#death and eternal dusk

[hunterfromtheabyss]

some recent oc art

#original character #laxi #robin #sota #death and eternal dusk #kas scribbles #kas's ocs

[hikarinokusari]

" We're sorry for your friend. "

We went to Loomchurch and our party splitted because our chaotic members decided to get to Skabatha to gather informations, outside of the plan we had.

Vae's kobold friend died there. And he can't but feel like it's his fault somehow. Would he have insisted on his friend not going, it wouldn't have happened.

He spent the night awake, to talk to his friend remains, hoping a wild magic surge effect would lift off and the kobold's bones would somehow be moving again and the red scaly friend would be there again.

But nothing happened.

It was just him, his friend remains, and late promises made to someone who can not hear them anymore.

#art #the wild beyond the witchlight #no spoiler please. #dnd art #twbtw #I meant to do a comic but I learnt my IRL buddy health wasn't going to be any better. I didn't felt like drawing about death anymore. #fake illustration #my art #doodle #adding to the pile of things I should finish. #it's an eternal dusk so the lighting is just me messing around in a doodle not understanding lighting. #vae's crying but you can't see it #PC > vaevys rekril #our other mate has been turned into a pig and the kobold player's new PC is a pig as well. #funny how death and dying is such a strange concept to my shadar-kai but the death of a friend is a very finite thing #and the truth of the kobold not being brought back by anyone is just hard to swallow. #crossblogging to art blog bc I can.

[dotwpod]

(301) Independent Music Special Vol. 24

Disciples!!It’s our final Independent Music Special for 2023 – volume 24! Launch yourself into the New Year with style and crank up some Independent music with your loved ones, or your pets – or all by your sexy self!One update that I failed to mention in the intro: There are now time notes in the ‘show notes’ on the website (dotwpod.com) so you can pause your player, take a screen shot, then…

View On WordPress

#Acherontas #Astral Sleep #Black Absinthe #Black Altar #Black Metal #Burn The Evidence #Cryptosis #Damnationis #Death Metal #Death Thrash #Decrowned #Demons By Design #Descent #Devolver #Disciples of the Watch #Disorientation #Dreamworld #Dusk #Eternal Returns #Exiled Hope #Folk Metal #Hard Rock #Hatred Reigns #Hauntologist #Heavy Metal #Horrorgraphy #Independent Metal #Independent Music #Instrumental Metal #International Independent Music

[utterlyotterlyx]

Azriel prompt 2 and 3!! Don't make it sad though lol

Work Song

Summary - A mission with Azriel takes a bad turn.

Warnings - angst, mentions of death, fear of death, fluff

"God - here just hold my hand."

"Is now a bad time to tell you that I'm claustrophobic?"

Took all of my willpower to not make this sad af.

Death.

It was always something that had terrified you, they all knew that you had spent many a night lying in bed thinking about what would come next for you, and no one knew of your fear more than Azriel, the one who soothed that fear and made it evaporate with his searing adoration for you.

Azriel assured you that no matter what came next, he would follow you anywhere, whether that be into the eyes of death and a life of entangled souls, with you, it didn't matter where he was. You were his home, his everything. The sun to his moon. The bird to his spring breeze. The dawn to his dusk. Everything.

But as he knelt before you, nose bloody and panting with wildly wide eyes staring at you in the hands of the very male you had set out to exterminate, he could see that fear in you, he could see it in the way your chest rose and fell with each shaky breath, he could see it in the sweat rolling down your forehead and in the gulps of air that you took as his knife pressed to your throat.

You were just as talented as Azriel as a spy, if not more, you had grown up as an orphan in Hewn City and had no choice but to fend for yourself. Rhys had found you tailing him a couple hundred years ago along the Hewn City streets, he admitted how impressed he was by you, by your nimble athletics and swift fighting style. Azriel hadn't been happy when Rhys had placed you under his wing to train, though he found himself becoming fond of you rather quickly.

There was a sense of shared trauma between you, with his marred hands to the thick cracks slicing through your back. Life hadn't been kind to either of you, but it gave you some form of solace to know that you weren't alone.

Then the bond snapped, and Azriel often refused to ever leave you, he just wanted to be with you, slaying the Night Court's enemies or entangled with your body in the small cottage you shared in Velaris.

Azriel loved you more than anything he ever thought possible, the need to have you near, to protect you, was so great that if he wasn't with you he would believe you to be in danger. It wasn't like you couldn't look after yourself, he certainly didn't doubt that after the copious amount of times you had flipped him over your shoulder with a smirk on those beautiful lips. It gave him peace having you near, it was like he couldn't truly believe he had you, a mate, an eternal love.

Blood trickled down your neck as you heaved a shaky breath, the tip of the knife prodding into your skin. Your eyelids flickered closed, and he watched your lips move as you spoke to yourself, he watched you pray to the Mother for Rhys to hear your calls.

"God, here - just hold my hand," Azriel spoke gruffly to you as darkness shrouded you in its embrace, there was no light source in the tiny hallway, the walls were close, so close that you thought the world was caving in on you, and it didn't help that you couldn't see anything in front of you.

Blindly, you reached for him, finding instant comfort in the warmth of his digits entwining with your own, no matter how serious Azriel had to be sometimes, his touch alone told you how much he loved you, it was always so soft, and he always rubbed his thumb across the surface of your skin.

"Is now a bad time to tell you that I'm claustrophobic?" You had squeaked, flinching at the sudden tense of his hand, you couldn't see him but you knew he had turned his head to you, slowing his shuffling sideward steps.

A cold embrace curled around you and you relaxed into the shadows that cradled your face and shoulders, they purred at you, and you hummed in the softest of thanks as you felt his lips press to your temple. Such a simple thing, but something that gave you life in a way nothing else could.

"One step at a time, Dove," you smiled slightly at the name, the one he called you often, light as a feather he had said, swift and elegant, poised and perfect, "We'll be home soon. How does a bath sound? I'll even let you put one of those facemasks on me."

A small giggle pushed through your lips and you could feel him sigh in relief, "That sounds perfect, Az."

Then he had pulled you from that suffocating nook and fallen to his knees after a brute force slammed against the back of his head, awaking to find you stood before him in your leathers, hair pulled into a tight braid, gasping for air in the arms of another.

Every fibre of his soul, everything that made him, was fighting to get to you, but he couldn't. Chains were secured around his limbs and wings, carefully placed so that each tug would threaten to rip his wings from his body. But he would do it. He would lose everything for you even if it meant tearing himself to pieces in front of you.

Azriel grunted in frustrated annoyance, in agony as he tried to reach you, "Stop Az, your wings," tears brimmed in your eyes and your bottom lip wobbled.

A gentle tut pulled his gaze from you, focusing on the male who held you tightly in his arms, his face illuminated by a single streak of moonlight that slipped through the crack of the roof. A revolting thing held you, smirked at the smell of your blood, and it made Azriel boil.

"Do you love her to death?"

Azriel's eyes darkened as you whimpered, bristling in his iron clad grip, "Speak of her over my grave and watch how she brings me back to life."

It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever said. Pity.

"No grave can hold my body down. I'll crawl home to her, no matter what."

The chains rattled and you squeezed your eyes shut, you couldn't see your mate try to rip himself apart for you. A chill breath fanned against the back of your neck and you shivered involuntarily at the sensation as the blade limply curved around your neck, threatening to spill the contents of your throat onto the damp stone floor.

Rhys. Please.

Azriel screamed in frustration, "Dove, look at me," he commanded, and you listened, you knew what he was trying to do, he was trying to soothe you with that calm voice that had the power to convince you of anything, "It's going to be okay. Just keep your eyes on me."

"I'm scared," you whispered into the pitch black room, forgetting the blade pressed to your neck at that moment.

"I know, Dove. We're going to get out of this alright? Soon we'll be back in Velaris and you'll be in my arms, alright?"

A shaky hum sounded in your throat, one that was full of tense tears and sadness.

The sensation of the body ripping from you made you gasp and you lurched forward, into another set of arms. Red siphons entered your clouded vision and you could have sobbed in relief as those arms cradled you as your attacker gargled on his own blood at the hands of your High Lord.

Moments later, chains rattled and clattered to the floor, and Azriel was on you within seconds, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his lips into your hair line.

"What happened?" Rhys asked, looking at your shaking form with worry as Cassian scoured the room top to bottom, Azriel was too focused on you to care about the mission at hand.

Azriel ignored his brother, cooing to you softly as sobs recked your body, a body that was trying to recover from the possibility of your greatest fear coming true, "Not now, Rhys," Azriel murmured as he scooped you into his arms and stalked from the room, following every winding path to the courtyard and lifting off into the sky without a second thought.

Azriel flitted around you once he had placed you on your bed at the cottage, he ran the bath and added all of the oils he knew soothed your muscles and anxiety. Your mate peeled the clothes from your body, then his own, and settled into the tub with you, gently washing away the blood around the already healed spot on your neck.

Candlelight illuminated the space, from the matching toothbrushes in the holder by the sink to the array of soft cotton towels folded neatly atop the organiser. Neither of you needed much to be happy, you had grown up with far less, so little that any opulence made you feel uncomfortable; but that didn't stop Azriel from showering you with gifts daily and making sure your shared abode was as comfortable as it could be.

Fear rolled off of you in waves, and he knew that you were thinking of your blood spilling onto the floor, he knew you were thinking of the grasping to life and the garbled mutters of your love confessions from your bloody lips before darkness consumed you.

"Hey," he turned your head to the side and found emptiness in your eyes, "You're home. You're safe. We're fine, okay?"

Slowly, you nodded, acknowledging his words and settling into his arms once more, sighing as the searing hot water worked its way into your muscles and coaxed you into relaxation. His lips peppered along your shoulder, slowly, lovingly, like every kiss was a declaration to the Mother of his thanks.

"I love you," your voice was weak, Azriel buried his head into the crook of your neck, "I thought you were- that I was-"

"I won't ever allow anything to happen to you," your silence was drowning, a solemn pause in your otherwise blossoming lives. Azriel's finger dragged along the curve of your jaw, "I need you to say it, Dove. I need you to believe it."

Sliding down a couple of inches, the back of your head found the space at the centre of his chest, the water rose to your shoulders and you curled onto your side, "You won't let anything happen to me," you repeated quietly, "We're safe. We're okay."

Azriel spent the rest of the evening doting on you, making sure you ate and drank, he nestled you onto his lap and read to you, he allowed his fingers and shadows to rake through your hair, and he held you tightly to his chest when your body couldn't fight slumber for a moment longer.

As long as he had you in his arms, nothing would be able to take you away.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #maasverse #fanfiction #imagine #azriel x reader #rhysand #cassian #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #acotar azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #acotar oneshot #acotar drabble

[ladyempty]

Yan! Rhaenyra Targaryen x Reader

° | !English is not my first language! |

° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life. |

For Rhaenyra, being attached to you since birth was normal. You were born together, with Rhaenyra clinging tightly to your heel with no intention of breaking free or parting.

It was just his birthright above any title or throne. It was the other half of her soul, a life that had blossomed with her in her mother's womb and was destined to stay that way.

Together. united for an eternity that would extend beyond life and death.

This was how things should be, and she cared little about the laws of men or the condemnation of the seven. Dragon blood flowed through his veins. Proof of your rights.

In the early years, the princess' behavior was not seen with suspicious or malicious looks, she was just a sister wanting her company. What was wrong?

Even though it raised eyebrows every time the young princess became excessively irritated when you mentioned other ladies or had the opportunity to discuss matters deeper with them. Why did you need others? Rhaenyra was there, blood of her blood, with an infinite desire to listen to you.

King Viserys reassured the worried with soft, relaxed smiles and negligent behavior. He was blind to the situation unfolding in front of him.

Rhaenyra has always been obstinate and somewhat petty, her worst personality traits always came to the surface when the subject was related to you. Has another lady looked at you excessively? Rhaenyra would spare no bitter words or the cruelest lies her mind could come up with.

The princess also had no qualms or shame about skipping boring classes with the Septas or taking you out of your classes with the Miestres just to fly with you through the skies with her dragons or steal lemon cakes from the kitchen.

But when you want to teach her something or read some old book that has suddenly become very interesting, she never protests.

Sharing your attention, even with your parents, is out of the question. She's the only person you need to worry about.

And don't doubt your ability to be manipulative or play mind games. She will definitely cry and pout if you try to reprimand her behavior in any way.

How could you do this to your younger sister? She just cares so much about you!

Her behavior only gets worse as she enters adolescence • The hormones and feelings that arise, controlling your thoughts and actions.

She will certainly overhear and have conversations about courtship and knights in shining armor with other court ladies. Even though Rhaenyra found them all boring and annoyingly silly, the conversations about the other boys were interesting. • Every time one of the girls told, between laughs, something new she had done with a gentleman, Rhaenyra couldn't stop letting her thoughts wander. • What if it was her and you? • If it were her and you secretly exchanging kisses in the empty, forgotten corners of the fortress? • The feeling of tingling and restlessness in the belly. A heat that quickly rose through your body until your cheeks were red. • She knew these thoughts were not correct or appropriate. She knew of the Septas' countless boring monologues about purity, women's duty, etc.

The kind of thing she had never paid attention to before. But she found herself being terrorized and reflecting more and more in recent days.

The thoughts that haunted his dreams at dusk became more constant. With only the moon as a witness to his restlessness and confusion. • She just knew she needed you. She needed something that even she didn't know what it was. But it was running through his veins on instinct. • The girl suddenly became more demanding with your attention focused solely on her. She felt bitter and betrayed by any mere exchange of glances between you and any other woman or man. Lady or not. Lord or servant.

The Gods granted her such beautiful eyes for the sole purpose of looking at her alone. • She felt possessive and angry. With a growing pain, deadly and bitter, as fierce as if you were hers and had been unfaithful.

And when she heard whispers about the possibility of a marriage being arranged for you, She knew she couldn't keep her feelings quiet any longer.

No. She wouldn't sit by and watch you belong to someone less deserving.

I couldn't bear to see your other half give himself to someone other than her.

You were born to burn with her. And it was time for others to know this.

#Rhaenyra targaryen #yandere rhaenyra targaryen #yandere house of the dragon #yandere x reader #rhaenyra Targaryen x Reader #yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon x Reader

[hellenhighwater]

Ooh, The Last Sequoia you're working on is really evocative for me. Part of my work two summers ago was helping with fuels reduction in a seqouia grove. 5 years after a hot fire killed more than half that grove. And months after the grove 10 miles away was saved from a big fire due to fuels reduction efforts the year before. I'm applying for a Masters program where I might be working on forest fire ecology... This is just to say that your painting isn't even done and it's making me Feel Things.

Thank you! I was thinking about this particular poem when I was working on it, it's stuck with me for years.

They will soon be down

To one, but he still will be For a little while    still will be stopping

The flakes in the air with a look, Surrounding himself with the silence Of whitening snarls. Let him eat The last red meal of the condemned

To extinction, tearing the guts

From an elk. Yet that is not enough For me. I would have him eat

The heart, and from it, have an idea Stream into his gnarling head That he no longer has a thing To lose, and so can walk

Out into the open, in the full

Pale of the sub-Arctic sun Where a single spruce tree is dying

Higher and higher. Let him climb it With all his meanness and strength. Lord, we have come to the end Of this kind of vision of heaven,

As the sky breaks open

Its fans around him and shimmers And into its northern gates he rises

Snarling    complete    in the joy of a weasel With an elk’s horned heart in his stomach Looking straight into the eternal Blue, where he hauls his kind. I would have it all

My way: at the top of that tree I place

The New World’s last eagle Hunched in mangy feathers    giving

Up on the theory of flight. Dear God of the wildness of poetry, let them mate To the death in the rotten branches, Let the tree sway and burst into flame

And mingle them, crackling with feathers,

In crownfire. Let something come Of it    something gigantic    legendary

Rise beyond reason over hills Of ice    screaming    that it cannot die, That it has come back, this time On wings, and will spare no earthly thing:

That it will hover, made purely of northern

Lights, at dusk    and fall On men building roads: will perch

On the moose’s horn like a falcon Riding into battle    into holy war against Screaming railroad crews: will pull Whole traplines like fibres from the snow

In the long-jawed night of fur trappers.

But, small, filthy, unwinged, You will soon be crouching

Alone, with maybe some dim racial notion Of being the last, but none of how much Your unnoticed going will mean: How much the timid poem needs

The mindless explosion of your rage,

The glutton’s internal fire    the elk’s Heart in the belly, sprouting wings,

The pact of the “blind swallowing Thing,” with himself, to eat The world, and not to be driven off it Until it is gone, even if it takes

Forever. I take you as you are

And make of you what I will, Skunk-bear, carcajou, bloodthirsty

Non-survivor.

Lord, let me die    but not die

Out.

James Dickey, “For the Last Wolverine” from The Whole Motion: Collected Poems 1945-1992.

[anundyingfidelity]

INTERROGATION GONE WRONG – Cleon XIII/Brother Day

Summary: Cleon XIII interrogates his statisticians about Hari Seldon's predictions. His in-turn maid remains there hearing the conversation, unbeknownst to him, knowing the answer - at least part of.

Pairing: Cleon XIII/Brother Day x female maid reader.

Word count: 2.9k.

Warnings: extremely dub-con, smut, abuse of power, forced orgasm, choking, fingering, degradation, p in v, creampie, not the soft aftercare you're waiting for. The author is also non native English speaker.

Notes: this is based on that scene of 1x04. This is the most non-con thing I've written ever. I gave my warnings. Also please watch Foundation lol, this show reminded me of how much I loved Lee Pace since like 2014. Once I'm in, I will never get out and I needed to write something for Cleon I love him he is an idiot.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

The man fell with a thud on the floor. You should be scared, surprised, trembling with fear, but this was not new behavior for you or anyone in the palace. Since Seldon's exile and the disaster shaking the Empire gradually, the response of the new Cleon was clearly expected after being a witness of a poor reunion and inconvenience with the staticians. More than a conversation, it felt like a judgment, a death one.

"Dining, now," he ordered passing by your figure on his way to leave the throne room. With a bow, you followed in an instant and ready to serve him.

Cleary, you could tell he was not in the good mood that day, already skipping the meal for breakfast with his brothers earlier; something that was out of the itineraries. Once a change of the routine happened, it meant something was off, so you thought. Demerzel was also not around, attending other meetings, so this left you alone with Empire, opening the door of the sole dining room the Brothers used privately, with the tall figure of Cleon XIII waiting impatiently for his midday meal and looking every move you made around the place to please him as fast as your feet allowed.

The cooks served the meal arranged from the menu after your order and they left as rapid as they came in, Brother Day dispatching them with a hand gesture once they were done. You took a couple of steps back, standing close to the table but ready in case he dispatched your presence as well.

"Not you, you stay," he commanded after sipping his wine for the first time, eyes focused on the plate he would eat.

"Yes, Empire."

You had to obligue, and that is what happened. You watched him from the corner of your eye, from time to time in silence, pretending to be unconcerned and collected, though that was far from being true. The whole meal time was eternal, specially that day. With no Brother Dawn nor Brother Dusk around for Brother Day to have a bland talk with, only the sound of fine cutlery clinking against porcelain as Empire ate. Boring, your head began to spin around, thinking in non-senses and theories of what you heard and read from Seldon's predictions of the fall. Empire was cruel, but it had you working, serving food to your plate, and probably that was enough. But it didn't stop your curiosity of learning further the philosophy of Hari Seldon.

When in front of Empire, your gaze seemed lost but your mind was working. You never said a single comment about studying Seldon's theory, of course. You were just a maid. Science and university never were a good pair for a woman who served the Empire. However, you still found the math behind his calculations as something intriguing and fascinating for some reason...

"Maid," the loud voice of the Emperor interrupted your daydream. "I said, wine."

The intense look on his eyes forced you to attend his order fast, serving more of the fermented liquid on the cup standing besides his plate.

His large hand took the cup when you filled it with wine and he sipped again, his eyes scanning you slow and deep. You knew he sensed something was wrong with you. Swallowing, you noticed he already had finished with his meal, so you finally you dared to speak.

"Can I retire your plate, Empire?"

"Is there something you want to share, maid?" he responded, blatantly ignoring your question and dragging your title like it was nothing but a shameful word to spill.

"At all, Empire," your voice came as a whisper.

Brother Day stood on his feet with such grace and started a slow walk towards your figure. You wanted to step away, but you feet were glued to the ground, so his tall and intimidating form washed over you soon.

"Speak," he instructed coldly. You started to tremble, unable to take off your scared eyes from him, bitting your bottim lip as he leaned. "Or do you want to be punished?"

His hand forced around your neck all of a sudden. As an act of reflection, you tried to pull back from his grip, but he was much stronger, having you in place and cutting your breath. "I know you hide enthusiasm around Doctor Seldon's theories," he whispered darkly on your ear. "I am not giving you a choice, speak!"

As he yelled down his last words, he pushed you harshly, body falling to the grown. Air filled your lungs once again and you coughed, sitting down and watching that he was coming closer with big steps. You dragged yourself on the floor using your hands and feet trying to not tangle yourself with the fabric of your dress. Fighting the tears on your eyes, your back touched the wall and sobbed. There was nowhere to go now. So you finally confessed.

"Your staticians would not give you a number because it's true!" you cried out. Brother Day stopped on his tracks just a couple of inches before you. "It's all true, Doctor Seldon is right. And it all began with the Star Bridge, I know you were a child when it happened because I was a child too when the crisis started. There is a probability, but is not zero," you said, recalling his words.

You saw his face changed. He was exhasperated already, but rage appeared in his eyes in a very visible way; a rage that you had yet to see from Empire. Fear took over you, afraid of what would happen next. Should you keep talking? Should you continue crying? Scream for nobody to come around for your sake? As you questioned yourself, he lowered himself to be at your level on the ground. Brother Day never sat down, but he was making sure to get under your skin. His powerful gaze had a quick effect to do that.

"Go on."

Too scared to speak, you opened your lips but no sound came out. Empire waited your words for a moment, scrutinizing your face. And still, nothing came. He grabbed your arm with a rough grip, forcing you to stand up, colliding with his body until your back hit the empty part of the table he had been eating in.

"You have ten seconds to continue or I will force everything that is in your head out of you, maid," Cleon threatened. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three-"

"I said it was probability," you shuddered. "Life is a probability by all means and Seldon knows that," you breathed, aware that Brother Day was feeling your shaking body under his piercing eyes. "I studied Doctor Seldon's psychohistory and theory for the last four years, learning math and other sciences on my free time on the library. So even if I don't posses a title, I know his hypothesis was only that at the time; a hypothesis can be null, but also be provable, and thus now is not untrue."

He slowly leaned away.

"So you say there is no error on Seldon's ecuation," he concluded, jaw clenching.

"None that I could find."

Brother Day paced in front of you, back and forth, hrad processing what he just heard. You could tell he was getting what he wanted, but nothing was what he really longed for. And what you found was nothing but the truth. Maths don't miss, it was useless to lie.

"How do you simply fall into a conclusion like that? Prophecies of the Empire declining into a dark age after centuries of rising. Of our legacy!" he stopped again and went back to your figure, trapping your body between himself and the dining table. You felt his breath when he leaned close, the smell of wine and fruits mixing with his cologne was intoxicating your nostrils as the last tears flowed down your cheeks. Sooner or later, you thought he was going to end up with your life. You had nothing left to lose by now.

"It's simple history and logic. Everything that goes up has to go down, even empires."

All you felt was his big palm slapping your face, your back hitting the edge of the table. A hurted moan filled the room, and he forced you to look at him grabbing your chin with the same strenght he had used on you all this time, like you were nothing more than a doll to play with as he pleased.

"In other circumstances, I would find you amusing," he breathed gainst your lips. The touch of his thumb on your cheek, wiping away your last tears, contrasted the roughness of his words, his body between your legs and his weight pressing you to lie down on the surface.

"Psychohistory words, not mine," you whispered, your hands running to wrap around his wrist, but his aura repelled instantly your touch. It was useless to keep trying. So here you were, ready for Brother Day to end with your life in just the blink of an eye. "Maybe Brother Dusk made a mistake," you continued, giving up on leaving the room alive. "Make Hari Seldon stay instead..."

Brother Day pressed further against you, almost crushing you with his significant huge frame.

"Such a talented brain and mouth, why don't I put you to good use? I think I deserve it."

He forcefuly turned you around until you were bending over the table, a loud gasp falling from your mouth. One of his hands making its way between your legs caused your thighs to press together, trying to stop him, but it was impossible, so you had nothing to do but beg.

"Please, Empire," you felt like crying again at his touch, his fingers cupping your clothed pussy in a slow motion. "Stop, please-"

"Shut up, whore," he grunted, rubbing his crotch against your ass and slammed your face with his free hand so you had your cheek lying against the cold surface. "I had enough from you."

Heartbeat rising, you tried with no results to escape from his body cage. The sway of your hips caused Empire to grow eager. His slender fingers pushed your panties aside, coating them with your own wetness, and that was certainly something you did not expect to be down there. He hummed in response, rubbing your folds, and you exhaled once he entered one finger.

Your body responded to his ministrations, his growing erection pressing against the curve of your ass while he played with your cunt as he wanted, easing a second digit inside your walls. Probably you should just give in by now as you felt your muscles tighten, already reaching your high. Almost. The first moan of pleassure escaped your throat and you regreted the answer of lust coming from your body the following instant, your palms holding yourself on the table.

His long digits fucked you faster and your legs trembled, his thumb played with your clit so deliciously you thought you were passing out soon. He leaned down until you could feel his breath on your neck.

"Fucking take it," he groaned, feeling your warm walls pulsing around his fingers.

Almost not having control over your body, your legs further opened, like his voice just ordered you to do it.

"Please, please..."

Again, you cried and begged, not sure of the reason. For pleassure, shame, mercy... Anything was possible at that moment as whimpers and moans fell from your mouth.

The sensation grew stronger down your belly, feeling him exploring your insides too deep, touching a place no man nor your fingers reached before. It happened repeatedly, it felt so sweet and sinful. Like something you never knew but you were sure would leave you aching for more. His fingers making you so drunk and pleading for a release, and the seconds that passed by were endless until you finally blissed out with a loud moan, convulsing by the work of his hand.

Brother Day gave himself a wicked smile, watching you squirm and gasp. Such a strong orgasm he ripped out of you. He pulled his fingers away from your pulsing cunt and admired your wetness coating them before he raised the skirt of your dress and took off your panties until they were hanging between your ankles.

You grimaced at the feel of his big palms rubbing your ass cheeks, parting them to get a view of your throbbing heat, still clenching around nothing. You could listen to him undoing his pants. He hissed, taking his hard lenght to rub the sensitive skin of your ass and his thick tip teased your slit, sliding slowly inside. You gasped at the sudden intrusion as he stopped from filling you up completely, feeling your tight cunt embracing him.

"Empire, please not this-"

"This is how I prefer you," Cleon whispered on your neck, you stopped your plea. "Submissive and quiet. You are not so bold now, are you?"

And he slowly entered your pussy further. You whined, nails scratching the fine material of the table. You were so tight and warm. He had to control himself of not pounding into you right away. Being filled up by the Emperor shouldn't arouse your body like this, but your heat welcomed his cock like it was the perfect missing piece of a puzzle.

"Are you a virgin, maid?" he asked, hips giving a couple of shallow, slow thrusts. Your hips moved in sink with his own, your nipples were now hard and erect against the surface, scratching the fabric of your bra and dress, giving up into heavenly bliss. Sweet mewls left your lips as he stretched your cunt. And it was oh, so long since you felt this full.

"No, Empire."

Your response was the green light. He started to rut into you. Rough. Even if your answer was to be different, you knew Empire would not care. He used to get away with what he wanted, and right now he wanted you. His own grunts made eco along with the sound of his skin hitting your ass, your moans escaping without any shame now. The small amount of discomfort he caused was transformed into pleassure and arousal, keeping his hands firmly on your hips.

"Then you can take it, you've done this before," he mocked, increasing his rough pace.

His grip was strong on your sides, you knew his fingers would leave marks on your skin once you finished. But nothing mattered, you decided, the only on your mind was reaching sweet climax and release. You could not escape from him, not ever. So your body and mind could go through it.

Cleon's eyes found the perfect spot of view to see his cock entering and sliding out your perfect pussy, his shaft glistening with your wetness and his own precum. He stopped and pulled out for a moment, teasing with entering and pulling out, watching himself sliding inside your body.

"Oh gods," he listened to your broken moan, breath hitching.

He again cupped your neck with his palm, fingers roaming around your throat, forcing your back to meet his chest. Your moans were cut by his firm hand, air being a privilige as seconds passed by. He sucked and bit the skin of your neck, burying his cock until his balls met your ass repeteadly, finding that sweet spot of yours.

"Cum," he ordered. "Cum or you will not breath again."

You knew you were close, but you needed it faster. You needed to breath, as good as his cock felt, fucking you and splitting you open, you still needed to make it until the end. Your fingers found your clit and played with your bud as Empire bucked his hips fast and rough. Finally, your muscles tensed and forced a hard orgasm out of you, walls pulsing around his dick. He grunted, not slowing his thrusts, softening the hand around your neck allowing you oxygen again.

"Merciful am I?" he groaned and you felt his seed painting your insides, cock throbing as he also came from his high.

"You are, Empire," you breathed out.

Your back arched and you held yourself on his hands and chest. You heard the sound of one of the chairs being taken out, being dragged by him until you felt he sat down, you on his lap with his cock still burried deep inside you. His slick cum ran down your inner thighs as he parted your legs, touching your abused cunt and clit, feeling how you were still connected. He rubbed your pussy in slow, gentle moves, collecting his cum mixed with your juices. He offered his fingers to your lips, so you licked them as he wished, sucking them clean. Your walls pulsed again.

"So obedient now," Cleon purred.

His hands undid your dress to free your chest, groping your tits as he pleased. He played with your nipples, just like he had played with all of you in a few minutes.

"What will happen to me?" you asked in a murmur.

"Such a pretty cunt you are," Brother Day began, tracing kisses on your shoulder. His voice made you shiver. "You would please me a lot as a cuncubine of the Gossamer Court."

You swallowed hard, not capable of speaking or fighting back. He felt your body tensing so he continued his speech in your ear. "No worries, I can play with you some more before it happens. And you will tell me everything you know about Seldon."

#cleon xiii x reader #cleon xiii x female reader #brother day x reader #brother day x female reader #foundation apple tv #cleon xiii smut #brother day smut #foundation fanfiction #brother day #cleon xiii #foundation season 1 #lee pace #lee pace fanfiction #cleon 13th #foundation imagines #lee pace x reader #idkkkk just leaving this here #I HAD TO DO IT OKAY? #foundation 2021

[shvkespearc]

so LOL my new job completely fucked me over and scammed me by telling me i'd work 20 hours a week immediately, then saying they won't have proper availability for a few more weeks, now saying they can barely give me hours at all, IF ANY, for the foreseeable future.

well my life goes on and continues to include expenses even as i try to apply for new jobs

in the meantime well my poetry books are still for sale!

you can get them for as little as 1 dollar or customize the amount to anything! PLEASE THEYRE NOT BAD- (INSERT REVIEWS HERE) the site is perfectly safe to buy from and v easy!

#whatever. uses the last 30 dollars on my credit card #i know later ill check this post and there will be 0 notes #which is fine #i just dont know what else to do? #i applied to my local library yesterday and tried soooo hard on my app and cover letter #so im begging pleading ill get it #but i know its kind of compteitive so :( #then theres just fucking nowhere left thats hiring except like fast food #which is a bummer cause i said id never work in fast food again after i did in high school #but like hello? hello girl? girl help? #all my cards are maxed because ive had no money to pay them off #needless to say nothing in my fucking account #im in debt to all my friends #i got a few jobs art modeling this month #but its only like 150$ total #which like. i need 800+ a month . so #epic my dude #.txt

[deicidis]

I Have Trembled My Way Deep

Morpheus x Naiad!Reader

Summary: The God of Dreams assists you in escaping Poseidon's obsession.

status: Completed One-shot

wordcount: 15.9k 

warnings: Implied non-con (not Morpheus), slow burn ish? 

18+ only, your media consumption is your own responsibilities. Warnings have been given. Do not proceed if these matters upset you.  

 I have trembled my way deep into surrender

I have stretched my aching body across the world

I have stood at the threshold of your wonder

Bid me enter, Lord, allow me to unfold

—

You remember

that it was a game for Poseidon. A sport. Something to fill his spare time in his eternal life. For you? Your ruin. 

The god of the sea appeared one day, at a beautiful dusk, where you had lain in your lake and watched Astraeus paint the sky. He declared his love so casually, smiling wide with his sharp teeth. Claimed he fell at the moment when you had visited the shore of his domain, and offered you a place to sit amongst his many mistresses of court.

But you never met him, and you were put off by his leery eyes on your skin. You heard the way he loves, cruel and unnatural and impetuous. He‘d confirmed the rumour himself when he seized you by the arms then forcefully attempted to take you to the sea after you refused. But your nails were sharp, and it had sunk into his cheek. You recognize the disbelief written all over his face, that a lesser being dared lay his hands on him. Then he grinned as he saw the blue blood running from the wound. Your stomach coiled in fear as you ran, but he ripped a lock of your hair first, then he’d let you go. Because he likes toying with his food. 

In fear, you came to your mother for help in any way she could. To look into the future. But your mother only gave her tears and a sole advice; run far from here, if all else fails invoke the name of dream god, Morpheus. Pray to him and he shall ease your suffering. 

Of course she would not risk an open war with the Pantheon and the death of her other children for you. She was not as young, as short-tempered as you remembered. This fact left bruises on your heart, even though you understood. 

What good does a dream do, mother? You asked incredulously. 

Everything, my sweet. She answered. 

It was an absurd notion. Since when does a god give their kindness so easily without expecting something in return? But your mother had never given you false counsel before, so you kept her advice close to your heart. 

You kissed her cheek and kissed her hands, then gave her your tears. She, in turn, steadied your hands that trembled in anger and sorrow. Kissed your forehead for a very long time as she held you close you almost couldn’t breathe. Her tears overflowing, her rivers and streams are hissing. 

This felt like the tragedies you used to watch when you went into the city with your sisters.  

Go. I will buy you time. Remember, call upon his name should all else fails.  

It was a heartache to leave your Lake, your friends, and your sisters without so much as a farewell. Always moving during the night, sleeping during the day between the ravines, under the river, inside dark caves. Your cheeks are always raw, streaked with tears. Your heart never rests from beating in wariness. There was never a moment of respite. You ran until your feet hurt, your soles blistered. Your mind was a beehive, its queen in fear that infects the colony.  

For every single day that passed, your resentment brewed towards the pantheons. They surely watched this misery caused by their blood. The Olympians were silent, the Olympians let it all happen. 

Only sleep was the moment of peace to be had. It didn't come easily at first; you were always startled awake by the smallest sound, the snapping of a twig.The splash of a fish. Sprinted from your hiding spot at every little noise. You almost grew mad from the lack of sleep, the dark under your eyes increased by the day. So you swallowed your pride and you finally prayed to the god of dreams to give you a swift fall. A sweet dream where you are home among your sisters and friends free from your tormentor. He never fails to grant you one. Your mother was always right, you admitted bitterly. 

You tried to prolong his blessings, but you had nothing to offer except feathers from some birds, little carvings you whittled with your small knife, ripe fruits you picked from the tree, your thanks and prayer every time you wake. For you are always awake at the right time. Strangely refreshed and fulfilled. Never a second too late for Poseidon to sink his teeth into your skin. 

You thought Poseidon would grow weary of his chase. But a day turned into weeks, into months. A year turns into three, then four. And five. You weaved between cities and forests, found love but had to leave them, hiding in other Nymphs' habitats, betrayed by some. Somehow, you are always at the right time to move. Knew when something wasn’t right, when the air started to brine with salt. Mostly your dreams inspired your caution. And you thank your benevolent god for his omens. 

But fleeing alone is not enough. Though your calves are stronger, your lungs endured, you were exhausted beyond what your heart could take. You want Poseidon to stop, to rot where he stood.

You want him to suffer and tremble just as much as you did, you want to plunge your pocket knife into his eyes and see his blue blood in his cracked open skull leaking into the ground. 

So was the reason why you sat at the edge of a river bank and watched the twilight sky instead of running when you could sense that he was growing closer and closer. You were ready to end it all, and you will let it end on your terms, fresh water always feels like home. Let it be fresh water the last thing you see. Not one formed with salt. 

"I know you’re here, little Nymph." His rancid voice bellowed out in the distance, Your resolve crumbled by the second. The knife you held to your throat trembled as your tears warmed your cheeks, and you feared it would be etched like a mark. Your body shivered instantly as you closed your eyes. Despite having nothing to lose, despite convincing yourself that meeting Thanatos is a better choice, there is a part of you that still clings to life and its abundance of delight to be found. Mother to be seen again. Sisters to hold once more. You realised you were never ready to toss the Obol in your pocket for Charon. So you dreamt of a better future as you did one last desperate attempt. You prayed to your God.

"My benevolent god, lord Morpheus, if you could hear me, I beg of you. Help me. Take me far where he couldn’t find me and you will always have my service." you whispered. It was a foolish attempt. Poseidon would’ve found you to the edge of the living world. Moreover you were no one, minor spirit of no import. No Olympian nor a daughter of one. Why should a god such as Dream meddle in your affairs? Still, the god of dreams was a salve to your burden, more than any other gods. Perhaps the only god. 

"Your prayer is heard." Your eyes jolted open at a voice that was not Poseidon’s. You snapped your head to find the Dream God beside you, behind you, but he was nowhere to be found. Your heart palpated twice as fast. The hairs on your neck stretched upwards.

"Return from whence you came." He continued, and your body instinctively leaned into the water, finding the river had turned as black as the night, as still as one. 

"Reach into me, and you shall hide no more." Once more, Dream God’s deep and quiet voice enticed and you paused, digesting his words that felt too good to be true. You turned to see how close your oppressor was and you could see the outline of his form between the trees. Your heartbeat was a hummingbird trapped in your ribcage, you felt like vomiting all over the water. There might be a greater sacrifice to be made by exchanging with Dream god.

But you would give Dream god your limb for that opportunity.

So you took a deep breath, steeled yourself, and plunged into the cold, dark water. Then unfastened the Peplos around your skin weighing you down. You swam deeper, deeper and deeper. It was a Sisyphean effort. There is no direction, no life could be sensed, no surface to return to, only a bottomless river. Your arms ached from carving the water in the endless dark, there was no way of knowing where it is above or below. Like swimming into the bowels of the earth where there is only Kronos, waiting for you with his primaeval emptiness. 

It was hours. The darkness was suffocating and you were terrified beyond your mind, afraid of making an irreversible mistake.  

Then, a speck of light can be seen. Pale blue, glimmering like a star. 

You swam into it, almost in a frenzy, desperate for something tangible. It expanded as you swam, blinding and comforting, and when your body had passed its threshold, you had fallen wet onto the earth that was not from whence you came, but the homeland of a god.

 —

You lay flat on your chest on the wooden plank of a bridge that stretched into the far distance, its foundation stood in the middle of blackened water. Your body limped, bare, devoid of energy. Your arms pulsated with shooting ache. But all of that was eclipsed by your silent wonder, for you are greeted with a night sky sprawling with  billions of star clusters, its light shining pale blue layered with an iridescent sheen. 

Is this where Dream God resides? So close to the stars and the very heavens.  

As you drank all the splendour of Dream god’s domain, the dots in your field of vision expanded, until you realised it was not dust, but figures coming your way.  

When they had reached where you laid, you met a beautiful pointy-eared woman, with black and white clothes you had never seen before. Behind her, a figure with unruly black hair wore a black chiton draped over one of his pale shoulders and the other fastened under his arm. 

He bears that otherworldly beauty that seems to be reserved only for Primordial gods. A paradox of youth and antiquity.  

"Here, let me help you." The woman said as she helped you to sit, she had taken a black fabric from the figure’s pale hand, which you swore was not there mere seconds ago, then wrapped you with it. The fabric was so warm. You sighed, melted into the cloth. 

"It’s alright, you’re safe now. He can’t follow you anymore, the wretched beast." she said, mumbling the last part. Her eyes bore an irreplaceable warmth and kindness. As if she had known of your misfortune and suffering, familiar with it.   

While he watched you silently with his bright eyes. His gaze was sharp and rigid.  

As you clutched the blanket over you, he stepped closer, and you gazed upon him. 

"(y/n), daughter of Nemea, blood of Potamoi, for as long as you are in the Dreaming none shall harm you and none shall enter my realm with the intention of one." he declared to you, his voice dark and low. But you think he mostly declared it to his realm, binding his words into the Dreaming.

And his words bind you.

Words that made you safe and secure. You felt it in your lungs, the air tasted light in the back of your tongue. You felt it in your blood, hummed gently and numbed your fingertips, all encompassing.  

Your eyes stung and your lips trembled. It was a relief like no other and you could not contain your tears, murked by bone-deep exhaustion, 5 years of anguish and unchanneled rage. At the same time, you felt like sleeping for the rest of your life, never to wake to wash away this engraved weariness. You sobbed so hard, madly. You must have looked pitiful in their eyes. But you reckoned they won’t care what you looked like anyway. 

 —

The first week, you asked Lucienne where you should put the offerings for the God of Dreams. Wreaths of sweet-smelling flowers to scent his chamber and your best carving of Acanthus were in the basket you weaved. Lucienne informed you that Dream God desires no more offerings. You frowned at that. You admit that your offerings were modest, but you had always given him your best. Did he always detest your craft? Although you did not pry. You would only follow what he bid you, as his faithful servant.  

In your spare time, you visit other dreams and nightmares, assist Lucienne with her books, and in exchange, she teaches you to read and write in a variety of other languages. She was pleasantly surprised by your new-found talent in linguistics. You absorbed everything remarkably fast.  

Then you read. So many cultures with so many religions and gods you had learned, to find that Dream god and his family are beings older than the Olympians, even the Primordials. Consorting themselves not only to the gods of Hellas, but all over the world, was biting into a forbidden fruit.

Your entire life you thought the gods of Hellas were the only true gods. And it has left you in some form of existential dread. 

Moreover, walking in the Dreaming and taking everything around you made you heave occasionally. Its infinite and ever-changing nature spins your head. But you are a highly adaptable being, and you adapted quickly, for survival's sake.  

The Dream god was seldom seen, the first year of your stay your few glimpses of him were scarce, the number of times you see him when you were helping Lucienne in the library can

practically be counted with your fingers. The quiet flutter of his Chiton swept the floor. Often he didn’t even realise you were there, you didn’t make yourself be seen either.

When he saw you, you considered exchanging pleasantries, but you seemed to clam up whenever you mustered the courage. In truth, you wanted to be invisible. You wanted him to forget your existence so you could always be at the brunt of his indifference. You don’t know if he is as volatile as the other gods of Hellas, and should his wrath descend upon the Dreaming, let him forget that you exist. 

So you stayed silent and arranged the books as he read quietly on one of the many intricate wooden chairs placed at the long table. You scattered all over the library except where he sat. When you truly needed to work where he resided, you waited as long as you could before he departed. Or silently arranged the books. You’d bow your head to him before leaving. He acknowledged you with a flick of his gaze.  

 —

 It’s hard to keep track of time in the Dreaming when there is new splendour to be found every day. Like the Sirens you befriended in the frozen sea, the desert Golems you met on the barren wasteland, flora and fauna that do not exist in the waking world, or how one of Dreaming’s many meadows is filled with herbs grown from babies’ first tears. Not to mention Fiddler’s Green, where mirth is eternal and beauty is in its core nature. 

Yet the dull ache inside you persisted. Stubborn and sore. There is no splendour in the Dreaming as comforting as your home. Your Lake. 

A Naiad neglecting their habitat is not a Naiad. Do not ever forsake all-mother Gaea’s gift . Your mother used to remind you when you were but a tadpole of a water spirit. 

When you closed your eyes, you could still feel its connection in the Waking World.Tranquil, one bank shaded by a great Willow tree, its tendrils leaning over the water, protecting your domain. Vast and wedged deep in the forest.

But you adapted, for survival’s sake. 

So you trudged to the Dreaming’s many forests, trying to find a pattern in nature that resembles your Lake, even just a little. After days of searching, you found it in a clearing with a willow tree, taller and grander than yours back home. 

You couldn't tell which was your luck or the kindness of the Dreaming. You were grateful all the same. When you touched its coarse bark, you breathed in deep. It reminded you too much of what was. Then you watch over the clearing for days, waiting for it to change at the necessity of the Dreaming, but it never did. 

So you laid there to sleep under its overreaching branches every night. In a week, you had moved in completely there to live. Carved many woods from the branches that would fall whenever you wanted them to fall. Slept under the glimmering pale blue stars. 

Like a blink, your second year passed.  

You stretched like a cat on the grass after you had just woken up. The pink trickled in the sky, and soon the bright pale blue would follow. The Dreaming was pleasantly cold at that hour, and one of your favourite things is to watch Fenghuangs flying past the sky. They too like to stretch their wings when the sun is coming.  

But your morning was interrupted by the stir of the wind, and you noticed the branches of the Willow slouching by inches. You did not know then that they were anticipating the coming of the Dream God, who had apparated silently into the clearing.

You stood abruptly—almost knocking yourself—and approached him, then bowed your head. 

"My lord." You greeted him. Your heartbeat paced a little faster. 

He regarded you with his bright, cold eyes. His black chiton swept the dewy grass.   

"Is there anything I could do for you, my lord?" 

"The question is, is there anything I could do for you ?" His voice was sharp. 

"My lord?"  

"Your mother reminded me to fulfil my end of the bargain. Have I not done that?"  

"Bargain?" you still can’t understand his meaning.  

"The bargain we made on the spring equinox. Of my Dream." he sounded somewhat impatient. Irritation laced the edge of his voice. 

"My lord, I'm afraid I don't follow." you almost stuttered out your answer. Utterly lost. Your mother? Bargain? His Dream? You look at Dream God as if he grew a second head. Which is not that impossible in the Dreaming, you remembered. 

For a moment, silence has passed as he scrutinised you. In that span of time you dug your nail into your thumb. And you focused on the bridge of his nose instead of his eyes because you couldn’t stand the pressure of his gaze. 

"Do you know why you’re here, (y/n)?"

"Because of your kindness, my lord." you answer with a thought you used to have before he approached you with this business. Now, you’re not entirely sure. 

  Since when does a god give their kindness so easily without expecting something in return?

He sighed quietly. Closed his eyes for a second.

"Your mother did not tell you." 

"If there was something to be said, she couldn’t. We- I was running out of time." There was a sharp prick in your chest. Your body remembered the fear of that day. You steadied your breath.

"Would you kindly tell me what it is, my lord?" you pressed further. 

He ambled then stood beside you, his eyes swept around the clearing. You followed his line of vision. 

"It was centuries ago, a rogue Dream had found their way into your family’s domain. Made themself a part of one. Fell in love with one her blood. By now you must have learned that the waking world is no place to inhabit for Dreams or Nightmares." he said, and you latch on to his every word. 

"Nemea claimed that I could never have Basalt back without her blessing."

"She bound them." you murmured. Recognise your mother’s magic all too well.

"If I forcefully transport them into the Dreaming, Basalt would cease to exist if she didn’t sever the ties." he continued. 

He had made her sound uncharacteristically cruel to you. She was not as young, as short-tempered. You reminded yourself. 

"What did she want, lord? What did she bargain for?"

"Aid for her kin, should one ask for it. I granted her a life for a life. A Dream for a Naiad. Whatever aid they prayed for."

How convenient. You thought. 

"She is a seer, lord." there is something bitter at the back of your tongue. Has the Dreaming always been exactly where you belong? Until when?

"Thank you, Dream Lord, For telling me. I would never know otherwise."

He pursed his shapely lips, the edge twitched slightly.

"I had assumed you inherited her abilities. That you passed your words once you settled here." 

Blood rose to your face. Not for a lack of trying, the Dreaming is, thankfully, impregnable. But you have always been the runt of the litter, not entirely talented in magic or sorcery. The best you could do was cultivate your domain to the best of your abilities and heal injuries of the body. Nothing more, nothing less.

"No lord. Her talent did not pass to me." 

His reply was silent acknowledgement, then his eyes travelled around the clearing, finding some of your carvings resting on the tree. 

"What are you doing here?" he rasped.

"Oh this-this is where i sleep." 

He looked at you with a slight pinch of his eyebrows.

"The city’s room is extraordinary my lord but-i feel closer to home in the open air." you continued.

Only silence follows, and you wait for him to depart. 

But he lifted his hand instead, his fingers clawed and the Dreaming gave a subliminal sigh. 

The wind that tasted familiar beckoned to you. At the same time, the clearing that was small, filled with only grass and a single tree, had turned into a perfect replica of your home. From every blade of grass, the Willow that stretched over the side of the Lake and its hanging leaves gently brushed the clear water, to the patches of Hellebore and Crocus around the bank, the water lilies dotting the water’s surface. Your heart squeezed at the sight. 

"My subjects should feel at home in my realm." he claimed. 

"Thank you, my lord." You said, barely able to contain the tears brimming in your eyes. 

He only stared at you with an expression you could not recognise. Then left, leaving traces of sand behind.

You took off your ivory Peplos with a roaring sense of urgency. Then you ran, jumped into the water that caused a tall splash, swam and glided all over the Lake until your arms ached.

 —

 When you met Dream God in the library again, you didn’t hesitate to greet him. You don’t know how much he would tolerate you, but you found it quite liberating to know you didn’t have to cautiously tiptoe around him, relying on his kindness alone. Surely a simple greeting wouldn’t hurt. 

Sometimes he approached you. You have become an efficient staff in the library, able to memorise all sorts of books from your new found love of reading, and Lucienne referred to your good work. Perhaps you spoke to him more than the last 2 years combined. After all, the number of times can be counted with your fingers. 

And now, 

The sun has set, the hush descends upon the Dreaming. You chew on Saffron from the many Crocus dotted around the lake as you sit bare on the shore. Day by day you wonder what your mother saw in the tendrils of your many futures. Tears have found their way burning your eyes. An underlying fear of the Moirae almost chokes you. The Fates spun, measured, and cut, pushed you into the Dreaming, pushed Eros to strike Poseidon with his arrows, and it was all too much for you to bear. You almost die because of it. 

What could possibly be the fates weaved for your imminent future, you hope that it is an easy one. Your tears land on your thigh as you decide to whittle into dusk. You manage to convince yourself that this is a temporary solution, a temporary home. You will count the days until you can return. 

 —

 Abel had invited you for cheese and sweets, and you had invited Lucienne to come with you. It was a Herculean effort to convince her because the royal librarian never seemed to take a day off for herself. But she finally relented because she couldn’t stand hearing your incessant whining about how much you would be heartbroken if she didn’t come.

What Abel didn’t mention was that he had wine, and all three of you drank the jugs empty, an ice breaker of some sort that made for an absolutely wonderful time with the two of them. You exchanged stories between the alcohol and laughed until you gasped for air. Moreover, you had never eaten such foreign delicacies before and you were pleasantly surprised by the explosions of flavour melting in your mouth. 

"You must let me teach you! Let’s do it weekly so we can spend more time with each other!" Abel had kindly offered. 

"I’d love to." was your answer, you’re genuinely excited to learn.

When you say your goodbyes to Abel and wave to Cain, it is already night. Even in your drunken state, the sight of the stars tumbling down at intervals astounds you. Falling towards the mountains, the forest, one finding its way in Abel and Cain’s residence. You notice dark grey clouds hanging around the moon. The Dreaming temperature is plunging cold and it mists your breath. There’s a lot of things that you can’t make sense of in the Dreaming and most of the time you ignore it, you’re positive you’d go mad if you try to keep up with each and every event. But these stars, on this particular day, feel menacing, ominous. As if it could scourge the Dreaming into ruin. 

You wonder why at this exact time of the year this keeps happening. So you asked Lucienne. 

"At this time of the year the lord will be in his chamber the entire day, mourning the day Maenads tore apart his child." 

"No... Orpheus was his son?"

"He was." Lucienne said, staring into the sky. 

"I can't-can’t imagine his pain." 

"Nor i. One of these days reminds you that the Dream Lord is not unfeeling."

"Who can be unfeeling when you lose a child in such a way." You murmured. 

Your train of thought screeches to a halt when you hear Abel screamed from inside the greenhouse. When you try to make sure he’s alright, Lucienne blocks your way. And explains that it is a very normal thing for Abel to scream. 

The Dreaming belongs to hers and you always trust her words. Thus, you reluctantly choose to go home at her bidding.

"Can you walk?" Lucienne’s endearing concern warms you. 

"Ha! Can I walk?"

Can i?

"Can you?"

"It’s very hard for me to get drunk." Lucienne clarifies.

"That’s… luck and a curse." You chuckle, and she gives you her sweet smile. 

As it turns out, one has found their way in the shallow water of your lake. Drifting on the surface of the water. Pulsating with raw power, angry. Bright and beautiful. The tranquillity of your dwelling shattered by its motion.

And it pulls you, a clarity between your overlapping visions. Causes you to descend carefully into the water to collect them. 

"Leave it." His dark, rigid voice stops you in your tracks. Dream God appears silently. 

"Apologies lord." your speech almost slurs as you retract your hand and take a step back, rippling the water. You can barely see the outline of his form, but his eyes glimmer bright in the dark. 

Like cats. You mused.

He does not acknowledge you, merely brushes past to wade in and gather the stars. Then disappear in a blink.

You fall to the shore and retch violently on the earth. Then, to rid of the bitter aftertaste of the vomit left on your tongue, you pick some Crocus and chew on some Saffrons.

 __

 The Dreaming has taken you in completely. Quieten your anger and despair, lulled you into complacency. Despite time refusing to blunt the edge of your bouts of melancholy, you don’t cry as much. The Dreaming turns time a little faster. Keeps you dancing to its tune until you are too tired to think. Sways you into your 13th year with ease.

You have waited long enough, and you muster enough courage to ask for news of the waking world, if it’s possible at all to return. Whether your tormentor’s dark shadow looming over your consciousness wanes and forgets. 

You ask Lucienne if she has any information pertaining. But her mouth holds a shadow of a frown as she pulls you to sit beside her on the palace steps. Both of you just finished with your work. 

"Lord Morpheus does keep an eye on the Olympian, and he bade me to watch over this situation’s development. He even tried to... inspire him away. But the Olympians are powerful. And your hair would make it so easy once you step into the waking world. I'm afraid not yet my friend." 

You nod. Swallows thickly. 

"Just a little longer." she whispers as she enfolds your hand gently in hers. You closed your eyes before she could see your tears, and held her fingers tight. You don’t know what you would do without her. 

Just a little longer. 

For every decade you set yourself up for disappointment. For every decade you ask Lucienne. And her answer is always the same.

I’m afraid not yet.

Just a little longer, my friend.

By the fifth decade, you stopped asking altogether. You no longer have the stomach to face those four simple words. 

You choose to wait for as long as you could. 

__

On a bright sunny afternoon, under the Willow, you are whittling the likeness of a rabbit you met at the bridge leading to the palace. Frida, she had introduced herself. The bunny with a perpetual childlike soul and voice. Whenever and wherever you think about her, a smile will find its way to you, a precious little grey furball tumbling about the Dreaming. So you’re trying your best to capture her likeness. So absorbed by your craft you don’t even realise the coming of Dream god. 

"My Lord." You stand as you dust off your Peplos from wood shavings. The other holding tight to your Frida.

"Anything you need my lord?" you offer. 

"Your mother pleaded that I deliver her message."

Pleaded. her longing represented in those 3 syllables and it pierces you. 

"What is the message?" your voice almost whispers. Quickly you find your chest getting tighter and you dig your nail into the unfinished carving.

"That she begs forgiveness for her lack of action in the waking world."

You can’t exactly pinpoint when your tears were falling. Your mother is not an intense occurrence like it was for the first years of your stay. Shortly, Poseidon’s cruel visage wormed his way into your head and your heart feels heavier, faster. Breathing is becoming harder. With a violence your state of mind is thrown into those years. Your legs become as limp as the days you ran through the years of evading the Olympian and you lean against the oak tree, sliding down. Gasping for air. The last time this terror occurred was 419 days ago. You remember because you counted them. 

The terror persists even for decades. 

The dream god paces to your side, kneeling before you and clutching your free hand tightly in his.

"He can’t follow you anymore. Never as long as you're in the Dreaming." he said calmly. Kindly. 

You swallow thickly, breath stutters in and out. Your tears leaking down your chin as you focus on the way his tight grasp steadily anchors you down, it’s strange because he is the very Dream and you had expected his hands to feel hazy and washed, merely a blur. A memory of a dying Magpie in your arms when you were a child.

But his hands are as vivid as your tears, as warm as your breath. Flesh–like as your own. 

He holds your hand until you feel too tired to feel anything, until you unclench your jaws and steady your breath.

"Thankyou, for delivering her words." something passes on Dream God’s face.

"The guilt torments her." 

"You’ve seen it?" formed her dreams too?

He gives you a nod. 

Silence hangs in the air as you gently remove your hand from his. Not quite uneasy, not quite comfortable either. 

Dream God flicks his gaze to the carving on your other hand. 

"Who’s that supposed to be?" 

"Frida, my lord."

"May I see?" You hand him the almost finished carving. Frida's imprint can be seen on your palm, indenting your skin, almost bleeding. You didn’t realise that your grip had been iron tight. 

You notice that he observed your injured skin for a moment, then to Frida. 

"You have a way with your hands." he murmurs. 

So why did you turn it away?

"My lord? Can I ask you something... callous?" 

"Ask, then." his eyes still on the miniature.

"Why do you reject my offerings?"

He ruminates on the carving, runs his thumb on the wood, then returns his gaze back to you.  

"You are not here because of your devotion, but a pact from a very long time ago. There is no need for it"

"But I would still like to give you offerings." You confess. In truth, you feel the need to do something for him. He let you stay in his Dreaming, made you a perfect home. Never forced you into labour or harmful endeavours, even if he could. You almost feel like a parasite, gorging yourself on the Dreaming’s splendour and refuge. 

"You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to." he replies quietly. 

"What makes you think I don't want to, lord?"

He contemplates for a moment. 

"Know that none of my subjects have any obligation for that."

He returns Frida back to your palm, then stands as he bids his farewell. Before he leaves, you plead for a favour.

"Please tell her… tell her I love her. Tell her I understand."

__

You try to be as silent as possible as you walk to the throne room, holding a recently carved statue close to your chest. You placed the wood carving at the front of his doors on top of freshly weaved flowers, hoping he would accept the likeness of beautiful Jessamy. 

You don’t know if it’s an offering or a way of saying thankyou for his help amidst your bouts of terror. You hope he can see that it’s both.

 __

"I suppose you are the one who made little Jessamy." 

You almost drop the book in your hand as you swallow your scream. Sometimes the Dream god is silent to a fault.

 "Yes, my lord. Do you like it?" your heartbeat races. 

"It is beautiful." He said appreciatively. You let out an imperceptible sigh. The mere thought of his displeasure towards something that came from your craft—practically an extension of your being—would eat you alive. 

"Do you need anything, my lord?" You offer him a smile you’re trying to contain.   

"No, it’s fine." He says as he settles into his usual reading seat. You continue to busy yourself with shelving the rest of the books.

 —

 Once every couple of weeks, you whittle and weave more for the dream god. Most of the time he would show up the next day at the library. He would remark on your carving here and there, but he always comes to read on the long table, occasionally asking you to bring him the books he needs, or the many ledgers dusting on the shelves. 

At one point, when his eyes are no longer on the book in his hand, lost in his thoughts as he sits on the long table, he ropes you into a conversation. 

"How did you learn how to carve?" he asks out of the blue and it stuns you. He never asked anything about you before.  

"Oh, well, one of my sisters taught me." 

You realise he’s expecting you to continue. 

"She’s much much older than me, wiser too. Photine is a delight." You explain. Thumbing the edge of a leather-bound book in your hand. A sharp tug at your heart has you breathing in deep. 

"The Naiad with the brown hair." he follows, and you nod. 

"I guess you know of her dreams too."

"Including you, once." He notes.

Oh, well, in that case...

"My Lord, what was the inspiration for giving me a dream where I was getting chased by a giant mango with serpent legs?"

He huffs a small laugh. An unfamiliar sight. The first time you’ve seen him and it almost feels odd. Like looking at a featherless bird you guess. A strangely beautiful featherless bird.

"My nightmares are imaginative creatures, but it wasn’t me who made it so."

"I see." you nod. Appreciating his candour.

 __ 

 You didn’t hear the dream god enter the library, but you’re getting better at noticing his presence. You can feel him nearer and nearer, his magic shifts the air wherever he is. Light and rife with something indescribable. It has a burning wood scent to it, which reminds you of a ceremonial pyre humans usually throw for your great cousin in her domain.

Your work is finished, but you are so used to seeing Dream God after your offering that you find yourself waiting for him. Passing the time by watching the glory of the Dreaming through one of the many window panes. Almost lost in its beauty and restlessness.  

"Your craftsmanship is very beautiful too." You profess to him, who stands behind you, following your line of vision. 

"Aeons of practice." He answers, his voice light and low. 

"Do you see it as I do, your own creation? Or do you notice every little mistake you’ve made?" 

He tilts his head slightly, digesting your words.

"The Dreaming is what I am, all of its flaws and beauty. But my dreams and nightmares are the progeny I wrought that can only be reared instead of control. They breathe into their own life. There is a marvel at the way they flourish to become their purpose." 

Him and his boundless abilities, it’s hard to digest that he would even look in your direction, a thought you contemplate many times over. You inhale deep of that smell of embers, swirling pleasantly in your lungs.

"Why do you help me?" As you turned to face him, the words left your tongue before you could fully process them.

"Because it is a pact." He tips his head down at you. 

"But you could just-ignore my pleas and she would never know, she could do nothing."

"And risk the fury of one of the first Naiades? Mother of the whole Pegaeae in southern Hellas?" His lips tugged upward. "There is no need for conflict, is there? It is a good-natured wish, and I am a being of my words." 

You blink, did he just humour you? 53 years in the Dreaming and you barely scratch the full capabilities of Dream God. You know, not even your mother’s full wrath from the death of her hundred daughters would rival a speck of dust of his power. 

"She knows what I am. Knew the extent of my abilities. Your mother is a clever Naiad. A capable seer in her own right."

"I don’t understand, why did you even bargain with her in the first place?" 

He goes silent for a moment. "Maybe I was intrigued to see where the pact would go." 

"I never thought that anthropomorphic beings could get bored." You deduced. 

A moment of silence passes over him. 

 "Perhaps." was his only answer.

You close your eyes. Trying to recall the face of your mother but it was so long ago, you almost forgot what she looked like. 

"How is she, Dream Lord? What dreams does she have?"

"She dreams of nursing her heart from the pain of losing you. Even in the waking world, she did only that." 

 __

  "Is my mother in the Dreaming, lord?" you ask Dream God the next time you see him. Sitting at his usual seat. 

"She is." His voice is careful, a brush inquisitive.

"Where is she?" you press further. 

"Her dreams are turmoil over you and memories of her days as a sorcerer and a warrior. Or nightmares, precisely. This part of the Dreaming is a much calmer place. You won’t find her here."

"The edge of the Dreaming then? The part with the rusty black gates?"

"Yes." 

A silence crawls its way. Concocting hundreds of scenarios for you to see your mother.

"I-can i-"

"No. The only thing you will find there is pain and suffering. Not who your mother really is. You will only harm yourself." his low voice warns you. 

You nod. 

"I understand." 

 __

 You did not try to find your mother, but a kind Nightmare with dark rounded glasses informs you where Photine’s dream usually takes place. On the construct of Athens, in the heart of the city, toiling away in a workshop with her many carvings and chisels under the supervision of the masters. 

"It’s the one with the blue door. You won’t miss it." he smiles a charming smile that almost puts you under some sort of spell. But the more you observe his smile, the more you realise it is more akin to a grin. 

"Thank you, you don’t know how much this means to me." you return his smile.

"Don’t worry about it. It’s my pleasure, really ." 

It takes days of walking and navigating through the Dreaming’s ever changing state. You have to pass the hanging gardens of Babylon and swim across the frozen sea. But you are determined to see her again, and the Sirens of the frozen sea have kindly accompanied you on your journey. Some of them even confess that they’re bored to tears in the barren region of ice and have nothing better to do. 

When you finally reach the city, and find the woodworkers' workshop, the blue door is ajar. The sight of her long brown curls is enough to mist your eyes, tremble your lips. Suppresses your breath. 

She is carving .

Always her biggest dream to become the very best. Some men and women are pointing at the statue she is sculpting, guiding her. Advising her to do better, she absorbs it all without so much as a complaint. 

There’s a thin layer of iridescent sheen before the door, almost passing your notice. And the realisation of it makes you nervous. Somehow you know that it serves as a threshold. For what, you don’t exactly know, except your intuition is screaming you shouldn’t disturb its peace. 

Your longing trumps your common sense. 

"Photine." you call once you are inside the building. The men and women wouldn’t stop speaking, but Photine dropped her chisel onto the floor. Then turn to face you.

She reaches for your face, holding you between her palms, as if sampling you to see how much of you is real. Drinking in all your features. You struggle to hold back your tears. But Photine fails to do so. Her tears are leaking down her chin. Then her wail is the next thing that comes. Followed by her stuttering sobs. You try to contain her in your arms as her hands are holding on to you. 

For a moment you think it was just a shock of seeing you after so long, and you try to tell her that you are safe and you will always be here. But her crying never ceases, even as you try to comfort her. The advice from the men and women becomes a little too loud, merging with Photine’s lament, her hold becoming a vice-like grip. Bruising. Everything leaps in magnitudes until all becomes too much, louder, deafening, spins you and the room is tipping over like the statue she carved minutes ago. Crashing to the ground and splinters into ashes. 

A gust of wind swirls into the room, and before you know a vortex of sand swallows you whole. 

You land on the shore of your Lake, on your knees as you cough your lungs out. Your throat feels scratchy, parched and painful. You drown your face and drink until you can hear the sloshing of water in your stomach. Then you lay on the shore, on your back, and found the crescent moon already hanging in the sky. A stubborn pulse slithers toward your eye, 

You count the days until you can return to the waking world. You hope the end of the path will come soon. 

You cried yourself to sleep that night. Didn’t even manage to slip into the water. 

 __

 The coming of the dream god can be sensed. By the leaves, by the pattern of the wind, that approaching smell of embers, you know what he is coming for. So you offer the dream lord to sit beside you to enjoy the cool breeze of twilight, to watch the setting sun of the Dreaming. He surprises you when he silently sits next to you, and rests his forearm on his knees. 

The dark purple had swallowed the blue in the sky and you watched silently. The Cicadas wheeze somewhere deep in the forest.

You don’t know what to say, except apologise for your insolence. 

"There is an order of things even in the Dreaming." he reprimands kindly.

"I think… I think I turned her dream into a nightmare." you murmur. 

"The Dreaming is a volatile place, you are not a Dream nor a Nightmare, and you went into a dream unstable."

You nodded. That doesn’t make any sense, yet it does. His dreams and nightmares are the purpose, the order of it, and you went past the threshold without so much as a permission. Disturbing procession. Oh, you hope they don’t hate you for it. 

"I just miss her…" Your voice merely whispers, more to yourself than to him. There’s an annoying pulse on the right side of your temples, and you close your eyes.  

"Am I to be banished, lord?" you ask the inevitable. 

"I understand your affliction. It was a mistake that I'm sure you will not repeat." 

You nod because he is right. That is a feat you will not repeat again. You have no intention of being a ghost that would terrorize your family. 

The dream lord does not leave for a little while, but enjoys the cool breeze beside you in comfortable silence as he leans his other hand behind him. Both of you are lost in your own thoughts. 

The twilight seems to go on forever. It seems the Dream God has willed it so. 

The pain you will always carry. But this time, the ache in your heart ebbs away just a little more, and you feel a little less restless as the wind takes your worries away. 

 —

 When you look at your reflection in the water, you wonder why you have not gained a wrinkle for the past two centuries. It’s true that Naiades live extremely long lives, direct descendants of Thetis and Okeanos are immortal due to the blood of their predecessors, whose blood is intimate to human devotion and beliefs. But your blood has been sorely diluted. A distant relative. 

A minor spirit of no import.

You expect your appearance to change by this time. 

You asked Dream God about this once you stepped foot in the library. A habit of some sort, seeing him there once every few days, his presence no longer hinges on your offerings. And you appreciate the comforting routine. In the way he comes almost weekly and takes place in his usual seat, in the scratching sound of the quill made from your hand filling in Lucienne’s ledger drifting between you. How easy he is to talk to once you know how to navigate his moods. Even his silence is an essential part of it.

But this time is one of many where you plague him with incessant questions. 

"The Dreaming exists in between the universe. Every organism here is bound to a standstill. Time makes an exception for me." 

"How is that even possible?" You couldn’t fill the gap between his words and your brain. Your quill lay forgotten on the long table. 

"Because I have willed it so. Father Time has agreed." He turns a page of the book on the wooden surface, his eyes never straying from the written words. 

"Father Time? Is... is that your father?"

"Correct."

The idea makes your head spin. The Endless are the children of Time himself? Observing the Dream God powers, that is proper. 

"Is that the reason why in the Dreaming feels much faster and yet simultaneously slower?"

"Yes. Just like sleep feels brief and a dream lasts an eternity." 

"Then I will never age as long as I am the dreaming lord?" 

"As long as you’re here." he echoes. 

You don’t know how to feel about your new found youthful immortality. You don’t even know how long you could stay in the Dreaming. When exactly is it safe for you to return? Does Poseidon even remember you? Would he pursue you still, from his unfulfilled demented inclination? Or you’re just one of many items long forgotten in his growing list of unfortunate victims. 

You willed yourself to ask one more thing. Irrespective of how unprepared you are for the answer.

"Do you know if I can return to the waking world now?"

You see the way his hand shifts slightly on the arm chair, he lifts his gaze to you.  

"No, (y/n). It is unfortunate that it’s still not." a trace of sympathy tinges his voice. 

Your brows knitted together. Your nails dig into your sweaty palm. 

"What, after all these years? Centuries later, he is still... still that? " you whisper. Needles stung the back of your eyes. 

"In a way, you are the unattainable myth. You disappear in front of his very eyes, and seer after seer, oracle after oracle, he cannot locate you. Even the lock of your hair is ineffective. It is an obsession for him at this point, and as cruel as this sounds, it is a treasure hunt for him." A slight frown works his mouth. A hint of revulsion in the way he speaks of the ruler of the sea. 

You grit your teeth until your temples ache. Your nose flares in anger as you try to calm your breath. 

The dream lord scrutinises you with his sharp eyes. 

"Thank you for telling me." you nod and finish your work as fast as you can. Then excuse yourself to return to your lake. Where you drown yourself to cool your burning face, your rage consumes you in bondage.

 __

The Dream god’s revelation haunts you. Plagues you from falling into sleep. You twist and turn inside the water, rubbing your eyes. Biting your nails. And in the end, you return to the surface. Drape your Peplos and make your way into the forest. Weaving between the trees in the night. The grass damp beneath the droplets of your wet feet.

There’s that helplessness again. Your fate slipping away from your grasp as you feel the unbearable resentment simmering, threatening to spill. A dull shooting pain creeps in behind the back of your eye, seeping into your temple. You think you know where the pain comes from, that all the seconds and the minutes and the years of waiting feel pointless and small. That your centuries are nothing compared to the gods' eternal boredom. The end of the line has always been inconceivable. A myth you recite and recite and recite in pretence of a prayer.

That truth has always resided in your head, inside your skull. Becoming an infection that would never kill but torment. The unscratchable itch.  

When is it going to end? When is it going to fucking end?

If there is a purpose behind all this, you don’t want it. You would spit on Moirae’s faces if you could. Carve out Poseidon’s heart if he has one. 

Fine, fine . You will become a myth. You will make sure he will never find you again for the rest of his wretched eternal life.  

The next time you find Dream God in the library, you ask him how long you are permitted to stay in the Dreaming. 

The dream lord studies you with his sharp eyes. There is an underlying suspicion within you that he understands your meaning, knows what you are about to do. 

"However long you want it to be, even for eternity." he answers. 

 __

 The baby lamb with eyes as pale as the sky bleats gently in your arms. Walking through one of the Dreaming’s many meadows, you’re heading to the brother’s greenhouse. A basket slung on your elbow has been filled with figs you have gathered and you can’t wait to dip it in honey and enjoy them with Lucienne, Abel, Cain and Mervyn this evening, along with your favourite berry pie and tea in the midst of your weekly game of Senet.

When you reach the stony gates of the brother’s residence, you can see a familiar Chiton and pale shoulders, Dream God is conversing with Abel and Cain. Mervyn is already there too. Leaning against Abel’s greenhouse a good few paces from the other three. Puffing on his cigars, waiting for Dream God to leave so you all could start the game.

When the baby lamb bleats once more, Dream God turns in your direction. 

"Good afternoon, lovely to see you all here." you greet them.

The turnip head smiles, waves at you and the brothers greet you back.

"(y/n)" there’s amusement in Dream God’s smile when he sees the lamb in your arms. 

"What do you have there?" he asks. 

"Oh, I think she’s lost. I couldn’t find her mother around. Do you know where she is?"

His smile widens, and you should’ve known that was not a good sign. 

"That, is not a lamb, (y/n)"

"What-"

A scream leapt from your lungs as the lamb jerks and turns into a changeling in a flash at the flick of Dream god’s fingers, scurrying away into Abel’s House of Secrets. The little thing has a boar for a head and a baby for a body. Thankfully, your basket still dangles safe on your elbow.

"What just happened?" you ask, bewildered, heartbeat racing fast. You saw Mervin cackling with his hands on his knees while Cain wheezed his laugh. Only Abel asks if you’re alright, but even his mouth curls upwards. 

And then there's the Dream God, chuckling lightly. You stare at him with widened eyes, incredulously, as you realise he is enjoying this. 

"Oh, well, I'm glad that was amusing to you, lord." you feign annoyance. 

He merely gives you a pretty smirk that makes you roll your eyes in defeat, but you can’t help your own smile too. 

"Are you staying, lord?" you say as you hand Abel the basket. 

"No. My affair has concluded."

"Abel and Cain are hosting a lunch. Would you care to join us? Lucienne will come too." 

Abel stares at you approvingly, but Cain and Mervyn, well, their eyes are bulging out of their sockets, if Mervyn had one at least. They’re just begging for you to retract your question. 

Dream God ponders for a moment, stares at you, and there is a consideration behind his thoughtfulness. Until he sees your friends turn still as stone, blanching, anticipating his answer, that he makes his decision. 

"I have matters to attend to." Then he walks away, disappearing in a vortex of sand.

"Goodness (y/n) if you do that again you’re not coming to the next game." Cain hisses at you.

"Oh come on Cain, it was harmless." 

"Yeah, I'm sure Lord Morpheus would be a wonderful guest." Abel, who sees the bright spot in everything, defends you.

"Kid, we all know he’d ruin the mood." Mervin chimes between his puffs. 

Disappointment crawls its way at your friend’s reaction. Perhaps because you wanted Dream God to say yes and enjoy the wine that would make you drunk as the third round of the Senet begins. Or when the jugs of wine are empty the game would be long forgotten and everyone would try to outdo each other with the funniest stories. Sometimes the most dramatic, or the scariest. 

It pains you that there’s a barrier between him and his own subjects, formed by each partisan through centuries of detachment from one another. Not all of his subjects could come to him on a daily basis and talk his ear off and annoy him with trifling questions, you realise.  

Reasons within reasons. Most of all you just want to spend more time with the Dream God.

 __

"Would you like to join me for lunch tomorrow afternoon, lord? Under my Willow. There’d be honeyed Figs and Berry Pie and Olive relish." you ask in the library. It was really spur of the moment question. One that’s been brewed by your constant prognostications, strings of what ifs.

A slight crease forms between his eyebrows. 

"There will be only me, no one else." you add, still remembering how he immediately withdrew when he noticed your friends’ reaction. Your palms grow moist from anxiousness.  

He was silent still, returning to the book in his hand. 

Oh gods, i’ve embarrassed myself… oh gods-

"I will be there." he rasps. His throat bobbed slightly as his eyes never left his book. You almost sigh in relief, smiling widely. Your delight overflowing. 

 __

 It’s too awkward. This is the part you didn’t think through. You don’t exactly know what to say to him, and he seems to be at a loss for words himself. Sitting under the Willow and the food spread out on the grass, you don’t know how to start the conversation as you offer him the honeyed figs. You know some things about the Dream God, but watching him chew and swallow is something so surreal. Like a turtle out of its shell.

Determined not to ruin this event, you opt to say whatever comes to your head first. 

"To be honest I didn't know that the Endless ate at all." You almost stutter over your words.

"There is hunger, but we won’t die without eating." 

"Does it get painful?"

"Not exactly." 

"How long did you go without eating?"

He contemplates for a moment. "A year."

"Gods, you must’ve been busy."

"In a way. It was a time of war. Food is the last thing on my mind."

shit.

"I'm... sorry."

"It was a long time ago." 

"Well-I never know what to do without food. Naiades require very little sustenance as long as our habitat is healthy and humanity tends to us with their beliefs, but I get hungry all the time." you ramble as you stuff your mouth full of honeyed figs. 

It has always been that way between humans and your kind. You feed on their beliefs, bask in your power with it, and in return you would protect Great Mother Gaia’s gift for them. 

"Then it is a good thing the crocus around here is never ending." he remarks.

"The best part is that it blooms every single day! I nearly forgot to thank you for that, I get to eat all the Saffrons in the world. Well, I probably already did."

There’s an easy smile creeping its way into the lord’s mouth again. How you adore his unencumbered countenance as he is now. His usual cloud over his brow and the thin line of his mouth dissolving with the cool, gentle wind gliding along the areas of your lake.

After that, the conversation goes as well as you could’ve hoped for. Better even. He lulls you with stories of his time in the waking world, of other gods and even their dreams, visions of all the creatures that dream. Their subconscious hopes and beliefs, innovations and endless imagination.

"Even some of my Dreams and Nightmares are inspired by them."

"Is this a secret lord?" 

"Don’t jeopardise my integrity." He smirks.

"Never." you press your fingers to your mouth. Biting a smile.

And you tell him the stories of your languid days as a Naiad. The way humans would find their way into your lake if you permitted it, for comfort with various injuries. How you’d grant their prayers with Hornworts and water lilies to soothe their ailing. 

"You’re a healer?" he asks.

"Only for the body. If one consumes something from my habitat, then it will mend their wounds." 

"Was it a gift from your mother?"

"No. But I learned it from her. You’d be surprised by the number of injured people wandering in the woods."

He hums in understanding.

"You’re a healer too, you know." you add and he only answers with a quirk of his brow.

"When it’s hopeless, all creatures that dream, well, dream. Of better things. You’re a balm for all living beings' pain. I’m grateful you’re here for all of us. I'm glad you exist." It was a sentence less eloquent than something you've strung together inside your head. But you appreciate the simplicity of what came out of your mouth, and a smile forms on your lips for him. 

But you must have said something wrong, because there is a pinch between his brow and his lips are pursed thin. His gaze sharp, staring into your eyes. You’re afraid it might bore holes into your skull. 

Your smile falters. 

He stands just as you are going to inquire as to whether anything is wrong, avoiding your eyes, then walks a good few paces away from you as he disappears in a vortex of sand. 

 __

You were hoping you would find him at the library as usual the next week. But his absence is sorely felt when you wait for hours, almost the whole day, and he doesn’t appear. You ask Lucienne where he could be and she informs you that he is in the Waking World. 

"For how long?" 

Lucienne looks at you from behind her glasses, leans back as she clasps her hands on her desk.

"I don’t know. Lord Morpheus doesn’t make it a habit of telling me how long he is leaving."

"Right, of course." you nod. Biting your lip.

"Want me to pass a message once he’s back?" 

"No! It's fine. Thank you, Lucie. Is there any work I could do?" 

She hands you a ledger, then you scurry away before she can ask more questions, avoiding her inquisitive gaze. 

You wait until next week. Then the next week, and then the next. He is nowhere to be found. You don’t want to flatter yourself and think you’re somewhat important for him to purposely avoid you. But it feels that way. You want to apologise for whatever offence you have caused but how can you do so when you can’t even find the traces of his sand. 

Have you been too forward? Have you misread the situation before? Have you misread him?

"You’re out of the loop, kid. Come on. It’s your turn."  The Turnip’s cigar plumes. 

"Oh, sorry Merv." you took your pawn and placed it on one of many squares of the Senet. 

"You behaved like this too at the last game. Getting sick of us?" Cain continues as he examines the board. 

"She is sick for someone else." Lucienne quips, hiding her cheeky smile behind her cup. Nothing gets to pass Lucienne in the Dreaming and you know she noticed your growing agitation by the Dream God’s absence. It was only a matter of time before your friend’s confrontation. 

"Don’t even start, Lucie."

"Now hold on a minute. (Y/n), what’s this about?" Merv chimes in, curious, suddenly intrigued. 

"It’s nothing!"

"You know you can trust us, If you’re in trouble, we will help, (y/n)." Abel chirps.

"To an extent." Cain mumbles.

"Thank you very much, my dear friends. But I am not in trouble."

"Aren’t you?" Lucienne retorts. Her curiosity seeps through her teasing smile. 

"Alright, maybe a little."

"Come on, kid. Spit it out" 

You sigh loudly. Rest your hands on the round table for a moment. Then you start to recount the event. Pouring your concern amidst the blue smoke and yellow candles. 

There’s a knowing look shared between your friends, when you whip your head to Lucienne, she avoids your eyes. 

Oh no…

"What is it? What?"

"Eer… he’ll return. Just give him time." Mervyn scratches his Turnip cheek. Cain busies himself with the board and for the first time in a long while, Abel is silent, watching his own pawn. 

"Oh no. I’ve done something awful, haven't i. Oh gods, he’s going to banish me!" you almost wailed. 

"I can assure you it’s not that. If he wanted to banish you, you wouldn’t still be here." Lucienne laughs and chastises at the same time. Despite her smile, you know her enough to know that she despises the idea of you leaving the Dreaming unwillingly. 

"You know, like I said, just give the big man’s time, kid. It’s fine. It’s not that. You’ll be fine. Now, are we gonna finish this or what?"

Abel suddenly slumps backwards and falls into the ground. Mervyn heaves a loud sigh and Lucienne only stares at Cain vacantly as he drops the knife in his hand.

"Last week, didn’t you promise you wouldn’t kill Abel in our next session?" you remind Cain pointedly.

"He took my place! I was about to take the second row!"

"That’s because it’s his turn, Cain." Lucienne retorts.

 —

 Enjoying the colourful Fenhuangs in the morning sky, you sit on the shore of your Lake, chewing on Saffron mindlessly, squeezing the purple flower in your hands as you memorise its velvet-like texture.

Like a deer wary of the faintest sounds, you feel it when a gust of wind comes your way and the hanging leaves dip gently into the water, the coming of Dream God. 

Your heartbeat races, you feel like throwing up, but you take a few deep breaths, stand and grasp your Peplos hanging on the branch to drape it on your body. 

It’s impossible to calm your pulse when the swirl of sand exhales Dream god into apparition. His black Chiton flutters gently in the whirlwind of sand. His comely face does not sport the furrow of his brow, or the thin sharp line on his shapely lips like the last time you saw him. 

"My lord." you greet him and bow your head. 

"(y/n)."

"Are you well, lord? I-i haven’t seen you in a while."

Steady. Don’t rush the apology just yet. You remind yourself.

"Yes I am." he replied courteously. 

"I’m happy to hear that." You try not to reveal the panic that is practically strangling your chest by smiling.

Then he opens his mouth. Oh dear. Here it comes. You're going to get flogged. 

"My apologies for leaving so abruptly, per our last conversation."

Oh. What?

There’s hesitation when he’s about to speak again. 

"I…" he trails off, mulling over his next words. You feel your brows scrunching together, your mouth part just a slightest, as if you could taste his answer on the edge of your tongue.

You what?! You feel like screaming and shaking him by the shoulders when his eyes flicker to your mouth, back to your eyes, suspending his answer.

"There are matters that need to be tended to." 

Goodnes. Is that it? 

You nod along his words, unable to conceal your relief as you lean against the Willow. It seems your legs have forgotten their function. 

Abruptly Dream God rushes towards you.

"Are you alright?" he asks with a worry. His hands are hanging midair, unsure where to place them. 

But all you could do is laugh. At your folly and irrational augury. It seems to bewilder him all the more.

"(y/n)?" 

"Forgive me, lord. I’ve been, oh I don't know. Foolish." You manage to say between your giggles.

"In what way?" 

"I thought, I thought I said something wrong. And angered you, and then you’d banished me."

He blinks. Then grab your shoulders as his eyes latch wide onto yours.

"That is foolish." he admonishes, as if it is completely unthinkable for him to do so. You could only laugh more, placing your hand on top of his. Once your restlessness subsides you just realise how much you miss his presence in the Dreaming. The library. Next to you. 

And that easy smile again makes its way to his mouth. His low and light chuckle follows not too long. 

"Then, perhaps we should continue where we left off. Dust off the misunderstanding." 

You sigh a smile. 

"I’d love to, my lord."

That morning, he conjured Honeyed figs, Berry pies, Olive relish and many more. You talk and laugh and share silence into the evening. He willed the twilight to pass a little longer as you shared ripe peaches you sliced in half. 

When a few weeks have passed, he seeks to do the same thing. You seek to do the same thing when a few weeks after that have passed. 

 —

 You decide to take in the Dreaming completely. And it has taken you. Coddles and loves you, soothes your heartache and pain. You begin to call it home, in return, it mends your longing for the waking world. Changing your life at a steady, comforting pace. 

The need to return to the waking world dissipates by degrees as the days passed, days you passed with your dear friends, your dear Dream god. Your dearest Dreaming. 

 —

  Your smile is wide as you see Dream God approaching your home. But quickly falls when you notice that he does not return it with his usual smile of greeting, but rather with a pinch of his brow.

"Dream lord." You greeted him. Heart beating loudly. Something’s not right.

"Sit with me." He said. 

You sat under the ever-expanding Willow. He sits on the opposite side of you.

"There is no easy way to say this, but your mother has passed, (y/n)." 

It takes you a couple heartbeats to properly digest his words. You have almost forgotten what your mother looked like, but you think of her and your sisters often. And the love you bear for her, as she does for you, is still strangely familiar, burrowing under your heart. 

"How?"

"In her sleep."

You sigh. Relieved. It has been more than 1100 years since the last time you saw her, and you thank those who protected her so she could die a natural death. 

But her death was unexpected. You always expect your mother to be immortal. She may not be a direct descendant of Okeanos and Thetis, but she shared their blood more than her daughters. 

That could only mean… 

"The humans have forgotten her, don’t they?"

"The waking world changes fast." Dream God concurs.

You nodded. Your tears blur your vision as you clear your throat. 

"Was she alone?"

"Her daughters are with her when it happened."

"Did she dream?" You asked with a broken voice.

"Yes."

"What did she dream about?" Your tears fall one by one. Your chest grows heavier. 

"She dreamt of a different death. Holding Poseidon’s head in her hand, her sword in the other." Sobs leave your mouth. Your head feels a little dizzy, lighter. You grip the grass on the earth, feel as if you could faint and fall into the ground, but Dream God is inching closer to you, cradles your face delicately in his silken hands, then wipes your tears with his thumbs. Anchoring you down. 

 —

  The dead must die forever. The dead are dead are dead are dead are dead. Returning to the pool of Atoms. 

There’s a cruel thought, a line from one of many plays you watched with Photine in the city. It is a terrible reminder that grief and love are so closely interlinked. Vast and merciless and divorcing . You feel so small in the face of it. 

You were hoping you could see her one day. You don’t know if you’re mourning the hope of seeing your mother once more or your mother herself. Both. You never thought it was possible to feel this much grief over someone you haven’t met in millenia. 

After the news of her passing, days are spent under the Lake. Watching the sun raze down the moon in their routine as their light ripples on the water’s surface. You need to be in the water. Feel safest in it, closer to your kin. The generations of embrace of your mother and sisters are beholden in this very element of nature. It swallows your tears, takes it all and disperses it to embody your sorrow. It holds you there so peacefully for weeks that you forsake touching the surface. 

Sometimes you feel the presence of the Dream God, but you don’t move a muscle to greet him. And he doesn’t disturb you in your fragile state as you contemplate your malady. He simply comes to see if you exist, then quietly departs.

On the 20th day, Lucienne stops by in the afternoon, calling you out, stirring the peace of the Lake. You begrudgingly rise and trudge to where she is, feel the water purposefully weighing you down as you sloppily lift your feet step by step. Begging you to come back with its droplets clinging to your skin.

Though you can’t lie to yourself, it’s good to see her warm smile and the slight pinch of her eyebrows. 

"Haven’t seen you in a while." 

You nod as you drape your Peplos over your unclothed body. Eyeing the basket in her hands that wafts a sweet smell, your stomach growls loudly.

"I know you haven’t eaten in weeks, so i won’t leave until you finish this loaf and tea Abel has so kindly made for you."

You smile for the first time in weeks. She did not mention your mother, and you are grateful for it. So you sit beside her under the great Willow tree.

It’s happening again. The dark in the sky, the unnatural stillness in the forest. The greyish clouds hanging over the sun. Even your Lake looks a little bleak, a little too tranquil. The lily pads wilted by inches. 

The rain of stars would be in a matter of hours.

"I’m afraid we won’t see him until tomorrow." Lucienne says, as if reading your thoughts.

"Do you miss him?" She asks. Your lips are tight. You do. You do miss him.

"He misses you. Don’t know what to do with himself in the evening. He’s fussy when he can’t spend time with you and makes my job a little tedious instead." There’s a knowing smile on Lucienne’s mouth.

"Sorry Lucie." you mumble, and Lucienne drapes her arm over your shoulders.

"It’s alright, (y/n)." she assures with her gentle voice. Before you know it you’re crying again. This time in her arms, and she wordlessly let you clings to her coat and warm presence. 

Once your tears have dried, she helps you clean the streak of tears and snot with a napkin. Then hands you the rest of the unfinished bread. 

"I’m not joking when I said I’m not going to leave until you finish this loaf." Lucienne reminds and a laugh bubbles from you. You notice the relief written on Lucienne’s smile. 

You don’t know what to make of it as you continue to chew on the sweet bread. You Know Dream God enjoys your company, but you didn’t know that it's at a point where he is capable of missing you. Especially one such as him, who could have any company he wants, one that is far more interesting than you. What does that say about you in his life? 

Hopefully a friend. You mull over.

On that dusk, when Lucienne had left, when the waters of your lake reflected an even deeper grey from the sky, the first starfall landed on the shallow part of your water. You glide into it, then gather them in your hand, and it burns you, scalding and brandishing your skin with jagged edges. You quickly dip it inside the lake, cooling the diamond-like object with sharp points, clutch tight in your hand. You teeth clench from the burning pain. Searing through your flesh.

Why are you holding on to it? Why does it tastes so familiar?

In an instant, Dream God arrives on your domain, you are not at all surprised by his sudden presence. You felt it in the wind, the imperceptible stir of your Willow. 

He looks tired. The edge of his Chiton seems to melt into his shadow that grows darker. The corners of his mouth are a little steeper. Eyes hooded with melancholy. 

He strides towards you, waist deep in the water as he takes your wrist that clenches his star. 

"Open it." he demands harshly.

You unfold your shaking palm and the star glows in anger, his eyes digest the burning skin on your hand. His brows stitch together.

"Look at what you’ve done." He scolds you as he takes his star from your burnt skin, hangs it back in the sky. Then his fingers hover over your wound, his fingers quiver slightly. 

You don’t miss the hollow in his eyes. His youthful face emanates aeons of history and an antique lifespan he usually conceals. He looks… drained and exhausted.  

Dream God has given so much to you, even by pact doesn’t lessen his actions and kindness. Seeing him like this is somewhat heartbreaking. Dispiriting. 

You don’t know how his pain truly feels, you reckon it is much more painful than your experience of losing your mother, a natural progression of life, unlike the premature loss of one's child. But grief is grief. Perhaps there’s no need to measure it in order to understand its purpose. So you take his hand. Despite his confusion, he doesn’t raise his concern. You are leading him into the only comfort you know how to give him, trudging with him hand in hand until both of you are completely submerged in the water. Until your feet touch the earthy floor. 

He seems to glow pale blue, hair as dark as the night, gently dancing in the water. He looks the part of a perfect Naiad, who could easily lure any man into his own demise with his bright eyes. Eyes that are always on you, when you tilt your head, when you remove the lush Hornwort from his face. Your unbrandished hand tight around him as you mused the frown on his mouth.

It’s true the water connects you to your mother and your sisters, but he created your Lake and its water. 

He does not need words to say how distinctly sick he is at the desolation growing by the year on this particular day for you feel its destruction in the very water inside your lungs, infecting your bloodstream. How suffocating that looming shadow of despair thriving on this day, for he is every blade of grass and the very wine you imbibed, the very Hornwort you pushed a moment ago.

And he realises, you can feel it—see it in his eyes--that you know . In which he grasps your insides with all you consume, all you inhale to taste how much you are familiar with his grief by mourning your own. 

You put a thousand wishes of consolation into one simple gesture. You slither your hands under his arms and wrap around his chest because you are not good with words. 

You try to hold him just like how he consoles you under the Willow, and hope that it reflects his kindness even just a fraction. 

Take the serenity you’ve given me and savour it for yourself. 

You’re not entirely sure if it’s a pure altruistic reason for your Dream God, perhaps one of them is selfish. That you need someone to anchor you down before you slip away in madness. To prevent feeling alone in your sorrow under the surface of your Lake. His Lake.

But the water and the dreaming tremble imperceptibly. It’s hard to pay it mind when the Dream God circles his arms around yours, envelopes your back and buries his eyes on your shoulder in return. His fingers cling to your skin, almost desperate. 

You and Dream god stay that way until your eyes fall heavy, your head droops on the hollow of his neck, until you are as still as the water surrounding you, as he does. His arms are a sense of comfort you haven’t truly felt in your long life.

When you woke up, it was dusk. Dream God is nowhere to be found, but the sky is greeting you with his dusk in a periwinkle shade. 

  —

 For living almost 1900th years in the Dreaming, you learned one more language that no one can really teach you except for you and Dream God himself. 

You can read Dream God as easily now, as he reads you. But that knowledge comes with the same cost he has paid to you, as you paid him, by baring your psyches to one another. 

A mutual trade of need to be by each other's side. You choose to take meaning when he comes to you requesting for a stroll in the Dreaming’s many meadows, the bright sun would purposefully land soft on your skin. To his presence under your willow, passing away the day together with an evening meal that consists of fruits, pies, and laughter, current delicacies of the Waking World he would conjure. To the way he consoles you with his embrace when tears gather in your eyes at the thought of your mother.

He takes equal meaning when you remain in the library, waiting until the late hours for him to return when his responsibilities keep him long and away from the Dreaming. When you pass the plate of figs with drizzled honey for him and lick the excess sweetener remaining on your finger. When your presence can be felt beside him, lost in the volumes of books devouring the secrets of the universe, as he is lost in his own process of shaping Dreams and Nightmares.

And when the rain of stars comes, at the end of the day you trail beside him to collect his falling stars. The little jewels no longer scalds your skin. But the Dream God always mournfully apologises for the one that has, now merely jagged scars on your palm. To which you take his face between your hands and assure him you love the shapes it has left on you. 

For each and every moment both of you have learned inches by inches. Accumulating language by centuries of communion. 

It is a peaceful coexistence you and him affectionately clings to. 

 —

"I should like to think that we’re past titles, (y/n)." 

Dream God demands as he’s helping you cinch the golden brooches on your shoulders to hold your Peplos together. One of his many gifts he had kindly bestowed upon you. Your hair still damp from the Lake, your skin barely dries because he conjures the afternoon meal before you even rose from the water. Impatient as ever. 

"And what does that mean, Dream God?" you turn to him once he cinched all of the golden jewellery. 

"That you should no longer address me as such." 

You don’t understand why you are perplexed by the notion. You have become his friend, as he yours. It is only natural to call each other by names. 

…that was partly a lie. You think you understand.

Perhaps, in a sense, some part of you silently worships him. For all your notions involving gods, you quietly revere the comforting hands that were on your shoulders a moment ago. And you uncover devotion when his skin touches yours, attain unyielding faith when you gaze into his eyes. In each and every title is in lieu of a prayer.

For you to call his name is somewhat akin to heresy, changing your carefully crafted divine custom, one that you’re unsure you’re ready for. 

It places you on the same pedestal as him. You understand that he demands for this very thing. To be on the narrow and tall pedestal with him. 

You sigh heavily as you try to cover your face, but he takes your wrists, gently pushes them down. His thumb lovingly runs over the scars on your palm. A flare of devotion stirs. 

"Morpheus." He demands once more. His bright beguiling eyes search for yours, but you avoid them by focusing on the pooling darkness on the edge of his black Chiton. 

"It feels wrong my-" 

"Morpheus." he urges firmly. Lean down to find your eyes. 

You bite the inside of your lip, The last time you spoke of his name was millennia ago. Aeons.

And you brace yourself for what feels like a blasphemy. 

"Morpheus." you finally muster. The name is strange on your tongue and you swallow, swallow the name too. 

A satisfied smile graces his lips.

"Morpheus." you repeat. Familiarising yourself with it. A rush of exhilaration spurs. His smile grows wider.

"Morpheus." Once more and a giggle slips from your mouth. His name tastes light and new and familiar.

The act did not take but gave you everything, no matter how unprepared you are for things to change within you, between him, you always found yourself embracing the uncertain future wherever he resides. 

"Yes, (y/n)?" he answers and you laugh heartily. He follows. Dark and low and mirthful. Tickles and burns your skin and shoots arrows at your stomach. 

 —

 The waking world has abandoned your former life. Morpheus explains that in your kind and your gods are no more than grand mythologies to lull children to sleep, for men to study. Other religions have replaced old beliefs, old deities and old ways of worship. Mankind does not believe the ancient ones anymore, and some creatures went extinct; the only legacy for your species.

Now, mankind cultivates their own nature, ravaging it themselves. 

The news of your sisters’ death came one by one as the world discarded them. The death of Photine strikes you with overwhelming violence. 

Devoid of power and human faith, she was forgotten, limped into obscurity and caved in on herself, met Death in her very own water. 

The dead must die forever. The dead are dead are dead are dead are dead. Returning to the pool of Atoms. 

You feel the ripples of the water, Morpheus wading to where you float in the shallow part of your Lake. 

"Will I die like them?" you question, to him who blocks the sun, but mostly to yourself. Your tears trace the sides of your temples. Your sorrow is his too, you can see it in his glistening eyes. He takes your hand and enveloped tightly, almost desperate. 

"No. I will not let that happen. My faith will always sustain you." He gently caresses your forehead, and kisses you there, featherlike and gentle, as if you could break from all your agony by the daintiest pressure.

 —

Morpheus stands at a crossroad he plucked from the dream of  a man longing to see his former lover on the street where they first met. The crescent moon and the decaying fields of Wheat came from a farmer asleep at her porch on witching hour, her rake in her hand long forgotten as she dreamt of ploughing her fields. Content with the life she had wrought of her own. 

Yet it was not enough, the fates would always require more. His surrender and acceptance was found in the last night of a starved circus Lion, dreaming of her faraway home, for tomorrow she would meet his sister, Death. 

And the iron sword in his coat, a symbol of righteous indignation, the boon, was a little harder to find. But one pierced through a monstrous serpent. It was found on the hand of a man fighting in the name of Jesus Christ. He was accused of murder in his smalltown home. 

All is set and complete. 

He steels himself by recalling his treasured one, his heart and friend, his darling Naiad's face, then sends gentle wind for her in the Dreaming. 

And now he invokes their name.

"I, Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, hereby summon the Fates."  

A thunder strikes the air.

"The three who are one."

The wheat surrounding droops lower.

"The one who is three."

The black chiffon of theirs dances in the wind.

"The Hecateae."

The Fates stand before him, and he bows his head as customary. 

"Morpheus, my, what a lovely surprise." the mother greets.

"Is it really such a surprise, sister-self?" the maiden taunts.

"It is only a matter of when." the crone scorns. 

"Is this a social call, Dream king?" 

"Unfortunately not, my ladies." 

"Of course it’s not. We know what he wants." the crone spat.

"Think again Morpheus, there is no turning back. Are you sure about this, Dove?" the mother cautions kindly, ever attentive.

"I do." Morpheus says with stubborn conviction as he pulls the sword from his star–sewn coat, and the Fates unclench their jaws to swallow it whole. 

"You will bind her to your fate just like that?" the maiden questions with her mischievous smile, she expects no answer from him.

"The Dream king has always been selfish." the crone sneers.

"three questions, one answer, love."  the mother croons.

He clenches his fist, braces himself. 

"My first question, the tool I need, where is it?"

"In the heart of Tartarus, where Chronos once fell." the maiden responds. 

"My second question, will the deed be possible to enact?"

"Yes, but first you will toil for a long time, and after." the mother croons.

He nods, unflinching. 

"My last question, the scale of the change. How much?" 

The fates glare at him in a way they never did before. As if they too, revealing his answer, are passing the threshold that can’t be returned. 

"An upheaval of the highest order. But nothing you and her could not overcome." For once, the crone's voice is faintly tinged with favor. If it meant something, he chose not to see it. 

—

 "Does my Lake still exist?" you question Morpheus as you sit beside him under the Willow, both of you leaning against the tree after you share ripe Peaches you cut in half. His black Chiton pools at the grass. Now watching the twilight sky of the Dreaming that stretches for hours. 

"Fortunately, yes. Humans do not dare to venture in that part of the forest. A curse is said to surround it.

Your lips tugged upwards as you turned towards his profile. "Curse, or a nightmare?"

"Both, perhaps." a sly smile forms his lips. 

A breeze and silence are blowing your way. You swallow thickly before asking the next question, one that has not been asked for millenia. 

"And... and him?"

He straightens his body towards you. 

"He’s wandering helplessly at the bottom of the sea. The sea belongs to humanity now, his power has abated. Most remember him only as a vessel for their own stories."

You don’t know what to say. Your hatred overshadows your relief that borne a spite for the olympian. You take joy in this news. And you hope that he will suffer more from something that is beyond his power to contain. 

"He no longer has the ability to hurt you. I made sure of that." he claims with a conviction that leaves no room for any doubt to bloom within you. 

"I really miss the waking world." was all you could say after quite some time, smothering the grass in your hand.

Morpheus gently takes your hand in his. 

"Do you want to visit the Waking World?" he offers. 

You missed a second. 

"I don’t… I don't know if I can." It's been so long. Too long. The Dreaming has become a part of you so thoroughly. You become apprehensive at the prospect of leaving it, even for a temporary moment. Would the earth of the Waking World even feel the same in your hands? The air and its water? 

Morpheus senses your agitation. He tips your chin to look upon him.

"I will come with you if you wish. Just think it over." 

Your nod. Comforted by his bright, kind eyes. You watch the last traces of light in the horizon. 

"Tomorrow I must return Corinthian back to the Dreaming. When I return–should you wish it–just tell me, I shall take you to the waking world. There is much I want you to see." he offers. 

You are reminded once more of his kindness. Of his endless thoughtfulness for you. When you look upon his comely face, has it always been like this? Has your heart been filled and overflowing with so much love that has moved past the threshold of friendship? Since when did you have this urge to press your lips against his? Wondering what kind of divine blessing resides there. 

You can’t help but caress his cheek and lean towards his lips, in which he captures yours so readily. As if he had been waiting for this moment for a long, arduous time. 

Yes, you can see everything so clear then, the fog and the ache and every uncertainty clears away, the small pieces pulling together at the centre of the universe to create a larger picture, to make sense in your erratic fate. That you are merely borrowed parts that needed to be returned, from the drops of the rain, from the dirt of the earth, from the rays of the sky and the water in the lake. Here wherever he is, the centre of your universe, your future slowly and kindly enough to unravel before your eyes, returning home under his heart, returning home to him. 

Morpheus pulls away reluctantly, and your eyes flutter open at the loss of his lips. 

He caresses your jaw. You feel his perpetual love and devotion pulsing through his fingertips, tracing your skin. His eyes drink in your features fondly, consuming you whole. You desire nothing more than to be consumed over and over again. 

"Do you want me to kill him?" Morpheus rasps.

The Dreaming turns still. Holding its breath in anticipation, awaiting your response.

Morpheus finds the answer in your eyes. Feel it in your lungs. And he nods in understanding as he kisses you once more.

#morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #dream x reader #the sandman #this one is the longest thig i #i've ever written adbodawbobfaafw

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

I live for all these ships with Apollo like Apollo and Thanatos, Cupid, and even the most dumpsterfire ship of all time Copollo (I go feral over these two)

But one ship that stood out to me was Boreas and Apollo, and apparently the Boreads describe Apollo as "Beloved of our sire" And the fact that Koios is basically Boreas' boss makes this so much more better

So basically I'm asking for Boreas and Apollo headcanons 👀

(And if you take fic reqs, I wouldn't mind a fic with these two)

Apollo is SOOOOOO Shippable lmao XD He has such a variety of lovers and that really allows us to be able to explore a variety of relationship!

Healthy or toxic, lmao XD Copollo is Top Tier imo

and on the topic of Boreas, I have one extra thing to add there because I personally headcanon that Lelantos, titan of air & moving unseen (and apollo's uncle), used to be the head of the wind gods but was stripped of his title by Zeus post-titan war because he sided with Kronos.

So therefore, both of Boreas's bosses are relatives of Apollo's lmao XD

HEADCANONS, EH?

ahem

Imo, Hyperborea was some sort of courting gift or something Boreas gave Apollo. Because here's the thing with Hyperborea:

It's the One Place Boreas does not blow his winds, hence its title of Eternal Spring.

Boreas's palace resides at the southern border of Hyperborea, with gryphons who live in BOTH places.

Three of Boreas's son are PRIESTS of Hyperborea, and serve Apollo when he's there.

Three of Boreas's daughters joined Artemis's hunt (Oupis features in my fic Shattered Minds, btw!)

Hyperborea is literally "over the north wind" in Greek.

I think we can all agree winter is the time Apollo and Boreas hook up lmao XD

Boreas ALSO, in some versions, is a suitor of Hyacinthus, but he clearly doesn't hold any ill-will about Hya & Apollo because let's be real, he would have picked Apollo too XD

So imagine this. Hyacinthus & Apollo making out. Then Apollo & Boreas making out. HECK HYACINTHUS & BOREAS MAKING OUT.

THIS MEME IS THEM

ALSO I RAISE YOU-

Zephyrus has a crush on Apollo :3 (It makes sense. also Apollo is widely associated with spring and Zephyrus is the SPRING wind, and likes pretty guys and Apollo is the prettiest so-)

I blabbered about that in the Discord with @xxzephyrbreezexx and our fellow Discord user whom I don't know if they have a blog here 😭 KNOW I AM POINTING VIOLENTLY IN YOUR DIRECTION

You are Zephyrus. You have a crush on Apollo. You also get a crush on his boyfriend.

AND THEN YOUR BROTHER FUCKS BOTH OF THEM

The Hyacinthus Debacle, as I have dubbed it, also created a bit of a rift between Boreas and Zephyrus, which is Sad because they are usually associated with each other in literature, art, ect :(

Family dinners are Awkward. Even more so when Boreas brings Apollo along to the dinners hosted at his place.

They became Especially Awkward when Helios and Selene were still around because then Boreas would have to deal with Helios's Dad Instincts kicking in and staring him down.

(Helios is Boreas's uncle btw!)

(I have a Boreas thing planned in my Helios fic eheheheh. It's funny, don't panic)

And whenever Apollo pops in the visit Eos about light-related things or Astraeus (Eos & Astraeus are the winds' parents) it Still Is Awkward because Zephyrus just. BOLTS out of the room.

He is simultaneously Gay For and Terrified of Apollo.

Also if Asteria tags along with Apollo (because she is shooting stars/night prophecy and Astraeus is dusk/stars) she gives Zephyrus The Death Stare.

He is equally terrified of her, minus the horny.

Cupid/Eros, eh?

...are you in the Discord by chance? Because the fellows I mentioned previously and I have also discussed this👀

We get Boreas in my next fic, btw! :D No ApolloXBoreas, sadly, but I do have plans on incorporating them into a fic!

Perhaps my revolution fic, because I am getting Ideas concerning Boreas, Apollo, and Koios... >:3

#the oracle speaks #my memes #ramblings of an oracle #apollo x boreas #toa headcanon #apollo #boreas #the trials of apollo #zephyrus #hyacinthus #hyapollo #pjo apollo #pjo zephyrus #pjo boreas #pjo hyacinthus

[bright-side20]

Elain/The harp 🌸

I have a little theory about how Elain could use the harp in her book. I had the Idea while reading about Koschei's tales.

So koshei is known for the ability of casting sleeping spells:

And the only way to break the spell is by playing the gusli, which an instrument very similar to the harp:

This had given me the idea.

1_The Harp:

HOFAS:

Pulling her daughters close, Theia flared with starlight. And in the small space between their bodies, Bryce could just make out Theia plucking a low string on the Harp. In answer, a star-akin to the one Bryce could pull from her own chest-emerged from Theia's body. It split into three shimmering balls of light, one drifting into Silene's chest and another to Helena's before the final one, as if it were the mother from which the other two stars had been born, returned to Theia's body.

She gave us what protection her magic could offer, transferring it from her body into our own using the Harp. Another secret she had learned from her long-ago masters: that the Harp could not only move its bearer through the world, but move things from one place to another even move magic from her soul to ours.

So in Hofas, we learned that the harp can also move magic from one's soul to another.

2_Elain's power:

ACOWAR :

"The Cauldron.” Another awful smile. “Yes. That mighty, wicked thing. That bowl of death and life.”

HOFAS :

"All life came and comes from it," Azriel said with something like reverence. "The Mother poured it into this world, and from it, life blossomed."

ACOWAR:

Elain, who it had gifted with such powers, found her so lovely it had wanted to give her something … It would not harm Elain, even in its hunt to reclaim what had been taken

I believe that the cauldron gifted Elain the power of giving life because she reminded it of its original duty, and because that's who she is, her heart is full of life and light.

3_The Theory :

I think that if the sleeping beauty theory is to happen,and Koschei curses Azriel with Eternal sleep. Elain can use her power and the harp to save him, since she owns life, if she transfer a portion of her power to his soul it would break his curse and awaken him.

If not Azriel, I think this theory could also apply to the Dusk Court or the Middle. If she were to give them a portion of her power, life would bloom again.

#pro elriel #elriel #pro elain #elriel supremacy #elain archeron #acotar thoughts #sarahjmaas #azriel acotar #elain x azriel #sjm #elainarcheron #elain acotar

[heartnosekid]

my personal favorite stimboards masterlist!

so, as it turns out... i've made a lot of stimboards since 2021 when i made my first favorite stimboards stimboard. i wanted to make another stimboard of the boards, but i quickly found out i had way too many favorites to fit in a stimboard that my computer or phone could handle lol.

so, instead of the stimboard, here is a bunch of links to my favorite stimboards with some descriptors. as far as name stimboards go, i love them all too much so i couldn't decide on a concise list of favorites lol enjoy! comment your favorites if you want to!

concept / music based:

clowncore with bright primary colors | butterflies, spiders, & moths in purple & blue | nature, flowers, & bugs in pink & yellow | aroace sunset flag with nature | lunar rainbow | pansexual with nature | black & neon glowcore | hot pink color board

demeter & young persephone | black arches moth | carnivalcore, kidcore, & kitties | smile - the beach boys album art | pink, elegant, & floral | death's head hawkmoth | virginian tiger moth

night skies, the moon, biblically accurate angels, books, & moths | yule pagan holiday board | rain by sleep token | "i know love is real because i exist and i am full of it" | sidewalk chalk kitty

character / franchise based:

marie (splatoon) based on only her hair colors | dark magic hat creampuff cookie (cookie run: ovenbreak) | seer (apex legends) | floral sacrifice soul weaver (identity v) | super pusheenicorn (pusheen) | haku (spirited away) | skitty (pokemon) | wish bear & love-a-lot bear (care bears) | baby hugs & tugs (care bears)

custom camper (animal crossing: pocket camp) | banette (pokemon) | royal livery bloodhound (apex legends) | caregiver zacharie & small batter (off game) | a gaze eternal revenant (apex legends) | raiden (metal gear rising: revengeance) | fleur fairies (jellycat)

bog witch ad (goatlings) | wicked harvest bloodhound (apex legends) | neon skeleton squishmallows | mirage (apex legends) | k_k (deltarune) | renji & uta with cafe elements & greyscale (tokyo ghoul) | ione (animal crossing) | zucker (animal crossing) | oyster cookie (cookie run: kingdom)

lime cookie (cookie run: ovenbreak) | blue eyes white dragon (yu-gi-oh) | alice in wonderland 1951 film | lobo (puss in boots: the last wish) | miffy kidcore positivity (miffy & friends) | trans calico critters (sylvanian families) | king rauru (the legend of zelda: tears of the kingdom) | catalyst (apex legends)

g1 pony bride (my little pony) | white pearl cookie (cookie run: kingdom) | soft pastel blue dratini (pokemon) | dusk from the hex girls (scooby doo) | frilled jellyfish cookie (cookie run: kingdom) | uboa (yume nikki) | sayaka miki (puella magi madoka magica) | fog canyon (hollow knight)

#stim #stimboard #links #ish talks #personal favorite stimboards #requests #gosh i hope all these links are right lol #if they aren’t PLEASE let me know

[ivystoryweaver]

Spectre

A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story

Event #4: From Dusk till Dawn

prev | Fic Masterlist | My Masterlist | next

Event #4 Summary: Jakeyyyyy and a guest star

Pairing this chapter: Jake Lockley x f!reader (alters mentioned several times)

Word count: 2k

Content: angst, mentions of food and alcohol, fluff-ish? Fluff-adjacent. Coping with death, longing, not beta'd

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PREVIOUSLY on "Spectre"...

"Goodnight, my darling," Steven whispered. "I met the most charming lady today. You would have positively loved her. And her shop. God, I wish you could see..."

He exhaled a weary sigh, pressing a kiss to the picture. "She had a lot to say about souls and soulmates. Said souls are eternal. If that's true, I hope you're happy, love. And at peace."

With that, he sauntered back into the bedroom, never noticing where you sat perched on the end of the bed.

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Mercifully, Steven had the body for a couple days.

Mercifully for Marc. Not for you.

Steven couldn’t see you.

You watched him sleeping last night and again tonight. You envied the peace he seemed to feel while he rested, wishing you could remember how it felt to fall asleep.

His dark lashes fanned out, kissing his cheeks. He was so beautiful.

"Oh Steven, why am I here?" you whispered. "Why can't you see me?"

He stirred, whispering your name but quickly drifted back to sleep.

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It was longer still until you saw Marc again. You felt...guilty? If you could remember such a feeling, that your visitation had caused him enough distress to disassociate.

Of course, the boys tended to front at random, but Marc was absent for his day off as well as his next shift at the hardware store. Filling in for Marc at his job always left Steven a little out of sorts.

Which brought you to Jake.

You were only somewhat conscious of thought and feeling, when the next moment you could comprehend, you were perched on the edge of the bed, wearing Marc's hoodie.

That's when Jake strolled into the bedroom with a monster sized sandwich and a beer.

You straightened up, wondering if he would see you, like Marc - or see right through you, like Steven. It certainly felt like an eternity since you'd laid eyes on Jake.

He spotted you right away, granting you an awe-filled smile.

"Mi alma," he whispered. "Look at you."

You rose, approaching him slowly. "Jake? Can you see me?"

"Of course I can," he answered, setting his dinner down on the night table before folding his arms over his chest and studying you carefully. "But I'm disappointed. Marc said he saw you naked."

He cracked a grin, which imbued you with a lightness. If you recalled, it almost felt like...a laugh.

But you didn't laugh out loud. You barely even smiled. It was foreign to you now.

So Jake assumed you were confused, or maybe offended.

"Lo siento, mi amor."

"Why?" You challenged. "I'm just so relieved you can see me. Steven can't, and Marc keeps calling himself crazy."

"Hmm..." Jake nodded thoughtfully. "That tracks. I'm obviously the most reasonable one."

There it was again - that warm, sparkly lightness inside. It felt...nice.

You boldly eased closer to him.

Jake's dark eyes studied your own before flickering down to your lips. "That's my jacket."

Those very lips of yours turned upward, just at the corners. There it was. A smile. Yes...smiling.

"It's Marc's," you gently refuted. "Remember?"

Jake shrugged one shoulder, pleased to see you warming up to him, in a sense. "I call bullshit. But you stole it a long time ago. Guess it's yours."

The passage of time seemed to sober you.

"Jake," you whispered pleadingly. "H-how long since...how long have I been like this?"

He swallowed hard. Marc relayed that you seemed to become easily confused or disoriented. Jake didn't want that. He wanted to see you smile again.

"Marc said it's October," you added.

"Doesn't matter," Jake replied matter-of-factly. "You're here now. I missed you."

You opened your mouth to speak, but quickly closed it again, turning toward the window to stare out at the stars. Jake feared you might vanish, but you spoke softly.

"I don't understand anything. I don't even know what I'm doing here."

"Hey, hey, slow down," Jake instructed, reaching for you but coming up empty. His hand quite literally brushed right through the space your arm was visually occupying.

Withdrawing his fingers, he frowned, but not at you. You began inspecting the room, looking this way and that, while Jake cocked his head way up as if addressing the ceiling.

"Khonshu, what is this?"

Your head whipped back around to Jake - then your eyes followed his line of sight up, up - there, in the corner of the bedroom, a tall, freaky looking bird skeleton thumped his staff and clambered forward.

"Oh my god," you gasped, backing away quickly. "W-what is that?"

Realizing you'd never laid eyes on the old bird (as Steven called him), Jake explained.

"He looks weird, right? I have to look at him every night."

Khonshu made a groaning sound, but Jake shrugged.

"Every. single. night."

"Why can I see him?" You questioned warily, inching closer to Jake's side.

"Because you are no longer a part of this world," Khonshu's voiced boomed, in the dramatic-ass fashion he always found the need to speak in.

Finding courage from Jake's wit and warmth, you spoke directly to the ancient one.

"Where am I then? My home? For brief moments, to torment my partner? Then back to the Dark Place?"

Khonshu's tattered robes shifted as he appeared to bend down and peer out the window, perhaps at the night sky he governed.

"I have no answers for you," he rumbled, reflectively. "Your journey is not within my purview."

"My journey?" You questioned, glancing at Jake. "What journey? I'm...dead."

Yes. You were. It was becoming clearer to you now.

"Nothing I say will alter your course," Khonshu mysteriously uttered.

"Cut the decoder ring shit and answer her," Jake demanded, moving close to you, which gave you both a sense of comfort, even though you were merely a vapor - untouchable.

Khonshu simply vanished making Jake groan in frustration.

What was happening? You were seeing Khonshu now? And he couldn't help you? Where were you? A sense of dread that used to feel like...panic crept up your chest, tightening where your throat used to be.

"Jake, where am I?" You desperately whispered, reaching out for him. "If I'm dead then why am I not with my parents? Or - or..."

Jake's heart burned within him. If only he could pull you into his arms and hold you close.

"Shhh, mi amor," he soothed. He could see how disoriented you were becoming. Your eyes darted around as you eased toward the window. "Focus on my voice. Stay here with me. It's all right."

He called your name, trying to keep your eyes fixed on him. Fortunately, Jake had benefitted from Marc's brief encounters with you. Where Marc was terrified and traumatized - very on-brand Marc - Jake tried to take this apparent haunting in stride and see if he could make any progress with you, for all your sakes.

But his stomach twisted and his soul ached for you. Were you really lost somewhere unknown? Somewhere in which even Khonshu could not, or would not interfere, or help you?

"Will you come to bed with me?" Jake attempted, offering his hand in futility.

Your pretty face scrunched in confusion.

"Just...lie down with me. Talk to me," he coaxed, ignoring the huge sandwich he'd made for dinner, still sitting on the night table.

You seemed to forget, momentarily, your plight. Your form drifted to the bed and you somehow eased down beside your partner.

His dark eyes softened, round with concern, almost as if Steven was gazing at you adoringly.

"There you go," he soothed. "Está bien, mi corazón. Cálmate."

The smooth tenor of his voice relaxed you somewhat.

"I don't know if this is lying down," you admitted, a bit sheepishly. "It doesn't really make any difference to me since I can't...feel."

"You can’t feel?" he sympathetically questioned.  "Is it because you’re not...solid?" He wasn’t quite sure about the physics of an apparition.

"I guess not."

The two of you lay on the bed, facing one another - hands tucked under cheeks and knees drawn up comfortably.  

"You're still so beautiful," he whispered, dark eyes flickering over your features. He whispered your name again, as if saying it would anchor you here in time, in this room.

The mere sound of it sent a shiver up your spine...that is, if you had a spine.

"Your eyes are sad," you whispered, longing to see the love and devotion you used to see reflected there. Jake's eyes now held a soft melancholy - a yearning.

Marc's held despair and fear.

Steven's eyes were vacant to you. You didn't seem to exist to him.

"I've caused you each so much pain," you sorrowfully breathed. "I've been so alone but...maybe this is worse."

"No, mi alma. It's not worse that you're with me. Never." He granted you a sympathetic smile. "You've been alone? In a dark place?"

You nodded. "You're the only person I've seen. And this is the only room I know." Your forehead wrinkled cutely in confusion. "You're not afraid of me?"

It was a silly question. Was Jake Lockley afraid of anything?

Waiting a beat, he responded softly, "I could never be afraid of you. I'm only afraid for you."

He eyed you curiously.  “"Are you always here, in this room?  Do you ever leave?"

You found yourself feeling relaxed by his confidence, if you remembered that emotion correctly. “I don’t really know," you admitted, with a small shake of you head. “Sometimes, I’m here. I walk around the room, look out the window or even lie on the bed. But sometimes, I’m somewhere..."

"The dark," he supplied.

Your gaze dropped.  "I didn’t know dying would be like this."

Jake could see why this would torment Marc. After Randall died, Marc feeling like he couldn't save someone he loved was absolutely unbearable. Jake was fronting to protect him, and he wanted to protect you too.

But how could he solve a problem he couldn't punch? How could he strike fear into the heart of death itself?

"Will you talk to me, Jake?" You implored. "About anything? I want to hear your voice."

If he could simply speak and ease your burden, he would gladly do so.

Jake told you about the dying flower bed out front - how he and Marc planned to weed it and make sure it didn't get too overgrown. He talked about anything he could think of, which was quite a challenge for him, compared to Steven.

He told you about a young boy he rescued last week, in the city - how grateful his mom was to have him home safe.

"I don't know all of Steven's trivia," he admitted, after a while. "He's probably the one you want talking your ear off. But I could tell you a joke."

"Okay, go," you replied, smiling sweetly.

The sight of it melted Jake into a puddle.

He cleared his throat. "Uhh, knock, knock."

You giggled. "Who's there?"

"Alec."

"Alec who?"

"Alec-tricity. Bzzzz."

Jake used to tell you this stupid joke all the time. When he made the electric buzzing noise, he would poke one finger into your quite ticklish ribs making you squeal with laughter.

Only this time, you felt nothing.

His gaze dropped as his finger swiped through you. "Guess it's not that funny anymore," he whispered. "Sorry."

"Jake, that joke was never funny," you shot back, a teasing smile on your face.

Well, mission accomplished. You were smiling. And you were here.

The hour was late and Jake, yes, even Jake was tired.

"Knock, knock," he murmured drowsily.

"Who's there?" You gently responded, your eyes lingering on the lines of his handsome face, desperate to hold the sight of it in your mind's eye. Something to cherish in the dark.

"Annie."

"Annie who?"

"Annie way I can kiss you?" His eyes drooped heavily.

"You’’re sleepy."

"Am not," he protested, stifling a yawn.

"You are. I wish I remembered what it felt like to get sleepy."

"You don’t remember?" This pulled his eyes back open for a moment.

"Not really.  I just always feel...awake.  Like I’m floating.  I don’t know." You shook your head slightly.  

Jake’s eyes were fluttering closed and one rebellious lock of chocolate hair had fallen across his forehead.  You wanted to reach out and brush it back - if only you could.

He sighed again, his head dropping to the pillow. "I’m so tired, but I don’t want to go to sleep."

"Why not?" You asked, blinking innocently.

"Because..." another sigh, "I’m afraid that when I wake up, you’ll be gone.”

"I'll come back," you promised. "Just sleep, baby."

"Mmm," he mumbled, feeling a serenity that had left him the day you died. "Te amo."

next

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Moon Knight Masterlist

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#spectre fic #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #halloween #jake lockley #marc spector x you #steven grant x you #jake lockley x you #marc spector x f!reader #steven grant x f!reader #jake lockley x f!reader #moon knight system #spooky season #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #spooky season fic #ghost story #halloween love story #halloween fic #x reader #x you #oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac fic #moon knight ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ #mcu

[socheckitout-mikey]

heya lovelies, these weren't requested, i'm just on a huge tlb kick atm and wanted to share some love for david! please enjoy and let me know what you think! - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Gif Credit: @bonniebirddoesgifs

Disclaimer: THERE ARE 18+ PARTS IN THIS PIECE SO MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI!!!! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!!!!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

TLB Dating David Hc's:

° Rest assured that dating David means that the journey will never be boring. You're guaranteed for the adventure of a lifetime (or multiple depending on how you look at it). The party never ends until the first rays of the dawn find their way into the cracks of the caved-in hotel he and the boys reside in (almost dare I say) religiously. He bids himself farewell in your sleepy haze, departing on an sudden icy wind that leaves you sitting up rigid with shock. Only to find that you are utterly alone, save for the seagulls shrieking up above and the lulling waves lapping against sea foam cliffs.

° But as soon as dusk settles upon the sunshine resort of Santa Carla, you'll find David having appeared by your side with the same kind of magic of Christ's Resurrection. Sure, you may ask him how he has done such a thing, but it's seldom that you'll get a straightforward answer that doesn't sound as though it's dripping with a whole new meaning of "Oh, I'm going to fuck with you for sure".

(I mean, you asked for it!)

"Oh, that old trick? It's called climbing flights of stairs." David quips, cocking his eyebrow as he lights up a smoke.

"You asshole, I know how to use the stairs- but I swear you-" you are cut off effortlessly by his charming, gritty laugh and the full intensity of his icy blue gaze, which renders you utterly powerless.

"Then why ask the obvious, kitten? I think someone needs to get their brain CAT scanned. Are you sure you don't have some form of early onset dementia?"

° David is a mysterious fella indeed. He doesn't let much ruffle his feathers unless given a valid reason. He's enigmatic with his charm, drawing in droves of curious people, but not many of them live to see the light of day ever again. A peculiarity you were awfully aware of at the beginning of it all.

° He felt someone's persistent eyes upon him, and out of curiosity, he looked up to find you. Now, love at first sight doesn't suit David, but he couldn't deny it: He at least felt something when he stared back at you. Enough to worm his way into your life with wild simpers and an abundance of flirtations. He uprooted your nightly schedule with a promise of escape and eternal youth.

° David's snarky cynicism can often be the cause of a hurt heart,- as he's learned very well throughout his very long life so far-. This is why it's a blessing that you're able to roll with the punches and even fend yourself against him with a playful attitude. He's very much amused when those kitty-claws come out and rake down his chest. He likes to have fun with you, and enjoys it even more when you're having fun with yourself. He'll let you off the hook... for the most part. But it is pretty difficult to actually insult him.

"Oh, isn't that just endearing? You're pawing me to death." David simpers with boredom through a thick jet of dragons' breath, before leaning forward so his elbows rest on his knees. "Tell me something, when are those kitty claws actually coming out? I'm feeling a bit kinky tonight."

° Truthfully you never really will get to the end of his teasing tongue (in more than one way). David is mischievous, and is charismatic in the way he pushes those around him. You are no different, but with thick skin and a sharp tongue that mirrors his own, he cannot help but reward you. He enjoys keeping you on the very edge just for the sake of being a menace, which is more for his own entertainment than yours.

"Are we frustrated, kitten? Who would've thought you'd break so easily from a few touches and a few words..." he breathes in mock disappointment before an impish grin etches itself onto his features. In velvety tones he divulges, "Well, it's a good thing I'm good at piecing back together broken things. I think I might just rearrange you a bit first. Got any protests?"

"Fuck you!" You grit out.

"I'll start with that mouth first," he flashes a sultry grin before looming over you entirely.

° As much as you love this suave bastard, and he too loves you; it has become apparent that such a declaration verbally isn't really needed. Where David is good with his charming words, he feels that his actions also lend a "helping hand" when it comes to luring you into the fold as his partner. David lays claim over you more subtly than some of his other brothers, but said actions speak so loud that even outsiders can hear them as if they were screamed out at them.

° One thing is for certain; David isn't privy to the idea of sharing you with anyone. He is entirely selfish, wanting every part of you (warts and all) to himself. Does he admit this outwardly outside of yourself? No. But he does make it known.

° He has profound issues with jealousy, but unlike Paul and Marko, he's much like Dwayne: Settling scores when your back is turned. If someone is dumb enough to attempt flirting with you or trying to pick you up, David deals with them in fatal arrangements planned precisely in his head. You may notice the disappearances, or you may not. But either way, he's not letting up much.

"Who was that again? I haven't heard of them." He says in a nonchalant tone, but his eyes are biting, warning you to leave it be.

After all, he does this for a very good reason. It doesn't pertain to issues with his confidence. No, he's got buckets full of that. It's just the darkest parts of him have fully invited you in. There's no going back to a "normal life" when a vampire has fallen in love with you. His intent is to turn you- to be with you for eternity. It's just that simple.

° At the end of the night, the many trials and tribulations the pair of you have faced have made you stronger as a couple. From your fragile mortality being altered to the many hurdles you faced with fighting the hunters after The Boys - saving them. David does not know how to properly express his truest feelings through the process of words that aren't bitter or playful. So forgive him for the lack of them, but he also knows your true feelings too: He'd just rather them be shown or acted out.

° There is nothing better than whizzing chaotically through the impressive beams underneath The Boardwalk. To get lost in the night with such a thrill that makes your stomach lurch. Yet with each inhibition David pulls out of you only to guide you to throw into the wind, he's allured you further into damnation. You seem to mind such a thing much less now.

° There is a gentleness to the beast that skulks proudly under those garish lights of the Boardwalk. It is reserved solely for you. It does not disappoint as it protects you with vigilance and ensures your needs are met. Just do not thank the beast too profoundly, because it might just get you teased!

° A sucker for your touch, it's no wonder that David has you proudly lounging on his lap in public or in the cave. Sends out a very notifiable signal of, "Back off, she's mine!"

° However, what about the times when you manage to steal him away to far more intimate places, where it's just the two of you? Your bed, although a foreign concept to this roguish fiend who slept under bridges as a mortal, cannot deny deep down the feathery down tempts him. You lay there with him, either lazily making out or talking about many different topics of interest as the TV in the far corner croons on the summer breeze. You have all of his attention, none of his fellow brothers to chime in some hilarious one-liners to add to the chaos. It's just peace.

David cannot help but sigh blissfully, working his lips against your own. Lost at sea. He doesn't want to be found.

° Spontaneous dates of parking your butts on top of an old building or into the corner of an abandoned graveyard whilst you dig into a bottle of wine you stole from your parent's cellar has to be some of David's most favorite low-key dates.

"Look at Miss Goody-Goody stealing for little old me," he grins, admiring the good year on this particular wine bottle. It's a steal he will ensure is worthwhile. "Did you know that stealing is a sin, kitten?" He coos mockingly.

"So is stealing my soul, but you don't hear me complaining." You snicker, stealing the bottle from him. You uncork it and take a swig.

"Touche, kitten, touche." He grins as you hand him the bottle. "Now, you're not planning on curing me, now are you? I'm not a fan of Holy Water."

"If there was a cure for stupid then I'm sure you would be cured by now." You chuckle. "Besides, why would I waste Holy Water on you? You're past the point of saving."

"That I am, but I have to say... I'm going to make you regret everything else you said," he says testily.

"Oh, bite me, Dracula!" You stick your tongue at him.

You really shouldn't tempt him like that.

° Arguments between the pair of you make the air thick with hostility. Though thankfully they don't happen as easily outside of the cases of some broken trust, which isn't very easy to patch together. Like in other areas of his life, David is just as dominant when it comes to arguments. Your feisty attitude you spit back at him is like cobra venom doesn't help. It's cruel and harsh, leaving both hearts wounded and stubbornly locked away in some indestructible castle up a steep mountainside.

° Depending on the burns and wounds left behind, it may take several days for either of you to even look at each other. Avoiding is easier until one of you grows lonely. It takes further time to reconcile, but once it has been initiated, the hatchet is buried (for the most part).

° Don't plan on holding out for the word "sorry" from David. It seems to have escaped his vocabulary almost entirely. It's reserved for extreme circumstances, and even then he may hint at it, but not actually say it. You just need to get used to that. David will show his remorse in many other ways such as private moments stolen away with you where he seemingly allows you to lay in his arms (but he secretly initiated). He will adorn you with thoughtful gifts, words that are sweet by his standards and when he thinks you have fallen asleep, he may let his guard down enough to say, "I'm sorry,".

Just do not hold it over his head!

° You make one another feel on top of the planet. Heads dizzy with a fatal charm that cannot be hidden even to the outside world. David is charismatic and flirtatious as he sweeps you off your feet under the dark silhouette of his damned soul. Yet you are his salvation to the ride down to those fiery pits of damnation! You make him feel alive again, your fresh immortality irresistible as he goes through the new motions with you. Re-experiencing the rush of your first feed, your first flight and even your first kill for the hell of it.

° The pair of you will only get more twisted and wild as the eons drift on by.

° Where once he believed that being tied down to someone would hinder his nightly life that he was more than pleased about, David has come to realise something else: Having someone to share this lifestyle with who gets him even better than his brothers - someone that he can form a genuine romantic attachment to - is far better than the immortal bachelor lifestyle. You have proved yourself useful to him and he can never reward you enough for it.

° It's a good thing that he'll just show you.

° Your connection with David is profound and unmoving as it licks at haunches of dauntless stakes to be dodged - or in the case of David, antlers -. He would have no one else but you swoop in and save him from eternal loneliness as you embark on revenge against The Emerson's until you squash them one by one. What's more poetic than that?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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requests: open!

#david #david headcanons #david imagines #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys 1987 headcanons #the lost boys 1987 imagines #the lost boys 1987 david #the lost boys 1987 david headcanons #the lost boys 1987 david imagines #the lost boys #the lost boys headcanons #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys david #the lost boys david headcanons #the lost boys david imagines #i hope you enjoyed these!!

[0mythical-bitch0]

Names that give Valyrian Vibes, Some I’ve made up. please someone use them.

Aedyn- English, Fiery, Little Fire

Aegarax- Valyrian god of all creatures that walk, run, swim or fly, creator of the first dragon

Aeisha- Aisha, Arabic, Alive and Well, Aye-E-Sha

Aelia- Ancient Roman, Sun

Aeliana- Latin, Sun

Aelicia- Spanish and German, Nobel

Aelita- Fictional, Starlight seen for the last time

Aella- Greek, means Whirlwind

Aelora- Elora, Greek, Sun Ray, My god is bright

Aelyx- South African, the Mountain of Strength

Aeolian- Latin or Greek, Of the wind, God of the winds, Lord of the winds, The Rapid, The Changeable, Quickly moving, Changeful, shifting, varied, of or Arising from the wind

Aeolus- Greek, Changeable, Varied

Aerian- of or belonging to the atmosphere or to the air, Aerial

Aeris- French, An earth full of flowers

Aerith- Earth, Flower, Flower-Like

Aerol- Greek, One who is of a Golden Heart

Aeruna- Aruna, Sanskrit and Hindu, Crystalline reddish-brown, Tawny, Dawn, Dawn Light or Rising Sun, Aye-rue-nuh

Aerwyna- English, Friend of the sea

Aeryn- Irish and Welsh, Daughter of Eire, Daughter of Ireland, Berry

Aesira- Arabic, Muslim, Islamic, Brave, Powerful, Fighter

Aether- Greek, Brightness, Bright upper sky

Aethel- Old English, Nobel

Aethra- Greek, The Upper pure air, the bright clear serene sky, the air heavens and sky, one of the Oceanids

Aetius- Latin and Greek, Eagle

Aetos- Greek, Eagle

Anaëlle- Hebrew, God answered

Andrea- Greek, Manly, Virile

Astraea- Greek and Latin, Star maiden, Starry night, Greek goddess of Justice, innocence, purity and precision

Aphaea- Goddess of fertility

Astraeus- Greek, Starry, Titan god of Dusk, stars, planets, the art of astronomy and astrology

Azaelea- Azalea, Greek, Dry, Flower

Azrael- Hebrew, Angel of God, Help from God, Helped by God, Help of God, Angel of Death

Braeden- Irish, Broad, Brave, Wise

Caelestis- Latin, Of the sky, heavenly

Caelius- Latin, Heaven

Caelum- Latin, Heaven, a constellation

Caelus- Roman, Latin, God of the Sky

Caesar- Greek, Head of hair, long hair

Celaeno- Greek, Black, also a Pleiad Nymph

Daedalus- Greek, Craftsman

Daegal- Anglo-Saxon, Dweller by the dark stream, Night dweller

Daelyn- small valley

Daemara- Damara, Greek, gentle, calf

Daemari- Damari, Greek, gentle, fertility goddess, eternal, strength

Daemeter- Demeter, Greek, earth lover, Greek goddess of the harvest

Daemetrius- Demetrius, Greek, follower of Demeter

Daemitri- Dimitri, Greek, earth lover, follower of Demeter

Daemian- Damian, Greek, To tame, Subdue, Day-me-in

Daenali- Denali, Native American, The high one, the great one

Daenyra- Made-up, Great light, the bright one, Dae, Korean, great, big, the great one, shining, Nyra, Arabic, light, light of god, Day-near-uh

Daera- Greek, Gift of God, Sanskrit, Place of Worship

Daere- Welsh, Fiend

Daeriel- Idealism, intuition, romance, generosity, creativity, wisdom and tolerance

Daerius- Darius, Persian, maintains possession well

Daeryn- Made-up, Great ruler, Given ruler, Dae, Latin Give, Korean Greatness, Ryn, Welsh Ruler, Day-rin

Daevina- Davina, Scottish and Hebrew, Beloved, Day-Vee-nuh

Danae- Greek, Hebrew, She who Judges, God is my judge

Elaena- Greek, Shining Light

Esmael- Spanish, God will hear

Feyre- Beautiful, Fairy, Elf, Fair, Fey-ruh

Gaea- Greek, Personification of the Earth

Gaelithox- Valyrian God of fire, stars, moon, sun, and the dawn, rival of meraxes

Haedrian- Made up, leader, sea-lover, wanderlust, Guide of sea-travel, Hae, Chinese, Sea, Drian, Christian, One who takes initiative and loves to travel, H-adrian. Hey-drEE-in.

Hael- Angel of kindness

Haera- Hera, Greek, Goddess of marriage, Air-uh

Helios- Greek, Sun

Hephaestus- Greek, God of Artisans, blacksmiths, carpenters, craftsmen, fire, metallurgy, metalworking, sculpture and volcanoes

Heron- Hero

Hyperion- Greek, He that walks high, the god above

Icarus/Ikarus- Greek, Latin, Follower, the one who reaches the sky

Ikaerys- Ikarus, Greek, Latin, the one who reaches the sky, Ick-Kay-Reeze

Jaella- Arabic/Muslim, Hebrew, Prominent, mountain goat

Jaelynn- American, May god protect, Supplanter

Kaeden- American, Fighter

Kaelum- Latin, Chisels the Sky, one who chisels the stars in the heavens

Kaeya- Indian, Monsoon Flower

Laela- Arabic, Dark Beauty

Maegara- Megara, Greek, Grudge, May-Gar-uh

Maëlle- French, Chief, Prince, Ambitious

Maeve- Irish, Intoxicating

Megaera- Greek, The jealous one, one of the furies, deities of vengeance

Mikael- Scandinavian, Who Resembles God

Mikaela- Michaela, Hebrew, Who is Like God

Nevaeh- American, Heaven

Naela- Quranic, Indigenous Australian, Winner, Go getter, Gracious, Charitable, Of Wide Eyes

Phaedra- Greek, Bright

Raphael- Hebrew, God has Healed

Saelena- Salena, Greek, Moon Goddess, Say-Lee-Nuh

Saera- Muslim, A New Star

Salaena- Salena, Greek, Moon Goddess, Suh-Lay-Nuh

Samael- Hebrew, Venom, Poison of God, King of Demons, The Angel of Death

Selaena- Selena, Greek, The Moon, See-Lay-Nuh

Solaena- Solana, Spanish, Sunshine or Eastern Wind, Soul-Lay-Nuh

Vaelencia- Valencia, Latin, Roman, Spanish, Srong, Healthy, Valor, Vay-len-C-uh

Vaella- Old Norse, a lament or cry

Vaellia- Made up, Embrace the unknown, Vael; to dive into the unknown, Lia; relaxed, weary, gentle, Vay-Lee-Uh

Vaelor- Made up, Valor, Brave, Courage, Vay-Lor

Vaelora- made up, Honored one, Victorious Ruler, Vae, Germanic, mighty ruler, Lora, crowned with laurel, honor, victory, Vay-Lore-uh

Vaelyra- made up, Harmonic Ruler, Vae, Germanic, mighty ruler, Lyra, Greek, Lyre, harp, also a Star, Vay-Lie-ruh

Valera- Latin, Valiant

Vallea- Italian, Valley, also a tree in South America

Xaeden- Greek, Flourishing in abundance with god

Xaevion- Xavion, African, Fighter

Zaeden- Arabic, Growth

Zael- Hebrew, house of god, habitation of the lord

#house targaryen #lucerys targaryen #daemon targeryan #aemond targaryen #daenerys targaryen #jacaerys targaryen #helaena targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaegar targaryen #a song of ice and fire #asoif oc #asoif/got #game of thrones #daeron targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd fic #fanfic writers #fanfic ideas #fanfic #writers block #ao3 writer #writing #writer problems #valyriansource #house velaryon #Valyrian Names #Targaryen names #Velaryon names #Dragon names

[brightlycoloredteacups]

Someone To Come Home To

Happy super late very Merry Christmas/New Years @salt-is-a-terrible-currency! This is what I wanted you to read so bad. Hope it lives up to the hype.

Gurney Halleck x F!Reader.

Part One.

            The news of Gurney’s death refused to register in your brain. Gurney couldn’t be dead, he was too strong, too smart. He meant too much to you to be dead. As Leto placed what was meant to be a comforting hand on your shoulder, your very form seemed to crumble. Leto caught you before you hit the floor, all but dragged you to a hard seat as you tried to process the news. You just couldn’t put it together. Gurney. Dead. Dead Gurney. Gone. Gurney was gone, forever. He wasn’t coming back, he wasn’t returning. Leto, stalwart, rock solid Duke of some far away kingdom, held your hand tightly, thick brows knit together, wondering what you were going to do next.

            To your credit, you didn’t lose your ever-loving mind in the middle of the hospital. You hiccupped, turned to Duke Leto, and whispered, “Can I see him?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Leto says gently, “He was severely wounded…” The Duke swallows thickly, emotion threatening to overtake him as well. “It’s bad.”

“Please,” You sniffle, “I need to say goodbye.” Leto hesitated for only a moment before relenting. He began to give orders to the hospital staff, then when you were ready, holding tightly on to you, he led you to Gurney’s room.

            It had been cold in that room, Gurney’s body covered by the thin hospital sheet. His hand stuck out on the edge. Leto let go of you and stood back in the hallway, so you’d have some privacy. You stood next to Gurney’s body for what seemed like eternity before you gathered the courage to tell him in death what you couldn’t in life. “I love you,” you said, your voice little more than a whisper, thick with emotion. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.” You grabbed his hand, marveling at how warm it still was. You choked on a sob, squeezing his hand, wishing you’d told him this months ago. Leaning over his dead body, you kissed his forehead. “Bye Gurney.” With that, you let his hand go and walked out of the hospital, wondering if you’d ever be happy again.

            That had been a week ago. Today, Gurney’s funeral was attended by yourself, and four other people. Leto, Paul, Jessica, and Duncan, Gurney’s only friends. Leto invited you to dinner, trying to goad you with information on Gurney’s will. Apparently, the old man left everything to you, which was substantial, considering he’d been Leto’s well paid bodyguard for years. You declined roughly and walked away from the Atreides family as fast as you could. A big part of you blamed Leto for Gurney’s death, you just couldn’t face him right now.

            You made it home just before dusk. As you walked into the increasingly darkening apartment, you didn’t bother taking off your shoes, your jacket, nothing. You simply threw your purse into the belly of the beast and made your way to your room. You flop down on your bed, curl up, and cry yourself to sleep.

            Hours later, when it’s totally dark, you’re not sure what awakens you. Your brain is screaming ‘something is wrong’. You lie there, the very same position you fell asleep in, and listen, trying to puzzle it out. For the first time in a week, you feel something other than overwhelming grief as sounds from your living room reach your ears. You reach for the bat underneath your bed and roll out of it. Kicking off your nice shoes, you hear the intruder walking down the hall. Positioning yourself by the door, your grip the bat tightly, praying your sweaty palms don’t fuck things up for you. As soon as whoever managed to break into your home opens the door to your room, you swing, making contact. The intruder lets out a satisfying “Ohh!” And falls to the ground, you swing down again, as hard as you can. Before you can get a third swing in the person kicks your feet from under you. You land hard on your ass, teeth clicking together. You don’t have time to gather your wits before they’re on you. You immediately begin to struggle with all your might. “It’s me!” They yell, “Darling it’s me! It’s Gurney,” You go limp in the darkness.

            The familiar smell of him envelopes you, making you realize that it isn’t just a dream, “There now,” he says, rolling off you. The light flickers on, you blink rapidly as your eyes adjust. Sure enough, there’s Gurney Halleck, offering his hand to help you off the floor.

            Something inside you snaps. You snarl viciously, get up, and tackle him back to the ground. You get a few good hits in before he begins to block your fists with his forearms. “What is wrong with you?” You screech, “Was this some kind of sick joke?”

“No!”

“Then why, why did you do it?”

“It had to be done!”

“What had to be done? Why? Was it Leto, did he tell you to do it?”

“Leto doesn’t know!” This stops you in your tracks completely. Sensing you’ve calmed down, Gurney peeks out from behind his massive forearms to chance a glance at you. “Leto doesn’t know?” You repeat. The thought of Gurney keeping something from Leto seemed more inconceivable to you than Gurney dying. “What doesn’t Leto know?” You ask, staring hard at the man beneath you. “That I’m alive. Only you do, you and Duncan.”

“Me and Duncan,” You repeat. Gurney lets his arms down completely as you puzzle it out. He rests his hands on your hips, unsure of which way things are going to go after this. “Gurney, what is going on?” You finally ask, getting off him.

            He follows suit, getting off the floor, following you into the kitchen. “I faked my death,” He explained as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Why?” you ask, wincing as you turn on your light. Normally you kept a tidy household, but you hadn’t been able to do much since his fake death. Take out containers, delivery receipts, and used plastic utensils littered your kitchen counter tops. You’d gone in there to make tea but decided to clean instead.

            As you grabbed a garbage bag and began throwing things into it, violently, Gurney began to explain. “It was after the Tuscany incident,” you grunted to show you were listening. Tuscany had been one of the worst missions Leto sent Gurney on. Your man had come back beaten, bruised, and sick with a cold. You nursed him back to health; it was then you began to hate Leto. “It was in Tuscany I realized something…” He trailed off as you tied the bag shut. You placed it next to the overflowing garbage can and took out another bag. “Then, when I got home, you told me what I’ve been needing to hear for years. It was time to get out. I knew Leto would let me go if I asked, but the moment he or Paul got in trouble again, he’d try to pull me right back in.”

“What was it?” You asked, cutting Gurney off, unwilling to give Leto a thought. You finally turn to Gurney, exhausted from your week, angry at him, at Leto, at Duncan. “What was what?”

“What the thing you realized in Tuscany?” Gurney crosses his arms, clearly uncomfortable. “That I had someone to come home to. Someone that I loved, deeply, and that someone loved me. That for once, I couldn’t just die in some shit filled back alley because there was a job that needed to be done. I needed to get home. I needed to get home in one piece.” The silence behind his statement hangs heavy in the air. You want to yell at him, scream, tell him you’re never going to forgive him. Instead, you drop the trash bag, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. Gurney rushed across the kitchen pulling you into his arms. You let out a sob that broke his heart. You were angry and relieved and grief stricken all over again.

            As you sobbed, he didn’t say anything, simply stood there and allowed you to get his shirt wet with your tears. He promised that with all he had in him, however many days he had left, he’d spend all of it making things up to you. He had to, you were his life, his world, his love, he owed that to you, and so much more.

#dune #gurney halleck #gurney x reader #friend's fic