It's an idea that has been stuck in my head for some time. I plan to make a CYOA on Twine about that in the future. In which the MC is a dealer, and well, shit happens.
Warning about this prompt: Horror, tragedy, a bit of gore (and broken English, sorry. Not my first language and all that. You know how it goes.)
A long, long time ago, there was a child.
Loved by everyone on time and space.
The kings worshiping them, and the outer gods claimed the child as their equal.
The beasts lowed their heads, and the rest of the mortals had sung songs about the beauty of the promised child.
And so the child grew up even more beautiful than before.
The mortals, at first, feared that the child was being spoiled rotten, and would become too prideful like the gods that loved them.
Luckily, that was not the case at all. The child, now an adult, was wise, and the kindest being on earth...
That was why the tragedy begin.
----
The kings wanted to keep the child for themselves.
The outer golds threatened to destroy the world if they didn't have the promised child all for them, and them alone.
The beasts showed claws and sharpen their teeth.
And the rest of the mortals wielded axes and flaming torches, madness in their eyes.
The war was short, but bloody one. And the being to suffer the most was the promised child.
----
Nonetheless, in the end, a bargain was made.
A cruel one.
No.
A rather grotesque one.
The child belonged to everyone. So them should be shared accordingly.
And they all got a piece of the child.
----
The toes for the maggots, so they can be wrapped in warm.
The heart to the mother, that gave birth to the promised child.
The blood for the mortals, so they can drink it like the sweetest wine.
The face for the Gods, to remember by.
The eyes for the kings, as a treasure to keep.
The arms and hands to the outer gods, as a sign of conquer.
And the remains to the beasts to devour as they seem fit.
"Lovely story, isn't it?" The storyteller is mocking you. You feel it in your bones.
"Is that supposed to be funny?" You answer him. Your voice as dry as the earth under the sole of your boots.
"Not at all, dealer." He said, ceasing to smile. "Want to know the moral of the story?" he asked, with raised eyebrows on your direction.
"You wouldn't leave me alone otherwise, would you?" You shrug nonchalantly. "What is the moral of the story?"
"That we all are too tainted to deserve something so...pure. Not even the gods are worth of it." The smile on the lips of the Storyteller is frightening for a heart beat. "And someday, the promised child will return, and get back all that was taken from them. One by one."
Warning: Sorry about my broken English people. It is not my first language.
You are a weapon. The farm made a good job with that.
I'm a man
I'm a man
I'm a man
is what I say to the world and remind myself each time I look in the mirror.
But god, it's hard. They made my face frail and put me inside a body of a woman that isn't me. They called me "dog" once, and "valuable weapon" after.
I wish they burn in hell the same way I do in life.
I couldn't sleep without the nightmares whispering my name like curses.
Being myself wasn't enough.
Not with this body,
Not with this voice.
Why not others? How dare they be this awful?
Then one day, like any other, I meet him. It wasn't a coincidence, it was a mission.
He hated me first.
It was mutual.
But I fought beside him anyway. Like the foolish hero I was.
Our deeds were in magazines, TV… the internet.
My costume was perfect to hide the woman behind.
Finally, for once, I was a man. The binder was the final touch.
But Wei Chen never sees me as a man, I know that.
And at first, I didn't care. The hell with him.
He was more inhuman than me.
And that made me happy.
Who was a weapon now? Chen, of course.
The jealous, and rude Chen.
Somewhere inside, I knew, he would always be my nemesis.
Everything crashed down not much after.
I got more scars,
bitterness,
and nightmares to eat me alive.
I am no longer a foolish hero.
I am the "dog" the farm called me once,
I am the weapon to demise them all.
Nevertheless, Chen showed up again.
Was he ever… this polite before?
Where did all the hate go?
I need the hate… the indifference.
I'm a man
I'm a man
I'm a man
But it isn't enough, so I got a new body.
One that I can love,
One that he can love too.
It is selfish, I know,
but there's too much guilt for me to bear in one body alone.
At least, there's room for love in another being more than inside myself.
— How warm would it be to be embraced by Marshal steel
Hi could you do something about desire where the reader stayed a sleep while morpheus was imprisoned then desire invaded the readers dream and they fell in love similar to what happened to unity in the show I’m curious to how life with desire really was while she slept
Desire is not my favorite character of the endless (But well...Let's give him a chance for once.) And first, English is not my first language, I hope you don't mind. And second, I'm a wh*re for fluff/angst.
Words: 753
Warnings: Drama/ Fluffy/angst
Characters: Desire x F!Reader
1.
Dearest desire
I knew you were there, in the shadows, with eyes tawny and sharp as yellow wine, watching me silently, while I washed away the dirty on my favorite dress.
I was twelve years old when the sickness hit me one night… You know how it goes, right?
A lonely little girl, living in a dreaming world she learned to call home.
2.
I was nineteen when you give me my first kiss.
There was no love in your eyes, or warm in your touch,
but I was in heaven anyway.
I still remember the thing you said to me after, when your hand caressed my right cheek and my body felt like Jell-O:
"Dear mine, what a sight for sore eyes."
If I wasn't the foolish woman
That I am… I would have asked you why.
Maybe, you would have answered me then.
3.
I was twenty-one when I missed my real parents.
Sadly, I haven't been able to tell the difference between the fake ones in the dreaming world.
And that night, I begged you to hug me for a little while.
Dearest Desire,
Your bright yellow eyes finally… were kind for once.
And I understood at that moment why you have a sin for a name, when your skin met my skin and ours lips searched for one another.
Love was what we did.
I refuse to believe otherwise.
4.
I was twenty-five when the house that my parents gifted me
felt too damn big for me alone.
I asked you to live with me.
But Desire belongs to no one, I should have known better.
"Don't make that face, butterfly." you pouted before kissing me.
Not even two days later, you accepted my request.
I still don't believe you really did that, not even now.
5.
I had all of you to myself for five more years.
Day and night.
From breakfast to dinner
again,
again,
and again.
But all this time, you,
my dearest desire
stayed the same.
The one getting old was me.
I was a foolish woman, remember?
I Should have dreamed of me being immortal, too.
6.
When I was thirty years old
and the new things were no longer new things
sex became a routine.
The house bored you to death,
and my kisses did too.
That was when you have the idea of having a kid.
So I said, "No more than two."
7.
When I was Forty-seven,
and our daughter, seventeen
you, my dearest Desire
still young and beautiful,
confessed to me for the first time
how much you love, and cherished the things we did
together in all these years.
"Why are you telling me…"
"Shh… It's a secret between you and me, butterfly."
It felt like a farewell.
Hell, It has one, at least for a while.
8.
I was fifty-nine when you came back.
All my angry yells,
throwing out plates and fury, passed too quickly
for my own good.
Perhaps it was because the house felt too empty
without our daughter here.
Perhaps I missed you a ton.
I don't know, dear...
I'm not the same as I was before.
You kissed me then, softly,
and I felt in heaven.
Exactly the same way years ago, when I was nineteen,
and you kissed me for the first time.
"It's not fair" I said looking at you.
"Desire never is, butterfly."
And dammit, I missed that childish nickname.
9.
We made love one last time.
You embraced me like I was your whole world.
I was old and wrinkled, but you didn't seem to care.
My dearest Desire,
people may say it wasn't love,
that It was a funny experiment…me and our daughter.
Doesn't matter.
I will love her for the two of us, if necessary.
"Goodnight." I murmur on your ear at last.
"Night, butterfly." You kiss my front head, and close your eyes.
10.
I'm sixty-five years old when the dream is over.
And you, my dearest Desire,
is not here to take my hand on the awake world.
Strangely enough, I have a real daughter,
and grandsons to love.
But sometimes, when I'm alone
and I hear nothing but silence,
I feel eyes tawny and sharp as yellow wine
on my back…
Longing the same way I do.
However, when I turn around, there's just shadows and walls instead.
"Where I touch, things want and need and love…" Desire said to me a long time ago.
like they cradled the entire world in the nest of their joined fingers
and perhaps
that is beautiful
and good
and pure
and perhaps
that is
enough. (insp.)
romaincrisis
amandla
kianamaiart
gracieabrams