#anthropomorphic personification of lust

[realityhelixcreates]

Boarded Up Paradise pt 6

Nash tries to figure something out. Everyone tries to help.

Warning: extremely minor character death

song: Salt in Our Wounds-HIM (Both versions because I can't decide which one I like better)

Warning: Nash is still underage and some sexual-ish things do happen in this fic. Certain non-consensual actions are implied here and there.

@cardwrecks @captainbaddecisions @whocares-idont

“Huh.” Narci said, staring at the steaming corpse.

“Yeah.” Nash said, echoing his consternation.

“Kinda disappointing, honestly.”

“I expected him to last longer.” Nash approached, poking the body with his cane, to confirm its state of death. “Not to win, of course, but not to just die instantly either. Is the cube defective?”

He turned his cane on the puzzle cube, but it was inert.

“I'll have to take it apart and check. In the meantime, we need to get him to the harbor.”

It was easy to find enough junk to tie to the corpse in order to make him sink instantly under the waves, and it was no more polluting than anything else that went into the water around there. The dissatisfaction sat in Nash's stomach like a bad meal.

“Hey Narci, you...does it ever bother you? When they die?”

Narci draped an arm awkwardly over Nash's thin shoulders. Narci often acted like someone who had just been introduced to the concept of touch; like it was something that he wanted, but did not know how to do. In a way it reassured Nash; Narci obviously cared about him, if he was so willing to step outside of his comfort zone to offer Nash affection in a way unfamiliar to him. Nash was also unfamiliar with affectionate touch, but they would learn together.

“Sometimes.” Narci admitted. “Not really though? When I'm on a heist, I try to avoid people. If someone gets in my way, they're dead, and that's that. I can't afford to be seen most of the time, or Nightwing will be on my trail. No witnesses. When it comes to traps though...well, the spectacle is part of the point, isn't it? They aren't supposed to die fast, so it's disappointing if they do.”

“Yeah...Maybe?” Nash murmured, uncommitted. He wasn't so sure that was it. Well, that was partially it, but also...

Wasn't he supposed to feel something?

Wasn't there supposed to be horror? Regret? Wasn't there supposed to be satisfaction? Why did he still feel empty?

“Do you want to go get a snack?” Narci asked. Nash shook his head.

“No. I...I think I'd like to go to bed actually. This was all kinda tiring.”

“Oh. Well yeah, and you've got school still too, don't you? Are you still going?”

“Yeah. Keeps me in a warm place for most of the day, even if it does feel kinda pointless.”

“So you'll need your sleep. Just...just be careful okay? If you ever need me for anything at all, just say so. Nothing will get in my way.”

Puzzles helped him dismantle the cube, Nash examining every little part. A misaligned wire, a tiny mistake on his part, had cost a man his life. Nash was of the opinion that he probably would have died anyway, but the point was to at least give him a chance. Make him confront his inadequacy, come to understand where he went wrong. Nash was perfectly willing to free his targets if they performed adequately, it was just rare. But the chance was still there, it had to be. It had to be, or he was just another mundane murderer.

They were murderers, Nash knew and accepted this, even as some tiny part of him knew that very acceptance was concerning. They were murderers, but they were not mundane. They were not brutes, or madmen. They were principled. They all had their reasons, and Nash knew, if nothing was done about the state of his world, nothing would change. Things had gotten so bad...it would take something equally as extreme to even begin to address it.

Puzzles agreed with him.

“People at the top of the heap have no incentive to change their ways.” he pointed out. “That incentive needs to be forced on them. Look at every revolution ever. Kings and Tsars, colonizing states and business owners given chance after chance, plan after plan to make things better. And each time, they ignore, they imprison, they slaughter anyone who dares to suggest things aren't already perfect. Then they are so surprised when those changes become written in their own blood. It isn't wrong to fight back against what's trying to kill you. Even insects do that.”

“But...shouldn't I feel guilty?” Nash asked. “Even a little bit?”

“Maybe. Maybe if you hadn't seen the rot beneath the bricks, you would. There comes a time in everyone's life where they become disillusioned, it just happened early for you. That simply means you have that much more time to become what you want to be. Initial mistakes like this-” Puzzles held up the dismantled cube. “-can be ironed out early.”

He had a point. Maybe not feeling that guilt was a blessing, rather than an indicator that something was terribly wrong with him. He'd been filled with guilt since his mother had died; maybe he had reached capacity.

Puzzles offered him a meal and a bed for the night, and this time Nash took him up on the offer. He was tired, and though he couldn't finish the meal-not just because he couldn't eat much in one sitting, but also because Puzzles liked his food blisteringly spicy-the awkward and overly formal care Puzzles showed him filled the emptiness inside just a little.

Nash kept his head down at school the next day, diligently taking his notes, and doing his best not to get on anybodies nerves. The girl who had been noticing him kept stealing glances his way. Normally, he would have ignored her, but right now...

Did she suspect him? She'd been paying so much attention to him lately. What did she want?

She caught him after school, just as he was leaving. What was her name again? Amy? Yes, Amy.

“Eddie! Hi!” she called, her voice sounding falsely chipper. She definitely wanted something from him, and it put him on edge.

“Er, hi Amy. What...what is it?”

She frowned slightly, just for a moment.

“Annie. Anyway, I was thinking, I've gotten a bit behind in class, and I noticed, you're really smart. You always do really well on the tests. I'd love to know your secret.”

The clumsily sly tone on the last sentence. She did suspect him, didn't she? Accusing him of having a secret. How much did she know?

“Well, actually, I was wondering if you'd like to study together, say tonight?” she continued, looking up through her eyelashes at him. “We could maybe be really helpful to each other, you know?”

Oh. He understood now, what her intentions were, and nearly blushed at the audacity of it. No one had ever tried that with him before, though he supposed it wouldn't be the last time someone made the attempt.

“O-okay. Well...Meet me at around six?” He gave her the address and she hurried off to her extracurriculars, a lively spring in her step.

Nash hadn't expected anything like this to happen for a while yet, but it might be interesting. In the meantime, he had someone he needed to talk to.

“Hey Swag? How do I flirt?” Nash asked, lightly sipping a small glass of ginger ale. It was before business hours at the club, so he was allowed inside. Those were the rules.

His elder counterpart leaned against the bar, his face splitting into a charming, weathered smile.

“That's so cute. You're growing up.”

“Don't talk down to me.” Nash sulked. “ I just figured you're probably the best at flirting.”

Swag shrugged.

“Maybe not the best ever, but damn good enough. Well...at your age? I'd say just be yourself, but...”

“But I'd point out the hypocrisy immediately.” Swag put on an act around other people, and everyone knew it. It was part of the draw. But Nash couldn't do that, not yet.

“Nail on the head. Flirtin' ain't necessarily something that can be taught. It's not just a series of pickup lines, though that can work if you play it right. It's a bit more like exaggerating whatcha got. Playing to your strengths. Me, I like to gas up my looks, and maintain that delicate balance between bragging and humor. Keeps people on their toes, and they love it. You though...”

“I'm not very humorous.” Nash stated. He knew that already. There were class clowns, and there were charmingly witty people, and he was neither of those things. Too serious, too weak, too focused on whatever he was doing. He stretched his thin brown hands out in front of him, and placed them to his cheeks, the only part of him that retained any of the round softness of childhood. They would probably melt away soon too, just as the rest of his body had.

“Looks, huh? I don't have that going for me either.”

Not when compared to the others, the unearthly perfection of Detective, Puzzles and Narci's sculpted beauty, Arkham's rough masculinity, Swag and YJ's warm, mature handsomeness. He wasn't even done growing yet! He was short and ungainly, and far too thin. His eyes were sunken, his skin neither dark enough to be striking, nor pale enough to be conventional. And people didn't find intelligence attractive when it was in the wrong body, when it used words awkwardly, when it was shy and hostile, and wounded.

“Ehh, well. It's not so bad.” Swag interrupted his musings. “At the risk of sounding weird, you've got some good points. Nice smile, nice hair, beautiful eyes. You're prolly gonna grow up pretty handsome. You maybe won't knock 'em dead right now, but you've got potential. Anybody getting in on the ground floor now might be in for something good. Just be responsible, okay? You need any, uh, supplies, you can ask me, it's fine.”

Nash made a face.

“Yeah that does sound kinda weird.”

“I figured. Sorry little man, I'm still working on this big bro/weird uncle thing. So, it maybe depends more on what you want out of...whatever it is that's on your mind.”

“Well...something came up kinda suddenly, and I thought I might need help. But maybe I should just be myself. If somebody wants me, then I'm what they're gonna get, after all.”

“Not a bad philosophy.”

“And I'll have a gift for them too. Everyone likes gifts.”

“Sounds like a plan, little man. Good luck.”

Shadows surrounded Nash the instant he stepped inside, a whirlwind embrace of worried demon.

“~You didn't come back~” Lust exclaimed. “~You went out after that officer of yours, and you didn'tcome back! I remembered that these officers sometimes carry guns, and the human body is so fragile. You're not hurt are you? He did not hurt you~”

“No, I-I'm fine! He's dead, it's nothing. I just got caught up in what I was doing and crashed at Puzzle's place. And then I had school, and...you were really worried about me?”

“~Yes! Why wouldn't I be? Do I not know all the terrible things that can befall a mortal soul? And with no contact from you, how could I know you were safe~”

“No, I just-I mean...I didn't know you cared about me that much.”

The demon pulled back, eyes as blue and round as always.

“~Well. It looks as if I do. You and I, we have no one else in this world, do we? Currently, all our allies are in other realities, and are not always available. But the two of us have this domicile, and this shared space feels better with you in it.~”

“Oh. I...um...” he should say something, he thought, but the words clung to his tongue, refusing to be released.

A tentative knock at the back door saved him. He rested his hands on Lusts shadowy shoulders, stepping out of the demon's embrace.

“Wait here.” Nash said. “I've brought you a gift.”

[scifrey]

Hold Tight (1/6)

Status: Complete. Unbeta'd, we die like Hob doesn't.

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse, but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death. Also includes some erotic content. Please curate your internet experience accordingly.

Relationships:  Morpheus | Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Past Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past), Hector Hall/Lyta Hall (past)

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Matthew the Raven, Desire of the Endless, Lyta Trevor-Hall, Daniel Hall, Rose Walker, Jed Walker 

Summary:

Hob is tasked with his first quest as Vassal of the Endless, Morpheus is bad at using his words, Destiny thinks he's so clever, Desire makes a confession, Rose Walker meets her Uncle's boyfriend, and Lyta Hall punches Dream of the Endless in the nose. Or, the one where Hob Gadling turns into everyone's therapist, and honestly, he ain't mad about it.

Set at the end of Cling Fast - after the premiere of “Elizabethan Manor”, but before the Epilogue.

READ ON AO3 or below:

~~~

It’s not like Hob’s been walking around with a ring in his pocket.

After six-hundred and sixty-seven years of… well, he wouldn’t call it pining, obviously he hasn’t been steadily and consistently lusting or moping after Morpheus for the better part of seven centuries. And he’d been married and very much in love with his late wife, thank you very much. 

Maybe better to call it ‘carrying a torch’, or ‘wistfully wondering’ or, or any other euphemism to explain the tender affection and exasperation he felt toward the King of Dreams and Nightmares before he actually got to know the anthropomorphic personification. 

The point is, Hob hasn’t spent the greater part of his life wishing he could formalize the tying together of his life and heart with that of said affectionate and exasperating anthropomorphic personification.

At his most bold, Hob had imagined himself as a liegeman, or a romantical knight-errant experiencing the adventures and quests of human life on behalf of his otherworldly Lordling Stranger. He’d worn his Lord’s colours in gallantry without knowing his name, and ached for their once-a-century meetings, and never dared to daydream for more than that. Except for in 1789. But if you had seen Morpheus in those breeches, you’d hardly have been able to keep your lewd little fantasies from springing into existence, either.

But then had come the TV show, and the resultant scouring of Hob’s soul, and the missed messages of flowers, and hideous bouquets, and vaguely kinky monsterfucking sex on the shores of a sea full of dreams and nightmares. And after that had come a year of experiencing the joys of the Dreaming together, exploring the Waking together, and reaffirming their passions in the liminal space between the two that was Hob’s bed, and then a promise of retirement and domesticity, and honestly, you can’t blame Hob!

Being both Unaging and Immortal, and therefore obligated to move on from his established life every forty-or-so-years, Hob Gadling gets to keep so little: only his name, his memories, and his word. So now that he has Morpheus to call his own, he wants to keep him as close as possible, for as long as possible.

Hob Gadling is, and always will be, a clingy bastard.

But it’s not like he’s carrying a ring around in his pocket.

“Uh-huh,” doctor Harriet Butler says from the other side of the table in the university’s canteen.  Everything about Harri’s expression–the twinkling gaze, the mirthful curl of her lips, the little shake of her head–makes it very clear that she’s taking the piss.

She’s popped by the school to pick his brain and leave him a copy of her new manuscript for him to review. It’s a narrative nonfiction about court life in the heyday of Elizabethan England, and while Hob didn’t personally know the courtier the tale follows, he knows that his red pen will likely be of some use to Harri. And he’s delighted to do it, besides. He can’t wait to see what their time together on set has wrought in her prose.

“Should I be getting a ring?” Hob asks, derailing himself when he realises that he’s been banging on about this for the whole of their little lunch date. “I mean, he was married before, but that was to a Grecian goddess.”

“The ancient Greeks wore wedding rings,” Harri points out. 

Hob lets the noise of the crowded canteen wash over him as he contemplates that… that Morpheus would know what it meant if Hob ever presented him with a ring. 

It’s too soon!

Is it too soon?

Hob’s already pretty much demanded that Morpheus move in with him. And to be fair, while he hasn’t been pining for the last seven centuries, now that they are together, he is as sure about Morpheus as he is about not wanting to die.

But does that mean that Morpheus is sure?

The rambunctious shouts of excited students, the clatter of lunch trays and flatware, the muszak playing gently over the tannoy, it’s all just so noisy. He sometimes forgets how quiet the world used to be. Taverns were loud. Festivals were loud. Full churches were loud. But the ever-present music and white noise permeating every moment of existence hadn’t been woven into all the terribly small and mortal parts of his life.

It reminds him, all of a sudden, of how… well, how not grand Dr. Bob Gadlen’s academic little world is. What time isn’t taken up by marking and preparing lectures is devoted to guiding malleable young minds, or to influencing city and historic councils (which takes a lot of research and a lot of passionate speeches at after hours meetings), or to researching and practicing guest lectures, or to spending a weekend with cobwebs in his hair and a hammer in his hand and sweat on his brow as he personally repairs the disintegrating parts of The White Horse, or putting on a stupid suit to go into the City to sort out his real estate investments and charitable donations, or taking a spare shift at the Inn to cover for a sick employee, or… or any manner of small, boring, uninteresting mundanities that make up the life of Doc Bob.

And maybe that’s not something that Dream of the Endless, Morpheus the God of Sleep, the Lord Shaper, the Prince of Stories, the King of Fantasy and Nightmares, the Oneiromancer wants.

“Maybe he doesn’t even want a ring, maybe that’s not something that…” Hob says, slouching back in his chair and feeling very suddenly like a small, silly, over-excited child. “That anthropomorphic personifications of the human unconscious do.”

Harri points at him with her salad fork. “You also said that you didn’t think that he would want down-and-dirty sweaty animal sex and–”

Hob groans and covers his face with his hands. “I can’t believe you got me drunk enough to tell you about that.”

He could drown himself in his soup. That could be a thing. It would get him out of this conversation. Unfortunately, it would not deter the only mortal friend who knew what he was. She’d just wait around for him to wake up, probably with her camera out to catch the pieces of noodle sliding from his cheeks.

“Be honest, Hob, is this angst about Morph maybe not wanting a ring? Or is it about your fear that Morph may not want to be tied down before he’s even really lived as a human? Or are you worrying that once he is human and free of his function, with all the world at his feet, he may not want marriage with you?” Harri asks, painfully astute, as ever.

Painfully.

“Godswounds, I didn’t even think of that,” Hob groans and swirls his soup dejectedly. “I mean, I told him that I’d take care of him, when it was all done and he was… you know…”

“Dead?”

“We’re not using that word,” he says sternly.

Harri shrugs and doesn’t let his grumpiness get to her.

Hob tugs on his ear. “But it never occurred to me that… that he might deserve the chance to live apart from me, you know, get his own flat, cook his own meals, travel, maybe meet someone else, someone–”

“Okay, okay, this is spiraling,” Harri says, and slips around the table to wrap Hob in a crushing hug.

Hob lets his verbal torrent dry up, and presses his forehead into her shoulder. She gives him another good hard squeeze, and then sits back to meet Hob’s eyes.

“Listen, you asked him to move in, and he said yes, so don’t second-guess yourself. He’s made it abundantly clear how much he enjoys being yours,” she adds with an eye roll. “I’ve never ‘accidentally’ caught sight of so many bruises and hickies in so many interesting places as I have in the last six months.”

“He could make them go away, you know,” Hob mimics Morpheus’ dramatic sand-flinging finger wiggle. “Before he wears a low-cut shirt or reaches up for something on a high shelf.”

“And he doesn’t, so what does that tell you?” Harri squeezes his shoulder once and shakes him a little. “Come on, Doc Bob, you’re supposed to be the wise old one here.”

The thing is, Hob is human. And therefore he has that very human urge to find love and cleave to it. And Morpheus is very slowly, very gradually becoming human himself. Night after night, a little more of Morpheus’ power trickles from him into the infant Morpheus has only ever called “the child” or “my heir” as the little boy sleeps.

It’s literally a trickle, and Hob knows this because the day the baby was born, a massive hourglass appeared in the middle stained glass window behind his lover’s throne. 

In the left-hand pane, a stylized depiction of Morpheus-as-Dream gazes magnanimously down upon any who enter the hall. The rightmost pane depicts an infant dressed all in white, hair and skin as colourless as his clothes, eyes the colour of shamrocks. And every night, when Hob meets Dream at the seat of his power, the lad in the right-hand pane appears older, brighter, his gaze more otherwordly. And every night, the Morpheus in the left-hand pane appears more human, his eyes less fathomless, his skin less eldritch-white and more pink with health.

 And every night, there is more sand in the bottom of the hourglass than there was previously.

Hob still hasn’t met the child, nor Morpheus’ mortal niece and nephew. He hasn’t insisted either, figuring that Morpheus will share his family, and his successor, with his lover when he’s ready. But he’s becoming less and less the master of the Dreaming with each passing hour, and Hob can’t help but wonder if maybe Morpheus doesn’t want him to meet them. That maybe he’s deliberately keeping his Endless life separate from his soon-to-be-human one.

So that when it’s all… all over, then there will be nothing tying him back to his Endlessness.

Maybe that’s what Morpheus wants.

Or… or maybe Morpheus just doesn’t trust Hob with his own Endless family. Maybe he’s keeping them from Hob, the way that Hob hoarded Eleanor, and Robyn, and Wee John (though he hadn’t, not really; if Morpheus had appeared in the welcome hall at Gadlen House at any point of his marriage and demanded to be introduced to Hob’s wife and children, he would have fallen all over himself with pride to do so.)

No, Hob’s being ridiculous. Morph’s just busy. Turning over the entirety of your kingdom and selfhood to an entirely different person, while also training that other person how to be you, while they are already, in essence, completely you, is… well, it sounds like a lot. Morpheus has just been distracted, that’s all.

“It’s too soon for rings, anyway,” Hob hedges, voice rough and brain spinning. Although, Too Soon has a different meaning nowadays. He’d met and married Eleanor within the span of three months, and they’d only waited that long because the banns had to be read on three consecutive Sundays before they could be trothed.

But in the twenty-first century, it seemed like dating for anything less than a year before popping the question was considered inordinately fast. And as much as Hob likes to tease his lover and call their centenary meetings’ ‘dates’, they weren’t. Not really. Not in the way that it means now.

“And there’s so much happening, I don’t want to be a distraction, or a… a burden, or–”

Harriet pinches him.

“Okay, okay,” Hob capitulates. “I’m overthinking it.”

“You are,” Harri agrees, and goes back to both her seat and her salad. “You want to be with him. And he wants to be with you. You will be. You are. So there’s no rush. You both have literally all the time in the world.”

If Hob had to bet which of the Endless would ask a boon of him first, his money would have been on Desire. He knows Desire and Dream have a rivalry, which Hob figured the former would have capitalised on the second they had free reign.

And to be honest, Hob spends a lot of time in their realm since he’s worked out how to translate Morpheus’ overdramatically, swoony Victorian flower messages. Hob is obviously pretty well known to the each of the Endless, and thought Desire in particular would have a favour or just a prank or a snipe they’d want to pull.

Yet, it’s been months, and none of Morpheus’ siblings have formally introduced themselves to him. That he knows of, of course. He wouldn't even begin to guess at what they looked like in human form—though he figures they’d all be as Otherworldly beautiful and easy to pick out of a crowd as Death and Morpheus had been. 

No one has approached him for strange little favours, or pulled him aside for awkward conversations, or appeared mysteriously over his shoulder while he’s marking in his office. The only folks who’ve buttonholed him lately are some of his students wanting him to sign autographs or chair their Alphabet Army Club, now that it’s been splashed all over the media just how terribly queer Hob is.

(Hob had been right, and that photo of him smoldering at Morpheus on the red carpet had put Oscar Issacs and Jessica Chastaine’s similar shot to shame. He’d had it professionally printed and framed to hang in his bedroom.)

But like the tinny, annoying buzz of the fridge on days when a headache or stress has made the white-noise impossible to ignore, every once and a while, Hob remembers that he’s pledged to service to six entities he doesn't know, doesn’t trust, and doesn’t have any way to contact. Having been made vassal to each of the Endless, Hob was at their beck and call, sworn to serve them where he could, in exchange for permission and approval to be courted by Morpheus. And yet…

Hob hadn’t actually been party to those negotiations, which at that time had felt insultingly high-handed of Morpheus. His lover had not only made promises of subjugation on his behalf, but did so without Hob even knowing the talks were happening. Acts of Service, especially in the guise of feeding people and wheedling his lover to try new foods, might be Hob’s love language, but being sworn to serve something and someone without his consent had been… he’d been well and truly miffed.

Especially since he hadn’t been present to negotiate limits. Hob was willing to do pretty much anything and everything Morpheus asked of him (or any other iteration of Dream of the Endless who came calling, honestly), Hob was not about to fuck someone for Desire, or kill someone for Death, or slip roofies into someone’s drink for Delierum, or… or whatever else an anthropomorphic personification may ask of a human.

He was absolutely unwilling to harm anyone else.

But Morpheus had reassured him that whatever boon may be requested, it would not be in service of hurt or pain, either to other sentient beings, or to himself. Mollified by that at least, Hob had begun to envision what sorts of heroic quests or deeds he may get to embark on in the name of his de facto in-laws. Perhaps saving some damsels, or participating in a spy sting, or going on an epic adventure to retrieve a lost artefact.

So far though... nothing.

So when his first Endless comes knocking, so to speak, it takes Hob a few minutes to figure out what it is that he’s looking at. He had assumed messages from the other Endless would come on scrolls, or sealed letters written on parchment, or through some sort of animal herald like Matthew.

But no. And it is not via a herald.

It is not Desire.

Destiny contacts Hob through, of all things, text message.

Hob is enjoying the mild evening out back of the Inn, in the section of the property that is Hob's private garden.

Out front and around the side of the building, the gravel parking lot is peppered with more picnic tables, bike racks, and flower-choked planters than spaces for cars, which is Hob's subtle way of encouraging his patrons to not drink and drive. The forsythia that Morpheus' regard had caused to spontaneously grow all along the borders is just starting to show little yellow buds, and it's quite pleasant out there this year.

Pleasant. But busy.

At the back of the building, Hob's garden is ringed in with an old-fashioned bramble hedgerow, planted with blackberries, raspberries, and roses. Matthew had eaten his roly-poly fill the previous autumn, competing with the New Kid, who'd foraged fresh ingredients for cocktails and tarts. The carpet of clover that makes up the yard is thick, resilient and just beginning to spring back to life from its time crushed under the winter snow. In the centre of the little green field sits a circle of flagstones and fine red graven, just large enough for three curved loveseats and a small fire cairn.

It's an excellent place to watch a brisk spring sunset, and right now Hob is torn between wanting to start a fire, and being terribly comfortable cozied up on one of the loveseats under a blanket. Morpheus won't be back from his heir’s afternoon nap for at least another hour, and it's starting to grow too dark to proofread any more of Harri's manuscript.

Hob's just decided that maybe he'll pop inside and pester Patrick for a laugh when his phone pings. He doesn't recognize the name or the number, and when he swipes the message open, he has to read it three times over before he clues in who it might be from.

Vassal - I task you with this quest: heal the rift that lies between Rose and Jed Walker’s friend Lyta Trevor-Hall, and Dream of the Endless. It would behoove us all to strengthen the ties that bind.

The contact appears in Hob’s phone as D#1, which makes Hob snort. Sure enough, when he opens his Contacts, he’s got Ds 1 through 7 listed, though D#4 has no associated phone number. He immediately changes D#3 to Best Beloved. Morpheus has no cell phone, of course, that Hob knows of, so he wonders how the Endless are actually managing texting.

He considers showing the text first to Morpheus, and then to Matthew, and after deliberating both possibilities, decides to undertake this doing for Destiny on the sly. After all, if he’d wanted his brother to know, the Destiny would have looped either one or both of the fussy black birds Hob calls his own into the communication.

This is a task for Hob, and Hob alone.

The call of adventure thrumming in his blood, Hob collects up the manuscript, blanket, red pens, phone, and empty pint glass, and patters inside. He knows Rose Walker and her brother Jed live in New Jersey, are the grandchildren of Desire and the late sugar heiress Unity Kincaid, and they became the sole benefactors of her fortune when she died. Beyond that, he has no idea where they might be, or what they might look like, or even how he would go about getting in contact with them. 

And through them, this Lyta Trevor-Hall.

But he is a researcher in profession, and a horrible nosy busy-body in life, and wealthy enough to hire all the private detectives he might need. So he drops his stuff on the sofa, slides his laptop out of his hunter-green leather satchel, and gets to work.

Turns out, though, that Hob needs none of those advanced research skills or wealth. A single Google search turns up Rose's social media profiles, a dozen news articles about Unity and the Sleepy Sickness, a further seven articles in industry magazines about the Kincaid Sugar Trust, an announcement in Publisher’s Weekly about Rose’s forthcoming YA novel, and a single newspaper article about the brutal serial-killer death of a couple named Barnaby and Clarice.

He spends the next hour reading and making notes. He stops only the once to punch a sofa cushion while wishing it was Barnaby's face, then pour himself a careful measure of whiskey. Not too much, though. He wants to do this next bit sober. 

Hob writes and deletes about five different versions of an introductory email before deciding to YOLO FOMO YEET whatever-it-is-the-youth-say-today is, and slides into Rose Walker's DMs.

Hi! You don't know me, but my name is Bob Gadlen and I'm a professor at the University of York in London. I'm reaching out because my boyfriend is a buttoned-up, emotionally constipated twat, and though he'd never say it, I think he misses you.

It’s enough information for Rose to Google him, and get a good idea that he’s who he says he is, and is a public enough a figure that he may be trustworthy. Hob then attaches a selfie he took downstairs in the pub of The New Inn. In the photo, Hob is laughing with crinkled cheeks and an open-mouthed smile, leaning back against the banquette. Morpheus is tucked in behind his shoulder, scowling at the camera with glacier-blue eyes, face resting against Hob's neck. Matthew is visible in the corner of the photo, perched on the sill of an open window, beak stuck in Morpheus' glass of wine.

It's just coming on the end of the work day in New Jersey, so Hob assumes that he's not going to get an answer right away. Especially if Rose has her privacy settings jacked all the way up. So he sets down his phone and starts researching flight costs and hotels. 

A few seconds later, though, his phone pings.

Yeah, Rose Walker has replied. That sounds like Uncle Dream.

NEXT PART

[pagablog]

Pheromone Sandwich

Dream/Hob | Explicit | 2024 words | omegaverse | Read on AO3

Dating the anthropomorphic personification of dreams came with it's own challenges. It also came with it's own perks. Dream didn't need to adhere to any gender rules, nor secondary gender rules. He could present as anything he wanted. And he could be at two place at the same time. Or Hob gets to fuck Dream as Dream fucks him at the same time

Hob opens his eyes to the sweet smell of omega in heat. Specifically, his omega. His Dream. He groans as his cock swells at the pheromones in the air.  

“There you are,” Dream murmurs above him. He brings his hand to Hob’s cheek and leans down to kiss him, his other hand snaking its way to Hob’s cock and wrapping his sinful fingers around it.  

Hob is lost in the filthy kiss, in the scent, so happy whenever Dream chooses to go into heat. So happy to share them with him, to provide in pleasure and comfort, in his body, his knot. Anything his sweet omega needs.  

“Hob,” Dream mewls at him, “need you. Need you in me, alpha.”  

Fire runs down his spine, he growls and flips them, pining Dream beneath him. Dream brings up his legs around Hob’s torso and grinds his erect cock into his. Hob nuzzles into Dream’s neck, licking at the mating mark. Inhaling the intoxicating pheromones of omega and mate and home.  

Normally when Dream starts his heat, it brings upon Hob’s rut with it. They spend days holed in Hob’s bedroom. Not leaving their new nest. But not this time. Hob’s rut would stop their plans for tonight. So, it doesn’t start. Because here they can choose what happens.  

Hob all but whines bringing out a soft laugh out of Dream.  

“I’m the one in heat, I’m supposed to be needy.”  

Hob looks at him then and sees the warmth of his star speckled eyes and the smile on his beautiful lips.  

“Anything you need,” Hob says, grinding down his hips to meet with Dreams, “I’ll give it to you. Anything.”  

“I know,” Dream says and cradles his fingers in Hob’s hair bringing their mouths together in a soft kiss. More tender than urgent.  

Dream gasps into the kiss as Hob’s fingers find their way into his cunt. It’s hot and wet in there, an inferno of desire and love. There’s no need for stretching, Dream’s too worked up for that. Already wide and waiting for Hob’s knot. And yet Hob cannot stop himself from spreading his fingers inside, knowing it’s not enough to truly satisfy his mate. He greedily swallows the mewls and grunts escaping Dream’s lips.  

“Enough teasing,” Dream says and looks at him with teared up eyes. “Please,” he adds.  

Who is he to refuse his mate when he asks so nicely. When he lies beneath him so beautiful. So perfect. Hob leans down to kiss the single tear that escaped his lashes away.  

“Turn around, my beloved.”  

Dream does so with huff, he lands on his arms and knees. He arches his back and holds his ass high in the air. Hob’s mouth goes dry at the sight.  

Hob shuffles closer, leans over his lover, presses his chest along his back and nips the the back of his neck.  

“You menace,” he growls, his hands going to Dream’s ass, squeezing the cheeks.  

“Anything to get you in me faster,” Dream retorts, but his words are cut short by his shuddering moan as Hob breaches his entrance with the head of his cock.  

He enters slowly, savoring the feeling of friction and heat encompassing him. He closes his eyes and they both moan in unison as Hob’s balls hit Dream’s soft skin.  

Hob leans down and presses his nose to Dream’s neck, inhaling his pheromones addled with lust and pleasure. Giving Dream a moment to adjust and allowing himself a moment to compose so he doesn’t come too quickly.  

The bed behind him dents as someone comes to kneel behind him. Hob lifts his head in the air, smelling the new scent in the room. He feels no danger, no threat, even as a scent of a new alpha hits his nose.  

The alpha pheromones are new, the desire in them strong enough to make Hob’s breath catch. But there is another scent, the one he’s known for centuries. The scent that screams at him mate . Hob’s mate, his home, his love.  

“My, my, what a beautiful sight you make,” Dream murmurs behind him, his voice just a tad lower than normal.  

Dream leans against Hob’s back brings his nose to his neck, inhaling loudly. Hob instinctively offers his neck, turning his head to the side, making more room for Dream to scent him.  

He moans as omega before him squeezes his walls around Hob’s dick and the alpha behind gently nips at his neck.  

The pheromones in the air are driving him crazy. Dream is before him, an omega in heat, and Dream is behind, an alpha nearing his rut. Their scents are driving his lust filled brain mad. He doesn’t know what to do. He wants to be good, to provide them both.  

He wants to fuck and to be fucked, to be anything Dream wants of him.  

“Shhh,” Dream says, “don’t worry, my love, I’ll take care of you.” He turns Hob’s head and kisses him. Then he feels it. Dream’s prodding finger at his entrance, pushing in softly, slowly.  

He moans and his hips falter, bringing his dick ever so slightly out of Dream. Who simply sneezes at him again and shifts his hips to come after him, enveloping him in his heat once more.  

He looks over his shoulder and smiles, “I’ll keep you warm until you’re ready.”  

Hob might sob, what did he do to deserve this.  

Dream hums behind him, “my perfect mate,” he whispers in his ear and lets go of his head, pushing him forward until he’s lying on top of the omega, who now holds his weight.  

Hob feels another lubed finger entering him, stretching him deliciously.  

“So good for me,” the omega says, rocking slowly on his cock. “You take me so well.”  

Hob presses his lips to the mating bite and brings his hand to the omega’s dick. But a hand stops him.  

“Not yet,” Dream says behind him, his breath hot at Hob’s ear. “We wouldn’t want this to end too soon.”  

Hob cries out as a third finger stretches him; he could’ve sworn that Dream’s fingers were never so thick. The burn is delicious and he’s going mad with want.  

“Please, love, enough teasing.” Hob begs and makes both his lovers, who are both simply Dream, laugh.  

“That’s what I said,” Dream says and Hob isn’t sure which one was it.  

“Please,” Hob begs again.  

The fingers retreat and Hob feels so empty, he could cry. Dream shifts behind him, he brings his hand in front of Hob, where he’s connected to the one in front. The alpha collects some of the slick escaping around Hob’s cock and smears it across his dick.  

Hob’s brain fires with the image of Dream’s cock lubed with his own slick, how wonderful it will feel.  

The image is soon replaced with the feeling, as the alpha breaches his rim ever so slowly. Hob can smell the desire on him, the lust in it clouds Hob’s own mind. And yet, Dream is so gentle, so careful not hurt him.  

Hob cries out in pleasure and in love when he’s finally full, sandwiched between two bodies. Both Dreams moan in unison and it makes Hob’s dick twitch inside the omega.  

“So perfect,” the omega says and moves forward sliding off his dick and moving again, taking him back in at the same time as the alpha starts moving behind him.  

“Feel so good, on my dick, inside me. My perfect mate,” says the alpha, nipping at Hobs neck.  

He feels so good, stretched around Dream, filling him at the same time. He can’t move, can’t do anything but take it, as Dream drives his pleasure to new highs. His hips buckle in useless effort as his mate drives into him.  

“You sound so good, my own personal symphony,” Dream moans beneath him. Hob hadn’t even noticed the sounds escaping him, his mind clouded with nothing but mate, perfect, so good.  

“Dream,” he says. “Dream,” he repeats, not knowing what he wants to say, what he’s asking for.  

“I got you,” Dream responds seemingly knowing better.  

The alpha places his hands on Hob’s hips and drives into him with enough force that makes Hob drive into the omega. They all moan and grunt and are lost in the ecstasy of each other.  

Hob feels how with each thrust Dream’s knot swells just a little bit, taking more and more effort to slide in and out, stretching him even more.  

Hob brings his hand around Dream’s dick, that has been untouched for so long. It only takes a few strokes until Dream is spasming, clenching around him and crying out as he come. Both Dreams come at the same time. The omega squeezes Hob so hard, locks around him as his own knot starts to swell. The alpha’s cock spurt inside him, filling him with hot seed, his knot stuck inside keeping it all in.  

It takes Hob over the edge, he moans as spills his own seed into Dream, as his knot locks them together. All three of them, presses together, unable to separate. Not that Hob would want to.  

He’s pliant and fucked out, as Dream lays them on their side, their legs tangled together. His hot breath tingles his neck, and Hob leans into it.  

“Is this what you wanted?” Dream asks, but he knows that it is. Hob hears it in his smug voice.  

“Yes, you’re perfect,” he squeezes the sides of the omega and nuzzles his head into the alpha. The omega is purring happily and it’s the best sound to Hob’s little alpha brain.  

“But,” he says, as a thought enters his mind.  

The omega turns his head around to face him, as the alpha leers at him from above, his head rested on his arm.  

“My mouth was still empty,” he says with a cheeky smile.  

The omega leans in to kiss him, it’s sloppy and at a wrong angle and utterly perfect.  

Dream hums as if in thought. “You’re right, perhaps, the next time I should also be a beta. To complete the trifecta,” he says smirk on his face.  

Hob wants to answer but his mouth is full of tongue, so he wiggles his hips. Making both their knots catch. It earns him a soft smack on his butt and he couldn’t be happier.  

Dream releases his lips and kisses his cheek, whispering a soft, “sleep.”  

“What happens when I fall asleep in a dream?” He asks even as he yawns.  

If they had done this in the waking, which he isn’t sure is possible, he would’ve passed out already, so it’s not surprising that he feels sleep creeping over him. Even if he’s already sleeping.  

“Sleep and find out,” Dream says with one last kiss.  

Hob wakes with a sore ass and aching muscles. He stretches and grunts at the aches, happy to have brought them from the dreaming. He knows it was real, but he’s thrilled to have the reminders on his body.   

Dream sits at the edge of the bed clad in his black silk gown that Hob loves to take off him so much.  

“How did you sleep,” he asks smirking.  

“You know damn well how I slept,” Hob says and grabs a handful of Dream’s nightgown and drags him into a searing kiss, knowing full well how much Dream loves his morning breath. The weirdo.  

Hob takes a lungful of Dream’s scent, a strange mix of alpha and omega and something else entirely. But most importantly, the scent of his mate. The scent that is always the same, no matter how Dream presents. The scent he always had, that took too long for Hob to recognize.  

“Did I tell you how perfect you are?”  

Dream smiles at him soft and welcoming as he climbs into Hob’s lap and settles against his chest. “You did, but I could bear to hear it again.”  

“I love you, Dream,” he says nuzzling Dream’s hair, happy to have his mate in his arms, “my perfect mate.”  

Dream purrs at that and settles more comfortably in Hob’s embrace.  

[windsweptinred]

@despairoftheendless...👏👏♥️

Despoe warms the deepest darkest pits of my soul. 🖤🖤🖤

And I will argue against nothing that sees the twins and the horsemen wreaking chaos together. 😅

All I'm going to say on Lucifer and the Twins... Is that's how we got the mini anthropomorphic personifications of pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, and sloth.😉😏

Three Ships: They can make them better ship, They can make them worse ship, A WTF ship for...idk, for one or both of the twins, your choice:)

@lucienne-thee-librarian mwahaha 😈...Yes! I live for stuff like this. Thank you!

Desire of the Endless

They can make them better ship: Desunity Desire x Unity, my heart, my soul. Unity Kinkaid, the one woman born with the strength and love to take Desire of the Endless by the ear and say, I adore you, you trixy little kitten. Now be good...Or atleast try to be the least bad you can be! But seriously this is my favorite ship at the moment. It's so complex, there's so many unanswered questions and has so many ways it can be explored.

They can make them worse ship: Instinctively I want to say Lucifer x Desire (@bazzybelle. .. I still remember that meme😉😆) . There's the whole take who's kinkier? The personification of Desire or The Great Tempter? Plus Gwendoline Christie as Lucifer! Uff 😍. I think in some respects they're very similar. They both love their families but can go about expressing that love in the in the most contradictory ways. And personal pride is a major hurdle for both of them. But I think instead of this bringing about some self reflection...I think they'd just provoke the worst in each other... Like two sticks rubbing together.. It's all going to end in flames.

WTF ship: Desire x Pollution (Good Omens)... Look right... I have no excuses. I just want to look at them being pretty together. The cosmic 'thems'. Plus think of all the fun they'd have, epic date nights where they come up with things like consumerism. Want and Waste. I bet they'd get on like a house of fire.. Except it's earth, not a house.. And they actually may be responsible for global warming. This sex really is on fire!

Despair... I think I'm going to put that challenge to @despairoftheendless ... If you want to? 😁 So Despair of the Endless, A they can make them better ship, a they can make them worse ship and a WTF ship!

[cammys-imagines24]

•Being in a Relationship with Desire•

It should come as no surprise that being with Desire is a handful.

What with their constant scheming and "up to no good" state of being.

They're the type to start filling you in on their devious, naughty plans over morning coffee and not stop until well into cocktail hour.

You knew what you signed up for though and it does please you how willingly they are to share every part of their ideas with you.

And they do fully. They will never lie to you or keep you out of the loop. You're their partner, in every way. From partner in life to partner in crime.

Can you imagine having Desire's full attention upon you? What it feels like to receive true, everlasting love from the anthropomorphic personification of desire?

They embody lust, craving, wanting and attraction so to have all those bewitching traits focused on you is like being put under a spell.

When Desire feels love and lust towards you, which is honestly all they feel besides a dash of trickery, it is an overwhelming experience.

There have been many times where a simple kiss from them brings you to your knees or a mere golden eyed glance has made you nearly faint.

Their voice makes your heart beat nearly out of your chest, their body makes you tremble and brings you the greatest form of pleasure anyone could ever know.

They are entirely devoted to you. At your beck and call. Making it their personal goal to get you anything and everything you could possibly desire.

You are spoiled rotten by them. They even created new rooms and places in the Threshold to suit your tastes, your fancies, your hobbies, etc.

They keep you close to them at all times and when you're within reach, they will be touching you in some way or another.

Softly running their manicured fingers through your hair, absently tracing any bare skin you may be showing, leaving little pecks here and there on your cheeks and neck, if only to mark you with their lipstick.

They like you on their lap, your body touching theirs so that they may see and feel the constant effect they have upon you.

So they can bear witness to the rhythm of your heart, the warmth of your skin, the color of your blush...

They are utterly faithful to you and attentive, knowing your wants and desires even before the thought occurs to you.

They are extremely protective, going as far as to not let you out of their sight unless absolutely necessary.

See, they know that because of how they interfere in their siblings lives that they are not popular amongst the Endless and should the others seek revenge, they know all too well how you are a liability.

Their eternal love for you could make you a target and they will not stand to have you be put in danger.

They will take you anywhere you want to go, in their realm, in the human world, in the universe so long as they are there beside you.

To have Desire's love feels like a never ending enchantment and the "honeymoon phase" never leaves.

Your days are filled with luxury, pleasure and allure.

It almost feels like a trance but with a life this good you hope never to awaken from this magic.

To have won Desire's heart is no mean feat and yet they have given it to you, figuratively and literally.

They are yours and you are forever and ever theirs.

[thereforall]

CHARACTER INTERVIEW !

BASICS.

name  :  Death nickname ( s )  :   Didi (Primary nickname), Elder Sister,  Grandmother Death, Grim Reaper, Teleute, The Dark Woman age  :  As old as the universe??? species  :  Er---Endless? Anthropomorphic personification? I’m not sure which to put here...  xD

PERSONAL.

morality  :   True neutral. religion  :     N/A sins  :     greed  /  gluttony  /  sloth  /  lust  /  pride  /  envy  /  wrath. virtues  :     chastity  /  charity  /  diligence  /  humility  /  kindness  /  patience  /  justice. secrets  :   She dances around her...pocket realm apartment thing in nothing but a shirt, undies, and socks sometimes...all while singing along to whatever music she’s listening to at the time. (Probably Queen or Bowie or  Siouxsie and the Banshees)

PHYSICAL.

build  :     scrawny  /  slender  /  fit  /  athletic  /  curvy  /  herculean  /  pudgy  /  average. height  :     Depends on who’s looking...but her natural form is Ginormous  weight  :     Again, depends scars  /  birthmarks  /  tattoos  :    None, though she does have a distinctive Eye of Horus thing going on with her left eye

ABILITIES  /  SKILLS  :

short range weapons – N/A (what use does Death have of weapons???) long range weapons – N/A courage – Death is ridiculously courageous, especially by a lot of mortals’ standards wilderness survival – ...she literally cannot die unless she spills familial blood, so it’s less a that she’s got wilderness survival skills so much as she’s guaranteed to survive even beyond the end of the universe so... polyglot – The Definition of a polyglot. You can’t very well take a being to the afterlife without being able to speak to them in their natural form/language/ideas/etc.

PREFERENCES.

food  :  Anything not cooked by @sinnhelmingr  :D drink  :  Tea! color ( s )  :  Black. Just...lots and lots of black. music genre  :   Literally everything. book genre  :   Ooooh...she really, really loves reading all the stories that writers and people have dreamt but never actually got around to writing! tv  /  film genre  :   Everything! But if you suggest a show that’s funny, she’s gonna love you for eternity. curse  word ( s )  : She doesn’t really curse unless you’re a sibling who’s pissed her off, but she comes up with some pretty colorful insults... scents  :   That humans can comprehend? Petrichor, campfires, musk, and anything that she equates to comfort

TAGGED BY STOLEn FROM:  @allurfavesrtrans TAGGING: Anyone who wants to do the thing! Pirate this bish...

[elizadoolittlethings]

"The Man in Black s1-3"

THE MAN IN BLACK – YOUR APPOINTMENT WITH FEAR FEBRUARY 5, 2017 GREYDOGTALES 1 COMMENT

Have you met the Man in Black? Has he whispered to you on the airwaves? Your radio is dead, and yet his voice is still there inside you, entreating you to join him… Yes, our Voice of Horror series is back, with a hero of the genre!

Long before Johnny Cash, the Tommy Lee Jones films or even Westworld, there was a single man who embodied the concept of the forbidding stranger, the archivist of the dark – the Man in Black. Can you recall his name, or remember his sepulchral tones? No? Then we shall help. Treats are in store, including some links to where you can listen to, or watch, him in action.

Along the way we bump into Shirley Jackson, Hammer Horror, GK Chesterton, Edgar Allan Poe, Dr Who, Sid James of Carry On fame and S T Joshi, amongst others. Is that enough names yet? For today’s article we must take you back to the days when you made radio shows by rubbing two sticks together, so a few reminders may be in order.

Dyall M for Murder

Valentine Dyall (1908-1985) was the true Man in Black, and it came about because of the BBC. In the 1940s and 50s, they aired a wonderful radio series called Appointment with Fear. This was a series of dramatised horror stories which both drew on the classics and also invited new stories from contemporary writers. Each started with an introduction from the narrator, the Man in Black, either teasing the listener about the nature of the tale to come, or warning them of the terror that awaited them.

Each show was about half an hour long. When Dyall started speaking, you knew you were in the right place. His voice was dark and distinctive (some called him the British Vincent Price), and he had a resonance which just oozed menace. Occasionally the actual story was less interesting than his narration. Between 1943 and 1955 he introduced nine series of terrifying tales, with one more series being narrated by his father, Franklin Dyall. He also narrated a single series of the Man in Black in 1949.

Before we say more about Appointment with Fear, we should mention Dyall’s wider horror credentials. He had a number of parts in film and TV over the years, in addition to his radio work, and his career was packed with the sort of media trivia that we so love.

For our younger listeners, Dyall played the Black Guardian in Dr Who between 1979 and 1983.

“The Black Guardian is an anthropomorphic personification of the forces of entropy and chaos, the counterpart of the White Guardian, a personification of order. The two Guardians balance out the forces in the universe, although the Black Guardian seems to desire to upset the balance in favour of chaos and evil while the White Guardian prefers to maintain the status quo.” (Wiki)

He took the lead role in individual episodes and in three linked serials, which some call the Black Guardian trilogy, playing opposite Peter Davison as the Doctor.

Well Hammered

We mentioned Dyall’s memorable voice, and in Hammer Horror’s film Lust for a Vampire (1971), the character Count Karnstein, played by Mike Raven, was dubbed by Valentine Dyall. He also appeared as the caretaker Mr Dudley in the outstanding 1963 film version of Shirley Jackson’s novel The Haunting of Hill House. Sometimes just known as The Haunting, this is by far the best adaptation, and still sends shivers up the spine.

Going further back, he played a key part, Jethro Keane, in the wonderful City of the Dead (1960). The film was known as Horror Hotel in the States, and is the tale of a young student who seeks information on witchcraft for her college studies. What could possibly go wrong when she travels alone to a mist-shrouded New England village to ask if there are any witches about? Especially when your professor is an intense Christopher Lee, and the man who gets into your car is Valentine Dyall? The usual hilarity ensues…

Two film oddities in Dyall’s career remain worth noting. The first is the attempt to transfer the Man in Black idea to film, again by Hammer. The Man in Black (1949) was a British thriller film which starred Sid James. Adapted from Appointment with Fear, Dyall provided the introduction to the film, as “The Story-Teller”. Sid James, who rose to fame in the British Carry On films, plays a straight role for once, with none of his yuck-yuck dirty laughter. It received mixed reviews, but is worth a look.

His other role, which links to our interest in detectives and will lead us back to the radio, was as Dr Morelle in Dr Morelle: The case of the Missing Heiress. This was another Hammer Film, and was based on the popular long running BBC radio series written by Ernest Dudley.

Ernest Dudley (1908-2006) wrote many tales of Morelle, a psychiatrist with an interest in criminology. In the radio series, the part of Dr Morelle was taken by the silky-voiced Cecil Parker, a stalwart of British period films. It’s well worth seeking out the old-time radio recordings of A Case for Dr Morelle, as the sleuthing doctor is incredibly annoying and condescending to his secretary, Miss Frayne. They’re greatly enjoyable in a sort of ‘God, I want to slap this man’ sort of way (and for some unlikely, if not implausible, deductions).

Appointment with Fear

So we’re glued to our radios again, and Appointment with Fear. See, we know where we are – sort of. John Dickson Carr, the prolific mystery writer, was responsible for a number of the original stories and for many of the adaptations of classic tales. Given the number of series, we won’t list them all, but here are some of the adaptations which Dyall introduced:

The Pit and the Pendulum – Edgar Allan Poe

The Cask of Amontillado – Edgar Allan Poe

A Watcher by the Dead – Ambrose Bierce

The Middle Toe Of The Right Foot – Ambrose Bierce

The Monkey’s Paw – W W Jacobs

Oh Whistle And I’ll Come To You, My Lad – M R James

The Beast with Five Fingers – W F Harvey

Markheim – Robert Louis Stevenson

The Hands of Nekamen – Kathleen Hyatt

The Yellow Wallpaper – Charlotte Parkins Gilman

Mrs Amworth – E F Benson

John Dickson Carr (1906-1977) was an American, and yet his detective and mystery stories were predominantly English tales, perhaps due to his English wife and the time he spent there in the thirties and forties.

He was the creator of Dr Gideon Fell, a larger-than life investigator modelled on the author G K Chesterton. Fell is a great figure, an eccentric, corpulent cape-flapping fellow – an amateur sleuth who sees through the mistakes of the authorities. He too was made into a radio series, this time played by another classic British actor, Donald Sinden.

Carr and Dr Fell probably deserve their own article on greydogtales, so we’ll keep this short. There were 23 Dr Fell novels, and Carr wrote many other detective mysteries besides. He also wrote an authorised biography of Arthur Conan Doyle (1949), and with Doyle’s youngest son, Adrian, wrote Sherlock Holmes stories for the collection The Exploits of Sherlock Holmes (1954). Whilst musing on this, we were surprised to find that S T Joshi, a major figure in weird fiction criticism and a Lovecraftian scholar, produced a book-length critical study of Carr, John Dickson Carr: A Critical Study (1990).

Most of the recordings of Appointment with Fear have been lost, but one of the few surviving episodes is an original Carr tale, The Clock Strikes Eight, originally aired 05/18/1944.

Another example is And the Deep Shuddered, written by Monckton Hoffe, an Irish screenwriter, and aired 20/11/45, which can also be found on Youtube.

The Rest of the Man in Black

After Dyall, others took on the voice of the Man in Black. Revived as Fear on Four, the concept ran for five series on BBC Radio 4 (1988-1992), with Edward DeSouza in the key role. A fifth series was broadcast in 1997, but with no Man in Black.

The most recent revival was with Mark Gatiss reprising the role. There were four radio series featuring Gatiss between 2009 and 2011. Whilst not as sepulchral as Dyall, it’s fair to say that Gatiss does have the ability to make ordinary things sound quite unnerving, so he wasn’t a bad choice. We covered Gatiss’ recent audio version of Dracula here last year:

Come Freely, Go Safely: Dracula Returns, Scott Handcock Rules!

Although we must have missed it, apparently The Return of the Man In Black was broadcast by Radio 4 as two Archive Hour specials in October 1998. The documentaries were presented by the acclaimed horror writer Ramsey Campbell, and covered the history of fear and suspense on BBC radio. During the programmes, two complete episodes were presented: The Pit and the Pendulum (from Appointment With Fear) and The Beast With Five Fingers (from Fear On 4).

Buried under names and trivia, we leave you with Valentine Dyall, and his reading of The Pit and the Pendulum.

Sleep well…

wish i could listen

[concubucklive]

"Ha! If he did send my jobs through someone else, I wouldn't take them. That's the beauty of the contract as I've laid it out—and if it works the way I want it to—if he starts trying to pull a trick on me, there's nothing in the contract that forces me to keep playing along. Sure, it can't stop him from trying to use threats or bribes or blackmail or whatever else—nothing can, if he's determined to—but the contract itself doesn't actively facilitate it." He never took chances with deals, never took on debts, never promised anything he couldn't hand over on the spot; if he'd done otherwise, he never would have manipulated his way into being the most powerful sinner to ever die.

"... I don't know. That part happens... behind the scenes. I've only taken one job from him so far—a sort of mandatory tradition, a first job that all ex-sinner succubi receive from the Lord of Lust—and I don't know what that one's status was—" His eye brightened. "Ah! But he offered me five prospective jobs before I demanded a contract, hah!" He summoned them up, five folders hovering in the air before them. "I can look them up, see whether they've been earmarked in any way or if they're still open to any qualifying agent." That was pleasing. Another avenue he could research for more information. And the more he knew about how these missions were assigned, the less likely he'd end up out of touch with the normal freelance market and dependent on Ozzie to keep feeding jobs to him.

"I'd have to look into exactly how he claims the missions to find out, but I'd suspect either the pay for completing the mission goes to him and then he pays the subcontractor who completed it for him, or else he takes a small portion as a commission and the rest of the original pay for the mission makes up a part of his boon for that job. Hopefully the latter, since that will make it easier to maintain a paperwork trail proving that I'm the one who finished my jobs, but I can find out. But in either case, if his boons for even the lowest jobs are as generous as he says they are, I have no doubt he's losing money on this venture.

"If he's to be believed, though, the money isn't the point. I asked him what it is he's going to get out of this—and had to chase him around in circles a bit until he gave a straight answer, naturally—but what he says is that the expense is worth it to him to befriend and help advance the careers of particularly talented new succubi, even if those careers eventually take them out of his domain." Buck leans a bit closer to Alexa, eyes wide and alive, like a storyteller about to recite the dramatic twist to an enraptured audience, or a gossip about to spill the secret that will ruin someone's life. "Because—this is his reason—because he's old and bored, and he wants to help funnel resources and power toward offbeat, ambitious people who will use that power to be... entertaining."

He laughs, shaking his head. "And if that is what motivates him—then my God, what could make more sense! Who understands that better than me! He's offering me exactly what I want and I'm offering him exactly what he wants and neither of us even have to try! It's perfect." For a moment he's almost giddy; and then the edges of his smile sharpen. "Too perfect—and I don't believe in miracles in Hell. What I do believe is that a top-tier dealmaker and the anthropomorphic personification of seduction could easily look into a target and find out his soft spots. And if he's telling me what I want to hear? Who knows what his true motive is."

Buck sits back again, and nods at Alexa, "You say he's headhunting Angel, too? Has Angel asked why? He probably could, if he hasn't already; his majesty seems to enjoy it when people verbally spar with him. I'd be interested to know whether he's shared similar sentiments with Angel, or if Angel's answers are also a little bit too perfect."

concubucklive​:

“I don’t know how another demon could join the system. It’s just… it’s just what he offers. Most of them aren’t even ‘his’ missions, he plucks them out of the Hell-wide list of freelance missions and tacks on a few bonuses to tempt people to take those missions through him rather than through the usual government routes—and there’s already clauses in there permitting me to take those missions from other sources, so I don’t see any legal conflict if someone else decides they want to start adding trinkets on to the jobs.”

He props his chin in his hand. “I suppose a more exclusive permission-to-moonlight clause can’t hurt, though. Just in case. Since you never know.” He heaves a sigh. “God, working with royalty. There’s a million and one different ways they can diddle you and half the challenge is guessing which angle they’re going to come from.”

> “That’s makes sense. I was considering some scenario where he buddies up with someone else to dole these missions out, but I hadn’t fleshed the thought out beyond that.” A shrug. Maybe he’d missed the mark there. Oh well. “Mm, couldn’t hurt. Hopefully we can spitball our way into something airtight.” Incredibly optimistic of you, Alexa/

> “Alright, just to clarify: when he plucks those jobs from the set of available missions, does he then have exclusive rights to assign them? Or do demons simply have the option of going through him? What benefit does he get out of this, if they’re not ‘his’ jobs? Some sort of commission?

[realityhelixcreates]

Boarded Up Paradise pt. 3

Compromise is difficult when you're talking to a demon.

Song: Number of the Beast-Iron Maiden

Warning: Nash is still underage and some sexual-ish things do happen in this fic. Certain non-consensual actions are implied here and there.

“~Are you hungry, Eddie~” Lust asked when he came home that evening. “~I've learned how to cook from several of my Hosts. Love's and Gluttony's too~”

“Love? Love exists? Like you do, I mean.”

“~Oh yes. And Justice, Faith, Fortitude, all of them and more~”

“And you're friends?”

“~Some of them, to various degrees. Love and I are close~”

“Really?” Nash asked, stowing his take of the cash in an abandoned picture frame. He would have enough to last a while, if he were frugal. “I thought you'd be enemies.”

The demon's expression became pitying. Normally, Nash would have hated that, but coming from a monster...it somehow felt more honest.

“~Oh dear little Eddie~” he said. “~Love and I are twins. We can exist, one without the other, but we are often found together, and have been from the beginning. No, Chastity is my opposite, and Temperance my enemy. Even so, we rarely fight directly. It's just not my style~”

“Oh. Uh, I guess I'm a little hungry. Not too much though. Do you eat? Human food, I mean?”

“~Certainly~” Lust said, hunting down a box of mac and cheese. There was a surprising amount of non-perishable food in the house, and Nash wasn't quite sure how it had gotten there. It wasn't as if Lust could go out shopping! Perhaps some of his previous meals had brought it with them. “~It is something that many people derive pleasure from. So I too, enjoy it~”

Was that how it worked? Everybody focused on the sexual aspect of lust as a concept, but if this being was somehow connected to every form of pleasure...Maybe he was a lot more multifaceted than Nash had initially thought.

“~Do you like anything in it~” Lust asked. “~One of my Hosts liked salsa in hers. How about you~”

“Plain.” Nash said. His mom had never put anything else in it, and it seemed like a waste since he was only going to eat a little bit. “How many Hosts have you had?”

“~Oh, many, many. From long ago until now. They are all my very dearest~”

“You care about them? I didn't know demons could care about people.”

“~Ah, and how much do you know about demons, little Eddie? I know there are people who study us extensively. Are you an occultist? Do they even teach that in your modern schools~” Lust scooped up a bowl of mac and cheese, setting it down in front of him.

“N-no. I guess not. I used to go to church, a long time ago. They just said demons were liars, tempters, and tricksters.” Nash took a small bite and remembered home. Those years when his mother cooked for him, and took him to Sunday school, where they told the gentler bible stories, filed the harsh edges off of war crimes and slavery, and skipped most mentions of the Devil and other demons. They spoke of love and forgiveness, but never of lust and wrath.

“~Oh, we are. But that's not all we are. How could something exist for so long, and never evolve? No, no, I care deeply about those I choose to. My proximity to Love does make it easier for me, and mostdemons do keep it secret, or show it in ways that are hard to recognize, but the possibility is alwaysthere~”

Lust sat across from him with his own food, somehow balancing his fork skillfully in his too-long fingers.

“So is that some kind of job you can have? An occultist? The study of demons?”

“~Among other things. I think it's more of a hobby now. I'm told it is more difficult to make money off of intellect unless you are in certain...oh, what did she call it? Plant? No, STEM studies~”

“Hmph, don't I know it.” Nash grumbled. “Who is 'she'?”

“~My last host~”

“Oh. What happened to her?”

Lusts intense gaze slipped from Nash and found the table.

“~A disease. It happened so quickly. I've lost many to sickness, but in this modern age...I thought perhaps that wouldn't happen anymore~”

“Oh...Geez, I'm sorry.” To see a demon mourn was so deeply strange. It was becoming easy to forget that Lust wasn't human, even as he sat across from Nash in a body made of smoke and lightning.

“~She is still with me, in a way. They all are. I mourn losing the ability to connect with them so intimately, but they will still always be with me~”

“That...sounds nice.” It kind of did. Never being abandoned, always having the care of something grand, and every lifetime or so, you got a new friend.

Lust smiled softly.

“~Many would disagree. But from those who get the chance to know, I've had few complaints~”

Nash went to bed having only eaten a few bites of his meal. He had other things to digest.

The librarian stared down at him, unimpressed.

“It's, uh, for a project.” he tried. “Um, for my history class.”

She looked back to the list he'd given her, full of occult books.

“We don't have any of these.” she said simply. “If we tried carrying these, I guarantee, we'd have parents calling us up all day and night, convinced we were running a satanic cult in tunnels under the school or something.”

At the mention of parents, her face softened, and Nash took advantage of it immediately, letting himself droop in disappointment.

“I just wanted to get a good grade.” he said sadly. “And I think about the...like, the nature of the afterlife a lot nowadays, you know?”

She wore her thoughts like a billboard across her eyes. Poor kid's lost everything. He knew the librarian didn't like him; he asked too many questions, made too much work for her. She might have even gotten in trouble a few times when he'd been caught hiding away in the library after school hours too often. But she had the weakness of pity sewn into her, and he would use it, and she would let him.

“But...if you fill out this form, I might be able to get them in through an interlibrary loan.” she suggested, sliding a paper over the counter at him. “I can't promise all of them, but I might find a few.”

“Any would be great.” Nash said, quickly filling out the form. He'd have to get back to class soon, and after that, well he knew how to pirate PDFs. It would be a poor excuse for a Riddler who didn't have multiple ways of gathering information.

He came 'home' to find Narci pinned against the living room wall.

His closest brother strained against the ephemeral power of many inky tentacles, grimacing as Lust whispered almost silently in his ear. Sweat gathered on his forehead, red spreading across his pale face. Nash heard him whimper.

“Lust!” Nash shouted. “That's my brother, let go of him!”

He rushed at the demon, grasping at the insubstantial tendrils. Startled, Lust convulsed, the mass of shadow retreating from Narci's trembling body. The other boy collapsed.

Nash shoved past him to reach Narci.

“Are you okay?” he cried. “Tell me you're okay!”

Narci, on his hands and knees, shook his head. Not okay.

“~I have not harmed him~” Lust said. “~You know him? I thought he was simply following my lure~”

“No, he was following me!” Nash said. “He always finds me. It's okay Narci.”

“~Hmm. His desires are so mundane. Do not let the false shame of this world deter you, young man. It's perfectly normal to want-”

Narci shrieked, his high voice shrill as a hawk, and he leapt at Lust, driving his knife into the demons chest.

Nash shouted. Lust glanced down at the blade embedded in his swirling clouds, then back at Narci.

“~Well~” he said, showing long, hidden fangs. “~It was a spirited try~”

Lust flung Narci back as if he weighed nothing, denting the drywall. Narci toppled, yanked himself back to his feet and lunged again.

“Nash run!” he screamed. “I'll hold it off!”

Lust filled the room, his body dissolving away into thick shadows that swallowed them both.

Whispers slid Nash's mind, promises of pleasure, of freedom, of the safety to indulge in the most secret, most obscene, most treasured desires. It drew out his curiosity about what was possible, what was allowed, what it was that he really wanted, and the answers that began to form troubled him.

Somewhere in the dark Narci howled denial.

“Lust, please!” Nash cried. “You're hurting us!”

The shadows retreated, taking the whispers with him, leaving both boys shaking and exposed in the watery gloaming from the edges of the boarded up windows.

Nash crawled to Narci, who was curled up and crying.

“~Did that hurt~” Lust asked, confused. “~It was not meant to cause any physical damage~”

“It was frightening.” Nash said. “Please don't do that.”

Lust hesitated.

“~I promised no safety to him~” he protested.

“He's my brother. Leave him alone.” Nash grabbed his phone. “Do you want me to call somebody else?”

He'd burn another bridge for Narci's sake. Without hesitation.

Narci shoved him away. His eyes frightened Nash, but all he did was run. Lust let him pass, Nash wincing at the sound of the backdoor slamming.

“Now see what you did?” Nash accused.

“~What I did~” Lust exclaimed. “~He came into my home, attacked me, and ran~”

“Don't you try that!” Nash shouted. “You hurt him! He was crying! You can't just eat my friends! Even Mons doesn't do that!”

“~This new strain of insolence is not endearing on you, little Eddie~” Lust grumbled darkly. “~His personal issues are not my fault. However...if it truly means so much to you...Perhaps I can simply ask first~”

Nash frowned, crossing his arms.

“~Ohhh, you think you have control here? I have made concessions for you, but I am the anthropomorphized portion of a deity in this room, so perhaps you should rethink your attitude~”

That phrase, the accusation of 'attitude' so often thrown at him right before something horrible happened, ripped through him and poured adrenaline into his blood. Legs tensed, ready to dash away like he always tried to do, ready to hide, ready to-

-explode into anger like never before. His father was dead, and no one else would ever be allowed to treat him like that!

Nash snatched a forgotten glass off a dusty coffee table and threw it at the demon.

“Shut up!” he shouted. “You don't tell me what to do! You don't talk to me like that! You're not my father, you're not anything! You think you're so tough, then why are you starving in a brokeass old house by yourself? Huh? Why you so small and weak? Why you gotta suck off of humans like a parasite? You ain't a god, you're a leech!”

Lust rushed him, fangs bright as lightning in the dimness, right up on him, tendrils pointed and poised to strike-

And stopped, centimeters from Nash's face.

Nash had screamed, expecting dozens of stabbing wounds, but...nothing. He snapped his mouth shut. Lust didn't look angry, he looked...pained? The fangs were gone, the tendrils softened, carefully caressing him, instead of rending his flesh.

“~Ohhh no, no~” Lust moaned softly. “~No, I won't hurt you. Never you. Dear little Eddie, I gave my word. And my word has power, that even I cannot break. I'm so sorry to have frightened you. I will ignore your friends. My hunger is making me impolite, but I will simply go hungry tonight~”

The back door slammed back open, and both Nash and Lust froze.

“Who's in here?” someone demanded, loud and aggressive. “This is the police!”

“~Or perhaps not~” Lust whispered.

This time Nash stayed to watch.

[realityhelixcreates]

The kids are NOT alright.

Nash had a rough childhood, just like the rest, but his was much closer. He grew up in extreme poverty. After his father drove his mother to suicide, Nash spent from about eleven to sixteen suffering from chronic malnutrition, leaving his smaller and weaker than he should have been. His father's abuse, physical, verbal, and sexual, increased during this time, up until his death early in Nash's sixteenth year.

After this, Nash discovers and makes a pact with a supernatural entity, the Anthropomorphic Personification of Lust. Things start looking up for a while. Nash puts all of his old life behind him, and starts moving forward.

Old scars remain. Nash suffered from an eating disorder, brought on by long years of semi-starvation, was both paranoid and delusional, and has a complicated relationship to touch. Nash has a hard time maintaining strong emotions, did not make friends easily, and found it difficult to make connections among his peer group. He is extremely self centered; a leftover survival instinct. He speaks tactlessly, and has problems with authority. Nash was often apathetic towards the suffering of others, but had a developed, yet twisted sense of justice. He often found himself using the people around him, Lusts influence making manipulating people much easier.

Nowadays, Nash is much better. He's put on weight and height, but doesn't bother much with muscle. He's often found at marches, sit-ins, and especially riots. He's a familiar presence in the local queer, disabled, and punk communities, and has gathered something of a cult of personality around himself, to the point that he is never lacking for a place to sleep. Nash embraces the transient lifestyle, and never stays in one place for very long. He still uses people, but doesn't usually leave them worse off. He knows how to wash the damn dishes.

Nash gave up being the Riddler long ago, and no one important ever figured out it was him. He knows the Bat knows, but just figures he doesn't care as long as Nash behaves.

The cane has become a necessary mobility aid, rather than a weapon. Lingering effects from malnutrition during the onset of puberty has left Nash with a weakened heart and lungs, and abnormal bone growth, mostly in the pelvis and femurs. Nash can no longer run very far, but the powers granted to him as a Host of Lust make up for that, he feels.

Nash knows that, when he eventually dies, he will become a demon in Lusts circle of Hell, but isn't really bothered by this. He is looking forward to torturing his father's spirit forever.

[realityhelixcreates]

Nash is the weirdest Riddler.

They are all singular creatures. Detective can see visions. Swag is his own twin. Narci is an homonculous. But Nash still outweirds them all.

Nash got into this life really young. Like 15. And he was already a deeply troubled child, even before that. He witnessed his mother's suicide when he was 11, and his father, already a grade A dickbag, went right off the deep end. He tortured Nash, in every possible way that a parent could betray a child, and yeah, whatever you're thinking, it was worse.

This went on for years, because Nash lived in a bad part of a bad version of Gotham and nobody seemed to notice or pay attention.

At about 14, Nash began to come up with a fantasy self that allowed him to mentally escape his abuse. At 15, he began covertly bringing this self into reality. At around this time, he meets the other Riddlers. At 16, Puzzles finds out what Nash's father had been doing and puts an end to it. Spectacularly. However this also renders Nash and orphan, and homeless.

Also when Nash was 16, Narci went on a rampage and died. Narci and Nash had been close, and the betrayal and loss effected him more deeply than anyone else. Not realizing how much the others all cared for him, and freshly traumatized by the loss, Nash withdrew from everyone.

Also at 16, Nash meets his first supernatural being. It went by the nickname 'Mons', and it was a friend of Puzzles. How Puzzles met this creature remains a mystery. Mons used to be human, but at some point in its life, it became the earthly host to the Anthropomorphic Personification of the Deadly Sin of Gluttony, and over time its body changed, and it gained special powers. It was also cursed by a hunger that was never satisfied, no matter what it did. Eventually, it lost control and killed Puzzles, but you've read that story. 16 was a busy year for Nash.

Unlike Puzzles, Nash began meeting more of these beings, Hosts, Sins, Virtues, even angels and demons. Then he met the Anthropomorphic Personification of the Deadly Sin of Lust, and the two hit it off right away.

Lust is unusual among his 'siblings', in that he is much closer to the world and its creatures, and is more capable of forming bonds than they are. Sins like Pride, Greed, and Envy, and Virtues like Charity, Hope, and Temperance will have many earthly hosts at once, but Lust-at least his earthly form-gets very attached.

For some, this kind of obsession can be destructive, but for Nash, forgotten or rejected by his peers, failed and neglected by the adult authority figures that should have protected him, Lusts attention and affection helped him thrive. He was there for Nash in the aftermath of Narci's rampage, after he had withdrawn from everyone, even the other Riddlers, and helped to keep him alive through continuing hard times. Lust recognizes Nash's fragility, and does what he can to protect him, but he can't always be there. His earthly form has to occasionally reunite with the form of him that is in Hell, and he also has to go out and feed sometimes. He does this by inspiring lustful acts and feelings in other humans, but he also has realized how uncomfortable this makes Nash, and he doesn't take Nash along.

When not away feeding or reuniting with his other selves, Lust can usually be found either somewhere very close to Nash, or even inside of him, like a possessing spirit. He helps to sustain Nash with his own energy, and also imbues him with special protections when inside him. Lust can also control Nash's body, but only when he has permission to do so.

Like Mons, Nash gradually gains supernatural abilities, mostly related to illusion and emotional manipulation, but his body doesn't seem to physically change. His spirit, however, does. Lust is an Archdemon, the ruler of the second circle of Hell, and Nash's pact with him means that Nash's soul is damned to Lusts circle. However, Lusts hosts have privileges there, and Nash will not become a tormented soul, but one of the tormentors, an incubus. Maybe not the happiest ending for this poor kid, and maybe it's even more tragic that Nash considers this a reward to look forward to. He knows his father is there, and he can't wait to get his new demonic claws into him.

Everyone kinda glossed over it, but I think it's important to understanding Nash's character to remember: Nash is evil. Nash wants to kill people. Nash does kill people. Nash does not care if people get hurt. Nash uses and manipulates his own friends and 'family'. By the time Helix meets him, Nash is already subconsciously using his emotional manipulation magic to make everyone forget or downplay this, and he remains this way for a while! But not forever.

Lust does not necessarily want Nash to be evil. He wants Nash to be powerful, which are not exactly the same things. Nash being evil is actually kind of detrimental to Lusts plans for Nash, at least while Nash is still young, since it puts Nash in a lot more danger.

Lust and Helix get along only grudgingly, and he doesn't get along with Narci at all, but he does understand that the three of them working in tandem can help Nash to be safer and healthier, and that's far more important to Lust than his current grudges.

It all gets very complicated, as relationships typically are.

Lust's earthly form is a meduim sized humanoid with glowing blue eyes, that appears to have the features that are most attractive to whoever is looking at him at the time. his body seems to be composed of billowing black clouds, shot through with occasional bolts of azure lightening (a callback to the eternal storm of the second circle of Hell), contained within a glassy skin. This form is malleable, and can grow or shrink, and produce multiple limbs and tendrils.

Insert tentacle porn joke here, he's heard them all.

My interpretation of Nash's appearance differs from the original, in that I've made him mixed race instead of white. Back in 2012, a prominent RP discourse surrounded the concept of 'racebending' and white people playing POC characters. Typically, it was frowned upon, although POC could play white characters, that was totally fine, and...

Well, you see how silly that is.

I think my Bird (Desi on his mother's side), was the first Riddler in the group who wasn't white. One could make an argument for Helix, but that depends on whether or not Greeks are considered white where you live. In the U.S., it can be iffy, but racism in the U.S. is an un-navigable labyrinth, so...

Anyway, Nash's grandmother on his mother's side was black. Nash himself has lighter skin and freckles, hazel eyes that are heavy on the brown, and dark hair with a touch of red. He's short and way too thin for a long while, but once he gets his diet in order, he shoots up and fills out, but he never gets as tall or as strong as he could have. His bones remain a little weak, his skin a little thin, his stomach sensitive, and his lungs and heart not as healthy as they could have been.

Nash suffers for a while from trauma induced paranoia, assuming that everyone around him(Except maybe his other selves) hates him, and that he is surrounded by enemies. The racism that he faces does nothing to help with this. The other Riddlers don't perpetuate it, but they also don't know how to help with that either. Eventually, he gets the paranoia under better control.

Basically, Nash has all the problems, and is a terribly tragic figure, but he is cared deeply about by various people, and is getting help from very unexpected sources. Like, when a literal demon is more nurturing towards you than your own father, you know shit's fucked.

He was sixteen.