GhostDaddy
Recent bookmarks
-
Tags
Summary
“What in the freshest grocery aisle of hell is THAT?!”
Harlequin merely shrugged, legs spread and pants down, sitting on your clean duvet with his usual wide grin.
“My dicks.”
-
Tags
Summary
The Pierrot has gone missing for nearly a month. A fact that you may or may not be aware of.
-
Tags
Summary
"You know that unhinged shit you say to me when you think I'm asleep? Well… I wouldn't be.... adverse...to having some of that in the bedroom, you know?"
Not for the first time, you thought you might’ve broken The Pierrot.
-
Tags
Summary
Shadow Milk had felt it, even then—the doubt. Buried deep, but still present. Like a line of tension held behind the heart.
Pure Vanilla had feared for the world. Shadow Milk had tasted that fear in his pulse, smelled it in the way his body tensed before the end. He had wondered—of course he had—what would become of everything once the Light of Knowledge returned to its rightful God.
Wondered if ruin would follow. If blood would fall like rain.
And maybe, in another world, he would have acted on that fear.
Maybe, in a world where fake kindness didn't lull him into selfishness, where the promise of rest didn't make him yearn, where his God’s claws didn't feel as comforting… he would have asked.
(“What… will you do with your power back?”)
Maybe he would have spoken.
Maybe he would have fought.
But not in this one.
Not in the world where Shadow Milk’s palm cradled him like a shrine.
Not in the moment where his head was gently stroked by a claw that could tear through mountains.
In this world, he was selfish.
Series
- Part 2 of Deceit's Sacrificial Lamb Works
-
Tags
Summary
The God of Deceit was once a god who danced through truth like a flame through old parchment—destructive, beautiful, inevitable. But that was before the fae turned their backs. Before they bound him in this tree, with chains etched in runes that gnawed through flesh and soul alike.
Now he is stillness. Now he is silence. Now he is Shadow Milk—the god no one remembers, watching the world like a man at the bottom of a well watches the light too far above to reach.
And so he waits.
Through the thin membrane of reality, where the veil is weakest, he sees the world. He sees the golden fields stretching in humble simplicity, dotted with the flicker of sheep. He sees the hill, where wildflowers bloom with such audacity they seem to challenge the sky.
And there, in the middle of it all—white as a breath, still as a prayer—is the shepherd. Pure Vanilla.
...
Pure Vanilla thinks of his flock as he dies. He thinks of Dandelion. He thinks of warm bread and honey. Of sun on his face. Of the feeling of grass beneath his feet.
Death is not merciful, it is not quick.
The shepherd bleeds, and The God of Deceit does not intervene.
Series
- Part 4 of My Cookie Works
- Part 1 of Deceit's Sacrificial Lamb Works