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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 11 months ago

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𓅨 The Cold is Never Violent: Chapter Six

The Cold is Never Violent: You were determined to help Morpheus get his tools back, so you willingly followed him to hell. Hell was not supposed to be this cold. Lucifer has something up their sleeve, making you stay the night in hell before the Oldest Game, and it does not bode well for you.

Warnings: I did Edit but it’s like 2 in the morning so…

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x AFAB!Reader, Pour Vous @melancholypancakes 😘

Word Count: ~3.6k

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Morpheus and Matthew had left to retrieve the ruby, leaving Lucienne to putter around the library and question the motive and actions of her lord. Surely he was smarter than this! Morpheus, in his great endeavor to protect you, his love, had managed to hurt you deeply and most likely hadn’t even realized it! Even after a few days of Morpheus being gone, Lucienne hadn’t seen you return from leaving for the brother’s houses.

You had said that you needed time away from the palace, and while Lucienne was reluctant to let out wander away from the safety of the palace she couldn’t fault you from wanting away from the place Morpheus had kept you in for nearly four days straight. But you hadn’t come back, and no word had come from the brothers regarding you staying over. To be frank the librarian was concerned for you. Putting away a few new books, Lucienne was alerted to the arrival of her lord and turned in place. Morpheus did not hold the ruby necklace within his hand, but the air around him shimmered with immense power.

“My lord,” Lucienne greeted as Matthew fluttered over and landed on the nearby table. “I see that you were successful in retrieving your ruby.”

“To a point,” Morpheus replied, stopping by the table and focusing on his power to fully return the library to its former glory. “John Dee defiled the gem and it’s ultimate destruction returned my power to me.” Lucienne frowned at the thought of a mortal defiling such a reverent and important piece of the Dreaming… but the shift and shivers of the library took her attention.

In a matter of seconds the library was back to its regal state, pristine wood and polished floors. The librarian sighed in happiness at her domain finally returning to its formal glory. Just as the library shifted back to its normal state, the rest of the palace quickly shifted and groaned as it rebuilt itself.

“Regarding the affairs of the realm, it should return to normal within the next day as Fiddler’s Green has returned. What is the status of the census?” Morpheus questioned, half his conscious focused on rebuilding his realm. There was so much to do.

“It is nearly complete, just a few remaining denizens unaccounted for but that is to be expected.” Lucienne informed the Dream Lord, retrieving the long list of names and placing it down on the table.

“And Y/N? Have they caused any trouble while I was gone.” Morpheus glanced around, expecting you to pop out from behind a book shelf and argue about why he had left you behind. You were no where to be seen.

“Y/N left the palace several days ago to visit the brothers,” Lucienne explained, adjusting her spectacles. “They have not, however, returned.”

Morpheus was too distracted by tasks that need doing to contemplate your unusual and slightly concerning action of leaving. You were out of the way and safe within his realm. He’d deal with you later.

The entire Dreaming was glowing with Endless power once more, its residents returned home and town bustling with activity as old. Morpheus felt at home once more, surrounded by his denizens and creations. But as Morpheus sat upon his throne he felt something within his being alert him that something was wrong. What? He did not know but the feeling persisted just below the skin of his physical form.

Drumming his fingers on the arm rests of his throne, the itch to find out what was wrong persisted to the point where he could no longer sit there and wonder. Pushing himself to his feet, Morpheus strode down the stairs and strode towards the gardens. There was a missing piece to his realm, perhaps that was what bothered him.

You.

You were still absent, days after Morpheus had returned and there had been no mischief or questions from you. It was… unsettling. So he strode for the gardens determined to hunt you down and remove this uncomfortable feeling. Surely being in your presence alone would make the Endless feel better. He needed your comforting warmth and embrace.

Exiting the palace, Morpheus caught sight of Mervyn lumbering through the gardens carrying a bucket and trowel. The pumpkin headed janitor caught sight of his lord walking straight for him and already knew what he was going to inquire. So he paused in step and thought about how to tell Morpheus that you’d left the palace and hadn’t come back, and no one really knew where you were.

“Evening sir,” Mervyn grunted out.

“Tell me, Mervyn, do you know the whereabouts of Y/N? They are partial to your company and I have yet to see them prancing through our halls since my return.” Morpheus questioned, observing his janitor. Mervyn shrugged his wooden shoulders. “Surely they have returned to their mischief and merrymaking…’

“Haven’t seen ‘em, sir,” He spoke before rubbing the back of his pumpkin head. “Actually they’ve been kind of awol since you left to retrieve your ruby. Been really weird not having them around… Don’t know where they went, been awfully quiet ‘round here.”

Morpheus wasn’t pleased to hear that and walked swiftly away to find someone else to ask for your whereabouts. But the kitchen staff hadn’t prepared you any meals since he’d been gone, the servants who took care of your wing reported that you hadn’t slept in your bed in three nights, and the dragon that guarded the entrance to the palace reported that you indeed hadn’t come back since you departed.

“Sir, I’m really worried about where Y/N went,” Matthew spoke after Morpheus had spoken with yet another palace staff member who hadn’t seen you around. “This isn’t like them! They love the palace and being near the library, they wouldn’t just up and disappear like this!”

Morpheus concurred with a troubled frown. Matthew fluttered to the floor in front of the Dream Lord and looked up.

“I don’t think they’re recovered from whatever happened in hell, sir,” Matthew bravely said. “You— you need to find them and make sure they’re okay.”

After speaking with Lucienne, Morpheus made his way to the brother’s houses. Lucienne had told him that you had planned to head there and hopefully you were still there. Had softly spoken about a poor mood or such. As he traveled to the brothers houses, Morpheus contemplated what was wrong with you. He had done his very best to ensure that you were safe and out of harms way since returning from hell. You had been in a vulnerable state, had nearly died, Morpheus wouldn’t even entertain the idea that you would put yourself at risk again. He had been so weak at the start of your relationship, you had been the one doing the protecting. Morpheus vowed to never let anything happen to you ever again now that he was himself once more.

Approaching the joined houses, Morpheus saw that Cain was digging a hole and Abel was playing with Goldie.

“Ah,” Abel spoke, catching sight of the approaching Dream Lord. A wide smile appeared on his face. “What brings you by, sir?”

“Y/N,” Morpheus stated, scanning the grounds for your presence in hopes that you’d pop out of nowhere and put his worries to rest. “I am in search of them.”

“Oh, they were here several days ago, spent the night,” Abel said helpfully before frowning. “They left for Fiddler’s Green on the morn’ and never came back. I thought they went back to the palace…”

Morpheus’ mood darkened and his worry grew more severe. Something was wrong.

“Sir? Is everything alright?” Abel broached, noticing the change in mood in Morpheus. Morpheus blinked and drew himself from his thoughts to address Abel.

“Y/N is missing and I am attempting to track them down.” The Endless explained. “You said they left for Fiddler’s Green? Perhaps he knows where they went.” Abel nodded and pet Goldie on the back.

“If they show up I’ll send word to the palace. It’s not like Y/N to just go missing.” Morpheus nodded, further hiding his growing upset and turned around. Fiddler’s Green wasn’t too far to walk and striding through the lush green forest. Morpheus didn’t need to broach conversation before the Arcana’s disembodied voice floated through the air.

“They aren’t here,” Morpheus paused in step. If you weren’t in Fiddler’s Green, where could you have gone? You weren’t at the palace, not at the brothers, certainly not in town… yet Morpheus could just barely feel the flicker of your mortal being within his realm. He’d never felt your life force so faint before. Something was terribly wrong.

“Do you know where they are? I can barely sense them and fear that something must have happened.” Morpheus questioned, looking up to the blue sky.

“The northern mountains,” Fiddler’s Green explained. “They came to me asking about the coldest place in all of the Dreaming. I do not understand why they would wish to go there, it is not suitable for them. They will surely be far too cold.” The feeling of apprehension within Morpheus turned into panic and dread.

You wished he had just let you die of hypothermia. Hugging your knees to your chest, you sniffed and pressed your damp eyes against your knees. Morpheus didn’t want your help? After all this time? You thought— you thought that had been what brought you together! But now it seemed that you were nothing but a pest to the Endless! It had been foolish of you to start thinking about what it would be like to be in a romantic relationship with Morpheus. Then you had to go and fall in love with him.

“Don’t be even stupider than you already have been, Y/N,” You whispered to yourself. Morpheus had saved you because he couldn’t afford to let Lucifer think that his people were easy pickings. You might not be one of his people but you had been with him at the time. Obligation, not because he cared for you. Not because he— You ground your palms into your eyes and choked back a sob. You couldn’t even say the word! “I’m so stupid.”

Nothing made sense anymore and you were miserable and alone. What you would give to feel that blissful cold again. You opened your eyes. The Dreaming had all sorts of climates, surely there would be somewhere cold that you could go. If you went there you could numb yourself to your hurt. Numb yourself to Morpheus and his obvious annoyance of you. Unfolding your stiff body, you furiously wiped your eyes before exiting your borrowed room at Abel’s house. He and Cain were in the kitchen, having a spot of tea while Goldie munched on a biscuit.

“Oh! Y/N, you’re just in time for tea!” Abel chirped happily while Cain looked over his newspaper. You looked tired and your eyes were stained red.

“Abel made your favorite cookies,” The older brother added, hoping to cheer you up from the slump you seemed to be in. You shook your head and shuffled for the door.

“‘M headed out to Fiddler’s Green,” You announced to them. “Thanks for letting me stay here, I needed a break from the palace.” Abel’s face fell at your departure, for he knew that something was bothering you. But you were within your right to keep your secrets. At least you were heading out to Fiddler’s Green. The fresh air and beautiful nature would surely help you!

“You drop by again, anytime,” Cain called as you exited the cottage. You didn’t reply but gave him a short nod before closing the door behind you. Trudging along, you peered over the stone bridge at the little creek that crossed in front of the brother’s houses and admired the clarity of the water. Everything in the Dreaming had its place, was incredibly beautiful, functioned as it should. Everything but you.

You were out of place, a mortal, and it’s ruler was currently treating you like you had contracted the plague. As desperately as you wanted to, you simply did not belong in the dreaming. Hugging your arms around your body, you entered Fiddler’s Green and walked a little ways just to enjoy the sounds of birds and the explosive green around you.

“Fiddler’s Green?” You finally asked, hoping the Arcana would be inclined to help you. There was a rustle of trees and the entity answered.

“Hello, Y/N,” You sighed in relief, not everyone was ignoring you.

“You know the Dreaming the best,” You started, your eyebrows furrowing in thought. “Where’s the coldest place? The mountains?” The Arcana wondered why you would want to know such information but helpfully answered your question, explaining that the coldest place in the entire Dreaming was a midpoint in the mountains where Dreams and Nightmares that loved the freezing cold resided. There weren’t many, but just enough that a habitat existed for them.

After directing you to a coldest steppe, Fiddle’s Green watched as you swiftly walked yourself from his being towards the mountain, not once thinking that you had anything else but sightseeing on your mind.

Ice crystals had gathered on your lashes from where you lay partially on your side with your back flat against cold rock and snow. When you had reached the base of the mountain, you had started to pull pieces of clothing off your body. First your jacket went, you’d relished the bitter nip the slight breeze caused. But it hadn’t been enough. So you removed your sweater. Still too warm. One by one you left your shoes and socks behind, wandering up the mountain with increasingly chilled skin.

Unlike in hell, this cold soothed the ache in your heart and stole the thoughts of pain from your mind, numbing you to everything around you. By the time you had reached the steppe Fiddle’s Green had told you about, you couldn’t feel your toes and your skin was ice. You were tired, wanted to lay down and nap. So that’s what you had done.

Curled up on the ground, back flat so you could watch little clumps of snow drift down from the sky, you basked in numbness once more. Even as the bitter cold settled into your body, stealing what little body heat you had left, the Dreaming itself was struggling to stop the warmth from leaving your body. Its task was to keep this location at a certain temperature, it could not change that, but you were going to die if you did not find warmth again. So the realm did what is could to simply slow the inevitable unless someone came for you. Without words it was, but the realm was not without communication to its creator.

Feeling a ripple within his realm, Morpheus was altered to the call of his realm, beckoning him to a section of the mountains where the frost fiends and creations resided. The coldest place in all the realm. Surely you would’t be this foolish! In a swirl of sand Morpheus teleported himself and Matthew to the edge of the steppe. He could feel your life force a little stronger now, but it was still so faint. Matthew let out a caw and dove forwards, dropping down to frosted ground to peck at your jacket.

“This is theirs!” The raven cried out, tiny black eyes looking further up the trail. He could see more of your clothes. “You don’t think they did this on purpose… do you?”

Morpheus didn’t reply, he simply stood forward at the increased pace. The further he and Matthew went, the more clothing items strewn on the ground they crossed the more concerned both beings became. Especially when Morpheus spotted your pants and shirt strew on an embankment of snow. You were almost naked and in this weather!? What were you doing with your being?? Rather than continuing to hurriedly walk, Morpheus disintegrated to sand and flew towards your rapidly fading presence. What he found shouldn’t have surprised him, but it sure sent him into a spiraling panic.

You were laying on your back, legs curled at the side and staring vacantly at the falling clumps of pristine dream snow. Your skin was practically blue, and Morpheus couldn’t even comprehend how your flesh had managed to turn that color given your natural complexion. But what caused the most dread and brewed the worst fears in the Endless was how you appeared to hardly even breathe. From behind, Matthew let out an alarmed squawk. Morpheus was acting before the raven could even exclaim a verbal surprise.

Materializing, the dream lord was instantly kneeling down and gathering your shivering body to wrap you firmly within his star laden coat. With you promptly bundled up, he took a half step in place, transporting himself and you to the safety of his palace and the warmth of your wing. He placed you on your bed before quickly removing his clothing. He was not going to los you to stubbornness in his own realm! So Morpheus joined you, whisking away the remaining cloth that barely covered your skin and cradled you tightly within his arms, willing all the warmth he and his realm had back into you.

For nearly a minute the Endless feared that you would succumb to the cold and he would lose you forever… but then you shifted within his arms and let out a small moan. The peaceful cold you had been basking in, had been indulging and succumbing to, was gone!

“No,” You faintly moaned to yourself, willing your mind to retreat back into that solace in which your heart and being didn’t have to feel so hurt. “No,”

“Yes,” Morpheus objected, pressing his face into the crown of your hair handholding you tighter in fear that you would squirm away and slip back into that deathly catatonia. “You will warm up and explain this to me, Y/N. You were but mere minutes from hearing the wings of my sister. You nearly succumbed to the violent cold in hell, why would you purposefully subject yourself to it within my realm!?”

“The cold is never violent,” Your pale lips whispered out, slurring the syllables slightly. “It is peaceful, and doesn’t hurt, and takes away the hurt. I was hurting so much, but not anymore…”

“This is killing you,” Morpheus ground out, hugging you tighter and drawing a hand across your frigid back. How could you possibly be this cold?

“I just want to sleep,” You sighed out, eyelashes fluttered as the drawl of soothing bliss and a pain free future tempted you once more. “Sleep, numb, so nice...” This time Morpheus raised his hand to grip your chin and pull your head back, making you grunt and blink.

“You are not allowed to fall asleep, Y/N. I forbid it,” He sternly decreed.

“Why do you care?” The words slipped from your lips as you looked into the fuzzy face of the one being that had managed to wound your heart like no other. You hated how the blissful numbness that had taken shelter within your heart was slowly disappearing. It was staring to hurt again. “You don’t want me, you don’t need me, you don’t lo—”

“Stop,” Morpheus hoarsely spoke, almost not believing the words tumbling from your mouth. What were you speaking of!? You were the very being that Morpheus felt like he could no live without! He wanted you, he needed you, he loved you with every grain of sand his anthropomorphic being had! “Why? Why would you do this to me? To the realm!? It was trying so hard to keep you from—” His words fizzled out to nothingness, lost to the sounds of your shivers and chattering teeth.

“You said you didn’t need my help,” You stated. “You avoided me until I forced your hand, and— and— it hurts so much to think that you don’t even consider me as a subject let alone a friend. I just wanted to stop hurting, stop feeling…. the cold, the numbness, it felt so nice. It took away my pain. I wanted that back.”

Morpheus felt as if his universe was crashing down around him. You believed that he did not wish for your presence within his realm? You believe that he thought so little of you that you were not worthy of commanding hand of his palace? You believe that he did not love you?? For a few moments the Endless nearly turned into a swirling storm of depressive and morosful sand, the sting of heartbreak almost running rampant. But then the being remembered that this wasn’t you rejecting him and his undying love, you simply believed he did not love and revere you.

“Do you know why I did not wrap you up in my coat?” He asked, resting his forehead against your own so you had to look into his eyes. You drowsily blinked at him but made no attempt to close your eyes or ignore his question. “I’d forgotten how much I enjoy the intimacy of embracing the one I care for most deeply. I crave your touch, Y/N. You are my fragile beloved treasure and I would be inconsolable should anything ever happen to you. I have not pursued a mortal in 10,000 years and I fear that I shall repeat my past mistakes.”

His softly spoken words, filled with sincerity, filled your mind until you forgot about your shivers, forgot about your heartache, forgot about the peaceful cold you had so stubbornly sought. Eyelashes fluttering as you started fighting against the drowsiness that filled your body, you let out a moan and slumped in place. You nearly killed yourself over a misunderstanding and an Endless with poor emotional intelligence.

“I beginning to think that we might have communication issues.”

Date Published: 12/28/23

Last Edit: 12/28/23

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#the sandman netflix #lord morpheus #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream the endless x reader #dream the endless #morpheus #the sandman #dream of the endless

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aihoshiino · 8 months ago

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(I had this crazy moment when thinking about ONK today and wanted to tell someone)

If your speculation on the HKAI "I cannot love you" moment is correct, I wonder if the AQRB confrontation re Ruby's request to be seen (and loved) as Sarina to Aqua's Gorou will lead to a similar respond. Ie "I cannot love you the way you want me to, even in the scenario you just described."

Because at the end of the day, if I'm reading it correctly, Gorou was never serious in his "till you're 16" response to Sarina. They both knew that she wouldn't live past 12. Sarina/Ruby is delusional but only in a way a girl (sick and fated to die at 12 with the only person kind to her being her doctor) who didn't get to mature in her thinking could be. And imo that parallels to Hikaru, who's experience in "romance" was offering himself in exchange for "love". (Airi's defense for herself was that they were in love, which I suspect was something she told Hikaru, too.)

Tldr: Ruby in her right mind would not proposition her brother, just like 15YL Hikaru in his right would not think grooming is a form of romance. And it is the other person's responsibility to say "no, I can not offer you what (you think) you want".

Another response that's ultimately too late oops… I do still have a lot to say on this topic tho so I hope it's still interesting to read!

Message from future Claire after they finished writing this ask: tehepero… this one turned into a huge ramble so um. please forgive me. Also, spoilers for Usagi Drop made their way in here, if someone somehow doesn't know the big twist of that ending in 2024…

RE: Gorou and Sarina, this is for sure the intended read of their relationship to a degree . Spica downplays/sidesteps this aspect of their relationship a lot but even there it's said explicitly that Gorou was one hundred percent aware that Sarina's long term prognosis was basically non existent. It definitely makes him way more indulgent of and receptive to the "omg Sensei marry me stuff" but even then it's pretty clear that it is, again, just indulging her.

The manga by contrast is much more strongly characterized by this sense of shared but unspoken preemptive grief for the inevitable, where both of them understand but don't really want to talk about it out loud. It added an interesting wrinkle to their relationship that I liked a lot and was disappointed to see Spica iron out but ironing out the interesting parts is kind of what Spica does in general and isn't specific to Gorou and Sarina lol

BUT UH my point is that because of this shared sense of grief and awareness of Sarina's mortality I never really got the impression that she was under even the slightest illusion that Gorou was serious which is why later materials' framing of her as being convinced she can and will be in a relationship with him feel so weird to me. The SENSEI KEKKON SHITE thing doesn't even really feel like Sarina herself is all that serious about it - the energy is almost more like a running bit. Obviously her feelings for him were very strongly and sincerely held and I do think it makes sense for her to jump to actively wanting to be in a romance with him and thinking it was plausible post 123 when her brain has been ensoupened but again, there's that backfill in both Spica and main story material that implies she was ALWAYS that hung up on and deluded about him and tbh I don't really know what to make of it.

In an exclusively post 123 context though, I do really agree with this take on Ruby! This is obviously not a healthy response nor is she thinking at all realistically about what she's propositioning, especially given the kind of weird energy in 143 where she just never even acknowledges Aqua's existence as her brother. Honestly the way OnK has handled AquRuby since 123 and its reluctance to actually acknowledge the incest when it bothers to take Ruby's feelings is very strange to me and I can't quite tell if it's intentional or not yet.

If it IS intentional, then I think it's the set up for Ruby being smacked in the face with the reality of what actually being in a relationship with Gorou-via-Aqua would would actually mean. Because like, regardless of how you or me or anyone feels about incest as a fictional device, in-universe Oshi no Ko is essentially set in our own world - a dramatically exaggerated version with supernatural elements, sure, but still paralleling our own closely enough to comment on real world issues. For OnK to treat most of the other taboos and issues it addresses as seriously as it does and NOT do the same with incest would be incredibly jarring and deeply incongruous.

If you'll forgive a tangent within a tangent, this is a big part of why the infamous ending of Usagi Drop comes off as so fucking unhinged. It's not just that the story twists itself into a pretzel to hook up Rin and Daikichi (though, you know… that), it's that everyone in the cast acts like a fucking space alien on service of making it happen and it occurs with no conflict or consequences. There's this bizarre energy around the cast interactions that's hard to accurately convey, but every time someone in-universe finds out about Rin's feelings for Daikichi, it's immediately treated like them hooking up is not only the obvious and inevitable conclusion but that Daikichi is somehow obligated to enter a romance with Rin purely because she has feelings for him. Daikichi's own feelings on the matter are irrelevant. As far as the story is concerned, him going from seeing Rin as his daughter to seeing Rin (very explicitly and textual) as a romantic and sexual partner is as easy as flipping a switch and it's purely macho stubbornness that keeps him from doing so. It's absolutely mind boggling to read.

Anyway. Oh my God. To cut my EXTREMELY long rambling short and actually loop back around to the point of all this: Because of ^ ALL THAT ^ and the way the story has very conspicuously dodged around the HKAI breakup and suddenly swerved to 15YL's depiction of Ai's time in hospital, I'm still pretty certain that the "I can't love you (like that)" is going to be the main emotional capstone for Ruby's own character arc within the Movie Arc as a whole and possibly the emotional climax/resolution of wtfever OnK is doing with AQRB (& GRSR through them) right now. Given how much weight was given to that scene in particular way back when I'd be shocked if we skipped it and I do think there's some merit to the reads of Aqua and Ruby each paralleling the 'opposite' parent, so to speak - Nik (@akane-kurokawa) even pointed out in their 143 review that while the AquRuby kiss is paralleled by the in-movie HikaAi kiss, Aqua is in Ai's position and Ruby is in Hikaru's.

I do hope that this is something intentional and that we'll see something come of it - if nothing else, seeing Ruby have to deal with her relationship to and feelings about her father and the knowledge that he killed her beloved mom is something I really wanted out of the Movie Arc and I've been sorely disappointed by it being reduced to gag fodder thus far. But like I always say at this point, the Movie Arc is such an unfocused clusterfuck I have no idea if this is something we can rely on to be a long term theme.

#oshi no ko #oshi no posting #onk asks #onk spoilers

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aut2imagineart · 7 months ago

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The Reluctant Genie pt 1

Exhausted and alone, Nevada Jonas stumbles out of the temple entrance with a single artifact; a golden lamp adorned with precious gems. Surveying his surroundings, all he could see around him was endless sand under the relentless sun. Taking shelter at the temple entrance, Jonas examines the lamp he has acquired, cleaning it off with his shirt. To his surprised, the lamp starts rattling then billows out smoke. The smoke takes form of a towering woman, stunning in appearance with an air of regality. She donned an enormous green turban adorned with glorious feather and the largest sapphire Jonas has ever seen. She also wore a golden necklace decorated with rubies and emeralds, a silky green top, golden braces, and a red sash around her waist leading to a smokey tail that connected to the lamp. There was no doubt in Jonas's mind that this was a genie before him and just luck may have just improved.

The genie seemed oblivious to Jonas's presence, appearing rather annoyed. "Ugh, of all the times to be summoned it had to be during my beauty sleep. Who could it possibly be after all this time." She looked around, arms crossed in frustration, until she notices Jonas. She examined him with mild curiosity yet ultimately unimpressed. "So, you're the pesky mortal who disturbed me. Such a strange attire you have. How much time has passed?" She looked at the temple, her expression slightly loosening. "Hmm, a few millennia from the looks of it. What a decrepit place this has become. They really didn't last very long without me." Feeling ignored, Jonas finally interrupted the her. "Uh, excuse me." The genie aloofly looks towards Jonas. "Oh, you're still here?" Slightly taken aback by her apathy towards him, Jonas answers her while stepping closer. "You're a real genie right, not a mirage or anything like.." Before Jonas could finish, the genie points her finger at Jonas creating magic sparks that levitates and moves him a few yards back before suddenly dropping him. "Don't get too close, You smell awful" the genie said snarkily.

To be continued in part 2

As always, comments and critiques are welcome.

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kallistcs · 1 year ago

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So, Paris being effeminate is quite important for my characterisation of him, and how he moves in the world. While I'd never, like, assume any given character he interacts with in RP threads is going to react negatively or censoriously about it, that other people around him do so might be brought up. And it is absolutely and definitely assumed as a background "miasma" when it comes to Paris and how I write him.

Have a couple relevant quotes from Ruby Blondell's Helen of Troy: Beauty, Myth, Devastation:

“As many myths attest, Trojan men had an extraordinary erotic appeal for both male and female admirers, generally with negative consequences for themselves and others. Paris is no exception. His beauty is, however, not that of a mighty warrior like Achilles, which is an effect of perfected masculinity, a proper expression of magnificent physical power. It is, rather, a “feminine” allure of the kind associated with fine clothing and luxurious accessories. In keeping with the attraction of like to like, this feminizing type of beauty is expected to make a man attractive to women. It is also closely linked with heterosexual excess and transgressive desire on the part of the man. Paris is the archetype of this feminized variety of masculine beauty: he is the masculine “beautiful evil.”

"But Paris is too much like Helen. He is marked throughout Greek tradition as unmanly in both appearance and behaviour. His beauty, as we saw, is of a "feminine" type, his weapon of choice is the bow and arrow - typically deemed less "manly" than face-to-face combat - and he is at best a reluctant warrior. It is no accident that in Homer he is typically referred to as "Helen's husband", instead of Helen as "Paris's wife", reversing the usual naming pattern for married couples."

"The destructive power of "feminine" beauty is most ostentatiously displayed, among mortals, in the person not of Helen but of Paris. In contrast to the veiling of her looks, Paris's dangerous beauty is displayed, glorified, and also castigated. […] His appearance is unusually decorative, even in battle. His equipment is "most beautiful" (6.321), glorious, and elaborate (6.504), and his outfit includes such exotic details as a leopard skin (3.17) and a "richly decorated strap (polukestos himas) under his tender throat" (3.371)."

And

"Aphrodite herself, who gave Paris the "gifts" of lovely hair and physical beauty, "seizes" him out of battle like an object of erotic abduction. She then represents him as an alluring object awaiting Helen in bed."

#the scapegoat: headcanon

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late-to-the-fandom · 1 year ago

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Discipline bid him go no further. Renathal swept it ruthlessly aside. There was no reason not to take what he wanted now. Elisewin would soon be gone. The least they both deserved was to enjoy themselves before the end. Read on Ao3 here. Warning: M-Rated smut.

Renathal sat in his trousers and shirtsleeves in one of the little-used chairs by the unlit fireplace in his bedroom, waiting for Breakfist to arrive and turning his medallion over in his hands, wondering if there was any point in wearing the useless thing to court at all.

He liked to think he controlled the other Harvesters as much through his own abilities as his Master’s imparted magic, but he could not deny the Medallion of Dominion had always helped keep the more unruly Venthyr in line. A slight lean into its irresistibly imperious power could stop the Fearstalker and the Stonewright coming to blows; the Countess circulating some vindicative rumour; the Tithelord pocketing unattended anima rubies. The ethics of this might unsettle the likes of the Accuser, but Renathal slept just fine. It was his job, after all, and, unlike many Harvesters over the eons, he had never used his powers for personal gain.

Although...

He toyed idly with the fine, filigreed gold and imagined how different things might be with Elisewin if this were a rule he was willing and able to bend. He did not think it was coincidence keeping her from him the last few days. Since her nightmare, she had refused to remain long in any room Renathal entered and always had a ready reason to excuse herself from conversations he attempted to engage. Embarrassed at her display of weakness, or the unintended misconduct it had birthed, Renathal supposed; and with court preparations the top priority of all Darkwall Tower, he had permitted her behaviour to pass without comment. But it rankled him, nonetheless.

Might a gentle pressure from the medallion - so light in his hands now its reservoir was depleted - have persuaded her back to his side? Allowed them to resume that comfortable companionship he relied on to stave off his more dangerous cravings? Perhaps not. Perhaps the mortal flesh preventing her soul from being harvested also possessed the ability to resist even the Master's dominating power.

Hypnotised by his own aimless train of thought and the glint of the dull purple jewel in his room’s dim candlelight, Renathal heard the soft, tentative knock only distantly, and called “Enter, Breakfist,” without registering its implications. The click of unfamiliar shoes jerked him from his reverie. He twisted in his seat, caught sight of the figure in the open doorway, then shot up with an alacrity that sent the chair tumbling backward onto the hearth.

“Breakfist is busy, Your Highness,” said Elisewin, closing the door behind her and politely failing to notice the clatter of wood on brick or Renathal’s muttered oath as he hastily righted the chair. “There is some sort of last-minute disaster in the kitchens. He was quite frantic about it, and since I am little use with food, I volunteered to come and… assist you in his stead.”

There was a stilted, formal note to her usual impassivity, and she stood awkwardly just inside the room, the door at her back, as if reluctant to venture any deeper inside. But Renathal barely noticed her nuances of demeanour. His eyes were busy adjusting to the sight of her new and entirely unexpected attire.

"Where did you get that dress?" he asked, the question staggering between astonishment and awe.

Elisewin blinked, then looked down at herself.

"The wardrobe," she said simply. "It's quite lovely, thank you." Her fingers traced the corset's bronze buckles and trailed into the swell of red satin skirts beneath. "Mind you, it did take two dredgers to help fasten me into it, but it’s surprisingly easy to move about in once it's on, and" - she glanced up at Renathal, violet pinpricks glowing on her cheekbones - "it's a perfect fit."

That was obvious. From the hem that fell just above the top of her brocade boots to the graceful, gold, winged shoulder ornaments positioned precisely not to scrape her pointed ears, every inch of the ensemble looked as if it had been tailored to Elisewin's exact mortal specifications. Which made it all the more perplexing.

"You say you found this in the guest room wardrobe?" asked Renathal, his words as uncertain as his steps as he made his way towards Elisewin, dropping his medallion carelessly onto the chiffonier as he passed.

"Yes," she replied, warily watching his approach. "I... assumed you left it for me to wear?"

"Ah."

It was not really an answer. But Renathal had no answer. He had not left her a dress, specifically commissioned or otherwise, and he could not think why one should be there. He could barely think at all. He reached Elisewin before he realised, standing far too close than strictly proper, but reluctant to retreat and unable to tear his eyes from the entrancing sights: her dark hair in its elegantly arranged high pile, the little red jewel set against black lace fastened around the exposed skin of her throat, the plunging neckline that clung to the swell of her breasts as if painted on...

…until Elisewin coughed, a little pointedly, and waved a dubious hand at the dress form on which Renathal’s armour waited.

“Shall I help you into your armour, your Highness?" she asked. “I... would not want to make you late for your own court.”

Renathal closed his eyes briefly and wrestled his thoughts, a tangled knot of confusion and desire, back to firmer, safer ground. Court was the top priority now. All other mysteries could be dealt with later.

“Of course,” he conceded. "Come. I will... guide you through the process," and, with the faintest of audible sighs, Renathal braced himself for what he was sure would be a most exquisite torture.

He was not disappointed.

Besides the anticipated cruelties of long, warm fingers pressed firmly to various parts of him - his back, his chest, his upper arms, his lower stomach where fiery anima pooled and every fibre of Renathal's being was required to keep his body's natural responses in check - there was something highly sensual about watching Elisewin handle his armor. Her hands moved across each green and gold piece of plate with easy grace, positioning them precisely, and almost before he had issued instructions - exactly as they did not when wielding a duelling rapier. Half in curiosity and half to distract himself from the sight of her sinking to her knees to affix his tassets, Renathal remarked:

"This is not your first time working with plate, I see."

“It is that I recall,” Elisewin contradicted absently. "But I suppose I may have done it before and just cannot remember."

There was none of the morose frustration that usually accompanied such admissions. She lapsed back into studious silence, wholly focused on his legs, and Renathal searched frantically for another distraction. His eyes fell on his medallion, abandoned atop the chiffonier. Moving carefully so as not to upset her work, he reached for the simple silver chain and slipped it over his head. Light though it now was, something about its familiar feel against his chest plate strengthened Renathal’s sagging self-control.

"What is that?" asked Elisewin, rising and straightening her rumpled skirts.

“The Medallion of Dominion,” he answered, pleased to hear his voice resonate with well-composed pride. “My allotted portion of the Sire’s power. Each Harvester is given one to assist in the execution of their duties.”

Elisewin eyed the unassuming purple gem.

“It has powers?”

“Well. Usually,” Renathal admitted. “But the drought has required sacrifices from us all. I am afraid the medallions’ powers are… not what they once were. But I have never attended court without wearing it before. I should feel quite naked without it.”

Elisewin ducked her head abruptly, ostensibly adjusting the drape of her skirts, but with her hair pulled back off her face she could not hide her creeping violet blush. Renathal turned tactfully away, allowing her time to recover, and inspected the reflection of his irrepressibly smug smile in the mirror of the chiffonier.

This was no expertly crafted, anima-imbued Venthyr creation, but a slightly warped mortal looking-glass, acquired from the Night Market epochs ago and chosen specifically for the way it lent Renathal’s torso a slightly more generous breadth. He admired it for a few satisfied seconds, then flicked his gaze to the image of Elisewin straightening up behind him, and wondered if the dark, almost hungry glint in her blue-white eyes as she appraised him was simply another trick of the imperfect glass.

Immoderately pleased regardless, he gestured towards the door and announced, "Shall we?" at the same time Elisewin blurted, "Shall I do your hair, Your Highness?"

For a few frozen heart beats, each stared at the other through the safe medium of the wobbly glass. All Renathal's smugness had evaporated. Even Elisewin's impassivity seemed to waver at the edges. In the end, it was Renathal who found his tongue first.

“What would you do to it?”

“Oh...” Elisewin blinked. Apparently, she had not expected this response. “I... don't know.” The red jewel in the hollow of her throat quivered as she swallowed, then reached up to run a cautious hand through the long, loose strands of pale hair cascading down Renathal's back. “Is there anything you would prefer? Something... elegant? Impressive?”

She pronounced the words like questions, as if the Dark Prince might be above such frivolous concepts. He was not. But Renathal knew he would have agreed to almost anything to keep her touching him just like that.

"Surprise me," he heard himself say, and allowed Elisewin to lead him to his vacated chair by the fireplace and ease him gently down.

And if having her dress him had been torture, this was a punishment worthy of the Sire himself. And one Renathal knew he deserved, for how easily it could - and should, he berated himself - have been avoided. But once Elisewin sank warm fingers into the mass of hair across his scalp, stroking gently as she parted and gathered, all thought of courts and resolutions and time itself drifted away, and it was all Renathal could do to keep himself from moaning aloud.

When was the last time anyone had touched him like this? Soft and sweet and unassuming, entirely free of hostile machination or unpleasant ulterior motive? He let his eyes flutter closed, forgetting to affect even the slightest breath as he tilted his neck, offering himself up to un-self-conscious pleasure, until - far too quickly - the fingers ceased their work, and a throaty voice murmured in his ear, "There. See what you think, Your Highness."

Renathal rose and followed Elisewin to the chiffonier, his movements steady but perception hazy, as if he had stepped into the realm of dream. A sensation compounded by the unusual reflection staring back at him from the mortal mirror: his yellow eyes gone anima-red with heat, his pinched features relaxed and cast slightly into shadow by the raised and intricate braid adorning the top of his head like a crown, the rest of his hair falling gracefully about his noticeably less-tense shoulders. It was almost, realised Renathal, the reverse of the Master's signature hairstyle. He wondered if Elisewin had done that on purpose. He wondered many things about her as he caught the eyes of her reflection again, even darker than before.

“Do you like it?”

"I..." In his dream-like state, it took Renathal a minute to sift through his store of words and find an appropriate sentiment. "I am... immensely pleased. Thank you… Elisewin." The little compulsive blush at his use of her name made Renathal's lips twitch. "Perhaps, we ought to make this one of your regular tasks."

The mirror caught a brief glitter of blue-white fire as Elisewin's eyes glowed at his reflection, then paled just as quickly. Renathal wondered if she, too, battled a set of conflicting emotions at the thought of repeating this scene every day.

But her response - "As you command, Your Highness," - was demure and devoid of undercurrent. And with a short dip of her head, Elisewin stepped backwards, redrawing inscrutability around herself like a cloak. “I should check in with Breakfist, now. Guests will be arriving shortly. I will see you in the courtyard, Your Highness.”

Renathal waited until the door clicked closed behind her, then counted to ten - then ten again, when his simmering anima had not quite settled - before following her out the door and down the passage at a more dignified pace.

As he walked, he made a concerted effort to corral his wildly racing thoughts about his mortal: her unexpected talents, the mysteries that seemed to spring up in her tread, her recent reticence to be alone with him compared with her surprising eagerness to serve. These were all intriguing topics due long and serious contemplations, but they would keep until later. Renathal could not afford to be distracted.

He had a court to host.

Harvester's Courts were a time-honoured Revendreth tradition, a chance for the busiest and most heavily burdened of the Venthyr to relax, mingle, and entertain - or impress - their peers. Court offerings differed depending on the unique style of the hosting Harvester: the Fearstalker's, a hunt; the Stonewright's, feats of martial strength; the Countess', a generous sampling of lascivious activities; and the Accuser's, some staid, formal, and traditional - in other words, dull - display.

The Dark Prince had developed a reputation for offering a court that catered to every taste. The atmosphere was lively, but refreshing, the provided entertainments interactive and accessible. Guests were handpicked by the Prince and chosen for their expertise, conversation, or charm - the Sire himself could often be seen in attendance. There was music and dancing in the Tower's modest ballroom; fencing demonstrations and occasional duelling tournaments, outside. Food was a quaint addition at which the other Harvesters initially sneered, but which had become quite the trend in the last few centuries, even the Countess forced to capitulate to its utilitarian decadence.

It was an exquisite event, always months in the planning, and Renathal might not have bothered with any of it. For this particular court, at least. Each guest who ascended the stairs or stepped from the lift or emerged from the shadows through which they had wended ignored the fastidious finery - the shadow of a thousand flickering candle flames dancing across the spotless terrace, the heavy, ornate tables laden with anima-infused food and drink - and spared only the briefest of required greetings for their host before taking up strategically placed positions around the courtyard, the better to watch the work of the realm’s newest and most noteworthy resident.

But if Elisewin felt the weight of the hundred odd eyes, she gave no indication. She flitted between clusters of guests in time to the distant strains of sweeping music with barely a wobble on her high-heeled boots, offering trays of drinks and foodstuffs, allowing herself to be gaped at and even, occasionally, touched.

Renathal, monitoring her carefully from his own post by the courtyard's central anima font, wrinkled his nose in disapproval as one brazen noble traced the length of her exposed lavender neck with a curious, gloved hand. Renathal's own tightened on his glass of anima wine; an uncommon indulgence, but necessary for settling his still-electric nerves. Elisewin's, however, remained perfectly steady. Her tray did not even rattle as she curtsied and extricated herself from the Venthyr's attentions. Her implacable demeanour was, Renathal conceded, particularly well-suited for a formal court. And, making a note to find some sin with which to condemn the noble in question to an especially dank crypt for a fortnight at least, he tore his gaze reluctantly from Elisewin's competent perambulations and turned his focus to the rest of the terrace and its sea of rustling, muttering guests.

"Everything seems to be going smoothly," remarked a gravelly voice from over the Dark Prince’s shoulder.

"Yes, it certainly does," Renathal agreed without turning. He knew the General's voice, and the hulking, winged shadow he cast across the square, paved stones, by heart. "I expected a few squabbles over anima conservation, allotments, and the like, but… nothing so far. No fights, no rumours, no plots. It would appear the other Harvesters are on their best behaviour."

He sipped idly at his drink while the General digested this observation.

"They are up to something, then," Draven concluded.

"My thoughts precisely."

Renathal’s expression was half grin, half grimace as he made a subtle survey of the four Harvesters currently in attendance over the rim of his glass.

The power struggle for control of the most medallions had been a favourite pastime of his for many an age. Everything from securing loyalties and wielding their powers by proxy to outright theft of the coveted gold-bound gems, the Dark Prince had done it all. And better than most. But even before the mortal’s arrival, he had felt the game’s appeal beginning to wane. And now, where once he enjoyed, even encouraged, instances of in-fighting for a bit of fun, Renathal’s foremost concern was ensuring court ran as smoothly as possible, without any - his eyes flicked to the circulating Elisewin and her easily-marked mortal skin - collateral damage.

Shifting slightly, so he might face Draven and still keep an eye on the courtyard at large, Renathal cleared his throat and began with a show of polite hesitation.

“My friend… you are here as my guest, and I would hate to put you to any undue trouble. However-”

"Which one should I keep my eye on?" the General interrupted decisively.

"The Stonewright," replied Renathal at once. "I do not think the Accuser or the Curator will deign to attend. And Chelra is keeping watch on the Fearstalker and the Tithelord."

Both Venthyr and Stoneborn shot identical glances at the shadowy corner of the terrace where the latter two Harvesters stood together, side by side in awkward, silent companionship, noticeably unattended by their usual requisite bands of hovering sycophants.

“It is strange to see them so… friendly with each other,” said Draven, voicing Renathal’s thoughts.

“Yes, and both have been ominously quiet of late. If those two particular harvesters have formed an alliance, it can be for nothing good. Which is why I have assigned Chelra to keep an eye.” Renathal flicked a finger at the sky above where a lone Stoneborn figure glided in low, eerie circles. “Of all quarters, theirs is the one from which I most suspect potential attack. As Princeguard, monitoring their activities has become part of Chelra’s duties.”

Draven nodded briskly, noting, “That still leaves one major player,” and Renathal did not need the Stoneborn’s rough jerk of the head towards the courtyard’s most fashionably dressed contingent and the Harvester holding court in its center to know to whom he referred. “She is still seething that you managed to capture the mortal for yourself. She will want to interfere.”

As if guided by some supernatural sense, the Harvester in question lifted her beady eyes to where the Dark Prince and the General stood. And, whether informed by the same uncanny power or simply guessing at the nature of their private conversation and taking it as her cue, she leaned languidly across the table to murmur something in the ear of a nearby noble who jumped from their chair in a rattle of gold bangles and scanned the surrounding terrace for something or someone.

Renathal, eyes narrowed, guessed who.

“Leave her to me.”

He downed the rest of his wine but held tight to the glass as he descended the anima font’s high platform. Gliding sedately across the terrace, formal coat billowing dramatically behind him, Renathal rearranged his features to reflect an equal degree of regal composure. He anticipated battle. And a cool head and cooler demeanour were the greatest weapons he could wield against his epochs-old nemesis: the Harvester of Desire.

Historically the least among the seven harvesters, this particular incarnation - the Countess - had elevated the position to one of fear and grudging renown. She oversaw festivities, entertainments, and carnal privileges; approved - or disapproved - relationships of all sorts and reported illicit examples to the Master. She had spies in every corner of the realm - including, Renathal was certain, his own estate - and an appetite for new and interesting experiences to rival even his.

The skin on the back of Renathal’s armoured neck prickled as he watched the Countess stand in a swish of narrow hips and dark skirts to greet his mortal charge. Hunger gleamed in her black, beady eyes, and a snap of her fingers had some socialite whisking Elisewin's tray from her hands, leaving her open and unprotected from the Countess' salacious inspection. She looked the mortal up and down with undisguised greed, ran a wanton hand across the fine material of her skirts, her sleeves, her corset; reached up - Elisewin was several inches taller than most Venthyr - to adjust the red jewel sparkling in the hollow of her throat. Catching sight of the Prince’s approach, the Countess smiled - wet and predatory - and locked a proprietary arm around Elisewin’s waist to prevent her escape.

"Well, well, Renathal," the Countess gushed in her languorous alto. "Just look at the delicious prize you have tucked away up here. I was just saying to the Duke, you must lend her to us for one of my own little parties. It has been such a long time since any of us laid hands on a living mortal."

From further down the table, Renathal could hear Theotar's attempts at jovial protest sliding in and out of the hearty agreements and lascivious catcalls from the rest of the Countess' coterie.

"A charming idea," said Renathal, and the table was suddenly struck with an expectant hush. Leaning casually against the nearby candle-covered archway, he lifted his empty glass to his lips for a moment before continuing, "But... I fear the mortal is still pursuing her atonement. Such decadent pleasures are beyond the privilege, and, indeed, the appreciation, of new, unrepentant souls."

"Oh, I offer as many punishments as pleasures," purred the Countess. "If it is suffering she deserves, that can most certainly be arranged."

Her crimson-painted, claw-like nails closed tighter around Elisewin's waist, digging into the bodice just above the protective corset. Elisewin hissed with the unexpected pain, and Renathal's carefully modulated control abruptly snapped.

"No."

It was too blunt, too brusque. It went against all Venthyr tact. The nobles at the table looked scandalised, the socialities tittered, and even the Countess had to work hard to conceal her offended shock.

"Tut, tut, Renathal," she chided, tossing back her corkscrew curls. “Such rudeness unbecomes a gracious host.”

"And openly purloining a host's staff unbecomes a gracious guest."

The Countess laughed; a lusty, practiced sound.

“Share and share alike, Renathal. Or have you not yet learned your lesson?” She retracted her claws from the flesh of Elisewin’s waist in favour of stroking her delicate cheek as she mused “Such warmth. I can certainly see the appeal. Perhaps I should apply to the Master for my own turn with the mortal. Where is he?” She made a show of peering around the courtyard. “Oh, that's right. He did not come! What a monstrous slight. Although...”

The Countess' small eyes flicked from a nearby band of roving dredgers to the candle wax dripping down the brick of the archway beside Renathal's rigid form. She gave a small sniff of distaste.

“This is hardly your best work, Renathal. Spending a little too much time on unsanctioned distractions, are we? I doubt the Master will be pleased. But his methods of correction have proved painfully effective in the past, have they not?” The implications of her threat uncoiled horribly between them like some enormous serpent rearing its restless, hungry head. “Or…”

The Countess caught Elisewin’s chin in her crimson claws, tilting her head down to breathe her words obscenely into the fixed and unblinking lavender face.

“I suppose I could take the mortal off your hands myself. We need not involve the Master at all. And, of course, you would be welcome to pay a visit. When you are not busy attending to your own, far more important duties, of course.” She cocked her head at Renathal, black eyes glinting in triumph. “What say you, Prince of Revendreth?”

Unbroken silence reigned through the courtyard. No dredgers moved, no guests dared speak, even the distant music from the ballroom had ceased. The only sound was the dull thump of the motionless mortal’s hammering heartbeat as every living and unliving thing in Darkwall held its breath, waiting for the Harvester of Dominion to pronounce his judgment.

Renathal did not notice. Heedless of anything but the two females watching him in wildly different examples of tense expectation, he pushed off from the candle-lit archway. All his writhing knot of repressed concerns and confusions were stilled as he stalked toward the Countess. There was room for only one thing within him. He set his glass on the table, prised the Countess’ fingers from Elisewin’s chin and tightened his hand around them, enjoying the feel of bone splintering under the force of his fury.

"If you touch her again..." intoned Renathal, and the dread and dominion in his voice made the very air across the courtyard shudder. "You will find yourself Countess of the Ember Ward, your greatest indulgence licking scraps of anima off burning glass."

This time, the Countess' laugh was bitter and brittle, her face contorted in an attempt to conceal her fear and pain.

"So possessive, Renathal. Such an unappealing trait. I never did enjoy it." With an unglamorous spasm, she ripped her hand from his and stumbled back, bumping into the chair behind her and tucking her broken fingers into some hidden fold of her gown. "I would reign that in before it gets you into trouble. Yet again. Come."

She spat the last at the breathlessly waiting table. There was a sudden flurry of capes and gowns and a clatter of scraping and sliding chair legs as the nobles and socialites stood and hastened to follow their Harvester's instructions. The surrounding courtyard, too, sprang back to frenetic life. Summoned servants rushed hastily past, dredgers scurried underfoot, fetching coats and sinrunners and carriages. Renathal grabbed Elisewin's waist and hauled her back toward the brick archway, safely out of the fray.

But not out of danger.

In the clamour and chaos, no one could hope to prove for certain whether the Countess' elbow jostled the tower of red tapers off the arch by accident or with deliberate intent. But Renathal, whose coat the candles just happened to land on, had his suspicions.

"Whoops," she said as she passed, swelling fingers pressed to her cheek in entirely unconvincing chagrin. "How clumsy of me."

Renathal had no time to retort, or to hurl the Countess off the edge of Darkwall. The hem of his coat had ignited, flames creeping toward his hair at an alarming speed. Dredgers were yelling, socialites were screaming, and Elisewin was twisting in his arms, crying something he could not understand. Hands working in tandem, they managed to extricate Renathal from the burning garment, with many indecorous contortions on his part and more than one rude and raucous laugh from the gawping crowd.

Finally free of the threat of flames, Elisewin's warm hands found Renathal’s face. He could hear her this time as she asked, “Are you alright?” in a low, strained hush, but he did not answer. His attention was gripped by the figure in the distance, watching the coveted mortal stroke back his wayward hair with beady, vindictive eyes. Renathal read their intent. And, as she was ushered into her carriage, he knew exactly where the Countess was going and what she going to do.

It was, unquestionably, the worst court the Dark Prince had ever hosted.

The best that could be said was that the fire did not spread to any of the guests. And a combination of mud and liberal stamping eventually extinguished the flames. Renathal’s coat was a filthy, smoking ruin, of course, and he had been forced to forgo it as he bid his guests early and unceremonious farewells. The ones who bothered to give him notice of their leave, that was. The Stonewright took flight with her Stoneborn attendants after throwing a cursory look of disgust the Prince’s way. The Fearstalker and the Tithelord had simply disappeared, and the Accuser and the Curator - as well as the Master himself - had never bothered to arrive.

Which was lucky, even if it was a glaring slight, Renathal considered, as he dragged himself up the staircase to the quiet sanctuary of his bedchamber. Unkind of him, perhaps, to leave the mess of the courtyard to the dredgers and Elisewin, but what was the point of having servants if one could not assign them such tedious chores? Especially when one was weighed down with other, heavier burdens, and Renathal’s back was practically bent under the day’s frustrations and confusions and… other things.

The memory of the Countess' fingers on Elisewin's skin….

A bolt of vicious jealousy like a red-hot brand seared through Renathal’s chest, sending him sprinting up the last flight of stairs and down the hall as if it were an enemy he could outrun. Reaching the safety of his rooms, he ripped the useless medallion from his neck and threw it against its velvet stand. Even a fraction of its usual power would have had the Countess as far from Elisewin as the terrace allowed with a single, murmured word and no unnecessary fuss, sparing Renathal a mortifying scene, and him and Elisewin both its inevitable repercussions. Even now, the Countess would be reporting their visible attachment to Denathrius, the essence of which was true even if the salacious details she inevitably imagined and would relay as fact were not.

He would lose her. He had failed, in spite of all his efforts. If he was lucky, all the Master would do to them both was take her away. And if he was not-

A knock at his door interrupted Renathal’s miserable spiral. This time he recognised the quiet, cautious rhythm, and his anima vibrated in simultaneous excitement and dread. He should send her away. He was in too dangerous a state for this. He did not have the proper mental equilibrium necessary to resist what he wanted.

Although… a new and intriguing thought wormed its way to the front of Renathal's mind... did he really have to, anymore? Now that punishment loomed regardless...

“Enter, Elisewin,” he heard himself call.

The door creaked open, then closed with a gentle snap. Heeled shoes clicked nervously across the wood floor to the Tazavesh rug.

“I… came to see if you needed any help. With your armour. Your Highness."

Elisewin's voice was oddly jumpy; her breathing, slightly uneven. Renathal fancied he could hear the rapid fluttering of her mortal heart, and the pitch and toss of conflicting emotion within him coalesced into something clear and urgent.

“Yes, thank you.”

His own voice was steady, his face calm and collected when he turned to face her. He even managed to conjure up a small, encouraging smile. Nevertheless, Elisewin approached with more trepidation than was her usual idiom, and kept her eyes fixed on each piece of soot-stained armour as she unfastened them from his body and replaced them fastidiously on their stand. This time, Renathal did not shy away from watching her, even when she dropped to her knees in front of him to remove his dusty tassets. The visual was stirring, and he let himself be stirred; the anima-rousing sensation a welcome distraction from impending dread.

“I’m sorry, for… everything. With the Countess,” said Elisewin quietly to his knees. “I didn’t know what to - I mean, I didn’t mean to-”

“Do not apologise. You were exemplary,” said Renathal with genuine earnest. “The Countess was always going to make trouble, one way or the other. There was nothing more you could have done.”

His reassurance seemed to hearten Elisewin enough to lift her gaze as she worked.

“I do hope an… an imperfect court won’t hurt your reputation with the other Harvesters. I know this was important, and they did seem… displeased.”

Renathal laughed at that. Elisewin blinked, and fumbled the final buckle.

“Oh, please, think nothing of my reputation. It will not suffer. This was a very minor setback. One loss in a long-standing game. There will be an eternity more, and I have the advantage.”

“I see,” she said in a tone that belied her words. “I was only worried because… well, the Countess mentioned the Sire. I hope you won't suffer any… repercussions?”

Renathal swallowed hard, his brief surge of humour drained.

"None to which I am not well accustomed."

Rising awkwardly, arms laden with green and gold plate, Elisewin cocked her head at Renathal as she brushed past him to replace the rest of his armor. But Renathal could bring himself to confess no more. He wondered if he ought to warn her what was happening, what consequences awaited them both. But perhaps she might not mind them. Certainly, the other souls the Sire claimed never had. During the act, anyway, and what became of them after Renathal had never permitted himself to discover.

The memories twisted his face into a ghastly grimace, one look at which made Elisewin swallow any further questions. Averting her eyes, she ducked quickly around him and reached up to undo his braid, the rhythmic caress of her fingers a pleasant balm against the upswell of agonising despair.

When she finished - again, too quickly for Renathal’s liking - she inhaled raggedly and met his gaze in the chiffonier’s warped mirror.

“Is there… anything else I can do?”

Renathal turned slowly. He wanted to be sure the darkening tint in Elisewin’s blue-white eyes as they wandered over his loose linen shirt was no trick of the glass or the light. But the glitter in them lingered even as he faced her, worrying at the buckles of her corset, waiting breathless for his invitation.

“No,” said Renathal, and the disappointment that danced briefly across her impassive features decided him. “But perhaps I may do something for you, since the dredgers are occupied. Let me help you out of your dress.”

Without waiting for her response, he spun his finger in a circle, indicating she should turn. Elisewin, eyes wide, did so, tripping on her heels; a clumsiness she had shown no sign of during court. Renathal closed the distance between them in a single step, his trousers brushing against her skirts as he leaned in to undo the overdress’s many fastenings and tiny clasps. “Lift your arms,” he murmured in her ear, and reached around her waist to unbuckle the complicated corset. It fell to the floor with a muted thud, followed by the rustle of satin as the overdress slid from her arms. All that remained was her thin, vermillion shift. Elisewin shivered where she stood in her pool of shed garments, but did not otherwise move.

On a sensual whim, he unlocked the clasp of her lacey necklace, then slid his fingers up her newly bared neck and unfastened her hair from its high-piled knot. Dark silky waves fell across Elisewin's exposed back. Renathal brushed them over one shoulder, leaving the other entirely bare. He traced long, sharp fingernails delicately across its inviting dips and planes, drinking in her sharp gasp like a redolent wine and catching her waist with the other hand as her back arched against him. The feel of her body pressed instinctively to his with so little left to separate them evaporated whatever inhabitations he might still have maintained.

Dipping his head without thought, anticipating without regret, Renathal let his lips find the madly beating pulse beneath the mortal flesh of Elisewin’s throat.

It was warm. A living heat radiated through her Renathal would happily, gratefully burn in. He opened his mouth wider, trailing wet, sharp-edged kisses up the lavender skin he had dreamed of since the first time he saw it. Elisewin’s legs shook like willowy tree limbs beneath him, his arm around her waist surely all that kept her from collapse. And the cry that escaped her - “Your Highness!” - seemed excessive for how little Renathal was really doing. He could not tell if it begged for more or begged for him to stop.

Drawing his lips reluctantly from her skin, he spoke against her ear.

“What do you want, Elisewin?”

There was a delightful, full-body shudder at her name, then the briefest hesitation, before Elisewin craned her neck to find Renathal's anima-hot eyes and whisper raggedly, “Don’t stop, please.”

Such short, small words to shatter the Dark Prince’s epochs-old resolve. But his body took her request as a new and truer law. He pressed more firmly against her as his mouth resumed its work, tasting every inch of skin it could reach while his hands wandered the quivering curves of her body through her shift. And that had to go. It all had to go. He would permit nothing to keep her from him any longer. Undoing the laces of her underdress with frantic speed, Renathal kept his lips on Elisewin’s jawline, lapping up each breathy sigh and needy whimper, every high-pitched sound she made for him sending anima singing to his core.

When the last of her layers hit the floor, he spun her to face him, dragging her mouth to his, and giving their lips the relief they both sought. Her taste was refreshing, the blunt edges of her teeth and the heat of her mouth, a strange blend of exotic and somehow familiar, like coming home after eons away. Too soon, Elisewin was tugging her head to the side, gasping for the air Renathal had forgotten was not an affectation for mortals. As she panted, her lust-clouded eyes met his, then fell to his chest where her hands waited, trembling, and he knew exactly what she wanted. He tugged his shirt over his head, saving them seconds of undoing buttons, and reveled in Elisewin's open-mouthed stare of longing as she traced his cold flesh, entranced.

But there was no time for long, exquisite explorations. Any moment could bring the Master to his door. Renathal claimed her lips again, and Elisewin eagerly complied, though now she was sure she had permission, her hands continued their journey, mapping the harsh angles of his torso and arms. Nor could his own stay idle for long.

“Your Highness,” called Elisewin hoarsely as his fingers kneaded and dimpled her warm, naked flesh. And Renathal paused, one hand cupping her chin, tilting her gaze to his and reclaiming the skin from the memory of the Countess.

“Say my name."

It was as much plea as command. Renathal had longed to hear the distinct way Elisewin said his name since crying it after her nightmare, and -

“Renathal…”

- he could not suppress his moan of satisfaction. It was every bit as delicious from her now as it had been then.

“Again," he growled.

“Renathal,” Elisewin gasped, as Renathal lifted her into his arms, wrapped her bare thighs around his trousers, and stumbled with her to his bed. He set her down as gently as his desperation allowed him, divesting himself of the last of his clothes, and “Renathal,” she moaned again as she drank in the sight of him ready for her.

Her mouth hung slightly open and Renathal gave himself up to pride. What was one more sin?

“That’s right,” he murmured, his voice a low, guttural purr. “Call for me.”

And, attentive to his needs as ever, Elisewin obeyed. For hours. Long into Revendreth’s socially constructed night. There were wards on Darkwall Tower preventing even the Master’s eavesdropping, but, even so, there were points where Renathal was certain her cries must be heard across the district. Not that he minded. Elisewin’s encouragements only spurred him to greater, deeper, harder heights. He wanted to discover every sound he could draw from her, every beautiful way she could say his name.

Renathal’s stamina surprised him. After all, he had been sadly out of practice for thousands of years. But even he had a limit, and, at last, he could do no more than collapse back, panting, against his silk pillows, holding Elisewin to his sweat-slicked chest and running his fingers like a ritual over and over through her own damp hair. He knew he was spent, but he wanted more. Mere hours of pleasure were not enough. The despair Elisewin had held at bay crept back up Renathal's ribcage, and he clutched her tighter to him.

Where was Denathrius? Surely, he was on his way. The Countess had plenty of time to relay the story of his court by now.

In the distance, the grandfather clock's deep chime reverberated through the Tower, and Renathal strained his ears to catch its sounding time. A quick calculation informed him nearly all of Revendreth’s resting hours were gone. And there had been no interruptions. No Breakfist knocking to inform him the Sire was waiting, no messengers with summons. A tiny flicker of hope, deadly as Light, licked at Renathal’s resignation. If he had miscalculated the Countess… if the Master had not spared the time to see her… if he had not believed her...

“Come here,” Renathal rumbled, beckoning Elisewin to his lips. She complied, slowly, meeting him in a kiss clumsy and weary from their hours of satisfying exercise. “Stay here tonight,” he murmured into her mouth. He could taste her teasing smile as she breathed, "Is that a command, Your Highness?" in reply.

“Yes," said Renathal with equal jest, but even as he said it, he thought better of the joke. “No.”

Elisewin's lips froze against his, then pulled away. She blinked down at him as Renathal struggled to find words for concepts he had never in all his countless years had occasion to explain.

“This is… not a command," he said. “This…" He let a sweep of fingers toward both their naked bodies illustrate the indirect article, "is not part of your atonement. If anything, it may take you further from it. This - us - together - it is... ill-advised,” stuttered Renathal, choosing a word at random. “If the Master discovers us, there will be consequences for us both."

"What sort of consequences?"

But even admissive as the mortal inspired him to be, Renathal could not bring himself to put those memories into words.

"The Sire possesses a wide selection of lessons," he said cryptically. "Most of which are unpleasant. And all of which will certainly set your atonement back. Any intimacy is... dangerous. I cannot command it - or, even, in good conscience, ask it of you..."

Renathal's voice trailed away as Elisewin peered down at him through her reaffixed inscrutable mask. He fought to keep his eyes on hers, watching what little could be gleaned of her thought process, but her parted lips were an unfair distraction. It was a struggle to keep himself from leaning up to capture them again, to lose himself in more of her warm, elysian pleasure, to forget what was coming just a little while longer...

“Do you want this?" asked Elisewin, interrupting his wayward thoughts. "Do you want... me? I mean... us?" she fumbled the word as if unsure of its correct pronunciation.

“Yes,” said Renathal, infusing his agreement with every ounce of his endless, sinfully possessive longing.

“Then it’s worth the risk,” she decided, placing a kiss on his forehead before drawing back to observe her handiwork - Renathal's dazed, slightly punchdrunk face. “You are worth the risk, Renathal. As long as I’m here, as long as you want me, I’m yours."

With a sigh, Elisewin let herself fall back, exhausted, against his pillows, and Renathal, her words igniting some hidden reserve of anima within him, followed her down. She was wrong, of course. Everything in the realm belonged to the Master. Her included. But for here, for now, for the moments he still had her, it was the thought that counted.

Read Chapter 8: Safe in the Shadows | Visit the Masterpost

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mermaidsirennikita · 2 years ago

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November 2022 Book Recommendations

This month, I finished IAD in the beginning (and started with a book that I personally think is a true, game-changing romance classic) and started Christmas books in the end. I also read a great villain anthology (I... love villain heroes) and got into some truly exciting ARCs, going into 2023. And I read my first full length Ruby Dixon! I did work and I loved it.

Lothaire by Kresley Cole. Lothaire, the Enemy of Old, is on the brink of having the revenge he's sought for thousands of years. All he needs to do is claim his Bride, and he'll have his thrones. The only problem? His Bride, demonic former goddess Saroya the Soul Eater, has possessed the body of backwoods country girl Ellie Peirce; and Ellie is too strong-willed to simply let Saroya use her body for mayhem. Ellie is new to the world of the Lore, and she should be afraid of Lothaire... but she has a strong will to live, and she senses a desire within him that Saroya isn't satisfying. With Lothaire seeking a way to cast Ellie's soul from her body and Ellie seeking to seduce her freedom from him, the two begin a game that neither is fully prepared to win.

Obviously, this is a truly classic romance by now, and perhaps the? Definitive? Villain romance? Lothaire is evil, and the point of this book is not whether or not he can be good. He never will be, not 100%. The point is whether or not you'll buy his romance with Ellie, and uh--reader, I bought it. He hates that she's "low", mortal and poor. And she's not impressed with his cruelty and erratic behavior. They're both master manipulators, and he doesn't see her coming at all. It's kind of the perfect, inspired match between two incredibly opposite and similar characters. I cannot imagine the pressure Kresley felt to nail this after building Lothaire up as a definitive villain of her series... but fuck, it paid off. It's hot and twisted and incredibly compelling and... achingly romantic, somehow. The vows! The orgasms! The bloodplay! The betrayals! These two sick puppies just might make it.

Shadow's Claim by Kresley Cole. Bettina, future queen of the death demons, is being offered up as a prize in a tournament--whoever wins gets not only her hand in marriage, but the kingdom. The issue? Bettina has been carrying a torch for her best friend, Caspion, for years--and Cas seems reluctant to take their relationship to the next level. More complicated? Trehan Daciano, the vampiric master assassin sent to kill Cas for a transgression discovers that Bettina is his fated Bride--sending both men into the tournament, where either one could die. While initially desperate for Cas to win, the more Bettina gets to know Trehan, the more she's torn about what she wants for her future, and how devastated she would be if either man died.

This one seems to have a controversial reputation in the IAD fandom because of... Bettina, basically. And she is a different heroine for Kresley, for sure. She's a Princess Classic, essentially, except for the fact that she likes to make weapons for fun. And she does really hold back on Trehan because she wants to have this epic romance with Cas so badly, even though it's clear that their love is totally platonic. Was she a bit problematic? I guess, but I liked her because of it. And Trehan is HOT. A cold assassin who can kill anyone, is desperately holding himself back from ravishing the heroine, and offers a bag of decapitated heads as a present? Sign me the fuck up. Also, Lothaire is here, being an absolute nutjob. We love to see it.

MacRieve by Kresley Cole. Uilleam MacRieve is unable to control his inner beast and unable to have even vaguely normal intimate, or hell, sexual relationships due to the trauma of his past, a childhood tragedy that decimated his family. But just as he's on the verge of suicide, he finds his mate, Chloe Webb--the daughter of the man who tortured MacRieve and reawakened his dormant demons. That, they can get past--Chloe and MacRieve's connection is immediate, and it seems that he can bring himself out of the darkness for her. Yet at the worst possible moment, Chloe's own true (unknown to her) nature as a succubus--the same creature that victimized MacRieve as a child--is revealed, throwing their relationship into chaos.

This one was ROUGH to read, in the best possible way. It's beautifully done, it's just, for me, the most intensely sad IAD book. Basically, massive content warnings for childhood sexual abuse all over the place. MacRieve was groomed and raped by a succubus from the ages of 9 to 13, and the discovery led to the deaths of both of his parents and his unborn sister--and of course, he blames himself. He can only perform through his beast because his human side literally can't handle that kind of intimacy, and the revelation of Chloe's species throws him into chaos--and he treats her horribly as a result. You always get why he acts the way he does, but it's never justified. However, the slow healing for both of them, the way they make it through to each other, really worked for me and was just gorgeously emotional. And did lead to one of the funniest scenes in the series, to be frank. Also, the entire concept of succubus culture and dick flu was just... too.... good............ The matchup of a succubus, who by nature needs semen to like... live, and a werewolf, who by nature must give his mate what she needs to live and provide for her at all times... Kresley Cole's brain, man.

The Long Game by Rachel Reid. The direct sequel to Heated Rivalry. This one picks up with Shane and Ilya in a serious, committed relationship, if one that they must keep secret. Ilya left his successful team for a much shittier one to be closer to Shane--and he's feeling the professional effects, while still not actually being able to live with Shane full time. Though Ilya wants to be open about their relationship, Shane remains hesitant--putting a strain on their connection, and threatening their future.

This one was so good! Such a satisfying followup and (I assume) conclusion for one of my favorite romance couples of all time. Ilya's mental health, his isolation as an immigrant, and his trauma over his mother's suicide (and attempts to cover up all of the above through charm and natural wit) is examined at length in this one, and I loved seeing that picked apart. I also loved seeing a relationship wherein two people love each other deeply but still have to do active work to be better partners for each other. It isn't magically there. We also see Ilya getting brought into the fold of Shane's family, the two of them really creating this identity together... It was so natural and great, and the sex remained VERY HOT. (Trophy room sex... please.) The one complaint I'd have is that I think the book could've explored Shane's internalized homophobia a bit more, and the effect this would have on the ending of the novel. That was a big theme in Heated Rivalry, so I can see why Rachel Reid pulled up on it a bit here, but it did feel a bit too easy.

Dark Skye by Kresley Cole. Melanthe the sorceress finds a childhood best friend in vrekener Thronos, who recognizes her as his mate. But after a betrayal that leaves Lanthe on the run and Thronos with permanent injuries, she's terrified and he's enraged. He's spent five centuries tracking her since then--and once he has her, he doesn't plan to ever let her go.

I am open about my love of "childhood friends who fell out and now there's beef but they also love each other". This is that. This is also a deeply.... wild... book. Thronos is basically a demon-angel-thing, and he's very religious, and he comes from a deeply conservative culture, and he wants revenge on Lanthe, and he wants to fuck the shit out of Lanthe. All of these things are true. Lanthe is a pleasure-seeking sorceress who's never ashamed of her sexuality, and never apologizes to Thronos for fucking other people before him; and he does slut shame her a bit for it at first. A lot of the book really is about Thronous having to accept himself for what he actually is, both internally and externally, and what he wants (kinky sex with Lanthe). It's definitely different from many other IAD books, but you know what? I had fun with it. I liked Thronos and Lanthe's weird sex through a sheet thing. I thought it was funny.

Sweet Ruin by Kresley Cole. The Morior have come to fuck up the lives of all the IAD monsters, and first up is Rune Darklight--Rune the Insatiable. A 7,000 year old dark fey assassin known for using sex to get information--but don't kiss him, ladies, because his bodily fluids are in fact poisonous--Rune is thrown off course by Josie, a vampire (or is she?) who seems immune to his venomous blood. In fact, she seems to like it a lot. And he likes her drinking his blood a lot. Rune is sure that Josie is more than she seems--and holding back secrets. But as the two partner up together to save Rune's brother from a murderous valkyrie, he quickly discovers that the real risk Josie poses is in her irresistible appeal to him.

This one was so good. The Morior arc is interesting to me, if not my favorite--but Rune and Josie have been my favorite part of it. Rune is, to put it kindly, a total moron. He's a dangerous assassin who's a master at sexual torture and specializes in edging... But fails to see that Josie LOVES his edging. And I love that about him. I am a sucker for a super powerful man who's bowled over by a random girl, and this book is that. Josie is a really different kind of heroine for this series--illiterate, grew up on the streets, doesn't really know fuck all about the Lore. But she is... wild, and she knows that Rune is the one for her pretty quickly. And it makes for a truly delightful reading experience. Josie blithely confident that Rune will realize he loves her, Rune being totally in love with Josie and completely in denial about it. I love it.

Shadow's Seduction by Kresley Cole. Cas the demon was humiliated by the outcome of the tournament for his friend Bettina's hand--and even before then, completely thrown off by an unexpected night with his new friend, the vampire prince Mirceo. So he does what anyone would do and goes to a separate dimension where time moves differently to become more of a badass. But when Cas returns, Mirceo quickly realizes--they're meant to be together. He just has to convince Cas.

This novella was the first queer IAD book, and I do think it shows some datedness in terms of its treatment of sexuality (Mirceo has fucked a million people, but because he's never bottomed Cas sees him as like... a virgin on some level). But I also really can't speak to the accuracy or inaccuracy there on a personal level, and I'll be honest, I loved Cas and Mirceo together. Cas comes from a conservative culture and struggles with internalized homophobia and recognizing his own bisexuality. Mirceo is a hedonist who seems incapable of actually committing, even if he really wants to convince Cas that he can. I had a lot of fun with this one, and I kind of wish it had been a full-length book.

Wicked Abyss by Kresley Cole. Centuries ago, the demon prince Abyssian was betrayed by his fated mate, a fey princess. Now she's been reincarnated, and sent to the hell plane where Abyssian now rules--and is becoming more monstrous-looking every day. Sian's initial plan is to keep Lila as his captive and punish her for the sins of her past life. But fate may have other plans...

A Beauty and the Beast retelling, straightup, and I wasn't mad at it. This one has everything--curses, past life transgressions, secrets, a heroine who thinks her way out of the problem, and Nix moving her chess pieces in the background, all the time. I won't say that I loved Sian quite as much as I loved Lila, but I did love that when he came the entire hell plane reacted. That was great.

A Wicked Game by Kate Bateman. Read my full review here!

Munro by Kresley Cole. Munro MacRieve has one chance to go back in time and save his fated mate, the human Kereny. Except Kereny is a total stranger to him, and the only way to truly save her is to transform her into an immortal. Problematic, both because the transformation is extremely hazardous and Kereny turns out to be a monster hunter.

The first IAD book published in 5 years (and the most recently released, which means I'm out of books for now) this one is just. Really fun. Does it go as hard as some of my favorites? No. Is the last 20% INCREDIBLY FAST? Yes. But I just had a good time. Munro is such a fucking werewolf dude, even if he tries to be The Rational One between himself and MacRieve. Ren is a fun, defiant, snarky heroine, and I really enjoyed the path her transformation ultimately took. This one is just a fucking romp, and isn't connected a ton to the major arc, which I think was nice--but the ending! The cliffhanger! I fucking knew that fucker was alive but to have him come back like... almost twenty books after his death was mentioned... SOMEBODY GET MY BOY HEATH!!!!! NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Never Cross A Highlander by Lisa Rayne. Read my full review here!

The Countess by Sophie Jordan. ARC; review to come closer to publication.

Villain I'd Like to F... An anthology collection of novellas by Eva Leigh, Nicola Davidson, Adrian Herrera, Joanna Shupe, and Sierra Simone. The assignment? Historical romances about VILLAINS. Fucking delightful, varied, and super sexy. Let's break 'em down below (in brackets).

[Lady Viper and The Bastard by Eva Leigh. A romantic take on Dangerous Liaisons sees Lady Violet "Viper" Hampton and Ian "the Bastard" Molyneaux, two of the most feared figures in 1700s high society England, reluctantly team up despite their distrust of each other. Their mission? To break up a young couple in love by seducing each party separately. I fucking LOVED this. It's my favorite thing Eva Leigh has ever written. We see two fearsome, snarky, kinda horrible people, both in their forties and well aware of the world's caprice, engage in deceit and seduction while actually... falling in love with each other. Violet is a dream of a heroine, sharp-tongued and confident and determined to not catch feelings... While--let's be real--for all that Ian is a slutty, slutty man with a wicked sense of amorality (he is partially into this seduction game because he fucked the girl's mom and wants to fuck the daughter in turn because that would be funny), he's actually smitten by Violet from pretty early on. The feelings are intense and the sex scenes are FABULOUS. There is in fact a scene where they role play as a virginal Violet and her dancing master, and while that shit isn't gonna be for the more... cautious readers, it was certainly for me. I would kill for Eva Leigh to write more about these types of sardonic, gleefully wicked characters. She does it so well.

Seven Sinful Nights by Nicola Davidson. Twenty-year-old widowed duchess Estelle is set to be a servant for her in-laws when local club owner Blake Evans comes to call for the massive debt the new duke owes. Estelle's brother-in-law offers her as Blake's mistress in exchange for the debt being cancelled, but Blake gives her the choice--seven nights as his mistress, and the debt will be cancelled and Estelle will be given her widow's portion. Estelle agrees--in part because she wants the independence that comes with her inheritance and ruination, and in part because she's just too intrigued by Blake to pass up the opportunity. For seven nights only, she'll be his Stella, and his to do with as he pleases. This one was great, also my favorite thing I've read of Nicola Davidson thus far. It has everything--supportive friends with a dash of torture (something Stella has a fabulous reaction to), a lot of good girl-ing, domination, exhibitionism, and sex toys. Frankly, the whole "mistress of a villain" gig thing seems pretty sweet. There's also an age gap (Blake is 35 to Stella's 20) and the sex is ridiculously hot. I was a little ambivalent about one occurrence in the epilogue, but it really wasn't enough to truly taint the story for me. It was just fun and good and had a great climax (technically... several).

The Gangster's Prize by Joanna Shupe. When Isabelle's upstanding politician father goes missing, she's certain the culprit is Billy Baxter, leader of the Hell's Kitchen Gang. But when the demure Isabelle surprises Billy with a confrontation, he claims innocence--and promises to help her find her father... for a price. This one felt a bit different for Joanna Shupe at first, largely in that it's first person, alternating between Billy and Isabelle's perspectives. It took some getting used to, but ultimately the story had the hallmarks of what I love about Joanna Shupe: a dominant hero, a woman who throws him for a loop, and hot hot conflict. Also great fucking. That too. There is one particular moment in this novella that had even me raising my eyebrows, which is hard to pull off. And just when I thought she'd pull a punch--nope. Billy is pretty bad (and so good).

The Bootlegger's Bounty by Adriana Herrera. Rosalia dreams of singing in a New York nightclub--but the only way to get that is to ally with Camden McCullough, a notorious rum runner. The dangerous Cam is overwhelming enough--but throw in crew member Enzo, and Rosalia is very quickly in over her head. Or is she? This one is for the mmf lovers out there, especially if you're looking for a historical novella with a different setting (1920! High seas!). Cam, Rosalia, and Enzo have chemistry to spare. This one does tend towards the eroticism a bit more than the plot, but that's not a bad thing at all. The bond between Cam, Enzo, and Rosalia seems natural and fun and compelling--and yes, everyone does fall in love with everyone here.

The Conquering of Tate the Pious by Sierra Simone. Tate is the youngest abbess of Far Hope Abbey--ever. And she's set to protect the abbey with her life, offering herself up to the marauding Norman invader The Wolf. But The Wolf is not what they seem--in fact, they're a stunning woman, Adelais, who decides she could forego pillaging the abbey... if Tate offers herself up in exchange. You can't really go wrong with a sapphic medieval villainess romance. Adelais and Tate are both pretty hardcore in their own ways, and if you aren't familiar with Sierra Simone's work, this one might go in directions that surprise you. It's certainly hot--there is one particular scene with the hilt of a knife that's.... perfection--but I also enjoyed the contrast of Tate and Adelais and their respective strengths and forms of power. Fabulous.]

The Wrong Marquess by Vivienne Lorret. Elodie Parrish has always been set to marry her best friend George--not by any official agreement, but by an understanding that began when they were children and Ellie fell head over heels for him. But she's twenty-five now, and George is dragging his feet. So while she initially dislikes Brandon, the older brother of her new friend, the upside of their charged encounters could be that George might take the hint and make it official... But Brandon, if initially puzzled and annoyed by the confusing Ellie, might just want to keep her.

This one was really, really lovely. Just the right amount of humor, just the right amount of drama, with plenty of sexual tension (that does indeed get satisfied). It's also a pretty searing indictment of many unsatisfactory friends to lovers plots, even if it doesn't intend to be. George is a prick. Ellie is darling, a ball of anxiety (her fear of death was quite relatable) and desperation for love. Brandon is... fucking hot, and also just like. Desperate to get into her panties, in a way that was quite charming (there is a scene where she leaves a bowl of ice cream unfinished and he grabs it and finishes it because he wants to taste what she was tasting... man fucking down...). Brandon's initial prickliness and distrust of Ellie (he has a tragic past, obviously) giving way to besotted obsession was charming as fuck, and the contrast of his adoration against George's dogged determination to lead her on was just classic romcom excellence. And the ending--as well as the introduction of a certain future hero--did make me want to go and re-read How to Steal A Scoundrel's Heart, which is itself a fabulous read that follows this one in the Mating Habits of Scoundrels series. Just... so good.

Of Visions and Secrets by Kathryn Ann Kingsley. Emma Mather's brother has gone missing, and the only person who seems to have any clue as to what happened is his former professor, Raphael Saltonstall. The issue? Rafe knows a lot about the dark, occult societies Elliot got himself tangled up in--the only problem? Rafe may be more connected to the darker side of them than Elliot realized, and Emma may not care about that nearly as much as she should.

This is an unusual turn for me in romance--the first book in a trilogy that is truly connected, versus featuring standalones with different couples and smaller connections. The Tenebris trilogy reads as one big story versus three separate books, to be honest, and I blazed through it. Kingsley is a self-professed villain lover, but these books are definitely a romance; you just have to wait until the end of the final book to get the promised HEA. And like... Rafe isn't especially heroic. But for all that the world and the magic and horror is incredibly compelling--think 1920s, but with cults and eldritch abominations--the centerpiece is still the romance. Or rather, romances as book two reveals. Rafe and Emma's connection is both entertaining--he's a stern murderous professor with the voices of legion monsters in his head, she's a reckless adventuress who hurtles into trouble and gets turned on by fear--and kind of tragic? Like, he just wants to love her and frankly fuck her the fuck up? But so do the monsters within him? When the dam breaks with this guy, it BREAKS. Frankly, I blame a conservative society. I think that if Rafe had been introduced to BDSM and allowed to explore his dom side, countless lives would've been saved.

Of Flesh and Bone by Kathryn Ann Kingsley. The direct continuation of the above book--but I will add a couple of things. The secondary romance of the series (which is really pretty prominent, hot sex and all) is introduced in this book, and it is great. A sexy nightclub singer/cult leader and the hot battle priest who falls in love with her! I will also add a TW because that nightclub singer is a trans woman, and this book, as well as the third, feature a subplot in which a bigoted villain attempts to essentially undo her (magically-powered) transition--it is not super graphic, it does not last long, it does fail, and he does suffer. The main characters all affirm her and she does have a HEA with her hero, but just a heads up. Other notes: Rafe's shadow tentacles (or, as I have seen them called, his Consentacles) join the party in full in this one, and honestly? The fact that SHADOW AND BONE had the potential for shadow tentacles that can fill every orifice while also allowing the tentacle-user to utilize his fingers and dick... and did not do that.... A wasted opportunity. All hail the shadow tentacles.

Of Grave and Glory by Kathryn Ann Kingsley. The conclusion of the Tenebris trilogy--angsty, wacky, gave me all the "NOT WITHOUT YOU" shit I could ever want. You know??? How it is??? When you monster boyfriend shows up to take you into his horrifying grasp and murder everyone standing in his way??? The only thing I could've used is one more sex scene, but the one we got was like... admittedly... three different kinds of sex at once, so. Fair. Rafe and those shadow tentacles, man.

Bound to the Battle God by Ruby Dixon. Faith is a simple girl working for an insurance company, when she follows the voices she hears from the empty apartment down the hall and ends up in another world. Her only way out seems to be pledging herself as the mortal Anchor to Aron, a god who's meant to learn a lesson. The God of Battle, Aron has been split into four different selves, or Aspects--Apathy, Hedonism, Deceit, and Arrogance. Faith has ended up with the Arrogance part, and boy does she know it. Her life is now tied to his; the only way to kill Aron is to kill her. The problem? Only one Aspect can live and be restored to full godliness, and the other three are out to kill Faith in order to eliminate "her" Aron. And as Aron and Faith travel to destroy his other Aspects, she finds herself not only caring about saving her own life, but keeping the rather annoying, if completely hot, god alive.

This was my first Ruby Dixon, and I was. Sold. Listen, Ruby's style is very chatty and real and it's going to be for you or it isn't--it totally worked for me (though, I'm not sure when this book was written, but some slang used was... less than ideal). The world building in this book is actually kind of insane, too. I loved the mythology of the Aspects and Anchors, Aron's backstory, the worship--it all rang true. There is definitely some leaning into the "fetching slave girl" stuff in this one... less so with Faith, and more with another character, though I wouldn't say that any sexual assault occurs as said character is a willing concubine who wishes to serve the gods. Very religious. But that aside, the romance in this is actually pretty fucking excellent. It's a long book, and while an Incident makes Faith and Aron's mutual attraction very clear, it takes both of them a while to come to terms with their feelings and really start up together. By the time the book ended, I was so invested in their relationship. And if I haven't sold this book enough, there is a scene where he gets so turned on by her eating a piece of fruit that he sits her down in a chair and starts going down on her while demanding that she continues to eat the fruit. It was a great choice.

Never Seduce a Duke by Vivienne Lorret. Review to come closer to the release date, but trust and believe that I love it.

How the Dukes Stole Christmas. An anthology with Christmas-themed (duh) stories by Tessa Dare, Sarah MacLean, Sophie Jordan, and Joanna Shupe. Comments on each in brackets!

[Meet Me in Mayfair by Tessa Dare. Louisa Ward is on the hunt for a wealthy husband in order to keep her family from being evicted by the new Duke of Thorndale. But--shock of shocks--the man she meets at the ball is actually Thorndale himself, and the two set out on an evening stroll that could be exactly what she and her family need... This one was very sweet. Very tame. I mean, I know it's Christmas, but... I liked it as a short story, for sure, but this one might not have been quite my speed.

The Duke of Christmas Present by Sarah MacLean. This one is a basically "what if Scrooge's fiancee who left him came back 12 years later, and both of them were super hot", and I was GOOD WITH IT. It's very charming and second chance, and there is sexual tension aplenty between Eben (yes), and Jacqueline, aka Jack. And yes, that tension does pay off, in a very Christmasy way. I had a great time with this, and it was both sweet and angsty in a way that MacLean masters.

Heiress Alone by Sophie Jordan. This Home Alone retelling sees a young woman end up left on her own over Christmas by her family--with a Scottish duke. And guess what? He's very gruff, and she plans on becoming a nun! This one was so much fun, with plenty of sexual tension and insane happenings. I think that Sophie has a great talent for creating a fast-paced book, and that was perfectly suited for a novella. It had a very snowed in vibe, and yes, there are horny cookies in this one. I love a horny cookie moment.

Christmas in Central Park by Joanna Shupe. This one was probably my favorite of the bunch--the heroine runs an advice column as a married domestic goddess, except she is not married or a domestic goddess. When the brusque newspaper-owning boss guy (who hasn't met her before) asks her to put on a big dinner for the board, she has to fake having a husband, a home, and staff in time for Christmas. But the whole fake husband thing might be a problem, because her boss wants to dick her down HARD.]

#romance novel blogging #book recs #books

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whimsicaldragonette · 2 years ago

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ARC Review: The Sinister Booksellers of Bath by Garth Nix

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Publication Date: March 21, 2023

Synopsis:

Return to the enchanting world of The Left-Handed Booksellers of London in this sequel by Garth Nix, bestselling master of teen fantasy, where once again a team of booksellers must fight to keep dangerous magic under cover before the stuff of legends destroys our world. There is often trouble of a mythical sort in Bath. The booksellers who police the Old World keep a careful watch there, particularly on the entity that inhabits the ancient hot spring. This time trouble comes from the discovery of a sorcerous map, leading left-handed bookseller Merlin into great danger, requiring a desperate rescue attempt from his sister, the right-handed bookseller Vivien, and art student Susan Arkshaw, who is still struggling to deal with her own recently discovered magical heritage. The map takes the trio to a place separated from this world, maintained by deadly sorcery and guarded by monstrous living statues. But this is only the beginning. To unravel the secrets of a murderous Ancient Sovereign, the booksellers must investigate centuries of disappearances and deaths. If they do not stop her, she will soon kill again. And this time, her target is not an ordinary mortal.

My Rating:

*My Review and Favorite Quotes after the cut.

My Review:

This was just as much fun, and just as much of a madcap magical adventure, as the first. I loved seeing Susan grappling with the wider questions and implications of being the Old Man of Coniston's daughter, as well as gaining confidence in her own decisions and choices. Merlin and Vivienne were the same as ever and made wonderful companions for Susan. I loved the reluctant collaboration (and clashing) of the magical booksellers and the non-magical police force. It kept things interesting. The pace was relentless, much as it was in the first book, and I read it in one sitting, rushing along the twists and turns of the plot at breakneck speed. It was so fast, in fact, that I never stopped even once to highlight a profound or amusing turn of phrase. It never felt too much like the characters were being dragged around by the plot, though, because they still had to make choices and decisions at every turn. All of the supporting characters were wonderful and felt unique. They had a lot of character and kept the meetings and necessary debriefings from becoming tedious rehashing of information. The lemon cakes scene, in particular, was quite amusing. I'm happy with where this left off, but I desperately hope there will be more Susan, Merlin, and Vivienne adventures coming in the future because I am not ready to leave them. And there is so much potential for adventure as they straddle the line between the modern world and the one of immortal entities. *Thanks to NetGalley and Katherine Tegen Books for providing an early copy for review.

Favorite Quotes:

He’d only escaped because he was wearing his coat like a cloak, his arms not in it, and whatever grabbed him had been momentarily confused as he slithered out of the two-pound Oxfam wooly bargain like a lizard leaving its sacrificial tail in a predator’s mouth.

---

There was something familiar about the style of the stair ascent, a wholly unnecessary rapidity and joie de vivre in simply trying to leap as many steps as possible in one go.

---

Merlin gravitated to those as outwardly attractive as himself, similar bright comets whose orbits crossed in a flurry of sparks and spun onwards to new collisions without looking back.

---

“The wards are cast to repel living things of evil intent,” said Ruby. “And dead things of evil intent. But not animated stone of limited intelligence, or at least not this kind, whatever it is. An oversight to be addressed, now I think of it. I’ll bring it up at the next staff meeting.”

---

“As I was saying,” he said stolidly. “I have reason to believe a crime has been committed…” He paused and looked over the broken pieces of statue and the shattered door.“ Though mebbe not the crime I thought it was,” he said.

#the sinister booksellers of bath #the left-handed booksellers of london #garth nix #netgalley #arc review #shilo reads #best books of 2023 #favorites #fantasy

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serephinastardust · 11 months ago

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The Book I'm writing: Requiem of the Rising Flames-Elixir's Pursuit: A Kitsune's Journey Rewrite #3 Book 1 Chapter 12

As Odessa continued tending to her feet, her gaze briefly flickered towards Xander, who had inquired about the situation. However, she remained focused on her task, finishing the meticulous healing process with practiced efficiency. Seraphina, sensing Odessa's reluctance to divulge details, took it upon herself to provide an explanation.

"Xander," Seraphina interjected, her tone carrying an air of urgency, "it's not as bad as it looks. Her feet got stuck in her boots during the hike, that's all."

Xander acknowledged Seraphina's words with a nod, his stoic demeanor unwavering. He turned and retreated into his cabin, Ruby silently following him, her vigilant eyes never leaving her charge. Kael, with an air of nonchalance, took charge of preparing the game for cooking. The crackling campfire embraced the meat as it sizzled over the flames.

Isolde, the Celestial Sister, observing the scene with a discerning gaze, joined in the efforts to prepare the evening meal. Her features, once marked by surprise, now bore a thoughtful frown. Another addition to Xander's entourage seemed to stir a ripple of concern within her ethereal sensibilities.

As Odessa finished caring for her feet, she turned her attention to the shoes that had borne the brunt of her journey. She dipped them into a basin of water she had fetched, washing away the remnants of her own blood. The rhythmic sound of water sloshing against leather filled the quiet clearing, punctuating the activities of the group.

Isolde, her gaze now free from the initial shock, approached Odessa with a hint of curiosity. "You've joined Prince Xander's party?" Isolde inquired, her voice carrying a subtle note of scrutiny.

Odessa looked up from her task, meeting Isolde's celestial gaze. "For now," she replied, her words cryptic. Isolde, though intrigued, respected the enigma veiling Odessa's true intentions.

Isolde's frown deepened as Odessa responded with cryptic brevity, leaving the celestial sister with more questions than answers. With Seraphina having departed to attend to other tasks, Isolde saw an opportunity to voice her doubts and, perhaps, unsettle the newcomer.

As the meadow embraced the evening, Isolde approached Odessa with an air of condescension, her ethereal presence contrasting with the simplicity of her surroundings.

"Joining Prince Xander's party, are we?" Isolde remarked, her tone dripping with disdain. "I suppose even mortals seek the company of celestial beings, no matter how mundane their existence may be."

Odessa continued her task of cleaning her boots, seemingly unfazed by Isolde's words. The celestial sister, not receiving the desired reaction, pressed on, determined to ruffle the feathers of this uninvited guest.

"And what, pray tell, do you hope to achieve?" Isolde continued, her words now veering into an assault on Odessa's appearance. "With such plain features, one would think you'd at least attempt to garner attention."

Odessa, still silent, wiped away the last vestiges of blood from her boots before setting them near the crackling fire to dry. Isolde's disdainful words hung in the air, momentarily unacknowledged. The mortal seemed to be occupied with her mundane task, leaving the celestial sister to stew in her own judgment.

After a moment, Odessa, with an air of detached indifference, finally spoke, her voice devoid of formalities. "Esa."

Isolde raised an eyebrow at the curt introduction, unimpressed by the lack of pleasantries.

Odessa, having brushed off Isolde's disdain, made her way to the makeshift dining area. She could feel the eyes of those around her, their amazement palpable as they observed her ease of movement compared to the earlier ordeal with her feet. Letting out a long sigh, she allowed herself a moment of relaxation, attempting to tune out the world around her.

As she settled onto a moss-covered rock, the group's collective gaze lingered on her, their silent admiration a testament to the mysterious resilience of this seemingly unassuming mortal. Odessa, however, remained focused on her own thoughts, contemplating the challenge that lay ahead—how to secure the Lunar Ember Blossom with the group still around.

In the midst of the muted conversations and the crackling of the campfire, Odessa delved into a mental analysis, considering three different scenarios that held some semblance of feasibility.

With Xander and the others preoccupied with their respective tasks, Odessa contemplated orchestrating a subtle distraction. Perhaps she could initiate a conversation with Seraphina, drawing her away from the group momentarily. This diversion might create an opportunity for Odessa to slip away unnoticed, giving her a chance to seek out the Lunar Ember Blossom.

Another option involved seeking the cooperation of the group, presenting the quest for the Lunar Ember Blossom as a shared endeavor. By engaging them in conversation and subtly steering it towards the mystical flora of the meadow, Odessa could gauge their reactions. If their interest was piqued, she might suggest a joint exploration, providing her with a chance to harvest the elusive blossom.

The riskiest option was a solo venture under the cover of darkness. Odessa could wait until the camp settled into the quietude of night, allowing her to slip away unnoticed. She would have to rely on her stealth and intuition to navigate the meadow and locate the Lunar Ember Blossom without the assistance or interference of the group.

As Odessa mulled over these scenarios, she kept her outward demeanor composed, her dull brown eyes betraying none of the intricate machinations transpiring within her calculating mind. The enigma of her intent hung in the air, an unsolved puzzle within the tranquility of the campfire-lit clearing.

Apologies for the oversight. Let's adjust the setting to reflect a makeshift dining area complete with a table and chairs:

As the camp settled into the evening routine, Seraphina sauntered up behind Isolde, her obsidian hair shimmering in the firelight. With a mischievous glint in her eye, Seraphina whispered a question that caught Isolde off guard. Startled, Isolde jumped slightly, trying to maintain an air of composure.

"What were you talking to Esa about?" Seraphina inquired, her voice a low murmur that danced with curiosity. Isolde, caught in the unexpected crossfire, stammered for a moment, attempting to deny any clandestine conversation with Odessa.

"Oh, nothing much," Isolde replied with feigned innocence, her eyes darting nervously. "Just passing the time, you know."

Unconvinced but unwilling to press the matter further, Seraphina gave Isolde a knowing smile before turning her attention elsewhere. Isolde let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding, relieved to avoid any confrontation with Seraphina.

Meanwhile, Ruby emerged from Xander's cabin, her presence noted by Kael, who was still tending to the cooking over the campfire. Ruby joined him, and the two worked in tandem to put the finishing touches on the meal. The scent of roasting meat wafted through the air, a savory aroma that permeated the tranquil meadow.

Odessa, seemingly undisturbed by the commotion or the activities around her, sat at the makeshift dining area—a humble table and a few chairs arranged under the starlit sky. She reclined against a mossy rock, her eyes fixated on the night sky. The dull brown eyes of her disguise reflected the shimmering tapestry of stars overhead, but her thoughts were anchored to the complexities of her options.

As the lively chatter and occasional laughter enveloped the camp, Odessa mulled over the three scenarios that had occupied her mind earlier. The soft glow of the campfire cast a flickering light on her stoic features, revealing none of the intricate calculations transpiring within her analytical mind.

The night air carried the symphony of nature—the crackling fire, the rustle of leaves, and the distant murmur of a nocturnal breeze. Odessa's indifference to the festivities around her only deepened the enigma she presented to those who dared to observe her in the quietude of the meadow's embrace.

The makeshift dining area, adorned with a modest table and chairs, was soon adorned with a spread of food meticulously prepared by Ruby and Kael. The aroma of the freshly cooked meat mingled with the natural scents of the meadow, creating an inviting atmosphere. Even Xander, typically reserved and consumed by his own thoughts, emerged from his cabin to partake in the communal meal.

As the group gathered around the table, laughter and friendly banter filled the air. Seraphina, ever observant, noticed Odessa still lost in her contemplations. With a warm smile, she approached Odessa and gently nudged her shoulder.

"Hey, Esa, the food's ready. Join us!" Seraphina's voice carried a cheerful lilt, breaking the spell of Odessa's distant musings.

Odessa, roused from her introspection, glanced up at Seraphina. Her dull brown eyes met Seraphina's with a hint of gratitude. With a nod, she rose gracefully from her seat against the mossy rock and joined the group at the table.

The lively chatter continued, with everyone engaging in animated conversation. Ruby and Kael discussed the day's events, sharing stories and recounting the adventures they had encountered. Isolde, ever sociable, contributed her own tales, adding a touch of charm to the gathering.

However, two figures remained notably silent amid the merriment—Odessa and Xander. Their stoic presence created a subtle undercurrent beneath the surface of the lively exchange. Odessa, though present, seemed to drift in and out of the conversations, her focus periodically returning to the vast expanse of the meadow.

Xander, on the other hand, sat with an air of detached calmness. His molten gold hair caught the flickering firelight, casting an ethereal glow around him. His deep sapphire eyes surveyed the group, absorbing the camaraderie without actively participating.

Seraphina, noticing the quietude of Odessa and Xander, made a mental note to check on them later. For now, she immersed herself in the communal spirit, relishing the warmth of friendship and the simple joys of shared moments.

The lively chatter around the makeshift dining table took a turn as Isolde, the social butterfly of the group, shifted the conversation toward Odessa, the child prodigy that everyone used to talk about all those years ago.

Isolde, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, directed her questions at the three who had been witness to the enigmatic child's genius. "So, Seraphina, Kael, what was she like back then? Odessa, we keep hearing whispers about. What kind of genius are we talking about here?"

Ruby chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she served another round of food. "Oh, you have no idea, Isolde. She was like a walking encyclopedia, a mastermind even at such a tender age."

Kael, always the pragmatic one, joined the conversation. "Yeah, it was kind of eerie how smart she was. I mean, most kids that age are still learning the basics, but not her. She could grasp advanced concepts without breaking a sweat."

Seraphina nodded, recalling the days when the trio would continuously run into her. "I remember she used to spend hours in the library, absorbing knowledge like a sponge. It was like she had this innate understanding of things beyond her years."

Isolde leaned in, eager for more details. "And what about her family? Did she have anyone guiding her, or was she just a lone genius?"

Everyone shrugged, “She’s from the Nightshade clan, but no one knew if she had a mentor or not. At least no one ever saw her with one.”

Inside her mind, Odessa couldn't help but respond to these questions. A lone genius, they believe. Little do they know that the mentor they seek was a wise woman, one whose sacrifice paved the way for my solitude.

Isolde continued, her curiosity not satiated. "Tell me about her appearance. Was she a beauty, or was it just her intellect that people admired?"

Seraphina, with a slight smile, replied, "She was lovely, with silver hair and amethyst eyes. People were drawn to her not just for her intelligence but also for her unique beauty."

Isolde, always eager to keep the conversation flowing, inquired further. "And now? What do you think she might look like now, after all these years?"

Speculation swirled among the group, each member envisioning Odessa's current beauty. Ruby, with a gleam in her eye, remarked optimistically, "I imagine she's only grown more stunning with time. Some people have a way of becoming more enchanting as the years pass."

Kael, typically stoic, added his perspective. "If she was as beautiful as they say back then, I see no reason for that to change. Some things only improve with age."

Seraphina, with a thoughtful expression, agreed. "True beauty goes beyond the surface. If she had it then, she likely still does."

As the group continued to speculate on Odessa's enduring beauty, Isolde's jealousy grew. She couldn't fathom why they spoke so highly of this mysterious woman, especially when she hadn't even met her. With a hint of irritation, she interjected, "Why are we assuming she's still a beauty after all these years? Time has a way of wearing down even the most radiant."

Kael shrugged, indifferent to Isolde's skepticism. "She's Nightshade. Beauty is practically in their blood. Besides, we're just having a bit of fun with speculation."

Undeterred, Isolde pressed on, "But why assume she's become more beautiful? Maybe she's not even recognizable now. People change."

Ruby, who had been serving the group throughout the discussion, chimed in. "Isolde, beauty isn't just skin deep. It's about the aura someone carries, the way they present themselves. Even if appearances change, true beauty endures."

Odessa, still disguised and overhearing the conversation, felt her face heat up with embarrassment. Why do they enjoy speculating about me so much? she mused internally, her discomfort growing with each compliment.

As the talk continued, Isolde struggled to understand the fascination with Odessa's potential beauty. She found herself caught in a whirlwind of jealousy, unable to comprehend why everyone spoke so highly of someone they hadn't seen in years. Little did she know that the woman in question was right there among them, quietly enduring the unintended consequences of their speculative chatter.

The conversation around the makeshift dining area shifted, guided by Isolde's relentless curiosity. She prodded deeper into the past, aiming her questions at Seraphina, Kael, and Ruby, hoping to uncover the mysteries surrounding Odessa.

"And what about the engagement?" Isolde inquired, a glint of excitement in her eyes. "I heard there was an engagement between Odessa and Xander. What happened there? Why was it annulled?"

Seraphina exchanged a cautious glance with Kael before responding. "There were rumors, you know. Whispers that Odessa had lied about her True Kitsune Blood, or that her cultivation had suffered some irreparable damage. People speculated about all sorts of things."

Kael nodded in agreement. "It was a messy situation. The rumors spread like wildfire, and it didn't help that Odessa vanished shortly after the engagement was announced."

Ruby, who had been quietly observing the conversation, decided to interject. "Rumors are just that—rumors. The truth might be very different from what people believe."

Isolde leaned in, her interest piqued. "And Xander, what does he say about it? Why was the engagement annulled?"

At the mention of Xander, the atmosphere tensed. The group fell silent for a moment, exchanging uneasy glances. Then, unexpectedly, Xander's voice cut through the air.

"I didn't annul the engagement," he declared, his tone firm and resolute. The revelation sent shockwaves through the group, and even Odessa, who had been quietly listening, felt a jolt of surprise.

Isolde, ever the provocateur, seized the opportunity to dig deeper. "Then what happened, Xander? Why did Odessa disappear? What's the truth behind all those rumors?"

Xander remained stoic, refusing to divulge more information. "Some things are better left in the past," he said cryptically, shutting down any further inquiry. The group sat in stunned silence, processing the unexpected revelation.

Seraphina, breaking the quietude, asked cautiously, "But why did people think you annulled the engagement, Xander?"

He shot a look in Odessa's direction, his gaze unreadable. "Sometimes, rumors are more convenient than the truth."

The group resumed their meal, the revelation hanging heavily in the air. Isolde, though momentarily stymied, continued to contemplate the mysteries surrounding Odessa and Xander's past. As they talked, Odessa grappled with her own emotions, caught off guard by the revelation that Xander hadn't initiated the annulment. The unexpected turn of events left her with more questions than answers, and she couldn't shake the feeling that the past held secrets that were yet to be unveiled.

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meepetteoneonly · 2 months ago

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So I will once again refer to al the peaces of the puzzle already discovered and shared by @certifieddilfenjoyer and another layer of theories and questions about Raphael...

We already know, that Vlaakith made a deal with some devil in order to carry out the coup against Mother Gith, i.e. mother of Orpheus. However, the important information is also what Lae’Zael tells us after we are attacked by Githyanki at Wyrm’s Lookout the night before we reach Baldur’s Gate.

Once we successfuly defeated Orpheus’s protectors and Emperor uncovered himself, Lae’Zael tells us, that what we know about Orpheus is only half of a story and that Gith managed to defeat Illithids because she made a deal with Archdevil Tiamant. Also, she explains that it was Tiamant who gifted Githyankis their red dragons.

Furthermore, she tells us that Mother Gith stayed in Hells and that Tiamant’s envoy helped Vlaakith with her mission to become the queen.

Tiamant’s enovy. A devil with wry charm who did a deal with Vlaakith (according to the disk we find in Astral Prism near Orpheus). I wonder, who that may be…

Now - who is this Archdevil Tiamant? I didn’t know either, but Forgotten Realms wiki had my back again:

Tiamant was the lawful evil dragon goddess of greed, queen of evil dragons and, for a time, reluctant servant of the greater gods Bane and later Asmodeus.

Do we know how Gortash become chosen of Bane, btw?

Tiamat was a unique chromatic dragon, who had one head for each primary color of the most common species of chromatics (black, blue, green, red, white). Each head was able to operate entirely independently of each other and had the powers of a member of the respective race of dragonkind.

Primary colours are subtle theme that is common to Orpheus’s bubble, the bubble we can see inside Astral Prism for the first or so time we get inside.

Also, „Astral Prism… or Prison“, as Gortash put it in his notes… Prism is triangular piece of glass that disperse the light into primary colours.

Tiamat had three manifestations in Avernus as well, one of which never left the gate to Dis. She also had a lair in Avernus, on the Nine Hells, known as Tiamat's Lair.

Tiamat's Lair was the divine realm and prison of Tiamat in Avernus, the first layer of the Nine Hells, according to the Great Wheel cosmology. The realm was a large cave system within a tall mountain, hidden in the hills of Avernus. It held the only known portal that led to the second layer, Dis.

Avernus. Here we are. Interesting, isn’t it?

The lair was also inhabited by Tiamat's mates and their descendants. The realm was generally avoided by demons, who were aware of Tiamat's lack of interest in the Blood War.It was, however, occasionally visited by devils offering gifts, hoping to seal bargains with Tiamat.

Do we know anyone who is always up to a bargain?

Tiamat wanted to take control of the Realms, and even as she was thwarted again and again by her enemies, she didn't give up. As of 1491 DR, however, her primary goal was to break free from the Nine Hells.

Having once been an archfiend living on Avernus, Tiamat was loosely allied with Bel and lent him many Abishai to fight in the Blood War. She resented Mammon for converting some evil dragons away from her. She helped Asmodeus forge his Ruby Rod. She developed an enmity with Asmodeus and the archdevil Bel after they betrayed her.

The crafting of the rod required the shard of evil and a huge ruby to be soaked in the blood of a thousand sacrificed mortals, quenched in Tiamat's acidic saliva, and polished with 777 angel tears.

That’s a little weird but I guess it is better to have a ruby quenched in super-powerful dragon goddess’s saliva than to have no ruby at all.

Also, Orphic hammer is decorated with red gems as well. And infernal chains binding Orpheus and Hope are attached to some red rocks. Rubys, prehaps?

Finally, Raphael doesn’t seem to be someone into crafting and forging, so there has to be someone who forged the shackles and muzzle for Orpheus and Astral Prism. Given that Astral Prism was probably created at the same time Tiamant was doing business with Gith, maybe it was her… Or maybe she helped Raphael?

As regards the blood of secrificed mortals, I wonder, was Mephistopheles up to something similar with the Rite of Profane Ascension?

Ok, let’s continue…

The church of Tiamat was regimented by a strict hierarchy of ranks and titles. Her clerics were occupied by the twin tasks of acquiring an ever-increasing hoard of wealth for the faith and sabotaging the faiths of other deities. As a result, they occupied most of their time with an unending series of thefts, assassinations, acts of vandalism, and arson. In Unther and Chessenta they were primarily concerned with seizing as much power as possible, while in western Faerun, the cult's agents were focused on subverting the Cult of the Dragon.

Which is interesting. The Cult of Dragon attacked Baldur’s Gate and when Wyll came to the rescue, he end up being tied to Mizora. If you speak with Wyll about the event, he tells you that Mizora didn’t care for the city, but Zariel sent her for some reason.

The Forgotten Realms wiki provides: … However, to avoid disappointing Asmodeus again and to prevent a conflict with Bel, Tiamat refused, instead offering to be Asmodeus' champion and devouring all who opposed him (and offering covert aid to Zariel to prevent Bel from becoming too powerful). So, did Zariel sent Mizora to help Wyll with Cult of the Dragon to do Tiamant some favour?

This was everything I managed to put together after I rushed to research this Tiamant lady right after Lae’Zael spoke about her in the game.

So my theory is that Raphael somehow serve Tiamant (or served) or that he has some kind of bargain with her. But the only weak proof is that Tiamant’s envoy helped Vlaakith and that this envoy had wry charm… That’s not much.

I also found this super cool fanart of Tiamant by an artist Jexion and in my opinion, I could see Raphael on his knees for someone like that...

Astral Prism, Orpheus & Raphael Theory

So you know how most people in Baldur's Gate 3 fandom make the Raphael joke?

I'm here to tell you that it's extremely hurtful, because his character has a lot more depth than some of you are willing to see.

Behold, my Baldur's Gate 3 theory:

Right before we enter Act 3, we are jumped by githyanki who want to retrieve our Astral Prism. We are summoned to the Dream Visitor - The Emperor, to help him in the fight.

We find out then that our supposed ally is an illithid but there is one more guy, The Gith, the Orpheus, The Prince of the Comet.

You can ask the Emperor what the heck is a githyanki doing there and he will tell you the brief story about the War of The Comet*.

He is going to mention, that he is bound by INFERNAL chains. Hold on? How come?

After we are done with the Royal Guard, we can go to the upper left side from Orpheus's prison and find an ancient Githyanki disc. It will tell us, that Vlaakith had some infernal business conducted with a devil with wry charm. Of course Raphael isn't the only devil capable of being charming, but it feels natural for it to be him when he is already a very important character in game.

Baldur's Gate 3 Wiki says that it is indeed Vlaakith and Raphael.

OK, but why would they exchange the Astral Prism and is it Vlaakith getting it or Raphael receiving the relic?

He is giving it to Vlaakith. But how would he be in possession of such an artifact?

My theory: He is the one who had it created for that trade. (Commissioned from someone else)

Explanation:

If you look at Hope's and Orpheus's prison, you will notice a striking resemblance at the crystals that can be only shattered by the Orphic Hammer. A Hammer, that Raphael is in possession of! How convenient!

(Even Hope's and Orpheus' eyes are glowing in the same way when they are enslaved.**)

The runes and the design of both Astral Prism and Orpheus' shackles are also strikingly similar. It does not look like anything of Githyanki creation, it screams infernal.

But that still doesn't really add up, does it? Who would possibly create such a powerful object which plays such a major role in the plot?

Here, we have to familiarise ourselves with the wonderful post by Bearhugsandshrugs

Em explains above who the people visiting House of Hope are***.

One of them is a crazy, extremely knowledgeable wizard who specialises in creating copies of himself which prevents him from dying in battle.

When we kill Raphael, we kill him in HoH, in his own domain. He should be gone, for good! But yet, upon interacting with the Orb of Infernal Envisioning, we see that he is soon to be devoured by his father. Hells do not split into separate planes - so either Mephisto snatched his soul somehow (which seems impossible because his body is still there and devil's souls are their bodies) or Raphael respawned and his father took one of his clones or something like that. (He's just so cool I had to put it in here, but let me return to my theory now)

Another name on the list points out to Raphael's interest in different planes (even the ones which don't seem to be reachable) but also, magical puzzle boxes capable of holding items inside. As you can see, the name on the list is under the uninvited visitors section, which most likely means that they either fuel his soul pillars or have been turned into a soul coin. So it didn't have to be that particular person helping Raphael with the creation of the Astral Prism, but it points out to his interest in that topic.

Now, when would that even happen?

Karsus Folly took place in -339 DR, BG3 takes place in 1492 DR, around 2000 years later.

The enslavement of Orpheus - so also the Vlaakith trade - happened at around -4000 DR.

It is not impossible that Raphael was already around and scheming at that time. Why? Because Mephistopheles gifted Haarlep to Raphael most likely when Raphael was about to get the Crown before his father snatched it. Comparing their visual age, it seems that Raphael was already a young adult cambion at around the War of The Comet age.

Another thing is the fact that, Kith'rak Voss, the badass Githyanki Red Dragon rider, the sword of Vlaakith, found out about Raphael and contacted him and told us to get our ass inside Sharess Caress. Raphael doesn't mention him having an 'office' there, it's Voss who does it. Only upon entering the place, we can interact with Korrilla who's like, hey girl go upstairs Raphael rented a room hoping you'd drop by. HE KNOWS WE SPOKE TO VOSS, he has to! And also, Voss was around when Orpheus got enslaved! According to Wiki he was inside the Astral Plane when that happened. And Raphael has absolutely 0 interest in trading with Voss, yet the githyanki managed to reach him somehow. In my opinion, when he finally realised the lies of Vlaakith, he was looking for a specific devil, for Raphael, because he might remember him from back then.

(* Justice to my poor Githyanki, the most based and cool race in BG3. Imagine how painful it has to be to realize over centuries of time that you helped the self-proclaimed queen establish her tyranny over your own people because you've been brainwashed to believe that Orpheus is a traitor and Vlaakith the rightful heir of the throne)

(** The eyes, the chains, the crystals. The top of the Orphic Hammer is literally partially built from that same gem/crystal and on top of that, if you use Examine on it, it clearly states that it has been built in Infernal forges.)

(*** headcanon warning: The Amulet of Vigor that is present in the Archive is actually proven to have some... Other invigorating capabilities ☠️☠️☠️ and the old, ancient, crazy wizard has the boudoir privileges. Coincidence? ☠️☠️)

Anyways, to sum up:

• Githyanki disc shows us a deal between Vlaakith and Raphael where the devil gives her the Astral Prism.

• Raphael orders creation of the Orphic Hammer (the name itself, come on, it's such a mockery just like House of Hope) to make sure that he has the means to free him if it will benefit him in any way.

• In exchange for the Hammer, he receives some kind of knowledge of ascension to godhood. (Lae'Zel tells us during the game that ascension is the githyanki's greatest honour but it turns out it is nothing else but ensuring that Vlaakith remains alive and a god, because she just consumes the life force of her greatest warriors)

• Hope's and Orpheus's chains are strikingly similar and the part of the Orphic Hammer is built from the same gem/crystal that seems to be enslaving both of them.

So yea, my humble request is that you start fully appreciating the incredible writing of the game, instead of just focusing on the shallow 'haha bottom' jokes. I could make another post about that itself, but it's pointless. I hope you enjoyed!

#baldur's gate 3 #fan theory #baldurs gate 3 theory #raphael the cambion #bg3 raphael #githyanki #orphic hammer #raphael baldur's gate 3 #dnd #dnd lore #tiamant #dungeons and dragons

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marvelmusing · 2 years ago

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Fear and Dreams

Pairing: Morpheus x Fear Spirit!Reader (gender neutral)

Summary: Morpheus has reclaimed his sand, and his helm. His ruby has fallen into the hands of a being capable of driving humans to madness. But you’re not what Morpheus expected.

A/N: Phobetor is actually the name of a Greek god but I’ve decided to alter it so that Phobetor’s are beings of fear (like how Erotes are the beings of love)

“So,” Matthew starts, fluttering his wings as he settles in front of Morpheus’ feet. “What now?”

The King of Dreams glances down at him,

“My ruby. It was stolen from a mortal by a Phobetor.”

“Pho-what?”

“A Phobetor.” Morpheus observes the landscape of Hell that surrounds them as he speaks, “Something mankind has often called a Frightener. They are known to filter into the human mind and create terrifying visions.”

Matthew’s head tilts as he considers his master’s words. The world seems to get stranger every minute of the raven’s new life.

“Isn’t that just a Nightmare?” Morpheus pulls his pouch of sand out from the pocket of his coat, pouring a handful into his palm.

“Phobetor’s are spirits of fear, they prey on humans both awake and asleep.” The sand slips through his fingers, spinning in the breeze and surrounding them both. “They are not mine to control as Nightmares are.”

With that, the sand spins faster, Endless and raven both disappearing from Hell, in search of Dream’s ruby.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Clicking your tongue in thought, you survey the options staring back at you from the pale glow of the fridge. You have had an exceptionally good night - spending the majority of your time scaring men away from groups of girls as they climb into their Uber’s. Whenever someone approached you at a bar, the feeling of dread once they met your eyes soon had them scampering away.

Now, you’re back in the small studio apartment you call home, searching for a late night snack. With a small huff, you close the fridge door, only to reveal a figure clothed in shadow, standing next to you. You meet his eyes, raising your brow in curiosity before you step away.

“And I thought I was good at scaring people.” You remark lightly, opening a cupboard to look for a packet of cookies.

The being says your name in a firm voice, every syllable dripping with authority, and a chill runs down your spine. He then continues to speak,

“Phobetor, Creature of Fear, you have something that belongs to me. I should like it back.” You raise a brow at him, shutting the cupboard and turning to face him.

“Something?”

With the helm tucked under his arm, it isn’t hard for you to figure out who has materialised in front of you. Lord Morpheus, King of Dream, and Ruler of the Nightmare Realms. An Endless.

“My ruby.” The ruby that current hangs around your neck, hidden under your shirt. You can feel the soothing chill of it against your skin. The corner of your mouth quirks as you lean back against your kitchen counter.

“Say please.” His expression doesn’t change, but he tilts his head aside slightly.

“You ask a king to plead?” You almost shiver at the low tone of his voice, instead you shrug casually.

“It’s my only demand.” You assure him, before you reason, “If you’re going to take the one thing that’s allowed me a peaceful night’s sleep, the least you can do is ask nicely.”

He straightens slightly, regarding you with cold blue eyes, illuminated by the moonlight shinning through the window, before he says,

“Please.”

A faint smile tugs at your lips before you look down. You pull at the chain around your neck, sliding it up along your skin and over your head. Then you hold it out to him. His eyes fix onto the ruby, but flicker up to meet your own gaze as he reaches out.

You hope he can’t see the reluctance in your eyes. You know the ruby is rightfully his. But being a spirit of fear meant that when you closed your eyes to rest, your own nature would turn on you, filling your mind with painful visions. You don’t what it’s like to dream.

The ruby settles in his palm, and you both stare down at the stone, soon hidden by his fingers curling firmly around it. There’s silence for a moment. You expect him to leave. He has his ruby, there is no reason why he should stay.

“You have trouble sleeping.” He states, and you nod.

“I’m not mortal. I can’t enter the Dreaming without an invitation.” You tell him. Physically, you could visit the Dreaming, but it would be bad manners to arrive without an invitation. Due to your nature, the Dream Lord would see you as a threat to the solace humans find in his kingdom. “Who knows what terrors I could wreak upon the dreamers.” You add, with a small twist on your lips.

You know what you are, there’s no changing that. But it would be nice for someone to see you as something not to be feared. Gods and men alike have always feared your kind.

Lord Morpheus’ expression doesn’t change, but something glistens in his eyes, some emotion or thought that you have no hope of deciphering.

Then he steps back, gesturing to the ruby still nestled in his palm. He nods, his eyes lowered for a moment.

“I will not forget this.”

You’re not sure if that was a threat, or the promise of some favour to be granted several centuries in the future. You don’t have time to ask him. Sand swirls around his form, and you hear the caw of a raven outside as he disappears from your sight. Back to the Dreaming.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Gritting your teeth, you suppress a growl at the jingle of your keys hitting the floor in front of your door. The lack of sleep over the last week has been getting to you. After almost a century of peaceful nights, due to the ruby, you had forgotten how terrible your mind could be.

Not to mention the thoughts of midnight blue eyes, sharp features, and dark hair that impose on your waking hours.

Swiping up your keys, you turn quickly when you hear your name. No one knows your name.

The postman backs away when he meets your eyes, no doubt seeing his deepest darkest fears reflected in your irises.

“Yes?” You say tersely, and he takes a step back, almost falling down the stairs behind him. He fumbles with a small box.

“A package for you.”

You lean forward, and you see his throat bob with anxiety as you read the name on the package. You recognise your family sigil, and realise this is no mortal delivery.

Taking the box from him draws a sigh of relief from the man, and he withdraws quickly, insisting that you have a nice day, before he all but runs down the stairs.

“You too.” You mumble in response, but the door at the entrance three floors down is already slamming shut. You groan, rubbing your eyes. You need to pull yourself together, before you make some poor mortal wet their pants.

Once you’re sitting down on your couch, you pull the box into your lap. Carefully, you tear at the brown paper, revealing a delicate looking white box. Pushing the lid up, you see a mass of black tissue paper, which you rummage through before finding what’s inside.

A small crystal, red and shimmering with power. There’s a fine gold chain attached to the roughly cut stone, with a small clasp. Without thinking, you place the necklace around your neck. It settles comfortably against your skin, and some unknown tension inside you eases.

It’s then that you notice the note.

A crisp piece of white card, with an accompanying message written in black ink.

Consider this your invitation to the Dreaming

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

#morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #the sandman x reader #dream of the endless #the sandman netflix #the sandman fanfic #morpheus imagines

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thenightling · 2 years ago

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Morpheus’s acts of kindness

A while back I made a post of Morpheus’s acts of assholery. Today I was asked to make a similar post about his acts of kindness and mercy, mostly from after his imprisonment in his “Time-Out Bubble.” So here we go...

These aren’t all of Morpheus’s acts of kindness but they are some of the best that I can think of.

1. Flying to Constantine’s rescue: When seeking his pouch of sand Morpheus and John Constantine discover that it is in the home of Rachel, Constantine’s ex-lover. Constantine gets grabbed up in a nightmare free fall and Morpheus saves him from it. Even though at that point he didn’t need Constantine anymore so the gesture was not because he had use for Constantine. Granted he might have thought it dishonorable to let someone die while helping him. Remember, It’s never just a dream.

2. Easing a child from his nightmare: Gently rescuing Mr. Miracle out of his recurring nightmare. Though Mr. Miracle is a grown man, because his dream-self was a child Morpheus treated him like a child. Dreams tend to reflect us as we truly are or as we see ourselves. So if someone dreams of themself as a child Morpheus respects that form as a child.

3. Mercy to his own would-be killer: After John Dee (Also known as Doctor Destiny) tried to kill Morpheus using his own ruby dreamstone amulet against him Morpheus took pity on him and took him home to Arkham asylum. Not only that but he restored John Dee’s lost ability to dream and, when he found out how difficult it is to rest in Arkham, he allowed everyone there to have a good, restful sleep, perhaps for the first time ever.

4. Acknowledging friendship: After walking out in a huff in the late nineteenth century, at the very notion that he might need friends, in 1989 Morpheus swallowed his pride and finally admitted that yes, Hob Gadling, was in fact his friend.

5. Anti-slavery: Though Morpheus doesn’t pay his subjects in money- he pays them in things like boons, or creepy haunted houses or near-infinite libraries- he does NOT condone slavery.

6. Rescuing Rose Walker: When Rose Walker was being attacked by Funland (Who intended to rap and likely murder her) Morpheus came to her rescue even though if Funland had done what he wanted, Morpheus would not have had to worry about the Dream Vortex. It was as if Morpheus had, even at that point, had been hoping for an excuse to let her live.

7. Does not like to kill: On at least two separate occasions Morpheus has firmly refused to kill. Even when dealing with a Dream Vortex he was reluctant to end a life. In fact he seemed relieved when Rose’s grandmother came up with another solution.

8. Waking Jed Walker: Morpheus brought Jed Walker out of his coma for Rose.

9. Acting as Calliope’s Avenging angel: Though Calliope is Morpheus’s ex-wife, Morpheus’s own experience in his “Time Out Bubble” (as some fans have named it) made him very sympathetic to the loss of dignity and autonomy that comes from being imprisoned and objectified by mortals.

First Morpheus attempted to tactfully request that Richard Madoc release Calliope. When he refused Morpheus took a more drastic approach. He flooded the writer with creative ideas and an obsessive need to release those ideas by any means necessary. He drove the man mad and Richard Madoc badly mutilated his own hands. When Morpheus finally did free Calliope Morpheus’s rage at her mistreatment was not entirely satiated. He left Madoc with no creativity at all, which is devastating for most writers.

10. When Morpheus was preparing to return to Hell, knowing he might not come back, he made it a point to visit his friend first and give him a very rare bottle of wine he found for him in dreams.

11. Rescuing Choronzon: Choronzon the demon had once challenged Morpheus over his helm. If he had won, he would have gained Morpheus as his slave. While traveling inside the demon Azazel Morpheus saw an imprisoned Choronzon. Instead of just leaving him there he took pity on him and rescued him too, despite what Choronzon had wanted to do to him.

12. Atoning for what he did to Nada: Though what Morpheus had done to Nada was terrible (leaving her in Hell for ten thousand years for rejecting him) once he realized he was wrong Morpheus did go out of his way to set things right. He feared being captured by Lucifer and risked his own safety for her. And finally he did apologize to her for what he had done. This may well have been his very first genuine apology. He came close to it with Calliope but this was the first real apology and to his own surprise he was forgiven. This would lead to him apologizing later for other misdeeds.

This later also leads to Morpheus apologizing to characters like Delirium when he upsets her.

The fact that she forgave him is important because I do not think he could forgive himself.

13. Removing Nuala’s glamour. Though it does not look like an act of kindness at first because he did not give her a choice in the matter, Morpheus actually did Nuala a favor by removing her glamour. Her glamour was a cultural conformity among the fae. They were all forced to wear glamours. Morpheus taught her to appreciate her true self.

This can be seen as metaphor for a trans person coming to terms with who they really as as opposed to what their families or society forces them to be. Later Nuala works up the courage to show up in the fae court without her glamour and when they don’t accept her, she decides to leave.

Part B: Subverting being given a slave: Morpheus had been given Nuala as a “gift” and this was essentially a trap. Titania must have known Morpheus does not condone slavery. Had he refused Nuala the fae would have taken insult and it would have been excuse enough to go to war for the key to Hell. In some lore Nuala is the name of a faery lover of Oberon. So either Titania was rid of her husband’s lover, or she had an excuse for war.

Morpheus had no choice but to accept Nuala but when her brother came to take her back to Faerie, Morpheus would not force her to stay. This actually upset Nuala who came from an ancient and slave-based culture. She wanted him to want to own her. Instead Morpheus offered her a boon as payment.

14. The Combo of asshole-kindness!:

This is a fun one. After Barbie’s friends entered The Dreaming corporeally and not actually asleep, Morpheus tells them that they are trapped there now. He also reminds Barbie that because she destroyed the Porpentine (Rose quartz dreamstone) that he owed her a boon, of anything she wanted.

Morpheus knew perfectly well that Barbie would not leave her friends to rot. He was both saving them and also doing away with owing Barbie a favor.

Bonus: He also prevented Thessaly from killing the Cuckoo just for following her nature.

15. Rescuing Marco Polo at risk to himself: After his captivity Morpheus had to travel through “The Shifting Zones” also known as “The Soft places.” Here he came across Marco Polo. Marco Polo did Morpheus the kindness of offering him water. Instead of leaving Marco Polo there, Morpheus used his last bit of strength to send Marco Polo home.

Morpheus was so weakened that he only made it home because Gregory found him and dragged him to The House of Mystery where Cain and Abel nursed him back to health.

16. Sympathy for Ruby: After Ruby dies during their adventure in Brief Lives Morpheus feels bad for what happened to her. He talks to Pharamond and his genuinely surprised at how callous Pharamond is about her death.

17 Reconciling with his son: Morpheus was forced to euthanize his own son but at least he reconciled with his son first. And during their estrangement Morpheus did protect his son without directly helping him. First he sent the priests to look after him and then he sent Johanna Constantine to rescue him during The French Revolution. And when Orpheus finally died it’s indicated that Morpheus saw to it he was at peace in Elysium (The good Greek afterlife).

18. Showing physical affection to Bast. We’re told Morpheus doesn’t express affection very well. And that he doesn’t really pet things but here we see him petting Bast during Brief lives.

19. Rescuing Cluracan: During The Worlds’ End we are told a tale of Morpheus rescuing Cluracan from imprisonment and iron restraints as a favor for Nuala for all she has done for him.

20. Rescuing Prez Rickard: When Prez ends up in a false Heaven dominated by Boss Smiely Death sends Morpheus to rescue Prez. Morpheus not only saves Prez but he also gives him access to the multiverse to improve and help all the different Americas across the multiverse.

21. Saving his friend: After Morpheus finally realizes that yes, Matthew is his friend, he gives Matthew his helm and pouch to bring back to the castle. He could have done this himself but he was doing this to protect Matthew.

22. Hope: It’s very clear Morpheus wanted to adopt the orphan child alien Hope. Not only could she see through his bullshit but he did a lot of small favors for her such as telling her a story he never told anyone else, giving her dreams of everything being kind, and wanting to protect her.

23. Giving a piece of The Dreaming to an ex-lover.

Far different from the brutal way he handled rejection from Nada, when Morpheus and Alianora broke up, he gave her a skerry (an Island) and the rose quartz dreamstone to govern it. This became The Land from the A Game of you storyline. He gave her a chunk of his kingdom and a (by his own description of the dreamstones) a piece of his very soul.

SHe did not leave The Land until the dreanstone was destroyed and even then she must have still been in The Dreaming because she was present for The Wake.

24. Bonus: According to two different asks sent to Neil Gaiman here on Tumblr, if Alexander Burgess had just released Morpheus, he would have shown him mercy instead of cursing him to Eternal Waking. But at least Alex was finally freed from that and Morpheus had never harmed Paul for being his captor’s lover and aiding in keeping him there.

https://neil-gaiman.tumblr.com/post/189188261931/sir-if-the-younger-burgess-had-freed-morpheus-as

#The Sandman #Sandman #Morpheus #Dream of The Endless #Neil Gaiman

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moon-lixie · 4 years ago

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Never mine - Bang Chan & Lee Minho

word count: 2.268k

song: Control - Halsey

cw: royal au, explicit depictions of violence and death, tons of angst, yay! :)

Kingdoms were meant to perish under the flame of his rage. The universe was intended to evaporate under the pressure of his heartache. And he was more than ready to tear everything apart, just for the soul that had been stolen from his side.

His feet impatiently tapped against the floor just like the seconds ticking by and eating away at his head. Knuckles turning white at the pressure with which he gripped the handle of his sword; he was ready to attack and yet all he could do was wait there.

Steps filled the hallway making the thick air fill with the first noise in hours. Black doors opened to reveal to the king's eyes his friend that shared grief with him.

“Everything is ready for battling, your majesty.” Minho bowed slightly at his friend that he had long lost to rage and desperation. But he was still there, somewhere deep inside and that’s why he wouldn’t give up just yet.

Chan barely nodded before moving his soulesss orbs towards the ground once more. The king was the terrifying example that the world could stain even the purest of souls.

Long gone was the monarch who deeply cared about his people and would prioritize peace over convenience at every chance he had. All that cruelty had left was a bitter man who was ready to risk it all in the name of vengeance.

“I’ll be taking my leave now.” Minho didn’t even have the chance to fully turn around before his friend’s voice echoed on the walls of the somber room. It was the first time he spoke in days.

“I can see the fear in your eyes.” The king’s steps resonated as he walked closer to the man he had known since childhood. “You should’ve expressed your dissent with my plans from the beginning.”

The eyes of the youngest wavered on the familiar features of the stern figure standing in front of him. He missed the soft smile that used to grace his lips with frequency, but that had been stolen from them just as your life was.

“As long as it brings you peace. We’ll do anything for you, your majesty.” There went another bow, Chan could almost scoff with displeasure, but his words oozed honesty so he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt get ahold of his chest.

“It’s your job to clear my mind when I’m being irrational, not agree with me on every impetuous plan.” His steps took him back to the cold throne responsible from the war that was yet to come. If only he didn’t wear a crown over his black locks, then everyone could be safe. But that would be like wishing the sky wasn’t the sky and the sea to be nothing but a void without water.

“With all due respect, your majesty, I haven’t said anything because I believe this to be the only way in which we should proceed.” That’s right, no matter how much he cared about the lives of the rest of the kingdom, he couldn’t deny the uneasy dark creeping in his heart.

Chan’s gaze softened before he took a look at the confident expression taking over the other’s features. “May I ask why that is?”

This time it was Minho’s turn to curl his fingers on the handle of his sword with bitterness and the rage that wrapped his figure ever since that fatal day. His gaze quickly travelled to the marble floor as his knuckles turned almost as white as the surface his eyes found solace in.

“You’re not the only one grieving their death," he muttered under his breath as tears prickled the corners of his eyes. That’s right, the king wasn’t the only one mourning the death of your once lively soul.

Minho wouldn’t dare say it aloud but he loved you, he had loved since the very first time his eyes laid over your sweet smile. He loved you so much that his heart broke when you married the king, and even more when he found your body had been stripped from life.

Tears rolled over the top of his cheeks and finally travelled with speed to find their end on the floor. Even though he tried hard to hide his face while looking down, Chan could see the anger and pain that every droplet carried.

Jealousy and agony mixed slowly into Chan’s heart. He hated to see the consequences that your absence brought, it broke him even more than he already was. At the same time, even when he knew Minho couldn’t have you, the thought of his friend loving you possibly as much as he did never failed to bring bitterness into the picture.

Silence thickened the tension of the room and just one sigh was enough to dissipate it once again. “I wish the world to pay as much as you do.”

Chan only nodded slowly at his words before dismissing him with a soft movement of his wrist. Minho was quick to escape the scene after that, bringing you up even when you breathed along with them had always been a sensitive topic.

The king was left to drown in bitterness once again and Minho had left to be haunted by your memory like any other day.

You had been poison to him, but the loveliest there could be. His soul had been corrupted and his heart stolen by the same pair of hands, yours.

As he walked through the corridors he could still feel your soft touch. Fingers lingering on top of the soft skin of his face. Lips waiting dangerously close to his as you promised to give your soul to him. He would never forget your promise to leave that place by his side.

The thought of breaking his friends heart had many times stopped him from loving you the way his heart had always desired. But after you expressed the same interest in him, he convinced himself that there was nothing else he could do but return your feelings. That’s when his heart first started turning bleak black but the sweetness of your lips was enough for him not to care.

The king was unknowingly avenging the death of someone who had been days away from breaking his heart and exposing him to the greatest pain of all. But he would never know, Minho had promised himself to keep it a secret until the day that death brought him back to you.

For now all he could do was lead the war in the name of love. Because for the rest of his existence he would feel the warmth of your hand in his and the love of your lips against his.

Your back was etched onto his memory like any other part of you, but for some reason that’s all he could see now. He could only see you standing far away from him with your back facing his cold expression.

His sword moved swiftly before yet another person fell to the ground. The mortal metal piece cut through the air with the same ease that it robbed life from others. Any other day Chan would be reluctant to do such things but not anymore, he was a different person than the one you used to know.

He often wondered if you would still love him if you saw him like this, covered in blood and with no trace of mercy shining in his eyes. If you saw him end the life of innocent people that only tried to protect their coward king, the one responsible for your death, would you still see him with such a sweet and tender gaze?

Metal clashed all around the field and he kept moving forward, making sure to destroy everything that stood in his way. He was already dead so he didn’t fear the sharp blades of his opponents; he had died the same day as you did because your soul took his with it.

As the battle continued he allowed his mind to drift away, after all, his body moved on instinct and it had been weeks since he had started daydreaming all day about you. Today he remembered the last time he saw you, so lively and happy.

Unlike the last days you had been smiling so brightly and laughing with the same frequency that you used to before. He thought that nothing could go wrong then, if you finally were happy again then he would allow himself to enjoy everyday yet again, by your side.

With one last kiss on the cheek you had attempted to leave but he stopped you to plant a sweet kiss at the top of your head. “Be careful,” he said while allowing his thumb to trace the outline of your cheek affectionately. And after that you were gone, in a carriage, in direction to god knows where.

You had said you wanted to get some fresh air and he saw no harm in it; if only he could turn back time and stop you from leaving his side, then everything would be the same as normal. You wouldn’t have gone through such pain when life abandoned your body and he wouldn’t have gone to this extent to try and cure his broken heart.

But now he knew that no matter how far he went or how many people faced death by his blade, he would never be content. If he couldn't have you then he didn’t want nothing but the whole world to perish before his eyes.

He missed feeling like himself. He longed to hear your laugh or at least see your face one more time, that way he could perhaps smile again. But that was more than impossible so he knew his soul was completely lost in the dark.

After weeks of destruction he marched triumphantly through the streets of an unknown city that had fallen to his feet. Steps took him to the castle and even further in, to the throne room.

“An eye for an eye. One life for another.” He pronounced with spite as he held the shiny blade against the other king’s throat who only had his title to support him. The death of a kingdomless king would faze nobody so he didn’t even hesitate before slitting his throat.

The once reasonable and kind king was now the one who sat covered in blood on the throne that used to belong to someone else. For the first time in long a little laugh escaped his lips. He was now the ruby king that wanted nothing but destruction, because it brought him the joy that you could no longer, or so he thought.

Kingdoms were meant to perish under the flame of his rage. And they were, they would burn and fall until his soulless mind felt satisfied.

“I love you.” It had been the first time you ever said that and he felt his heart leap inside his chest.

It was wrong and foolish but Minho didn’t desire to hold back anymore so he pressed his lips against yours. He was going to ignore who you were married to, who his close friend was and what was decency. Because he loved you more than it’s possible to explain with simple words.

You kissed him back with eagerness and allowed your hands to learn how his soft brown locks felt tousled and dishelbed. In return he held onto you as if letting go meant you disappearing from his life.

With every second that passed his heart sunk more in regret but he could barely notice because he could only think of you. The way in which your lips moved in perfect synch against his and the way his hand seemed to perfectly fit in the small of your back.

How much did a man need to lose composure? Apparently it was just one touch because when your fingertips brushed gently against the nape of his neck he was definitely lost. There and then he wanted nothing else than to have you forever.

His lips parted from yours and in his eyes glowed intensely something that you couldn’t quite decipher, not until he spoke. “Be mine, please. Let’s just be together, without everyone else standing in the middle.”

He saw a tint of fear come to life under your pupils but you still agreed, you still told him you loved him once again. He was ready to break his friend’s heart into pieces if it meant never having to walk away from you again.

The warmth of his mouth travelled your jaw and then your neck. He moved slowly like how steps approached the door that hid both of you. And when those steps finally reached the door it was too late.

The owner of the lonely steps carefully turned the knob and peeked inside the room only to be faced with heartache. What Chan saw was perhaps the most heartbreaking view he could’ve ever witnessed. His friend kissed away at the skin of the person who was supposed to only share love with him.

He left like he had never been there and neither you nor Minho ever knew that he had witnessed the start of such treason.

Minho loved you everyday more and Chan lived like he was in oblivion, still wanting to have you by his side. Still, the universe decided that if one of you couldn’t have you then perhaps none could.

You were never mine. Minho had thought when he knew that you would never be able to live by his side.

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