

The pillow was her body temperature now, a poor substitute for the touch she needed so desperately. It was mocking. She kicked it away and wrapped her arms around herself. She hated it. She hated herself for wanting someone. Why would she force someone to fit her mold? Even she didn’t want to be around herself, why would anyone else?

🎵but I don’t know what else I would give than try to kiss the skin that crawls from you 🎵

Song is To Be Alone by Hozier.

Also this definitely wasn’t inspired by that vague note on that doodle. Nope nope nope.

Toodeloo

~the annon who writes sometimes

ANGST? FIRST THING IN THE MORNIN? WACK

Oh so y’all read those notes huh? 🫡🫡🫡

Eating this up. In my pocket it goes

#asks and replies #anon fic #fave #u lil writer

42 notes · View notes

hotpinkboots · 1 year ago

Note

Now this may be a little gross. Not in a like weird way (You know exactly what I’m talking about) but some gore. If you don’t want to do this ask I understand. ❤️

Now can we get Springtrap X Reader who is a complete wuss. Like they’re scared of bugs, hates being dirty, hates blood etc.

And Springtrap LOVES grossing them out and seeing their reaction. He finds it hilarious. Like just imagine this.

Y/N: *Screaming over a bug*

Springtrap: *Picks it up.*

Y/N: “Oh thank you so much Springy-“

Springtrap: *Eats bug.*

Y/N: “I- ewwww!”

Springtrap: *Smiles* “Now, want a kiss darling?”

Y/N: “NOOOOOO!”

Springtrap: *Starts chasing them around*

Can I also be your 💌 Anon?

~~~~~~~~~~

~𝔖𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔭 x Skittish!Reader Headcanons~

~~~~~~~~~~

WELCOME, 💌ANON :D

~Enjoy~

★★★★

𝔖𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔭

★★★★

~Oh you just KNOW he'd do this exact thing.

~Then afterwards he'd ask for a kiss.

~And he's got a bunch of bug guts and legs in his teeth.

~Or, he may just straight up stare at you from around the corner like a little creep to spook you further while there's a roach on the ground.

~Just to be a jerk y'know

~Hating blood is just something he gets a kick out of.

~He's...well. Him. So, blood is something he enjoys.

~He loves to see it splatter on the walls. He loves to hear it splat to the floor. He loves the crimson shade.

~So, naturally, he's going to think you're so cute for hating it.

~Springtrap is NOT your ideal if you hate getting dirty LOL HE'S DISGUSTING

~Going in for a big bunny hug? You're getting dirt and some form of mold slime all over you.

~Trying to kiss his cheek? Let's hope maggots don't get in your mouth.

~Luckily, he has to be cleaned up for people to legally come into the Fazbear's Fright attraction, otherwise the filth is a complete health hazard towards everybody around.

~While he's still old and dusty, Springs will at least get polished up a bit.

~Absolutely adores teasing you, grossing you out, and scaring you.

~He's so mean about it, and then he'll turn right around and comfort you with a hug

~But there's a 50/50 chance that he's holding something that'll scare you behind your back, so that when you turn around after the hug, there's some sort of jumpscare in your face.

~Of course, he'll be a soft bun later and will coo at you and give you pats on the head (the pats are a bit too rough, he just likes to see your hair ruffle).

~You're the only person in the entire world who likes him💀So he'll make it up to you later by being cuddly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Request Guidelines!

~~~~~~~~~~

Join my Discord Server! There you can talk about my fanfiction, roleplay, chat, watch movies and listen to music with other fandom nerds!:

~~~~~~~~~~

~Love, PinkBoots

#springtrap #i could relate to this ENTIRE request LMAO being dirty is horrendous and I. HATE. BUGS. 😭#william afton #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #springtrap fnaf #springtrap five nights at freddys #fnaf x reader #springtrap x reader #pink's fanfic

247 notes · View notes

weepinwriter · 11 months ago

Text

“Love letters and marriage proposals may flood my path, but in you, I found the rarest gem amidst a sea of admirers.”

Name : Emir (m.) | Evara(f.)

Age : They're in their early thirties

Height : 5’8

Appearance : E. is a visually stunning person of 5’8”, possessing rich caramel-colored skin, hair as brown as the richest chocolate, and coffee-colored eyes you could simply lose yourself in (as you often do) As a male, E.’s hair is short and spiky, and as a female, E’s hair flows in luscious, full locks to the middle of her back. E’s female form also frequents hot brilliant red lipstick. They are a tasteful dresser, usually frequenting elegant dress clothes (be it dresses as a female or suits as a male) in shades of brown to match their appearance. The slightest bit of gold accents brings everything together into one attractive and irresistible mommy/daddy person. (ahem- all credits for the thirsting shall go to my co-editor @headdaze)

Personality : E. possesses an undeniable charm that captivates those around them, yet they remain a person of few words. Wherever they go, heads turn, drawn to their enigmatic and noble presence. The attention they receive is of little consequence to them, for they care not for the spotlight. Instead, they seamlessly integrate themselves into any setting, molding it to suit their own needs rather than others. Quiet by nature, they prefer to use words sparingly, reserving their speech for matters that ignite their passions. They possess a remarkable ability to switch between personalities, adopting the persona that they desire, skillfully using it to disarm and charm. It is only when their guard is down that they reveal their true self, shedding the masks they wear with calculated precision. In the realm of their ambitions, they are cold and cynical, unafraid to cross lines that others dare not tread, yet prideful enough not to easily bow to anyone. Indifference masks their actions, or so they wish it to be. They frown and sympathize, yet remain resolute in accomplishing their objectives, disregarding personal feelings along the way. Once they set their mind on something, there is no turning back. Determination is one of their most unchangeable traits, driving them forward regardless of the consequences.

Background : The only heir to the economic giant, The Quinn Industries, the Subject is an interesting and enigmatic individual that should be carefully looked into, as HUSH has noted. The Subject has had a relatively mundane childhood, raised to be the perfect heir to the company. They walk in a relatively small albeit powerful circle of elites, yet have shown no interest in intimately interacting with any potential suitors. Does not show any indication of having possible connections with X. Currently the Subject is under strict surveillance for undisclosed reasons.

Likes : manicures, insects, the pleasant smell of rain falling on dry earth (aka petrichor), intellectual debates, cats

Dislikes : liars, being controlled, talkative people, snakes, boiled potatoes, unhygienic people

Pet peeves : sneezing or coughing without covering one's mouth, unnecessary or forced small talk, the sound of nails scratching a blackboard

Trivia :

has a large collection of antique pocket watches and can correctly identify the model and even time period of all

is an expert in solving Rubik's Cubes and can solve one within 6 minutes and 39 seconds, that's their record

they have an extraordinary sense of direction, and can navigate complex mazes and labyrinths without getting lost

#interactive fiction #if game #current wip #road to heaven if #asks #interactive game #ro's #ro emir/evara #original character

71 notes · View notes

mythosidhesdollhouse · 5 months ago

Text

Rainbow High Littles: Indigo Bailey, Pt. 1

All right y'all, I said we'd do this so let's go. I was originally going to make this all one entry, but I decided to break off the hair discussion as a separate post, since this one was already way too long before I even got to that point XD Will link Pt. 2 once it's published.

Krystal Jr.: What the heck are we doing all the way over here? Krystal Sr.: We need to collect a delivery to take back to Rainbow Heights--a sister! KJ: I thought I was your sister? KS: No, you're a younger version of me from an alternate point in our shared timeline. We just say you're my sister so it's less confusing for everyone else. KJ: If I'm you from the past and we're both in the same place, shouldn't that create some sort of temporal paradox where you cease to exist? KS: The normal laws of physics don't apply in the doll universe, dear. It's best not to think on it too much. KJ: Okaaaaaaaaaay. But this one is NOT us, right? KS: …Probably not? Indigo: ((Maybe stop talking and let me out, please?))

Sooooooooo yeah, Indigo. Where to begin? For starters, I think the vitriol that's being dumped on these poor Littles is completely out of proportion to what they actually are--tiny dolls meant for small hands to play with. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that. I can see how they would be less appealing to adult collectors used to a more sophisticated product from this brand, but I personally will do my best to judge her by her own merits.

First impressions: I think she's cute! I pulled a few of her braids back with a rubber band to make her face more visible, but otherwise straight out of the box she's good to go.

Krystal Jr.: Are we a family? Are we clones? Honestly folks, it's anyone's guess. Indigo: Is she always this snarky? Krystal Sr.: Don't worry sweetie, it's just her being a tween, we grow out of it eventually. I: We? KS: It's complicated.

More detailed discussion of clothes & accessories under the cut--

Let's talk about the dress and that reviled plastic bodice. Honestly? I don't mind it! I can't speak for the rest of the line, but in Indigo's case at least it's clear there was some effort put into her overall design. I was especially delighted by the skirt portion of her dress, which is made of a lovely little textured woven fabric featuring a butterfly design, with a coordinating tulle ruffle trim. There's even an underskirt made from a plasticy fine-weave fabric. Both the main skirt and underskirt are sewn (that's right, not glued--there are STITCHES) to the base of the plastic top portion of the dress.

Ok so, no one loves plastic doll clothes. I get it. Not a fan myself. But for what this is, considering it's all one piece, I'm impressed by the amount of detail, and how well it reads as 'normal' clothing. The midsection has a sculpted raised texture that closely mirrors the design of the skirt fabric. The collar section is painted a lighter contrasting shade of purple that compliments her shoes (all the adult collectors who whine about lack of painted detail on molded plastic pieces, here you go), and the ruffle around the armholes compliments the trim on the skirt. Everything is held together neatly at the back with a piece of velcro at the top of the skirt.

Given how difficult it can be to sew fabric doll clothing in this scale that actually looks good, I think the plastic top is a fair compromise to increase ease of use for smaller hands.

The shoes! I was pleasantly surprised by the level of detail on these. The butterfly motif from the dress is carried on here, with sculpted decoration all the way around the tops and even on the soles. This was absolutely unnecessary, but I'm so happy they did it.

Indigo's official height is listed as 5.5 inches, which lands her somewhere between an old school Kelly doll and the closest MGA equivalent in my collection, a Dream Ella Extra Iconic Mini. I believe Magic Mixies Pixlings are also of a similar size, but I don't have one to include in this comparison.

Indigo's pet is...a thing that exists. Her product description says it's a 'magical fox'. Sure.

Ok folks, that's it for pt. 1. We're going to take a closer look at those braids in pt.2

#rainbow high #rainbow high littles #indigo bailey #doll reviews #doll collector #yes the dialog is necessary #this process gets way too tedious for me otherwise

29 notes · View notes

phantomram-b00 · 10 months ago

Text

So I saw this meme and it perfectly capsulate how I feel with what I gotta talk about because my love language is talking about my special interest and this brainrot is still strong even if we’re in 2024.

So I know I haven’t done a meta-analysis in a hot minute. I think the last I did was the Coffee theory. And imma be for real, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep going (more on that later) but then I saw this and I said “oh yeah, this is for me to talk about”. As it about Aziraphale. More specifically about people claiming he’s a villain or wrong. Which is hilariously wrong in so many ways.

Mostly because, name one thing about that that automatically made him a villain? Especially with after everything he have done. But also do people not remember the fact that he did deny it at first. After what happen technically five years ago, he want zero parts with Heaven. The last thing he ever wants to do is go back to his former side that tried to kill him just because he saved earth, God’s creation. The only reason he wanted to join was 1) Metatron said he can appoint Crowley. 2) Aziraphale believe if he an archangel he can fix the broken system if it means sacrificing his own happiness. And this is just me personally, 3) Metatron threaten him and even after as he walk with Aziraphale gave him no choice at all. Then again he never really did but I’ll get to that later. None of those reason scream villainous, did he choice heaven? Yeah, but that shouldn’t automatically deem him as a villain. If that was the case, he could’ve been considered “villain” in season 1 when he tried to back out from trying to save the world; but even if he was considered that back in season 1, that still doesn’t doesn’t make sense.

The reason he tried to back out at first is because he was stressed and was scared. Imagine being in his shoes, your whole life you were taught and molded to obey without questioning the righteousness of God/Archangels with a chance that if you do to either fall or get destroyed. So you’re made to believe you are on the “good side” and expected to do “the right thing” in their eyes because it “what God wanted” so you do the right thing so you can get approval and not get ridiculed or worse punished. That’s how Aziraphale was raised to believe, regardless that he heavily disagrees with armageddon as much as Crowley does he scared to revert the apocalypse not to mention stressed given how many days they have left on this earth. But one thing also about Aziraphale is that he’s trying to hold onto hope that maybe he can try stopping it by talking with God, and when that doesn’t work he did try to reach out to Crowley before being inconveniently discorporated and even so he still try to go back to earth to revert it. Was there thing Azirapahle could’ve done better? Ofc, I don’t think he should’ve said “I don’t even like you” to Crowley or said “I forgive you” the first time and many others but that still doesn’t make him a villain. He’s just a flawed grey character, even in the blitz episode in season 2, they talk about how they’re a shade of grey.

As for if he’s wrong for the choices? Ahhhh see this is where it’s tricky because many people have commented their beliefs. So it truly up to your opinion regardless. But since I’m making this post, I’ll say, no. He’s not wrong. Going back to what I said, he wants to make Heaven a better place. You can’t blame him for wanting to fix something. Crowley is absolutely right that Heaven and Hell for that matter is toxic but Aziraphale wanting to make it better isn’t inherently wrong. It just Aziraphale gonna have to see that Heaven is beyond repair and it isn’t his responsibility to fix the system that been damaged but to Aziraphale he wants to. He wants to make it better even if it means leaving everything he loves and care about. Even if it hurts to leave Crowley, his bookshop, or everything but if he wants to fix it, I don’t think you can blame him.

And I said this in past post but I think regarding him wanting to appoint Crowley, I think he just want Crowley along his side because he want him to fix it with him. But Aziraphale I’ll admit should’ve considered how Crowley already feels about heaven. He was casted out and wants no part with Heaven at all. So even if there a chance to fix it in his eyes, Heaven is damaged. Far too damage to repair but also that the source of his trauma. So why should he come back? So I’ll give it that, and I think deep down Aziraphale knew this outcome might’ve played out but I think Aziraphale thought if he suggested maybe fixing it might spark something. How Azirpahale is thinking is that, just because something is damaged doesn’t mean it unfixable and there’s hope for salvaging it. However, Crowley’s thinking is that there no fixing that’s dead in the water. In this case neither are wrong.

And look I’ll say this, Crowley’s plan to running away, even though it sounds good. I mean, if Beelzebub and Gabriel can do it (which they deserve their flowers like say what you will about this couple I love it.) why couldn’t they? But the thing is that even back in Episode 1 of season 2, Aziraphale told Crowley when he was an angel that everything was going to be shut down. Which would also include Alpha Centauri or any other dimensions he wants to runaway with Aziraphale. Granted it not guarantee that maybe Alpha Centauri or any other galaxy aren’t save maybe they will and I’m reading it wrong. However if Earth is to be destroyed because of this Great War that going to happen, who to say the other galaxies would be safe too? It too risky to just run away I mean granted it not safe to stay neither if the world might end but running away won’t solve anything.

And now with the season coming happening, I think even though yes, Aziraphale did chose Heaven over Crowley which yes that fucking hurts. I’m not going to deny that. It hurts on both sides with Crowley being rejected and losing the one thing that made sense in the world and Aziraphale having to give up everything and realizing he made a mistake. It a tear jerking mess. But at the same time, with season 3 coming and confirmed, now he has to save the world and Crowley on his end without talking to Crowley. Which is gonna hurt like hell (or heaven who knows they’re both toxic atp) but Aziraphale will do anything to save and protect Crowley and Earth. And I’m pretty sure he would do anything to get Crowley back or the bookshop back

Now just a disclaimer, as much as I relate to this character and he’s my favorite and my comfort character, I’m not going to say Aziraphale perfect. He’s a bastard worth knowing for a reason right? But all I’m just saying is that villainizing him is throwing away all his characteristic and progress he making or made out the window just this one decision, we can’t villainized him for this one instant especially as it really out of character for him to ever be a villain to begin with. I’m not saying you have to like him but again don’t villainize him for this one choice where there more nuance into it.

But that’s really my two since, I just don’t see why people would think Aziraphale’s a villain or wrong imo. Might be controversial but hey, it was fun to talk about it. If you guys have any opinions are this, that cool let me know, if you agree or disagree hey valid but plz be respectful and don’t call Aziraphale the villain. Honestly how do you feel about people calling aziraphale a villain or wrong for what he did?

Now onto what I was talking about before (you don’t have to read if you don’t have to, this is just me explaining it. If you wanna read, that’s cool too. ^v^)

So, before anything, uh I’m not leaving tumblr or good omens fandom. No, I love the fandom and tumblr enough to leave. Good omens fandom have been very lovely and I met people on here so I like to shoutout to that but also Good omens is my comfort and I don’t wanna leave that.

But what I’m getting that is that, without getting too personal, I’ve been having posting anxiety. What I mean is that I’ve been having low confidence over what to post and if this post will be good enough. And it doesn’t help that I haven’t been feeling the best for the past couple of months or so. I thought 2024 would be different and I mean I have faith that it is, just things haven’t been easy I’ll just say. And haven’t been feeling or doing the best. No I’m not going on a hiatus, i hope not, i just need to think things over.

However, I think I have some thoughts, like I do wanna post more art but I do also wanna continue talking about stuff. Maybe both too? I mean there many drawing idea I have so much idea off, I just need to not have this anxiety weighting over me. Or not overthink things.

If you have read this far, thanks for listening ghost pal! I guess TLDR: I’m not going anywhere; I just want to improve and post stuff I like. Again good omens is my favorite show and I love it to bits and I have so much to say and/or draw. Just ahh, gotta work on it. But thanks for listening and hope you enjoy this ghostly rambles on their favorite character. And stay tune for another post I’ll do. And uh, boo!

34 notes · View notes

accidentallycurated · 26 days ago

Text

chez le cavalier ~ wip #2

[willow creek rebuild, house no. 1]

day twooooo!! things got fun today - I feel like I really got in the groove of this style and my imaginary couple 🤸🏽

also added some scandinavian-adjacent elements and got nitpickey with furniture & clutter & color choices !

dining room:

here's an update on the dining room on day 2!

switched out the stairs, added some color and diff decor!

these red chairs (s/o midnight manor from @bostyny) gave me a great new of 'oh yeahhhh this is gonna be good' but also before that doing this dark olive-y green version of the white paint I started with (from @harrie-cc copenhagen part 1) also made me say 'oh yes please.'

also omg I'm dying to get my hands on part two and three of copenhagen it's everything I didn't know I was so desperate for from queen harrie!

oke next is kitchen:

like I could just die it's so pretty!

cabinets and their matching countertop/shelf situation is mcm kitchen from @pierisim, pretty much all the other clutter, appliances, etc are @harrie-cc @felixandresims and other @pierisim sets!

the level of detail in color and thought with the copenhagen set is just SO GOOD - there's a swatch in the painted wallpaper with the same green molding as the dining room and the cream wash in the living room, plus a greige kind of baseboard that of course is perfect. I did in fact squeal when I saw this swatch and how well it brought the two rooms together.

ALSO - let's talk about the sink. the sink! pierisim's mcm kitchen didn't come with a sink that worked well with the shelf situation, so I hunted around my other options. the winner was felixandre's chateau prep sink! the way it looks like the knobs come out of the marble is just chef's kiss. I need to fiddle around with TOOL to make the sink a bit wider so it fits better.

trying to help it all come together:

(did you notice I finally fixed the stair shelving to finally line up properly?)

that little corner in the kitchen is gonna be a bistro table/morning coffee spot, I'm just avoiding it because I want it to tie things together nicely.

after finishing the kitchen and looking down that hallway to the living room, I realized I needed to bring some of that red into the living room to break up all the warm wood and brown tones.

seeking red:

started with a little red end table, wasn't quite doing it...

so I pulled everything red out of the entire @bostyny cc catalog and put it next to the chairs to try to find my winner lol

living room adjustments:

couple different coffee table options with the new red accents in place...

a chair switch out, different lighting, decorations!

adding the details of this space is when my house's imaginary owners really started building a personality. the little tapestry below the sconce I imagine was from their first date at a festival; the lamp in the bay window was in one of their apartments when they first started dating and the other one hated it so much but it's still around; the little dog sculpture is of their future dog; the tiger painting hung up by a ribbon because they couldn't find nails the first night they moved in so they hung it on the wall hook left behind.

do you think I'm crazy yet?

so much for I'm not creating actual sims for these builds - apparently I am (at least in my head).

more fun details!

rain boots - they lived in a rainy city before moving to willow creek and have gotten in the habit of leaving their boots out right next to each other.

adding curtains:

just like real life - curtains bring everything together! the bay window got the same roman shades as the entryway window.

filling in a corner:

ignore the fact that I haven't decorated out the little media shelf, but I love the little corner!

not sure how functional this really is - but man is it cute.

okay that's all see you for day 3!

7 notes · View notes

ryry-rebel · 1 year ago

Text

A Passionate Reunion

Saturo Gojo x Fem Reader smut

My Masterlist -> Masterlist

Synopsis- Gojo has been gone for a while on a mission, leaving you alone in your shared house. Tonight, he was returning, and you were going to make it a night of passion and pleasure, one he will truly never forget.

Warnings- Smut, and cussing. If you do not feel comfortable with reading sexual material, please click off this chapter.

Word count- 2,726

Pronouns- she/her. The reader is female.

Content- 18+ MDNI! fem reader, soft-dom Gojo, oral fem receiving, kissing, penetration, fingering, cum eating, aftercare,

Note-

y/n= your name

e/c= your eye color

This story is also posted on my Wattpad account, (Bookish_writing_) as well as other stories! Checking that out would really help me alot, thank you! 🩵

Gojo has been gone for exactly two weeks, and he was returning tonight. You had gotten a phone call from him a few hours prior, informing you of his late arrival tonight. You were beyond excited, overjoyed. You had yearned to hug him again, to feel his strong arms wrap around your body, engulfing you in an eternal warmth. You longed to fall asleep next to him at night, feeling his body pressed up against you, feeling the warmth radiating off him. You craved his sweet kisses. The long warm kisses filled with love and passion and the fast chaste kisses he would plant on your lips every morning.

How you desired to feel his cock pressed inside you, to feel his flesh molding with yours. You needed to feel him inside you as he pressed sloppy kisses to every inch of your exposed body. You ached to feel his tongue lapping at your wet folds, exploring your wetness. You needed to feel his cum spurting inside you, filling you up, completing you.

You wanted to taste him. All of him.

But alas, that time hasn't come yet. Thankfully it hasn't come yet, because you were not prepared. You wanted this night to be special. You wanted this night to be about him. His body must ache from catching and killing curses for two weeks straight. (Although he would never admit that to you) You wanted to please him, to take the stress away, to relief him and you knew just how to do it.

Lingerie.

That's how you would do it. Candles too. You would decorate the bedroom, light candles, scatter cherry red rose petals around the room, hang up mood enhancing fairy lights.

You would cook for him too.

You would make his favorite meal and pick up his favorite treats.

Yes.

During the day, you had made your way to town to pick up the essentials. Stopping at the grocery store to pick up the ingredients to prepare his favorite dish. You stopped at his favorite candy shop and picked up his favorite sweet, Mochi. After dropping the items off at your house, you then made your final stop, the lingerie store. You knew exactly what you wanted. More specifically, what color you wanted the set to be.

It had to be blue. The blue of his marvelous eyes.

You opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit shop, the little bell ringing indicating a new customer. You were greeted and asked if you needed any assistance. You declined. Personally, the thought of someone assisting you with lingerie made you shiver. It was a bit unsettling.

You made your way into the back of the store, passing beautiful sets of lingerie as you walked, all different colors. Each piece was unique, but none of the pieces caught your eye, no matter how beautiful, except for one.

In the back of the shop, sitting on a shelf was a ravishing, two-piece lingerie set, that included matching stockings. The color was a wonderful shade of light blue, that harmonized with Gojo's eyes perfectly. The flowers that were laced within the bra and underwear added to its beauty.

You began to flip through the sizes and picked one. You headed to the changing room and began to undress. Once you were bare, you began delicately sliding on the lingerie set, being extra cautious not to ruin it. Once on, you looked at yourself in the mirror.

Stunning. Absolutely beautiful.

You were ravishing.

You were remarkable, irresistible even.

How was Gojo going to contain himself?

Smiling to yourself, you began to take off the set, letting it gently slide off your body and pool to the ground. Then, you put your day clothes back on. Once changed, you headed out, purchased your set and headed back home.

You had to get ready...

Once you had returned to your shared house, you began to prepare. Setting out pleasant smelling candles and lighting them. Cleaning up the bedroom and scattering rose petals around the room. Hanging up soft fairy lights to set the mood. Lighting incents to make the room smell amazing. And finally, it was time to prepare dinner. As you were placing your ingredients on the counter, your phone buzzed. Swiftly taking it out of your pocket and turning it on, you read the message from Gojo.

Hey baby, I'll be home soon. I brought takeout for us. Can't wait to seeeee youuu!!!! I missed you sooooo much💖💖💖

Shit

Shit, shit, shit.

You had to clean up. There was no time to cook dinner. Swiftly, you began to put everything away, chucking food into the fridge and throwing spices into the cupboards. Once you were finished, you dashed to the bedroom, grabbing the bag that contained your outfit on the way. Once in your room, you shut the door and began changing. Not only a few minutes later Gojo had walked through the front door, announcing his presents.

"Babyyyy, I'm home!"

"One second!" you hollered back. You gave yourself a glance over in your bedroom mirror before opening the door and walking out. You walked down the hallway, spotting Gojo before he saw you. He was dropping food and his other personal belongings onto the counter before you walked in. When he heard your light footsteps, he turned around, mouth agape. He had his blindfold on, but you didn't need to see his eyes to know they were on you. Gojo's cheeks flared as he leaned onto the counter, crossing his legs in the process.

"What's all this for baby?" He asked, swooning over your half-exposed body.

"I wanted to surprise you." You began to seductively walk over to Gojo, placing your hands on his broad chest, caressing the area. His lips tugged upward into a smile. He wore a shit-eating grin. Gojo gasped slightly.

"You did this all for me?" Gojo wrapped his arms around you, placing his hands on your hips, pulling you against his warm body. You nodded, letting out a breathy sigh.

Oh, how you missed his touch.

"I did. You have been gone for a while, I got lonely, and I missed you. And, you have been working so hard. What better what to relieve some of the stress." You smirked as Gojo laughed.

"How sweet my baby is. Putting her needs before mine." Gojo leaned down to your ear and whispered.

"But... I get more pleasure when I am relieving you."

This made your body shiver. Goosebumps pricked your skin and Gojo began to kiss your ear, leaving small chaste kisses before moving onto your neck. Instinctively, you grabbed Gojo's shirt, bunching the material in your fists. Then he began to suck.

No doubt leaving a hickey in his wake.

Then he slowly moved to your lips. Not kiss swollen yet, but oh, they will be. His kisses were slow and sensual, capturing the moment with such love and passion. Slowly, his kisses became rough.

You did not fight him. You submitted willingly.

He explored your mouth, tasting you...

Ravaging you...

He tasted of sweet chocolate. You loved how he tasted. He always tastes so sweet, and you could never get enough. His kisses were like drugs, and if his kisses were drugs, the only antidote was to have his cock buried deep inside you.

That was the only relief.

You needed it....

You yearned for it.

You unbaled you fists and broke the kiss, the warm feeling dissipating, but you didn't have to wait long.

You looked up at Gojo through hooded eyes, giving him a pleasing look. He was amused, as he watched you.

"Please Gojo, bedroom."

"No, no no, not yet cutie. I'm going to take this nice and slow." Gojo Leaned down to your ear.

"And when we get to the bedroom, I'm going to prep you slowly. I'm going to take my sweet time getting you ready."

Gojo grabbed your ass.

"Then I'm going to fuck you slowly."

...

"And I'm going to make you cum, over and over again."

Liquid began to pool between your legs, dampening your newly bought undies. You crossed your legs, attempting to hide your arousal, but Gojo knew better. He knew how turned on he made you.

He relished in it.

Suddenly, Gojo lifted you up, slinging you over his shoulder and giving your ass a slap. When he entered the bedroom, he shut the door with his foot, walked over to your shared bed, and placed you on it. Immediately he was on you. Consuming your body and devouring your mouth. Gojo's kisses were rough and passionate. Your hands flew into his hair while he continued to dominate your mouth, while also pulling your panties down and unclasping your blue lace bra. Gojo's left hand flew to your pussy, as he began to rub circles on your clit. You moaned out his name, as your back arched off the soft plush mattress.

"How does that feel sweetheart?" Gojo cooed. His soft tone was enchanting. You whimpered out.

"Really good." Gojo smiled and crawled off you, removing his hand. You groaned from the lack of contact, but you did not have to wait long. Gojo grabbed your body, scooting you down to the edge of the bed and got on his knees. Lifting both hands, he spread your legs apart, placing his big hands on your juicy thighs, as he began to eat you out. Gojo flicked his tongue over your swollen clit repeatedly. Letting your thigh go, he began to pump one finger inside of you. He went slow. Painfully slow, just as he said he would. Then he added another, still pumping them slow, still flicking his tongue over your clit. You moaned out.

"Oh, Fuck Satoru, I'm close. Please don't stop."

Gojo could feel your orgasm coming. He knew it. He obliged your request. He kept the same pace, keeping his tongue on your sensitive clit and you came. You cursed and moaned his name aloud. You saw stars, you were in pure bliss; you were in ecstasy. Gojo drank your essence hungrily, licking every last drop. While you stayed on the bed panting, Gojo slowly removed his fingers and stood up. His towering heigh over you was enough alone to get you feeling needy again.

Gojo began to undress, stripping down to nothing, and taking his blindfold off. Gojo walked over to the desk, placed his blindfold down and began rummaging through your nightstand drawer. Grabbing a condom, he opened it and began to slowly roll it on.

You could tell he needed relief, and you were going to give it to him.

While Gojo was slipping on the condom, you slid up the bed, resting your head on the ebony black headboard. The headboard was cushioned, making it comfortable to lean against. When Gojo finished, he crawled on the bed and began to hover over you. But you stopped him, placing your hands firm on his chest. A puzzled looked crossed onto his face, his eyes dancing with curiosity and wonder.

"No. Let me ride you." you stated proudly, not breaking eye contact. Gojo was not having that as he pushed you back, sliding you into your back side. His hands entangled in your hair as he settled himself between your thighs.

"No. Your pleasure is my pleasure." Before you could protest, the head of his cock began to slide up and down your dripping wet pussy.

"And I know how much you love when I dominate you."

"Oh, fuck." you moaned. Gojo has not even entered you yet, but this pleasure was already beginning to overwhelm you. Gojo began to caress your cheek.

"I love the decorations you set up in the room. How sweet." All you could do was nod.

"Are you ready pretty baby?" Gojo asked sweetly. You nodded.

"No, answer me baby. I need a verbal yes."

Oh god. His way of asking to fuck you could make you cum right then and there. Your pussy throbbed and ached for him. Your heart ached to feel his thick cock inside of your wet, weeping hole. You needed him. Now.

Your pleasure was his pleasure.

"Yes. God Gojo. Please fuck me." you pleaded. Not wasting a second, Gojo slowly began to push his cock into you. He went slow.

Just like he said he would.

Goji stretched and filled you completely.

"Are you ok sweetheart?"

God, you loved it when he talked like that.

You nodded.

"Yes, please move. Please fuck me."

"Be patient baby."

You hooked your legs around Gojo's waist and wrapped your arms around his neck. Gojo's pace remained slow and sensual.

But it wasn't enough.

You needed him to move faster. You had to feel his cock moving in and out of your tight, warm pussy at a fast pace.

You needed to come again, with him inside you this time.

Your pleasure is my pleasure.

Gojo could tell you were needy. Your brows furrowed as your eyes shut.

You were desperate.

You needed him.

Have you waiting long enough?

"Have you waited long enough? Are you ready for me to fuck you senseless?" Gojo asked.

"God, fuck yes!" you cried out.

Gojo indulged your request.

He pulled out slowly, and with one quick motion, he snapped his hips into yours. You cried out in both pain and pleasure. Gojo's pace quickened as you planted both hands into his hair and pulled. Gojo rasped and let out a low, sensual moan as you continued to tug at his soft, white locks. The lewd slaping sounds and the breathy moans you both emitted filled the room.

"Fuck y/n, you are so tight for me.

And I...

Have waited...

Two whole...

Fucking weeks...

To feel you against me..."

Gojo lowered his mouth to your neck and began to kiss and suck again. A tight knot began to form inside of you. Your pussy throbbed and your walls began to convulse around his cock. Gojo moved onto your kiss-swollen lips, kissing them once more. His tongue invaded your mouth, feeling everything you had to offer.

He still tastes sweet, and God did you love it.

You moaned into his mouth causing Gojo to pull back and look into your lust filled e/c eyes.

"Ah, Gojo I'm... I'm going to cum."

"Fuck me too....

Cum for me."

Fuck.

That had sent you over the edge, plunging you into a state of ecstasy.

Your legs began to shake, as the tight knot in your stomach snapped. You came, your juices wetting your pussy and dripping down your thighs. Gojo thrusted his hips forwards a few more times before he had released. Once he had came, he collapsed on top of you. His head laid on your chest as you stared breathlessly at the ceiling. Both of you were panting, needing a few moments to catch your breath.

After a few moments of basking in the warmth of each other, Gojo slowly got off of you, attempting not to disturb or hurt you. Before taking care of himself, Gojo grabbed the blanket on the side of the bed and draped it over you. He pressed a tender, loving kiss upon your forehead before heading out of the room.

When he came back, he had taken the condom off and was carrying a damp washcloth. He approached the bed slowly and tugged the blanket off you.

"I just need to clean you off baby and then we can take a warm bath together." Gojo flashed you a warm smile as he wiped you clean. Once finished, he placed the washcloth around his shoulder and gracefully pick you up. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as you gazed into his loving eyes. Gojo kissed you again, before whispering "I love you" into your ear.

#saturo gojo x reader #gojo saturo #gojo sensei #gojo x y/n #gojou satoru x reader #jjk smut #jjk x y/n #jjk fanfic #gojo smut #gojo fanfic #gojo x you #gojo fluff

85 notes · View notes

charlenasaxen · 3 months ago

Text

The Grandest Game Favorite Quotes

“There was a price to be paid for power, always. The only question was how steep that price was”

Rohan opted for a different tactic. “We both know I’m a magnificent bastard.”

There it was: the game, the stakes, the threat.

“Go,” the Proprietor said, blocking the way back to Rohan’s rooms. “Now.”

“Look for an opening. Look for a loophole. Look for a weakness. His mind churning, Rohan looked for a pint.”

“Fortunately, Avery Grambs had never been a member of the Devil’s Mercy.

Hello, loophole.”

“Rohan’s lips curved, more on one side than the other”

“Were two of them opposites? Did one of those opposites vary from the remaining choices only by nuance?”

“I’m not in this class,” Lyra repeated. “I fell asleep in the prior lecture.”

“trick questions backfires if the person taking the test knows how to look for tricks.”

“For the past three years, Lyra had done everything she could to seem normal, to be normal”

“the woods and the creek and generations of Kanes carving their names into the same tree”

“Lyra had grown up at Mile’s End. She’d carved her name into that tree”

“She was just treading water.

But that was better than drowning.”

“But sometimes, all you could do was push.”

“No, Lyra thought, picking up the ball. A circus. The circus of assholes probably wasn’t expecting her to punt the ball over their heads.”

Ricocheted off, and smacked the jerk who’d catcalled her in the back of his head.

“No,” Lyra called out. “I didn’t.”

“a message scrawled across it in dark-blue ink. YOU DESERVE THIS.”

“The words engraved above the code were instantly recognizable.

The Grandest Game.”

“A steady hand caught her elbow. A suit-clad arm encircled her waist.”

“He made things happen in an instant. Grayson Hawthorne bled power.”

“He won arguments with a single arch of his sharply angled blond brows!”

“Grayson, however, was impossible to take off guard”

“A group effort between the Hawthorne brothers and the Hawthorne heiress”

“Avery and Jamie requested I be boots on the ground. I’ll be running things.”

“Gigi had gathered—through her powers of inference and also snooping”

“Grayson was the grandson that billionaire Tobias Hawthorne had molded from childhood to be the perfect heir: formidable, commanding”

“Am I to take it that your mahogany bedframe is now residing in someone else’s home?”

“Anticipating—correctly—that he was about to have a very large cat placed on his head”

Grayson did not vamoose. “I have something for you.” He reached inside the jacket of his Armani suit.

“It’s yours if you want it.” Grayson’s voice was softer now. He wasn’t a soft person.

“If I had a tenner, Rohan thought, for every time someone pointed a gun at the back of my head…”

“Sitting on the edge of a bed that was not his, wearing nothing but a lush Turkish cotton robe, Rohan twirled a knife slowly”

“He lost the robe but kept the knife”

“A bishop, a rook, a knight, two pawns, and a queen.”

“if any of them had the versatility of the queen”

“A Hawthorne did this.

And then, a riddle: What begins a bet? Not that.”

“You’re late,” he called.

“If by late, you mean early.”

Lyra froze. She knew that voice.

Grayson Hawthorne.

“I assume, Jamie, that you’re aware that you’re being watched.”

“his gaze going back to Lyra’s, his lips slowly curving into that smile”

“Jameson flew the helicopter, which surprised Lyra less than the fact that Grayson deigned to ride in back”

“a sharp jawline, and he wore an expensive fleece sports vest over a collared shirt”

“worse things in the world than being handed a strategic advantage, right off the bat”

“rich, dark blue woven through with shades of green just as deep”

“He had the kind of face that looked like it had been carved from ice or stone—sharp angles, hard jaw, lips full”

“Grayson Hawthorne looked, in Lyra’s opinion, exactly like he sounded, like weaponized perfection”

“Or would you prefer I rephrase the question: On whom am I about to hang up?”

“Lyra’s heart rate ticked up. Forget Grayson. Forget the Hawthornes. They’d been children.”

“Jameson looked from Grayson to Lyra and smiled”

“Lyra’s eyes flew open. Grayson Hawthorne stared back at her.”

The two of them were standing far too close.

“You are aware that there is a cliff here?”

“Lyra looked down at his hand on her arm, and he dropped it”

“if you intend to make your recklessness my problem, you should expect that problem to be solved.”

She hadn’t even heard him move.

Lyra swallowed. “You’re in my way.”

“There was something gallant about the motion, a match for the finely tailored black suit”

“Recovering.”

“A recovering physicist?”

“The entire ocean-side wall of the house looked to be made of glass”

“She’d won her ticket, one of only four wild cards in the world”

“Gigi hadn’t spent that much time with her half brother’s half brothers”

“This was a competition. Gigi scuffed the chalk off with the heel of her hand.”

“They were talking about a girl, and, from what I gather, she’s dead.”

“She slid her arm under the chain, looping it over her shoulder, and began to climb.”

“Oh, he liked her. Rohan had a certain appreciation for being put in his place.”

“She let go with one hand and lifted the chain off her shoulder and up over the top of the flagpole”

“Your knee, Savannah.” Grayson Hawthorne bore a striking resemblance to his half sister.

“there is some chance he’s carrying a grudge about that whole business with the ribs.”

Ran a little experiment. “But that would require turning all of my attentions to Lyra Kane.”

“when her entire body was on fire? Then she climbed, exploring the cliffs and the rocky shore below.”

“More pages.

She bolted from one tree to the next.”

“She watched as her biological father’s name—all of his names, variations on a theme—burned to ash”

“so pale a blond it looked almost silver”

“The last thing Lyra noticed was the girl’s eyes. Grayson Hawthorne’s eyes.”

“But cruel? Avery Grambs and the Hawthornes four? I think not.”

“Ignore him,” Savannah advised. “It’s good for the soul.”

“And just like that. The gloves come off.”

“A delicate gold chain held a stone the exact deep blue-green as the ocean”

“I’m talking drawer in the morgue, I’ve been refrigerated, and steps have been taken to prevent me from resurrecting myself.”

“she hadn’t said anything to suggest that it was a particularly nefarious death”

“I take back my appreciation of your eyebrows.”

“Tick-tock, little girl.”

“Sunset’s coming, and you’re on the wrong side of the island. I run a five-minute mile. I’m betting you don’t.”

He sighed. “If this is about your brother’s ribs…”

“But Nash Hawthorne wasn’t looking for another little brother”

“Congratulations, by the way,” he called after Nash. “On the babies.”

“Crossing the threshold into an enormous foyer, she saw a white spiral staircase”

“It had been built into the cliff”

“marked by a card on which a name had been written in extravagant calligraphy”

“Conceited vest, darkened soul. Lyra had to hand it to Gigi: That was descriptive.”

“DON YOUR COSTUME AND YOUR MASK.

THE BALL BEGINS AT QUARTER PAST.”

“bodice was a dark navy blue, almost black, like the ocean at midnight”

“She lifted the gown off the bed, revealing a mask, delicate and jeweled, underneath”

“Surely those were rhinestones. Surely those weren’t diamonds, arranged in elaborate, hypnotic swirls.”

“inch by inch, to a brilliant blue that gave way to a light, frothy one”

“but not this. She hadn’t expected it to feel like this. Like magic.”

“Lyra stared at herself, and then the words on the mirror changed. GAME ON.

She put on the mask.”

“A library. Lyra took three steps forward—and spun.”

“stained glass that, in daylight, would have cast colored light across the gleaming wood”

“the skirt full and covered in breathtaking stitching in a shade of silver like moonlight on water”

“black gold? If so, some artisan had cajoled it into delicate, interlocking tendrils”

“Not a player. “You’re Avery Grambs.” The Hawthorne heiress.

“The one at the center of this game. The billionaire. The philanthropist. The Avery Kylie Grambs.”

“When she’d gathered herself, when she glanced back—

The Hawthorne heiress was gone.”

“Avery Grambs was nowhere in sight. It was like the heiress had disappeared into thin air.”

“Towering chocolate and white chocolate fountains sat opposite Greek columns. Each column boasted a platter piled high with meat or fruits.”

“Soaring ceilings boasted an elaborate crystal chandelier”

“an unvarnished panorama of the Pacific Ocean at twilight. Thousands of fairy lights dotted the rocky shore.”

“based on the number of tuxedo-clad masked men present, at least some of the Hawthorne brothers had to be there”

“Not Grayson. Lyra couldn’t shake the feeling that she would have recognized him instantly, no matter the mask he wore.”

“how striking the other girl looked draped in ice-blue silk”

“they walked in a slow, seductive circle around each other. The dance looked like it had been lifted from another era, watching the two of them circle each other, Lyra found it hard to breathe.”

“The stork flies at half past ten,” he said dramatically. “The hummingbird eats a cookie. My dog is named Tiramisu.”

Grayson had displaced him. “May I cut in?”

“She’d known that she would recognize him, no matter the mask. His was black. No adornments. Just… black.”

“They were circling each other now, their hands barely touching. Lyra had never felt so aware of every inch of skin.”

“The music changed, and with it, the dance. Grayson effortlessly took Lyra’s hand.”

“A Hawthorne did this. Lyra steeled herself against the feel of Grayson’s hand on her back, the interweaving of their fingers.”

“he would have—the way Avery Grambs apparently had for the Grandest Game”

“Grayson Hawthorne could damn well move mountains with a flick of his wrist”

“she would have cut him down, but he was Grayson Hawthorne”

“Except,” Grayson said, the oddest undercurrent in his tone, “for me to stay out of your way.”

“That’s the only thing I could ever want from you, Hawthorne boy.”

“Focus on them. Not him. Never him.”

“the remaining Hawthorne brothers took up position around Jameson and Avery”

“think of the five of them as anything other than a unit against the world”

“The masks you’re wearing tonight,” Jameson said, “are yours to keep.”

“The people in this room with you tonight are the only ones who will ever know what it was like to play.”

“From now through the ends of your lives, that’s something you’ll share.”

“Growing up,” Jameson said, looking at each of his brothers in turn, “it was something of a rite of passage in Hawthorne House to receive a pin.”

“Win or lose, you’re all a part of something now.”

Avery smiled. “You are not alone.”

“Every story has its beginning, Knox.” Avery’s voice took on an almost musical lilt.

“Until then…” Avery held out an arm out for Jameson, who took it. “Follow us.”

She realized that she’d just stepped from rocks to sand. Black sand.

“Shoes off,” Jameson called out. Clearly, he was enjoying this.

“like she was some kind of demented Olympic discus thrower. Knox had cursed her out and gone after the bag”

“Through the bathroom wall, she heard someone in the next room turn on the shower.”

“Instead, she looked to the floor, where Brady’s tuxedo was strewn”

“Odette hurled the glass box to the ground. It shattered, shards raining down into the crevices.”

“Neither the gown nor the chain seemed to slow her down. They should have.”

“I am not in the habit of wanting things. I set goals. I achieve them.”

“Grayson Hawthorne stepped into the room unaccompanied”

“suddenly unmistakable now: a heart, a diamond, a club.

Three symbols. Three teams.”

“There are three teams,” Avery reiterated, her voice coming from all around them. “And eight players.”

“Search that tuxedo, Mr. Hawthorne. I wager you’ll find one of these.”

“Ten feet away from Lyra, Grayson executed an efficient search of his tuxedo”

“In the end, to win it all, one must best a Hawthorne.”

“for that dance and the way she could still feel his hand on her back—Grayson Hawthorne owed her”

“face the last person on the planet she wanted to be locked in a room with”

“Grayson stared back at Lyra, his pupils expanding, inky black”

“It hardly seems I have a choice,” he said. “I value my life, and you appear to have a temper.” Muscles shifted over his granite jaw, like he’d entertained the idea of smiling.

“Locked in. With Grayson Hawthorne.”

Grayson walked to stand directly behind her and translated: “And so it begins.”

“but there was an intensity to him that could not be ignored”

“covered in the remains of the hourglass. Shards.

A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling.”

“Ask me how often I won my grandfather’s games,” Grayson suggested silkily

“Lyra reached for the poetry magnets. Grayson did the same. Her fingers brushed the back of his hand.”

Grayson’s gaze settled on hers. He arched a brow. “Are we going to have a problem here, Lyra?”

“Rest assured, Lyra.” Grayson’s voice was low and smooth

“Tuxedo Abs, because hey, the man was built”

“on the three obvious desk drawers and the hidden one on this side, which I’m sure you’ve both already noticed, right?”

“And speaking of, am I the only one who’s noticed that chair is made of swords?”

Gigi could see the effort it took Knox not to look down.

“She knew what it was like to be a part of that kind of we.

And then, suddenly, not to be.”

“The eighth player is your brother.”

“Half brother.”

“Do you intend to keep that appendage?”

Savannah caught his wrist.

“I assume that you are also attached to your appendages.”

“A beam of light and a concave mirror.”

“Grayson flicked a button open on his tuxedo jacket with one hand”

“I could do that. Lyra looked up to see a single strand of blond hair fall into that stone-carved face of his.”

Certain words cropped up again and again.

“Power, crown, adage.”

“It took Lyra a moment, but she got there. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

“Grayson Hawthorne had the kind of presence that extended well past his body”

“Or do we have to earn that information, your highness?”

“I’m feeling magnanimous.” Grayson’s lips twitched.

“That same damn strand of blond hair fell into Grayson’s face a second time. He brushed it back.”

“Grayson ran his hands over the granite, left to right, then down, his movements automatic”

“aware on some level that she’d adopted Grayson’s exact pattern of movement”

“The number of scars my brothers have obtained directly after uttering the statement I can handle a little glass means you will have to forgive my skepticism.”

“Suddenly, Grayson’s fingers were right next to hers. True to his vow, he didn’t allow their hands to so much as brush.”

“It sank inch by inch, crystals vibrating with the movement, clinking”

extended her gesture to encompass Lyra. “You’re going to have to lift her up.”

“She knew already how Grayson’s touch could linger”

“Remember an interview she’d seen, years earlier. Grayson Hawthorne and Avery Grambs. That kiss.”

“there is again an adage and a crystal chandelier.”

“And there is, again,” Odette added, “a girl.”

“Grayson’s touch was gentle, but it wasn’t light”

“His fingers wrapped around the front of her body, spanning her hipbones”

Lyra ripped the bandage off and beat him to counting. “Three.”

Grayson lifted her up and over his head.

“Grayson’s hand moved upward to her back, which arched in response”

“Grayson slid the other one down, gripping her thigh through the gown”

“It shouldn’t have felt like a pas de deux. Swan Lake. She shouldn’t have felt Grayson Hawthorne’s touch like an invitation, a beckoning.”

“Not on him. The gown, his hand, my thigh—”

“beneath her, Grayson began to rotate. Slowly. Delicately.”

“Crystal after crystal after crystal.

Lyra breathed, and she felt him with every damn breath.”

“The next thing she knew, both of Grayson’s hands were on her thighs”

“Got it.” The words came out guttural.

“Grayson caught her around the waist an instant before she would have landed”

“Just like that, his touch was gone”

“a honey-whiskey whisper that sounded raw, even to her own ears”

“I need a moment.” The muscles across Grayson’s shoulder blades pulled visibly.

“What are you doing?” Grayson’s moment must have ended—either that, or he could multitask.

“The Grandest Game is a real family affair this year, isn’t it?”

“Gigi could feel another nepotism rant coming”

“Gigi fell. Knox caught her. His rehabilitation had officially begun.”

“every visible muscle tensed beneath his apparently thin dress shirt”

“I triple-majored in undergraduate. My brain likes A Lot.”

Gigi smiled—and not slightly.

“glorious though she might be, is an asset—a queen, perhaps, but a game piece nonetheless.”

“He’d spoken those words from the floor. Lyra’s eyes flew open. Grayson was kneeling.”

“Being wrong,” Grayson said.

“You have to practice being wrong?”

Grayson kept right on. “And some of us live with each and every mistake we make carved into us, into hollow places we don’t know how to fill.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “About the nature of this puzzle.”

“Grayson’s voice was edged, each word precise and as sharp as the tip of a knife”

“An anagram.” Grayson was suddenly right there beside her.

“The intensity radiating off Grayson’s body came out in his tone. Lyra matched that intensity.”

“the same word at the same time, his voice low and clear, hers husky, their tones blending together”

“so intense that Lyra could feel it, like a fire burning inside her, like a hollow place suddenly filled”

“A sword. The hilt was simple but beautifully made, gold at the ends.”

“Another second passed, and he turned and gestured—gallantly, of course”

“No.” Lyra gave the sword a test swing. “After you.”

Knox looked away, his body wound tight. “And constellations.”

Brady went very, very still.

“what it might be like to touch Brady’s stomach the way he was touching hers”

“saw the answers, all three of them, all at once”

He could hardly blame her for doing the same. “Then by all means, love, go around me.”

The staircase turned, and Grayson’s voice cut through the darkness. “Take my hand.”

“she could tell he’d turned to face her, and somehow, her body’s sense for his was so strong that she knew exactly where his hand was in the darkness”

“Why would an eighteen-year-old with a multi-million-dollar trust fund need to win the Grandest Game?”

“WAIT, THAT’S NOT RIGHT

AT LEAST THE ANSWER IS BLACK AND WHITE”

“Do I seem as though I consider myself playful?” Grayson replied

“Something she couldn’t quite grasp.

Something forever just out of reach.”

“the cruel beauty of a moment, gone too fast and burned into skin”

“everything makes perfect sense. If an answer fails to reveal the trick.”

“Grayson took the sword. Something about the lines of his body and the way he stood.”

His silvery-gray eyes coming to rest on hers. “I’m rather starting to like them.”

“like it had killed his puppy or given him a wedgie or both”

Whatever advantage Brady’s size gave him, it wouldn’t last.

“Push the button, Gigi.”

“Everything okay?” A voice—Avery’s—sounded

“pretty sure that Avery wasn’t the one snorting”

“Brady, if I win the Grandest Game, I swear I’ll make sure your mom is taken care of.”

“Eventually, I started eating dinner at his house, too. Every night.”

“My mama’s a good cook.”

“Terrified,” Rohan replied. “You have yourself a wager.”

“Grayson Hawthorne’s body was never far from hers”

“She saw that one, stubbornly imperfect bit of his pale blond hair fall carelessly into his eyes. Again.”

“He crossed the chamber in two long strides and slid under Odette’s other arm”

“I also do not need living crutches, and yet, here the two of you are.”

“Has any good ever come of telling a Hawthorne they were wrong?” Odette retorted. She shrugged off Grayson’s arm.

“her chocolate chip pancakes with cream cheese icing and rainbow sprinkles”

“She jabbed the Pointy Finger of Accusation”

“And maybe the players and the game makers aren’t the only ones on Hawthorne Island.”

“he deeply suspected the only way he’d be able to get that chain off Savannah Grayson was by invitation”

“She lunged for the rotary phone, and Rohan remembered her promise”

“He locked an arm around her body, and she bit him, hard enough that he felt it”

As calmly as if they didn’t have each other in painful holds. “Black and white.”

Some whispers were weapons. “One that caters to the very powerful.”

“I can only hope that you appreciate the truly undervalued art of yodeling.”

“Always.” Savannah strode past him into the unknown.

“The man’s was sizzling, as she plucked the martini from his hand and downed it. He leaned forward and brought his lips within inches of hers.

The danger of touch…”

“She’s four years old. Today. Today is her birthday.

Another bang.”

“Lyra.” A voice washed over her, familiar in all the right and wrong ways.

skin against her skin, warmth

“You will come back to me, or I will make you come back to me.”

The real world came into focus, starting with Grayson Hawthorne.

“the lines of his face, sharp cheekbones, stone-cut jaw”

“so warm and steady and gentle and solid and there”

“Grayson’s thumb lightly stroked her cheek”

“What are you doing?” Grayson said, his voice softer than it had any right to be

He adopted what he probably thought was a very pleasant tone. “Why would you want to stay bugged?”

“A something-to-behold, earth-shattering, hope-you-don’t-ever-want-to-breathe-again kind of smile”

nearly so quiet. “Being human. You should try it.”

“that the laws of physics and man did not apply to you”

“Lyra pushed down the urge to follow him. She didn’t need to be close to Grayson.”

“Grayson moved like a shadow, silent and swift”

“In other words,” Lyra said, her voice dry, “yes, you can read Greek.”

Grayson held out a hand. “May I?”

“Fair assessment.” His Majesty seemed to consider that high praise.

“allowing herself to take in the lines of his body”

Grayson said in that same quiet, steady voice, “I once ended up locked in a cello case for six hours.”

Him.

Grayson bent to block out the rest of the world from her view. “Give me your eyes, sweetheart.”

“A kitten?” she managed.

“A calico, I believe.”

“the kind of voice that reverberated down her spine”

“Lyra wasn’t even aware that she’d reached for Grayson, but suddenly, her fingers were clamped down on his arm”

“Grayson leaned his head toward hers, until their foreheads brushed”

“HERE THERE BE DRAGONS.”

She reached over to pat Knox’s shoulder. “I call that nickname progress.”

“like she’d slowly started turning into a moose, which was actually a pretty common response”

His throat tensing against the words, “is Calla Thorp. Orion is her father.”

“Knox was set on playing the Grandest Game, and he wanted a partner. I guess some part of me wanted us back, so…”

“And knowing that, Knox sold me out to Orion Thorp for a ride.”

“all Gigi could think was that Knox had never denied that Orion Thorp was still his sponsor”

“The detailing work was exquisite. Tiny pearls lined the bottom and accented each knife-sharp point of the crown.”

“The largest of the crowns, it looked like something out of a dark fairy tale, the metal carved in a way that called to mind antlers and thorns.”

He moved his game piece next to Savannah’s. “Your turn, Savvy. My dice or yours?”

“THIS IS NOT YOUR CLUE.”

“Grayson pulled back from her, just enough to turn his head”

“Grayson cocked his head slightly to one side, a tiger sizing up his prey”

“Tell, Mr. Hawthorne.” Odette stared Grayson down. “Have I told a single lie?”

Grayson’s gaze flicked toward Lyra. “No.”

“Never trust a sentence with three ifs,” Grayson told Lyra. “Particularly when spoken by a lawyer.”

“The last thing. Lyra wondered just how much time Odette had left.”

“Grayson ordered. He was obviously trying to protect her, to spare her.”

“Grayson’s pale eyes locked on hers with an odd kind of recognition”

“who’d met gazes across a crowded room only to realize they’d met before.

Like they were the same.”

“It has taken me a lifetime,” Grayson said softly, “to learn how to be weak.”

“Look away from his eyes, Lyra told herself desperately. Look away from him.”

“all she could think about was the poem she’d destroyed, the one he’d pieced back together”

“she did her best to not think about Grayson Hawthorne and mistakes—about weakness and running and living”

“Lyra watched that kiss with Grayson Hawthorne beside her, unable to keep herself from thinking about the kind of mistakes that were worth making”

peeled the long, velvet gloves off her hands. “And also: This one is one of mine.”

“The man I married never made my father a star,” she said, an odd glint in her eyes. “I was another story.”

“Dollhouse was an understatement. Gigi took it all in. The entire spread was eight feet long.”

“In between, the streets were lined with shops—some Victorian, some medieval”

“If you can get them to spit you out, it’s pretty much just a massage.”

“When she grasped the tiny scepter between her forefinger and her thumb and tried to pull, she was met with resistance.

The head of the scepter was a dragon.”

“Tiny, plastic books spilled out onto the dollhouse floor.

Scrawled onto each of them, there was a number.”

“After all,” she continued, her eyes like knives, “society is kindest to women who do what they should.”

“where the game makers’ command center was and what they had been doing to pass the time”

“three objects: a silver hairbrush, a pearl-handled knife, and a glass rose”

“Not poker.” Avery Grambs was the one who replied. “Truth or Dare.”

“The two of you are most welcome to try and risk not getting your hint. Bonne chance.”

“making it clear that he and Avery knew exactly what was at stake”

“Compared to the Proprietorship of the Devil’s Mercy, what was one little game of Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.” She reached for the pile of white and gold cards.

“the past had clawed its way to the surface of his mind twice, and that was two times too many”

“That’s the most vivid part of the memory. I’m in the water. I can’t swim. I can’t see anything. And it’s not the first time.”

“I can come up with another dare.”

“I want,” Savannah said, “to win.”

“Rohan.” The way she said his name was like a knife slid between ribs.

Savannah.

“Rohan took the knife in his hand and wondered if she was punishing herself for feeling—or him for making her feel”

Savannah stood, towering over the strands of her hair that littered the floor. “Your turn.”

“And now what he likes or wants or expects no longer matters.”

“You want an explanation, Rohan? Try this one: Money isn’t the only thing you get if you win the Grandest Game.”

“That was the truth of Rohan’s life. The Mercy was his, and he was the Mercy. Without it, he was just a five-year-old boy drowning in dark water.”

“It was all connected. Why she was here. That anger. Her father. What else does the winner of the Grandest Game receive, besides money?”

It shattered into pieces.

“There you are, Savvy,” Rohan murmured. I see you.”

“He tried to destroy me.” Odette smiled that eagle-on-a-hunt, grandma-baking-cookies smile. “It didn’t take.”

“And both of them had connections to Tobias Hawthorne, to that List of his.”

“It makes one wonder, doesn’t it, what else they arranged just so?”

“Jameson Hawthorne’s wicked smile, back on the helipad. Right after his brother heard my voice for the first time.”

“Minutes and hours had lost all meaning. It felt like they had been locked in for days, but soon enough, one way or another, this night would end.”

“Lyra would never have to speak to or look at Grayson Hawthorne again”

Grayson angled his lips downward, toward her ear.

His voice was just barely audible—and only to her.

“pushing down the incredible urge to look at him”

“What drawers?”

Like magic, a section of thick, velvety fabric fell away from the wall.

“The metal bore only one word.

FINALE.”

“Gigi took one of them from him, her fingers brushing his outstretched palm”

“We’re in the library.” Her eyes widened. “Books and books. Little ones, big ones.”

“And so it went, book after book. The moment they decoded the last one.”

“A stained-glass panel on the ceiling swung down like a trapdoor, creating an opening overhead.

And down fell a rope.”

“I don’t get to make you feel like that? Like what, precisely, love?”

“Careful, Rohan. He could still feel the moment the knife had cut.”

“There were pieces made of marble and glass, crystal and wood; boards that folded and boards that were bejeweled; simple sets and works of art”

“Beneath, there was writing: USE ME.

Rohan lifted the board, sending the pieces scattering.”

“Veritas.” Rohan said it out loud. There was a beep.

“This moment in time, was coming to an end. Soon the two of them would no longer be a team.”

She was a player, too. “I believe it’s time,” Rohan said, locking his eyes on to hers, “that you and I struck a deal.”

“How long did they have until the first haze of soft morning light would appear?”

“Memory was a physical thing. Back arching. His fingers, my thighs.”

Grayson said behind her. “Every time you move, you dance.”

“I do not.” Arguing with him was the easiest thing in the world.

Grayson’s voice was deeper now. “You never stopped dancing.”

“with Grayson Hawthorne saying things like that?”

“Yes, well, doubt has never been my strong suit.” Grayson’s gaze cheated toward Lyra’s.

“keenly aware of the way she moved and the way he watched her”

“A person could have written a book about all the ways that Grayson Hawthorne could almost-but-not-quite smile”

“Grayson actually smiled then, and Lyra wished that he hadn’t. She really, really wished that he hadn’t.”

“Unable to keep her eyes from going to Grayson’s hands.

His fingers were long and dexterous. The skin of his hands was smooth, the muscles leading to his wrists defined.”

“She thought at first, just from his tone, that Grayson had seen something”

Looking up at her like he might never look away. “And last year, when I told you to stop calling—I didn’t mean it.”

Knox said, putting on the sunglasses.

“The rhinestones really bring out your eyes,” Brady deadpanned.

“That sucked the oxygen out of the room. Brady didn’t so much as check Knox’s reaction, but Gigi did. Wounded eyebrows.”

“She’s not missing. She didn’t meet with foul play. And I know that, because the night before Calla left, she came to me to say good-bye.”

“Knox pulled his collar roughly down, baring the skin at the base of his neck—and a white, puckered, triangular scar”

“An alliance where the end goal is betrayal.”

“He could see Savannah from every side. Angles. Curves. Power.”

“shining, silver thread. SURRENDER.”

“Half brother.” And there it was.

“I’m…” She almost said fine, but that word felt loaded now.

#quotes #the inheritance games

7 notes · View notes