#lovers at the edge of eros

[andrumedus]

Every day I get more convinced that I was created for you alone. It is through your eyes that I saw the world; on your lips my poems were born. Without you, my life is a wasteland. I am colorless, tasteless, smelling like a land never visited by rain.

Rawda el-Haj, tr. & ed. Adil Babikir, Modern Sudanese Poetry: An Anthology; “Heart’s Confessions”

[wysteria-clad]

Amarre

paring: Sub! Marc, Sub! Steven, Sub! Jake x fem! dom! reader; established relationship

a/n:

- shameless smut

- reader is a mix of gentle & hard dom for the boys.

- mention of Eros from 'Theogony' by Hesiod, Gandharva = handsome celestial male beings in Hindu mythology, also a reference to Garden of Eden and forbidden fruit and the Field of reeds.

- this is titled after the song 'Amarre' by Scarlett Rose.

- as always thanks to @imgoingtofreakoutnow 💗 for Spanish words and phrases

minors dni.

warnings: 18+ only, explicit sexual content, swearing, unprotected consensual sex, consensual dom/sub dynamic, sadism/machocism themes, anal play, cunnilingus, edging, orgasm denial, bondage, mommy kink, subspace, impact play, nipple play, temperature play, chastity cage, overstimulation, degradation kink, praise kink, dacryphilia, slight pet play, aftercare.

warnings have been given, do not proceed if any of this upsets you

tagging:

@syrma-sensei @slut4fictionalcharacters28

-------

Marc:

The moment he stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, you wanted nothing more than to rip it off. And that's what you did. You pushed him down on the bed, climbing on top of him.

You would never get tired of two things in the world despite seeing it every day—The sky, your man's eyes.

Just like how the sky paints kaleidoscope of colours, his eyes never failed to mesmerize you, how his deep brown eyes carried words and promises that silently clung to it.

Today they screamed 'Fuck me, baby"

You ordered him to lie back down. When he looked at you with a challenging expression, you fixed him with, "That wasn't a request".

When he didn't oblige, you pinned him down by his wrists, placing your legs on either side of him, your knees resting flat on the bed.

"It's so damn hot when you pin me down like this" he eyed you under his eyelashes laden with pure lust.

"If you move your arms", you leaned closer to his face and whispered in his ear, "I'm gonna have to punish you, Marc" you nibble his right ear lobe, and tug it slightly. "And I won't play nice" you said in honeyed voice.

"Is that a promise?" he teased you, with his trademark smirk plastered on his face, but he did not move his arms. You do love a challenge, especially when he acts up.

You roughly grabbed his chin, smashing your lips against his, devouring his wanton groans, indulging in the feeling of his rough cheek against yours.

"I love when you’re rough with me" he mouthed, not moving his lips away from yours.

Slowly moving your mouth under his jaw, you kissed and nibbled the sensitive spot under his jaw, you knew that would arouse him. "You talk too much", you left marks of possesiveness with each bite, followed by a soothing flick of your tongue, trailing down his neck. You pinched his nipples and twisted with right amount of pressure, enough to make him writhe in pleasure.

The window curtains on the left danced back and forth, swaying to the wishes of afternoon breezy wind. Steady streaks of mellow sun rays painted Marc's olive skin golden. You were not sure if he was a creature from heaven disguised as a mortal.

There was absolutely no reason why he should have those gorgeous, dark eyelashes. It was the shade of the midnight sky around one am, when lovers confessed their secrets to the moon.

Perhaps that's why people talked to the moon. The moon listens and carefully pockets those confessions and secrets between the stars, under the ink black sky.

You tilted your head to the side, perhaps he was a Gandharva?

What secrets does his eyes posses? What sinful confessions they craved to scream out today?

His delectable groans snapped you back from your short reverie.

"Don't move" you hop off him and the bed, quickly running to kitchen and coming back with tray of ice cubes and a strap on dildo.

New wave of excitement flickered in his eyes at the sight. He adjusted his position with a pillow, his hip was upwards, giving you easier and comfortable access.

With your tongue, you swirled your warm tongue around his nipple, teasing his other one with cold ice cube, you switched the actions on his nipples—the altering sensations made him let out a frenzied groan.

Redolent of his arousal mixed with the scent of his bodywash drove you mad with desire.

A quick movement of your knee made him spread his legs apart. You trailed down kisses starting from his chest to his v-line, turning your head and kissed the inside of his thighs, sending goosebumps on his skin. "Relax, baby" you breathed. With your practiced fingers and generous amount of lube, you slipped your middle finger inside his hole, curling it, drawing out a gasp from him, just within three inches, you could feel his prostate. You pushed your finger back and forth few more times to make his muscles relax. You added your index finger now, drawing out string of throaty moans from him.

Without further warning, you plunged the dildo into his hole, thrusting your hips back and forth, massaging his prostate.

He watched your hip move in mesmerizing, rhythmic thrusts. It felt nice to be filled. The blissful look on your face encouraged him, he loved that look on you. Control looked sexy on you. His eyes rolled back to his head, a lightning sensation went from his head to his toes.

The vulnerability and trust he was showing made this emotionally intense.

"You like that?" you slightly slowed down the movement but didn't pull out, to check on him.

"Don't be gentle, baby" he grunted. For him you made it both domineering and sensual. He felt so good not being the active partner in sex and being taken care of. It was a nice break for a change.

That was all the assurance and encouragement you needed.

You plunged deeper into him, increasing the pace, hitting his pleasure zone with calculated precision continuosly. With every thrust, he could feel orgasm brewing and exploding. He cried out, his vision got blurry with tears of ecstasy, his seeds smearing all over his stomach.

You pulled out completely out of him. "Did I say you could come?" you threaded your fingers into his hair, pulling his head back with a sharp yank and licking and grazing his exposed throat. "Answer me" you slapped his thigh with the palm of your right hand.

"No" his adam's apple bobbed, his eyes didn't meet yours. He was already frustrated at the lack of your touch.

"Get on all fours"

When he didn't move right away, you squeezed his throbbing cock.

The aggressive side of you turned him on even more, but he knew not to test you too much. Obeying, he got on all fours, his body on fully glory for you to see—only for you.

"I love your ass" you rub his round ass gently, before giving it a light slap. His back arched, a shiver went down his spine, his cock hardening. You started slow, you would gradually increase the pressure later.

"I'm going to give you ten. Say 'thank you' for every slap or I will start all over again, understand?"

"Yes"

"Yes what?"

He chewed on it. It was almost on his lips, ready to tumble out, you knew it. He was resisting. Your thumb stroked back from spine till you reached his ass, "It's okay, it's alright, baby. Go ahead, you can say it"

You placed a light kiss on his back.

"Mommy" his eyes closed in pleasure. He felt liberating as it rolled out of his tongue.

"It's okay, babyboy" you said in softer tone, knowing damn well that will make him shudder.

It was a new level of intimacy. The way he opened up turned you on even more.

Like an obedient good boy, he muttered and moaned with 'Thank you, mommy" with every slap. You made the last five laps harder than ever.

"You did so good, baby" you praised, "You can come now" you rubbed his ass in soothing manner. Red marks looked good on his ass, especially because of something you did.

He was a quivering mess under your touch.

Lubing your finger, you parted his cheeks, making him groan again with just your fingers. "Are we go to go? We can stop now if you want", you kissed his spine softly.

"I want more" he breathed out, his head still foggy from his previous exploding orgasms.

"You are insatiable" with a chuckle, you begin to thrust into him. "I want you tell me when to want to stop, use your safeword okay?"

"Yeah" and a nod. "Don't be gent-" he grunted, unable to finish last word as you pounded into him harder.

"What were you saying?" you teased, thrusting your hips forward.

"I love it when you fuck me like this"

Seeing him writhe under you with absolute bliss was a drug, one you got addicted to quickly.

"God, yes, yes!"

You gave him couple more orgasms.

When his moans got quieter, his elbows gave out and he dropped to the bed, you slowed down your thrusts.

"Ha--rder" he slurred. He felt like floating, his head maddened with pure bliss.

"Easy, now. Marc" you instantly stilled, slowly pulling out completely. He must be in subspace, you thought. You got off him, gently guiding him to lie down on the bed. You got rid off the strap on dildo, tossed it to the floor.

You got back with a wet towel and cleaned him up. Your gentle fingers brushed few strands of hair away from his eyes.

Grabbing body lotion, you squeezed it into your palms in generous amount. You massaged his body, starting from his neck, your fingers slowly glided down, kneading his arms, shoulders and back muscles. You rubbed some on his red, spanked ass in soothing way.

After wiping your hands, you laid down next to him, your fingers softly caressed the sides of his face.

His eyes were closed.

You could watch him like this forever, you thought.

"You are staring like a creep" he said without opening his eyes, a hint of smile on his handsome face.

"Yeah, and what if I did?" it was your turn to smile now.

He slowly opened his eyes. He said with a lazy smile on his lips, "You make me feel safe and loved"

You felt suddenly giddy, your heart felt like it was going to leap out of your chest.

I love you so much. But you didn't say it out loud, you didn't need to.

Your sweet kiss on his forehead was a silent promise of your love to him and Marc knew that.

Steven:

"Steven, honey, I'm reading now" you say, without even looking up from your book. It's the chapter where they were forced to share one bed. Yes, cliche, but you absolutely loved it. "Can you wait few more minutes, love, hm?"

"Y/n/n, please" he let out sound, a mix of whine and groan, already slipping inside his pants.

"If you touch yourself, I'll punish you" the gentleness in your voice was now gone.

Alright, your book can wait. You decided to take care of Steven. You sat up straight on the couch, closing your book before placing a book mark.

"Come here. Let me take care of you" you gestured him to come closer. He stumbled forward as if you pulled a leash. Your soft hands palmed his hardened cock underneath his pants, slowly riling him up. He bucked his hips forward instinctively.

Much to his dismay, you took your sweet time. You slowly pulled down his sweatpants and boxers down, but not all the way down, just enough to give you easy access. Steven was impatient when it came to this. Your movement was careful not to brush your fingers on his skin, he should learn patience. You are going to teach him.

Your heart rate sped up at the sight of his thick cock. "Sit on my lap"

"Love, I-" you could see the nervousness in his eyes, "what if I crush you?"

"You won't. Come here", you assure him with a smile. Your voice was gentle this time. After your assurance, he obliged. He placed his legs on your sides, in straddling position.

"Look at me."

His impatient eyes met yours.

"You can't come, you can't speak, you can't touch me, or make any sound until I say so. Do you understand?" your brazen tone almost made him whimper. "I will punish you if your disobey, got it?"

He nodded.

He didn't speak. Good.

You had previously discussed with him before—boundaries, limits, safe word. He promised he would use it if anything made him uncomfortable or he didn't want to do it.

The moment he felt your fingers on his cock, his breath hitched. You kept your strokes light and slow. Your neatly trimmed fingers trailing from the tip to the base, teasing his taint. You'll save it for later.

The anticipation was too much for him, he bit his bottom lip not to moan loudly as per your command.

So obedient.

"Good boy" your praise only made it harder for him to restrain himself. You began to fondle his balls and slightly scratching with your blunt nails. He leaned forward, resting his head on the crook of your neck, you could feel his moans hitch in his throat, swallowing down. He didn't make a sound exactly like you ordered. A good boy indeed.

"You like that, baby, hm?" you didn't stop your movements.

"You can speak now, darling"

"Yes" he manage to choke out.

"Yes, what?"

When he didn't answer, you withdrew your hand off his cock, drawing out a pathetic whine from his lips. "I want your eyes on me"

"Yes, m-mommy" he lifted his head, his dark eyes meeting yours. His voice was deep with thick accent. You smiled. Heat pooled at your core, but you kept your composure.

"I'm gonna make you feel so good, baby", you drawl out, your silken words reached his ears like a whimsical melody.

Your fingers worked around the way from the base to the tip of his cock in up and down motion.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes!"

You watched him throw his head back, his half lidded eyes drunken on pure lust. Throaty, deep moans and groans elicited from his lascivious, parted mouth.

You gradually increased the pressure and speed. "Does that feel good, baby?"

On the cusp of orgasm, he managed to nod vigorously, his curls sticking messily to his face. Pre cum beaded his tip. You touched his hypersensitive head with your thumb, slowly tracing the head of the penis spreading his precum around it.

He grabbed your hand closer and bucked his hips forward, fucking your hand. He only realised his mistake when you ceased your hand movement.

You glided your hand up the nape of his neck, raking your fingers through his hair and roughly pulling his head back. "Did I say you could come?"

He let out a whimper. Whining more at the loss of your touch, he cried out in desparation.

"That was naughty of you, wasn't it? Only good boys get rewarded" you pulled his head close to your lips. Your breath was hot on the sensitive spot behind his ear. "Naughty boys get punished", a shudder went through his whole body.

His bottom lip quivered at your words. He wanted to be good for you. He wanted to please you. He yearned for you to call him a good boy, your good boy.

Your tone was condescending, but you quickly glanced at his eyes to make sure he was alright. When you didn't sense any discomfort on his face and expression, you proceeded.

"I want you to be patient, can you do that?"

You could feel him hum in response against your neck.

"What did I say? Use your words when you are talking to mommy"

"I'll be good, let me cum" he pleaded, leaning his head on the crook of your neck again, desparately clinging to you. His voice was even more pathetic than before. His breath was hot against on your skin. "P-please, mommy, please" a sob ripped through his lips. He begged desperately.

You lowered your hands slowly, massaged the flesh of his inner thighs, kneading them with your practiced hands. His ragged breathes turned into libidinous moans. You could feel his cock twitching against you.

 Eros—the limb-melter overpowers the mind and the thoughtful counsel of all the gods and the human beings.

Steven wondered if he was being struck by Eros or it was just your sinfully amorous touch.

You knew he was close. You hands moved upwards in gossamer touches, the soft pad of your thumb stroked his taint— a delicate touch just beneath his balls, sending shivers on his skin—again and again and again. He bucked his hip forward, feeling continuous jolts of pleasure through his body. His breath was raggedly fast and hot against yours.

"Your hands feel so g-good on my cock" he managed to utter those words, his tone slightly hitched at the last word. His grip on your shoulders tightened. Tears pricked his eyes. His eyes got glassy. "Please, please, let me come" tears freely rolled from the corners of his eyes as he shut his eyes tight. He was a whimpering mess in your hands. "Mommy-"

"You look so pretty, baby, being so good for me" you praised him, wiping tears off his cheek with your left hand. He earned it.

Veins were prominent on his cock, pre cum already leaking more and dripping down on your finger. He was trying hard to be good for you. He was being good.

Pleased at his behaviour, you decide to give him the sweet bliss of release. "Go ahead, honey. You can come now" you cooed in his ear, barely a whisper. Your left hand made a 'v' with thumb and index finger, holding his cock erect on the base, stretching the entire length with your other hand in slow smooth movement.

You cupped the shaft with both of your hands, to mimic the feeling of his cock surrounded by vaginal walls as best as you can, changing your movement sideways.

"That's it, good boy" you punctuate each word with a nibble under his jaw and neck, slightly grazing his feverish skin with your teeth.

How can someone me so cruel yet merciful, Steven thought. He cried out, intoxicated. His body shuddered with a thrashing orgasm. His seeds dripped down into your palm and your wrist, smearing his stomach.

You rhythmically loosened your grip on his cock, to ease the pressure on his sensitive member, so it won't be too painful for him.

"Why don't you lie back down? I want make you feel good" you switched the position, you pushed him down on the sofa.

When you moved and searched for something in the drawer, his eyebrows furrowed. What were you looking for?

Bottle of lubricant.

His breath hitched. He was excited and nervous.

"Do you trust me, Steven?" you kept your tone casual, not sultry to push him into anything.

He nodded his head.

You played with Marc and Jake multiple times before, it wasn't new to you. But to Steven it was new. Anal play.

His eyes watched you lube your fingers.

"Are you nervous, honey?"

"A bit, yeah", he was being honest, "I trust you"

You treasured those words like precious gems.

"Remember your safe word if you are uncomfortable and I will stop" your voice was patient and gentle.

Your touches were soft, your index finger slipped into his hole, carefully and slowly.

His breath hitched in his throat.

"Is this alright?"

Your fingers stilled the moment he said the safeword.

"Can we do try this later? Can you cuddle me now?" his voice was hesitant. Did this turn you off? Did you make you upset?

"Of course, baby" you replied with a smile that eased his worries a bit. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to" you wiped your hands.

"Want to move back to bed? It's lot more comfy"

.

You were cuddling him under warm blanket.He was silent. It felt odd to you.

"Steven, honey, is everything alright? Did I push you? I'm sor-"

"No, no. I, um..you are not upset I used the safeword?"

"What? No. Steven, I'm happy you said that" you made him look at your eyes, "Baby, I'm proud of you for trusting me and saying that", you caressed his cheek with your thumb, "It's about you too. We don't have to do anything we don't want to. You are still my good boy" you gently run your fingers his messy curls.

"I'm your good boy" he repeated your words, wrapping his arm around your waist, nestling his head against your chest, "I love you"

"I love you too, baby" you scratched his scalp and played with his soft hair until eventually be asleep in your arms.

Jake:

Jake Lockley did not think you could do that.

When you said you are going to punish him for touching himself, he didn't take you seriously.

He gave you a cocky smirk, "What are you going to do about it, princesa?"

Maybe warm his cock? Suck his cock?

When you made him wear chastity cage, something like curiosity and excitement flickered in his eyes. It was just a day, he could do that, it's not a big deal. That's what he thought.

It took three days for him to break under your touch. You cuffed him to bed and edged him deliciously, right when he was about to come, you stopped, putting back the chastity cage— for three days.

Every time he moaned, "Ten un poco de misericordia, cariño"

You would chuckle and say, "Beg me"

When you walked in those tantalizing shorts, he wanted nothing more than to bend you over by grabbing your neck and fuck you senseless.

Oh how the tables have turned.

He couldn't touch himself even if he wanted to, not without your permission. He was writhing. He never felt like this before— it was a torment, sweet torment he enjoyed every bit of it.

On the fourth day, you decided to be a graceful goddess and offer him mercy.

"Tonight is all about me. Put that tongue of yours to work. If you make me come twice within ten minutes, I'll take off the cage, if not, it stays on for few more days" you made yourself comfortable on the edge of your bed.

When he took a step towards you, you stopped him. "Nuh uh. On your knees, crawl towards me with your head bowed" your voice was cool and firm.

Fuck. You weren't playing around. You were good at this. So good.

He sank to his knees, arms on the floor. He averted his gaze from yours and bowed his head.

Being in control all the time was exhausting, to him giving it up and being under complete mercy of you was exhilarating and freeing, arousing him in new way he didn't think it was possible.

You hummed in approval. The sight of him being so obedient at your command turned you on.

He looked you up with those dark brown eyes. "Can I touch you please?" any cockiness in his voice three days ago was long gone.

"Use that pretty mouth and please me"

You set the timer on your phone to ten minutes.

He started with a kiss to your ankle, taking his time, his mouth slowing trailing up your legs and your inner thighs.

He was more than eager to oblige. He buried his face between your legs. His ravenous tongue devoured you, lapping back and forth, switching it up with side to side. He made your body tremble with orgasms.

It took seven minutes and forty four seconds for Jake Lockley to make you come twice with his tongue.

Your loud moans were music to his ears. He swallowed your juice.

You slid your hand down your slit, swiping up your juice. You parted his lips, pressing down his jaw and inserting your thumb inside, he sucked on your fingers.

"Atta boy" you scratched his head, ruffling his soft curls. He melted under your touch, eyes closing. Fuck how much he missed this.

"Since you are being so good for me, today you have a choice, you want my mouth or my pussy?"

"Your pussy"

You began to strip.

.

Jake stared at you lying back on the bed, his hands cuffed to the headboard. You climbed on top, straddling him.

The sight of the key in your hand already made him groan with impatience.

"You are so huge" you unlocked his cage, taken his thick member with both of your hands. You caressed the skin that got slightly chafed from the metal softly. You would take care of it later, you made a mental note.

"Do you like that?", your question was met by a grunt, followed by a whimper, because that’s the only sound your man could manage.

"Answer me, pet".

"Yes ma'am" he managed to mutter in his accent.

You challenged him and kept him on his toes, he craved it and loved it.

You sank your cunt slowly into him, thrusting your hips.

Relief? Ecstasy?

"¡Mierda!" his toes curled, his back arched, he thrashed his arms only to feel it restrained by the cuffs. No one gave him explosive orgasm like this.

"You look so sexy on top of me"

He watched your ample bossoms bounce on top of him with every thrust. It reminded him off the forbidden apple in the Garden of Eden. He could see but could not touch until you said so. What a ruthless goddess you were, a stunning one at that. He watched your lips part in pleasure when you orgasmed.

The change in power dynamic gave him new sense of thrill.

"Look at you, my little fucktoy" you grinned, taunting him and increasing the pace roughly.

His mind went to blissful oblivion. His eyes got heavy lidded. His carnal rage was ignited by your touch.

Time slowed down in his eyes. The way your breasts rose and fell with every breath you took, the sound of your lascivious moans filled his ears, few strands of your disheveled hair framing your face, you never looked so stunning as you were right now—confident and in control. You should top more, he thought.

"Who owns you?" your question snapped him back to reality.

"You"

"Say it louder"

"You own me, querida"

"Your cock belongs to me" you slightly changed the angle and thrusted deep into him.

"Who fucks you like me?"

He came again. It took every ounce of power in him to comprehend and answer to your question in that maddening ecstasy.

"No one. Fuck! I can't stop coming"

You chuckled, fucking him senseless. You were not done with him yet.

"I'm gonna milk you dry, Lockley" you studied his expressions.

""¡Por favor, cariño, no puedo!"

"If you want me to stop, say the safeword and I will"

But he doesn't say it, you were giving him what he craved.

"Please, I-" his words were cut off by his own grunts and moans. He was a quivering mess underneath you.

The intensity of his next two orgasms were raw and powerful.

"Baby, please!" he begs you pathetically, his eyes glossy with tears as you pull back.

"That's it, that's it" your voice was softer than before, "Good boy" you wiped the tears on the corner of his eyes. "That wasn't so bad was it, baby?", you uncuff him.

His breathing was still ragged. He rubbed his wrists. "Next time, let's use the silk ties"

"Maybe next time, you can use those on me" you chuckle and wink at him. "I didn't hurt you, did I? Was I too rough?" he could sense the panic bloom in your chest.

He chuckled. "No, princesa" he brought your face close to his lips in gently and pressed a kiss to your head, "You were perfect. Thank you"

You cupped his face and kissed his lips. "I'm gonna run a bath, want to join me?" you play with his curls, twirling and tugging it lightly.

"Princesa, if I ever say no do that, you can punch me"

You giggle, kissing him again.

.

The warm water was soothing. You made him to sit on front of you. His back was pressed against your chest. "Let me take care of you" you kissed the side of his head. You grabbed his hands, placing light kisses to the spot chafed by the cuffs, "we are not using those cuffs again".

His laugh reverberated against your chest. A sound you adored.

You lathered your palms with shampoo, massaging his scalp in soothing manner. He felt his body relax under your tender care and touch. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against your shoulder as you washed his chest with your favorite body wash. You kissed his shoulder blade as you rinsed off the bubbles.

Jake Lockley did not go to the Field of Reeds like Marc, but he knew he found his heaven right now, in your hands full of nothing but tender and warm care and love for him.

"Jake, babe"

Did he fall asleep in the bathtub against your chest? Small smile formed on your lips.

"Baby, come on, let's get to bed" you nudged him gently, "I don't want you to look like a prune!" you tried to joke.

"You are too good to me, querida" he mumbled, half asleep when you dragged him to bed. You made sure to apply ointment to his wrists and to tiny chafings on his cock. "Tú eres mi corazón..", he fell asleep, his arm loosely draped around your waist.

"I love you, Jake" you smile at his sleeping form and kissing his forehead twice. You pulled the blanket over both of you, "so much" you pressed another kiss to his head, before sleep took over your mind and body.

-----

"Ten un poco de misericordia, cariño" = "Have some mercy, darling"

"¡Mierda!" = "Fuck!"

"Cariño, por favor no puedo" = Darling, please I can't

"Tú eres mi corazón = You are my heart

"Princesa" = Princess

[docholligay]

OKAY! You asked for it ahah.

So this is, as always, a combo of what I think they actually smell like, and then I go looking for those notes, and go by vibes. I have these in mind for all my Blorbot Prime, and most second tier characters as well. I've smelled every one of the perfumes I've put on these ladies, with the exception of one, which will be pretty obvious why when I talk about it.

Minako. So I always think of her as smelling like peaches, which is rough in the perfume world, because, most perfume is made of of what's called absolutes, think of these as like, the building blocks of a perfume, and there is no such thing as a peach absolute. So, I love rose, and there is more than one rose absolute, so this is pretty easy. Peach, you mostly have to go off something that suggests peach to your nose. For a long time I had her in Bitter Peach by Tom Ford, but a couple months ago I smelled:

Oh Ma Biche by Lolita Lempicka and this is the one. It invokes the scent of a bellini, which is perfect because it pulls in that peachiness without being oversweet, because it doesn't have vanilla in the structure of it. It has that vaguely intoxicating, light quality, so it smells more of like what I think of when I think of Mina, that juicy sweetness but it's edged with something you can't quite pin down (and she likes it that way)

Michiru. I will never smell Michiru's perfume because we all know she has a house in paris mix it for her custom. This is a thing that absolutely exists, if you have a great deal of money. I put her in rose and white florals (like jasmine) with a classic and old school musk and vetiver base, maybe with a light dosing of wine lees. I think it would smell very classic or old, depending on your point of view. Don't get me wrong, I do want this perfume. There's two or three I've layered to get an IDEA of it, but I've never found one perfume I think made it up.

Rei as we all know, is in actuality too fucking cheap to buy perfume, and if she wears any at all, it's a dupe, but in my world that's not any fun, so let's pick out what she likes enough to have someone buy her. I see deep, commanding notes for her, I actually think she would wear ~Men's perfume~* some of the time especially when she was convinced she needed to be a Boardroom Broad and I don't think Rei is immune to some fucked up ideas about power and gender ANYWAY. For most times:

Ebene Fume by Tom Ford. I think this choice is a little boring (full disclosure: I own a decant of this perfume and really do love it) in that it's Tom fucking Ford and everyone has heard of it, but I think I'm going a bit xkcd comic on that one, if you know what I mean. But it's smoky and deep and powerful, it's like a men's perfume with softer edge to it. It's also a great night perfume, which is when I think she would mostly wear it, and it doesn't have any sweetness to it, really.

Haruka. Going outside the idea of Michiru having a perfume made for her, which I believe she would, let's talk about what I think she would buy for herself (and also a defense of the perfume I'm about to mention)

Dior Sauvage. This one is so common that even non-perfume people have heard of it. Do you know why? It smells good on almost fucking everyone. There's so much snooty ass disdain for this perfume in the weird world of perfume lovers, but honestly? This and Versace Eros are the two I recommend for folks wanting a masc-leaning perfume. (I also like to wear it, especially when I'm hyperfemme) It just smells good on people. It is so well crafted that it is mass appealing. Whenever we have men going, "What perfume can I buy that women love" they're so annoyed when I say "Dior Sauvage" but whenever I crack out the suit and wear this with it, a woman always asks me what my cologne** is. Haruka would smell amazing in it, and she would get compliments from women, and that would reineforce the behavior.

OKAY WELL SORRY ABOUT ALL THAT

*all perfume is gender neutral if you're not a little bitch about it. Women wearing men's perfume is not super duper uncommon, but men should really throw on a floral sometimes, but of course going toward masculinity is understandable, going toward femininity is weak blah blah blah you're all so fucking boring.

**Cologne is not just "men's perfume" it's a whole other category this post is long enough and I've spent too much time on it already and you are tired of reading it but please know this

[sprachgitter]

When I desire you, a part of me is gone: my want of you partakes of me. So reasons the lover at the edge of eros. The presence of want awakens in him nostalgia for wholeness. His thoughts turn toward questions of personal identity: he must recover and reincorporate what is gone if he is to be a complete person.

— Anne Carson, Eros the Bittersweet

[instant-delusions]

hi there!

I’ve just ran into your blog and read some of your work and girl you’re so good at writing😭😭

if it doesn’t bother you,would you mind writing a fluff about kokushiboxplus sized F!reader?

where his little human feels insecure about her body and he tries to comfort her as much as he can

˖ ࣪⭑ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖

₊‧.°.⋆˚₊‧⋆.

kokushibo x plus size! f! reader

cw: insecure thoughts, fluff

₊‧.°.⋆˚₊‧⋆.

it was dark in your cluttered bathroom, only a drop of the moon lit the tiles and water you laid in - you hated baths, especially ones without scented bubbles, though this was an fiery exception. gripping the slippery edges of the ceramic, you looked down at the water to see what it was showing you. with an empty mind, you saw soft curves and skin, a belly pressing against the top of your thighs and plump breasts heaving with your slow breaths. closing your eyes, you pictured the blood flowing through your veins, your heart beating, every single cell in the universe of your body like a planet. as fascinating as the functions of your body are, you wonder why it can't be enough that it keeps you alive. why are you expected to eat nine hundred calories a day and starve, while eating habits represent how much one enjoys life? why starve off of joy for beauty?

"(y/n), what are you doing here so late?"

'beauty' is 'justice', as many say. the eros of a woman in her prime. every woman not conforming to 'beauty' is to be exiled and hated. what a shallow thing to believe, but oh how much you hate looking at yourself. in every glimpse something's wrong - a mole too much, a finger too crooked, a face too asymmetrical.

"(y/n?)" kokushibo's voice flowed over you and for the first time, you notice the warmth of the water. he was kneeling on the floor with a concerned expression, his hands formally placed on his lap, as he studied you. 'have you ever thought of me as ugly? ' an uncomfortable question burned at the back of your mind, as you looked back at him with a little, nervous smile. "I felt like having a bath." his shoulders slumped in relief, a short chuckle bubbled up his throat and a twinkle of amusement glittered in his eyes. you wonder if he even thought of beauty at all.

"do you think I'm pretty?" you asked suddenly, surprised by the anxious tone of your voice. trailing your gaze over to your body once again, the question felt stupid. there was a little shuffle of kokushibo moving closer, he grabbed your wet hand on top of the tub. "you're beautiful." he answered, feeling his thumb brush over your fingers lightly, you sighed heavily. "does it even matter at all?" your mumble was barely audible, nevertheless you could tell he was thinking of a way to reply. honestly, you weren't even sure if you wanted to hear it, fearing your boyfriend's response won't make your dilemma go away. "humans will always find something new and gruesome to call beautiful, it's dim-witted. how's somebody's suffering considered a standard?", humming at his answer, you felt kokushibo's hand cupping your cheek. "I find life itself to be beautiful. old ladies, cats and endless childhood summers."

the moon kissed his hair and skin while he scrunched his nose in a little laugh, he went on to add that his childhood was a bit complicated regardless. as your lover talked and giggled explaining his view, you started to understand what he meant, not even listening fully. from the way he gestured with his hands or his voice almost sounded hoarse sometimes, even his lovely hooked nose.

it's not about fitting in at all. with all this love, you couldn't be more beautiful.

[coolancientstuff]

The Sacred Band of Thebes (Ancient Greek: Ἱερός Λόχος, Hierós Lókhos) was a troop of select soldiers, consisting of 150 pairs of male lovers which formed the elite force of the Theban army in the 4th century BC, ending Spartan domination. Its predominance began with its crucial role in the Battle of Leuctra in 371 BC. It was annihilated by Philip II of Macedon in the Battle of Chaeronea in 338 BC.

According to Plutarch, the 300 hand-picked men were chosen by Gorgidas purely for ability and merit, regardless of social class. It was composed of 150 male couples, each pair consisting of an older erastês (ἐραστής, "lover") and a younger erômenos (ἐρώμενος, "beloved"). Athenaeus of Naucratis also records the Sacred Band as being composed of "lovers and their favorites, thus indicating the dignity of the god Eros in that they embrace a glorious death in preference to a dishonorable and reprehensible life", while Polyaenus describes the Sacred Band as being composed of men "devoted to each other by mutual obligations of love".

Defeat came at the Battle of Chaeronea (338 BC), the decisive contest in which Philip II of Macedon, with his son Alexander the Great, extinguished Theban hegemony. The battle is the culmination of Philip's campaign into central Greece in preparation for a war against Persia. It was fought between the Macedonians and their allies and an alliance of Greek city-states led by Athens and Thebes. Diodorus records that the numbers involved for the two armies were more or less equal, both having around 30,000 men and 2,000 cavalry.

The traditional hoplite infantry was no match for the novel long-speared Macedonian phalanx: the Theban army and its allies broke and fled, but the Sacred Band, although surrounded and overwhelmed, refused to surrender. The Thebans of the Sacred Band held their ground and Plutarch records that all 300 fell where they stood beside their last commander, Theagenes. Their defeat at the battle was a significant victory for Philip, since until then, the Sacred Band was regarded as invincible throughout all of Ancient Greece. Plutarch records that Philip II, on encountering the corpses "heaped one upon another", understanding who they were, wept and exclaimed,

Perish any man who suspects that these men either did or suffered anything unseemly.

— Plutarch, Pelopidas 18

Pausanias in his Description of Greece mentions that the Thebans had erected a gigantic statue of a lion near the village of Chaeronia surmounting the tomb of the Thebans killed in battle against Philip.

In 1818, a British architect named George Ledwell Taylor spent a summer in Greece with two friends at Livadeia. On June 3, they decided to go horseback riding to the nearby village of Chaeronea using Pausanias' Description of Greece as a guidebook. Two hours away from the village, Taylor's horse momentarily stumbled on a piece of marble jutting from the ground. Looking back at the rock, he was struck by its appearance of being sculpted and called for their party to stop. They dismounted and dug at it with their riding-whips, ascertaining that it was indeed sculpture. They enlisted the help of some nearby farmers until they finally uncovered the massive head of a stone lion which they recognized as the same lion mentioned by Pausanias. Parts of the statue had broken off and a good deal of it still remained buried. It was later pieced back together in 1902 after obtaining permission from the Greek government.

In the late 19th century, excavations in the area revealed that the monument stood at the edge of a quadrangular enclosure. The skeletons of 254 men laid out in seven rows were found buried within it. A tumulus near the monument was also identified as the site of the Macedonian polyandrion where the Macedonian dead were cremated. Excavation of the tumulus between 1902 and 1903 by the archeologist Georgios Soteriades confirmed this. At the center of the mound, about 22 ft (6.7 m) deep, was a layer of ashes, charred logs, and bones about 0.75 m (2.5 ft) thick. Recovered among these were vases and coins dated to the 4th century BC. Swords and remarkably long spearheads measuring about 15 in (38 cm) were also discovered, which Soteriades identified as the Macedonian sarissas.

[lilpunkrock]

where you go (i will go) — iv

Summary: A visit to the Dreaming brings about new revelations and confrontations.

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x f!reader

Words: 5.5k+

AN: Originally posted to my other account, @alittlepunkrock, I'm now uploading this to my second blog because my main is having some issues. RIP. I've mapped this story out to be a good 15-20 parts, so I hope you all will come along on this journey with me! Thanks so much - part v will be up soon!

series masterlist // mood board // ao3

. . .

“I flew solo most of the way,

Until you popped up and got in the way;

And I mean that line in a good way.”

    - hazel inside, blackbear

. . .

Part iv

“Let go,” he growls, pressing down on your throat harder. The hot tears clouding your vision are growing dark and blurry, the room around you dimming in spite of the smoldering fire beside you. You blink, trying to clear them away, but they don’t leave this time around. They persist, crawling inward, inching over your sight. The anxiety in your chest rises to a new pitch. You feel your body try to hyperventilate, only to choke on the emptiness in your lungs.

Something at the edge of your awareness calls to you, encourages you to do as he says and just let go. The rest of you bucks and rebels against it, fighting tooth and nail to hold on. Even in this moment, in spite of all that’s happening, you’re not ready to go. Not ready to leave him. You had so much to look forward to, so many plans. So much love to give. You were ready to give him it all.  It was all happening tomorrow.

The chaos in your chest reaches a fever pitch. Your heart hollows out at the thought that there will be no tomorrow for you.

As darkness envelopes what’s left of your vision, you feel his hot breath on your face one last time. “I don’t want you anymore.”

. . .

When mortals think of heartbreak, their minds typically turn to thoughts of star-crossed lovers, of loved ones lost, of relationships ended on bitter terms. As you creep through the small motel room you’ve found yourself in, tip-toeing around empty liquor bottles and haphazardly tossed cigarette butts toward the sleeping figure in front of you, you understand that heartbreak comes in many forms. You see it in the way the man sleeps slumped over in his chair, his hair unkempt, skin pale and sweaty, face covered in a gritty stubble. You feel the heartbreak in the way his fingers twitch for drink, seeking the comfort of a glass bottle even in slumber. Heartbreak is the fact that he sits in this dark motel room alone, though you can see a picture of himself, a kind-faced woman, and two young boys glowing on his phone’s lock screen. They looked happy.

Your eyes settle on the withering white, red, green, and orange attachments trailing from his heart, across the litter-strewn floor, under the motel door, and out into the night. A pale halo of blue philautia stutters around him. The solid black thread pulsing out of his chest is darker than all the shadows in the room.

Your heart sours at the sight. Ever since your assignments had been dropped at your door at midnight, you’d been flitting across the globe, trying to finish your daily duties before sunrise. Today was the day Matthew was to take you to see Morpheus in the Dreaming, and you wanted to be ready for him. The sight of the black attachment makes you all the more eager for your visit with the Dream Lord.

“Come here,” you whisper as you take the pale philia, eros, storge, and pragma threads in your hands. You hold them gently as you take a moment to ponder your choice of action. “When you wake, call your wife and sons. Be honest with them. Your wife has already found the help you need, but she’s waiting for you to love yourself enough to take it.” You pause, wetting your dry lips. Your fingers shift to trail over the weak glow of philautia surrounding him. “You may not feel you’re worthy of love. I know. But you are. You don’t have to do this alone. Accept the love they have for you. Let it sow the seed for you to love yourself again.”

As your voice trails away, the rainbow of attachments solidify and shine. The black thread remains, but seems less daunting when surrounded by a halo of radiant colors. You smile softly, pleased with your work. In the back of your mind, though, you fear it won’t be enough. What if Desire’s attachment overcomes what you’ve done?

Staring at the black thread before you, an unsettling air creeps through the room. The back of your neck prickles, hairs rising as you get the eerily distinct feeling that you and the mortal are not alone. That you’re being watched.

You spin around hastily, eyes sweeping the shadows of the room. But nothing, or no one, is there. You jump slightly at a low rumble arising beside you, only to exhale in relief when you realize the man has begun to snore quietly. With a shake of your head, you glance over the room again. Though no one else is here, you still can’t deny what your body is feeling. The sense that something is wrong.

With a run of your fingertips over the next set of names on your list, you slip into a new part of the world. The sensation slips away with it.

. . .

“Hey, uh, Lady Love? It’s me, Matthew. Remember, the talking raven? Can you let me in, please?”

“Matthew!” you exclaim with a grin. At the sound of his sharp beak tapping on your kitchen window, you toss your fantasy novel aside and jump out of your chair. Always eager to be part of the action, Theo slips between your feet as you hustle to the window. With an appropriate “Oh shit–,” you stumble forward, narrowly catching yourself on the kitchen window sill. Matthew’s large, dark eyes blink at you in surprise. With a laugh, you open the window, righting yourself as the messenger raven steps inside. “Sorry about that. Guess I should have left the window open for you, shouldn’t I?”

Matthew ruffles his feathers, stretching his wings after the long journey. You note that a new pouch of sand is tied to his leg. “Oh no, you’re fine. Honestly, I’m just glad you were awake. I told the boss– or, uh, Lord Morpheus that you might still be resting. It’s pretty early.”

Your eyes slide over to the clock on your stove, noting the time there. He’s right – it’s just barely past six in the morning, but you’d been up for hours. You were sure you’d never finished your daily assignments as fast as you had today. And without coffee, no less. It really was a shame Cliff didn’t open until seven.

As you finish setting up Theo’s food, water, and toys for the day, you make idle conversation. “So, ‘Dream?’ ‘Boss?’ That’s some friendly language. You and Dream Lord must be pretty close.”

Matthew’s dark beak inclines slightly, his inky chest feathers fluffing with pride. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. I mean, like I said, I’m basically his best friend. Besides Loosh. Funny, when I first came along, he didn’t even want me around.”

You give Matthew a friendly grin as you finish lacing your canvas sneakers. ‘“Sometimes the people we don’t expect to need are the ones who become the most important to us.”

Matthew seems to cock his feathered head in contemplation. You extend your arm to him, and he hops on with a flutter. “Huh. You know, I like that. That’s pretty good. The next time he tells me he can handle something himself, I’ll be sure to use that one.” Your laugh rings through your quiet townhome, and Matthew ruffles his wings appreciatively. “Are you ready?” he asks.

“Yes,” you breathe. You’d be lying if you said that your trip to the Dreaming wasn’t all you’d been thinking of for the past two days. Not only were you eager to get onto your partnership with the Dream Lord for the sake of your Realm, you were incredibly curious to see his work crafting dreams and nightmares. How did one create something so intimate, so unique to each individual, so limitless? Maybe you’d end the day with a better idea of what was going on in that tousled head of his.

“Alright, then. Matthew, Grand Messenger Raven of Dream of the Endless, first class provider of transportation, at your service.” With a caw, Matthew dips his head and snips the sand pouch on his leg with a flourish. Sand spills to your feet, settling for only a moment before it jumps to life. The vortex that forms around you is becoming more familiar, the fierce winds that whip around you less startling than your first go around. In spite of this, you still find yourself closing your eyes when the sand starts to skim your cheeks.

When the winds have died and you hear the sand whisper against the floor, you open your eyes to find yourself in the Library of Dreams. Though you’ve seen it before, its majesty is not lost on you. A slow smile warms your face as you turn in a slow circle, drinking in the sight. “This place is incredible,” you murmur.

Matthew hops from your arm to perch on a tall stack of books sitting on one of the tables. “Yeah, I guess it is pretty awesome if you like books and all. Which, by the look on your face, I’m guessing you do. I wasn’t much of a reader in my life as a human, but I’m gaining a better appreciation for them now,” Matthew says. Though his face gives nothing away, you can hear the grin in his voice. The sound of soft footsteps sound behind you, and Matthew’s attention flicks that way. “Hey, Loosh!”

You spin to find Lucienne emerging from one of the breaks in bookshelves behind you. Each room is filled with so many books that the spaces between the shelves are almost camouflaged. Her dark eyes smile as they land on you. “Ah, Miss Love. Welcome back to the Dreaming.” Her dark lips pull upwards, her expression open and kind. “I trust your journey went smoothly?”

“Oh, yes. Matthew is an excellent escort. And I’m getting used to all the sand.”

“I’m quite glad to hear that. Such an acclimation will serve you well here.” You chuckle softly, watching as she places a fresh stack of books on the table beside you. “Lord Morpheus is attending to some business with Mervyn, the palace’s custodian. One of our resident dreams, Fashion Thing, appears to have spilled a blood and perrier cocktail in the main hall. Quite the mess.” She shakes her head tenderly, obviously amused. “He should be finished shortly. Perhaps you’d like to peruse my library in the meantime?”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. “Oh, absolutely.” Lucienne smiles widely, a glimpse of bright white teeth peeking through her lips. “Matthew, please inform Lord Morpheus of Miss Love’s arrival,” she requests. At her instruction, Matthew caws a, “Yes, ma’am!” and takes flight toward the colossal stained-glass doors at the end of the long hall. Meanwhile, Lucienne beckons you farther into the library, away from the throne room.

“As I informed you at your last visit, this is the Library of Dreams. The dreams and events of every human life reside here, as well as the stories they invent, published and unpublished,” Lucienne explains, her bespectacled eyes drifting over the bookshelves with adoration. “I am the keeper of them all. The entire library is organized by century and alphabetically by last name. It makes it quite easy for myself, Lord Morpheus, and any other guest to find whatever record they like.”

You nod, lips parted in awe as your gaze moves from the stories of floors above you to the long bookshelf beside you. At the top of the shelf, you find an iron signpost reading “1500s - S.” Within moments, your eyes land on the book you’re looking for, the name embossed on the thick spine in gold lettering: William Shakespeare. “Shakespeare,” you murmur, fingers slipping the book from its shelf and thumbing through the pages. “Now, this guy and I have been through some times together. He made my job easy in some ways.” You laugh, eyes drifting over the countless thoughts, stories, and dreams recorded in Shakespeare’s book. “And maybe harder in some others.”

“Oh, yes. Lord Morpheus paid a special visit to Shakespeare in his youth, inspiring two plays in particular. Lord Morpheus has been instrumental in the inspiration and success of playwrights, composers, writers, and other dreamers all throughout history.”

A small smile graces your lips as your fingers close Shakespeare’s record gently. Your mind ponders all the artists that you yourself have encountered throughout the years, so many of them inspired by love, both reciprocated and unrequited. Bach, Mozart, Austen, Goethe, and so many more. Perhaps you and the Dream Lord’s paths had crossed more times throughout history than you’d thought.

“As I said, Miss Love, my library holds all records of mortals from the dawn of time. Perhaps you should like to take a trip down memory lane with your own volu–”

“No.” The exclamation is out of your mouth before you can reign it back in. Your eyes snap to Lucienne, register the surprised look on her face. You hastily try to stamp down the rising panic in your chest, to smooth your strained expression into something more neutral. A weak laugh escapes you as you try to play off the outburst. “Ah, sorry, Lucienne, but that won’t be necessary. It’s impossible, in fact. I don’t recall my mortal name. I don’t recall anything about my mortal life, really. I lost all of that when I became what I am today.”

Liar.

Lucienne’s face softens, her dark eyebrows furrowing. “Oh, Miss Love, I’m terribly sorry. I did not mean to overstep–”

You raise your hands hastily, shaking your head. You can’t deny the guilt that gnaws at your heart in the wake of your dishonesty, but you press onward. “No, please don’t apologize. There’s really no need. You didn’t know.”

Just as you’re trying to find some avenue of conversation to change the subject, the towering doors to the throne room slowly creek open. Your attention turns, grasping the distraction like a lifeline. With Matthew perched on one cloaked shoulder, Morpheus sweeps through the doorway, walking past the many reading tables to approach you and Lucienne. As he draws nearer, you can’t help but notice the same distinct feeling you did during your first visit to the Dreaming. A hum against your skin, a whisper in the air, a pull in your chest. Having seen him in the Waking World and the Realm of Attachment now, you realize just how potent his presence is in the Dreaming. Some distant part of your mind absentmindedly wonders if you give off a similar presence in your own Realm.

When he comes to a stop a few steps away, Morpheus dips his head slightly in a polite welcome. “Greetings, Love, Deity of the Realm of Attachment,” he murmurs, his voice a rumbling timber in the expansive library. He lifts his head, blue eyes catching yours. “I trust that Lucienne made for excellent company while you waited.”

You nod earnestly, smiling brightly at Lucienne. Though she returns the gesture, you can still glimpse a lingering apology in her eyes. “Yes, thank you. Lucienne was just showing me around her library. It’s extraordinary.”

“Indeed.” With a gesture of his hand, Matthew lifts off Morpheus’s shoulder to land on a lamp by Lucienne. The Dream Lord takes a step closer to you, his long cloak sweeping the floor near your sneakers. “I regret to interrupt your exploration of the library, but we have much to accomplish before dark. It is time for us to go.”

“Alright, Dream Lord. Lead the way.”

Today, when you catch a glimmer in his eye, you’re not so sure it’s simply a trick of the light. “We shall take a shortcut today,” he says. In a flourish, he grabs the long tail of his black cloak and sweeps it over the two of you. As the fabric flutters around you, a gasp passes over your lips. Because you were right the other day - within the Dream Lord’s cloak lives an endless expanse of cosmos. Stars twinkle all around you in the midst of deep navy, a particularly dark ripple of space snaking through the sky above you. The Milky Way. The constellations glimmering around you feel close enough to touch.

Just as quickly as you found yourself in the midst of a night sky, you find yourself exiting it. As Morpheus’s cloak ripples around you, sunlight pierces through the darkness. When the night scene is swept away, you find yourself standing on the black sandy beaches of the Dreaming. The sky of Dream Country, so bright and blue during your last visit, is softer today. The sun peeks through the thinly overcast sky, casting the clouds in muted shades of warm gold. A gentle breeze slips over the waters surrounding the Dreaming, carrying the refreshing scent of saltwater to your nose.

“This is where you go to craft dreams and nightmares?” you ask, following Morpheus’s dark form as he leads you toward the shoreline. As you approach the water, the black sand becomes speckled with dark beachrock. Its surface is slick and uneven under your canvas sneakers, and you pointedly step around the rocks to keep from falling.

“It is.” Morpheus comes to a stop just before the sand transitions into beachrock entirely. You halt beside him. The waves lap up onto the shore, nearly close enough to lick the tips of your shoes. A glance downward reveals small shells in a variety of hues nestled into the nooks where the sand meets the beachrock, tiny flecks of color amidst the dark. A tan sand crab scuttles out of a pit in the rock, hustling up the beach toward the sand. You smile at the sight. “The solitude permits me to think uninterrupted, and I find that the vastness of the ocean puts me in a productive headspace for crafting.”

You nod thoughtfully as your eyes survey the waters. He’s right – standing here on the edge of everything, anything seems possible. “So, how do you start?”

The Dream Lord remains silent for a moment, his blue eyes trained on the shifting waves before you. Then, he murmurs, “It all starts with an idea.”

You consider making some kind of teasing quip, an “of course it does,” but pause. Instead, you say, “Tell me more.”

Morpheus tucks his chin between the lapels of his cloak, closing his eyes in contemplation. When he speaks, it’s with the voice of something ancient, a tradesman with eons of experience, a master of his craft. An Endless. “It all starts with an idea. What does humanity require? What may the Dreaming offer them? What shall prompt them to thrive, what shall prompt them to learn? Dreams are meant to bestow joy, fantasy, inspiration, and hope. They are a reprieve from the Waking World, a safe haven where weary humans find rest. Nightmares, too, are meant to serve humanity. Their function is to serve as a dark mirror that reflects a dreamer’s greatest fears back at them. Nightmares afford dreamers the opportunity to face these fears in the safety of my Realm, so that they may overcome them.”

You nod, soaking in this information thoughtfully. The idea that nightmares were meant to serve humanity rather than frighten them was something you had never considered before. “Do you create dreams and nightmares for each individual mortal?” you ask.

“On occasion. To do so for each individual human would require a considerable amount of time. More often, I craft a dream or nightmare with a particular function. To take a dreamer back to their childhood, to allow them to fulfill a fantasy…then, my creation may go to the dreamers and fulfill their function whilst tailoring it to that human’s lived experience.”

You mull over his explanation in silence for several minutes. As a deity whose work involves visiting each mortal individually, albeit not every day, you understand firsthand how time-consuming that can be. “Okay, so we’re creating a dream with a blanket purpose that can be individualized to different dreamers. What are you thinking?”

Morpheus raises his head. As a sea breeze ruffles his dark feather-like hair, he opens his eyes and turns to you. “You walk amongst humans daily. I should like your thoughts on the matter. What do you believe would bring them joy, reprieve?”

You blink, surprised. You had expected to be more of a passive observer today than an active participant in Morpheus’s work. Your mind quickly turns to the man from this morning. Fingers twitching for drink in his restless sleep. His family, his joy, ripped away by a vice. He must feel so alone. “Freedom,” you say. “Freedom from the vices and burdens that feed upon them. That impair their ability to be happy.”

“Freedom.” The word sounds foreign on Morpheus’s tongue. “Intriguing. I spoke with someone very recently who wished for the same thing.”

“Did they get it?”

“One might say so. Though not in the way he expected.” Morpheus dips his hand into his cloak pocket, procuring a palmful of sand. “But we shall give the humans what they desire. Freedom.”

He sweeps his arm outward, scattering sand all around you. Rather than dropping to the beach, the sands dance through the air, shifting and shimmering. The world beyond them blurs like a mirage. You blink quickly, disoriented. When you open your eyes, you are no longer standing on the beach. Instead, you’re standing in the center of a lush, rolling meadow in full bloom. Wildflowers form a sea around you, each color of the rainbow represented in a speckled tapestry. The grass stretches as far as you can see, and an endless blue sky yawns above your head. It’s beautiful.

Suddenly, a strong gust of wind whips around you, sending your hair flying in all directions. It whirls around you again and again, giving you only a moment’s reprieve before it spins around you a final time. When it does, it spirals with enough gusto to lift you off your feet. Your laughter is bright and joyful as it rings over the field. Though the wind is a fantastical creature, you don’t find yourself startled or frightened. As it suspends you in the air and twirls you around, it seems almost playful.

At your side, Morpheus seems untouched by the childlike breeze. He lifts one pale hand slowly, palm facing upward. The very air around you seems to hum with life. “Freedom. A world without limitations, without burdens. Where one can feel weightless.” He closes his hand into a fist, then unfurls his fingers and guides his palm outward. Slowly, the scene around you shimmers and shifts. The glimmering sands around you follow Morpheus’s command to drift forward. They dance along his arm, around his fingers, gathering into a humanoid shape in front of you. The soles of your shoes gently return to the ground, burying themselves in beach sand once again as the meadow fades away.

A quiet gasp escapes you as you gaze at the dream taking shape before you. A collection of grass blades and petals flitting around on an invisible breeze, confined in a humanoid shape. You can see dandelion pappus gathering in two curved lines on the being’s face like fair eyelashes resting against a cheek. Chinese silver grass fans down its back like hair. “It’s beautiful,” you whisper.

“It will be some time before she comes to,” Morpheus says at your side. His blue eyes sweep over his creation, giving rapt attention to each detail. For the first time since you met him, there is a glimpse of gentleness on his normally stoic face. “Even dreams require rest.” After a few quiet minutes, he turns to you. “Do you have questions?”

Questions? What a ridiculous thing to ask. Of course you had questions. Your brain feels like a shaken beehive; all chaotic, curious energy with no sense of direction. There is so much that you want to know. The only coherent thought you’re able to form is, “You spend so much time inspiring others. What inspires you?”

Your question gives the Dream Lord pause. He looks down at you in silence. It suddenly occurs to you that maybe, just maybe, no one has ever asked him that question before. What inspires the one who spends all his time inspiring others?

After a long moment, Morpheus turns his gaze back to the dream in front of you. Delicate chaparral currant blooms have gathered to form soft pink lips on her gradually evolving face. “I came into existence with the first being that required rest,” he murmurs quietly. “I understand that without them, I would not have become, and cannot be. One day, when my sister brings this world to its conclusion and rest is no more, I, too, will be no more. Some of my siblings – Desire, Despair – feel that their purpose is to be served while we exist. I recognize that my function is to serve. But although I am Endless, I cannot simply do as I please. The universe craves balance, requires it. As you have a set of scales, I have my own, in a way.” He pauses, pink lips pursing. “There cannot be fantasy without fear. But I have found that both fantasy and fear alike have the capability to transform.”

Your mind races, turning his words over again and again, reading the lines between his sentences. “They gave you your life and function,” you whisper quietly. Your eyes search his face for some vulnerability, some emotion, but find none. “You want to return that gift. You want to serve them by helping them reach their potential.” His lack of response is an answer in its own way.

The two of you stand on the beach in silence for some time, lost in thought. When you finally speak again, the dream before you has sprouted two cirrus cloud wings. “So, what’s next? A nightmare?”

Morpheus gradually draws out of his reverie. “Yes,” he says slowly, voice low. “You were once human. Tell me, what do you fear?”

Though his voice is soft, the question rings loudly in your ears. Your head thrums with the pounding of your heartbeat as you turn your eye inward. Looking within yourself is something you strive not to do, self-reflection something you have pointedly ignored ever since . . . well, ever since everything happened. You had tried, of course, to ask yourself in the aftermath: Why? What could I have done differently? Pain was the only response that had echoed from the depths within you. A solitary existence was, in a way, both the cure and the contagion. Loneliness served as both a coat of armor and an endless provocation to look inward, only to find that which you did not want to see.

Your mind turns to Desire’s opposition, your conditional divinity, all that happened eons ago. You know he expects an answer. You know precisely the one to give. It feels as if there is a vice grip around your throat as you choke out, “Not being enough.”

For several long moments, the Dream Lord is incredibly still. Then, in silence, he raises one hand ever so slightly. The black grains of sand at your feet start to sway and shift, pulling away from you as if answering a silent call. You watch with bated breath as they gather slowly, building upwards into two feet, two legs, a torso, two arms, a face. At first, it’s merely a mask of churning sand. But then, a flash of color – an eye. Your eye.

As you recoil backward, a flash of white teeth gleam through the dark grains before retreating back within them. Other features start to emerge from within the sand; a nose, a cheek, pink lips. Within moments, the being in front of you has transformed its face into a flawless imitation of yours. Something primal within you rears its head in response. The nightmare’s lips draw into a smile, but not a friendly one. There is an unnatural tightness in its lips. This smile is small and cruel.

Morpheus’s words echo in your mind. Their function is to serve as a dark mirror that reflects a dreamer’s greatest fears back at them. Nightmares afford dreamers the opportunity to face these fears in the safety of my Realm, so that they may overcome them.

As you confront your own reflection, you find you only want to run.

. . .

The black sand makes for a soft cushion as you plop down with a long sigh. The beach, teaming throughout the afternoon with dreams and nightmares of all designs and forms, is now empty save for you and the Dream Lord. The dream of freedom that Morpheus created – Fawn, he named her – was the last to depart several minutes ago. Her cirrus cloud wings cut through the night sky like shooting stars as she flew away, off to deliver feelings of giddy weightlessness to the Waking World.

As you peer up at the twinkling blanket of stars above, you can’t help but wish that you’d meet her in your own rest tonight. That you could ride on her playful coattails, soaring through an endless field of green without a care in the world. But dreams and nightmares were not for immortal beings. No, you know what awaits you in your dreamless unconscious tonight. It makes you reluctant to return home, yearning to stay out just a little longer.

Despite your lack of need for sleep, you can’t deny that you do need to rest. A distinct cloud of mental fatigue hangs over your brain after the long day. You turn to Morpheus, who stands still beside you, staring up at the stars. “I can’t imagine being responsible for the dreams and nightmares of all mortals. Not just giving them a place to rest or grow, but crafting ideas to inspire them and help them progress as a society. Spurring the world on through artists, engineers, inventors . . . all of it. It must be incredibly taxing, especially after so many eons.”

Morpheus’s gaze tracks the path of a shooting star streaking overhead. The inky sky is reflected in his eyes, two pools of black with a glimmering star in each. “My function goes beyond dreams and nightmares,” he murmurs. He speaks purposefully, thoughtfully, handling his words with the same care with which he crafts dreams and nightmares. “I contain the entire collective unconscious of the universe. Such a function requires laws, boundaries, structure. To have one being preside over something so incomprehensible without these would result in nothing but chaos. It is a responsibility of considerable weight. One I am well-accustomed to bearing.”

You study him in silence. You can appreciate his dedication to his rules, his structure. You had your own to follow, and you had seen what happened when the boundaries of duties were overstepped, when power was taken advantage of. Rules provided safety, security. In the midst of a turbulent, ever-changing universe, they were reliable.

As you reflect on the day, you’re surprised to find yourself feeling calm and content. You had expected to feel anxious in Morpheus’s presence, to feel inadequate as a mere deity in the presence of an Endless. You’d expected to feel nervous about your next steps. But as you sit here reflecting, feeling the soft grit of the sand beneath your palms, you find that you’re excited about what’s to come.

“Well, perhaps I can help remove a little of that weight. Just a little bit,” you say with a small smile. With a grunt, you rise to your feet and pat the loose sand off your jeans. “So, when would you like to start this new undertaking of ours? I’m ready anytime.”

Morpheus slowly pulls his eyes away from the stars to look at you. He appraises you in silence for a moment, something you’re becoming quite accustomed to. When he raises his chin ever so slightly, your instinct tells you to anticipate a challenge. “Why not tonight?” he asks.

You return the gesture, offering him a bright grin. Grateful for an excuse to not go home yet. To avoid rest for just a little longer. “Why not?” you say. You sweep an arm outward, gaze drifting over the beach, the mountains, the ocean beside you. “Where do you want to start?”

“No, here will not suffice.” Your eyebrows furrow at his words. “For an undertaking such as this, we shall require a concentrated source of power to work from. For this, we must travel to the location where the veil between the Waking World and the Dreaming is at its thinnest.”

You nod slowly in understanding. “Alright, Dream Lord. Lead the way.”

Morpheus’s boots whisper through the dark sands as he steps closer. For the second time today, he sweeps the long tail of his cloak over the two of you.

And in the blink of an eye, you’re gone.

[joelletwo]

A pun is a figure of language that depends on similarity of sound and disparity of meaning. It matches two sounds that fit perfectly together as aural shapes yet stand insistently, provocatively apart in sense. You perceive homophony and at the same time see the semantic space that separates the two words. Sameness is projected onto difference in a kind of stereoscopy. There is something irresistible in that. Puns appear in all literatures, are apparently as old as language and unfailingly fascinate us. Why? If we had the answer to this question we would know more clearly what the lover is searching for as he moves and reasons through the borderlands of his desire. We do not yet have an answer. Nonetheless we should pay attention to the punning character of the lover’s logic: its structure and its irresistibility have something important to tell us about desire, and about the lover’s search. We have seen how Sokrates makes use of punning language to slip from one sense of oikeios (‘kindred’) to another sense (‘mine’) when in the Lysis he is discussing eros as lack. Sokrates makes no attempt to conceal his wordplay here; indeed, he draws attention to it with an uncommon grammatical usage. He deliberately mixes up reciprocal and reflexive pronouns when he addresses the two philoi, Lysis and Menexenos. That is, when he says to them “… you belong to one another” (221e6) he uses a word for ‘one another’ that more commonly means ‘yourselves’ (hautois).* Sokrates is playing, through words, upon the desires of the young lovers before him. Mix-up of self and other is much more easily achieved in language than in life, but somewhat the same effrontery is involved. Like eros, puns flout the edges of things. Their power to allure and alarm derives from this. Within a pun you see the possibility of grasping a better truth, a truer meaning, than is available from the separate senses of either word. But the glimpse of that enhanced meaning, which flashes past in a pun, is a painful thing. For it is inseparable from your conviction of its impossibility. Words do have edges. So do you.

this section made me genuinely sick to read through before /COMPLIMENT

*directly preceding section that lays out this passage more, cut for fucking length of her paragraphs:

It seems impossible to talk or reason about erotic lack without falling into this punning language. Consider, for example, Plato’s Lysis. In this dialogue Sokrates is attempting to define the Greek word philos, which means both ‘loving’ and ‘loved,’ both ‘friendly’ and ‘dear.’ He takes up the question whether the desire to love or befriend something is ever separable from lack of it. His interlocutors are led to acknowledge that all desire is longing for that which properly belongs to the desirer but has been lost or taken away somehow—no one says how (221e-22a). Puns flash as the reasoning quickens. This part of the discussion depends upon an adroit use of the Greek word oikeios, which means both ‘suitable, related, akin to myself’ and ‘belonging to me, properly mine.’ So Sokrates addresses the two boys who are his interlocutors and says: … Τοῦ οἰκείου δή, ὡς ἔοικεν, ὅ τε ἔρως καὶ ἡ φιλία καὶ ἡ ἐπιθυμία τυγχάνει οὖσα, ὡς φαίνεται, ὧ Μενέξενέ τε καὶ Λύσι.—Συνεφάτην.—Ὑμεῖς ἄρα εἰ φίλοι ἐστὸν ἀλλήλοις, φύσει πη οἰκεῖοί ἐσθ᾽ ὑμῖν αὐτοῖς. … Desire and love and longing are directed at that which is akin to oneself [tou oikeiou], it seems. So if you two are loving friends [philoi] of one another then in some natural way you belong to one another [oikeioi esth’]. (221e) It is profoundly unjust of Sokrates to slip from one meaning of oikeios to another, as if it were the same thing to recognize in someone else a kindred soul and to claim that soul as your own possession, as if it were perfectly acceptable in love to blur the distinction between yourself and the one you love. All the lover’s reasoning and hopes of happiness are built upon this injustice, this claim, this blurred distinction. So his thought process is continually moving and searching through the borderland of language where puns occur. What is the lover searching for there?

[despairlyhope]

Mr. Loverman

Gojo Satoru x Geto Suguru (SatoSugu)

‘I'm headed straight for the floor

The alcohol served its tour

And it's headed straight for my skin

Leaving me daft and dim’

the memories of yore keep haunting me– mnemosyne uttered a single word as it flashes in my mind, our moments of those yesterday when we were happy, carefree, and young. we never dared to think about our tomorrow as we didn't knew that a slight occurrence would change the rotation of the spindle of the thread of fate.

eris dropped the golden apple as the discord soon came after, the rift that was put in between us could have been restored– however, i didn't notice that you were getting further. the harmonious melody shifted into a cacophony– it was heavy, loud, and noisy, a series of sounds that i did not recognize, and it was painful to hear– the distortion that it created caused turbulence amongst us.

‘I've got this shake in my legs

Shaking the thoughts from my head

But who put these waves in the door?

I crack and out I pour’

i have received the news about you– how could you do something like that? how about me? how about us? did it go over your head, suguru? did it make you lose your mind? was i not enough for you?

‘I'm Mr. Loverman

And I miss my lover, man

I'm Mr. Loverman

Oh, and I miss my lover’

these feelings that i hold for you– holding the arrow that eros had shot through my heart, aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty. she bestowed upon me, beauty and an empty void of love. i have beauty but at what cost? i am the honored one yet i wasn't important enough to change your mind. i am the strongest sorcerer but never in terms of your love.

‘The ways in which you talk to me

Have me wishin' I were gone

The ways that you say my name

Have me runnin' on and on’

that day we met again after years of parting, you called me by my name. it made my heart leap with joy– a tint of sadness can be seen as we are both standing on the edges, representing each sides— reminding me of we cannot go back to the way it was before. however, i have a duty to protect the people, they are relying on me— such emotions cannot be shown and should be concealed. i have a reputation to uphold.

‘Oh, I'm cramping up

I'm cramping up

But you're cracking up

You're cracking up’

oh the painful yearning that i am feeling towards you, it slowly drains me on the inside.

'I've shattered now, I'm spilling out

Upon this linoleum ground (Mr. Loverman)

I'm reeling in my brain again

Before it can get back to you (Mr. Loverman)

Oh what am I supposed to do without you?'

these emotions are slowly getting passed through the poorly made cage that i have built to imprison these feelings, your mere existence destroys everything that i have done to get it all under control.

as i rushed towards you, I can't help but wonder, “am i doing the right thing?” i am standing in front of your dying body— being a part of your last moments. reminiscing those memories of us, together. i stared at you as you smiled at me, clutching your bleeding shoulder.

“satoru, to think that you'd be the one here at my end.” geto stated.

i'll always be with you, in the beginning, in the middle, and in the end even though we're enemies on the last page of our story.

‘I'm Mr. Loverman

And I miss my lover, man (I miss my lover)

I'm Mr. Loverman (oh-oh)

Oh, and I miss my lover (Mr. Loverman)’

“trust? i didn't think i still had any of that left.”

the events messed up with your rationality as society and this entire industry changed your entire being with its fucked up system— traumatizing you wholly.

“i hate those monkeys but i never held hatred for those in jujutsu high.”

i didn't hated you either, i kept on loving and loving you— my love for you became stronger than before.

'I'm Mr. Loverman (oh-oh)

And I miss my loverman

I'm Mr. Loverman

And I miss my lover’

”i love you, suguru. i'll miss you.” i confessed to him as his mouth widened for a moment, it turned into a laughter and shifted into a smile.

“at least hit me with some curses at my end.” he replied, still chuckling as his motion slowly stopped— indicating that he is forever gone in my life.

he was my lover, man.

right person, wrong time, not enough time.

but i have never regretted any of it.

it was magical, enchanted, saddening, difficult, and many burst of emotions.

i'll miss all of those especially my lover.

[andrumedus]

Truth is, I want you to be safe, want you to sleep so I can sleep.

Sam Cheuk, Postscripts from a City Burning; “11/06/19 (2)”

[undertale-writing-times]

how many children do they want? For everyone?

Normally I might not do something for every single one, but because this is simple! (if you have any questions about why I put the number that I did, I would love the question!)

Let's get it going >:3

Sans: 0-1

Papyrus: 1-3

Blueberry: 1-2

Stretch: 1

Red: 0-1

Edge: 0-2

Axe: 1-6

Noodle: 0

Lord: 1-3

Mutt: 1-2

King: 1

Alpha: 0

Overlord: 1-5

Pup: 0

Commander: 1

Hound: 0-4

Chief: 0-1

Wolf: 2-6

Royal: 1

Fang: 0

Prince: 0-3

Canine: 1

Leader: 3

Beast: 2

Grandeur: 2

Behemoth: 3(already has one!)

Tycoon: 1

Brute: 10

Cloud: 0

Bat: 0

Superior: 1

Exo: 0

Briliance: 0

Werewolf: 3

Vivid: 1

Lycan: 0

Ruler: 0

Pooch: 0

Sheriff: 0

K9: 0-1

Crowned: 0-3

Whelp: 0

Dynast: 2

Mongrel: 0

Rebel: 0

Shards: 0-4

Regicide: 0

Cur: 0

Luce: 0-12

Hellhound: 3-6

Baron: 2

Pawls: 2

Palace: 5

Cad: 7 (in Fellswap Blush, large 'litters' of babies is seen as very good luck!)

Duke: 0-3

Bull: 0-2

Captain: 0

Dogfish: 1-2

Regent: 0-3

Coyote: 0-4

Cosmos: 1

Galaxy: 0

Nightmare: This one really depends tbh.

Dream: 0-3

Passive: 2!

Oxi: 0

Sleeper: 4

Coma: 0-3

Gloom: 0-1

Wiseguy: 0

Bones: 0

Clip: 0-4

Boss: 1

Books: 0-4

Crank: 000000000000!

Envy: 3

Pride: 0

Calamity: 4

Tragedy: 3

Crisis: 0-2

Misfortune: 0-2

Scourge: 0

Field: 0!

Crop: 0-1

Diva: 0

Charm: 0-3

Vibrant: 0-1

Corn: 3-6

Harvest: 2-7

Sheep: 2-7

Duster: 1-9

Shot: 0

Soil: 1

Repeat: 0

Lover: 0-3

Hearts: 1-6

Heartbreak: 0

Beau: 0-3

Dreamboat: 0

Reap: 0

David: 0

Wraith: 0(duh)

Screen: 0-3

Keys: 1

Mimic: 3

Ringer: 0

Burn: 6

Arman: 2

Levi: 0

Chua: 2

Dracul: 3

Shifter: 0 >:\

Maiden: 0

Vestal: 0

Eros: 4

Aphro: 1

Venus: 1-2

Cuddles: 0

Astra: 1

Aloith: 0

Sugar: 3-5

Sweetie: 5!

Hop: 1

Sway: 2

Stomper: 0-1

Jazz: 0

Flamenco: 2

Uprock: 2

Ballet: 1

Taps: 2

Waltz: 4

Boogie: 0

Cross: 0

Error: 0

Ink: 5(but shouldn't have any)

Drain: 0

Glitchy: 0

Static: 0

Fairy: 0

Splat: 3

Fresh: 0

Rad: 0

Fresh Ink: 0

Dusty: 0-2

Powder: 0-2

Cupid: 0

Fragment: 0

Stardust: 0-3

Shooting Star: 0-3

Slay: 2

Killer: 2

Yanberry: 6

Snap: 4

Echo: 1

Pinks: 0-10

Passion: 0-2

Desire: 1

Feral: 0-3

Sharp: 0

Oak: 5

Sunflower: 0

Supernova: 3

Sunspot: 0

Snackers: 3

Butcher: 0-3

Timber: 4

Bark: 5

Bud: 0-4

Vine: 0-1

Strawberry: 2

Chum: uhhh

Rigel: 0-2

Vega: 1

Light: 1-4

Deep: 0-2

Daydream: 4

Delusion: 0-3

Mur: 1

Solar: 2-3

Nightfall: 0-4

Sunset: 0-5

Scarlet: 0-1

Leopard: 1-10 (wants a lot of babies but is okay with only just one or even none!)

Rosy: 5(has some already, but he just sorta uh… found those)

Shadow: 0-1

Lace: 0

Lamp: 0-4

Shade: 0-3

Luna: 0

Chills: 0-2

Shiver: 1

Nymph: 4

Fae: 6

Sprinkles: 0-4

Crumble: 0-1

Sticky: 4 (isn't sure if he even could)

Mallow: 1-5(already has the hungry time trio lol)

Empire: 0-3

Aquatica: 1-4

Skillet: 0-3

Determ: 5

Cielo: 3

Comet: 3

Badar: 5

Soul: 2

Chains: 0

Moonlight: 0

Suns: 0

Breaker: 4

Undertaker: 2

Corpse: 1

Inker: 0

Angel: 0

Bane: 2

Defect: 0

Fable: 1

Thorn: 1

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Cupid's Curse

Chapter Five

Warnings: Obsessive behavior, Gods stuff

Taglist: @gingermous @mt2sssss @dev-angeline @graciexmarvel

A\N: if you know you know

Chapter Four | Chapter Six

Today is cleaning day! You only like cleaning day because you need every possible way to distract yourself from going out and seeking the beautiful man who— No! You are going to not think about him and remain focused on the task at hand.

First the kitchen. Gotta refill your fridge and maybe get some new dishes and pans.

Second, the living room. Dusty… You gaze down at your photo albums lovingly. They are the only proof connecting you to many past lovers.

Third, the bathroom. You ran out of your favorite body wash! You grumble hating having to later go do a full shopping.

Last, your room. Nothing is done, you took a nap.

A full day spent without going or thinking about he-who-shall-not-be-named!

*

You scream internally as you legitimately accidentally bump into someone, not just anyone now. The man from the gift shop. What a time for the fucking Fates to do their jobs! "Excuse me, sorry." You wave it off while keeping your head down. Today you wore whatever you had clean: the worst generic civilian outfit. Honestly, your stalking has let your personal chores slip up badly.

"Oh, you're that lady who comes into the museum a lot."

You shake your head as you grab what you need from the shelf. Nope, nope!

"It's okay, no worries. You don't have to be nervous talking to me… Okay, good chat."

You bolted like a bad out of hell fearing any second longer, you could smell him… His hair looked freshly cut and his face clean shaven which explains the cologne like smell. He's so tall, you know that but he's sloughing to hide it oh Gods oh Gods Furies take me.

"Do you need help?" That's a loaded question right now, "Here." You nervously take the box of coffee you were trying to reach before once more Steven, beloved Steven, seems to be going the same places you are too.

Seriously.

Fates, the fuckers, are putting him in every section you need to go.

"What a coincidence, haha!"

You frown, moving past him, your bare hand almost touching him. Dangerously close. Close enough to reignite that burning need. Mania will not let you escape your needs.

*

The next day. The day after. The following day after that. Weeks following after another. You couldn't help yourself, you needed to see him again. The pain and heat is unbearable, Aphrodite never held back when she was alive, and her heart wonders why its it's being forced to do so now.

Being normal is beyond you. No matter how many different ways you try to temper this divine heart.

The craving is horrible resulting in you going on the edge of doing something you might regret.

Retracking, rewriting, stalking once more the poor man.

Only, you are not hiding. Eros' cravings have you going on dates around the same area as Steven would be.

Those brown sweet eyes would land on you and whomever you are with that moment.

The museum you had a lady with you.

At a fountain he hangs around, you were with a person.

Then when he was going clothes shopping, you were with a man who looked old enough to be your father.

He would only catch you when passing, a glimpse and the scent of jasmine following.

The last time he sees you, J.B. is with him.

*

Celebration of the mural from Aphrodite's temple is being transported here and on full display.

You show up in a black dress, makeup, hair done; the opposite of what Steven has seen you before. The scent of jasmine is stronger than before. 

"There she is!" J.B. elbows Steven as he eyes you up and down, "She got to be the most beautiful bird you ever laid eyes on… Or in general." That jab was uncalled for. "Shit, she's coming this way: look busy!"

It's late in the evening and this side of the museum is getting ready to close up. The party is in the Greek section. Steven already did his closing prep!

"Hey—"

You ignore the boring loveless mortal, "Mr. Steven?" Soft spoken for a lady in black dress with long sleeves and gloves. A clutch purse in hand, gripped firmly as if your lifeline. Strange for how you are dressed, he thought you were confident. Wait, you can talk!?

"Hey," Both if you are awkward once the greetings are done with.

"So are you—" The bug tries to speak to you.

"I would like this, please!" Grabbing something near you. A sarcophagus shaped pencil case.

"Right, bag or no bag?"

J.B. cannot believe this, "Why not toss in your digits while you're at it."

"That would be nice… If you want, Mr.Steven?"

The guard is dying in the background while Steven and you exchange numbers, talking, you apologizing for being so shy before. Two anxious little beans trying to find the right words to say to each other. Cute! Minus, everything you did which Marc told him about (Steven doubts it but it was a bit odd seeing you everywhere he was given how big London is).

"Bye, Steven." Your voice is downright dreamy.

"Bro, what the fuck?"

Steven shrugs.

*

You go back to the part smiling with joy, your powers about to on overload so you take a moment to breathe to calm down before you accidentally start a damn public orgy. Dionysus would have loved that. You miss him sometimes, he was fun when drunk.

Entering the exhibit full of people who paid their way into here (you did too under an alias) to be the first to see the mural.

You made that mural.

It was your gift to Aphrodite when you asked her to give you the ability to love the world as she did.

"Bring back memories." You nod, "Surprised you haven't killed anyone for removing this from her temple." You hum as you drink your champagne. "Achilles says he hopes you are doing well."

Zagerus, son of Hades and Persephone, Aphrodite's favorite little godling. He checks up on you often given you are one of the last Olympians alive-ish.

Zag, as he allows you to call him, keeps you up to date with the surviving Greek Gods which are the Underworld ones and the single Olympian Persephone. You never count yourself because she gave you her heart but did not possess you (her desires got that covered too often). 

"Beautiful as ever by the by." Kissing your hand when he leaves. "If I may?" You allow him to kiss your bare skin for your power will not work on a God, unless they wish it. "See next time, cheers." Walking away. You appreciate his visits are short since he cannot be on the surface long.

You stare at the mural, Aphrodite specifically.

[kiki-de-la-petite-flaque]

What is erotic about reading (or writing) is the play of imagination called forth in the space between you and your object of knowledge. Poets and novelists, like lovers, touch that space to life with their metaphors and subterfuges. The edges of the space are the edges of the things you love, whose inconcinnities make your mind move. Ciò che è erotico nella lettura (o nella scrittura) è il gioco dell’immaginazione evocato nello spazio tra te e il tuo oggetto di conoscenza. Poeti e romanzieri, come gli amanti, toccano quello spazio di vita con le loro metafore e sotterfugi. I confini dello spazio sono i confini delle cose che ami, le cui incongruenze fanno muovere la tua mente.

Anne Carson, Eros the Bittersweet

[strangefable]

uquizzes attack my girls again

Big thank you for tagging me goes to @lethal-justice, @roofgeese, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @direwombat, @aceghosts, @marivenah, @natesofrellis, and @sstewyhosseini for tragic horror trope. And @adelaidedrubman for deity assignment.

These quizzes are coming for my girls hard.

tagging back to all of you for the one you didn't tag me for, and passing on to @poetikat, @incognito-insomniac, @somethingclich8, @strafethesesinners, @thomrainer, @clonesupport, @jacrispea, @confidentandgood, @schoute, @funkypoacher, @i-am-the-balancing-point, @chilikecheese, @kyber-infinitygems, @galaxycunt, @mars-colony, @gayafsatan, @damejudyhench, and anyone else who'd like to have their ocs attacked <3

that which cannot be known

oh god. how did it come to this? to some extent, you've gone so far past your own idea of "human" that it must be kind of fun, right? maybe. i'm not sure. as an artefact of cosmic horror, you're wild and wacky and colourful and people are probably drawn to that, but you will never let them know you. the mystery intrigues for a while, but it'll wear everyone down. it'll wear you down, too. who are you? do you remember? are you so far gone that you can't go back? and maybe that's the most tragic thing of all- becoming so distorted in your identity, and for so long, that no matter how hard you want to return you can't ever seem to figure it out. but you've learned a vast amount up in the stars, and people will work hard to get to know you. it doesn't matter who you used to be. sometimes, you should just start from scratch: give yourself a name, a birthday. let someone celebrate these things with you.

desire and sexuality

you’re mysterious and alluring. when lovers seek a magnetic connection, they pray to you. you’re particularly associated with eros, erotic love, and mania, obsessive love. you exude intense magnetism and your voice is like a siren call, luring anyone and everyone you desire.

the final girl

the final girl comes out the other end of trauma alive- or, they were supposed to. honestly, you're not so sure you're really alive anymore. you saw the same hurt take those you were closest to while everyone paraded your bruises as bravery, as strength, as if you're the hero. and it hurts. you're tired and you don't want to have to be brave anymore. whatever you went through, it changed so much of who you were that you're still getting used to the person you see in the mirror. you didn't have a say in any of it, but you're here now, and that's gotta count for something. you'll make it count for something. but first, you need to let yourself find rest.

trickery and mischief

twisted and playful, you view humans as nothing more than mere toys or puppets. people provide you with offerings and keep their heads down so as to not upset you. you’re expressive and dramatic, though often lying and quite skilled at manipulation and illusion.

the harbinger

the harbingers have been through fire. you've got the scars to show for it. some people say harbingers are jaded- scary, even, to people who don't understand that the harbinger has seen the edge of the world and survived it. but being the harbinger means you're cursed to watch younger, brighter eyes fall for the same traps you did. trying to help isn't enough for you; you know what they're getting themselves into, and you want to protect them the way no one ever protected you, so why won't they just listen? it's frustrating. it's terrifying. no one should have to live through what you did, and i hope you know that you can't protect everyone but it's damn noble of you to try. it's not your job to save the world but i hope you know you've already made a difference to everyone who has taken your words to heart.

storms and the sea

your followers worship you for safe passage through the sea. your title implies a dark and brooding individual but you’re much more playful than the name implies. although you’re quite easy-going, you have no patience for those who disrespect the ocean and their punishment is nothing short of severe. those who do anger you are often never seen again, hidden in the depths of the sea that light can’t touch.

[alittlepunkrock]

where you go (i will go) - part iv

Summary: A visit to the Dreaming brings about new revelations and confrontations.

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x f!reader

Words: 5.5k+

AN: See end of chapter.

series masterlist // ao3

. . .

“I flew solo most of the way,

Until you popped up and got in the way;

And I mean that line in a good way.”

     - hazel inside, blackbear

. . .

part iv

“Let go,” he growls, pressing down on your throat harder. The hot tears clouding your vision are growing dark and blurry, the room around you dimming in spite of the smoldering fire beside you. You blink, trying to clear them away, but they don’t leave this time around. They persist, crawling inward, inching over your sight. The anxiety in your chest rises to a new pitch. You feel your body try to hyperventilate, only to choke on the emptiness in your lungs.

Something at the edge of your awareness calls to you, encourages you to do as he says and just let go. The rest of you bucks and rebels against it, fighting tooth and nail to hold on. Even in this moment, in spite of all that’s happening, you’re not ready to go. Not ready to leave him. You had so much to look forward to, so many plans. So much love to give. You were ready to give him it all.  It was all happening tomorrow.

The chaos in your chest reaches a fever pitch. Your heart hollows out at the thought that there will be no tomorrow for you.

As darkness envelopes what’s left of your vision, you feel his hot breath on your face one last time. “I don’t want you anymore.”

. . .

When mortals think of heartbreak, their minds typically turn to thoughts of star-crossed lovers, of loved ones lost, of relationships ended on bitter terms. As you creep through the small motel room you’ve found yourself in, tip-toeing around empty liquor bottles and haphazardly tossed cigarette butts toward the sleeping figure in front of you, you understand that heartbreak comes in many forms. You see it in the way the man sleeps slumped over in his chair, his hair unkempt, skin pale and sweaty, face covered in a gritty stubble. You feel the heartbreak in the way his fingers twitch for drink, seeking the comfort of a glass bottle even in slumber. Heartbreak is the fact that he sits in this dark motel room alone, though you can see a picture of himself, a kind-faced woman, and two young boys glowing on his phone’s lock screen. They looked happy.

Your eyes settle on the withering white, red, green, and orange attachments trailing from his heart, across the litter-strewn floor, under the motel door, and out into the night. A pale halo of blue philautia stutters around him. The solid black thread pulsing out of his chest is darker than all the shadows in the room.

Your heart sours at the sight. Ever since your assignments had been dropped at your door at midnight, you’d been flitting across the globe, trying to finish your daily duties before sunrise. Today was the day Matthew was to take you to see Morpheus in the Dreaming, and you wanted to be ready for him. The sight of the black attachment makes you all the more eager for your visit with the Dream Lord.

“Come here,” you whisper as you take the pale philia, eros, storge, and pragma threads in your hands. You hold them gently as you take a moment to ponder your choice of action. “When you wake, call your wife and sons. Be honest with them. Your wife has already found the help you need, but she’s waiting for you to love yourself enough to take it.” You pause, wetting your dry lips. Your fingers shift to trail over the weak glow of philautia surrounding him. “You may not feel you’re worthy of love. I know. But you are. You don’t have to do this alone. Accept the love they have for you. Let it sow the seed for you to love yourself again.”

As your voice trails away, the rainbow of attachments solidify and shine. The black thread remains, but seems less daunting when surrounded by a halo of radiant colors. You smile softly, pleased with your work. In the back of your mind, though, you fear it won’t be enough. What if Desire’s attachment overcomes what you’ve done?

Staring at the black thread before you, an unsettling air creeps through the room. The back of your neck prickles, hairs rising as you get the eerily distinct feeling that you and the mortal are not alone. That you’re being watched.

You spin around hastily, eyes sweeping the shadows of the room. But nothing, or no one, is there. You jump slightly at a low rumble arising beside you, only to exhale in relief when you realize the man has begun to snore quietly. With a shake of your head, you glance over the room again. Though no one else is here, you still can’t deny what your body is feeling. The sense that something is wrong.

With a run of your fingertips over the next set of names on your list, you slip into a new part of the world. The sensation slips away with it.

. . .

“Hey, uh, Lady Love? It’s me, Matthew. Remember, the talking raven? Can you let me in, please?”

“Matthew!” you exclaim with a grin. At the sound of his sharp beak tapping on your kitchen window, you toss your fantasy novel aside and jump out of your chair. Always eager to be part of the action, Theo slips between your feet as you hustle to the window. With an appropriate “Oh shit–,” you stumble forward, narrowly catching yourself on the kitchen window sill. Matthew’s large, dark eyes blink at you in surprise. With a laugh, you open the window, righting yourself as the messenger raven steps inside. “Sorry about that. Guess I should have left the window open for you, shouldn’t I?”

Matthew ruffles his feathers, stretching his wings after the long journey. You note that a new pouch of sand is tied to his leg. “Oh no, you’re fine. Honestly, I’m just glad you were awake. I told the boss– or, uh, Lord Morpheus that you might still be resting. It’s pretty early.”

Your eyes slide over to the clock on your stove, noting the time there. He’s right – it’s just barely past six in the morning, but you’d been up for hours. You were sure you’d never finished your daily assignments as fast as you had today. And without coffee, no less. It really was a shame Cliff didn’t open until seven.

As you finish setting up Theo’s food, water, and toys for the day, you make idle conversation. “So, ‘Dream?’ ‘Boss?’ That’s some friendly language. You and Dream Lord must be pretty close.”

Matthew’s dark beak inclines slightly, his inky chest feathers fluffing with pride. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. I mean, like I said, I’m basically his best friend. Besides Loosh. Funny, when I first came along, he didn’t even want me around.”

You give Matthew a friendly grin as you finish lacing your canvas sneakers. ‘“Sometimes the people we don’t expect to need are the ones who become the most important to us.”

Matthew seems to cock his feathered head in contemplation. You extend your arm to him, and he hops on with a flutter. “Huh. You know, I like that. That’s pretty good. The next time he tells me he can handle something himself, I’ll be sure to use that one.” Your laugh rings through your quiet townhome, and Matthew ruffles his wings appreciatively. “Are you ready?” he asks.

“Yes,” you breathe. You’d be lying if you said that your trip to the Dreaming wasn’t all you’d been thinking of for the past two days. Not only were you eager to get onto your partnership with the Dream Lord for the sake of your Realm, you were incredibly curious to see his work crafting dreams and nightmares. How did one create something so intimate, so unique to each individual, so limitless? Maybe you’d end the day with a better idea of what was going on in that tousled head of his.

“Alright, then. Matthew, Grand Messenger Raven of Dream of the Endless, first class provider of transportation, at your service.” With a caw, Matthew dips his head and snips the sand pouch on his leg with a flourish. Sand spills to your feet, settling for only a moment before it jumps to life. The vortex that forms around you is becoming more familiar, the fierce winds that whip around you less startling than your first go around. In spite of this, you still find yourself closing your eyes when the sand starts to skim your cheeks.

When the winds have died and you hear the sand whisper against the floor, you open your eyes to find yourself in the Library of Dreams. Though you’ve seen it before, its majesty is not lost on you. A slow smile warms your face as you turn in a slow circle, drinking in the sight. “This place is incredible,” you murmur.

Matthew hops from your arm to perch on a tall stack of books sitting on one of the tables. “Yeah, I guess it is pretty awesome if you like books and all. Which, by the look on your face, I’m guessing you do. I wasn’t much of a reader in my life as a human, but I’m gaining a better appreciation for them now,” Matthew says. Though his face gives nothing away, you can hear the grin in his voice. The sound of soft footsteps sound behind you, and Matthew’s attention flicks that way. “Hey, Loosh!”

You spin to find Lucienne emerging from one of the breaks in bookshelves behind you. Each room is filled with so many books that the spaces between the shelves are almost camouflaged. Her dark eyes smile as they land on you. “Ah, Miss Love. Welcome back to the Dreaming.” Her dark lips pull upwards, her expression open and kind. “I trust your journey went smoothly?”

“Oh, yes. Matthew is an excellent escort. And I’m getting used to all the sand.”

“I’m quite glad to hear that. Such an acclimation will serve you well here.” You chuckle softly, watching as she places a fresh stack of books on the table beside you. “Lord Morpheus is attending to some business with Mervyn, the palace’s custodian. One of our resident dreams, Fashion Thing, appears to have spilled a blood and perrier cocktail in the main hall. Quite the mess.” She shakes her head tenderly, obviously amused. “He should be finished shortly. Perhaps you’d like to peruse my library in the meantime?”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. “Oh, absolutely.” Lucienne smiles widely, a glimpse of bright white teeth peeking through her lips. “Matthew, please inform Lord Morpheus of Miss Love’s arrival,” she requests. At her instruction, Matthew caws a, “Yes, ma’am!” and takes flight toward the colossal stained-glass doors at the end of the long hall. Meanwhile, Lucienne beckons you farther into the library, away from the throne room.

“As I informed you at your last visit, this is the Library of Dreams. The dreams and events of every human life reside here, as well as the stories they invent, published and unpublished,” Lucienne explains, her bespectacled eyes drifting over the bookshelves with adoration. “I am the keeper of them all. The entire library is organized by century and alphabetically by last name. It makes it quite easy for myself, Lord Morpheus, and any other guest to find whatever record they like.”

You nod, lips parted in awe as your gaze moves from the stories of floors above you to the long bookshelf beside you. At the top of the shelf, you find an iron signpost reading “1500s - S.” Within moments, your eyes land on the book you’re looking for, the name embossed on the thick spine in gold lettering: William Shakespeare. “Shakespeare,” you murmur, fingers slipping the book from its shelf and thumbing through the pages. “Now, this guy and I have been through some times together. He made my job easy in some ways.” You laugh, eyes drifting over the countless thoughts, stories, and dreams recorded in Shakespeare’s book. “And maybe harder in some others.”

“Oh, yes. Lord Morpheus paid a special visit to Shakespeare in his youth, inspiring two plays in particular. Lord Morpheus has been instrumental in the inspiration and success of playwrights, composers, writers, and other dreamers all throughout history.”

A small smile graces your lips as your fingers close Shakespeare’s record gently. Your mind ponders all the artists that you yourself have encountered throughout the years, so many of them inspired by love, both reciprocated and unrequited. Bach, Mozart, Austen, Goethe, and so many more. Perhaps you and the Dream Lord’s paths had crossed more times throughout history than you’d thought.

“As I said, Miss Love, my library holds all records of mortals from the dawn of time. Perhaps you should like to take a trip down memory lane with your own volu–”

“No.” The exclamation is out of your mouth before you can reign it back in. Your eyes snap to Lucienne, register the surprised look on her face. You hastily try to stamp down the rising panic in your chest, to smooth your strained expression into something more neutral. A weak laugh escapes you as you try to play off the outburst. “Ah, sorry, Lucienne, but that won’t be necessary. It’s impossible, in fact. I don’t recall my mortal name. I don’t recall anything about my mortal life, really. I lost all of that when I became what I am today.”

Liar.

Lucienne’s face softens, her dark eyebrows furrowing. “Oh, Miss Love, I’m terribly sorry. I did not mean to overstep–”

You raise your hands hastily, shaking your head. You can’t deny the guilt that gnaws at your heart in the wake of your dishonesty, but you press onward. “No, please don’t apologize. There’s really no need. You didn’t know.”

Just as you’re trying to find some avenue of conversation to change the subject, the towering doors to the throne room slowly creek open. Your attention turns, grasping the distraction like a lifeline. With Matthew perched on one cloaked shoulder, Morpheus sweeps through the doorway, walking past the many reading tables to approach you and Lucienne. As he draws nearer, you can’t help but notice the same distinct feeling you did during your first visit to the Dreaming. A hum against your skin, a whisper in the air, a pull in your chest. Having seen him in the Waking World and the Realm of Attachment now, you realize just how potent his presence is in the Dreaming. Some distant part of your mind absentmindedly wonders if you give off a similar presence in your own Realm.

When he comes to a stop a few steps away, Morpheus dips his head slightly in a polite welcome. “Greetings, Love, Deity of the Realm of Attachment,” he murmurs, his voice a rumbling timber in the expansive library. He lifts his head, blue eyes catching yours. “I trust that Lucienne made for excellent company while you waited.”

You nod earnestly, smiling brightly at Lucienne. Though she returns the gesture, you can still glimpse a lingering apology in her eyes. “Yes, thank you. Lucienne was just showing me around her library. It’s extraordinary.”

“Indeed.” With a gesture of his hand, Matthew lifts off Morpheus’s shoulder to land on a lamp by Lucienne. The Dream Lord takes a step closer to you, his long cloak sweeping the floor near your sneakers. “I regret to interrupt your exploration of the library, but we have much to accomplish before dark. It is time for us to go.”

“Alright, Dream Lord. Lead the way.”

Today, when you catch a glimmer in his eye, you’re not so sure it’s simply a trick of the light. “We shall take a shortcut today,” he says. In a flourish, he grabs the long tail of his black cloak and sweeps it over the two of you. As the fabric flutters around you, a gasp passes over your lips. Because you were right the other day - within the Dream Lord’s cloak lives an endless expanse of cosmos. Stars twinkle all around you in the midst of deep navy, a particularly dark ripple of space snaking through the sky above you. The Milky Way. The constellations glimmering around you feel close enough to touch.

Just as quickly as you found yourself in the midst of a night sky, you find yourself exiting it. As Morpheus’s cloak ripples around you, sunlight pierces through the darkness. When the night scene is swept away, you find yourself standing on the black sandy beaches of the Dreaming. The sky of Dream Country, so bright and blue during your last visit, is softer today. The sun peeks through the thinly overcast sky, casting the clouds in muted shades of warm gold. A gentle breeze slips over the waters surrounding the Dreaming, carrying the refreshing scent of saltwater to your nose.

“This is where you go to craft dreams and nightmares?” you ask, following Morpheus’s dark form as he leads you toward the shoreline. As you approach the water, the black sand becomes speckled with dark beachrock. Its surface is slick and uneven under your canvas sneakers, and you pointedly step around the rocks to keep from falling.

“It is.” Morpheus comes to a stop just before the sand transitions into beachrock entirely. You halt beside him. The waves lap up onto the shore, nearly close enough to lick the tips of your shoes. A glance downward reveals small shells in a variety of hues nestled into the nooks where the sand meets the beachrock, tiny flecks of color amidst the dark. A tan sand crab scuttles out of a pit in the rock, hustling up the beach toward the sand. You smile at the sight. “The solitude permits me to think uninterrupted, and I find that the vastness of the ocean puts me in a productive headspace for crafting.”

You nod thoughtfully as your eyes survey the waters. He’s right – standing here on the edge of everything, anything seems possible. “So, how do you start?”

The Dream Lord remains silent for a moment, his blue eyes trained on the shifting waves before you. Then, he murmurs, “It all starts with an idea.”

You consider making some kind of teasing quip, an “of course it does,” but pause. Instead, you say, “Tell me more.”

Morpheus tucks his chin between the lapels of his cloak, closing his eyes in contemplation. When he speaks, it’s with the voice of something ancient, a tradesman with eons of experience, a master of his craft. An Endless. “It all starts with an idea. What does humanity require? What may the Dreaming offer them? What shall prompt them to thrive, what shall prompt them to learn? Dreams are meant to bestow joy, fantasy, inspiration, and hope. They are a reprieve from the Waking World, a safe haven where weary humans find rest. Nightmares, too, are meant to serve humanity. Their function is to serve as a dark mirror that reflects a dreamer’s greatest fears back at them. Nightmares afford dreamers the opportunity to face these fears in the safety of my Realm, so that they may overcome them.”

You nod, soaking in this information thoughtfully. The idea that nightmares were meant to serve humanity rather than frighten them was something you had never considered before. “Do you create dreams and nightmares for each individual mortal?” you ask.

“On occasion. To do so for each individual human would require a considerable amount of time. More often, I craft a dream or nightmare with a particular function. To take a dreamer back to their childhood, to allow them to fulfill a fantasy…then, my creation may go to the dreamers and fulfill their function whilst tailoring it to that human’s lived experience.”

You mull over his explanation in silence for several minutes. As a deity whose work involves visiting each mortal individually, albeit not every day, you understand firsthand how time-consuming that can be. “Okay, so we’re creating a dream with a blanket purpose that can be individualized to different dreamers. What are you thinking?”

Morpheus raises his head. As a sea breeze ruffles his dark feather-like hair, he opens his eyes and turns to you. “You walk amongst humans daily. I should like your thoughts on the matter. What do you believe would bring them joy, reprieve?”

You blink, surprised. You had expected to be more of a passive observer today than an active participant in Morpheus’s work. Your mind quickly turns to the man from this morning. Fingers twitching for drink in his restless sleep. His family, his joy, ripped away by a vice. He must feel so alone. “Freedom,” you say. “Freedom from the vices and burdens that feed upon them. That impair their ability to be happy.”

“Freedom.” The word sounds foreign on Morpheus’s tongue. “Intriguing. I spoke with someone very recently who wished for the same thing.”

“Did they get it?”

“One might say so. Though not in the way he expected.” Morpheus dips his hand into his cloak pocket, procuring a palmful of sand. “But we shall give the humans what they desire. Freedom.”

He sweeps his arm outward, scattering sand all around you. Rather than dropping to the beach, the sands dance through the air, shifting and shimmering. The world beyond them blurs like a mirage. You blink quickly, disoriented. When you open your eyes, you are no longer standing on the beach. Instead, you’re standing in the center of a lush, rolling meadow in full bloom. Wildflowers form a sea around you, each color of the rainbow represented in a speckled tapestry. The grass stretches as far as you can see, and an endless blue sky yawns above your head. It’s beautiful.

Suddenly, a strong gust of wind whips around you, sending your hair flying in all directions. It whirls around you again and again, giving you only a moment’s reprieve before it spins around you a final time. When it does, it spirals with enough gusto to lift you off your feet. Your laughter is bright and joyful as it rings over the field. Though the wind is a fantastical creature, you don’t find yourself startled or frightened. As it suspends you in the air and twirls you around, it seems almost playful.

At your side, Morpheus seems untouched by the childlike breeze. He lifts one pale hand slowly, palm facing upward. The very air around you seems to hum with life. “Freedom. A world without limitations, without burdens. Where one can feel weightless.” He closes his hand into a fist, then unfurls his fingers and guides his palm outward. Slowly, the scene around you shimmers and shifts. The glimmering sands around you follow Morpheus’s command to drift forward. They dance along his arm, around his fingers, gathering into a humanoid shape in front of you. The soles of your shoes gently return to the ground, burying themselves in beach sand once again as the meadow fades away.

A quiet gasp escapes you as you gaze at the dream taking shape before you. A collection of grass blades and petals flitting around on an invisible breeze, confined in a humanoid shape. You can see dandelion pappus gathering in two curved lines on the being’s face like fair eyelashes resting against a cheek. Chinese silver grass fans down its back like hair. “It’s beautiful,” you whisper.

“It will be some time before she comes to,” Morpheus says at your side. His blue eyes sweep over his creation, giving rapt attention to each detail. For the first time since you met him, there is a glimpse of gentleness on his normally stoic face. “Even dreams require rest.” After a few quiet minutes, he turns to you. “Do you have questions?”

Questions? What a ridiculous thing to ask. Of course you had questions. Your brain feels like a shaken beehive; all chaotic, curious energy with no sense of direction. There is so much that you want to know. The only coherent thought you’re able to form is, “You spend so much time inspiring others. What inspires you?”

Your question gives the Dream Lord pause. He looks down at you in silence. It suddenly occurs to you that maybe, just maybe, no one has ever asked him that question before. What inspires the one who spends all his time inspiring others?

After a long moment, Morpheus turns his gaze back to the dream in front of you. Delicate chaparral currant blooms have gathered to form soft pink lips on her gradually evolving face. “I came into existence with the first being that required rest,” he murmurs quietly. “I understand that without them, I would not have become, and cannot be. One day, when my sister brings this world to its conclusion and rest is no more, I, too, will be no more. Some of my siblings – Desire, Despair – feel that their purpose is to be served while we exist. I recognize that my function is to serve. But although I am Endless, I cannot simply do as I please. The universe craves balance, requires it. As you have a set of scales, I have my own, in a way.” He pauses, pink lips pursing. “There cannot be fantasy without fear. But I have found that both fantasy and fear alike have the capability to transform.”

Your mind races, turning his words over again and again, reading the lines between his sentences. “They gave you your life and function,” you whisper quietly. Your eyes search his face for some vulnerability, some emotion, but find none. “You want to return that gift. You want to serve them by helping them reach their potential.” His lack of response is an answer in its own way.

The two of you stand on the beach in silence for some time, lost in thought. When you finally speak again, the dream before you has sprouted two cirrus cloud wings. “So, what’s next? A nightmare?”

Morpheus gradually draws out of his reverie. “Yes,” he says slowly, voice low. “You were once human. Tell me, what do you fear?”

Though his voice is soft, the question rings loudly in your ears. Your head thrums with the pounding of your heartbeat as you turn your eye inward. Looking within yourself is something you strive not to do, self-reflection something you have pointedly ignored ever since . . . well, ever since everything happened. You had tried, of course, to ask yourself in the aftermath: Why? What could I have done differently? Pain was the only response that had echoed from the depths within you. A solitary existence was, in a way, both the cure and the contagion. Loneliness served as both a coat of armor and an endless provocation to look inward, only to find that which you did not want to see.

Your mind turns to Desire’s opposition, your conditional divinity, all that happened eons ago. You know he expects an answer. You know precisely the one to give. It feels as if there is a vice grip around your throat as you choke out, “Not being enough.”

For several long moments, the Dream Lord is incredibly still. Then, in silence, he raises one hand ever so slightly. The black grains of sand at your feet start to sway and shift, pulling away from you as if answering a silent call. You watch with bated breath as they gather slowly, building upwards into two feet, two legs, a torso, two arms, a face. At first, it’s merely a mask of churning sand. But then, a flash of color – an eye. Your eye.

As you recoil backward, a flash of white teeth gleam through the dark grains before retreating back within them. Other features start to emerge from within the sand; a nose, a cheek, pink lips. Within moments, the being in front of you has transformed its face into a flawless imitation of yours. Something primal within you rears its head in response. The nightmare’s lips draw into a smile, but not a friendly one. There is an unnatural tightness in its lips. This smile is small and cruel.

Morpheus’s words echo in your mind. Their function is to serve as a dark mirror that reflects a dreamer’s greatest fears back at them. Nightmares afford dreamers the opportunity to face these fears in the safety of my Realm, so that they may overcome them.

As you confront your own reflection, you find you only want to run.

. . .

The black sand makes for a soft cushion as you plop down with a long sigh. The beach, teaming throughout the afternoon with dreams and nightmares of all designs and forms, is now empty save for you and the Dream Lord. The dream of freedom that Morpheus created – Fawn, he named her – was the last to depart several minutes ago. Her cirrus cloud wings cut through the night sky like shooting stars as she flew away, off to deliver feelings of giddy weightlessness to the Waking World.

As you peer up at the twinkling blanket of stars above, you can’t help but wish that you’d meet her in your own rest tonight. That you could ride on her playful coattails, soaring through an endless field of green without a care in the world. But dreams and nightmares were not for immortal beings. No, you know what awaits you in your dreamless unconscious tonight. It makes you reluctant to return home, yearning to stay out just a little longer.

Despite your lack of need for sleep, you can’t deny that you do need to rest. A distinct cloud of mental fatigue hangs over your brain after the long day. You turn to Morpheus, who stands still beside you, staring up at the stars. “I can’t imagine being responsible for the dreams and nightmares of all mortals. Not just giving them a place to rest or grow, but crafting ideas to inspire them and help them progress as a society. Spurring the world on through artists, engineers, inventors . . . all of it. It must be incredibly taxing, especially after so many eons.”

Morpheus’s gaze tracks the path of a shooting star streaking overhead. The inky sky is reflected in his eyes, two pools of black with a glimmering star in each. “My function goes beyond dreams and nightmares,” he murmurs. He speaks purposefully, thoughtfully, handling his words with the same care with which he crafts dreams and nightmares. “I contain the entire collective unconscious of the universe. Such a function requires laws, boundaries, structure. To have one being preside over something so incomprehensible without these would result in nothing but chaos. It is a responsibility of considerable weight. One I am well-accustomed to bearing.”

You study him in silence. You can appreciate his dedication to his rules, his structure. You had your own to follow, and you had seen what happened when the boundaries of duties were overstepped, when power was taken advantage of. Rules provided safety, security. In the midst of a turbulent, ever-changing universe, they were reliable.

As you reflect on the day, you’re surprised to find yourself feeling calm and content. You had expected to feel anxious in Morpheus’s presence, to feel inadequate as a mere deity in the presence of an Endless. You’d expected to feel nervous about your next steps. But as you sit here reflecting, feeling the soft grit of the sand beneath your palms, you find that you’re excited about what’s to come.

“Well, perhaps I can help remove a little of that weight. Just a little bit,” you say with a small smile. With a grunt, you rise to your feet and pat the loose sand off your jeans. “So, when would you like to start this new undertaking of ours? I’m ready anytime.”

Morpheus slowly pulls his eyes away from the stars to look at you. He appraises you in silence for a moment, something you’re becoming quite accustomed to. When he raises his chin ever so slightly, your instinct tells you to anticipate a challenge. “Why not tonight?” he asks.

You return the gesture, offering him a bright grin. Grateful for an excuse to not go home yet. To avoid rest for just a little longer. “Why not?” you say. You sweep an arm outward, gaze drifting over the beach, the mountains, the ocean beside you. “Where do you want to start?”

“No, here will not suffice.” Your eyebrows furrow at his words. “For an undertaking such as this, we shall require a concentrated source of power to work from. For this, we must travel to the location where the veil between the Waking World and the Dreaming is at its thinnest.”

You nod slowly in understanding. “Alright, Dream Lord. Lead the way.”

Morpheus’s boots whisper through the dark sands as he steps closer. For the second time today, he sweeps the long tail of his cloak over the two of you.

And in the blink of an eye, you’re gone.

. . . 

AN: Hello, everyone! Thank you so much for the kind words about parts i-iii. I am truly blown away by all your sweet, encouraging comments. I officially have the entire story mapped out, and we’re looking at a good fifteen to twenty chapters. I am so excited to have you all along on this ride with me and hope you come to love this story as much as I do!

I did want to let you all know that I am having some major issues with my Tumblr account. My posts aren’t showing up in tags, and I’m unable to message anyone or reply to any comments. Obviously, that’s causing a lot of problems, plus it means I can’t message those on the update list about new chapters. I sent a ticket to Tumblr several days ago, but haven’t heard back. I’m hopeful that this issue will get resolved soon, but if it doesn’t, I’m likely going to begin posting this story on my second Tumblr, @lilpunkrock. In the meantime, while I’m still trying to get things fixed, it would mean the world to me if you guys would consider reblogging part iv. Since my posts aren’t showing up in tags, reblogs are the only way to spread the mopey dream prince love right now.

Thanks so much for all you support! Love you all!

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Chapter 4 ~ Kinslayer

"Katrina. You are here." Kratos's rough voice noted, as soon as he entered his large chambers, on Mount Olympus. Upon his bed, he saw a cascade of crimson velvet and petals sprawled all over the silk sheets, and her green tunic was twisted around her slender body, proof that she must have shifted and rolled around the bed for a while, in his absence, restless as she was reading some kind of manuscript. As soon as she heard his voice, she turned her head to the side lazily, only to put the book aside, and crawl to the edge of the bed, waiting expectantly, yet with a cute, kitten smile on her face. "Welcome back, my love. I pray your day went well." as soon as he heard her honeyed voice, Kratos could feel all his worries disappear, so he sat next to her, pulling her on his lap, so she could work her magic on him. "It was fine." he muttered, closing his eyes and feeling those soft hands cupping his face - Though she was unable to erase the visions or the nightmares plaguing him, her magic was allowing her to create a sense of serenity to those she was touching - And for Kratos, that was the difference between losing himself in his madness, and carrying on. "What were you reading?" "I found an old manuscript of Sappho's, filled with poems that she had not the time to publish, for she was taken away from this world. Must I say, I have always been a great lover of her art, yet this one, is truly touching." the red haired woman explained, reaching out for the book, playfully hiding herself from the man with it. "It was truly lovely, being able to contribute to her academy, where she taught young women all sorts of things, especially when it came to art... Though, I must say, I was a little jealous - She truly loved Aphrodite and Eros. A lot." she giggled softly, hearing the man grunt. "What is it, Kratos? Do not tell me you are... Envious, of a woman who loves another? Or is it because it is Aphrodite, she loved?" she continued teasing him, only to feel herself being rolled on her back, on the bed, with the man towering over her. Once again, the Goddess used the book to hide her face and her smile.  "What are you playing at, you vixen?" gently, he grabbed her wrists and pulled them away, revealing that light blush and the enchanting timid grin she was wearing. "I am doing nothing of the sort, my darling. I just felt you were feeling unusually stressed and hoped I might be able to take your mind off your problems, for a little while." she explained, reaching out her arms around his body and pulling him down on the bed, next to her. "What is it that ails you so, my love?"

Kratos, the Ghost of Sparta, had taken his place amongst the Olympians as the God of War. The bloodshed, the relentless battles - They had finally brought him here. With Ares dead, and Olympus beckoned, yet the visions of his mortal existence still haunted him, even with aid from the Goddess with whom he was sharing a bed with for so long. Visions, nightmares of his old life, of himself and Deimos sparring together, of his mother calling out his name - They hit him like a whip - And he knew that this time, they were not just mere visions, results of his failures... For with the Gods, nothing was ever as it seemed, and though he still had much to learn in dealing with their riddles and twisted meanings, he had genuine help. 

"I... I had visions... Of my mother. She asked me to help her." the man explained, evidently troubled. "Then let us me on our way and aid her." the woman immediately said, getting in a sitting position. "Why are you not questioning the validity of this vision?" the man frowned, confused at her eagerness. "For you have never had this vision before. One thing is to have visions of the past, and another, to have one calling out for you so directly." she explained with ease. "Not to mention... I have a... Feeling... That whatever reason she called you for, it must be related to your brother." for the first time in ages, Kratos was reminded of the first tragedy and failure that he had to witness. "Deimos? What about him? He is dead." agitated, Kratos jumped to his feet in a flash and started pacing around. "I am not entirely sure, actually. In theory, he should be. It would make sense. He was taken for a reason, after all. With all that considered, however... Ever since the night he was taken away, I could not help but have this feeling of... Hope? Something that kept my mind thinking that there was still a ray of chance that he may be saved, one way or another." the woman speaking for the first time of this event truly surprised the Spartan, who turned and fixated his gaze upon her. "You have never spoken of this before. Is it related to the prophecies you kept mentioning before?" by the way she hung her head, he could see the guilt and shame overflowing from her heart. "Kratos... Do you remember that night? Do you know why Ares took Deimos, in the first place?" the woman asked, and for the first time in a while, the Spartan took some time to voluntarily recall the awful memories from his past. "I... Remember how Ares took him... And how he destroyed the village. And I remember you, saving me from underneath that house, and how you stood up to him. I still cannot tell why he was taken." it was obvious how he was struggling to remember, and failing, for he was just a child. "Are you emotionally and mentally ready to find out the reason behind that night?" from the look of remorse in her gleaming eyes, he realised the gravity of the situation - O, how a good day begins, with laughter and joy, and ends with mourning and weeping. "No. But I have to know. I have been left in the dark and wronged by the Gods for far too long. I have a right to know." without meaning to, he raised his voice, and only then realised how uncomfortable he made the woman before him - He knows she cannot stand any type of aggressiveness, but he could not yet control the anger within. "Very well. I shall tell you - But you must act with caution, do you understand?" once the warning was heeded with yet another one of his grunts, the Goddess sighed and stood tall, stepping around the room with her feet bare, and flowers and grass blooming wherever she stepped. "When you were a child... There was an Oracle, who foretold the demise of Olympus. Since the beginning, Zeus always feared a Titan rebellion, and thought that would be the end of us - But no. The destruction of Olympus, and with it, the death of Zeus and the Gods that reside here... It was to be brought upon by a mortal... That we know as The Marked Warrior." the Goddess told him the prophecy, and in a low voice, she could hear him ushering the nickname given to the prophesised one. "As you recall... Deimos was born with a distinctive birthmark on his face... Hence why, you also, have dorned one, in his honour. Zeus was afraid, so he sent Ares and Athena down to Sparta, to get rid of that child before it is too late." she continued on briefly. "Athena... Was there too?" his eyes widened with shock - It seemed that he truly recalled so little of that interaction. "Oh, yes, my love - She was there. Zeus only ever truly loved two of his children - Ares, and Athena. All the other ones were cast aside to be cherished by others... Such as myself. You were made to kill Ares because of Zeus picking favourites again, and that made the once favoured Ares to feel... Jealous and undermined... Ha. Imagine all of Zeus's children, trying to go against Olympus for being left in the dark. How foolish." she muttered to herself, out of spite, before regaining her composure. "And how do you know that Deimos is alive, then? Surely, if Zeus was afraid of him, he would have killed him in that instant." Kratos marched in front of the woman and grabbed her shoulders, so as to look her in the eyes and search for the truth. "You see, Kratos... The Marked Warrior had another prophecy told about him... And it is... Rather contradictory, at least for now. Long before you and Deimos were born, the Sisters of Fate spoke of the Marked Warrior as such - That he would become the greatest General that Sparta ever had, and that he will have a beautiful family made out of love. As of now... Neither of these have happened." the truth was clear in her voice, yet somehow, Kratos could feel, she was letting out some details.  "And why were you there, then?" his voice was lower and questioning, yet he still held her face dearly in his hands. "I tried to save him." she spoke in such a pitiful, heartbreaking way, that it shocked the man. "Before he was born, the Marked Warrior was fated to be soulbound to me. The Marked Warrior was my soulmate. My heart felt the moment he was brought into this word... And somehow, in the back of my mind, I can still feel that he is alive. I want to believe that. It is the only thing that keeps me going." he couldn't help but wipe away the stray tears streaming down her cheeks - He could never understand how could one weep over a love that has never taken place, yet the way it looked, she was as distraught as he was, after the loss of Lysandra. "If he is alive, then... Will you help me save him?" the man asked, touching his forehead over hers, and through all the storm brewing in his heart and mind, he could feel peace clearing the fog. "I would do anything for you, Kratos."

With that answer given, the mysterious vision of his past set the two Gods in search of answers - Answers that lay in the temple of Poseidon, deep within the city of Atlantis. Though, as always, Athena's statue was quick to warn the Spartan of the foolish errand on which he was embarking. "This is not a wise course of action, Kratos. It was a dream, nothing more." she claimed, as the two stood in the pouring rain, on the boat sailing away. "The visions still haunt me, Athena. The visions YOU promised to take away... But THIS vision... I can change." the man spoke with strong conviction. "Perhaps it is a vision best left unchanged. There is more to this than either of you know... Please..." but in her anger, Katrina yelled - Or at least, she attempted to - Yell at her sister's statue to quiet down, and thankfully, the statue spoke no more.

Though the journey was, as expected, filled with enemies from under the sea, not even the great Scylla could get in the way of Kratos and his ambition of finding his mother, answers, and ultimately, saving his brother, should he truly be alive still.  Climbing up various structures, the two travelers found themselves by the Temple of Thanatos, the God of Death, a vestige of a long forgotten time, erected before the rule of the Olympians, this temple was not placed here by mortal hands. Within its walls lay a passage to the domain of death - The entrance to a world that no mortal dared enter thus far. 

Walking past, although the Goddess had enough thoughts in her head about this temple, they carried on, going up the elevator to the upper floors of the City of Atlantis, doing far too much swimming of which Katrina was not fond of, especially with the uncomfortable feeling of the rich linen sticking to your skin - Alas, Poseidon's love for water was incomprehensible to a fault.

Seeing the many statues, she remembered stories from after the Great Titan War, when Poseidon took dominion over the Seas and erected a monument fit to his glory - Hence, the birth of the great City of Atlantis -... Though grand, Katrina always thought that the Gods were much too greedy and narcissistic for their own good. Even so, with the Lord as their guardian, the Atlanteans thrived beyond all other societies, and thus, these devout and peaceful citizens stand as a testament to mankind's future. If one could look past all the ego-centrical power movements, you could see the prosperity of this developed city. 

As they ran up a slippery slide, they could see the Temple of Poseidon, in the distance - A monument built by the Atlanteans, to the greatness of their protector and benefactor - The God of the Seas. Once they arrived in front of the door, it spoketh. "Know thyself, and the path shall be revealed." with this in mind, Kratos grabbed the woman's wrist and brought her with him - With such a tricky riddle, he feared that, should they enter separately, they will lose their way, not only from each other, but from their own selves as well.

Once inside this dream-like state, Kratos walked down a familiar path - It was his home, in Sparta, from back when he was still a child. It was the dead of night, and he could see two children sparring. "Come, brave Spartans, the battle is done." the sound of a familiar feminine voice called out vividly, and a silhouette appeared before the two little ones. "Kratos, bring Deimos inside." his mother called out to him, and the two followed inside - Following the dissipating vision inside, they stumbled upon an elderly woman, laying down - She looked gravely ill, and coughing.

"How I have missed you, Kratos." the woman's tired voice called out to him dearly.  "What treachery is this? ... Another trick of the Gods?" he asked, his voice harsh and angry - How much could one's heart take? "No, Kratos, it is no treachery. This is... A real person. Is this... Your mother?" the Goddess kelt before the sickly human, trying to heal her into getting better... But she was cursed, and there was nothing that she could do about it. She might be a healer, but she was definitely no curse-breaker. "Yes, my son... It is me..." upon hearing the confirmation, Kratos fell besides his mother's body and held her in his arms, so carefully that he might have been afraid she would disintegrate before his very eyes. "Your father brought me here. I have waited so long..." she caressed the face of his child dearly, yet her skin was deathly pale, and her hand was skeletal from how she thinned because of the sickness. "We do not have much time, Kratos - Your brother does not have much time." "Deimos...?" talks of his brother, him being brought here - It dawned on him that the reality of his brother being alive was now, more than ever, exactly that - A reality. "He lives... Trapped in torment, deep in Death's Domain." the mother explained, pained and in misery. "But... He's gone. You told me that he was!" Kratos could not believe the words that he was hearing. He could not accept that he was living in a lie, after so long.  "I'm sorry - I had no choice but to lie. You must listen now! The Temple of Ares in Sparta... Holds the secret that will lead to your brother. The road will not be easy... But you must help him! He... Needs you." through coughs and exhaustion, she managed to warn her son, who hung his head in disbelief. "This... This cannot be..." though his voice was soft at first, rage took over him quickly. "Why?! Why would you do this?!" his own mother, lying to him about his own brother's fate.  "Your father forbid me to tell you..." there was fear in her eyes, whenever she mentioned the father. "My father? Who IS my father?!" the man demanded an answer, only for the Goddess to put her hand on his mother's. "You are cursed. Are you... Sure... You are ready?" she could feel that, once she broke her vow, she would die, one way or another. "I have lived a long and pitiful life, under fear and a curse that I dared not break... But my children have suffered for far too long... They deserve to know the truth... They deserve to live their life however they want... And Deimos... Deimos... He must be rescued, at once." the mother squeezed Katrina's hand, and offered a small yet grateful smile. "Please, continue looking after them... I know you always had. I am grateful for everything you have done for them, and will continue to think that-a-way." "Very well. I vow to you, this is an oath that I shalt never break, be it that I lay my life down for them. Of that, you can rest assured." with a kiss on the mother's hand, Katrina stood up and offered the mother and son a few moments alone.

With one last dear look at her beloved child, Callisto rose enough to whisper into Kratos's ear, before falling back down and squirming from extreme pain. Realising what was going on, the Goddess quickly grabbed the man and pulled him behind her. "Look away, Kratos. A child should never have to see his mother dying." she spoke, creating a spear and watching with a closed heart how the once lovely mother transformed into some kind of horrendously malformed monster - Though, as soon as the weapon found its way impaled into her heart, she fell back on the ground, in her human form. "Why... Why did this happen...?" the stupefied man was somehow able to find the strength to speak. "The person who cursed your mother wanted to keep the identity of your father a great secret. If she were to tell you any sooner, the same fate would have befallen her. But now, you are stronger, and you can avenge her, and rescue your brother." it wasn't something easy to tell a child, but it had to be told. Kratos stepped from behind the woman and picked his fallen mother in his arms, for the last time.  "Finally... I am free." though dead, he could see the liberation she felt with it. "Find your brother... Kratos... Go to... Sparta... Find Deimos... He... Needs you."  she managed to utter with her dying breath, but with it, she took another piece of Kratos's heart. "Mother!" he exclaimed, unable to comprehend the shock of seeing his mother dead in his own arms. "What have I done..." "Do not blame yourself, Kratos. It is the fault of the one who cursed you." Katrina hoped her words would set him on the path of revenge and forget the foolish idea of blaming his own guiltless self. After all, with her last breath, she released the weight of her burden, and finally found the peace she had long sought. 

But for Kratos, the rage was almost palpable, watching his mother's body being transformed into a bed of flowers did nothing to erase the anger he felt, having the last of his family being taken away from him by the Gods. Fate had, once again, pushed him to the brink of madness.  Picking up the golden bracelet from the ground, she held onto the man's hand and placed it on his palm, only to see him grunting and looking away, unable to gaze at the last reminder he had of his mother. Though, after careful thinking, he gingerly took the accessory in his hand and held onto the woman's arm, putting it next to her other vine-like golden bracelets. He said nothing, but at least he seemed more content, knowing that a woman he cherished would hold and treasure the last keepsake he had of his mother.

With a squeeze of his hand, Katrina was the first to brave the unknown and guided the man further into the temple, where they found the Eye of Atlantis relic, which gave Kratos the ability to channel the storm in a beam. It perfect for his quest... But, just before they were to leave, the Scylla had other plans, and it dragged the God of War somewhere under the water after he pushed her away from its destructive path, to some active volcano. Things just couldn't get any better, the Goddess thought sarcastically as she thought of say way to get down there effectively. She didn't thrive in the ocean like Poseidon, or near magma, for her flowers would easily melt - But by the time she was done overthinking her strategic move, she saw the Spartan emerging from underneath the water, thrown away into some far away balcony, whilst the volcano itself seemed to have erupted as it started to destroy the great city.

Unable to wrap her mind around whatever it was that was going on, she used her liana to reach the place where Kratos was waiting - Though, upon her last swing, a magma stone melted through one of her vines and she could feel herself free-falling. Thankfully, the man had seen the act, and with his fantastically refined reflexes, he had managed to grab her rope and pulled her up, before engulfing her into his arms and watching briefly the end of Atlantis. The battle with the Scylla had shaken the very foundation of Poseidon's Kingdom. Atlantis was sinking - But that mattered little to the Ghost of Sparta. 

The two made their way through the ruined island of Crete until they found the Temple of Athena, and Kratos could not help himself, and went to yell at the statue of the Goddess that claimed to help him, but lied. "Athena! You lied to me! The Gods lied to me!" he yelled, but the statue was not responding. "My brother lives! HE LIVES!" once again, she completely ignored the Spartan. "ATHENA!!!" nothing. Sighing, and annoyed beyond measure, Katrina took out her weapon, and with a look of approval from the God of War, she destroyed the statue of the lying Goddess. "Forgive me, Kratos, but I have never had much patience for the lies veiled in fake wisdom, as my sister so calls it. If it is manipulation she wants to do, let her hone her skills on others." though, just as magically, the fallen head of the statue started speaking. "Though I do not appreciate my statues being desecrated - Kratos, you must not let your rage blind you. There is much you do not know. be warned, they will all try to stop you." but he did not allow her to finish speaking, as he crushed the stone head with his foot from the rage she was instilling in him. "Let us continue our journey, Kratos. Do not let her words plague your judgement. I know she angered you so, but she is gone now, and we have much to do." once again, mimicking the way he had touched their foreheads together, she did just that, and succeeded in calming down the storm inside his heart, so that they could continue venturing on.

Once they reached the gates of Crete, they realised the full extent of the destruction that had befallen the ones living there. There, they heard a voice - It was broken, as if it had cried for three days and three nights without end - But upon realising where it came from, they saw a soldier, holding one of his fellow brothers in arms... Though it was only the top half, for the bottom one, it was sprawled across the ground with viscera spilling everywhere. Such a gruesome sight... Whoever could have committed such a disgusting crime?

They had angered the Gods, the live one said, as he tried to give the warning to the Ghost of Sparta. They have been spared by 'The Daughter', and that... Death awaits the Ghost. He will never get the Skull... What Skull, though? He died before he could speak any further, but this sight only determined Kratos to continue further in his search for his brother. Traversing through Heraklion until they found the Grave Digger again, making a mockery of Kratos and his hate for the Gods, whilst taunting him about his brother, but Katrina only put her hand on the man's shoulder and pushed him away, not wanting to hear any more foolery about the path they were walking on.

Walking past the statue of two warriors crossing spears, he remembers the good times when he was little and sparring with his brother - Though he always defeated him, he always told him good advice. A Spartan warrior never lets his back hit the ground, he remembers telling his brother. Even in death, a Spartan stands tall for battle. You are a Spartan, are you not?! his voice resounds in his mind, and the look of defeat in his brother's eyes, as he held the point of the spear to his neck, came haunting him once more.  Yes, Kratos, he had said, before Kratos helped him up on his feet... And then, their village was burnt to the ground, and Deimos was taken away. 

They ventured to the Mounts of Aroania, where they saw a winged woman, inquiring a man about the whereabouts of the Ghost of Sparta, only to kill him upon realising his lack of knowledge... But as they reached the dying man, Kratos realised, he was a Spartan warrior, and he granted his blessings before death. This treacherous pass, Kratos pointed out, is one of the very few routes into Sparta. These mountains are also the proving grounds where young warriors are sent alone to face their deepest fears, before being given the honour to join the ranks of the Great Spartan Army. 

This place was called, and it felt lifeless... The Chasm of Solace, they called it, though it was the Chasm of Death, Katrina thought. She never agreed to the cruelty that the Spartan faced - Though, she admitted it was effective, in its own way. Even so, she continued to be against war and conflict, and should she be able to avoid meaningless death, she would. Still, she wanted dearly to believe that children did not have to encounter such horrors, as the minions and monsters brought before them, as it would be less than unfair.

Once they reached the Aroania pass, however, they finally got a better look at the winged woman - It was Erinys, the daughter of Thanatos, the God of Death. Pain, given form... Evil, given life. Katrina shuddered looking at her, knowing very well how the woman before her was her exact opposite, especially when it came to her convictions, but the uncomfortable feeling of dread only amplified once the daughter spoke, in a whispery, eerie voice that sent shivers down your spine. "Ghost of Sparta. The God Slayer. Your brother belongs to Thanatos. So does your blood." she ushered softly, glaring at the man on the other side of the broken bridge. "You cannot stop me. Nothing can." Kratos interjected, only to have the woman fly before him, looking for a death fight, which she couldn't win. In spite of her magic and various allies, Kratos was able to rip away her wings and even defeated her giant bird-form whilst he was being flown around, for free falling to reach the animal form. The two plunged to the ground, deep into the forest, where Kratos could deliver the killing blow, cutting off her arm, impaling her torso and picking up the Scourge of Erinys, an artifact that unleashes a power which no mortal nor God should wield, as it created eternal voids.

In her flurry, Katrina managed to follow the path of destruction, transforming into a cloud of butterflies and searching for the man that was taken away, only to find him somewhere deeper into the woods - At the very entrance of Sparta. Granted, she had never walked the bridge of Sparta, so it felt overwhelming, especially hearing the claims, hails and cheers for the Spartan, the God of War, all adoring and loving. It was a great change of pace, and she had to admit, she found herself smiling, despite all the horrors they had encountered. He, also, felt calmer. Nostalgic, even.

As they stopped at some point, she could see him zoning out, looking into the horizon - He must have remembered a fond memory, from long ago... Or, at least, it must have been, until Ares and Athena came by to destroy this place... All because of that Oracle's prophecy... Whoever controlled the Marked Warrior, controlled the Fate of Olympus... They were at his home. "Deimos... I will find you..." he found himself uttering out loud, only to feel a small pair of arms wrapping around his form, from behind. "Be strong, my love. We will find him. We will bring him back home. I promised your mother, and I promise you, all the same." her grip on him tightened, though he could feel nothing - Her strength, despite it being that of a God, it was nothing compared to his - Even so, it felt good. He always felt good in her arms. It was the only time he felt all his visions staying away from his mind. The only moment of peace he could get. "That, we will." with a grunt and a certain nod of his head, the two went on ahead, descending to the Jails of Sparta, fighting a Piraeus Lion set loose by a deserter who easily found himself being slain by the Lord Commander, and his body used as weight for a mechanism to work, so they can climb up the ladder and reach the Mountains of Laconia. Though short, their journey home was bittersweet, and Kratos would have loved to indulge, at least a single night in his old home which he missed dearly. Alas, Deimos had been waiting for a long time, and he was his only priority at that moment.

Perhaps, some day soon, together, they may return to their old home, and have a drink, in honour of the good old times when they were children.  That is... If Deimos ever forgives him for abandoning him... He must have felt as though Kratos, his own brother, who promised to protect him - Had abandoned him. All this time... Alone, tortured, in the Domain of the Death... Kratos could not even begin to imagine the extent to which he had suffered. All because of the whim of the Gods.

Once arrived at the Temple of Ares, the two were met with some Spartans, working hard to bring down the statue of the old God of War, claiming that they wanted to build a statue in his honour - Hail Lord Kratos, the real God of War!  Again, just like in Atlantis, they stood before the door that spoketh to them, yet the riddle was just slightly altered. "Face thyself, and your fate shall be sealed." the engraving of Ares warned, 

Kratos and Katrina stood in the Temple of Ares. It was a somber reminder of who and what he had become.  The Ghost of Sparta, the God Slayer... And now, the very person the very person he had once despised - the God of War.  Ares was once often called upon before the Spartans went into battle. Sacrifices were made in his name to solicit his blessing, and the Spartans chose their prisoners of war for this purpose. Once Kratos took his place, as the new God of War, Sparta's devotion turned towards the one they saw as their own, save for a few staunch supporters of Ares. Why they chose a dead God, Katrina could never understand. If a God was weak enough to be killed by a mortal, then he deserves his fate.

Seeing the angry look on his face, as he stared up at the awful statue, the Goddess dragged Kratos away, to find the clues they were sent on this journey for. Once they reached the end of the temple, they were met with a sort of blank mirror... Yet somehow, Kratos seemed to be... Attracted to it. "No matter what you see, Kratos, forget not, it is not real. Nothing good ever came out of Ares and his chaotic mind." she warned, squeezing his hand for support - Though she was not sure whether she was heard or not, for he let go of her hand and looked down at his hands... Or rather, forearms - Where the chains were still very attached to the material bandaged over her flesh.

As soon as he looked deeply into the mirror, he had lost himself. Though he did not see Katrina's reflection next to him, he could see himself... But it a weird self he was seeing, black, white and ashen, and far more hateful, he thought. A version that was able to reach out of the mirror and grab him. He wanted to reach out for the Goddess and cling onto her, to get himself out of that powerful grip, but that was nonsense - What could a delicate flower accomplish in terms of strength, compared to him? Thinking that, he was able to release his arm from his other self, only to see that the adult version of himself turned into his child one, and it leapt out of the other side, bringing him down in the process. The child would yell the same quotes he would tell his brother, and would try to punch his face, but it was to no avail for the little one, and in the end, Kratos grabbed the young one and smashed it into the mirror - Which smashed, revealing the Skull of Keres - An ancient relic of the Domain of Death, which has dark power within.

"I am so glad you succeeded - And very fast, might I note." the woman skipped playful next to him, mock-admiring the artifact in his hand. "Where were you?" he asked, almost accusatory, making the woman perk up and look at him in confusion. "What do you mean? I was by your side all this time. You zoned out for a moment, and I saw you fighting something before you destroyed the mirror. I have no idea what you were presented before you, but it must not have been a great time." she exclaimed with sincerity. "You... Did not see what I saw, then?" he was met with a shake of her head. "Last time, I could see your vision, because you held onto me. This time, you let go. Whatever you saw, it was in your mind, but the actions you took... Well, you can see the result before your eyes." the Goddess explained, hearing the familiar grunt of the man. "Then... What did you see?" he did not receive an answer - Only a smile, and the look of her beautiful hair, as she turned around - And him, with her. He should have known she would not tell him - When it came to her own fears and vulnerabilities, she was not as quick to speak, as when she was encouraging him to open his heart and accept the comfort. Not only that... But he did not tell her what he encountered, either. Gods truly are a pain to deal with, sometimes. "Where are you going now?" the woman asked, jumping on the edge on the rail and leaning back, as to look up at the beautiful sunset that painted the sky. She had always loved the sunset and how colourful it looked. She would often drag him out of bed so they could watch it together - And then, they would count the stars and name various constellations. He was much better than he thought he was... And the girl was a disaster at coordinates and basic orientation. One would think Gods were All-Knowing and above such things as... Getting lost. "Atlantis." though he did not think, Kratos just knew he had to return to that sunken city. Only there would he find the entrance to Death's Domain - And the brother he left behind.  "Death's Domain." she heard her breathless usher - She was terrified, and he could understand exactly why. "Kratos... If Deimos is held there... My powers will be of no use to you, save for my fighting skills... Which, although honed for a long time... They do not compare to yours." she explained with reticence. "What do you mean - Your powers will be of no use? I do not understand." do Gods just lose all their power in that realm? "That realm is something... Peculiar, for even us, Gods. It is older than Olympus, and it is nestled somewhere between the Realm of the Dead and the Realm of the Living. It is feared even by most of us. With that being said... In Death's Domain... There is only that - Death. My powers center around life and nature... If I create life in there, it will just wilt away the next second. It does not hold. There are no liana, no shields, no healing... No nothing. If you get injured there... There is nothing I can do. I am afraid for you, Kratos. Thanatos is a monster is all senses." the woman was biting her lip and worrying excessively - It was just like her to pace around, trying to think of a plan. "And what would you have me do, Katrina? Leave Deimos behind?" he may have been to harsh, result of how she jumped in her skin, startled by the roughness of his voice. "By the Gods - Never imply such a thing! I am going to follow you there, even if it costs me my life. I would much rather have the two of you live and be safe, than me getting out of there - But please, Kratos - I beg of you, NEVER lose focus, be very alert, and fight better than even against Ares. That... That child is nothing compared to Thanatos. Do you hear me?" for a frightened crybaby that oftentimes reminded him of a fawn or a bunny, running away to hide from danger, she always showed a surprising amount of courage, especially in face of mortal danger. Be it back then, when he protected him against Ares... Or, once again, against Ares too... She was capable of protecting him emotionally the best, but her trying to fight for him, was something almost comedic, yet entirely appreciated. "The three of us will leave Death's Domain - Alive AND well - Do you understand? Deimos will not be abandoned again!" he was never one to know how to truly speak to a woman - Spartan women understood very well the harshness of the men and easily found ways to mellow their hearts, as did Lysandra, yet even so, Kratos knew his words could easily be misinterpreted, used to leading armies for so many years. Thankfully, the reassured smile that dorned her face made it obvious that she trusted him. "Very well. Let us be on our way... Lord Kratos." turning around, the man could hear her teasing giggle and only scoffed at her childishness - He did not dare complain, however, for it was a welcomed relief, after such tense moments. Going down the stairs, exiting the temple of the ex-God of War, he saw his dear friend and brother in arms, kneeling before him with his shield and spear.

"I have looked after them as if they were my own, Lord Kratos." he bowed, as the commander too the weapons. "You have served me well." the God praised, and it was evident that the man was very happy. "You have a great friend, Kratos." she smiled, admiring his Spartan weapons. "Atreus." he revealed his name. "When I was general, he was my second in command. Now that I am the God of War, I let him take care of most of the army and the leading of Sparta." "Atreus. What a beautiful name. I can see you feel much more at ease with your own weapons. I am glad to see that." the woman confessed, nodding her head to the side, so he would follow along. "To Atlantis it is, then." "To Atlantis it is."

The way back was just as perilous as before, as the mountains are seldom gentle, yet with the aid of the shield, saving them from the wind caused by the Horn of Boreas, and now, it being Kratos's new additional item he could use against enemies, the fights were getting easier. Arriving at the Shrine of Boreas, the God of the North Wind, known as the Devouring One, as he sweeps away from the Northern Mountains, they can feel the chilling cold whipping at their bare flesh. Cooling the air with his icy breath, Boreas is known to carry a giant conch, and artifact that is said to channel the might of the North Wind. 

Exiting the Temple, they arrive at the Canyon of Sorrows, where a fallen body starts floating - No doubt, possessed by the God Thanatos, as it warns them. "Be ware, Ghost of Sparta. Do not pursue this path - The Gods forbid it." "I do not forbid it!" Katrina spoke back to Death itself. "Ah... You. The one who turned her back on her kin. How... Pathetic. And you, Spartan - A mortal, playing God, being a flower girl's lapdog. Ares was a fool to think you would serve him. I have warned you once - If you do not heed my warning, however, not even the Fates will prevent me from ending your path!" Thanatos laughed, taunting the two. "Where is Deimos?!" the girl stepped forward, screaming at him, but he did not even stop laughing. "Get out of my way, Thanatos - Or Ares's blood will not be the only one I'll shed." with that, the corpse was sent flying into a body, made a mockery of what he once was, while alive.

Annoyed, the two continued their journey inside the volcano, where they encountered foe they easily slew - And, on the ground, a golden statue - It was once the beautiful daughter of King Midas, who turned into gold, by his touch. The King of Macedonia was granted a wish by Silenus the Satyr, but his wish soon became his curse. He slowly began to lose his sanity at the sight of everything in his world turning into gold by his mere touch.  Be careful what you wish for, they say, especially when it comes to asking the Gods or the Satyrs. Nothing good ever comes out of that... And, unfortunately for him, Kratos had learnt that lesson the hard way. 

Somewhere further, standing pitifully, like a broken ragdoll, they encountered the shell of the person who once was King Midas. "Stay away... Stay away!!" he warned the two. "I'm cursed! Stay away!" he was fearing for every living being around him. "Don't you see? Everything I touch... Gold." the man started crying. "Midas." Kratos realised, uttering the name of the fallen King. "I didn't mean to... I thought... How... How could I know that she would..." the rock that he held turn to solid gold. Out of sheer disgust, his hands weakened, and fell to the ground. "Oh, my daughter... My beautiful little girl..." he was crying so pitifully. "I wonder... If I could break his curse..." the Goddess found herself muttering to herself, but a hand on her shoulder and the shake of Kratos's head made her realise it would not be a wise idea. From down below, the once miserable voice turned to an agitated one - Wonderous, even. "The River Styx? ... Am I in Hades? I must be! Finally! I know what I must do!" whatever he was seeing could not have been the River of Lament, for he reached out his hand inside the magma, then cried out from pain... Though, the magma turned to solid gold, as expected. "Poor Midas... What he had become. From a once glorious King, to... This. I wish I could have helped the poor man and his daughter. Alas..." but the saddened girl was lead towards the end of this area, so they could continue their path. "There is nothing you could have done. Men must live with the consequences of their own actions." he must have felt that saying very deeply. "We must follow him and use that ability of his, if we want to safely cross this area. I saw what fire does to your vines. I would rather not risk our lives meaninglessly." he explained their next strategy. "Alright... I will try to hold his hands away from you, then. Let us follow him." nodding her head, she fell in path with his running, until they reached a dead end, where Midas was cowering in a corner. He tried to warn Kratos, and with their plan in action, the Spartan was able to knock the King unconscious and carry him, while Katrina found the enemies on the way, to make things easier for the God of War. Arriving next to the cascade of lava, Kratos threw the King at it, and it had fortified into gold.  "Well... I was not expecting this view. It is almost... Artistic. In a very strange way. Kratos, you can be the tenth muse." the woman chuckled, though uneasy, remembering the suffering the man had to endure, though rather relieved, knowing he had to be in pain no further. "Are you done speaking foolish nonsense?" he scowled at the joking woman, dragging her up the cascade, and further on, up the cliff, until they reached the Port of Atlantis.

It looked completely different than what it was just a little before - The Harbour of Atlantis, home to the greatest Armada in the Lands of Greece. It was renowned as a center for trade, knowledge and progress throughout the world of man... And now, it was nothing more than ruins underneath the sea. How upsetting. On the edge, Kratos saw the Goddess, hugging herself as to protect herself from the cold rain that was soaking her to the bone - But her brows were furrowed, and her sight was fixed on the intimidating maelstrom raging in the middle of the sea. Somehow, she knew, they would have to sail in that abominable place.

"Be strong. I will protect you." cupping her face and touching her forehead to his, he reassured the woman that they would make it out alive. It was almost silly, reassuring a God that they would not die - Yet considering the uneventful and boring life of peace she led in the forests, every bit of excitement and death must be overwhelming for her. Self-preservation was not his strongest skill, though he held onto it naturally. Embarking on the ship, Kratos held onto the woman as they sailed deep within the raging abyss - It lay the answer to a question he was not yet prepared to ask - Was Deimos truly still alive?

The road was not only difficult because of the weather conditions, but of the enemies as well - Yet half-way through, Kratos was thrown out of the boat. Crying out his name, Katrina jumped as well and swam after him, though her eyes were stinging and it was getting darker and darker. It was scary and she genuinely felt she might somehow drown there - Or worse, lose her strength and find not the power to sail to the surface, always to be forgotten like a grain of sand, at the bottom of the sea. Thankfully, she was able to reach Kratos's unconscious body, and she dragged him all the way to a cave - Though luck made it so that the annoying head of Poseidon's head was there to mock them still.

Waiting for the man to wake up, Katrina held him in her arms, laid over her lap, and performed various healing spells to keep him warm and in perfect shape, the only comfort being his steadily beating heart. O, how afraid she was - If she lost even him, she would be truly alone in this awfully cruel world. Her red hair hung to her skin like disgusting algae and her flowers were long dead - She looked absolutely dreadful, and felt even more disgusting. She wished she would get home already, and be dry, and with flowers and trees all around her, not... A humid cave at the bottom of the sea.

"It is time to wake up, my love. Return back to me." she whispered sweetly in his ear, caressing his furrowed forehead - And he did just so, jolting up and coughing the remaining water he had in his lungs. "Katrina? What happened?" he asked, still disoriented. "I remembered my swimming lessons. Please, next time you want to go on vacation, let us stray away from the sea. I found my most beautiful iteration to be near the woods." she sighed, a weak joke escaping her lips. "Were you harmed?" he asked, his hands immediately finding her own, as she helped her stand. "Thankfully, no. You were pretty unharmed too. Shall we continue?" she asked, trying to squeeze out the annoying sea water out of her hair. "You have desecrated my Kingdom! I shall not forget this, Ghost of Sparta! You will answer for this affront! And you, flower girl - You will not be welcomed in Olympus anymore! How dare you turn your back on your family?!" the statue head started speaking out of nowhere. "Quiet down, will you?! I am NOT in the mood for your preaching! Besides - Look at what YOUR kingdom did you my hair and clothes! I should hold YOU accountable for this madness!" with that, she destroyed the last remaining bit of him. Kratos looked at her and could barely hold the amused smirk forming on his face, yet his brow was raised, questioning. "...Over an outfit?" "It was my favourite! I always thought green looks very good on me. Am I wrong?" she asked, yet she already knew the answer.  "No." 

Still, if she had a problem with the water before, now, they had to swim throughout the sunken city.  Lord Poseidon, the God of the Seas, took dominion over the oceans when the Olympians ascended to power. The Kingdom of Atlantis was erected in his honour by his followers, and many statues that were built in his image around the city were constructed as integral parts of the structure and mechanism of Atlantis itself. The technology of this city was other-wordly. Too bad it had to end this-a-way. Though Kratos found this city akin to a maze, none of the machinery, nor traps or mechanisms were anywhere near as difficult to figure out as those he faced in Pandora's Temple.   After a while, they managed to reach the upper part of Ancient Atlantis, which was still above the sea - Here, they found a codex which explained that the power of the God of the Seas flows inside the Kingdom of Atlantis and is channeled at the Nexus points spread throughout the city. When imbued with this power, the effigies of Poseidon can focus this energy to activate the structures and mechanisms around Atlantis. 

Not a lot to go on, but possibly, the only clue needed to understand how this city worked. Going back inside the city, they discovered a lost statue of Athena, which spoke to the Spartan once more. Would she never give up from discouraging him? "It is not too late to turn back, Kratos. No good will come of this journey. The Gods..." the same excuse with the pantheon continued on. "I am done with the Gods! Return to Olympus and leave me be!" he reproached her once and for all, ready to turn back, until she spoke again. "Your brother was a threat to Olympus, Kratos. What was done... Had to be done. Forgive me." false apologies, as always. "No! He was just a child! To hell with your silly prophecies and your arrogance! To hell with your narcissism and your selfishness! You think you can play with mortals' lives, just because that is what they are - Mortals, with no power, and are forced to submit to the Gods who play around with they as if they are the toys of a child! Instead of using your gifts for the betterment of the realm, you destroy it - You are just as guilty as Ares was back then, when you burnt Sparta to the ground, in search of a single child who had no fault!" he had never heard Katrina cursing, nor yelling with such anger at anyone, especially her sister, yet he was no stranger to her complaining about how much of a two-faced liar the Goddess of Wisdom was. Now, however, he remembers the ring of her empty apology, from when he was a child as well. "You are no different from us, sister - Waiting for the man of a prophecy as an excuse to find a husband, as if a mortal could ever hold love for a God." Athena's sharp tongue cut deep into her sister's heart. "What would you know of love, Athena? Do not preach to me about that which you cannot understand. You may be the Goddess of Wisdom, but sometimes, even you should have the intelligence to understand that which is beyond you." the red haired woman shot back just as harshly. "YOU were there? Why? Why didn't you help him?" thought conflicted of the two's argument, he was starting to remember even more of that dreaded night.  "I was there for you, Kratos. You had to be saved." Athena spoke those sweet words, but they were as shallow as her. "Katrina saved me. You should have saved him." he blamed the Goddess, but deep inside, he knew - He should have been the one to save his brother. Though he tried, he should have tried even harder. "I... Should have saved him." "You were just a child, Kratos. What could you have done against Ares?" Katrina tried reaching out to him, yet his face turned aside, unable to look at her. She made a great effort to be there for him throughout his whole journey - Be that out of guilt or free will, it mattered little. In the end, he only had her. "There is more to this than you could possibly know, Kratos." her words were giving Kratos no comfort. Only pain and anger. "Lies and riddles - That's all you give me, Athena. Katrina was right all along about all your kin." Athena remained silent. "I WILL save my brother. And you WILL stay out of my way." his order was resolute and strong, and the Goddess ended her possession of the statue, knowing there was nothing more she could possibly say to sway the set mind of the Spartan. "Always a delight, speaking to my intelligent and highly empathetic sister. I dearly hope we will not encounter her again on out journey. The only reason I am not destroy this statue, is because I would gladly see it sink, forever to be forgotten." the red head stomped away from the room, filled with spite at the interaction.

Neither of them could console themselves, nor each other, after such a conversation, yet their minds were far too occupied with untwisting the mysteries of the sinking city, so they could reach Deimos, that they spoke not another word of any other God. Deimos was their only priority, and so it shall remain, until finally, all of the nexus points align, and in turn, the statues - A bridge is formed, which they pass, and after climbing a tree, they reach the Death Gate. With the aid of the skull, they are able to reach the gate that leads them to the Domain of Death.

"There it is. Once we step inside... There is no turning back." the Goddess looked at the open door before them, before turning abruptly to the man, and holding his hands together in her own. "I do not know if this will work! Maybe - Maybe if I focus well enough on it alone, it will!" she exclaimed, and looking down, he could see not a red azalea, but a bigger flower - It was of a light, pale pink, soft and delicate like her sweet lips, and the petals were velvety like her skin. "Just as before, hold it in your fist, and it was heal you. It... Cannot bring back a person from death, of course... I had to remind you of that... But... Though I hope you will not need it... I will channel every bit of my power of this flower alone. Just in case." she was breathless, and her body was trembling lightly - He was not sure whether it was from sheer fear, or from the wetness and cold that was harsh on her bare skin, but this flower - This small bundle of life - It might just serve as the only ray of sunshine and hope they have, in a barren land. "You will be alright. Do not fear. I will protect you and Deimos." Kratos put the flower safely and well within his reach, so he could free his hands and caress her face, leaning down to steal another loving kiss from her. "My body may fear for itself, but my heart fears for you and Deimos. If given the chance, I will make sure the two of you leave this place, before I do." she explained her emotions, to which the man could only snort. "That is not how a Spartan thinks." though he spoke like a Spartan general training a new child recruit, he new very well it would not apply - But at least it earned an amused breathe out of her. "Good thing I am a Greek, and we thrive in a myriad of chaotic emotions." she retorted, stepping back, a grateful and much braver smile playing on her lips. "Let us proceed. We are close to our goal. This is not the time to falter." "Speak more, and I may have to replace Atreus as a second in command."

Though their breath was hitched in their throat and knees weak, they stepped inside the forbidden domain - A Dark Netherworld nestled between the Land of the Living, and the Realm of the Dead. A Purgatory, ruled by the God of Death - Thanatos. Everything seemed like a wasteland, everything was dry and dead - Just like the God of Death himself. Walking through the eerie realm was truly the most anxiety-inducing sentiment, and the graveyard silent that only broke from the wind's howl was far more terrifying than it had to be.

Or so the Goddess thought. Kratos had none of these worthless feelings in his mind, nor at heart - His only objective was rescuing Deimos. Since birth, they are trained to renounce even the idea of fear, let alone know the notion of it - Some wind or silence are nothing compared to all the trials he had faced thus far. 

Further on, they reached the doors to the Domain of Death. A place neither mortal nor God had dared enter. Worshipped long before the Olympians - Thanatos, the God of Death, dwelled within. And upon stepping before the very door that had the God's face engraved into it, like the other two, it had spoken. "Free thyself, and your past shall be forgiven." his voice was far more menacing and creepy, just like death itself spoke to you. As Kratos opened the doors, they immediately closed behind them. Walking up the stairs to the Temple of Thanatos, a slithery voice shook the ground. "Who dares defile my domain?!" but it had been lost in the silence. Few have ever ventured here... Yet none have left alive to tell the tale.

Though the traps were plenty, and so were the foes, nothing stopped Kratos from reaching his brother, wherever in this vast realm he may be. There is no force of nature, or out of this world - Not death itself - That can hold him from rescuing his long-awaiting brother. 

On the large balcony, hanging by the branches of a wilted tree, there he was - A grown up Deimos. Katrina could only stare up at the strung up man, thankful that Kratos was doing what she should have done, in hitting the roots as to liberate the brother. With his arm alone clinging onto the last remaining coiled branch, Kratos threw his spear, rupturing the dead tree, whilst the woman caught the falling man in her arms, holding onto him dearly. 

"Deimos... Deimos, you may awaken. You are safe now." Katrina spoke in her soothing voice, whilst Kratos, although very much afraid of even approaching his brother, knelt next to the Goddess and slowly reached out for his brother's shoulder, reassuring him of the very same thing - He was safe now. Great was their confusion, however, once - Instead of a scared man, of sobbing, or of joy of reunion - They heard a laughter, almost deranged and crazy. The laugh of a broken man on the verge of madness, slipping down the slide of never being able to recover. "Safe?!" the man growled at the two, pushing himself away from the woman's arms and glaring at his own brother. Why, O, why, if he was able to save him, did he not attempt so any sooner? "You! Let this happen to me! You were supposed to protect me!" he clinged tightly onto his brother's shoulders, before reaching out to pull on his face painfully. "Did you think I would forget?" he asked, gripping himself closer to his brother's ear. "Did you think - I would forgive?" his whisper was low and threatening. Deimos was wishing Kratos death. "I will NEVER forgive you, brother."  "Deimos, please - I beg of you, see reason. What could Kratos do to save you? A mere child, just like you, against the God of War? Against the man who brunt your Sparta to the ground? He tried, remember? He leapt to attack Ares, but he was swatted away like a pesky fly. Had he known you were alive, he would have come save you sooner - Alas, everyone lied to him, including your own mother. All because of the Gods. Blame them - I beg of you - But do not hate your brother. He truly loves you and there was no day of his being that he did not live with guilt over what happened that night." Katrina tried to reason with the man, but it was in vain - As she tried reaching out to his face  to sooth him, he slapped her away. All the years he suffered destroyed his reasoning - But neither of the two were going to give up on him.  "What about you, then - Goddess? I remember you. You just stood there, while I was taken away. Pretended to stand up to Ares, but you hold no power of your own. Instead of fighting him, you allowed a child to be sacrificed for the whim of the Gods. Is that what you're saying? Blame the Gods - Including you?" the awful look he was giving her hurt her heart, but she could never be upset with his words. He had all the rights to be angry and wish them a most painful death. "I govern flowers, animals and kindness, Deimos. I can heal and create life, but I cannot win a fight against a war-born warrior. Even in this state of yours, you would easily be able to kill me, should that be your wish. And if it is, then I shall allow you to kill me in any way you see fit - But, please, Deimos. Let us do that outside of this awful Domain. See the world of the Living again, touch grass, let the Sun's warm rays kiss your skin, and breath in the fresh air in your chest. Have you not stayed imprisoned in this cage for far too long?" her honeyed words only seemed to apply fuel to the fire when it came to the rage within his heart, and he leapt on the woman, his hands tightly wrapped around her supple neck - But she did not seem to struggle. Instead, she reached out in an attempt to touch his face - Serenity was all she had to offer him, but even that might not work, in the realm of the dead. "What would you know about my pain? What would you know about the woes of a mere mortal? You are just a God! Selfish, immortal, surrounded by everything you could even think of! You had naught to suffer, nor struggle for anything! You try to sell me empty words and shallow promises, but I can see right through your poison! You are trying to trick me!" which each accusation, Deimos applied more pressure to her windpipe, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe - Until Kratos pushed him away from her, and dragged her behind him, to shield her.  "Brother, see reason! Neither of us is trying to deceive you!" Kratos yelled as his brother, but his words fell on deaf ears, as they continued leaping at each other, throwing punches and kicks. "LIARS!" Deimos cried out, jumping at his brother, and breaking the balcony rail, the two fell down on the ground, many feet below, with Kratos being the one to break the fall. Katrina could not even imagine the pain his body must have felt, followed by himself unable to allow himself to block any of the hits sent his way. Deimos was angry with his, thus, he deserved everything he was getting. He hurt his brother, thus, he deserved to get his revenge on him by hurting him back, the only way he could - With his fists.

Without another thought in mind, Katrina ran all the way down to where the two were wrestling, cursing herself for being unable to use her magic when the two people she cared for most were in need, but the sight before her was excruciating to watch. "Get up! Fight me!" Deimos growled at his brother, shaking his head as to pay attention to him, despite his hazy disposition from all the punches he received to his head. "I hate you, Kratos!" the man was so absorbed by his anger for his brother that he did not see the great shadow looming over him. "DEIMOS, BEHIND YOU!" the Goddess cried out, and with a great sprint, she vaulted on Thanatos's back, getting him on a choke hold, her legs tightly gripped around his torso. It was the only way she knew was going to keep him busy enough so that the brothers would have enough time to get out of there.  As expected, the God of Death was not impressed by the woman's attempt at stopping him, so she threw her off his back - Yet she was relentless. Seeing his claw-like hand trying to reach for Deimos, she threw herself into the God's side, making him completely miss his trajectory. "Are you so eager to die, flower girl? I have never killed a God before. I shall be starting with you, then." taking out her polearm, she adopted a defensive stance before the two brothers and parried the awful scratches that the God of Death was attempting to harm them with, but a God's weapon is indestructible. Thanatos's attacks could not get past Katrina's spear. "I AM DONE PLAYING GAMES WITH YOU, LITTLE GIRL! DEATH AWAITS YOU!" the towering Black Dread latched his hands onto the spear and despite the struggle, easily overpowered the woman, whom he rose up along with her weapon, before throwing her to the ground. She did not stop. She went to tackle him, just to keep him away from Deimos and Kratos - But Thanatos had lost his patience, and with one hand, he grabbed the Goddess's whole body and squeezed it tight enough for her to lose her breath, yet the grip on her spear did not falter.  "Deimos - Forgive... Kratos...!" were her last words before she was swept away into a flurry, to the edge of the cliff. "You killed my daughter, Olympian! And now - You WILL suffer for it! A life for a life!" the God stepped off the road, and with his great wings spreading, flew to place far off, where he threw Katrina on the ground, and proceeded to toy with her by 'sparring' with his sword. "KATRINA!" Kratos extended his arm out for the woman, but his vision was blurred and his body felt weak. "Brother - Do you not see how you were lied to? We were never meant to fight each other, but to fight together, side by side." Kratos felt the weight of his brother lighten, and Deimos seemed to have a revelation. He got up and helped his brother stand with him. "Why did she go through all that pain? Why had she not used her magic? She could not have been such a fool as to believe she stood a chance with a single stick, against that monster?" the brother frowned, only to see Kratos take out the glowing pink flower. "All her magic was cast into this - Should we need it, to heal our wounds, we just had to grip onto it. The realm of the dead kills the life she creates instantly. That woman vowed to bring you back home by any means necessary - As did I. Are you with me, brother?" it was the right moment to use the flower - Together, with his brother - So that their injuries might heal, and they could bring down the God of Death together. Though reticent at first, Deimos reached out his hand and held onto his brother's tightly, with the flower in the middle being trampled - Yet their bodies felt invigorated and renewed. They felt as if they were floating, light as feathers, and healthy as never before. "Let's get out of here, brother." the flower offered Deimos the clarity his mind needed after decades of never-ending torture. He could see his brother for who he truly was, and his revenge-driven self was now enlightened. Together, the brothers leapt from the edge of the cliff, right onto the Suicide Bluffs, where they saw the woman struggling to grip onto the edge of the ridge, yet unable to drag herself up. It was thanks to the spear impaled onto the ground that she was still standing there, to begin with. Blast that Thanatos!  But the edge of the bludd was quickly eroding under her grip, and bit by bit, the earth was falling down next to her. In the distance, she was able to see the two brother climbing down the wall of the mountain, trying to reach her in time. "Do not come closer! The round will break! Get out of here, save yourselves before Thanatos returns!" she cried out to them worriedly, despite feeling her fingers lose their strength spiraled around the weapon. Seeing how close to falling she was, Kratos leapt across the ground and slid on the dust, grabbing her wrists just as she fell. "Hold onto me, Katrina! I will pull you up!" though she was slender, it was not easy, pulling up someone when you are flat on your belly. The grip on one of her hands was slipping swiftly, and though he tried reaching back to get her - It was Deimos who grabbed her hand and helped his brother pull up the woman - Before he pulled her to his chest.  Though her mind was still in a frenzy and her heart was racing with exhilarating emotions, the Goddess grabbed the two's faces in a hurry. "Fools! You should have run away! Your lives are more important than mine own!" but for a split second, seeing the way the brother cooperated, and how their skin was gleaming softly, no doubt, from her magic, she realised the two made up. What a relief. "O, you two are just a handful. Are all Spartans this hard-headed? No mind. Let us find a way out of here, and you can catch up when we get back home. I am sure there are enough stories you must share." despite her worries and fears, the red haired woman with the sweet smile was genuinely happy for the two - And finally, Deimos could see that she was genuine. "I will NOT lose you again, Deimos." Kratos vowed to his brother. "Come! The fight is not over!" and thus, Kratos handed his brother his own Arms of Sparta. They knew, unfortunately, that should they want to leave the Domain of Death, they had to defeat its guardian.

Retrieving the spear, the Goddess ran after the two Spartans to a higher plateau, where they were met with exactly the Black Dread himself, cackling wickedly at the three. "The Oracle may have yet spoken truth. The Marked Warrior shall bring about the destruction of Olympus." Death spoke. "Ares chose poorly that day - Do you not agree, flower girl? I am sure, you, of all people, would have noticed. You, whose fate is intertwined with the Marked Warrior's, bound together for as long as he may live." that impish, sinful smirk of his made the hair rise on the back of her hair - But Katrina could not deny, his words held truth, and it is long since she had theorised about the true identity of the prophesised child. "He took your brother, when it should have been you! It is YOUR life that the Goddess ruined, not his! Ha! All that work, for naught. None of that matters now. You were foolish and heeded not my warnings. Nothing you do is of your own choosing! The Sisters of Fate have made their choice, and your lives are nothing but their characters in a play they wrote." Death ridiculed the three fools before him. It pained the woman greatly, and she did not want to admit, that all this time, she had lied to herself and put a veil over her own eyes. "The Gods do not decide my fate, Thanatos!" Kratos snarled at the God, yet he only continued deriding him. "The Gods decide... And the Sisters of Fate make it so! Just ask that little half-wit next to you. She, the laughingstock of Olympus, is a first-hand witness of how easily bored the Sisters get. You are NOTHING but a pawn in a game you don't even know is being played!" his words did not anger the Goddess - She knew the truth that has been hammered into her brain for the past century, so she accepted the belittling from anyone who saw it fit - But Kratos had none of it. Who was Thanatos, to decide his fate? His life? His end? He was just a God, and nothing more - And just like Ares, he could be killed. He did not care how Katrina supposedly ruined his life, nor of the truth she knew of the Sisters of Fate. It did not matter at the moment. It was not the time for doubt - It was time to act, and fight. Fearlessly, like the true Spartan that he and his brother were. "Now is the time, Kratos. The beginning of the end." "You were supposed to bring serenity and peace to the dead, Thanatos. You have changed. You have become as awful and corrupt as your sisters. You are the one who brings shame to our kin, not me. You may call me what you will - Your words have long since stopped bothering me - Yet know this, Thanatos - Today is the day that ends your existence on any realm there is." Katrina threatened, and getting ready, she went to attack, in tandem with the two Spartans who worked so well together and synchronised so perfectly that one would never know they were torn apart since childhood. With the God of Death impaled with Deimos's spear, he was thrown off the edge of the cliff, but the Kind One called them back to her side, on safer ground. "Be ready for anything! That one is not so easy to defeat!" and truth she spoke, as Thanatos returned, in the shape of a great dragon, spitting voids at them, the same as his daughter once did.

Once more, the three used their attacks one by one, covering for one another, protecting, yet also inflicting damage onto their common enemy, to the point that Thanatos was forced to resume his human form and fight them - He was backed into a corner and evidently overwhelmed. But the dragon aspect had soon returned, and he seemed much more enraged than before, and aiming straight at Deimos. As Katrina's only objective was to protect the two, her body moved as if possessed and she pushed the rescued one out of the claw's path, yet it turn, the dragon grabbed her and slammed her into the mountain wall repeatedly, before throwing her body away, as if she was some kind of discarded ragdoll.

Having landed onto one of the Temple's pillars and breaking them, she had not realised the whole building was falling onto her, until it was too late - And her consciousness abandoned her, knowing not the fate of the two struggling brothers.  Enraged by that act, Deimos attempted to throw his spear at the monster while Kratos had it chained in a steady hold - but its strength was beyond even the God of War, and he was picked up, dragged across the mountain and rammed onto the hard ground repeatedly, while he could only hear his brother calling out his name with sheer worry. During this time, Deimos found an opening in the monster's defense, as he rampaged on Kratos, and so he vaulted up, jamming his spear into the dragon's eye - Yet in its rage, it had caught the Spartan and swatted him painfully onto the wall - With a cry of agony, Deimos fell onto the ground, never to regain his consciousness again.

Seeing his beloved brother fallen, Kratos's rage took over his whole being, and alone, he defeated the corrupt abomination that was once the God of Death, forcing it back into his human form, which he wrecked. "You are insignificant, Kratos!" Thanatos's mocking was dismissed like the breeze, as the Spartan kicked and punched him away. "Your brother suffered because of you!" he impaled him with both of his blades, before throwing him into the boulders, breaking them with ease. "Your fate lies in the hands of Olympus, Ghost of Sparta! That woman is lying to you! She is a traitor!" the end of the God of Death was brought upon by the Blades Kratos wielded... But the victory was bittersweet, as soon as he turned around and saw his brother's lifeless body.

Up on the cliff, he saw the red head stumbling, her outfit as soaked with her own blood, the same colour of her hair. Sometimes, she hated the colour red more than she hated anything in this life. Kratos had naught the power to tell her not to climb down the abrupt stair, even as he saw her tripping over her own two feet and falling. He had not the strength to admit to himself that he had failed his brother once more... Nor could he tell the woman that the man who was bound by soul to her was dead. 

"Deimos...?" Kratos could feel her weak voice, calling out to his brother - Upon seeing the body laying on the ground, she fell to her knees and dragged herself pitifully by his side, holding him in her decrepit arms. "Deimos... Wake up. Wake up. Come on. Let us return home." the more she spoke, the more it hurt Kratos. He was not one for words, but what he felt, Katrina verbalised. "Come on... Thanatos may be dead, but my powers still do not work in this realm... The flower...! The flower! Kratos, give me the flower! I can still save him!" but the forlorn look on his face was enough of an answer. The man went on one knee, putting one hand on her head, as if to stop her.  "You cannot heal the dead, Katrina. It is over." the hurt in his voice was immeasurable, but it did not stop the woman from trying - But every flower she created, every vine she erected - They would wilt away the next second.  "He cannot - He cannot be! That is impossible! I can -... I can still feel he is alive! My - My soul, it -... I-I do not know how to explain, but I -- My heart knew when he was born - It would know if he was dead! So-- So why? How? It just-- It makes no sense!" but her fingers found her arteries, and found no pulse, and from his nose she could feel no breathing, and his heart was ever still. "By the Gods..."  "He is dead. Whatever fantasy it is that you dream of, it is no reality. Erase it from your mind." Kratos spoke, as he picked up his brother's dead body. First, his mother, and now, his own brother, the one he was supposed to protect... To rescue, now... He was dead. All because of him. "But then... Whose heart am I... Feeling...?" but realisation has long since befallen her, and a sense of vertigo made her almost slip into another realm of the senses. She could never admit the truth to herself, but her body - Her heart - They always knew.

The Marked Warrior.

Her Soulmate.

They were the same person.

It has always been Kratos.

From the moment he first held him into her arms, the time she looked him in his eyes - Their hearts were interconnected.  It was Kratos who became the greatest general the Spartan Army ever had. It was Kratos who had a beautiful family, made out of love, at which she could only look at with heartbreak and envy, though also love and protectiveness. It was Kratos whose life she ruined all along. It was Kratos's family that she killed.

The man who trusted her more than anyone - Kratos - It was him that she had betrayed all along, and played the part of the hypocrite, treacherous fool. It was no wonder she always longed for his touch - Her body knew better than her mind. Whenever her heart would leap in glee, hearing his sandals slap across the light marble of the room they shared, knowing he would come see her. Her lungs would forget to breathe whenever he leaned in to kiss her, and her mind would blank whenever he would linger his fingertips on her bare skin.

O, how she hated when the Gods were right, without realising. She truly was the laughingstock of Olympus, though for all the wrong reasons. None knew the truth about the Marked Warrior's existence, otherwise, the pantheon would not have humoured him with silly tasks, but would have killed him, the same as they did with Deimos.

She was in deep trouble - That, she knew - But more than anything, she knew that, at some point, and that being preferably, very soon - She would have to confess the truth about the ruination of his life and how it had occurred.

But she was ready. She could take all his hate. In fact, he could kill her - It did not matter. If it made him feel better, it was a small price to pay, for the selfishness she displayed in her moment of weakness and desperation.

Fate truly was just a sick joke, and life, as well, nothing less but cruel.

Dragging herself up the stairs, following close behind the Spartan, up the Path of Sorrow, she watched him lower his brother's body into the ground, into the hole dug by the nasty Grave Digger. With one last solemn look of sorrow at his brother, Kratos found the last bit of strength, to utter his farewell words of departure to his last beloved family member. "You... Are free now... Brother." his pain was infinite, as he looked down, at the edge of the death's realm. Looking down, at the breaking waves across the rocks at the bottom, he was reminded of the time he tried to end this agony, casting himself down into the merciless sea... And his foot found itself instinctively leaving the ground, inching forwards into emptiness...

But he stopped himself. The same small arms were latched feebly around his torso. The last bit of his sanity was keeping him from ending it all. "Please... Do not... Leave me... Alone." her fragile voice was enough to make him sigh in defeat. He knew loneliness and guilt all to well. "By the Gods... What have I become...?" his question, although thrown into the wind, was answered by the pestering elderly man. "Death. The Destroyer... Of Worlds." though, before he could answer to the Grave Digger, he was already gone. "Listen naught to his non-sense, Kratos." her grip on him was attempting to get tighter, but it was in vain. The damage sustained in the battle was too great for the frail Goddess who could not heal herself in the Netherworld Purgatory. Perhaps the two will always end up licking each other's wounds, one way or another. What a pitiful fate.

As the woman took a step back away from the cliff, taking the man's body with her, a foreign voice was heard. A voice which, although familiar, was unwelcomed. "It is done, Kratos." Athena stepped down the few stairs that led down from the portal between realms. “You have let go of that which made you mortal. Your ties to this world are severed. You are ready... To be a God." though the Goddess of Wisdom reached out her hands to his face, Katrina pushed her away with the remaining power she held.  "NO!" she cried out, aggressive as Kratos never heard her before. "He did NOT let go of his brother! Deimos was taken away - By YOU! By ALL of you!" the red head looked desperate and angry, not befitting of a peaceful Goddess. "It was the Gods who brought him onto the brink of madness! It was the Gods who took away EVERYTHING that his heart held dear! His wife! His child! His mother - Now, his own brother whom he thought long dead - How DARE you even imply that Godhood is a -- A REWARD for losing EVERYTHING that you ever cherished?!" Kratos always admitted that he valued wisdom and intelligence, along with prowess and tactics - After all, to be a war strategist, you needed all the possible skills one could get, and Athena held them all, along with her deceased brother, Ares. However, the more the Gods wronged him - The more he heard Katrina's spiteful words that blamed the pantheon for their evil-doing, the more his conviction was set in stone. He could never trust the Gods - And more, he could never trust Athena. Everything she promised was in vain. All her rewards were shallow, and her words were empty. Everything that she deemed wise, was poison, and the wound was festering to the point of no return. Unless you cut down the infection, the flesh may never heal. "Do not interfere, sister. Such matters are beyond your limited understanding - Have you not advised me so, a little earlier? You would do well to heed your own piece of unwanted advice." Athena's jab only worsened Kratos's anger - It was clear to him that Katrina's words hit the nail so bad, that Athena was backed into a corner, and gaslighting her, along with manipulating him with her well-picked words, were all she had left in her attempt at using the new God of War as a puppet for Olympus. "Is this all a game for you, Athena?!" the Spartan roared at the Goddess of Wisdom, startling her - She was quickly realising that she was losing her grip on him, in detriment of the red head. Watching him reach out to grab her sister's hand, guiding her towards the portal, Athena realised there was no turning back. She had lost Kratos, and his revenge-driven heart was set on the destruction of Olympus. "It is not over, Athena. The Gods will pay for this." thus, the God of War guided his red haired lover back to their unfortunate home.

He did not need to rest. He needed to think. He needed to accept the truth of what happened. He could not return to his room - Instead, he dorned his armor and sat on the large throne of the God of War. Kratos has fueled all of his regrets and pain, into anger, and though he held no hatred for only one Goddess, even she, he would not listen to, until she told him the truth that she knew. The whole pantheon made a mockery out of her secret, taunting him for not knowing - If it was something so important, he had to know. "You would hate me forever, Kratos. I am not ready to lose you." she would say - And though he could see sincerity in her eyes, sheer fright at the notion of losing him - He could not stand to be lied to any longer, despite the best intentions. He had lost everything he ever loved. For once, he wanted to know the truth.

For her, he would wait forever - Only if she reveals the truth to him.

Though perhaps, somehow, in some way, maybe he held an inkling of what it was that she was hiding - But how could he even begin to speculate something as outlandish as her supposed selfishness and self-inflicted guilt?

That was an enigma that not even the most skilled riddlers, nor the wisest philosophers, could decipher.

It was a question with no answer.

It was fate.

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