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writingoddess1125 · 5 months

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Simon with his Triplets

Simon and how he is with each of his triplets.

Hazel

• His fighter and his attitude, Wrapped up in the beautiful bundle that was his Hazel.

• Hazel was the most like him in terms of his fighting spirat, While he had simmered down greatly over the years he saw it everyday in his daughter.

• She carried herself with a sense of pride and strength that he couldn't be more proud of.

• Hazel was the defender of the triplets, being the one to fight if anyone dared pick on her other siblings

• Simon had to pick her up from school far too many times for fighting-

• Simon did had to teach her how to control herself, Having to show her different ways to channel her temper- And the best way he found was Boxing

• Simon still kept in shape, not wanting to get weak as time did him in- So he kept up some heavy workouts. So he had the two of them go to the Boxing gym together

• There she blew off steam and trained with him. Well into her late teens she did this picking up MMA as well on her own.

• "Dad I want to go into the military-" She said, firmly as she lowered her arms from the boxing bag. Her fist still in the skull hand gloves he bought her for her 18th birthday. Simon freezing mid set and looked at her-

• "No-" He said simply, before going back to the bag.

• Hazel glared at him but didn't say anything else but went back to the bag herself. Simon assuming the conversation was over.

• He was going through the mail and sees a Royal Marine letter, assuming it's his he opens it and sees its an acceptance letter for Hazel and her date to start basic.

• Was he proud? Of Course

• Was he also angry that she had hidden this from him, went behind his back and disobeyed him? ABSOLUT-FUCKING-ELY

• Him and Hazel have the argument of the centry- But he was able to calm down enough to hear her out and makes her promise that she won't do anything dangerous as a job- She agrees..

• Then immediately goes in for Special Forces Operations like he did and Simon damn near has a stroke and is ready to drag his daughter by home when he learns of this.

Rose

• Rose- His little princess. His sunshine and rainbows child.

• She is the dreamer of the trio, Always imagining new things.

• She is also the artist- Has Simon cleaned enough crayon, paint, pencil from the floors and walls to last a lifetime? Yes- Has he bought thousands of dollars worth of supplies and made his credit card cry.. Absolutely

• But Simon loves every painting, statue and drawing imaginable. Keeping them in his office- Even if he doesn't understand artsy things he will smile and thank Rose

• Rose is also his hiking buddy- The two taking a weekends to explore new hiking trails together. Which he uses to rip his daughter away from the grips of the crows of boys that seemed to drool over his precious girl.

• Due to her naturally bubbly and sweet nature she gets a lot more attention from boys then Simon would like-

• "I don't like the boys that try after you, You know what they want-" He said in a warning tone, already irritated at the idea of them sniffing around his little girl.

• "W-Well...Daddy what would you say if I didn't like the boys either-?" She said softly, almost at a whisper- The irritation Simon felt damn near flying out his body.

• Simon looks at her quietly, trying to gauge her reaction only to see she was doing the same-

• "So- You don't like boys? What about girls?" He asked softly, unsure of any other way or working it. Her cheeks turning a flushed pink at this-

• "I see-" He said calmly, Patting Rose's shoulder as they made it over the steep hill of the hiking trail. The two looking over the beautiful scenery before them

• "Same rules, We have to meet her and her parents and No closed doors" He said simply and with a hint of a smile on his face. Rose smiling as well and nodding-

• Simon is secretly overjoyed to learn his daughter likes girls, he finds it mentally easier. Meets his daughter's girlfriend and will take her along with him hiking.

• She ends up as a Art Teacher, While he didn't understand he absolutely supported it happy she had found her calling.

Johnny

• Johnny is his Mini-Me and his lad.

• Seeing as your genes didn't even fucking try with Johnny it was just like you copy and pasted Simon. Blonde hair, light eyes and only a shade or two darker then his father. Other then that he got nothing from you-

• He adores his Son and feels proud of him everyday he lived and breathes.

• Johnny still refuses to speak, remaining mute but Simon is fairly certain it's by choice which he respects.

• Simon and him sitting next to each other as you argue with Hazel about something stupid, Johnny discreetly reaching up and taking off his hearing-aids to not hear anymore.

• Simon has to suppress a laugh-

• Johnny often goes hunting with Simon, especially since he's the most into the outdoors besides Rose.

• Is oddly a perfect hunter- Has very quiet steps and is smart with a gun.

• Him and Johnny are sitting in some trees waiting for the elk to go by, Johnny staring out into space a bit as he holds his rifle and thinks.

• Simon seeing this grabs a piece of bark and tosses it at him to get his sons attention. 'Whats wrong?' Simon signs, Johnny sighing lightly.

• 'I guess, just thinking-' Johnny signed. Simon nodding his head for the teen to continue.

• 'Do you wish I wasn't deaf? I could have been military like you, I couldn't have done a lot of things. Like speak.. Does it bother you?'

• Simon felt surprised by this- Shaking his head quickly. 'No-'

• 'No- I do not care about if you are deaf or dont speaak, it doesnt matter to me. You are my Son- I'd have never let you go into the military either way, I don't want any of you to experience what I have. I want you to live good lives, and long ones not just for me and your mother. But for your name sake. So no, it doesnt bother me' Simon signed, feeling the burn in his chest at remembering his fallen comrade and his sons namesake.

• Johnny sat there, his hands twitching as he tried to think what to say but couldn't. Instead just smiling softly with a nod, turning back to see some elk coming into the clearing.

• The two hunted in peace that night not a word spoken between the two of them.

• "Why the long hair?" Simon ask, noticing the lack of haircut from his boy in the last few months. Johnny shrugs and signs 'Growing it out, Going to see if I like it'

• Never cuts it again- Much to Simon's annoyance

• When Johnny goes to University for Aero Space Engineering he almost cries- while he understands absolutely nothing his boy is saying to him when talking about his homework

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communistchilchuck · 20 days

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Laila reached out to me to help share her fundraiser. She is a 22-year-old Palestinian architecture student urgently raising money to evacuate Gaza and continue her education in Cairo. She has only raised €2,489 out of her €35,000 goal so far! Please donate, and if you can’t donate, please share!

From Laila’s GFM:

My name is Laila Auda. I’m writing to you while my heart is heavy, my tears are pouring down out of fear and despair. My only shimmer of hope to achieve my dream of being an Architect relies on you.

I’m 22-year-old dreamer and 178 days genocide survivor. I’ve endured unimaginable hardships including four major aggressions and countless military escalations. I’m still reluctant to believe that I’m reliving the 177th day of the fifth war in my prime years. Not only have these wars destroyed my dreams, but they have also deepened my trauma and depression.

In 2018, I was granted the opportunity of a lifetime through the ACCESS Micro scholarship Program funded by the US Department of State for 2 years English learning.

In 2020 I graduated from Arafat for gifted high school with honor degree 94.4%. And I was granted to a scholarship for 2 years in EL-UNRWA College pursuing my dream of being an Architect. In addition of finishing 3 external courses of software's used in architecture beside the college. I’ve put immense amount of pressure on my back to fulfill my dreams in my early twenties, having a message of being an inspiring soul of success. I was already in my small circle as three of my siblings want to be architects too! They see how I stay up all night making study models.

Now I’m a third-year architecture student completing my bachelor's degree in the Islamic University of Gaza (IUG). The dream of completing my bachelor's degree in my homeland became almost impossible after the IOF bombed all the buildings of my university and amidst the terrifying conditions we endure daily being stripped of every human right imaginable.

I’m sure you’re aware of the situation we have been living. My words are laconic, but my pain is profound and my mental health has been irreversibly damaged due the state of war. Switching from a person who’s addicted to learning to a person who is thinking of how can I escape death. My dream is completing my bachelor's degree in Cairo university, come back to my homeland and be an active architect in the rebuilding programs.

My target is to raise 35000€, which will be allocated as follows:

(1500$) university registration fees.

( 5000$ ) education fees per year (*4 years > 20000$) as I’ll lose 1 one more year with the courses equivalence due to the difference between the plans.

for life expenses as student for 4 years. ( 10000$ )

Add to that 2.9% GoFundMe would take and the fees on money transfer the bank would take.

The overall sum amount is approximately 35000€ considering the bank my cousin- who's launching this campaign- is engaged which operates in Belgian currency.

Your support could mean the difference between dreams realized and dreams shattered. Together we can make a difference. Together we can ensure that the voices of those trapped in conflict zones are heard, and their dreams are not forgotten.

I love studying and I dream of a life where I can breathe giving. I want to help people to rebuild their homes thinking with them of every detail. I want to see people’s happiness by creating spaces that lies warmth within their souls..

I’m truly grateful for your time, consideration, and support. Your generosity will make a lasting impact in my life, illuminate the path toward a brighter and more hopeful chapter.

Every contribution, no matter the size it will be a step forward achieving my dream

If you would like to confirm the validity of this campaign, you can message Laila on X

Username: Laila_EYO

With gratitude

Laila Auda

#palestine #free palestine #gaza

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spiderism · 10 months

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Miguel’s conducting a census on the spider-verse when he lands himself on 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇-𝟐𝟏𝟑𝟕 – has no prior information since this is his initial visit, but on first glance recognizes that this is Nueva York; that usually means that the local superhero is Miguel O’Hara, or at least another variant of him. Only he finds out that here, it’s actually someone named Web-Shot, a souped-up version of his own late wife.

"Cariño." It was easier to say before – when everything was right, when his entire world hadn't collapsed in on itself. Now, the word feels strange. His brain reacts as if no time's passed at all; it takes effort for his mouth to form around each of the vowels and the consonants, though – like a rusted cog forced into service after being made stiff from years of disuse.

And while you may walk and talk like her, you’re not. He tells himself not to be fooled by the way your face lights up when you see him, by the way your laughter fills the space between the two of you, and by the way you still tell jokes at his expense.

But then you take the few steps necessary to close the distance to get to him, wrap your arms around his frame like he’s just come home after a long day of being out. It’s all too familiar – your body folding into his, how well the pieces fit together, the softness that he remembers so well; it’s every single inch of his wife that had been catalogued and filed away in the back of his mind for safekeeping – dust-ridden archives that he’d never thought he’d dig up again. You’re a memory in the flesh.

“Web-Shot, because—”

“You shoot webs. That’s cute,” he says in a dry tone.

“Alright, then. Let’s hear yours. You got something better?”

“Spider-man. It’s simple. Clean. Rolls off the tongue.”

“Wow, original. Was ‘Daddy Long Legs’ already taken?”

“Oh, you’ve got jokes. I see your sense of humor is consistent.”

“It’s why you fell for me, isn’t it?”

“Among other things,” he murmurs. “Pain in my ass—”

He asks where your Miguel is, needs to know if the two of you are together, but finds out that he died three months ago – fell from a clocktower during a bad fight he wasn’t supposed to be at, snapped his neck clean in half from the tension when you tried to catch him with your webbing and he ricocheted back up from the concrete like a damn bungee cord. The ring was in his pocket; he was supposed to propose that night before everything went to shit. So your time ended with him fast, early. Before you even really got to start your lives together.

And this other Miguel, the one who shows up in your universe alive (sure) and well (debatable), gives you some insight to his world. His wife was a romantic – an idealist, a dreamer. He’s always been pragmatic – a man of science, an engineer, doing everything within his realm of possibility to make her visions come true. It’s been a long time since he talked about his history and his family: how he proposed, where they had the wedding, his daughter – the way everything was good and perfect until it wasn’t.

After spending the night with you on the Empire State Building, he realizes how much you’re like his wife. It hits him hard, brings up too many emotions to the surface that he’d been tamping down all these years.

Nothing about any of this is fair. And it’s sad, heartbreaking. Especially—

“I didn’t get to grow old with you.”

“We could’ve had a lifetime together and it still wouldn’t have been enough. You get that, right?”

You convince him to stay. Try to, at least. He can be your Miguel, and it would all be so easy. He can take his retired wedding ring off the chain around his neck and slip it on where it belongs.

But it’s not possible. He tells you that much – what can happen, the repercussions that ripple out and affect the multiverse web. Because he’s already attempted that – wouldn’t have given up without trying to get you back.

A part of him wants you to say it one last time. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Instead, he gets:

“Every version of me loves every version of you. And even though I haven’t gotten to see it for myself, I know that there’s no universe where that isn’t true.”

Before he leaves, you ask if he thinks there’s any chance the two of you are allowed to be happy, allowed to live normal lives in all of the places he’s seen.

He tells you that he has: breakfast on the balcony, slow Sunday mornings, and weekend fútbol tourneys with your daughter. This story ends on a good note, but he doesn’t mention that it only exists inside his head.

#i was a lil too lazy to write the full version #honestly i was too lazy to properly format this and put angst warning so you can yell at me if you want #no i did not proofread #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o hara x reader

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piscesvenus12h · 1 year

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ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS: SUN THROUGH THE HOUSES - 7th-12th

7th house sun: relationship oriented. Doesn’t like to be alone. Probably a people pleaser. “If not it’s ok” - text message sender. Would rather do it themselves. Caretaker and homemaker. Maternal. Excellent fashion sense. Interior design. This is the friend you go to when you want to throw a party or have a big extravagant plan that you need help with. You’ll end up with a party or event planned with excellence. They strive to make you smile. To the natal owner: don’t ever forget that just as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside. People may walk all over you if you let them. Place boundaries where you need them and don’t feel responsible for other peoples emotions.

8th house sun: magnetic. Alluring as FUCK. People either love you or they hate you and there’s no grey matter here. Mystic at heart. Sensitive. Connected with the occult. Manifests easily. Should definitely major in psychology or philosophy. Good with money. This is the friend you find when you need to express your power and need help establishing how to do that best. This friend will help you find who you truly are and help you express your fullest potential. To the natal owner: being a hermit is OKAY & NEEDED desperately by you. You cannot survive out in the open world forever, you NEED to retreat and care for yourself first and foremost.

9th house sun: SMART. Book and street smart. Creative in the arts. Idea giver. Divinely inspiration. Book nerd. Low key adrenaline junky. Excellent at languages. Probably doesn’t need a GPS much/remembers locations and directions really fucking good. This is the friend you study all night with for midterms and then hit spring break travels with! They know how to bust out an A+ then party their asses off. To the natal owner: pick one or two passion projects and pursue them with all you have! Anything you set your mind to will take effort and your undivided attention. Don’t get discouraged if you don’t succeed right away, persistence is key!!

10th house sun: girl boss/boy boss. Class president. Probably gets upset with themselves when they don’t get an A on a test they prepared for. random fact giver. natural born leader. Management. Color coding. Probably irons their clothes before work or school. This is the friend you want to seek if you have a new business or club or anything in that area. They will help you set everything up and even serve as a leader if you need one. To the natal owner: it’s ok to take a nap. Productivity does not make you a better person than anyone else. Don’t convince yourself otherwise.

11th house sun: miss/Mr. popular. committed as fuck. Most people love you and if they don’t, it’s because of a projection. Chatty. Should be a podcast owner. Makes a new friend every week. Really good at social media. open minded. Wants to save all of the animals. “if we don’t have earth, we have nothing.” This is the friend you seek to help take your mission statement up a level. To the natal owner: you can’t save everyone!! Not everyone is worth your genuine love and support. Learn boundaries.

12th house sun: WWJD? Loner. Spiritual or religious. Sees in between the lines. You can’t get anything past these people. They intuitively know all. Fertile. Creative. Powerful when they put their mind to it. Day dreamer. This is the friend that you want if you to transcend and take some magical mushies. They will take you on an adventure of a lifetime. To the natal owner: be careful of escaping your reality too much. I know earth sucks, but you’re stuck here. Ground yourself and find your tribe.

(Houses 1-6 also posted!)

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monthlymanga · 1 month

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Soldier Poet King - One Piece ver.

There will come a captain whose smile is bright and free with a hat that's made of straw and stretch as vast as seas for fun and adventure he'll do as he please and if you want a savior give him something to eat

There will come a swordsman who wields not one but three the first mate of our captain dear and made of loyalty senses sharp and a goal to reach from a fight he never runs to win he is ready

There will come a burglar as pretty as can be with her maps all drawn by hand she'll navigate the seas her eyes on the clouds and royalties she'll command the ship they sail and guide them to safety

There will come a liar who's always quick to flee a marksman whose eyes are clear and hands that are steady a sniper, a warrior and fights bravely listen to his tales so tall he'll stand for his friends' dreams

There will come a chef with a deep love for the sea a dreamer and a fighter but flirtatious he can be has flaming kicks and a love for ladies and if your paths they ever cross you'll never leave hungry

There will come a reindeer who might look cowardly a doctor who has a heart bigger than his body a child named a monster and slightly naive but if you look one final time he's more human than he seems

There will come a scholar a flower-like beauty has a love for reading and archeology with limbs that blossom unnerving is she for her nation she'll explore and answers she will seek

There will come a cyborg a proud shipwright is he a little shameless and he wears his feelings on his sleeves works filled with passion and creativity he will build a ship for us to sail on every sea

There will come a skeleton who's gifted tunefully a lonely life he has led existence a mystery a promise to fulfill and a lifetime of memories the musician will play a song and sing with joy and glee

There will come a helmsman the first son of the seas like a calm before the storm he fights powerfully he's gentle, he's righteous and pushes equality the fishman steers with a smile and laughs wholeheartedly

There will come a pirate crew 'The Strawhats' namely the world will hear their laughter as they go on this journey with hopes and dreams and desires to achieve come and join as they travel the Merry and Sunny

With hopes and dreams and desires to achieve watch and read the story of how they find the~

One Piece.

breaking out of my manga posting for the sake of this idea I had. The world needed to see this.

READ TAGS BELOW (only if you want to tho)

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plutosfallenangel · 1 year

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Random Moon Sign Observations | pt.1

(*based on personal experiences and opinions. look at the whole natal chart to gain insight, just one placement isn't enough and some aspects/house placements can make contradictions to the below information*)

• Aries moon •

-makes more moves in the night (esp 12H)

-extremely protective over those they love

-when comfortable with someone they will make little noises and funny sounds, very animated beings

-feels emotions intensely, the most reactive to their own emotions and environment, in the physical body they feel every emotion deeply

-will jump head first into new passions or romances unless the chart indicates otherwise

-it's like pulling teeth to get their vulnerable side out, as time progresses they learn that they don't have to be the hard-shelled thing their early environments created and that being vulnerable is brave

-most will only have a few people reach their inner soft core in their lifetime

-artists in their own right, alone time is essential for the creative process

-inner competition with themselves, instead of seeing others as competition they will try to beat themselves and be a better version of yesterday

• Taurus moon •

-always around close friends, typically has 1 or 2 people they grew up with that they keep in their lives forever or atleast as long as humanely possible

-is it bad to say these people are pretty when they cry? I've never seen a Taurus moon ugly cry before

-extremely grounded, and extremely guarded

-have a hard time letting people into their innermost self or world, but once they do you won't be going anywhere anytime soon

-emotional support person for close friends/family

-has emotional support accessories

-bad smells can put them into a very bad mood, very sensitive nose

• Gemini moon •

-consistently stimulating themselves through conversations/books/video games/hobbies

-can struggle with consistent mood swings

-appreciates design and loves to build things/put things together

-can be the friend that knows everyone's behind-the-scenes drama

-witty and goofy people (my fav)

-they tend to bury themselves in a hobby when they're not feeling the best mentally (sometimes as a distraction without actually addressing what's wrong)

-asking questions can actually make them feel better, even if it's on random things, emotional support knowledge intake lol

-extremely good at problem-solving

• Cancer moon •

-the most emotionally guarded moon sign, and will guard their family/close friends emotions like their own

-sensitive yet sensual

-gives the warmest hugs

-remembers the smallest details for the longest amounts of time

-has to let their emotional body go with the flow and ride the "waves", once they feel an emotion come over they can't go around it.. they have to see it to the end

-if conjunct the asc their emotions are painted all over their face

-if you've ever made one mad, you know what those claws feel like... they are some of the most scary people to make angry.. imo

-sentimental daydreamers/ and dreamers

-most can't get over that one ex

-4 course meal @ 2am is to be expected, especially if liquor is involved

-one of the brightest imaginations next to Pisces, their memories are alive, well and extremely vivid

• Leo moon •

-once you get close to them, they can feel entitled to spending time with you (in my experience)

-can let things bottle up and EXPLODE

-I've noticed when they are passionate about someone they can keep a lot of those feelings inside and slowly reveal them overtime.. not as extravagant as some would think, but they will definitely make you feel like you're the only one in the world when they care about you

-spending time with them is so fun because they will make everything into a joke and silly

-the goofiest of the moon signs imo (they do it for the attention but I love it, give me more)

-can be very demanding emotionally from others, whether it's communicated or not

-expects the utmost loyalty and gives it back in return, even on small things.. these people are probably the most loyal

-will place people on a pedestal within their bright orbit, sometimes they can fall into people that give them a lot of attention, and not for the right reasons..

-the most generous (and they mean it)

-likes to do things that gets them recognized, even in a small town/group setting.. they want to play sports to get that trophy and team photo

• Virgo Moon •

-please for the love of god bring your own tums

-one of the biggest nurturers

-very specific style and aesthetic

-always on time, or at least their internal clock is

-the sleepiest employee

-out of all the mutable moons, I think virgo can sit and process their emotions the longest

-can also be the same moon sign to brush off emotional encounters until they've processed their end enough

-prone to addiction just like pisces/12H moons, using a substance as an escape, becoming an addiction most times because they strive for routine, and if something bad just happens to fall into that routine.. they can have a hard time removing it (emotional security in routines, even if the routine looks messy from an outsiders perspective)

-literal sweethearts (angels in their own right)

• Libra moon •

-the most loved in the room when they walk in, idk how to explain it

-can be a tad on the partner crazy side, hopeless romantic

-emotional support person for a lot of people but they do expect the same in return

-depending on what else is in the chart, they can become very codependent on another person and FAST.. they won't listen to anyone when it comes to their beloved

-similar to a gemini moon, they can struggle to find emotional balance, but this is mostly caused by allowing outside influences to effect their emotional body (ex: partners)

-when they're good, they're GOOD and when they're bad, they're BAD

-does the best when they're in a 1-1 setting bouncing feelings and ideas off another person, they tend to show up or call at the most random times to chat about something like their car insurance, almost like, can you listen to this idea and share what you think? (I love them for it)

-i know I said it before but, HOPELESS ROMANTICS 💔🔥

#astrology #astro community #astro observations #astrology observations #moon signs #astrology community #zodiac #astrology moon #astrology research

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catlordewrites · 9 months

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Galatea - Chapter One

Masterlist - Ao3

Summary: A cheap Arrakeen prostitute, chained to the city brothel by an unfair contract and desperate for freedom, is offered the chance of a lifetime.

A/N: Basically unedited. Not my best work. Tryna get out of a writing slump so you get what you get

Chapter Warnings: smut, a smidge of knife play, prostitution, mentions of rape, depression, anxiety

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ ONLY

This part, Galatea was all too familiar with.

The groundcar waiting for her outside the brothel was nondescript. Grey metal and dark windows. The man that opened the door for her wore a black work uniform stripped of insignia. She knew the type. Spine rimrod straight. Eyes front. Trying just a little too hard not to seem like he was ogling the beautiful woman scantily dressed in fine silk.

Galatea shot him a wink. He blushed.

From there, though, things got a bit more complicated.

She slid gracefully onto the fine leather seats, trying not to think about how desperately she wanted tonight to succeed.

Chances of everything happening the way they needed to were exceedingly slim. She knew better than to get her hopes up. She wasn’t a dreamer, but she had been, once. Despite all she’d been through, it was a habit that just wouldn’t die.

Arrakeen was a city of many pains. And many pleasures. The House of Priapos was the largest purveyor of both. Women—and men—for all social classes. The brothel itself took up a city block, with the Trulls crammed into tiny stalls at the bottom, separated from the street by only threadbare curtains; while the wealthy enjoyed High Courtesans tucked away in luxurious penthouses that made up the highest floors.

Galatea operated somewhere in the middle.

Trapped by an unfair contract that she had signed years ago when she had been young and desperate, she could be dressed up as a courtesan, or down as a street whore, and had no room to argue either way.

Tonight, though, was unprecedented.

Galatea was to entertain the Duke of Caladan and Arrakis.

Although her hourly rate was much higher than the average Arrakeen man could afford, compared to the usual girls enjoyed by Imperium Nobility, she was trashy, at best.

It was a fluke, really.

Zoie, a High Courtesan who happened to be Galatea’s close friend, had recently taken the Atreides Warmaster as a client. He had been pleased with her, and after a few sessions, mentioned that the Duke was in need of a new lover, and asked if she had any recommendations.

Zoie owed Galatea quite a lot, and a recommendation whispered in the right ear went a long way.

The Arrakeen Palace was massive. For all the years she’d lived in Arrakis, it had been a looming mountain above the city, little more than an extension of the Shield Wall’s craggy peaks.

Galatea had certainly never been inside, but she knew a few women that had. She shifted nervously in her seat as the groundcar passed though the first security checkpoint at the outer gate, wondering at how they’d never thought to mention that the outer walls were at least fifteen feet thick. Or that armed guards bristled at every corner.

The groundcar skirted the main entrance and rolled to a stop at a smaller door just off of the courtyard, where a female guard waited. After scanning her for concealed weapons, the guard led the way inside.

She was guided on a long, winding route. Down cavernous corridors and up quite a few stairs. They encountered no one. It was planned, certainly. They were hardly going to advertise when a whore was being brought in for the Duke to fuck.

The guard’s footsteps echoed smartly through the silence, while Galatea’s delicate sandals whispered in afterthought. For a few long moments, Galatea could almost believe that they were the only souls in the entire palace. The utilitarian minimalism of the place did nothing to lessen the effect—the sandstone walls were smooth and bare. Like some suspiciously clean tomb lost deep in the desert.

The illusion was shattered when they rounded a final corner and were faced by two more guards. After being checked for weapons a second time. Her escort led her past them and down a hall that looked a bit more lived in. Still spotless, but a few paintings adorned the walls and a long crimson rug ran the length of the floor.

The guard stopped at a fairly nondescript door and turned to face her.

“The groundcar will be waiting for you at dawn,” she explained, her voice as clipped and measured as her gait. “You will be escorted out of the building. Do not wander. If you need to leave early, tell the guards. They will call for the groundcar. Do you understand?”

Galatea saw it now—the disgust hidden behind the guard’s professional mask. It wasn’t the sort of thing that she usually let faze her. People were disgusted by whores until they wanted to use one. But she was already feeling a bit out of her depth, and the blatant distaste turned the whispers in the back of Galatea’s mind into wailing sirens.

There’s a reason they use highborn ladies for this, she thought bitterly as the guard left her alone in the hall. Cheap is cheap and trash is trash.

But then the logic of Zoie—who was decidedly not cheap—rose out of the mix, accompanied by the trademark shrug of her lovely shoulders.

Who the fuck cares? A cock is a cock. Milk him and move on.

Galatea couldn’t argue with that. She lifted her hand and knocked.

The answering voice was low and soft. “Come in.”

The door opened smoothly on well oiled hinges, and Galatea was treated to the view of the room beyond.

The Duke’s suite was large and spacious, framed on one side by shelves laden with books and strange trinkets from his homeworld, and by the thin slip of a very wide but short window that was a standard Arrakis style on the other. The bed was tucked away at the far side of the room—large and neatly made underneath a beautiful bronze mural of a curling sandworm. A few steps from the bed was a doorway—presumably a bathroom—and a short distance from that, the closet. The room also sported a small breakfast table, a chaise lounge with matching chairs, and a writing desk.

The Duke himself sat at the desk, hunched over a stack of papers with a pen in hand. Galatea’s breath hitched in her throat—half from admiration, half from nerves.

Duke Leto Atreides was an extremely handsome man. Olive skin turned golden by the Arrakis sun and heightened under the warm glow of the glowglobes. He had a sharp, angular face softened by curly black hair and a beard to match, both shot through with elegant streaks of silver. Thick, heavy eyebrows sat above the eyes of a poet, pulling his expression into one of constant brooding.

There was no point in trying to pretend that she didn’t find him attractive. Doing nothing to hide the way her eyes flitted appreciatively around his body, Galatea dipped into a polite curtsy and flashed him her most winning smile.

“My Lord.”

He gave her the barest glance, then went back to writing.

“I’ll be with you in a minute. Make yourself comfortable.”

The disinterest gave her pause.

Galatea was not the first woman that had been hired for this job. Although the Courtesans that had come before her had been sworn into silence, Zoie was persistent. Through her usual persuasion tactics and ability to root out gossip from the most stubborn sources, the beautiful Courtesan was able to garner that, out of six High Courtesans, the Duke had sent them all away.

And if they hadn’t been able to please the Duke, what hope did Galatea have?

Well, he hasn’t dismissed me yet.

She turned to one of the bookshelves. Galatea ran her fingers down a few of the leather bound spines and read the titles. Paper books were incredibly rare on Arrakis. There were no trees; wood and paper had to be imported. She had a digital tablet, though. Reading was one of the few hobbies she could afford. There wasn’t much else to do to fill the time between clients, anyhow.

The Duke heaved a sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, Galatea watched him set aside his papers and stare off into space. He drummed his fingers on the desk. Lost in thought.

The decision was made. He stood. Strode purposefully around the desk.

“Alright. Come here.”

The command in his tone made Galatea shiver with anticipation. As much as she hated the brothel, the contract, the lack of choice, her masters—this part, especially when she liked the look of the client, could be a lot of fun.

She met him in the middle. The Duke’s arms wrapped around her, dragged her body against his, left no room for argument. Then his mouth was on hers. Hard. Demanding. Tongues and teeth. No preamble. Absolutely filthy.

Fuck, he was a good kisser. Of course he was. A man as beautiful as he was didn’t skate through life without getting a lot of practice.

Galatea’s knees went weak, and she grabbed onto his shoulders to keep upright. The Duke didn’t seem to notice, and instead used her loss of balance to steer her towards the chaise lounge.

Once he had her underneath him, he wasted no time in pulling the straps of her dress down her shoulders, loosening the silk enough to free her breasts. Then that wonderful mouth was on her neck. She gasped as his beard scraped along her collarbone. Eager to match his intensity, Galatea slipped a hand between their bodies to rub his cock through his trousers. She could feel the outline of him through the thick fabric—still soft, but of pleasing size.

Galatea hummed appreciatively. The Duke paused, his breath ghosting past her ear. She threaded her free hand through his hair and pulled him back in for another kiss.

He reciprocated, but something had shifted.

The Duke tolerated a few more moments of her touch, then he heaved a sigh and pulled away. Galatea was left draped on the lounge, tits out and baffled as he returned to his desk.

“Thank you for coming here tonight,” he said, settling back down in his chair and shuffling papers as he returned to his work. “You may go.”

Shocked, Galatea sat up and fixed her clothes. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Cheap whore or not, she knew she was attractive. It was usually the lead up when a client lost interest—when the knowledge of her unfashionable price and breeding was at the forefront. But once a man got his hands on her, he always followed through.

“My Lord… forgive me, but … have I done something wrong?”

He didn’t look at her. “No. You will be paid in full.”

Galatea could have cried. It wasn’t about the money. She saw so little of the money she made for the brothel that it didn’t have much meaning for her anymore, beyond the fact that she was cheap—which her handlers reminded her of at every opportunity. But the Duke was in need of a lover. Leto the Just, they called him. A good and fair man, one that had the authority and money to pay off her contract with the brothel and set her free, if he liked her enough. If he liked her more than enough, he might even bring her into his House. He could make her a concubine. And finally, after so many years, she could have the quiet, stable life that she’d always wanted.

No more beatings. No more scrounging. No more pleasuring the questionable men that the courtesans above her didn’t want. No more falling asleep to moans and screams. No more knowing that there were women several floors below her getting raped and being able to do nothing about it.

She could be free.

It was a pipe dream. She knew that. But having the hope crushed before it could even fully take root was devastating.

From the despair came indignation, and from that came anger. Anger always made her reckless.

She returned to the bookshelf. Figuring that the Duke wouldn’t leave sensitive information just out on a shelf, Galatea decided it was safe to help herself to one that sounded interesting.

This was an opportunity. Good things never happened to Galatea. She had hours left until the brothel expected her back, so she might as well make the most of the Duke’s luxuries.

And if he really wanted her to leave, he could make her.

Galatea settled down on the chaise lounge with her book and began to read.

It was the Duke’s turn to be shocked. He stared at her, heavy eyebrows low with a frown. “What are you doing?”

Galatea shrugged. “You’ve paid for my time already. How we spend it is entirely up to you. And if what you want is something pretty to brighten the room while you work, then that’s fine by me.”

The Duke blinked at that for a few moments. Utterly perplexed. Galatea wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

“… As you please.”

They stayed like that for a while. The silence was soothing, full of nothing more than the occasional shuffle of papers and soft breaths. The world within the Arrakeen Palace was so far from the one she knew in the city—too far above for the bustle and chatter of people, groundcars, and animals to reach. Isolated. Alone in a bubble. Close enough to see the lights but too far away to touch.

Galatea wondered if the Duke was lonely.

She wasn’t really sure of the details. Zoie tended to not make a ton of sense when she was excited. Galatea mulled over what had gathered from the younger woman’s babbling.

The Duke’s concubine—his partner of fifteen years and the mother of his only son—had left him. She, along with their son, had gone into the desert to join the Fremen. The rest was speculation, but there seemed to be a consensus that the son, at least, had gone with the Duke’s blessing. The Fremen had been the reason that House Atreides managed to survive those harrowing first few months of their hold on Arrakis.

Galatea shivered at the memory. She remembered the night well. The sounds of roaring engines and lasguns had made the city tremble. Fire had lit the sky as ships rained down over the Shield Wall. The attack had been massive. The kind that no one was meant to survive.

But the Fremen had come out of the desert—Galatea wouldn’t pretend to understand why—and when dawn came, House Atreides still stood.

Loaning his heir out to learn the ways of the Fremen seemed a small price to pay for an alliance.

But it didn’t explain why Lady Jessica had gone as well.

Eventually, Galatea felt the Duke’s eyes on her again. She thought that he was searching for something to say, so she read aloud:

“Discovery is dangerous…but so is life. A man unwilling to take risks is doomed never to learn, never to grow, never to live.”

The Duke nodded. “That’s Pardot Kynes, the former planetologist. Dr. Liet Kynes gifted me a copy of some of her father’s writings.”

“I’ve heard of him, I think. He was supposed to be a very brilliant man.”

“It seems that way, yes.” The Duke leaned back in his chair, a bitter smile twisting at his lips. “Though sometimes I wonder if his experience was incomplete.”

“How do you mean, my Lord?”

“Perhaps one type of danger helps a man to grow. The experience makes him more of a leader. While others do the opposite. Less of a leader… less of a man.”

She tilted her head. Considered him. The faraway look. The grim smile. Tension pulled at his shoulders and exhaustion at his spine. The way he’d clutched at her reminded her of a man taking medicine—the action of doing something despite not really wanting to because it would make him feel better.

Less of a leader… less of a man.

Ah.

That was something she could work with.

The realization gave her direction, and direction gave her confidence. Galatea stood and crossed over to the desk. The Duke tilted his chin to look up at her, holding her gaze as her knees brushed his when she hopped up to sit on the desk.

Galatea cocked her head to the side as she considered him. She’d had this conversation before. Great care was needed. Proud men had the tendency to lash out, and the Duke of Caladan and Arrakis was certainly a proud man.

But at the same time, this was a man that had committed to one woman for over fifteen years. That, especially among Landsraad nobility, was extremely rare. He hadn’t been able to marry his concubine, but had also refused to marry anyone else. Unheard of.

What sort of a man was Leto Atreides?

Galatea was good at reading people. Getting a snap impression of someone, and then being able to act on it, was one of the most important skills a whore could have. Besides sucking cocks, of course, but that was a given.

Fifteen years. A son. Now he was alone. Responsible for far too many things, all of which seemed to be within a hair's breadth of falling apart. Under a great deal of stress.

This was the sort of man that wanted someone else to take control. Be taken care of. Just for a while. Being bossed around for a bit would definitely do him good.

“Leto,” Galatea began, making careful use of his first name, “when’s the last time you slept?”

Whatever he was expecting, that wasn’t it. Leto huffed a laugh. “My duties don’t exactly lend to a regular sleep schedule.”

“So in other words, you’ve been living on anti-fatigue pills?”

He shrugged.

“Leto.” He hadn’t corrected her for using his name, and she took it as a signal that she was allowed to keep doing so. She rolled her eyes and gave a disappointed shake of her head.

The Duke watched her, somehow much more interested than he had been when he’d had his mouth on her tits. She couldn’t be offended, though. The intensity of his undivided attention was far too distracting.

Galatea slipped off her sandals and rested her bare feet on his thighs. Rested her elbows on her knees and her hand on one hand. The action forced him to lean back in his seat, his legs nudged apart by the weight of her.

Leto arched an eyebrow. The look on his face was one Galatea had seen many times—the one that said, I’m in complete control of this situation, and I’m letting you do this because I think it’s amusing.

Galatea tipped her head to indicate his crotch. “And you don’t suspect a connection between the two?”

To his credit, he handled the entirely unsubtle reference to his manhood with more dignity than most refined men Galatea knew. A slight widening of the eyes. The subtle reddening of the ears.

She suppressed a smile.

“I… uh…” He cleared his throat. “I was assured that anti-fatigue pills have no…er… side effects…”

“Oh, Leto honey.” Galatea pressed her hand to his cheek. “Beautiful boy. I’m a whore. You can speak plainly about your cock with me. God knows I handle enough of them.”

Turns out, the direct approach yielded delightful results. Leto sputtered and tried to cover it with a cough. He didn’t really want to look her in the eye, so he lowered his gaze. After a moment, it occurred to him that he was looking at her breasts. His eyes shot back up to her face, then drifted off to the side. His blush deepened, creeping down his neck.

Fuck, he was pretty.

“I…uh… wouldn’t want to burden you.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “That’s not exactly something you talk about with a potential lover.”

“On the contrary, who better to ask? These things happen—it’s normal—and most everyone tries to solve it the same way you did.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” He still wouldn’t look her in the eye, but the blush was fading. Galatea vowed to bring it back as soon as possible. “So it’s the pills?”

“Not exactly, but they certainly don’t help. How much sleep have you gotten in, say…the last two weeks?”

“I don’t know. Twelve? Maybe less.”

Galatea felt a wave of pity. No wonder the poor thing was having problems.

“Consider the mind and the body.” She held out both hands symbolically. “They work together, but they’re separate entities. The mind tells the body what to do, and the body does it. The heart needs to beat. Walk from your desk to the bookshelf. Move your hands to write a letter. But the body has opinions too. It tells the mind what it needs. I’m hungry. This hurts. I’m tired. I need to rest.”

She looked at him pointedly.

“I’m with you so far.”

“Good. So your body is telling the mind that it’s tired. You start yawning. Your brain gets fuzzy. You can’t keep your eyes open. But you’re a busy man. You have Duke things to do. So you take one of those helpful little pills, and you can keep going. But the pill isn’t making your body less tired, it’s just shutting up all the usual ways it lets you know that it needs a break. And that’s fine… for a while. But the longer you go without doing the things your body needs, the more desperate it gets. You aren’t listening to the usual signals, so it starts finding other ways to get your attention.”

Galatea gestured to his crotch again. “This is a very common one for men. Auditory hallucinations usually come next.”

Leto let out a breath. He wasn’t as shy now, which was a shame, but Galatea appreciated the glint of relief in his eyes. A small smile quirked at his lips.

“So what would you recommend, nurse?”

“It’s doctor, actually. Dr Whore. And for the long term, I prescribe sleep. No anti-fatigue pills for at least two weeks, unless absolutely necessary.”

He huffed, but was actually smiling now. “That’s a big ask, you know.”

“Make that three weeks, then. Also,” she took his chin between her index finger and thumb, “stop worrying about it. Your cock is fine. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. These things happen a lot more often than you think. And worrying makes it worse.”

“Alright, I get it.” He turned his face into her hand. His lips brushed her thumb. “And what about the short term, Dr Whore?”

“A massage, definitely,” was her immediate response. “While you were having a grope earlier, I felt your back. It’s all tied up in knots. A massage, and then a good night's sleep.” She paused, picked at a lock of his curly hair. It was still a little mussed from when she’d run her fingers through it, and now it was obvious how oily it was. “Scratch that. A bath. A nice warm bath. Massage. Then sleep. Lucky you, I’m good at all of those things. Bathroom’s through there, yeah?”

“A bath? On Arrakis? Isn’t that wasteful?” Leto protested as she slid off the desk and made her way towards the bathroom without waiting for an answer.

The bathroom, as the rest of Leto’s residence, was both spartan and beautiful. Decent sized, with a large tub taking up the center, a separate shower, toilet, and sink with a vanity all rounding the walls with accompanying shelves.

“How can it be wasteful?” Galatea countered, turning on the water. “You have a water reclamation system, right?”

Leto trailed into the room after her, looking a little lost. “Of course.”

“And filters in the cooling systems to collect the steam in the air?”

“Yeah, but…”

“But nothing. You’re the Duke. You deserve a nice bath from time to time. Call it a prerogative.” Satisfied with the water temperature, she straightened up and faced him, hands on her hips. “Now strip. I’m going to see if you have anything here we can actually use.”

With that, she started rummaging through his cabinets. Leto was a practical man, not prone to collecting frivolous things. But at his station, being well groomed was a necessity. Shampoo. Conditioner. Soap. Body wash. Beard oil. Lotion. All decent smelling. But next time… if there was a next time… she would bring some nicer things for him to use.

Galatea gathered up her finds and turned to see that Leto had done as she asked. He leaned over the edge of the tub, deliciously bare as he swished his hand through the water, brow furrowed in thought.

Heat pooled in her stomach. It wasn’t exactly uncommon for her to find clients attractive. But fuck, this just wasn’t fair.

Smooth golden skin stretched over an athletic build. Leto was sculpted as a statue—a beautiful amalgamation of well-toned muscles and soft flesh. A handful of scars smattered his upper body, and Galatea longed to trace them. Those, and the lovely curve of his arse.

Leto glanced up and saw her looking. His pensive expression turned smug.

Galatea laughed quietly and gave his face a light shove, telling him to hurry up and get in the bath. Leto did as he was told, a sigh of relief escaping him as he sank into the water.

“A Duke’s prerogative, you said?”

Galatea set down her things and stripped to the waist. “Prerogative. Absolutely.” She turned off the water and settled on her knees behind his head. “You work too hard. You deserve some things that make you feel good.”

Leto didn’t respond, just hummed absently as she added soap to the water and wet a fluffy washcloth. With it, she began to clean his chest and neck. His skin was hot under her hand, and she thought about what it would feel like to explore the same area with her mouth.

He sighed blissfully at her touch. Galatea imagined that it wouldn’t take much to make him moan.

Perhaps it was these thoughts that set the stage for her next one, or maybe she was riding the high of having made it farther than the other women that the brothel had sent before her. Either way, when she spotted the knife laying carelessly among Leto’s discarded clothing, Galatea got a very, very bad idea.

And GOD, it was such a bad idea. The kind where she wasn’t sure if it was so bad that it was good, or so good it was bad. The kind that, if it didn’t work, could absolutely get her killed. Hell, it might get her killed even if it did work. Fuck. No. It wasn’t worth the risk.

But as she continued to wash the Duke, her hands slowly dipping lower and lower down his abdomen, the idea niggled in the back of her mind.

Galatea knew that she had already set herself apart from the other whores the Duke had hired. No one else had made it past his dismissal. She should be satisfied with that. She should be thrilled by that.

But what about when the Duke’s problem passed? He wouldn’t need Galatea’s brusque attitude and world wisdom anymore. There were far more beautiful women for him to choose from that would be able to more than keep him satisfied.

The terrible idea took root.

Risk had gotten her this far. It seemed only fitting to let it take her all the way.

“Wet your hair for me, beautiful boy,” Galatea murmured in his ear.

Leto hummed acknowledgement and, while his head slipped down beneath the water, Galatea picked up the knife and tucked it safely in the waistband of her skirt.

Outwardly, Galatea calmly squirted shampoo into her hands. Inwardly, her heart hammered so wildly that she thought it might be trying to escape the rest of her body before it was too late.

Her fingers threaded through Leto’s hair. She worked the shampoo into a fine froth and used her nails to trace circles into his scalp. A head massage was one of the things that almost every man adored but never knew to ask for. She took her time with it. Although she was getting impatient, there was no need to rush.

Leto went boneless. His head lolled obediently with her touch. When she tilted his head back against her bare chest, he went willingly. One of her hands ghosted up his throat and scratched along his jaw, adding a little shampoo to his beard.

Galatea took her time rinsing him, too. She had him lean forward while she poured water from a pitcher over his head, careful not to get any into his eyes.

“Conditioner now,” Galatea told him. “Same idea.”

Leto leaned back against her and closed his eyes, so trusting and content.

Galatea reached down and, instead of the conditioner, picked up the knife. Before she could see reason and talk herself out of it, she had it against Leto’s throat.

The Duke inhaled sharply. His eyes snapped open, wide with shock. All of the relaxation she’d coaxed into him dissipated.

“What is this?” He demanded, his voice tight with anger. She thought of him as a coiled spring, ready to launch into motion. Ready to fight. But Galatea was in control. He was at her mercy. So he stayed perfectly still. Waiting for her to make a move.

Somehow, Galatea was able to hide how affected she was—practically trembling with arousal, fear, and adrenaline. Her free hand drifted down his body and wrapped around his pretty cock.

Leto gasped. This time, his body responded to her beautifully.

“Your body is trying to tell you something, Leto,” she whispered against his ear. “What’s it saying?”

She pumped him slowly. A low groan rumbled in his chest. His head pressed back against her sternum as he started to pant.

Galatea watched his face carefully. Checking for any sign of genuine distress. He was smart. By now, he understood what she was doing. The alarm was gone, but he remained guarded. His lovely poet eyes flickered from her face to where her hand worked between his legs.

He had to know by now that he wasn’t in any danger. What kind of assassin jerked off her victim first?

Leto shuddered against her as she increased her pace. With the blade still pressed tightly against his throat, he fought to keep still. The wariness gave way to pleasure. His eyes fluttered closed, and the quiet of the bathroom was filled with his quiet moans.

Desperate to hold something, but knowing better than to grab at her arms—as both hands were very busy—Leto clutched the edges of the tub so hard that his fingers turned white.

“My beautiful boy,” Galatea murmured, her lips touching his ear. “You needed this, didn’t you? You’re doing so well. Let go. I’ve got you.”

He didn’t last very long, but then, she hadn’t wanted him to. Leto’s body arched in the water. He gasped and cursed and shuddered. Galatea held him through it, whispering soft encouragement and praises until he slumped back against her, utterly spent.

Galatea lay the knife to the side, dizzy with relief and her own daring. She took Leto’s head in her hands, brushing his wet curls from his face and checking his neck.

To her horror, a single pearl of blood welled from a small cut across his throat. It was hardly more than a shaving cut, but it filled her with terror.

She had held a Duke at knifepoint. She’d made him bleed.

Galatea pressed her thumb against it, willing it to disappear. Leto winced slightly and opened one eye.

“I didn’t actually mean to cut you,” Galatea said weakly. “I’m sorry.”

Leto closed his eyes again and nuzzled against her arm.

“S’fine,” he mumbled. Adrenaline had given his system the kickstart that it needed, but it was fading fast. “Worth it.”

Relieved, Galatea kissed the top of his head. Then she went to work finishing his bath—applying and rinsing conditioner, washing his face, applying beard oil. She did it fairly quickly, knowing that the endorphins, combined with his exhaustion, were calling him to sleep. Galatea was stronger than she looked, but she couldn’t carry him to bed. Leaving him to sleep in the tub wasn’t exactly an option either.

When she guided him up to his feet, he went willingly. Leto stood while she dried him with a towel, meek and obedient as a child. By the time she grabbed the lotion she’d found and steered him out of the bathroom, Galatea thought he seemed half asleep already.

She pulled back the sheets of his bed. “Lay down on your stomach, beautiful boy. There you go.”

Leto all but sagged into bed. He buried his face into his pillow with a relieved sigh. Galatea joined him, kneeling by his hips and lathering her hands with lotion.

Within minutes, he was asleep. Galatea spent a good hour working out the knots in his back. She kneaded and pressed the tension in his tired muscles until they were jelly. Then she did the same to his legs, his feet, his buttocks.

He looked so good like this. If Galatea knew how to paint, she would have gladly spent the rest of the night capturing this image. Truely, it belonged with the ancient Renaissance artworks she’d seen in her holobooks. Exposed, vulnerable, beautiful.

When she was done, Galatea pulled the blankets over him. There was some time left before dawn, but she didn’t dare sleep. Instead, she fetched another book from the shelf and settled down on top of the covers beside the sleeping Duke.

She wiled away the hours, soothed by Leto’s soft snores and the silence of the Palace. She could get used to this. She begged every god in existence to let her get used to this.

Dawn came too soon. Galatea returned her books to their respective spots on the shelves. She had a few of the brothel’s business cards in her small clutch, one of which she retrieved along with her lipstick.

Galatea applied a fresh coat to her lips, then pressed them to the card. The shape of her kiss transferred perfectly just below the House of Priapos inscription. Below that, Galatea wrote her name in an elegant, looping hand.

She left the card on his desk and left, hoping that she would be seeing this place again very soon.

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shattteredvisage · 2 years

Text

You are Connor Roy, and you are the only child of one of the most powerful men in the country. Your father eclipses everything in your life, and you are rarely denied anything. Anything that is, but his time. There are nannies for that after all. You are raised to believe that the business he is building before your very eyes is your birthright. You're a little fidgety, true - a little bit soft. Your mother will sometimes rest her forehead on yours and call you a dreamer. You think she means it as a good thing, so you aren't sure why she says it so sadly.

You are Connor Roy and when you're 10 years old, your mother decides that she's had enough of everything you've ever known. She takes you with her to find "something different, something real." She calls it the adventure of a lifetime, but the faraway look in her eyes when she grasps your shoulders like a lifeline makes your stomach turn. So what does your old man do to get you back? What does he do with all that power his friends are always reminding you of? Absolutely nothing. With every day you spend without him, the reality of who your father is seeps into your bones and you feel real fear for the first time in your life. The reality is that being soft will not be tolerated and that family is only what Logan Roy says it is. The reality is that you are weak, and your father would never fight for a weak boy.

You are Connor Roy and when you're 13 your mother is carted away to a place upstate. No one asks if you'd like to visit her, but your father scoops you up and tries to sit you on his knee the way he did when you were younger. You're much too big for that now though, awkwardly sliding off and sitting next to him instead. She's a psycho he says. She put you in danger he says. Part of you is furious. Part of you is seething at him for saying that, for abandoning you, but mostly you feel relief. For the first time in three years you have more than enough food to eat and are not constantly worried that the alimony check will be spent on booze and pills. Your father, for all his faults, is sturdy and secure. He's your old man and he came back and this time he'll be all the strength you need.

You are a twenty year-old Connor Roy and you are peering into the eyes of your replacement. They're dark, not like yours, but the tufts of hair peaking out from the blanket that swaddles him remind you of your own. You hold him in your arms and he peers up at you, a soulful gaze that sucks you in until you're completely lost. Spellbound, you pull him a little tighter and sink into the nearest chair. You should hate him, you know, but the idea of hating someone so small makes you sick. In those eyes you can see the same promise your father probably sees; This one doesn't have a crazy mother in the middle of nowhere, this one is a clean slate, this one can be strong when all you can be is weak. Holding that newborn in your arms you resolve not to fight as your birthright is snatched by a tiny thief - to instead cling to this new, better family your father is building and to build them up in return. After all, family is what Logan Roy says it is.

You are Connor Roy and you do what you can. You stay present, stick around when you could be off making something of yourself. You give yourself to them in little ways, in ways you wish Logan had given himself to you. You take your little brothers on fishing trips, you let your baby sister climb on top of your back and dig her heels into your kidneys as you crawl on the hardwood. But part of you will always want to be as far from your father and his overbearing presence as you can. The houses you have built are always rural, always quiet and lonely, everything that Logan Roy isn't. You don't want to think about why that is. When you aren't there you know he pits them against each other, you know that they're starting to claw the weakness out of each other. The love you offer them is met with derisive snorts and rolled eyes - they become more like your father than you could ever dream to be. You're left behind, abandoned again, deluded and desperate in thinking that someone - anyone - could love you the way you need.

#shout out to kendall roy's sad eyes that would make you automatically pity him even as a baby #this is technically unfinished i wanted to add one more paragraph #but it's been sitting in my drafts for 8 months i just gotta get it out #connor roy #nothing like woobifying my future president #succession #hbo succession #shiv roy #roman roy #logan roy #kendall roy #willa ferreyra

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youcanseethecosmos · 2 years

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In light of me finding out Ferdie is a music producer, I bring an au brainrot literally no one is asking for:

I always wonder how Hob is still comfortably financially stable throughout the centuries. I know he mentioned in 1789 that he has money all over the world and he could go anywhere because after the 1600's shit show he's gotten more frugal and careful with his money.

But imagine: Hob picking up playing musical instruments around the time he and Dream "broke up" in 1889. The devastation of that meeting had him searching for something, anything, to help him cope with the possible forever loss of the only constant in his entire life. He has a piano in his current living room. But he's never actually touched it before. Why not learn it, right?

He's hired teachers, gone to classes, dabbled in everything remotely musical. Until eventually he settled on composing and producing. By the 50's he established an anonymous but fairly influential producer image by the moniker of "HG" (Like how Ferdie's producer name is FK because he's adorable and I love him). If you look closely at some of each new decade's greatest hits starting from the 50's, Hob's there. The little "Produced by HG" among a lot of other people. It's blink or you'll miss it but he's there. He's partly responsible for some of the best pieces of music all the way into the turn of the century.

And the producer name of HG gets passed down from "father to son." The name HG isn't just one person to the general music lovers community — it's a continuing legacy. A legacy only Hob fulfills. And by jove he's proud of it. Producing music is the best way for him to preserve decades of his life without ever showing his face to the public. He's heard his songs played on vinyl, CD's, cassette tapes, and eventually those wonderful little smartphones over the years. It reminds Hob that the change he witnesses with every new lifetime he lives, though scary, can be so utterly beautiful.

And you know how Dream finds out?

On a long drive with the windows rolled down, on a little roadtrip Hob insist they go on because "friends go on spontaneous roadtrips together, Dream!" Who was Dream to deny Hob anything after over a century of being apart? Who was Dream to shatter his hopeful expression of an innocent drive to the countryside?

Hob said he could go pick the roadtrip tunes. Because "shotgun usually picks the music." Dream is directed to check Spotify and it takes him a good ten minutes scrolling and searching for music because there is a specific sound he's looking for. Dream, being the one who holds the collective unconscious, has heard music being brought to life in Dreams. He's stayed in the shadows of great composers' dreams to hear a lovely melody. He's sat in empty theaters to watch the solo recital of young hopeful artists as they sing a song that has yet to be written.

And during his imprisonment, there was always a faint melody in his head. The song of a dreamer who longs for something, who longs for companionship, who longs for something once lost. On most days, it's that disjointed melody that brings him hope. He hums it without even thinking whenever he remembers Jessamy. He hums it even in the Dreaming, the notes becoming more clear the more he lingered on the comforting tune.

Somehow, he finds it. After accidentally clicking on Hob's profile instead of the magnifying glass for the search option. He sees a little playlist at the very top. Millions of listeners — millions of dreamers — who listen to the illustrious music producer/s HG.

Something compels Dream to tap it. Something compels him to scroll through the playlist, his thumbs seemingly knowing what to do before his thoughts ever catch up. Then he finds it, and he hears the melody before he even plays it, the song that's been playing in his head on repeat since its inception. The melody he never knew the ending to:

Dreaming of a Lonely Stranger by HG

And the melody engulfs him. Hob recognizes it as soon as it plays. He chances glances at Dream throughout the drive and in those split moments, Dream is completely transfixed – almost bodily drawn to the music. He leans forward in his seat, as far as his seatbelt would allow him, just because the speakers don't do justice to the song that Dream has longed to hear the entirety of.

The song that gave him hope.

After the song is done, Dream has tears in his eyes, falling down his cheeks in rivulets of starlight. Hob parks the car on the side of the road and asks if he's okay. Dream turns to Hob, the stars in his eyes sparkling brighter than Hob has ever seen.

And Dream leans over to Hob, presses their foreheads together, and whispers a soft but reverent "Thank you."

Hob didn't have to ask to know what he meant.

#haha what #THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A RAMBLE BUT I GUESS IT'S A SMALL FIC AGAIN???#music producer hob gadling #there thats the tag bc holy fuck #dreamling #the sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #morpheus x hob gadling #dream x hob #i saw One tidbit about ferdie and said 'thats so hob gadling of him'

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7-dreamers · 9 months

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[230810] Jiu’s Weverse Update:

❤️Happy birthday Bboya❤️ Have a good birthday today, and have a good day tomorrow, the day after tomorrow too Let's also spend a good lifetime with me❤️❤️❤️ Sua's comment: Ah❤️I love you, you’re mine, I love every moment with you🫶🏻

Transl: 7-Dreamers Carrot & irshu | Please do not take without credit

#dreamcatcher #jiu #sua #230810 #era: a from us #era: a save us #p: weverse #p: selca #t: trans #happysuaday

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nc-vb · 1 month

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𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐱𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐞-𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

Vergo, a seasoned actor who has won several awards and is always sought out by companies for their films, and you, an aspiring actor looking to get your name out in the world, meet at a party, and Vergo promises you the spotlight-- riches and fame can be yours... at the price of sex.

notes not back off my hiatus yet!! but this was a piece I wrote for the loverly @uminozerol 🥰 with her blessing, it has made it to the big screen (or, your phone screens, and if you've somehow decided to read ff on your tv screen, that's... a choice).

pairing -> actor!vergo x fem!actor!reader

warnings -> nsfw (18+, mdni), actor au, pw/p, piv sex "under contract", size difference (bc he's massive), oral sex (f!receiving), finger fucking, creampie; alcohol use (not involved w sexy times)

wc -> 5.6k

Contrary to mass naïve belief, the acting world isn’t all smiles and good times. Showing up to auditions and landing every role is a dreamer’s dream; personal sacrifice comes into play when desperation is present. The unspoken truth, the one hidden behind red painted doors to rooms with checkered floors…

But there’s a dark side to every industry.

The entertainment world, with its claws dug deep into society, dominates the public’s view of the world; only the most elite truly dictate what appears in the media, and, who. There’s nothing that speaks “power” like money does. A little investment goes a long way, but there are some actors and performers and entertainers who get away without needing that financial backing for their talents, raw and pure and whole; they do well on their own, beloved by the people.

And none of this has ever been a secret. It’s just something not many dare to tread on or over for fear of losing their own place under the LEDs. Fortunately for someone like you, a fresh-faced and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and all-too-eager to have your name known to and adored by the world. To have your skill acknowledged by the masses, to see them enjoy your work and laud about it to those who’ve yet to witness it for themselves-- it’s an honour like no other.

You’ve yet to fall on hard times from a lack of substantial work (small gigs, commercials and commercial voice overs, and a supporting role in a twelve-episode drama that wouldn’t be renewed for a second season in spite of an overwhelming positive response) but the drain on both your savings and your motivations as an aspiring actor had begun to weight heavy on your heart.

You had the skill set and the experience to be sought after as rookie talent— is there something you’ve been doing wrong? Certainly not even your manager is at fault; you’ve seen first hand just how hard they’ve been searching and fighting on your behalf.

If you could guess… it’d been your lack of networking. And, a lack of a network. You really were a rookie in that sense. All those roles were eaten up because of connections— entertainment is the industry of nepotism, after all. People who know people are how people get places.

You… knew this, too. Even in the beginning. It’s why you’re sitting in front of your vanity, face painted and already dressed in your black evening gown, second guessing everything you’d steeled yourself into doing tonight.

According to your manager, who’d heard through their own contacts, a huge networking event masquerading as a cocktail party was to be happening tonight, and she managed to surprise you with a ticket. A ticket. Which means you’d be going in alone.

The “Don’t Worry, I’ll Be With You In Spirit” line she fed you almost immediately after gushing over the expected attendees put you on edge. Especially considering she’d blurted out the name of your favourite actor: Vergo.

With a voice like butter and the smoothest acting you’d seen in your lifetime, you’d been instantly enthralled; you can recall how he’d been mostly chosen for darker, noir, thriller type roles because of this. You’d always wanted to see him in a romance film, but casting directors seemed to be heavily monopolizing his most infamous skill set. And, he seemed content in doing them.

You were about to be in the same room as your idol, your celebrity crush— alone.

Technically.

The drive to the venue is a quiet one. At the expression on your face, your chauffeur, your manager, couldn’t bring herself to comment any further about the situation, even to fill the silence brought about during the evening traffic (though you correctly assumed it hadn’t been for your glare of “retaliation”, but because of the crease lines that would appear along your forehead; something about “ruining your makeup”, she’d mumbled under her breath that made you relent).

She does send you off with a genuine well-wishing of luck, and a reminder to call her whenever you were ready to leave.

To your surprise, the event is not a private one. Or at least, perhaps it had been, but somehow was leaked to the public. A large security detail outlines the numerous gold and red velvet stanchions, arms spread eagle wide so as to bar the few more wily spectators that pressed forward a little too much toward the doors.

Maybe it never was a private event. Stanchions? A red carpet? This much security? Either someone had been brilliant enough to think ahead for a just-in-case scenario quite like this one, or it’d been a publicity stunt of some design.

Adjusting the chain of the clutch hanging off of your shoulder, you swing it forward to dig out your invitation, and present it to the host at the door. A nod, a brief welcome, you finally enter the building, greeted by a gentle breeze and gold adornments and bold crown mouldings-- from top to bottom, the chosen venue was a good choice. You only wish your heels wouldn’t click so loudly across the checkered floor; you get the point is to be noticed, in a sense, but having this many pairs of eyes on you as you drift further inside only rattles your nerves.

Being that it’s a cocktail event, there is no assigned table seating. Wouldn’t be much of a networking event if you were stuck at one table all night, you reason with yourself.

By suggestion of one of the staff, you check your shawl in. You’d expected the room to be much cooler and brought it just in case, but the sheer number of celebrities, interviewers, and recruiters already in the room brought the temperature to a comfortable enough level. You hold onto your purse, finding it not nearly enough of a nuisance to be rid of it.

Moving aside, you take in your surroundings, properly, no longer overwhelmed and overloaded by them as you’d been on entry. There are a lot of guests. In such a large foyer, you suspect well over one hundred to be in attendance. Your heart swells, recalling your manager’s words from earlier-- yes, the event is invitation only, but you could still apply to receive one, and if the hosts deemed you a fit enough guest, you may attend, yourself. For fresh blood like yourself, this meant everything. The chance to interact, the chance to create a connection, to establish that network; you didn’t have all those fancy business cards made up for them to be used as a paperweight, after all.

You’re able to hand out quite a few of them before you find your battery drained, casting directors and curious producers alike finding you an interesting conversation piece after you tell them the series you’d co-starred in. Some of them even recall your role played and your acting, a very small “some”; you’d appreciated their kind words. But it’d been a long two hours of non-stop chatting and casual drinking. As fancy as the event was, wearing three inch heels (or heels of any height, really) hadn’t been an ideal dress code requirement, and you were beyond parched.

Trying not to sigh too loudly, you let yourself collapse into a plush barstool, immediately noting the velvet upholstery to match that of the rest of the venue’s, and hail down the bartender when you spot them having finished with another guest.

I won’t drink tonight, you tell yourself, thanking them with a nod. They set a glass of water before you a moment later, and you begin sipping gratefully from its straw. Mmm.

Finally having a moment to yourself again, you allow your eyes to wander around the room. It’s gotten a lot fuller since the time when it started… Celebrities and their dedication to arriving fashionably late… isn’t fashionable at all.

You spot a lot of familiar faces around you: the small group of men bickering loudly in one of the furthest corners who’d all recently starred together in a “buddy”-cop movie, affectionately nicknamed on one of their sets as the Three Stooges; the tall raven haired woman who’d brought along a novel to read, a smile on her face while she covets it from a singular lounge chair, Nico Robin; just entering the fray after checking in his coat, a former co-star of yours, Donquixote Rosinante; and, to your right, cradling a tall drink of something clear and violet, sitting several feet taller than yourself and who’d be the one person able to send more than just your heart fluttering--

V-Vergo?! As unnoticeably as possible, you straighten in your chair, shimmying your hips to fit against the backing, and take another sip from your own water.

Now, stage fright was something that you managed to siphon out of your repertoire after the first couple years of acting. It managed to control a lot of aspects of your life and even lucked you out of receiving a couple of good, substantial roles. So being here, for an event meant to help entertainers new and seasoned form connections or start networks or begin partnerships-- it means there’s no time for you to tremble on the sidelines.

The time it takes for you to summon up the courage is embarrassing; Vergo’s already ordered a second drink, and you’re quite sure he’s noticed you glance his way (multiple times) in his own peripherals. If he did, he doesn’t mention it, nor would you have been able to tell with those dark shades he always wears.

You also order a drink -- this time, a half-strong cocktail -- and swivel in your stool, the head of it rotating beneath you. Your eyes rise first, before you’re about to speak, only for your words to catch in your throat. Next to his lip sits a smudge of something soft orange in colour; a cream, of some sorts. You determine it’s one of the dips from the appetizer bar, and wonder how long it’s been there that no one’s said a word to him about it.

“Are you content with simply staring, or is there something you’re looking to say?”

This time, your breath catches in your lungs. He hadn’t even turned your way, still hunched over the bartop. You want to apologize, or maybe, laugh. Instead, you swallow your introduction and reach up, collecting the food sauce on the pad of your index finger. His flinch is subtle, only the shoulder closest to you tensing in surprise at your bold gesture.

“The roasted pepper goat cheese dip must’ve been really good for you to miss your mouth,” you muse, your heart pounding so hard it began to make your throat tighten. You’re about to reach for a napkin, when something otherworldly (you suspect) possesses you to tongue away the cream from your finger. “Yep. Roasted pepper goat cheese.”

“... and you are?”

You hold back another, smaller laugh, this one to cover your own mortification. “Sorry! I meant to introduce myself first.” And you do, though you curse the small stutter that carries along with it. “It’s nice to meet you, officially. I’m… a big fan of you-- ah, your work!” You breath trembles. “S-Sorry, I’m trying to be professional here, but…”

“It’s fine,” Vergo says, lowering his cup to the bar. “We’ve all been there.”

“T-Thanks,” you murmur, sipping from yours. “I suppose you came here for the networking bit of the event?”

“That, and the open bar.” You snort. “You’re not familiar to me,” he adds. Although you figured he wouldn’t have seen you in any of your small productions, you can’t help the flush of abashed heat that crawls across your skin. “Have you had any luck?”

“Nothing substantial… Mostly just a lot of “we’ll be in touch with your manager”, but we all know what that means, haha…” His lack of response hints to the contrary. “A-And you? I’m sure you don’t need networking yourself, so… are you building one for your agency?”

“I’m here on their behalf,” he confirms. “Supposedly, my presence brings a lot of attention; we’ve had a lot of applicants over the past few years.”

Wonder where they might’ve gotten that idea from, you think.

Another thought filters into your mind that makes embarrassed heat sweep through you; you chastise yourself for even considering asking something so… vulgar? But you manage to seal your lips to keep it contained.

“It looked like there was something you wanted to say.” Until his decision to ask it out of you was made.

Really, this could’ve been asked to any other person in the room -- but maybe not every person -- and yet, you find yourself blaming the measly half ounce of alcohol for your own perverted curiosities.

“I just… You hear about these kinds of things and wonder if they’re true, right…? And usually, it’s the more established folks who get involved with these kinds of things, or at the very least, know about them…” You clear your throat and lean toward Vergo, who cranes his head down to match your height. “Do people really still try and sleep their way to the top?”

If he’d reacted in any way to your words, you don’t catch it. Rather, he politely clears his own throat, and stares down at you.

“Is this something of interest to you?” he inquires, polishing off his drink a moment later. You flush.

“I, uh, n-not exactly…” You sigh, defeated. “But at this rate, I’d have more luck sleeping with some… executive producer or some superstar actor than landing a role through normal means. It’s just so frustrating. Why did everyone want to enter show business at the same time?”

Eyes stuck, you watch the bartender clear your glasses with a nod of approval from the two of you.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Vergo says. “This stands true, even outside of the script of a movie. Are you asking because you’re considering it?”

Your laugh is light, but self-pitying. “Wish I could lie and say I’m not. It’s… not cheap living in this city and getting few to no call backs. It’s either I get a part-time job as some minimum wage barista or, I don’t know… Whore out my talents, I guess.”

“And you’d do that with some… skeevy executive?”

You grimace. “Well, when you put it that way, it’s kind of gross. Something like that would be the last thing I’d ever want. God, I just wish I could get real, honest work…”

Vergo goes silent. After such a strange turn in conversation -- even though he’d been the one to ask!! you remind yourself -- you don’t blame him for not knowing how to deviate from it; you don’t even know what to say from here.

There’s a bit of shuffling from your right where he sits, and you find him sifting through the inner pockets of his blazer. He pulls out a card clip of his own, filled thick with laminated black and light blue business cards, and a white permanent marker, and begins writing on the bare backside of it.

“Take this,” he says, and slides it across the bar to you. “This is where I’ll be staying for the weekend. My room number.”

“Wh-- why--””A business proposition. One that I won’t speak about in public. Come or don’t come, that’s up to you. I’m not some “gross executive”, but I’ve at least been in this business long enough to tell you that it would be one worth your while.”

You pick up the card with trembling fingers, eyes still wide and glued on him, even as he stands up to adjust his suit.

“I’ll be saying my goodbyes to everyone now. Come at eleven tonight, if you do.”

Eleven… That’s only an hour away now.

You’d called your manager to pick you up shortly after Vergo left. She’d inquired about your lack of conversational skills when you’d gotten into her vehicle, but your mind had been so occupied with thoughts of Vergo, the man you’d only idolized and, if you were being completely honest, simped after for a majority of your teenage and adult life.

You’d reasoned you could only speculate about the business proposal he had for you, but you know exactly what he intends to suggest should you decide to make your way to his hotel. It’s definitely not something he should suggest in public -- it’s not something he should’ve suggested at all considering his very public position in the media limelight. You could’ve taken this information and sold it to one of the paparazzi waiting outside.

Maybe you looked more desperate than you’d meant to come across as. Because prior to your conversation with him, no; you’d never seriously considered “selling yourself” for a role or for fame, let alone to some equally-as-desperate executive. You’re pretty sure a song had been made about that.

It would’ve taken you an hour from your own apartment to reach Vergo’s hotel through downtown traffic anyhow… which is why you found yourself here earlier than you would’ve intended. However he plans to phrase this proposition of his, it’s not like you’ve said “yes” to anything yet. At the very least, you could hear him out.

You’d changed into an outfit more casual, more professional, than the glittering evening gown you showed up in for the networking party-- a pair of loose slacks and a sweater vest-button up combo. Underneath, however, you made sure to wear something a little more… for the occasion.

It’s just in case!! you swear to yourself as you clamber into the elevator, heart pounding. Like I’d be caught dead on any occasion wearing granny panties and a sports bra.

Vergo’s room is on the highest floor, the hotel’s penthouse suite they often reserved for VIP guests such as notable politicians and top names in the media. You hadn’t been sure how things normally work, but you learn that his room isn’t guarded by his security detail (not that you thought he needed it with him having self-defense training and him being built like a fridge) like you expected. It makes it easy for you to walk up and press the video doorbell, despite it being physically difficult. A moment later, the camera clicks on, and without a single word from the suite’s inhabitant, the door clicks, too, and you enter.

You expected nothing short of excellence and minimalist beauty for the room and you aren’t disappointed. The penthouse suite is decked with expensive paintings and high-end leather furnishings and beautiful, shining black lacquer tables and stainless steel appliances-- you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“You came after all,” Vergo's voice echoes through the room as he descends from the second level. If you could afford to own and wear pearls, you’d be clutching them; it looks like he’d freshly showered just before you arrived, and, lucky you, he’d yet to put his glasses back on.

“Hello again,” you greet. Anxious, you shift your weight onto one foot. “I figured I should at least hear out your “business proposal” before I turn it down.”

“I see. That’s very professional of you.” Standing only feet away from you now, you feel yourself shrinking and shriveling before him. “Drink?”

“Uh-- j-just water, please.” Vergo collects two glasses and fills them from the fridge’s cold water depository, handing one of them to you, and gesturing for you to follow him into the common area; a set of four cream-coloured leather couches, all facing each other with those black lacquer tables sitting at the end of each and in between them. You sit, and rather than sitting across from you, or at least adjacent to you, Vergo sits but a couple of feet away on the same couch. You take a drink before setting the cup on the table, swallowing harshly.

Vergo does the same. “I’ve been in this business a long time. I’ve seen filth and I’ve seen good faith. The question you asked back at the party, if it’s all true? Yes. Of course, it is. Only a fool would dare to challenge this fact. Some are lucky, however; sometimes their attempt into “sleeping their way to the top”, as you’d put it, is achieved without a hitch.

“Others, not so much. Years to date, they’re still stuck in a cycle of use and abuse.” Vergo sighs at you. “I can only assume that you might have been joking earlier, about whoring out your talents to some no-good executive. You seem like an earnest young woman. The last thing I wish to see, and to remember being responsible for, is not ridding the idea from your head; is seeing you lost in that same cycle. So, I offer this to you:

“Roles. Riches. Fame. I can ensure you’ll receive it all, in exchange for that one thing.” It remains nameless, but the implication is clear. “As you put it, you’ll whore out your talents to me, and I’ll put them to good, proper use. You’re not without skill; simply, you’re without guidance.”

You decide to name it. “In exchange for sex.”

Vergo nods. “Yes.”

“That was all very straightforward of you.”

“Do you dislike it?”

With almost zero hesitation, you shake your head. “No.” You pause. “Besides the sex, what else are you getting out of this? Because it seems like I’m reaping double the rewards in this deal.”

“Self-satisfaction, perhaps,” he says. “Hm… I was once told I wouldn’t be a good mentor.”

“I’m hoping you’ve never propositioned another rookie like this before to earn that comment,” you muse, and to your surprise, you earn a chuckle from the man.

“You would be the first to ever ask the question you did, so no. I would have had no other reason to.” Another pause occurs between you before Vergo gestures past the kitchen. “If you’d like to freshen up, the restroom is there.”

Even though I also showered again before coming here… “S-Sure. Thank you.”

“When you’re ready, I’ll… be waiting.”

You excuse yourself, stumbling a little on your way past the door frame. You slide the door shut and look at yourself in the long, wall-encompassing mirror.

You’re shaking. Unsure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, you decide to cool yourself down with a cold cloth to your forehead. Freshen up? What more could you do to prepare yourself for what you agreed to do? A verbal contract to achieve fame and even more, receive a good fuck. How is this going to work? Are you supposed to become signed to his agency? You’d been a freelancer for so many years. How often are you supposed to have sex with Vergo? The image of you as a purse puppy suddenly appears behind your eyes and you have to stop yourself from laughing at it; this is serious. And you seriously wonder if Vergo really has no other agenda or intentions behind this agreement.

You drop the cloth onto the counter and sigh heavily, at the same time the bathroom door slides open again. Spinning on your bare heel, you flinch at Vergo and his long, quick strides over to you.

“I-I thought--!””I apologize,” he interrupts, stopping just before you. He crouches at his knees, his eager hands disappearing under you to scoop you into the air a moment later. You flail, a noise of surprise slipping past gritted teeth when he sets you down on the counter’s edge. “I’m afraid that this is where our agreement begins.”

His movements are hurried, his touch; heavy, but not harmful. You brace yourself while he helps to strip you down; a hand pressed against his chest with the other propping you up from the counter, he works around your lack of balance and lifts both your sweater vest and the blouse over your head, not bothering to unbutton it. Mouthing at your bare neck, he unclasps your white lace bra and tosses it behind him. His lips are quick to travel, to your jaw, to the sweet corners of your lips, parted enough for him, quite alike your thighs, to slot himself between; his lips, his thighs-- he pulls you to the edge of the counter to press one of them into your clothed cunt.

You gasp, the material of your trousers coarse enough and his movements exact enough that it makes you keen forward for more. Vergo's hands, big like the rest of him, smooths along your thighs and up to your hips, his thick fingers dipping with urgency beneath the waistband.

“Lift,” he commands, and you raise your ass from the countertop. Lowering yourself back down has you hissing from the cool chill of the marble, but the look on Vergo’s face has you quickly warming up again. Once more, he drags you to the counter’s edge before dropping onto his knees between yours.

“V-Vergo?” you ask, already breathless. He doesn’t speak again, busying himself with tugging your slacks and panties down past your hips and nipping down along your exposed flesh.

His shoulders are too broad for you to even consider trying to shut your legs; his grip, too firm to be able to free your hands from being pinned down against the counter. If a single swipe of his tongue has you reeling (with nowhere to go but backward, your bare back pressed against the cold mirror to contrast the rest of your body and its burgeon), then the fervent suckling at your throbbing clit would have you utterly convulsing beneath him. Your cries, desperate and passing through clenched teeth, go ignored, save for the occasional glance your way; proving himself an attentive partner hadn’t been something you necessarily expected out of him, but it provided you with just another reason to remain infatuated with him.

Your feet kick out, looking for a surface to catch on and press against, but they, too, had been trapped under him--

“-- Vergo, I-I’m--!”

-- until they weren’t. His release of you is abrupt, as is his ascent to stand as tall as the bathroom itself. You wheeze, not realizing you’d been holding your breath until now.

“Why…”

“Don’t start thinking the night will be cut short,” he says, unzipping his jacket and untying the knot of his sweats. “I’m not a one-round sort of man.” They fall into a heap on the floor beneath him, joining you in the nude. Glancing down where you feel his erection pressing against you is a challenge, especially when you eventually learn that it’s only touching you halfway.

“Oh my god…”

“Come.” He extends a hand to you that you hesitantly take. “You’ll be much more comfortable elsewhere.”

Expecting to slide off the counter and onto your wobbling, fawn-like legs, had been incorrect. The large hand wrapped around yours had only been for your own leverage when he lifts you into his other arm, five feet off the ground, with little effort. You squirm in his hold, made anxious by the extra height, until you feel his fingers prodding at your cunt. You can feel, you can hear, just how wet he’d made it by the merit of his tongue alone as he stirs them along your opening.

“Relax,” he tells you. “You’ll want this done properly before we really begin.”

You make to speak, what likely would’ve been a choked noise coming from you, but instead you squeak, suddenly impaled on two of his fingers.

“Put your arms around my neck.” To the best of your ability, you do, trembling flesh and bones curling carefully around corded muscle. “And put your legs around me.” This, you find, is much harder, and so with his help, your legs curl around his waist.

“Lift,” he says again, and you lean back to glance at him. “I said, lift.”

… you do, a gasp immediately escaping you when you end up falling back onto his fingers. You scramble, weak limbs attempting to free you from their range, only to slide right back down.

“Vergo,” you whine

“Hold on tight.” You do. With every ounce of whatever strength you could muster, you do. The penthouse is a completely private suite, and in a building taller than all the rest around it, you have complete privacy, and yet, being paraded through such an open, exposed space, on your way up to the room’s second floor, you find yourself trying to hide what you can of yourself; a redundant, unfruitful effort.

Having removed his fingers, he has you unlace your limbs from around him to fall onto his bed.

“Under normal circumstances, I’d certainly be taking my time.” You glance down, and find Vergo stroking himself to an even greater length than you’d first seen him. It’s not natural, you begin to panic. He’s huge, a-and his thing’s even bigger, I-- i-it’ll never fit, there’s no way-- “I’d have you coming on my hands and into my mouth three times each before we even got up the stairs.”

Your cheeks burn; your attempt to hide your expression behind your arm fails when he takes both of your wrists in a single hand and pins them above your head. With his other, he grabs himself at his base, and lines him up with your arousal.

“Remember to breathe.”

Instinctively, you do the exact opposite.

Being impaled on his fingers hadn’t even been comparable. Even prior to him undressing, you knew he wouldn’t be small by any means; your mind might’ve still been in a state of shock, even before he thrust into you. “Remember to breathe”? You can barely string a thought together. And whatever breaths make it out of you are punched from your lungs each time the head of his cock meets the depths of your cunt.

Vergo leans down over you, curling his free arm around your waist from behind, and presses his lips into your ear.

“Breathe,” he repeats on the backing of a grunt, his voice a deep, muted whisper that has you clenching even harder down on him. “You’ll -- ngh -- pass out if you don’t.”

Your nails pierce your palms. I’d like… to see you try and breathe… with this shit inside of you!!

“Damn, you’re so tight.” Vergo rocks his hips forward, his own lips parted and letting his own pants escape right next to your ear. “Thought I prepared you enough f’me.”

He no longer eases himself into you, instead snapping his pelvis into yours with little restraint. Hands still wrapped around your wrists, he pulls you up onto your knees, rising behind you and holding your back to his chest; the reprieve of being weighed down by him is short-lived as he impales you once more upon him-- his fingers couldn’t even compare to the fullness plaguing you. You choke on the small doses of oxygen you’re able to take in, and with your free hands, you scramble to find a stance that relieves the pressure; not even standing with the tips of your toes pressed into the mattress spares you.

Instead, you bring a shaking hand down to smack across the forearm locking you against him. “I-I-- haa -- I’m g… onna break… p… lease…! Ver… go…!”

Vergo groans into the crook of your neck, and presses a hand over your abdomen. Your breath hitches; aside from the spasming of your limbs, you still from shock, forced to accept the orgasm he and his cock had bullied you into.

“Then… become broken by me.”

A large hand sweeps forward to turn your head toward him. You can’t stop him, not that you’d try in such a state, when he presses his tongue against your lips to pry them apart. Whines and moans alike, he swallows them all, leaves you breathless and weakly swatting at him to release you. Instead, he releases into you, and you wince at the heat of his spend filling your womb.

Before you’re even out of his arms and laying in the plush sheets below, you find yourself too dizzied to remain upright, and faint against him.

A woman’s laugh drags you back into consciousness.

Eyelids heavy, you blink the bedroom into focus, squinting when your gaze lands on the warmth of the lamp on the bedside table. Body and skin tender, you gingerly roll onto your other side, wincing at the small ache felt across your pelvis.

You’d expected to wake still covered in sweat and spend; a happy surprise it ended up being for you to learn that you’d been taken care of, as the drops of cum you knew flicked up to hit your cheeks were wiped away.

There, Vergo sits, phone in hand and thumb-scrolling down a white-glowing screen.

“W… Was someone just in here,” you mumble, raising the back of your hand to rub blurred exhaustion from your vision. Vergo shakes his head.

“I’m going through available scripts I think might suit your skill set.” He swipes in the opposite direction, “And ones that might pressure you to work a little more,” to show you that he’d been watching an acting reel your manager had uploaded to the web of you. A flush of embarrassment rolls through you, as if you’d just performed for him, not in bed, but on a set. “After all, I need to keep up my end of our bargain, no?”

#vergo x reader #op vergo x reader #one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece x reader smut #one piece vergo #vergo one piece

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wastingmylifesecondatatime · 1 year

Text

Sandman - One Shots/Drabbles

NOTE: If you have any fic suggestions feel free to write me!

Updated: 14.01.2024

🔞= mature

✔ = completed

Other masterlists: mother masterlist, Sandman - Series

Morpheus

Apple of My Eye by @lis-likes-fics

↳ “ "I give you the sweetest apple blessed with Asmodeus' curse." ”

🔞 As You Command by @just-some-random-blogger

↳ “ Yeah RIP that badussy -me ”

Being Lucifer’s Daughter and Dating Morpheus Would Include by @why-what-no

Birds of a Feather by @warrenwrites

↳ “ You decided that Lord Morpheus’ throne was the perfect place to rest and read. ”

Darling by @daddyjackfrost

↳ “ The Dreaming, a realm of dreams and nightmares, was the home to many, including Dream of the Endless and his wife, Lady of The Dreaming.In contrast to her husband, Lady of The Dreaming was a soft and gentle soul. The light to his dark. The dream to his nightmare. While Dream managed everything that occurred in the night, the nightmares and creatures, His Lady managed The Dreaming in the day, the more mundane of dreamers. Those who drifted in and out of their realm; the children, the elderly, and the night owls. It was a good life. A happy, loving, joyful life. One that Morpheus and his Lady wouldn’t have traded for anything. They were content, and so in love. Until the King of Dreams and Nightmares was captured. For over a century. ”

Devil’s in the Details by @captainpoopweinersoldier

↳ “ To avoid the clutches of criminal prosecution, you accept a security job at the Burgess mansion, thinking it will be an easy way to lay low for a while. That is, until you find out just what it is you're meant to be guarding. ”

Find me by @spideybatsy

↳ “ Morpheus' partner cannot stand to stay in the decaying dreaming, it just hurts too much. ”

How to Mistakenly Summon An Ancient Being & Keep Him by @writethrough

↳ “ You're an insomniac and have exhausted all other avenues to help you sleep except one. What happens when that one brings you the King of Dreams? ”

Leather & Liner by @writethrough

↳ “ A Morpheus x reader where reader does Morpheus’ eyeliner / make up? ”

🔞 Only in Dreams by @roguelov

↳ “ Married to Dream of the Endless, for centuries, you never expected to feel neglected. Yet even after his return, his attention turned to the Dreaming and ensuring its stability and future. While, your own needs and wants pulled at you. And soon your dreams were slowly filled with pleasure. Just not exactly from Morpheus. ”

Pillars of Eternity by @undiscovered-horizon

↳ “ In a spell-go-wrong, Rodrick Burgess manages to summon you: Wisdom incarnate. Noticing a strange and quite unnerving change in the world, Morpheus ventures into the Waking World to investigate, only to find someone he's always been looking for. ”

Playing with Morpheus’ hair by @paradiseinaverno

Saving Grace by @avtrbee

↳ “Morpheus is captured by Roderick Burgess, but is swiftly rescued by his wife.”

The Deal by @spideybatsy

↳ “ The worst part of Dream's imprisonment is knowing you're getting closer to death every day. ”

Tipsy by @dreaming-about-fanfictions

↳ “ Morpheus takes care of you after you get drunk with Destiny and Death. ”

Corinthian

Nothing yet

Lucifer

Devil’s Taylor by @jelonkan

↳ “ Reader was one of the best tailors in her lifetime. She gained this talent through a pact with the devil, and when she ended up in Hell after her death, she continued to use her skills. She sewed for the ruler of Hell. ”

#sandman #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #dream #dream x reader #morpheus #morpheus x reader #corinthian #corinthian x reader #fic rec #masterlist #fluff #angst #smut

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jiliansky-blog · 4 months

Text

The Nightmare and the Dreamer. Chapter 5. The library and stars

Pairing: Morpheus x FemaleReader

Rating: PG

Words: 1500

You shouldn’t be surprised that he read a lot of books. You supposed he just made the wrong impression with his grumpiness. But you were glad that he talks to you now. And it seemed he wasn’t angry with you anymore.

On the next day, he felt so much better, and he was willing to show you the library as he promised.

“I’m glad you're feeling better," you said.

“I hope you are not planning another escape," he replied. “Or the next time, I may not survive the attack of nightmares.”.

“I’m not," you said. “But aren't they supposed to be your subjects? Your creatures?”

“They are," he sighed. “But they went out of control when..." he waved the hand, meaning the curse. “Even dreams, almost all of them, turned into nightmares.”.

“That must be horrible," you admitted.

"How has it affected your world?” he asked. “Your dreams?”

“But…you don’t know?” You looked at him. “Lucienne told me you used to visit the dreams of humans and control them”.

“Used to, yes," he replied. “But now I can’t do this. So?”

“I don’t know," you sighed. “Sometimes dreams are just dull and gray. Sometimes I visit bright and beautiful places. Sometimes I don’t see dreams at all.”.

“They are not stable," he said.

"Right," you admitted.

“And here is the library of the Dreaming," Morpheus said, opening big doors.

There was the biggest library you’ve ever seen. You can spend your lifetime reading every book here, and you won’t read even a half.

"Wow," you whispered. “It’s incredible”.

“I’m glad you like it," he smirked. “There are all the written and unwritten books.”.

“Unwritten?” you asked.

“Yes, books that stayed only in dreams or thoughts," he replied.

“That’s…a miracle," you smiled. “I’m speechless”.

“I think you can find something to your liking," Morpheus said. “You can read books whenever you want.”.

“Really?” you smiled brightly.

“Of course, Lucienne will be glad to show you any book you like," he replied.

“That’s so kind of you," you said. “Thank you!”

There was a hint of a smile on his face. And you saw for a second what a handsome man he once was. A man from a portrait.

“What?” he asked.

“A smile suits you," you admitted.

His smile almost immediately disappeared, and you couldn’t understand what you said to make this happen.

“It’s impossible," he said, and he went away.

“He can’t take compliments." You heard Lucienne’s voice. “Don’t take it on your account. What do you want to read?”

As strongly as you wish to read something new, you want to find something more useful. Like how to break the curse.

“You can’t find anything," said Lucienne on that.

“In that big library?” you asked with a question.

“We would find something if there was useful information." Her voice didn’t sound reassuring at all. “We tried”.

“You said it, so I will stop looking," you admitted. "Maybe I can find something. Why don't you let me help?”

"Oh, miss Y\N”, she sighed. “You already are helping.”.

But she still refuses to bring you the books you need. So you keep looking at yourself. Of course, it can take a long time. You remembered, though, that it reminded you of one particular tale. And it means that you need to love him. You're like Morpheus, or you wish to, but you just don’t know how or what else to do.

"My lady," you heard Lucienne and you realize that you fell asleep in the library. “It’s time for dinner. Are you ready?”

"What is Morpheus doing to join me?” you asked.

“I suppose so," she said.

“Then I am coming," you replied.

You came to me and changed your dress. Now you were wearing a pink princess-like dress. It reminds you of the 1950s style. And it looks extremely cute on you. You don’t even want to think about why you want to look good with him.

He was indeed waiting for you in the dining room. The shadows were gathering in the corners, and you assumed that he was in a dark mood.

"Hello," you said, making him pay attention.

And he looked at you. His expression became lighter. He almost smiled.

“Enjoying your princess life?” he asked.

“Why not?” you smiled. “You left me a lot of dresses in a room. I don’t have so many clothes at home. So I took my chance. Do you like it?”

“I do," he replied. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

"No," you replied and smiled. “Just asking your opinion.”.

You heard someone coughing and assumed it was Lucienne or Matthew, but you didn’t pay attention to that. Instead, you begin your dinner.

“So, you don’t visit human dreams now," you said, starting the conversation. “Do you create dreams?”

“I do, but... they all got corrupted," he sighed.

“Can I help you, maybe?” you asked.

“You can’t create dreams," Morpheus replied.

“But I can help to light a mood," you smiled. “Maybe it will change something. It can’t make it worse, right?”

He was looking at you for a minute, considering something. And then she slowly nodded.

“I suppose you are right," he said. “You can help me tomorrow with that. What are you going to do tonight, though?”

“I don’t know," you shrugged. “Reading, I think.”.

“I can show you the night sky here," he suggested.

It was an unexpected move from him. Perhaps he did try to be sweet. Or at least nice. Or, it was also his way of being thankful for the rescue.

“If you want to," you heard the uncertainty in his voice and woke up from your thoughts.

“I would love to," you smiled.

And here it was. His almost vulnerable smile. It used to be so cute. Now it was a little terrifying, but you didn’t mind. Both of you finished eating, and then he stood and gave you a hand. You took it, and he brought you to your room. The terrace appeared there.

“Wow, was it there yesterday?” you asked.

“No, I assumed you would like it," he said. "And I made it while you were in the library”.

You didn’t notice when you came to dress up for dinner, but you were paying more attention to your dress and your appearance.

“I like it," you said, smiling, looking at the beautiful night sky. You can see the sky like that only outside the city. And you even doubt that it would be so beautiful. “And the view is quite beautiful as well”.

“You are…too." You thought that you had misheard him.

“What?” You looked at him.

“You are beautiful too," he suddenly said. And you swear that he blushed a little bit.

“Thank you," you smiled warmly at him. “But I think that I am far from beautiful. I am pretty normal. Nothing special”.

“That’s not how I see you," Morpheus confessed. “Though I think that the most beautiful part is your heart,”.

Now you were blushing. That was too kind of him. And you looked at him again. Though you can’t read his expression,. But his starry eyes were looking at you. Your heart did a flip.

“Thank you," you smiled. “I also think that deep down, you are beautiful and kind too. I need to tell you something.”.

“What is it?” he asked, curious.

“I think I saw the former Dreaming in my dream," you said. “And it is beautiful. I think that only someone beautiful can create such a marvelous world.”.

“Do you really think so?” he asked, slightly blushing.

“Of course," you smiled.

“You are too kind," he admitted.

"No," you smiled.

“So I am going to go to my room," Morpheus said quietly. “I have work to do. See you tomorrow then, Y\N?”

“Of course," you replied.

He nodded, smiled a little and left your room. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

Morpheus

It was the first time I let myself believe that her presence here could change something. She wasn’t scared of me. She wasn’t angry. Furthermore, she said, I can be kind at heart. And she saw the real dream. Not this place of Nightmares.

“I think it went well, boss," Matthew admitted.

“I don’t know," I replied hesitantly. “Is it enough?”

“No, I don’t think it’s enough." I heard Lucienne’s voice. “But I think it’s a good start. You can earn her friendship.”.

“Friendship isn’t enough," I said.

“But it’s the beginning," Lucienne replied.

“What should I do next?” I asked.

“My lord, you better than me know everything about courtship," she sighed.

“The courtship, yes," I admitted. “But I don’t think that I knew anything about friendship. How should I earn it?”

“It can be the same as with courtship," Lucienne said. “But you shouldn’t say anything about love yet. Be kind and patient, and share her interests.”.

“You can already share them," Matthew said. “She is crazy about books. And you like reading, too. Also, show her around. You can do better than I did.”.

“I understand," I nodded. “Thank you”.

Now I have a lot of thinking and a hint of hope.

@shadowqueen1318 @mypsychoticlove @justathirstyhoe @ladymoztaza @sapphireonline @deniixlovezelda

#morpheus x reader #dream x reader #sandman x reader #sandman fanfiction #the sandman

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void-ink-studios · 5 months

Text

Myth of the Wishmasters - Part 1

Alrighty folks, here we go.

Part 1 of the finale to Wrath of the Wishmaster.

It's been a really wild ride writing this fic for y'all. Honestly, it's the most fun I've had writing fic in a long time. But, I don't want to keep pushing to the point of me hating it. So, I'm going to give this fic the send off it deserves, and let it be my first truly complete work.

Will I come back to this?

Probably.

But I can't keep writing 2,000+ word chapters every day. I'm out of ideas for now, and I'm not going to force it. If I come up with more ideas, I'll happily come back and write them as one-shot accompaniment to this series.

Until then, as always, I hope you enjoy this and the next chapter. It's been a fun go around.

Full credit to @realmofthefirebird for inspiration. Go check out their comics, they're flipping awesome.

Word Count: 3,000

They speak in legends, in tomes, in myths, of the one called the Wishmaster.

At the beginning of it all, in the Age After Nothing, there emerged the one called the Wishmaster.

In the center of everything, in the center of nothing, there is the Time Room, keeper of the one called the Wishmaster.

In a place at the center of time, in a place where time cannot touch, there is the one called the Wishmaster.

It is a god of no equal. It is a god of many names, in many forms. But it is always the one called the Wishmaster.

How one meets the Wishmaster may very. It takes something powerful, something capable of building a bridge into the void. But all require a piece of the Eternal Dream, for it is the Dream that is the threads of the Void. Objects with fragments of the Dream are the most reliable vector to crossing into the Void.

In its current form, it calls itself Prismo. The Almighty Prismo is a kind spirit. An aloof one. He does not exist in the way you or I may think of it. For he is not a being of physical form. No, the Almighty Prismo has no need for physicality. For he is but an extention of the Time Room itself. He is the Time Room, and the Time Room is he.

He is the walls and floors, the ceiling and corners. He is everything, and he is nothing. He is everywhere and nowhere. He is infinite, and he is nothingness.

The Almighty Prismo can almost be mistaken for someone mortal. He does not act with malice to those who seek him, but he will give little favor. Those who do, the most powerful and persistent amongst mortals, might find themselves communing with gods.

The Almighty Prismo, the one called the Wishmaster, offers the same bargain to any who find his domain, his domain of the Time Room.

One wish, anything your heart desires, you may ask of him. And he will make it so.

But do beware, wish makers.

Realities may warp or split or merge, people and objects may shuffle through time and space, memories, lifetimes, erased or rewritten forever. But he will make it so.

For while Almighty Prismo is not a cruel god, he is a tricky one. Any wish lacking detail, he will fill the gaps. And lapse in thinking, and forgotten factor, and unforeseen consequence, he shall consider. To those he favors, he may advise. To those he doesn't?

Well, you will receive what you wish for.

Whether or not you can live with that is not a trouble for the Almighty Prismo.

He is the crossroads, the boundary, the space between it all.

And when the name Prismo grows tiresome, it will be cast away, and the one called the Wismaster will take a new name. For the Wishmaster is eternal. For the Time Room must have a Wishmaster.

The Wishmaster is the era is Prismo.

Who it shall be the next?

Only the Dreamer can decide.

---------------------------------------

Prismo had long ago accepted that he wasn't meant to be a being a wants.

He thought about what it'd be like to want things. It was his job to grant the wants of others, it was only natural to wonder what he would do in their position.

Some wished for power. They wished to be kings or queens or emperors. They wished to be at the top of their pile, unstoppable, unquestioned. They wished to be the one sitting at the top of the tower, smiling down at all the peasants, waving in smug satisfaction.

Prismo had no desire for power. He had everything he'd need right here. He could conjure almost anything he could think of. He was already near the top of the pile if how everyone talked about his was any indication. The only ones who could override him were the Higher Ups, Golb, and the Boss themselves. And well... he had no desire to usurp or overtake them. Just listening to the Organizer describe even a part of her job exhausted him. All powerful Wishmaster or not, he still had a mortal brain. It was incomprehensible to him, to be a Higher Up. Honestly, it was a big mind boggling even being in this position.

So, no, he wouldn't wish for power.

Some wished for wealth. They wished for mountains of gold or jewels. They wished to be head of the greatest company ever conceived. They wished to never have to worry about the cost of life ever again, and then some. Most wanted it as a ticket to power.

Prismo liked gold, that was true. He liked decorating himself with jewelry when he got the opportunity, he liked how it sparkled and glittered. But, he could just conjure it. He had no real need for wealth. Gold was meaningless to him, except in how it was pretty. He knew, even as a mortal, he'd never need the amount of gold that these wish makers were asking for. It was more than could be spent in a lifetime. More than could be spent in several lifetimes, even. And he didn't see the appeal.

So, nope, wealth wasn't it either.

People wished for so many things. Power and wealth were the most common, but they certainly weren't the only things.

People wished for love, they wished for family, they wished for health. Some wished for noble reasons, like Finn, trying correct a great evil, trying to save millions. Some wished for the pettiest things imaginable, like cursing a rival with sickness or pain.

And then there was Prismo.

A god who wanted nothing. Or, did he?

He never dwelled too deeply on the thought. It was a pointless endeavor, after all. His role as Wishmaster excluded him from wanting things.

So, he chose not to think too hard about it.

Until a certain roommate challenged that.

Because Scarab... Scarab made him want things. Prismo wanted Scarab, wanted his affection. Scarab made him think about what he wanted.

Prismo wanted to be friends with good people. He was done with being "everybody's pal." He was only that because he didn't want anything from anyone. But, now he wanted something. He wanted kindness. He wanted compassion. And he found out how little of it there was to go around within the pantheon.

Scarab made him think about what he wanted from his space. The unchanging Time Room had completely transformed with Scarab's help. Prismo felt... good in here. He felt good to call this place home, because now it actually felt like home. Because Scarab made him realize there were things that's make him more comfortable.

Prismo, the person, not the Wishmaster, wanted things.

And he realized he had everything he could want. At least with Scarab there, in his arms, chirping and purring in a warm bundle, in the soft glow of the magic clouds above them.

A small ring interrupted the quiet calm. A familiar sound, of something being conjured.

Prismo cracked an eye open, a single letter on the ground in the center of the Time Room.

"Lovebug" the Wishmaster whined.

"Hmm?"

"There's mail."

"So there is."

"Can you go get it?"

Scarab scoffed, rolling his eyes as he dislodged himself from the blanket pile. He picked the letter up, but froze as he read the address.

Prismo tilted his head.

"Lovebug?"

Scarab was frozen. Eerily still.

Okay, now Prismo was worried.

"Scarab?"

Scarab finally seemed to return to himself, looking at Prismo with wide, uncertain eyes.

"...It's from the Boss."

Prismo felt his stomach drop out from under him.

"...Excuse me?"

"It's from the Boss. Prismo, why are we getting a message from the Boss, what did we do?"

"I-I don't know man! Come here, open it!"

Scarab's hands were shaking, slowly opening the letter, with starkly simple writing.

To Prismo the Wishmaster and Caretaker Scarab,

Caretaker Scarab's position has been altered due to exceptional work and recommendation from a superior.

Caretaker Scarab's title has been updated from Time Room Caretaker, to Assistant Wishmaster. Responsibilities now include occasionally granting wishes under the supervision of Wishmaster Prismo. Continue upkeep of Time Room. Majority of wishes are still expected to be granted by Wishmaster Prismo. As a guide, for every 10 wishes granted, one may be granted by Assistant Wishmaster Scarab.

Assistant Wishmaster Scarab will remain in the Time Room until further notice.

The Organizer has advocated for this position change. While unorthodox, she does not petition me often, so I am inclined to believe it is after thoughtful consideration. I will be surveying your progress.

Do not make me regret this, Scarab. There has never been two Wishmasters at a time. Consider this a trial run.

Good luck,

-The Boss

The two gods stared at the piece of paper.

An unassuming piece of paper that just upgraded Scarab to one of the highest positions in the pantheon.

Granted, it was assistant, not full, but still!

"...Scrabby...?"

Prismo could see Scarab's form shaking, before he let out the loudest, most energetic chirp the Wishmaster had ever heard come from such a small body.

Scarab seemed to be honest to Glob dancing, hugging the piece of paper close to his chest. He turned to Prismo, eyes so wide, to match his smile, before running up and nearly flinging himself into his partner's chest, practically vibrating.

Prismo chuckled, catching the bug and holding him close, smiling and kissing the top of Scarab's head.

"PRISMO! PRISMO, I... I-I...!"

"I know, Lovebug, I know! You earned it, baby, you deserve every bit of it!"

Scarab seemed a bit lost in his own excitement, almost ready to cry, before his shoulders seemed to remind him of humility. He groaned as he rubbed at them, but not even that seemed to put a damper on his good mood.

"I'm so happy for you, Scarab. Two Wishmasters, hmm?"

"I-I know! It's unprecedented! It's never been done before, not even since Time began! I'd know, I checked." Scarab seemed to pace, his shell buzzing with excited energy.

"Tell you what, Lovebug. It said in the letter that in every 10 wishes, you should grant one. So, how about I grant the next nine, just to show you the ropes, and then you grant wish number 10! Give you some time to study, maybe start thinking of your own wish granting style before you give it a go. Sound good?"

Scarab considered before nodding sagely.

"Wish granting style?"

"Well, yeah. How you chose to interpret wishes. Most people who pass through here leave gaps in their wishes. It's up to the Wishmaster to fill in those gaps. How you choose to fill them sets the tone for who you are as a Wishmaster."

Scarab hummed, giving Prismo a studying look.

"Well... What is your style then?"

Prismo scooped Scarab up to let the beetle perch on his shoulder as he flipped on the screen wall.

"Well... I tend to approach it with a Monkey's Paw deal. The example I like to give is... What if you wished for a back rub? Who's giving you this back rub? An actual masseuse, a random sweaty guy, a bear? If the wish maker doesn't specify, I tend to fill in gaps in ways I find funny, mostly. Next question, where does this masseuse come from? Do I just spawn someone out of the either? Do I pull some random dude out of his reality, away from anyone and anything he knew? How is that universe's timeline effected with him gone?"

Prismo flipped through a few realities made from his wishes.

"This Farmworld here. It was made with good intentions. Finn wished for the Lich to have never existed. He didn't specify what exactly that meant for his reality. Did he mean the Mushroom War never happens? Did he mean for the Catalyst Commet containing the Lich to miss Ooo? The way I try to think of it is to preserve as much of the wish maker's original timeline as possible. Something that world altering gets separated and made into its own reality. I interpreted the wish as the Lich never getting to leave the Mushroom Bomb, as that leave most of the timeline intact, up until the 1000 years after the Lich's emergence. Keeps the threads more intact, rather than rewriting 65 million years if the Catalyst Commet missed, or rewriting that realities interaction with the cosmic timeline by deleting Catalyst Commets entirely."

Prismo turned to look at Scarab who was utterly transfixed.

"Make sense?"

"Yes, I think I understand your logic... Interpreting the wish in such a way that makes reality rewrite itself as little as possible."

"Exactly. Even then, it still needed to be isolated into a new reality. A lot of things happened in Ooo over those 1000 years, all of which are because the Lich emerged."

Prismo flicked through a few more timelines, explaining how those wishes were interpreted and the knock on effects they had.

"Prismo. Do you have something you'd consider a perfect wish?"

The Wishmaster thought.

"Hmm... Perfect wish? If it did happen, I wasn't Wishmaster when it did. 99% of the wishes that come through here are too simple. Too filled with gaps to ever go the way the Wish Maker intended."

Prismo thought a bit longer, pausing on Scarab's intense expression.

"I think... the most complete wish I ever granted was... actually a bit sad. They wished to be removed from their reality. Completely. They got pretty much exactly what they wanted. No one in their time line remembered who they were, all of their future accomplishments were distributed to other people, and they ceased to exist as a person, turning into some kind of... non-sentient cosmic wind I think. It was the most specific wording I've never gotten for a wish. Fewest gaps to be filled. But... I'm not sure I'd call it a perfect wish. It just seemed so..."

"...Depressing?"

"Yeah..."

The two sat in silence for a long moment. Scarab seemed to be in deep thought before nodding his head.

"Thank you, Prismo. I hope to learn a lot from you."

Prismo smiled, lightly nuzzling the side of Scarab's waist as the beetle purred.

And so, Prismo carried on, not thinking much of it. A perfect wish? It probably wasn't possible. Not in his tenure as Wishmaster at least.

So, he continued to teach.

He had to admit, Scarab was an avid learner. He took diligent notes, studied through countless realities Prismo had created, breaking down where and how the gaps in wishes were filled.

He watched, carefully, as Prismo granted the first wish since the new change.

The Wishmaster kind of felt bad that Scarab's first real observation was one of the most boring types of wishes. This one wished to be famous. No details on how that fame would be achieved, or if that fame was even positive.

Prismo wasn't malicious as a Wishmaster, but he wouldn't lie and say a little bit of bias didn't slip in depending on the Wish Maker's attitude. This one treated Prismo like an object rather than a person, and was very smug about even making it here.

So, Prismo granted the wish alright. He was certainly famous. Maybe it was for the most embarrassing speech and presentation of all time, but it was fame. His name would live on for a long time, that was for certain.

"I don't like how that one treated you" Scarab chittered from his corner.

"Yeah, well, you get some good ones and some bad ones. The bad ones I just send on their way. No real skin off my nose."

"...Does it not bother you when they don't seem to see... you?"

Prismo shrugged.

"I mean, what am if not the Almighty Prismo, the Wishmaster. No one sticks around long enough to care, so why should I?"

That didn't seem to sit well with Scarab, but the beetle dropped it for the time being.

As time ticked by, more and more wishes poured through.

A wish to make sure their town never went hungry again.

A wish to become king of the solar system.

A wish to make the love of their life never feel despair again.

All had their faults. All were granted accordingly. And Scarab was there, taking notes on it all. He observed, commented when the Wish Maker left, and noted on Prismo's explanations.

A few Wish Makers commented on Scarab's presence. The ones who were nice to the beetle might have found themselves with slightly more favorable interpretations, but no one needed to know that.

A wish to bring back a loved one from the dead.

A wish to be the most irresistible thing on the planet.

A wish to gain all the magical knowledge of the cosmos.

A wish for the ability to turn back time.

All came and left. All decided their own fates. Prismo had eventually forgot about Scarab's inquiry into what he'd consider the perfect wish.

Until the last wish before Scarab's trial run came and went. A bit anticlimactic in his opinion.

A wish to never die. Poor bastard didn't know what he was asking for with that one.

Scarab was quiet, his usual commentary suspiciously absent.

"Well, you think you're ready, Lovebug?"

Scarab hummed, tapping a pen onto the notebook, clearly deep in thought.

"Scarab?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, I think so. But... well, I have one more question for you, Prismo."

The beetle was slow to rise, flicking through his notes one more time, before putting it all down.

"You remember, how I asked you if you had ever had a perfect wish?"

"Oh, yeah. Like I said, and like you probably saw, most of the wishes aren't super exciting. Was hoping for something a bit more... I dunno, showy for your first set, but not like I control what other people want."

"Right..."

Scarab seemed to hesitate.

"...You alright, Lovebug? Looks like you're about to pop, you're thinking so hard." Prismo chuckled as he curled around the beetle, nuzzling him softly.

But Scarab had a look. A dead serious one. He looked up at the Wish Master with... a conviction. A scary kind.

"...Prismo. What would you wish for?"

#prohibitedwish #scarab x prismo #scarab the god auditor #prismo the wishmaster #prohibitedwish fanfic #wrath of the wishmaster

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oh-shtars · 22 days

Text

Reach for the Stars! AU QnA:

Thank you so much for those of you who sent in asks!! Y’all are the best. 🥹

I’ve decided to compile the asks I received into one post for easier access. So far, this is Part 1. If y’all want Part 2, keep shooting me more questions! 😉

I had to type in some of the questions myself since Tumblr unfortunately only lets me put on 10 screenshots maximum. (I still put them in word-for-word too btw 😂)

But let’s dive into it, shall we?

(⚠️This is going to be a loooooooong read-)

……

@annymation

Yeaaaah, this section is dedicated to you. Couldn’t thank you enough for the support from the very beginning. Love ya, Anny!!! 💖✨

1.) Who are Asha’s parents? What do they mean to her and how have they influenced her life?

Asha’s parents are still known as the same from the canon movie, Tomás and Sakina.

It really bugged me in the film how they mentioned Asha’s father like TWICE, and never brought it up again. That sounds like a very good thing for character building, but nooooooo. They won’t even address it anymore. It’s just there so that Asha wins sympathy points from Magnifico >:/

Anyways, Tomás:

is a philosopher who had a dream to share his ideas with people around him. But he also had a passion to learning the ways of magic, which is why he worked as Oliver’s (the previous king before Mag) apprentice for 2 years in his reign before he passed away. After the king’s passing, Tomás became Magnifico’s assistant. No longer an apprentice since Mag had banned the usage of it other than him and his wife for “Rosas’ greater good.”

Tomás is passionate and holds true to his beliefs. He has a love and curious wonder for the ‘maybes’ and ‘what ifs’ of the old myth about Wishing Stars. Most of his work is written around them, gathering old info and recordings from old sources that claim the authors have been visited and blessed with the guidance of one. It’s a ‘legendary and once-in-a-lifetime’ chance for a star to ever go down to earth. But because of its rarity, most people don’t really believe the myth is true.

He shared this wonder and love of dreaming to his daughter, Asha. It was her favourite thing to do every now and then each night to sit under the stars, and listen to her father tell her about her favorite bedtime story about these wonderful, celestial and magical beings above them.

When Tomás unfortunately died from their house on fire, that ambition and confidence to become just like her dad someday within Asha, broke. It’s like it had withered away along with him. Ever since the tragedy, Asha closed in on herself and spent her time drawing on her sketchbook and on her own to cope with the loss. Keeping her mind busy by helping her mother carry out chores in the castle as she grew older.

Thus, it’s why she got so estranged with her 7 childhood friends. Asha loved her father and all her memories with him very dearly and it struck hard to have this dream be taken away from her so suddenly.

Tomás’ death is a very sensitive topic for her. Asha’s insecurities to accomplish things for herself stem from the fear of dreaming too big and experience that very same pain again of being disappointed if that dream could never be achieved. But at the same time, it serves as her motivation to help others with their own wishes and help them be happy. Because she, herself, wasn’t able to.

Sakina:

is a little more down-to-earth. She wants Asha to not look up at the sky all the time and actually appreciate what she currently has. She balances out her husband’s influence on their daughter. She’s happy to have Asha be a dreamer like her father, but it’s also important for her to notice just how lucky she is in the moment.

One of Asha’s flaws is that she fails to notice these little precious things since her eyes are always on the prize. She believes that the only way people can ever be truly happy is if their wish is granted. Her strongest trait is love. She cares so much that she barely looks out for herself anymore.

Sakina loves her daughter and is also saddened by her husband’s death. It pains her to see Asha be so distant and be missing that little spark she had as a child. It’s Sakina that constantly encourages her to open up to her old friends more.

Like I said, Sakina is a “in-the-moment” kind of person in contrast to Tomás. She was a seamstress before the tragedy, but ever since then, Sakina barely does this hobby that she used to love doing. She just does it in her free time now, which she barely even has. (She does spend the time making cute clothes for Valentino).

Whenever Asha is concerned on why her mother isn’t pursuing that hobby as much anymore, Sakina reassures her that it’s not so bad. What’s more important right now ‘at the moment’ is do her job as a servant to the king and queen and raise and look after her daughter.

………

2.) Are the 7 teens, or any different interpretation of them, any different in your rewrite? If so, how are they like and what will they serve to the story?

Funny, I actually already answered this same ask like twice now. 😂

I’ll just link the answer I’ve already done here.

……….

3.) How was Asha’s childhood?

It went just as normally as any child would have. Loving parents and a home with a South European exterior and a North African interior design. (I’m pretty sure that’s what it said in Wish’s Art book)

Asha pretty much lived in her family’s home until she’s 10 years old. That’s when tragedy struck, their house burned down, her dad…..you know. And now, Asha and her mother are generously given a place to stay in the castle in exchange for their services. To express their gratitude for the king and queen’s kindness.

Asha was only 8 when Magnifico started his reign as king, so she doesn’t really remember much of what Rosas was like back then. When magic wasn’t forbidden and can be studied by anyone. Back when the easy route didn’t exist and no one gives up their wishes to the king.

But at least she’s now growing up in a time where all wishes are given an equal chance to be granted very easily with no struggle or strife anymore, right?

……

4.) What do you want the moral of your story to be?

Fun fact:

When I was brainstorming how I would go with this rewrite, I went back to Disney’s roots. How did this company’s legacy come to life? Of course, I went back to their first movie: “Snow White and the 7 Dwarves.”

And you know what I found?:

Walt risked everything to let this movie exist. He risked selling his house and going bankrupt because he believed so much that ‘Snow White’ would be a success.

“Omg, this company. Disney. All these amazing movies. Started because one man took a giant leap of faith and never gave up on his wish.”

And I knew I just HAVE to capture this one action that brought the Disney we all grew to love into life. (No. Not the corporate Disney we have now unfortunately-)

Every character in my AU will experience the fear of “what ifs.” What if this doesn’t work? What if I fail? What if it’ll all be for nothing?

But Walt Disney pushed and strived to reach his dream. Even if the odds weren’t pretty. So I wanted the moral of my story to be THIS. To never stop dreaming big.

And now, at least you know why I named my Wish rewrite: ✨ “Reach for the Stars” ✨

………

@apricotchocolate

Awwwwww, THX SO MUCH. 💖 It makes me so happy that people love what I’m trying to create. Believe it or not, this is the first time I’ve ever felt this committed to creating something grand. It’s kinda scary :,).

And Sueño’s backstory?

Hmmmm, I don’t want to spoil much.

All I’m going to say is he was unfairly captured from the sky at a very young age of only 12. And ever since then, Magnifico exploits and uses the young star’s Wish Magic to grant, collect and store the wishes of Rosas.

Basically, just think of this deleted scene where Mag attempts to pull down a star from the sky. ⬇️

Will Sueño ever run out of Wish magic? No, not really.

The most important part of a star is their magical core. It’s like a human heart. A Wishing Star is born every time two mortals share their FIRST and MUTUAL Act of True Love, whether platonically, familial or romantically. The magic of this act of love shoots upwards to the sky, where a Wishing Star’s core is created and an ordinary ball of burning gas gains consciousness.

This core is what holds them together and it’s what produces more Wish Magic that is used up whenever they grant a wish. Without it, they fade away to dust and basically die.

So as long Sueño’s core is still intact, he’s fine. Sure, it still hurts to have Wish Magic extracted from him but, he’s alive. 🤷

I sure hope Mag doesn’t intend in absorbing it for desperate measures in the end, amirite?

……..

@chillwildwave

I’ll be honest here, I’m no song writer. No experience or not even know what makes a song “perfect” for a scene. As long as the song is a vibe and it makes sense to me, I don’t really pay attention much to the rhythm or beats.

But most likely, I’m going to be keeping some of the canon songs and tweak them a little bit? (Definitely keeping “This Wish” and “At All Costs” but tweaked.)

Or, if the song is too far gone to save it from my story’s context, (like “Welcome to Rosas”), I’ll probably just explain what happens in that scene and pretend there’s a song there.

I could use some pre-existing Disney songs to set up a scene’s vibe but they won’t actually be sung. It’s just to enhance the experience I guess.

……….

@spectator-zee

1.) I do actually! Omg, I even amazed myself on how I even came up with it. 😂

Magnifico’s end is going to be poetic and I already have a design in mind for him post-story. Also, the final battle? Ohohoho- it’s SOMETHING!!

It’s always the middle part of the story that gets me unfortunately 😤.

……..

2.) My favourite character has to be Sueño. I really love how I got creative with his character and make him really stand out from the other Starboys. Where he’s not exactly the naive “Let’s-grant-everyone’s-wishes!!” kind of guy. It’s the opposite.

I’ve also come to become fond on how he slowly opens up to the human world around him after all the paranoia and anxiety he used to have. Character development~ ✨

But I also liked Magnifico’s complexity too.

He’s tragic but it doesn’t excuse what he’s done. He’s incredibly cruel and he’s aware of it. He’s a hopeless romantic when it comes to Amaya. He’s someone sympathetic who didn’t deserve his village getting destroyed. He’s still a jerk and an arsehole who needs to be stopped. He’s someone whose concerns were unfairly ignored in the past. He’s still completely willing to make innocent people suffer underneath him.

Idk, I guess I just like grey characters.

……….

3.) Lol, Magnifico nor Amaya can’t speak sign language. And they’re used to the star’s passive attitude and being too afraid to stand up to them at all.

But the universal sign of ‘Fck you’ isn’t too hard to figure out once Sueño finally had enough of them and grow a backbone. Mag would be caught off-guard and heavily pissed about it, that’s for sure.

………..

@ficsinhistory

Thank you so much for this question, because it really made me think about this for a bit!! (Not saying the previous asks didn’t, but this is just a point that I had a vague idea but didn’t put much detail into it yet.)

When Asha accidentally released the star that Magnifico had been keeping this past decade, the star escapes the castle and tries to return back to the sky. Only to crash back down again due to an enchantment on him that prevents him from leaving Rosas at all. He’s stuck on earth basically until they find and break the artefact holding the spell.

Which is undoubtedly back with King Magnifico-

If he wants to go back home to the sky, he’s going to have to go back to the castle and break this enchantment. Asha wants to help him, but out of concern and love for her kingdom, she needs his help to release a few wishes and grant these poor, dull and zest-less people a chance to experience the joy of their wishes granted without being in the king’s debt.

The star did not like the idea. He is out of the Wishing business for the next million years or so. But he literally has no idea how to sneak back in without attracting attention and without confronting the scary meanie of a king as much as possible. Plus, he doesn’t even know what a “normal human” acts like. Without her help, he could risk getting caught by the king’s magic. Again…

And dammit, how could he say no to that desperate, sad look on this girl’s face-

Fiiiiine. A few wishes granted but that’s it.

I guess ‘trusting Asha’ is more of a ‘he had no other choice’ kind of thing? He does inevitably have to interact with her on the way though. And at first, Star expresses his frustration with this situation with little harmless jokes, pranks, and stalling their journey back by interacting with the cute woodland creatures. Much to Asha’s frustration.

He initially thinks Asha is just like everyone else. She wants something from him. That’s it. He’s sort of distant at first, and he flinches and reacts negatively to any attempt of touching him.

But over the course of the story, Star gets to learn more about who she really is. A loving and empathetic person who just wants what’s best for those around her. She even gave him a new name that meant she doesn’t see him as just merely a star.

Sueño. Someone who’s not just a wishing tool. She really treats him like an actual person. A person with feelings. Slowly, he starts to really trust her and become genuine friends with Asha.

And overtime, become a little smitten of her beauty both inside and out.

I mean, what, who said that-

………

@tumblingdownthefoxden

………..

@kstarsarts

I guess for Asha, she will try to understand as best she could and if it’s something serious, she’ll try to really listen and seek further clarification.

Though, if it’s casual talk and nothing important, she’ll do that introvert thing where they just politely nod and pretend that they definitely heard you because it’s too embarrassing to be saying “Huh???” like 5 times.

Sueño? He’s actually pretty extroverted once he’s out of his shell. So he isn’t shy to really ask for more detail on the subject if he needs to. He’s VERY familiar with the feeling of not being understood often because he, himself, can’t speak. So, he makes sure that he does put an effort to understand the person he’s talking to.

Though, he might accidentally go a little off-track with his questions and suddenly, you’re talking about an entirely different topic.

…………

Wow, this sure was interesting. Don’t you think?

As always, details might change in the future but this is really helpful for me to track down my thoughts on where this passion project is going.

I can’t say enough thank yous for all the asks and all the support!! Love y’all!! :DD 💖💖

Edit: Look at that, we have a Part 2 :)). Thanks Saph!!

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