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@nightmarecountry sent:

“i’ll do anything you say.”

A lie, but it's enough to disarm Dream's assailants, suddenly presented with more than they'd even hoped for, thinking the nightmare's allegiance has shifted to them now that they have its master

----and that is the exact opening the Corinthian needs. They don't get to say much at all before the nightmare joyfully splits their throats apart with its blades.

[ i am aware we have written this scenario 500 times, no that won't stop me from giving you things to read anyway. ❤️]

The golden-sunshine chains burn his skin where it touches, ugly red welts that blister and sizzle. He only has time to think that he'd been foolish, foolhardy, too arrogant by half; it's his own fault that he'd been captured again, this time by people that know better what they're dealing with, who have etched tiny little binding rules into the golden chains they try to fasten around his wrists, his throat -- and he's choking and the weight of the Dreaming is crashing down around him.

Dream feels the Corinthian before he sees him. Every muscle in his body tenses, waiting for that inevitable betrayal again.

It never comes. The Corinthian moves against his assailants, and blood sprays across Dream's face like his is the flesh that has been carved open. He licks it from his lips and grins, sharp and feral. Blood stains his teeth.

The chains fall from around his wrists and throat, no longer held taut by clammy human hands, seeking possession of something that they could never hope to understand. He stoops, quick as a flash, and plunges his hand - now claw like and sharp - into the nearest human's chest. When he withdraws it, he is holding something black and wriggling. His grin sharpens, and his grip tightens. The thing falls still.

"I will take them back to the Dreaming with us," he says, tipping his head back so that he may look up at his guard dog, loyal and resplendent wearing the blood of those that would seek Dream harm. "They will reside in nightmare with you, Corinthian, and form part of an eternal hunt. For your entertainment, my perfect, loyal little horror."

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rue's Dream continues to be SO FUCKING RIGHT

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“checklist” lmaooo the corinthians for dream. perhaps you could use x for one corinth and o for the second, like the world's most unhinged game of tic tac toe.

x for 1 | o for 2.

I find you to be:

[o ] interesting

[ ] cute

[x o] attractive

[o ] sexy

[ ] reassuring

[ ] intimidating

[x ] annoying

[x ] tedious

[x ] terrifying

I think we should:

[o ] talk more

[ ] hang out more

[ ] date

[ ] adopt each other as found family

[ ] fight (friendly)

[ ] fight (hostile)

[X ] avoid each other if at all possible

If we spent an evening together we would:

[ ] just hang out

[ ] talk about deep stuff

[ ] cuddle

[ ] go to bed together (to sleep)

[o ] go to bed together (to… not sleep)

[ ] go out and party till sunrise

[ ] both get arrested

[x ] probably wind up killing each other

If we kissed it would be:

[ ] a chaste press of lips

[ ] a playful smooch

[o ] swift and stolen

[o ] deep, sweet, and sincerely meant

[x o ] all teeth and tongue and hot as heck

[x ] not happening

If we had sex it would be:

[ ] romantic and luxurious

[x o ] fast, rough and hard

[x o ] against the nearest wall

[o ] fantastic

[ ] awkward

[x ] a really bad idea

[x ] an all-around disaster

[x ] not happening

If I woke up and found you unexpectedly in my bed I would:

[o ] cuddle you

[ ] offer you breakfast

[o ] attempt to seduce you

[x ] kick you out

[x ] demand to know how you got there

[ ] scream

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@praenunti sent:

❛ i will always be here for you. ❜ Achilles to Zagreus

Zagreus is so tired. He wants nothing more than to hide himself under the blankets piled on his bed and daydream about what above might be like. Instead, he pushes himself: just one more try, then I can rest. Just get a little further, and maybe this time, I'll make it all the way. He doesn't remember the last time he slept, but he doesn't intend to give in now. When he's finished talking to Achilles, he'll sneak out the window once more to try again. With a weary smile, he nods. "I know you will," he says, and rests a hand on Achilles shoulder. His weariness disappears when he is struck by an idea. "You should come with me, my friend. The two of us fighting side by side - we'd make it out easily, I'm sure. After everything you achieved, you don't deserve to be stuck down here, beholden to my father. Come with me, Achilles. Show the world that death isn't the end, that it can be overcome. Show my father that you don't belong to him. Come with me."

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@nightmarecountry sent:

⛓ HI DREAM HEY. HI Send ⛓ to snap a collar + leash around my muse.

The collar is a simple affair: a thick band of tan leather with a pretty brass buckle which clinks in his hands as he turns the collar over and over to look at it from every angle. It's buttery soft, lined with some silk-covered padding. Dream had created it for them. It's in the Corinthian's preferred colour on purpose, and he likes the symbolism of the subtle little claim. More importantly, it is calibrated to the nightmare; only he may put it on and take it off, and Dream likes the symbolism of that, too, that the Corinthian may be allowed that little bit of power over him. Slowly, reluctant to give up the solid weight of it in his hands, he gives it back to the Corinthian. He turns, so his back is to the nightmare, and tilts his head forward, exposing the back of his neck to make it easier for him to put it on. Fastened, the buckle fades into nothing, only to return when the Corinthian decides they are finished. The collar is now a continuous, immovable weight around his neck. He exhales and closes his eyes. For a short time, he isn't Morpheus, King of Dreams and Nightmares, Prince of Stories, Lord-Shaper, custodian of billions of consciousnesses. He is simply Dream, and his entire focus is on the creation who holds his leash. He wants to touch him very badly, and he projects pure want down their bond, but he otherwise holds himself back - for now. This is an exercise in restraint, in giving the nightmare some power over its creator, and Dream doesn't yet have permission to touch him. So he waits, and plucks at their bond insistently. "Allow me to kneel for you," he says - not quite a question, but certainly a request. "You may sit in my throne if it would please you, and I will sit at your feet. For a time, I would like for the only thing I think about to be pleasing you. Is that agreeable?"

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@nightmarecountry sent:

The second Corinthian manifests all but on top of Dream, following the lonely siren-call through their bond that's been driving him mad for hours now. It's as if Dream can't stand to be apart from him for more than seconds at a time now that they finally understand each other. It's intoxicating. He presses his creator into the bookshelves, caging him in with his arms, and projects unadulterated affection through their bond. "I'll never get anything done ever again," he tells him, sounding pleased, and kisses him--which doesn't stop his other mouths from continuing to talk. "I can feel you wanting me wherever I go."

Through this new development in their relationship, and the continuing development with his relationship with Miecz, a dam has burst inside Dream's chest. Everything that he's hidden away, everything little feeling that he's refused himself over the millenia is now raging through him unchecked. It is burning him up from the inside out; he is elated, joyful, affectionate, needy, lonely, touch-starved, and a million other things besides that he has never and will never have the words for. It spills out of him and down the bond with the Corinthian, though he is a little more careful about what he allows the nightmare to feel. These days, when their relationship - if he can call it that - is as new and as fragile as the first tiny crocus sprout pushing its way through the last of the winter's snow, he projects such loneliness. They've spent more time together in the last week than Dream ever spent with the first Corinthian, he thinks. He is consumed by it, and is always left aching for more, no matter how satisfying their encounters are. They have thousands of years to make up for, and now Dream has realised that he is allowed this, he sees no reason to deny themselves any longer. It pleases him enormously when the second Corinthian heeds his call, so unlike the first. He allows the nightmare to press him back against the bookshelves. The book he'd been pretending to read for the last two hours falls to the floor, already forgotten. They touch, the Corinthian's lips against his, Dream's fingers sliding under his shirt to touch the warm, soft skin of his stomach. He exhales softly, and all at once the loneliness-ache-starvation becomes softer. Fond-indulgence-appreciation. There's more, too: amusement, gratitude, affection. The last becomes a feedback loop between the two of them, growing stronger with every second that they spend in each other's company, touching each other. "It's because I do want you," he pulls away to say. Dream noses against his cheek, fingers tracing around to feel the dip of the Corinthian's spine. "And you came back to me, which I think means that you want me too. Don't you miss me when we are apart? I think of you as often as a human heart beats - no, as often as a stressed rabbit's heart beats. Why subject me to such suffering when you could stay with me, and allow me the pleasure of your company?"

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@praenunti | continuted from here.

Kevin is struggling to look at him. The plane ticket is clutched so tightly in his hand that it's shaking. Is that nerves or is it alcohol or is it because he was stupid enough to take it in his left hand? Does it matter? He doesn't think anything matters but that he has a few minutes alone with Jean before he has to go back out there and face Riko and pretend none of this matters. "I didn't know who he was. If I had I never would've--" But what difference does it make? Nathaniel--Neil--whatever had kept it from him, so there's nothing Kevin could've done. He can't protect him from going to the Nest. He can't protect himself, let alone anyone else. He hates that Jean is included on that list. He wishes more than anything that he wasn't. He opens his mouth, a question on his tongue, but he swallows it. It isn't fair to ask if Jean hates him. He knows the answer anyway--yes and no. There's no point arguing about it. He lets out a breath, his chest tight and his heart hammering, but finally makes himself look up at Jean. He doesn't have any idea what to say, because nothing can make this any better. "I tried to find you, the night I left. I couldn't. I didn't have time." Hard to believe that was a year ago. "I wanted to come back for you. You know I did." He needs to believe Jean knows that at least. "I don't... Yeah. Maybe I can't stand myself for that. For leaving you there. But you and I both know that won't make a difference. Nothing does. I don't want to fight with you. I never did." He's floundering for something else to say. What can he say? He doesn't think words exist for a moment like this.

It never gets any easier seeing Kevin, his once-closest and only friend, the only other person in the world that understood what his life is like at the Nest. On the court, it is easier because Jean can pretend that he is just another player, a stranger. Especially since now Kevin's play style is so different, so far removed from what it had once been. Unless they're face to face, no helmets and faceguards to hide behind, Kevin is anyone and noone. So Jean tells himself, anyway. Except they're not on the court now. They're face to face, and Kevin is talking about that night, a year ago. The night that Jean's life turned upside down, when the one person that he believed genuinely cared about him abandoned him. A muscle in his jaw twitches; his head aches with how hard he is grinding his teeth together. "Don't lie to me," he snaps. He feels cornered, facing down a terrible monster that chills him to the bone. Jean doesn't want to talk about the night Kevin left, how much it had hurt, how much Riko had hurt him in the following weeks. The wounds Riko left have healed, replaced by new, fresh ones; Kevin's is still open and bleeding, raw and ugly and all-consuming. But Jean isn't about to show weakness to this stranger who stands before him, giving him lies and excuses as if that's going to patch his wounds. "You left and you haven't looked back. I know you, Kevin, I know how fucking self-centered you are. Don't pretend that you ever think of me." Jean narrows his eyes, and his next words are a sharp, hissed whisper. "Do you remember what Riko was like? He was worse after you left. I thought he was going to kill me because he thought I was helping you, that I covered for you. He didn't believe that I didn't know your plan until it was already too late. I thought he was going to kill me, and it would have been your fault. So don't come here telling me that you care about me, about what happens to me. Run along home to your little happy family, where you can bury your head in the sand and go back to pretending that I don't exist. Vous êtes un lâche et vous l'avez toujours été."

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@nightmarecountry sent:

i can barely tolerate the living, why would i want to commune with the dead? [Persephone]

Persephone smiles, but it's small and so, so tired. She thrives above, in the open air, where things grow and people still know how to laugh. Down here, it's cold and dank, and people shuffle around with a blank look in their eyes. She fears that, one day, she'll look like them too.

Her glass is empty and she sets it down with an impatient little huff, then pushes herself to her feet. The stool drags across the ground loudly and the sound should echo - but it doesn't. The dusty rock ceiling that feels far too close - careful, you don't want to bang your head, keep your head down, keep your back bent - absorbs the sound.

"You lost someone," she says finally. She shakes her head and holds up a hand. "You don't have to tell me, I know. You've got that look about you, I've seen it before and I know I'll see it again." Would she ever stop seeing it? Even in those blank-eyed stares, there is loss. They don't know what, but everyone down here is mourning something, if not someone. "Wouldn't you want to speak with him again if you could?"

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@nightmarecountry sent:

[  TIE  ] ;  the sender ties the receivers hands together using an article of clothing. [ corinth 2 and dream ft. intricate rituals buy my silence. ]

Dream doesn't usually do this. The two of them are alone in his private chambers, without even Miecz as their usual buffer. Outside the open doors, a waterfall roars, and Dream imagines this is what it sounds like when humans talk about their blood rushing in their ears.

His robe is pooled around his waist where he sits on the edge of his enormous bed; his chest is bare, and he seems to glow in the fading orange-red evening light.

Dream holds his hands out in front of him, wrists together and palms pressed flat as though in prayer. The Corinthian's belt is wrapped snug around his wrists, the end trailing down in front of him. It's thrilling, in its own way, to be almost bare and made vulnerable before his own creation.

He's not vulnerable; the belt would disintegrate into sand with a thought, but he thinks that it's the visual of him bound is what matters.

"Does this please you, my nightmare?" he asks, standing slowly so that they're chest to chest, his bound hands between them. His robe slips down his legs so that he's completely bare before the Corinthian, clad in nothing but the sunset.

Dream noses along his jaw, catches his earlobe gently between his teeth. "What would you have me do now? You've rendered me helpless and vulnerable."

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jean doesn't remember ever celebrating his birthday, nor when it is.

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@nightmarecountry | continued from here.

It actually lands, which is more surprising than the punch itself: a little moment of lucidity that sparks instantly into something bigger, wrenching control from the Corinthian's grasp. Ordinarily, Kieren would fight and get nowhere, dragged inexorably into the trunk of a familiar car by cold, strong hands. Managing to hit the Corinthian is new.

The Corinthian, however, is not easily deterred. Not by its master's warnings, not by its victim's rage. It grips Kieren's bony wrist between its fingers and wrenches hard enough to snap the bones there. There's no pain, in this dream, but the sound and the feeling is horrifying nonetheless.

"Try again," the Corinthian smiles, not letting go. "Fight back."

This is an old, familiar nightmare by now. It's a memory, too, though Kieren tries to remove himself from the fact that it's something that happened to him and tell himself that it's just a nightmare. When he wakes, he'll press his face into Simon's shoulder until he stops trembling, and if his boyfriend wakes, he'll tell him it's just a nightmare, go back to sleep.

None of that makes it feel any less real. He remembers with perfect clarity the moment he'd realised that the stranger wasn't just someone asking for directions, though he doesn't remember what exactly had given him away. The smile, maybe, or maybe it was simply the way he'd grabbed for Kieren. Most likely, it was the open boot of the car which, in this dream, is a vast, seductive blackness that draws him in.

Kieren remembers, too, the way his combat boots had slipped on wet leaves instead of giving him any purchase - like they do now.

His punch lands and his heart lurches; maybe this is the time that he gets away. The circle will be broken. He'll be free, and he'll never return to this dreamscene-memory again.

Except the Corinthian is inescapable. Cold hands close around Kieren's wrist and he hears the moment his brittle bones snap. It looks and sounds like it should hurt, even though it doesn't, but he flinches all the same.

"Let go of me," he snarls, animal and terrified and so, so tired. He digs his feet in, but slides on wet leaves and soggy mud.

The trunk is open. It looms ever closer --

-- and then he's awake in Simon's bed, trembling and cradling his wrist like it really is broken. He exhales, a little whimper, and flexes his fingers. His nails have dug little crescent moons into the palms of his hands, so deep they're tainted with the black ichor that passes for blood. But his wrist isn't broken and Simon is still asleep. Kieren rolls over, presses his face into his shoulder, and tries very hard not to cry.

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@nightmarecountry sent:

✂ to grab my muse by the throat [ corinth 1 @ dream. he is being UNHINGED at his creator again big surprise.]

The nightmare lunges for him and Dream doesn't think to move. The backs of his knees hit his throne and he folds into the seat, the Corinthian looming over him. He doesn't need to breathe, but he grabs for its hand all the same, nails digging into the skin of its wrist.

he remembers half a memory of disintegrating the nightmare's skin back into sand and he could do the same now but it doesn't feel right

"You dare," he snarls, looking into the Corinthian's eyes. What he sees reflected back is a king brought low and made weak by a traitorous subject. He doesn't like it. "I did not give you permission to lay your hands on me," he carries on, low and dangerous. He pushes forward; he doesn't need to breathe and he can feel a little bit of give in the grip around his throat. "Let go of me this instant, Corinthian."

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@nightmarecountry sent:

The thing that settles down next to him on the park bench barely seems to notice as the pigeons Morpheus has been feeding suddenly take flight. When they come back, lured by the promise of bread, they seem warier and more skittish than before.

"Ah, there you are. Thanks for inviting me," says the Corinthian, all smiles. It keeps its distance, almost on the other end of the bench where it leans back against it--but somehow, no amount of physical distance seems to matter. It still feels as if it is right by Morpheus' shoulder, talking in smooth tones in his ear, for all that that isn't what's happening. "You get better sleep last night?"

Morpheus knows that there's things he doesn't know. There's a gaping chasm where memories of his life ought to be, and his mind only supplies him with vague snippets while he sleeps - and it's difficult to tell what is dream and what was once real. What he doesn't realise is that both are sometimes true: dream and real. It's equal parts confusing and overwhelming, and so he is burying his head in the sand. What's important is that he remembers Miecz, and he knows that he will be safe for as long as he is staying with him. Everything else will come later, or not at all. What's arguable more important is that he doesn't remember the Corinthian, that he's dangerous, a nightmare, that trying to uncreate him is part of what led Dream here. The vague notion of dangerous drifts through Dream's mind when he looks at the man at the other end of the bench, but when he tries to grasp it, it turns to sand between his fingers and disappears. He offers a tentative smile which slips when he realises that the birds have disappeared. All but one lone raven, who hops closer with its head to one side. When Dream throws it a little chunk of bread, he is almost sure he hears an exasperated sigh, then it flutters its wings and disappears. It's a shame; he likes feeding the birds. "No," he replies. He feels compelled to put some distance between himself and his companion - but they're at far ends of the bench, and there is nowhere else for him to go. The fine hairs on the back of his neck prickle and he feels very much like a rabbit staring into the slavering jaws of a hungry wolf. "I had the same dream. A nightmare, again, about you. It's strange." He shakes his head, and the feeling passes. "Thank you for meeting with me. I get the strangest feeling that we know each other, I feel..." He presses his fist to his chest and, against his better judgement, leans closer to the Corinthian. "In here, I feel like I can feel you. Does that make sense?"

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❓+ what was dream thinking, when he made the second corinth? rwscu edition :)

Dream was thinking about regret and hope. He regretted that things with the first Corinthian had ended as they did, and was hopeful that things would be better this time around. It was impossible for him not to think about the first, but he really tried not to - in case it accidentally influenced the second. He was thinking about his own hungers, pouring them once again into the nightmare, even though he knew that it wouldn't exorcise them from himself. It didn't work before, but it was a lie that he told himself then and he told it to himself again this time around. Dream thought, too, about his loneliness. He will never admit to it aloud, but he hoped for a loyal nightmare that might want to be close to him. Dream didn't directly give him that need, if it was going to happen it should be organic, but it was certainly on his mind. More than anything, he was thinking about duty. It hurt him to uncreate the first Corinthian, his masterpiece, but he recognised how much that particular brand of nightmare could do for humanity, and so he considered his duty to recreate him. By the way, this is the first and only time that he's recreated a creation.

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persephone petitioned hades to hear orpheus out because she and calliope were close, once upon a time, and she remembered orpheus from when he was a young boy. also because she's an incurable romantic, but mostly because of her fondness for his mother.

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[holding the microphone to your lips] tell corinthian he's a cunt

Corinthian. Hey, Corinth. You're a cunt.

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i'm giving dre/am a verse where the drea/ming spat him out as king, and replaced him with rose. he now no longer has his powers, his authority, or a lot of his memories about who and what he once was. he's broadly "human".