Crimson Stained Petals (Ch. 2)
Crimson Stained Petals (Ch. 2)
Summary: Set in the 1880s, rumors and mysteries swirled around a quaint town, mostly about a lord tucked far into the woods. Arriving in town, you could not deny your curiosities, but you were not here to stay. Or so you thought. Low on funds, and a job for a live-in servant advertised in the paper, you now found yourself in the home of Lord Morpheus - the source of all rumors. Passions and tensions will grow. Questions will be answered, but may come at a hefty price. And a promise may be broken. But, is Lord Morpheus, and those few residents, truly as scary as they seem?
Words Count: ~3.4k
Reader: Neutral (unspecified now, however fem leaning)
Warnings: Minor angst (hints of Morpheus’s past), mutual pinning, some fluff, hints of bloodlust
Chapter 1 and future chapters to come!
After a week of working in the manor, you quickly found routine in your new life. It was far easier than anticipated, although somewhat tiring at points. And despite exploring the manor, you still tended to become lost or forgetful where certain rooms were. It was massive to say the least, but you adored the architecture, the different colors and styles of each room, and the obvious love - even if slightly dusty due to negligence - poured into it. Two rooms in particular captured your interest and attention: the upstairs library, and the sunroom.
The sunroom was magical. The glass - a soft sea green - dome roof sparkled in any and all lighting. On sunny days, it was as if the heavens rained down on this secret cove. Plants of all colors and variety outlined the room from vibrant dark green ferns - nearly an envious green - to signature staple of the manor’s passionate red roses as well as strong and proud sunflowers, delicate lilacs, and the intricate petals of the blushing pink carnations. Fern leaves as large as dinner plates bent towards the doorways like curtains. You could not help but imagine you were an explorer traversing the jungle as you entered.
In the center, a couch, two chairs, and a table were set out. However, there was a very obvious empty space for furniture to be pushed aside. The true beauty of the room was it could double as a ballroom if needed. You could see where a musician could sit, you could imagine a dozen people dancing in unison, you could feel the air crackle with potential energy. When you walked the pristine tile floor sang with every step of your shoe, heels clacked and echoed like a chorus; imagining a group of people in here, and oh how the room would harmonize.
The library, on the other hand, was quaint and far less grandiose compared to the sunroom. Yet, it held its own type of magic, one of comfort and warmth. It was draped in rich dark browns, glowing oranges of the sun and lanterns, and overall warm tones. The walls had built-in shelves and overflowed with books. A single thin window with a nook to sit and read by sunlight was nestled between two shelves. Two long wooden tables with chairs were placed in the room, almost more of studying than reading comfortably.
The air in the library was calmer, and gentle like an escape, or a brief pause on life. If you strolled over to the collection of books, most were published from Morpheus’s company ‘The Dreamer’s Palace’. Which wasn’t too surprising, but the library held many other books from the popular to the unknown. Every genre filled the shelves: drama, contemporary, romance, horror, fantasy, mystery, nonfiction, mythology, and poetry. You had worlds at your fingertips and each of them called to you.
When you had time, you would eventually borrow a book, with Morpheus’s permission of course. Maybe you could take the book and lounge in the sunroom, now that sounded like a lovely idea.
However, you supposed there was another place besides the sunroom and library to entertain you and your thoughts. You desperately wished to explore the ground, especially the maze. The rose maze enthralled you. The hedges must be ten feet tall, barring all from sneaking a single glance in. The full, perfect lush red roses filled the hedges and dazzled in the sunlight while somehow seemingly glowed in the moonlight. With the moon above, they tempted you like some Greek tragedy. The maze was your labyrinth. Maybe a monster lurked among the roses, maybe you would become lost and lose your sense of self, or maybe it was simply just a maze.
One day.
One day, you would run freely through the hedges and happily lose yourself amongst them.
Late in the morning, Morpheus had requested some tea. If it wasn’t in the morning after what you expected a long night, then he requested afternoon tea for one last boost to finish the day. Light seemed to always shine under the crack of his door. His footsteps creaked along the home constantly even as you laid still in bed.
Maneuvering up the stairs, you carefully balanced a kettle and a tea cup with a saucer. Stepping onto the second floor, you immediately veered left. Morpheus’s study was the first door. You knocked, announcing yourself. His reply was muffled, but allowed you in.
Opening the door, Morpheus was hunched over his desk. Stacks of paper covered his desk, with his pen scratching away editing and making revision notes on a new manuscript. A dying fire crackled as embers burned a reddish orange hue casting the room in a radiating warmth. The curtains were opened showing off the dreary morning. Rain tapped against the window, adding to the ambiance.
You beelined for Morpheus. You efficiently, as possible, set up his tea in the small corner space free of papers. Morpheus - who had been watching not just since you walked in, but since you first arrived - wondered about something that had been bothering him for a few days. The scratching of his pen seized, and he glanced out of the corner of his eye. “May I ask you a question?”
You paused as you set up his tea. It was one of the few other times he addressed you, besides your first interaction and occasionally calling for tea. Shaking yourself out of your stupor, you poured his tea. “Of course, sir.”
He laid down his pen, and turned his head to address you. His eyes - an enchanting pale blue in such dim lighting - locked with yours. “You are not afraid of me.”
You stepped back from him, having finished your assigned task. The kettle left besides his cup if he wished to have more later. You folded your hands in front of you with the empty tray in your hands. His sentence tossed over and over in your head. You frowned slightly in thought, “That is not a question.”
The corner of his lips twitched upward. “You are correct, apologies. I suppose I was more inquiring about your opinion.”
“On what?”
“Myself, and said rumors that circulate the manor.”
You didn’t need time to think. Most people warned you of this place whether directly or indirectly. “The townspeople have their beliefs and I have mine.”
“So you have no care for the matter?”
“I can form my own opinions.” You cocked your head quizzically, “I’m sorry, but did Lucienne not inform you of my answer? She asked a similar question during the interview.”
“She did, but I wish to hear it from you especially given you have been staying with us for more than over a week now.” He twisted his body in his chair, facing you directly. He gave you his full undivided attention. “So what are your opinions? What do you think of the rumors?”
You paused, considering his question. “Do you want my honest opinion, sir?”
You had your opinions. Ones that had been slowly formulating since your arrival, ones that may be an unpleasant truth to hear.
“I do.” He saw the hesitation written plainly on your face. “You can be blunt.”
You nodded, and sighed releasing any tension. “If you wish -“ you cleared your throat - “the way I see it you revel in said rumors. You can easily dispel them by ingraining yourself more into society, but you don’t. You do the donations, you have the well liked bookshop, but you do not show your face. Either you isolate yourself to protect yourself, or because you believe you deserve it - deserve the isolation.”
Morpheus hummed, utterly fascinated by your answer. “Truly? And what do you think? Why would I sever my connection to society?”
Your eyes dragged up and down over his body - you were dissecting him. Morpheus noted how a change came over you. You were not a servant, head bowed, but an equal with a sharp eye. You were clever, far more clever than you let on. A mask had momentarily slipped. “Because you deserve it or so you believe.”
He nodded. You may have indulged a mere facet of his curiosity, but somehow stirred more within this one conversation. He turned back to his work, “Thank you for indulging me.”
“Is there anything else you need, sir?” You smiled, and your tone suggested a hint of teasing, “Any other of my opinions you wish to know?”
His smile was hidden from you. “No, thank you.”
“Of course.” You bowed and swiftly left.
“And do not feel frightened to share your honesty.” He spoke the next sentence softly, whispering, “I enjoy it.”
You paused at the door. A faint flutter hummed in your chest. “If you wish, sir.”
I do, he thought.
You turned your head, glancing back once more. He had returned to his work. Your mind thought back on the conversation, on Morpheus’s self imposed isolation. You opened your mouth, only to quickly close it and simply left. As the door softly clicked shut, Morpheus put his head into his hands.
A mortal.
A foolish mortal who had unknowingly walked into the lion’s den. His thirst rose when you walked by, and the smell of you now imbued his home. Before he remembered a time when his thirst could be quelled for months at a time, unbothered or unaffected by hunger. But now as you freely roamed his halls, he could barely go a few days without feeling its intense and paralyzing effects. The taste of human blood has not touched his lips in nearly a century.
Idiot, he thought. Why did I allow this?
“I believe it would do you some good sir,” Lucienne pressed. She had approached her lord, proposing to introduce a servant, more so a cleaning servant, into the manor. Or more accurately cornered him in his study.
Morpheus huffed under his breath. “Lucienne, I respect you and your opinions, however, this is ridiculous and out of the question.”
“Lord Morpheus, you need to try more or dare we have another fiasco such as the last manor.”
Ah, yes, how could he forget.
He had gotten complacent in his solitude. He kept to himself, and worked on new stories that continued to be sent in from all over. He only cared about his work, and nothing else.
No. That was incorrect.
No, he was purposely drowning himself in it; all to forget the painful heartache. No, he had not gotten complacent in solitude, he had gotten complacent in his endless grief. Let the people gossip, he bitterly thought. Let them believe in the monster. He did not care for his world were these dingy walls with the ghost roaming amongst them.
But, a strange man who lived on the outskirts of town stirred vile imaginations. After a decade and possibly longer of living - in what Morpheus ignorantly believed to be peace - the townspeople charged one night forcing everyone to flee.
He had to rebuild.
He had to remake himself in this new town. He had hoped his donations would soothe the townspeople, but mortals were weary of newcomers and indulged in their superstitions far too often.
Even if their intuitions were right most of the time.
A tap on the window broke Morpheus out of his thoughts, his memories. Through the haze of the night, a small black mass was perched on the window sill. Morpheus wordlessly strolled over and opened the window. A bird, a raven specifically, swooped in and landed on the desk.
“And what do I owe the pleasure, Matthew?” Morpheus asked, facing the raven.
The raven shuffled, his talons clacked against the wood. “Sorry to interrupt, boss, but Merv is asking for something for the pain again. He says his supply is almost out.”
Morpheus’s features softened, a miniscule change. “Okay, tell Merv I will send for more immediately.”
Matthew nodded, but he did not move.
“Is there something else you need?” Morpheus asked, raising his eyebrow.
Matthew sighed, sinking a bit. “I may or may not have been listening to yours and Lucienne’s conversation.”
Morpheus’s lips thinned, not angered Matthew was listening - it was nothing new - but because he knew Matthew would side with Lucienne. “And what do you think of the matter then?”
“Well,” he drawled out, “I have been visiting the town a bit, and some of the people have begun to talk and they’re not too … happy.”
Morpheus barely contained his eye roll. “I have done all I can to appease them, if they want to make speculations then let them. I don’t harm them in any capacity.”
It was true. His diet these days consisted solely of animals.
“Maybe an appearance at the bookshop then,” Lucienne suggested. “But, I still urge you to hire someone. If others see someone unharmed in your care then it would lessen the problem.”
“I will not bring a stranger into my home just so mortals can stop gossiping.”
“If not for you then for us, for the manor. We already had to run once.”
Morpheus frowned.
Lucienne cautiously stepped forward. “You opened your door to me - for Mervyn, and Matthew - you brought in a stranger once before.”
“That was different. This will be a mortal, Lucienne.”
“And do you not trust yourself, or do you not want a repeat?”
Morpheus’s shoulders tensed. An intense, chilling, glare settled into his eyes. His eyes glowed ominously like a feral animal. “Lucienne, I will ask you once to not bring that up again.”
Lucienne stepped back, but did not look away. She held her ground in a way. “Apologies, sir, but I do not want to find a new place so soon.”
Matthew chirped up, disliking the heavy tension in the room. He flapped his wings to turn all the attention onto him. “And it would be nice for you, boss. The manor has been gathering dust, so it would be good for all of us, right?”
Morpheus closed his eyes then exhaled slowly. Opening his eyes, they had returned to a normal shade. “Fine.”
“What?” Matthew muttered, stunned.
“Bring someone in, do what you must.” He turned his back. “If we can survive another decade here peacefully then do so. I don’t want to start again so quickly.”
“Of course, sir, thank you.” Lucienne bowed her head and left as Matthew swooped after her.
Look at all the good it has done, Morpheus thought.
Morpheus was confined to these walls with you lurking around. You were haunting him, and you reminded him of -
He shook away those memories. He had a new ghost in his home and he had to deal with this unfortunate reality. This wasn’t about him, this was about Lucienne, Matthew, and Mervyn. They were lucky last time to escape before the home burned, but luck always ran out. If people discovered the truth, if they came in the night unheard, he couldn’t forgive himself for anything that would happen to his friends - his family.
This was his family unlike the one born from blood.
Meanwhile as you strolled away from Morpheus’s study, your thoughts were tangled together. He was odd. Polite, yes. But, odd. He created a wedge between him and most; a wedge you clearly saw. In the short time you were living here, it was becoming obvious who Lord Morpheus was: a tortured soul. But, why? What drove him to this state? If you were to continue to live here, you would find out.
Curiosity was powerful, and you had your reasonings to do so.
Taking the tray to the kitchen, you once again passed by another oddity in the manor: the plain wooden door under the stairs. Earlier in your adventures of the manor, you tried to open it to no avail.
“I wouldn’t keep trying if I were you.” You whirled around - panicked you had been caught - and thankfully only saw Lucienne. She smiled, a joking smile, at your reaction. Her eyes darted to the lock door. “It leads to the basement where the plumbing goes.”
You frowned, disappointed.
“Sorry, I know it’s not as wondrous as you might think.” She strolled forwards, eyes kept on the door. “But I assure you, it’s not pleasant down there. It’s damp and dark with old pipes.”
Her eyes flickered over, locking with yours. She peered over her glasses to ensure she looked at you directly. ‘Don’t’ was all her eyes said.
“I suppose the wonders of plumping is something I’m not too keen about,” you chuckled lightly.
Her smile softened, and laughed along with you. “No, I don’t think most are. Now, if you excuse me, I was going to get a drink.”
She skirted by you towards the kitchen. Once, she was down the hall and out of sight, your eyes swiveled back to the door. Only one thought ran through your mind: she’s lying. You pressed your hand to the door. In your chest, deep within your bones, something hummed on the other side.
Stepping back, you searched and no one was around. If not today, but one day you will see what was behind that door. A voice told you to be cautious in your curiosity, but to also not let it die out. Trust your gut. And your gut needed the door to be opened to reveal all its secrets.
You paused, running your hand over the grain of the wood. The hum still called out. Similar to how you swore to uncover the secrets of a Morpheus, this door fell under it as well. This manor reeked of secrets and lies. It did not frightened you, not in the least. It compelled you. And the rumors only spurred your thirst for knowledge.
But, today was not the day. All of this required a touch of patience.
A skill you honed over the years.
Brushing past, you made your way into the kitchen dropping off the tray. Glancing out the window, the late rainy morning reminded you of all the hours you still had left in the day. You sighed.
Now, what should I do?
The rest of the day you decided to busy yourself with cleaning the kitchen. Most of the appliances were new, and strangely did not seem to be used as frequently since some dust had collected on them, much like the rest of the manor. You scrubbed the cabinets and the floor, cleaned dishes and silverware, and threw away any rotted food - which was surpassingly little. The kitchen nearly sparkled by the end of your work, and luckily the day had passed between all of it.
You retired for the night and drew a well deserved and needed bath. You soaked for almost an hour, letting your skin prune and your thoughts wander: thoughts of the manor, thoughts of Lucienne, thoughts of the mysterious gardener, thoughts of Morpheus, and thoughts of your past and life now.
You sighed, sinking into the water until it barely touched your nose.
Here was a new start with new promises while the past still loomed heavily over your shoulders. No, you truly couldn’t start anew until the past was settled. You knew this, and you were constantly reminded of it.
With the water now cold, you decided to get out. You dried off and pulled on your night clothes. Shuffling out of the bathroom, you passed the writing desk.
You paused.
Changing direction from your cozy bed, you veered to the desk. You needed to write a letter, one you had forgotten - and may have purposely neglected - to write. You plopped down into the creaky wooden chair and began to write a letter. Amongst your initial search of the desk, you were surprised, and thankful, to find paper and ink already inside the drawer.
You had an old promise to keep.
You pulled out a paper and addressed it to your uncle. An uncle who raised you and taught you many things. An uncle who you spoke exclusively in letters since leaving his home nearly over a decade ago. You loved him dearly, and hoped maybe one day after your journey of self discovery, and possibly after truly settling down, you would visit him again.
Under a candlelight, you wrote about the past week. You spoke of your new job, your new lord, and the others who lived here - even if you spoke only to one. You spoke how this job could be the one, the one to change your life. You told him he was still always in your thoughts, and wondered how he was doing since his new retired life per his last letter. You smiled down at the letter, and signed it. You neatly folded it, and tucked it into an envelope to send at the earliest convenience.
Maybe Lucienne could take it to the post office for you, or maybe you’ll make a visit into town.
The decision will come later, for now you need to sleep.
More Posts from Xlili-lyraterx and Others
'fairies dont exist' WRONG❗❗cyerce elegans
Magindara
When invaders threaten your home, life, and people, you, a sirena, strike a desperate bargain with Dream of the Endless to save them all.
Dream of the Endless x mermaid!reader, one shot (for now)
Tags: war, gore, torture, death/murder, mentions of SA, slavery, things that generally come with colonialism
Inspired by the episode “Jibaro” from the Netflix show Love Death + Robots. This one shot draws heavily from Filipino mythology, culture, and history. I ENCOURAGE and INVITE people who don’t come from a Filipino background to read this story and enjoy! There is so much beauty to be had in cultures of color, for everyone. Just as I have read many stories steeped in Greek, Celtic, Norse, medieval England, etc cultures, without coming from those backgrounds, I humbly ask you do the same and entertain this little fic. Thank you. I may write a follow up if there’s interest. Glossary at the end.
-
From the banks of your river, you can hear the horses.
Metal plate clangs and screeches against itself, swords jostle in their sheaths, and shields bump where they rest on armored backs so loud that you want to scratch your sensitive ears out, just to make the sounds stop.
Your ates and kuyas hide deep below in the caverns known only to your kind. When you close your black eyes, you feel them tugging at the edges of your mind like little lights in the deep darkness of the sea. They believe that will be enough to save them.
Only you have braved the surface, because only you know what these strange men upon their strange beasts want.
They want the gold in the dark, fertile earth. You don’t understand why - it’s just shiny metal. Only the dwarves under the hills covet it. But the men who ravage your lands and your kin like wildfires, grasping everything and destroying it in the same breath, care very much. They want the never-dying orchids that line the banks and the brilliant emerald green vitality bursting from every leaf and vine that could keep a mortal alive for a thousand years. They want to feed their glory on your broken bodies. They want to take the people you protect for slaves, the women shamed and disgraced and the men subservient and humiliated.
You’ve seen it for yourself.
You’ve tasted the water of streams running red with blood, the iron like acid on your blue tongue.
You’ve swam farther and seen enough to make you hate. Families torn apart, children with their hair cut off and given names in an ugly language, forbidden to speak their own - the same language you speak. Fathers dragged onto large ships, larger than a butandíng, never to return. Altars burned. The men put your red sisters who live in the balete trees, their hair tangled with vines and lovely, fierce, flickering yellow eyes, to the flame. You witnessed their dying howls and curses for vengeance.
Some of the white-haired annani have already begun to clip their pointed ears, tear the crowns of flowers from their hair, and even cut out their tongues so as to lock away the magic these men desire, never to be spoken again. “There is no place for us,” Those tall, graceful elves told you. “We will be gone in a generation, by sword or by starvation.”
They’re coming.
The jungle is quiet as it has never been in a thousand years.
You could no more hide your tail, glittering blue and turquoise, with long, sweeping fins like ferns, than you could hide the long sweep of hair that reaches your waist, or the ink-black lines embedded on your skin, painting your face, your neck, and your arms with the story of your people and your home.
The calls that echoed from the depths of the river have stopped. It seems that your family has accepted that you won’t come back.
You look at your webbed hands, test your claws against your flesh. What is one magindara to a hundred conquistadors?
When the men spear you, they won’t just be slaughtering a mermaid. They’ll be killing the stories you keep. Centuries of stories. Countless names. Each pearl around your neck is a tribe, full of the old songs of grandmothers and the new rhymes of babies. You’re draped in thousands of shimmering strands of pearls.
You may not be the cleverest, or the most beautiful, or the one with the sweetest voice…
But you can be the bravest.
“Lord Morpheus,” You intone, frowning as the syllables ripple wrong and harsh from your throat.
You’ve never spoken to any of the gods beyond your islands before. “Dream of the Endless.” All you can do is hope and pray this one listens and comes to you in time. Will they be kind? Will it be merciful? Will he, or she, save your home?
Perhaps such a god does not exist at all, and you are praying to wind and sunlight, and soon your guts will color the cerulean water purple and black. The strange men will defile your body, no doubt. A week ago, you crawled from your river to cut down the corpse of a long-gone ate from a stake, jagged holes ripped into the tail of her corpse that made you vomit and her dead eyes full of pain.
Once you’d laid her to rest in the water, she dissolved into nothing. “Prince of Stories,” You sing. That is what faces everything you’ve ever loved if you fail.
“I beg you, save us. Save our stories, our dreams. We call for your aid.”
The men bark at each other. Any moment now, they’ll see you, your hands raised and your face tipped towards the heavens, inky flowers blooming on your forehead and cheeks and crocodile teeth tattooed on the sharp line of your jaw.
A new quiet falls over the world. Like nighttime, when things are resting, not dead.
You have called, and I answer.
A being stands on the banks of your river in the shape of a man. His hair is blacker than Bakunawa’s maw and his eyes are filled with gold and silver stars brighter than any you’ve seen before. His pale skin carries no markings.
He is as grotesquely, menacingly beautiful as the razor’s edge of shark teeth, as a great python curling in a tree, as an eagle with its claws stuck in the beating, bleeding heart of a monkey.
You feel the weight of his gaze on your brow heavier and hotter than the sun on the longest day of summer, burning out the truth in your heart. “I would bargain with you, Dream Lord. For my people, and my land, and my home, which I love more than my own life.”
What would you have me do? When Lord Morpheus speaks, his voice pours through your mind ringing like the purest, clearest freshwater.
The many jewels around your throat, pearls, sapphires, rubies, diamonds, plates of beaten gold, click as you swallow nervously.
The dream king stands so tall that he could touch the sky if he reached up. And he doesn’t look away or blink. You can’t read the inhuman planes of his face whatsoever, you can’t find any familiar sign in his long limbs that might bring comfort. For all you know, you’ve spelled your doom.
“Keep them alive. Keep our names and spirits alive. Bring our stories into your kingdom so that we won’t be forgotten. That is what the men want. They want to raze us to the ground and rebuild the world in their image but we will not go.” You pause. “We will never, ever go,” You growl, fierce and deadly, around a mouth full of fangs. In your words you pour the horrors you’ve seen, combined with the beauty surrounding the two of you.
The hot, muggy air, the warm rain, the scent of night-blooming jasmines. Orange mangoes, bursting with sweetness, bamboo sticks clacking as joyful youths dance in and out of them, laughing gaily. Rolling drums. Bright feathers tucked into black hair. A toddling child reaching out to her grandmother with a chubby-cheeked smile, pressing the back of the withered, ancient hand against her little forehead. Love, so much love.
I have not walked these lands before.
You found traces of Lord Morpheus scribbled in the margins of paper and in the back alleys of lost dreams. Your last and only hope.
When you went to Diyan Masalanta, she wept and showed how the soldiers bound her hands. When you cried out to her brother, Apolaki, the sun god called back and said the invaders took his shield.
Bathala is gone. Mayari is gone. Lakapati is dead. The conquistadors stripped her naked, cut her ribs from her chest, and planted her bones in the fields they set their slaves, your people, to work.
“They say you are Endless. You preside over all beings in all places. Please, I beg you, preside over us. Are we not worthy of your favor? Do we not deserve to live in your dreams and nightmares?”
If Lord Morpheus refuses you, you’ll cut your throat before you let your enemies have you.
He tilts his head like he can hear your thoughts. One shining hand stretches out, almost as if to touch your face. You sing prettily, little siren. You draw back with a start. Why is there hunger in his voice? A hollow, all-consuming, terrifying hunger?
You know what it feels like to starve when the fish are scarce. This is leagues away, a typhoon to your trickle of rain. Shadows bloom under his hollowed cheeks. His pupils eclipse his brilliant aquamarine irises.
He’s-
He’s aching.
Morpheus flashes his bone-white teeth as he bends at the waist to examine you further. His gaze traces your tattoos, your large, frightened eyes, and your body beneath the necklaces and bracelets.
As scared as you are, as convinced that you’ll bleed the instant his fingers brush your blue-streaked skin, your numb lips move.
“I vow to you now, Lord Morpheus, before every god and being I know, that should you render us this aid, I will give you anything within my power to grant that you wish.”
Anything?
“Name it, my lord, and it shall be yours.” With that, your eyes flutter shut as you await his judgment.
You can’t hide from him, even in your mind. You don’t see him, but you feel a straining pressure build where he prods at you, pushing on the fragile edges of your being like he’s cracking a duck egg. He claws and scrapes until-
I will aid your people.
You open for him like a sampaguita flower. Dream of the Endless picks through your soul like he’s picking blossoms, you feel how much he wants with every brush, every long moment where he sticks his fingers in and relishes the feel of you. Nothing has ever touched you like this before.
He’s on his knees on the riverbank, the dark soil pressing into his clothes. His hands clench the rocky edge of the bank. Your wet hair sticks to your back as you rise up, close enough that you can count his night-black eyelashes. There’s a dizzying amount of them.
“Thank you. Thank you. Salamat-po. And your price, majesty?”
You’ll do whatever he wants. Does his thirst demand souls? You’ll harvest them by the dozen. You can picture Lord Morpheus unhinging his jaw, swallowing those soldiers whole. Their swords wouldn’t even scrape him going down. Riches? You have no use for them if you’re dead. He can take every speck of wealth to be had.
You. I want you.
Your sisters and brothers wail. They sense the foreign king tearing at the flesh binding you together. They feel him taking a knife to your indigo heart and cutting it loose from your body. Your head tilts back as you gasp for breath and see him hold the organ aloft. Dark blood trails in rivulets down his wrists.
“I-“
There are no creatures like you in my realm. So I shall have you, in every way that I wish, and you’ll obey. Those are my terms.
Your tail lashes in the water as if you fight hard enough, you can swim away. The cavity pulses with searing, unholy pain. You’ve made a mistake. You’ve summoned- He is an aswang, a devil, a soul-eater, you’ll never see your home again, you’ll never touch the water you’ve known since birth.
Lord Morpheus brings your heart to his mouth. His lips are beautifully-formed. You can’t find it in yourself to hate such a wondrous creature. Even your amethyst ichor looks more beguiling when he’s covered in it.
It was never a question. “Yes, my lord. I accept these terms.”
His white teeth stain purple when he sinks them into your heart.
-
Glossary:
Ate (ah-tey) - sister
Kuya (koo-yah) - brother
Butandíng - whale shark
Balete tree - very cool large tree native to Southeast Asia
Annani - elves from the stories of the Ibanag people, who look like humans with pointed ears. They are kind guardians of the forest and often share healing knowledge with humans if treated with respect.
Magindara - mermaids from the folklore of the Bicolano people. Beautiful half human, half fish guardians of rivers/streams/lakes/the oceans, who sing to lure fisherman and warriors to their death but leave children unharmed.
Bakunawa - a great mythic serpent and god/goddess of darkness. Various myths place Bakunawa responsible for eclipses.
Diyan Masalanta - Tagalog goddess of love, war, childbirth
Apolaki - Tagalog god of the sun and war, patron saint of warriors, soldiers, modern day patron saint of Filipino traditional martial arts (Kali/eskrima/arnis) practitioners
Bathala - the Tagalog supreme creator god
Mayari - the Tagalog goddess of the moon, war, revolution, and justice. She fought her brother Apolaki for dominion over the heavens.
Lakapati - the Tagalog goddess of fertility, food, bounty, balance, and prosperity. She represents both male and female and has both male and female genitalia. Patron saint of queer/trans people.
Sampaguita - the Filipino name for sambac jasmine, the national flower of the Philippines
Salamat-po (sah-lah-maht poh) - thank you (utmost respect) in Tagalog
Aswang - overall name for the malicious/demonic/monstrous beings in Filipino folklore. Vampires, zombies, ghouls, organ eaters, cannibals.
I hope you guys liked this! Let me know if you have any questions or want to read more from this.
Did I daydream this, or was there a website for writers with like. A ridiculous quantity of descriptive aid. Like I remember clicking on " inside a cinema " or something like that. Then, BAM. Here's a list of smell and sounds. I can't remember it for the life of me, but if someone else can, help a bitch out <3
treehouse chapter 29 (tumblr version)
🔞 Dream of the Endless I Lord Morpheus x reader 🔞
Unplanned pregnancy, SMUT. 8.5k words of sin.
crossposted to AO3 (want to read the whole story? click here)
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You run and Morpheus goes after you. Tags under read more. posted here for the folks who want the smut without wading through a ton of plot.
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SMUT TAGS:
primal kink, hide and seek/running and hunting, CNC, consent check ins, aftercare, tentacles if you squint, one sided hate sex (she hates him, he loves her)
Reader POV:
You stop screaming about halfway down once you realize that you’re not falling - you’re floating. Like a fucking flower petal.
You land feet-first on the soft, green grass outside the castle and promptly ruin everything by stumbling to your knees, scraping your skin raw and red against the dirt. It’s not your fault. Flying wasn’t on the fucking agenda.
The storm above roils with flashes of sickly yellow lightning and sullen, moody clouds.
Anger bleeds from you like the slit throat of the man you murdered. The feeling clings to your skin, warming you against the tempest’s chill.
It’s been a very long time since you’ve punished someone other than yourself, and you lust half-starved for Morpheus’s misery, for the chance to try your freshly-blooded canines.
As you get to your feet, the fog surrounding you lifts just enough to show flashes of a thick, thorny wood up ahead. A forest fashioned from charcoal shadows and long, spindly branches with no leaves. Not trees, only their skeletons.
It will do. Does the dried blood on your shirt make you some kind of morbid Little Red Riding Hood? If that’s the case, the Big Bad Wolf always dies in the end. Perfect.
Without looking back, you sprint for it.
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Lucienne POV
While Lucienne’s life has become more exciting since Lord Morpheus decided to make you his business, it certainly hasn’t gotten easier.
After all, what is his business is her business. Therefore, you and your relationship are her business.
She was doing a perfectly acceptable job managing everything, she thinks to herself somewhat crossly, until the two of you decided to make her life worse.
But while she doesn’t understand why you are trying to escape when you will never, ever make it out of this realm without the Lord’s permission, she accepts that it is not her place to question such… obscure, esoteric decisions and seeks to assist you as requested. To an extent.
Why, is Lord Morpheus’s coat on fire? Lucienne hasn’t seen him so worked up since Rose Walker. Not even then. “Where is she?” He demands, using the rolling thunder and howling wind as his voice.
Play dumb. “…Who is ‘she,’ my lord?” Lucienne winces. Perhaps not that dumb.
Though none of the books can catch fire, as they are not written upon flammable, single-use Waking-world paper, Lucienne resists the urge to beat the hem of his flaming robe away from the stacks of parchment and dream-paper. Call it a librarian’s force of habit.
“My- my intended.” The king’s glare would put the fear of the Endless in any lesser being.
But Lucienne is no lesser being. In fact, she’s rather put out at the complete absence of decorum Lord Morpheus has seen fit to show… this entire debacle.
Sneaking around like a common thief? Lying to you, keeping you completely unaware of the station that he has elevated you to? Casting disgrace and disrepute on the Dreaming and its people by terrifying you of it so?
Lord Morpheus practically dragged you here stark naked and screaming, for all intents and purposes.
And to add insult to injury, he dares to act as though she should be thrilled to debase herself before him.
“I don’t recall ever meeting your intended, my king. You must forgive me,” Lucienne snaps, peering at the figure on fire over the tops of her spectacles.
She is not so decrepit as to misremember when Lord Morpheus formally put forth his suit for the Lady Calliope.
Every realm and kingdom rang with it. Lord Morpheus brought the Lady Calliope in full honor through the Gates of Horn and Ivory, in a gleaming chariot of gold drawn by Helios’s horses covered in rose garlands.
In Lucienne’s unasked opinion, it is the height of disrespect on her Lord’s part to deprive you of such honors. She’s not surprised you’ve rejected him, and neither should he.
His flaming cloak flares blue, leaving holes in the carpet. Repairing them will significantly inconvenience Merv. They may need to replace the whole floor at the rate their king is going. What a pointless waste of a good carpet.
“You are my Vizier. You are my right hand. If you cannot tell me where that woman is, I will throw you out that window myself. And then I shall strip you of your position and seal, and set the hounds of Hell on what remains of you.”
Lucienne doesn’t think it’s nearly that serious. But then again, she has never been in love like Lord Morpheus loves, nor has she misstepped the way Lord Morpheus perennially steps on cracks in concrete.
In her mind, Lucienne apologizes to you. She hoped to grant you a little more time. “She went that way,” Lucienne says, gesturing to the Great Beyond on the outskirts of the kingdom. Hopefully, you’ve made it far enough to enact whatever chaotic scheme you’re brewing.
“Good luck, Lord Morpheus!” He’ll need it.
Lucienne watches the king disappear without a word of thanks. Once she’s sure that he’s gone, she goes to inspect the damage to the library.
Her earlier fears were warranted; the carpet is done for, along with a few floorboards. They’re singed to a crisp, filling the air with an acrid, burnt stink. With a long, suffering, frustrated sigh, Lucienne summons the pumpkin-headed caretaker.
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Reader POV
Your shoes-
They’re getting in the way. The laces have come undone, and you trip over them, then over a series of tree roots rippling above the ground.
When you kick them off in an impulsive, frustrated fit, you expect the ground to be full of sharp things, thorns, jagged pebbles, and maybe even a few bones.
Your feet instead sink into pillowy-soft dirt. As soon as your toes go near a twig, the hard edges around it blunt until it metamorphoses into a blade of tender young grass. The pebbles turn into balls of fuzzy moss, and upon closer inspection, the bones are oddly shaped mushrooms.
So Lucienne was telling the truth when she said nothing in this place could hurt you.
The wind picks up, blowing your hair around your face in a halo and rustling through the leaves in a high, wailing sound, screeching like a pulled fire alarm left too long.
The hairs on your arms stand, and goosebumps trail down your spine.
As you start to run again, you wonder if you’re not only hearing the wind but also some wounded creature crooning and crying out for help.
It’s coming from behind you, from the castle.
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
You feel a cramp open up in your side from running so hard, from panting and clawing for oxygen to keep you upright and moving.
The forest goes on and on, a never-ending series of towering, menacing dead trees with gaping shadows and a horizon that grows increasingly distant no matter how far you go.
Fragments of dried bark dig into your palm as you brave yourself on a withered tree trunk.
Run.
You lurch a few feet forward.
The shadows grow maws. They grow fangs. They nip at the backs of your heels.
Morpheus is coming for you.
Everything aches, but you keep going. Your stomach grows nauseous, but you keep going.
The sky above you turns a sickly shade of blue-gray, a horrible warning sign for the torrent of freezing rain about to accompany your desperate, hunted flight.
He will catch you, stick his claws in your back, and parade you through that grand palace in chains.
Or not.
Morpheus says he loves you. Look at what you’ve done with your love for him. No chains are needed for the dead.
But who knows?
You don’t. You do know better than to hope.
That thought carries you just a little further. No matter how weary or wounded you become, you’ll never stop fighting for yourself or your baby bird.
Your heart pounds in your chest like a war drum, and your blood sings in your veins.
You flee past two trees, then three, then four. Their long arms beckon you to turn down one of their dark, haunted paths, to put your back to the horizon and lose yourself in the underbrush like a rabbit running straight into a trap.
You cling to slivers of gold and orange sunbeams peeking through the branches with all the dying hope you can dredge up. The edge of the forest isn’t that far away. You’ll feel the sun on your face and outrun the storm in a moment.
A twig snaps.
Something takes a step. It breathes.
At the corner of your eyes, the shadows pulse and twist.
So he’s found you. You never truly thought you’d make it out of here, but disappointment weighs on your chest like a brick pulling you into the depths of a cold, unforgiving lake. The forest may have had no end, and you were only deluding yourself that it did.
The scent of salt and ice is so heavy in the air that you can taste frozen crystals forming on the roof of your mouth, briny with a tinge of iron.
A dark, endless void of shadows blocks your path, reaching the top of the stormy sky. “Boo.” Morpheus wears a disgusting smile filled with sharp white teeth. It makes you feel things. Abject terror. The impulse to drop to your knees and beg for mercy. And a sick, sadistic heat under your skin.
He came hunting.
You love it.
He wears a red flush on his stark white cheeks as if chasing you took effort. “Dream.” The show is appreciated, even though you both know his godly biology doesn’t work like that. A+ for effort.
It enhances the glowing blue of his irises, like twin stars shining bright in his face against the rich obsidian cloak with a smoking hem flaring around his shoulders. He is a stained glass painting of an archangel, and you are the creature of clay and Adam’s blood barred from Heaven.
You watch the razor edge of his teeth sink into his bottom lip with a feeling reminiscent of envy rotting in the pit of your stomach.
His voice has the sensuality of freshly carded silk brushing over bare skin. “How on earth did you find yourself out here, beloved? These woods are dangerous. They say there is a monster here that eats pretty girls.” Morpheus tilts his head slightly, and his smirk widens.
Your rust-colored nails flex and dig into the hem of your sweater. “Do you get many of those passing through?” You snark back. If I’m so special, prove it. Do what you wouldn’t do for a goddess, or a queen, or a star.
Unfortunately, the blow doesn’t land. He acts like you’re the only person he’d come for. “None as pretty as you. So what are you doing alone? My lady, I’d be delighted to lead you back to the castle. You’re shivering.” There is a grating, patronizing indulgence in his tone. He’s fucking humoring you. He knows you’re full of shit and that no matter how hard you deny it, his feelings are a truth you can’t sully.
That doesn’t mean you’ll give up. “I’m not going back.” How far can you go before Morpheus turns away? How terrible and cruel and horrible can you be before he decides you’re not worth the trouble?
You want- no, need to find out.
It’s only fair. You have suffered, and you never stopped loving him. Let Dream suffer and see if his love endures, if he’s even half the person you are.
In the blink of an eye, the shadows disappear as if they were never there. “Anything could happen to you. Some fiend could carry you off-“ Morpheus says evenly as his cloak shifts into the elegant coat you adore.
Now, he is but a beautiful stranger in the woods. Your clothes are a weak, flimsy barrier to his searching, heated gaze, trailing intimately over the full curves of your body and your rounded belly.
Has Morpheus read your mind and revealed your own brutal desire concealed in your skull like a minefield waiting to explode? “You’ve already done that.” Maybe he didn’t need to. You’ve given yourself away in your dilated pupils, and how you gave up on running as soon as you got what you wanted.
“Hurt you-“ Dream ignores your provocation as he spreads his long-fingered hands, showing he holds no weapon or trick.
For every step he takes towards you, you take one back. “You also already did that,” You frostily remind him.
Morpheus’s coat would irritate you less if it were cast off on the ground and crushed into the dirt along with the rest of his clothes. His hair would be prettier fucked up and tugged between your fingers. You might be able to stand the sight of his mouth better if it were bleeding and bruised from your teeth.
The corner of his mouth ticks up as his eyes gleam with mischief. “Or dishonor you, right here. Who would hear you scream?” He backs you against a tree, and the bark snags your sweater. “Nobody,” Morpheus leans in to whisper. His collarbones peek out of the neckline of his shirt, as delicately articulated as the hollow bones of a bird.
Heat stirs in your blood at the sight.
You felt good watching that man die for Morpheus. And then empty, dreadfully empty. “Don’t touch me,” You hiss, more of a challenge than a deterrent. You want to feel good again.
Morpheus could make you feel good again.
A black shade knocks on your skull at the edges of your vision and politely asks to be let in. Your eyes roll back as it walks through the door you’ve opened inside of yourself and sees what you define as ‘good.’
“…Is that what you really want, darling?” Dream asks, both mocking your resistance and subtlety, softly acknowledging what he found behind your eyes.
Bile builds in your mouth. No. No softness. He has no right. “Why would I ever let you near me again? You are a liar and a fucking dick,” You hiss venomously before gathering saliva and spitting straight into his face.
Morpheus blinks a few times, his eyes round and blameless. “I love you.” For a single breathless second, you don’t hate him, and he never hurt you. You’re two children playing tag in the grass or tackling each other into the dirt.
You snap out of it. “Fuck off.” You feel a thousand degrees hotter. Sticky sweat gathers under your clothes along the heavy curve of your breasts and clings to the small of your back.
He braces one muscled arm on the tree above you and leans in to take in the scent of your hair, so close that his lips almost skim the shell of your ear. “I adore you like this. Fighting me, fighting yourself. It’s charming.” You shiver, unable to stop yourself from reacting.
He’s not touching you. When he exhales, you feel his breath pass over your cheek. He takes a step closer, looming tall and majestic over you. Morpheus delicately pins his arm on your other side, effectively boxing you in.
But he’s still not touching you.
You swallow quickly.
“I’m not fucking doing it for your benefit. Can’t you take a hint? I said no. You have shown me amply this past month how little of a fuck you give. So why don’t you keep doing that and go the fuck away?”
Despite his best efforts at seeming harmless, you can’t shake the impression of his wild, almost-inhumanly blue eyes and too-gaunt cheekbones, like a wraith wearing an angel’s wings.
His eyes trail over your flushed cheeks and the pink of your tongue as you lick your lips.
He reaches out to cradle your face before pulling his hand back when he sees you lean in. “Ah, so this is a test. You want to see how far I’m willing to go. You want to see what I’ll do for you, how long I’ll wait, and how much patience I have,” Morpheus murmurs in a voice as soft as fog.
You should-
You should tell him that he’s got it all wrong. You should tell him that you’ll never forgive him and there’s nothing he can do. You’ve made up your mind and hardened your heart.
“And if it is?”
He kisses you.
The worst part is that you let him.
Morpheus’s hands clutch you against him, your belly brushes his coat, his lips are warm and inviting, and he kisses you like he’s waited his whole long immortal life to do it. His tongue brushes yours, drawing a quiet moan from you. He tastes like salt and musk, and your arms circle his neck, pulling him further into your kiss.
“Then I look forward to passing it,” Morpheus says breathlessly as he breaks away, pressing his forehead to your temple as if nothing is wrong.
With strength you didn’t know you had, you take him by the lapels of his coat and shove him back. Fuck him. Fuck this.
You turn and run before he realizes what’s happening. Panic isn’t egging you on anymore - it’s your fury, smothered slightly but not anywhere near finished. Oh no, you’re not fucking done with Morpheus. You want to see him draped in your agony, you want the light in his eyes extinguished.
You don’t make it two feet. Darkness wraps you up in a warm, gentle embrace, blocking out the whole world other than Dream, watching you struggle with his arms crossed over his chest.
Shadows thread around your wrists, pinning them behind your back. “Running away again? I’ll always catch you, and you’ll never escape.” Morpheus runs a finger along your jawline. His skin feels cool, and the touch is far too tender.
“You don’t know half of what I’m capable of.” Your glare would singe his stupidly immaculate hair off if it could.
His finger trails down your throat and hooks in the neckline of your bloody sweater, pulling it slightly away from your body. “I think I do. I think I know you better than anyone else, dead or alive.” For every ounce of your poison, Dream gives you back steady, unwavering adoration, tugging on the sweater without shying from the stains.
When the damned thing gives, you’re not even that upset. It falls to the ground in two pieces, leaving you in your tank top and pants.
“What the fuck?” You squirm in your makeshift binds, trying and failing to find a sharp edge you could use to convince him to release you.
“That divine mouth of yours may lie, but this,” Morpheus hisses as he rests his palm at the base of your throat to feel your blood rush crazed and wild at his touch. “This doesn’t.” The corner of his mouth turns up as you moan, reluctantly eager for him to tighten his grasp just a little more.
Morpheus tuts before releasing your throat.
Before your feelings smart from the loss, his shadows pluck at the straps of your tank top. “How fucking dare you? Get off of me.”
“But I don’t want to,” Morpheus parries in a high-pitched, playfully mocking tone.
Oh, he has a goddamn death wish. “Do you think I care?” When one of the shadowy tendrils tries to sweep lovingly across your cheek, you bite it. Hard. It tastes like fresh snow. You far prefer it to Desire’s sickly-sweet flesh.
With a single flick of his hand, he makes a deep crimson mark appear on his throat, a perfect image of the imprint of your teeth. Morpheus tilts his face as proudly as if he were wearing a crown.
“I’ve thought about having you like this, bare in our home, ever since I left you.” He rids you of your pants with surgical precision, casting the shreds of rust-speckled fabric somewhere, never to be found again. As Morpheus turns to your tank top, his shadows tighten their grip on your hands, pushing your chest forward.
You watch the intelligence and rational thought die in his eyes when he sees your breasts free of clothing, hanging round and heavy in the cool air.
“What? You’ve never seen my boobs before?” You snarl after growing tired of a full minute of speechlessness.
Your dark binds tug you back and back until you find yourself held upright by a tree trunk.
Dream delicately sweeps strands of your hair away from your throat so he can see without obstruction. “They’re… they’re bigger,” He whispers hoarsely. His fingers pause in their exploration of your sternum long enough to feel your pulse thudding under your skin.
Then he covers one of your breasts with his palm. You hear him groan under his breath when he realizes there’s far too much you for one of his hands. “I distinctly, intimately, precisely remember the shape and size of yours, and they’ve grown…” His fingers knead your soft breasts slowly, relieving a tenderness you didn’t even know you had.
There’s absolutely nothing sacred or respectful in his eyes glittering like sapphires. He only has a wolf’s hunger for a rabbit for you.
And then his face is pressed to the crook of your neck, his lips moving on the column of your throat as he runs a thumb over your nipple once, twice.
His touch feels different. Maybe he’s fucking with your head, or maybe being pregnant has done something to your nerves. Every little movement feels like too much pleasure and not enough of it at the same time.
Heat washes through you, blooming from his mouth and his hands to pour into your belly. “Fuck, you’re so fucking creepy, oh-“ You gasp, hating how much your body craves him.
Your underwear sticks to your thighs as you shift in search of a position that lessens the ache in your core.
Your head falls against the tree as you writhe in his hold. He runs his nails along the curve of your breast, greedily soaking in your every whimper and how you jolt, unconsciously arching closer.
You feel Morpheus lick a hot line along your throat. “Sensitive.” His other hand clutches your waist, your round hips, then palms your ass. A contented groan rumbles deep in his chest.
In revenge, you tug fervently at his coat, getting it about halfway down his strong shoulders before you start clawing at his shirt. The fabric disappears beneath your fingers, leaving him as bare-chested as you.
Instead of avoiding your nails, Morpheus encourages you to carve gilded furrows into his back. “I’m sorry, I cannot- I can’t help myself,” He says, far too pleased with himself to mean that stupid apology.
You look down to see what’s captured his attention now, only to find your tits littered with fingerprint bruises.
That sudden movement displeases him, and he pins you against the tree with a hand on your throat. “Beautiful. And when I…” When he leans down to take one of your nipples into his hot mouth and sucks, bolts of lightning dance and fizz under your skin, electrifying every nerve.
Your hips tremble and push towards him as your dripping cunt pulses and flexes around nothing. “Stop it,” You moan, trying to shove him away yet only managing to tangle your fingers in his hair. Then he switched to your other breast, kissing and lapping at the hypersensitive skin. “Oh God.” You give up fighting for a moment, too caught up in the sensations to care about your pride.
Morpheus barely has to apply the slightest pressure with his knee for your legs to part.
His fingers drag along your inner thighs to capture the arousal leaking through your panties. Before you get the chance to feel ashamed, Dream sucks his shiny fingers into his mouth, savoring your taste with an almost-blissful glaze across his eyes.
With his lips still coated in you, Morpheus looks like the very picture of sin.
After he’s cleaned his fingers, he runs them along the soaked cloth covering your cunt, pressing down just enough to tease. “You’re so needy, my love. I’m horribly cruel, aren’t I, letting you suffer in this state without my assistance.” You grind your hips against his hand, trying to get him to do something about your needy, swollen clit, desperate for relief.
He tastes like salt and sex when he kisses you. “I’m here now. I’ll take care of you.” Morpheus tears through your underwear like ripping paper. He works your clit with his thumb until you’ve soaked his palm and then slides a single finger into your pussy. Without waiting for you to adjust, he sinks in a second finger knuckle-deep.
You cry out, shaking like a leaf, as your core spasms and milks his digits. You thought that could satisfy the ache but it barely scratches the surface. You need more-
You take his chiseled face between your hands and drag him down for another kiss. “I literally despise you.” To spite him further, you mulishly keep your mouth shut as he starts fucking you with his long fingers.
It turns out that your stifled whines aren’t needed. Your wet cunt more than makes up for it. Loud, soaked squelches echo, and your legs shut to hide the sounds. That only forces Dream’s fingers deeper into your pussy and grinds your throbbing clit into his palm.
You can’t stay quiet a second longer, not as your stomach tightens and tears gather in your eyes from the rush. Those breathless, pathetic noises are all yours, and Morpheus answers them with a breathless laugh.
He keeps up a steady rhythm, carefully and precisely aiming for that sensitive spot deep inside that drives you fucking insane. “You want me to be the villain? Is that it?”
You sink your teeth into his shoulder as deep as they’ll go as your thighs shake, ecstasy rushing painfully through your muscles.
His eyes burn a brighter shade of sapphire when you bite him again. “You wish for me to be cruel? To torment you?” Morpheus wraps his other arm around your hips to help you fuck yourself on his digits. “No, beloved. I won’t,” He purrs in your ear and then kisses away the sweat from your brow.
“Go fuck yourself, Morpheus. I hate you. I hate you,” You chant in a trembling, weak voice. He doesn’t need to help you anymore, you’re shamelessly riding his hand and dripping slick to the ground.
“And I love you.”
You cry out at his words. They fucking- they do something that makes you feel hotter, more sensitive, drives you closer to the edge.
“I want- that’s it, my darling. You’re close. I can feel it.” Your pussy quivers repeatedly as the tension in your belly grows unbearable. He quirks his fingers, hitting that sensitive place as he rocks your puffy clit into his palm.
Your body is betraying you, and you’re just fucking letting him ruin you. “No. No. No, fuck- no, I’m not,” You try, blubbering denials through cries of pleasure.
Morpheus fucks into you faster, harder, matching the pace your hips set. “Tell me what you need. Use me for your pleasure, beloved.” Fuck. Fuck. You’re going to-
Your knee slides up a little, giving him more room to stretch your tight cunt further. “Come for me. I know you want to.” His tone is soft and affectionate, calling to you sweeter than a siren’s song. It tells you to give in and promises unimaginable bliss if you do.
You come with your eyes rolled back and your mouth open, shuddering, your hips jerking on his fingers, and waves of hot flame pouring down your spine.
Your orgasm fucking drenches his fingers and your muscles clamp down tighter, each vicious pulse so strong that you taste iron in the back of your mouth. All you can hear is your heartbeat, loud and insistent, and the low sound of Morpheus’s approval. You’re wracked with pleasure, wholly gone to anything else.
Just before the feeling dwindles, Dream slides his fingers out of your swollen folds, forcing you to finish coming on nothing. “That’s it. There you go. Good girl,” He says with a smile. Your frustrated wail fills the air, and you clutch at his wrist, wordlessly begging for more. “I’m not so loathsome now, hm?” Morpheus showers your face with delicate kisses, pausing only to clean a tear from your cheek with light kitten-licks.
The two of you rest there for a moment. You’re slumped between him and the tree, panting and spent and warm, while he gently rubs your back, waiting for you to catch your breath.
Once Morpheus deems you suitably recovered, he traces the marks he scattered on your chest. He smears the slick gathered on his hand across your nipples, then bends down to lick your juices from your skin. The feeling of him mouthing your tits, the sharp edge of his teeth scraping and biting, overwhelms you, and your knees buckle.
Morpheus catches you and lowers you to the ground. Dried leaves find their way into your hair and crunch under your back as you stretch out like a lazy cat.
“I have a feeling that I’d be able to make you come simply from playing with your breasts,” He murmurs as he kneels between your open legs before laying another series of kisses over the bite marks. “My lady, you are truly the most sublime creature I’ve ever touched.”
You roll your eyes and half-heartedly push his head away. “Yeah, well, you’ll be lucky if I let you near them again.” His hair feels soft and downy under your fingers like the underbelly of a bird. That’s another thing to resent him for. Why can’t he be ugly with bad hair?
Dream’s canines leave imprints in your hand when he bites, clearly communicating how he feels about being denied access to you. “We’re just getting started, darling. Your game isn’t over.”
You look up at his fair, radiant face, shining brighter than a full moon, and his mouthful of nightmarish, fanged teeth, and wonder for the first time if this was a mistake.
That’s how you find yourself riding his face while being forced toward your third orgasm of the night.
The second orgasm passed by in a shimmering haze of heat and lust.
Morpheus pulled you astride his shoulders without fanfare, clamped his hands around your plump thighs, and dragged your sensitive cunt onto his open, wet, and waiting mouth. You hit and kicked, you even tried forcing his head back with a fist in his dark hair, but he gave you the most glorious and beguiling grin at the sudden violence. You couldn’t give him any more satisfaction, so you had to let go and let him do… what he wanted.
Hands made of antimatter gripped your hips and held you upright by your hair. He thumbed your swollen folds, carefully tracing around your clit but never touching it. You weren’t able to look into his eyes from this position - your belly was just large enough to hide most of his face when you were on top. But you had a pretty good guess about how he felt about your wet cunt dangling before his lips, like fruit to be easily plucked, split open, and devoured. You heard him fucking whimper, a stupidly arousing, frustrated sound, and then his arms forced you down.
It took Dream no time to make you crumble like a deck of cards. He lapped his tongue through your folds, smearing your arousal over his lips, before working carefully on your reddened clit. Morpheus’s strong hands endured your desperate attempt to escape him by clutching you tighter.
He sucked on your bundle of nerves once, then twice. You tried to tell yourself mind over matter, that if you focused hard enough, you could ignore the pleasure rippling through you.
Of course, that meant you came so suddenly that your stomach tied itself into knots, and your spasming, throbbing cunt soaked his face. The waves snatched every scrap of air out of your lungs, so you couldn’t even plead for mercy or cry out. You gasped, hunched over with hair in your face, silently screaming and shivering, as your brain turned to slush and your eyes glazed over.
Now, Dream takes sadistic pleasure in teasing that third orgasm out and denying it to you every single fucking time.
There’s an obscene squelch when he thrusts two fingers into your cunt, finally filling the awful, hollow ache. “Fuck, fuck, oh my God, Morpheus… please…” You babble, mindlessly grinding down on his tongue.
He takes his mouth off you and slowly strokes his digits inside you, far too gentle to get you off. “Please what? Please what?” Morpheus mocks as you almost collapse into the shadows, letting them take your full weight.
You try to hide your mewls by biting on your lips and end up cutting yourself, fresh blood joining the fine layer of sweat covering your face and body. “Stop, I’m- it’s too much. You have to stop.” You have no fucking clue what you’re begging for anymore. You’re dumb to it all, helpless and panting and begging for the fever that rises every time he drags the tips of his fingers over your g-spot.
A shadowy tendril wipes the blood from your chin before crawling into your mouth, gagging you so you can’t bite yourself anymore.
More tendrils curl around your breasts and pluck at your hardened, swollen nipples. “You need more? Is that what I’m hearing? Does my lady want more?” Now he matches the rhythm of his fingers with kisses along your shuddering thighs, occasionally pausing to suck and lap at the juices covering your skin.
The tendril in your mouth dissipates into smoke so you can answer. “No, shit, aaah-“ Strands of your hair stick to your cheeks as you writhe and gasp for air.
Morpheus tries to withdraw his fingers to deny you again, tease you again, punish you again, but you’re having none of it. You blindly reach down, grab his slick hand, and urge it back towards your greedy pussy.
He laughs roughly, then kisses your hip with petal-soft lips as he obeys. “That’s it, darling. Does it feel good yet?” Fuck. Fuck. It does. You’re so full, your core flutters and milks his digits, but it’s not right or enough to satisfy the burning wildfire of desire that’s driving you mad.
You shake your head to try and get some control back, to clear your head. All you want is to just- just to give in, let him have you, let him replace every thought and word and will with himself. “No,” You stutter through slightly numb lips, your eyelashes trembling.
Your nails find his wrist and dig in as deep as they can go. Shimmering gold blood coats your thighs, and the mess gets worse and worse when Morpheus starts to bounce you on his face, eagerly drinking from your creamy folds.
“Go on. You can tell me. I know you fucking love this. Just like you love me.” As Dream is far too busy eating you out like he’s starving to lift his mouth, his voice is muffled by the slick, disgusting sounds of his tongue, his fingers, your cunt.
“I… I…” You scrabble for purchase in the dark, searching for something to hold onto, anything that can stabilize you. The hands that intertwine with yours aren’t the ones kneading your ass or fucking you into oblivion, but they’re just as reassuring as Morpheus’s real hands.
His mouth works your clit, getting rougher, messier, sucking harder. “Sweet girl, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed your noises and, fuck, the taste of you. And this pretty, pretty cunt. So sensitive. Delicious.” Dream braces one hand on your lower belly, just above your core, applying faint pressure to heighten the sensations.
“But I need you to come. Please, my darling. Please,” He moans against your puffy folds, forcing in a third finger as you wail and thrash.
Just like that, you’re shoved off the cliff, screaming and sobbing. Tears cover your cheeks as your hips move on their own, wrenching out every last bit of pleasure you can. It hurts so fucking much yet feels so fucking good. Static electricity arcs through your limbs, and even the faintest breeze whispering across your bare back makes your overstimulated core flicker and squeeze his fingers harder.
His shadows lovingly lower you to the ground, helping you curl on your side around your rounded tummy. Exhaustion filters in slowly, wrapping you in a gossamer blanket of numbness and calming your frazzled nerve endings.
Dream is there. Dream is curling protectively around your shaking form, he slides an arm under your neck to support your head, and his other hand squeezes the back of your neck. You bury yourself in his embrace and let him rock you like a child.
Here, stitched as close to him as you can be, the horrible past forty-eight hours starts to be less horrible and more foggy, like looking at something in the rear-view mirror as you drive away.
You can let yourself love him in this moment. You can be weak for a little while longer.
When you lay your palm against his heart, you feel it thudding as furiously as your own.
Morpheus exhales slowly as the feeling of you in his arms leeches the tension from his muscles. Even if you wanted to push him away, which you don’t, you wouldn’t have the strength to do it. So, for now, you’ll let him keep you here.
He kisses you as many times as he can, everywhere he can reach. Your baby hairs, your smile lines, the corners of your eyes.
Before Morpheus wipes your cheeks clean of tears, he cleans his fingers off with his tongue. Then he’s stroking away the stinging salt water dotting your skin. A furrow grows on his smooth, unwrinkled brow out of concentration.
When you start crying again out of relief, hiccuping ungracefully and snot going everywhere, his large hand tucks you into the crook of his neck. “I’m so sorry. I know, I know,” Morpheus soothes. “Do you want us to be done now? Are you finished?” He’s warmer than a furnace, and you instinctively wrap an arm around his waist and shove your feet between his calves, seeking that comfort with single-minded determination.
His small chuckle is as sweet and fragile as spun sugar.
You absentmindedly trace the veins crawling up the back of his hand as you think.
Then your anger begins to grow back, rotting through your lungs and making each breath taste like death, and you have your answer. “I want… don’t make me say it, Morpheus,” You mutter into his skin and follow it with a tiny, tiny bite, more of a nip than anything else.
This time, when Morpheus unfurls the petals of your mind, you anticipate it eagerly.
You want him, and you loathe it, and it’s choking you. “I should. I ought to make you beg on your knees,” He tells you.
You need him to cut the strife and self-loathing from your chest and smooth out your riled, tangled heartstrings, and then put you back together again. He has to pluck the violence out of your hand as if it were a knife and point it somewhere it can’t hurt you, ideally towards himself.
Dream goes quiet. He pets your hair and rests his cheek against your forehead. You’re beginning to think the softness isn’t just for your benefit; he’s drinking his fill to tide him over until the next time you let Dream touch you like this.
And there will be a next time, a gentle, honey-sweet next time. That promise runs true in your mind, buried deep beneath the layers of poison and resentment like a vein of untouched gold.
His star-filled eyes flutter shut. “Fine. Fine. I can’t deny you anything. Just a little further, and then you can rest.” When they open, his pupils twist and stretch into a monstrous, serpentine gash of black against his brilliant blue irises.
“N- no more?” You hear yourself ask for mercy, easily slipping into the role of the maiden to his beast.
Morpheus rises on his knees and hovers over your vulnerable form. “No more, my love. Can you be brave like I know you are? Can you take it for me?” He asks as the fingers stroking your cheek turn into obsidian claws for a moment.
You are not supposed to find this attractive. You’re meant to be terrified right now, unwilling, pushing him away with conviction of any kind.
“…Yes.” Yes. Take me. A warm, needy craving makes you draw up your knees to conceal your filthy, ruined cunt, glistening with fresh arousal.
The claws metamorphize into fingers before the sharp edges can slice your skin. Morpheus is no less intimidating without them, looking down at you like you’re a pretty toy in his palm. You’ll miss them, though, and you swallow your disappointment before he notices.
He lifts you from the ground before gently turning you until you face away, unable to see him while he can control all of you. “That’s it, beloved. On your knees, arch your back.” The stoic, hardened mask cracks slightly as he runs an open palm up and down your body, inevitably running into the baby in your belly. You’re surprised he lasted so long without asking about it.
Maybe Morpheus didn’t think he had the right to until now.
Your back presses into his broad, muscled chest. “May I?” He asks before slowly kissing your neck. His hair tickles your earlobe, and you feel a soft puff of air ghost over your skin when he exhales.
“Our baby.” You even surprise yourself by resting his hand over the swell of your soft, squishy tummy.
Dream strokes the rounded skin with hardly any force, suddenly treating you as delicately as he’d handle a fragile eggshell. His breathing hitches, and tension strings his tendons as tight as they can go.
If only you could capture this in a painting or trap it in a snow globe so you could relive the feeling of trusting him again over and over.
It’s too much. It’s far too much. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears as you shove his hand away from your skin. He’s too close, too soft, and too kind.
You’re not sure if you deserve it, and you sure as shit don’t want it.
As fast as a viper striking a hapless mouse, Morpheus grabs the back of your neck and traps you in place. His long fingers wrap around your throat, and his nails prick your skin. “You’re insatiable,” He tells you, then forces you down until the side of your face meets the forest floor.
He leaves your arms where they cushion you on the ground, correctly judging that bringing them behind your back will hurt in an unpleasant way, and instead keeps his dominance with a fist in your tangled hair. Dried leaves crush under your cheek as you try to prop yourself up and rest his strength. Dream doesn’t give an inch, and eventually, your body grows pliant and submissive beneath him.
His fingers dance up and down your spine in a soothing pattern. “Good girl. That’s it, sweetheart.” You grit your teeth and buck again, trying to express your displeasure, but Morpheus merely laughs and kisses the base of your spine.
“No need for all of that. I’ll give you what you want.”
When his fingers dip between your parted thighs, you push back, fucking begging him to touch your swollen folds and ease the building ache.
Your moan is exhausted and sweet as he thumbs your clit before playing with the fresh slick on your skin. “Fuck, you’re still so wet. Is that for me, darling?” Dream groans, his breath hitching as you arch a little further, presenting your dripping pussy to him.
The desperation in how hard he tries to make you cry out tells you everything about how tightly wound he is, how close he is to snapping. “Come on. You can admit it.” You keep your mouth stubbornly closed even as the pressure on your clit increases. It’s bad enough that he knows you as well as he does and can play your body like a virtuoso on a violin.
His breaths come in short, almost feral pants. “Silence? We’ll see how long that lasts.” And then- and then- Morpheus pushes the fat head of his cock inside you, going slow enough for your muscles to adjust.
But he’s so fucking big, and it’s been so long since he last fucked you, and your eyes roll back, sweat drips down your neck, and your knees dig into the ground, trying to keep you upright. “Shhhhh. Gods, you’re so fucking tight. Fuck. It’s okay. You’re okay. Feels good, hm?” Inch by inch, he stretches your spasming cunt, and you whine, your hips tilt back, and his thick cock slips against that spot deep inside that makes you sob.
“That’s it, my love,” Morpheus reassures through gritted teeth. “Can you take me a little further?”
You feel your muscles constrict around him like a vice when he grinds himself deeper. “H-how much?” You moan as your juices run down your thighs and coat his cock to the base.
Dream releases your hair before sliding an arm under your breasts to hold you upright without hurting the baby. It takes you a second to trust him and give him the whole of your weight. He balances you between his hips and arms like you’re lighter than air.
He kisses your damp hair and nibbles on your ear. “That much,” He says, showing you another inch or so with his fingers.
Your hand covers his resting above your belly, and your fingers intertwine with his. “…Yeah,” You nod as tears prickle in your eyes. Morpheus is everywhere, inside you, holding you. You’ve missed him. You’ve missed him so fucking much.
With a deep breath, you relax and let him carry you. The feeling of his heartbeat thudding through his chest and his hand cupping your breast is a sweet, easy soporific, soothing the sharp, anxiety-ridden knots in your head into something mindless and loving.
He rocks into you slowly until his hips are flush against your ass. “Relax, my love. You’re okay. Gods- you feel- so good, you’re perfect, that’s it, good girl. Perfect girl,” He chants, over and over, as the stretch and the push and pull have you shaking and pleading for more.
“Oh- oh god. Morpheus. Ahhh- I can’t, I’m so full.” Your breathy cries echo over his deep, gravelly moans.
“You’re still so tight even when full of my cock. And my child in your belly? Gods, I love you. I adore you.” Every time he tells you that, your cunt grows wetter.
Morpheus lays into you, fucking you like a man possessed, pressing in as deep as your body will let him. All you can do is rest there in his arms and take it. “I- I’m not going to last. I need you- I need you to come for me. One last time.” You’re not listening when he speaks, too busy bouncing your hips in time with his thrusts and screaming your pleasure out as loud as you can. “Please, darling?” He begs. His free hand returns to your pussy, and his fingers stroke your clit softly.
Your knuckles go white from the force you use to grip his wrist. “Hngh- shit, shit, shit, yes.” The feeling of Dream kissing your cheek sends you over the edge.
Your eyes go wide as the moon, and you hiccup as the force of his cock bullying into your shivering, clenching cunt wipes your mind blank of coherent thoughts. Your spine straightens and your limbs tense. You’re delirious, babbling nonsense, and he keeps working your swollen, hypersensitive clit, now chasing his own release.
Morpheus sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he comes, painting your inner walls white. The warmth relieves some of your soreness from all the orgasms he forced from your tired body. You can feel your combined cum coat your thighs, sticky and viscous.
When you collapse, you don’t hit the forest floor like expected. Instead, you end up in a large, impossibly soft bed, bundled in plush blankets and your head cushioned on fluffy pillows.
Everything hits you at once - the running, the fear, the man dead in your living room.
As you weep into the soft linen under your cheek, Dream curls around you until you don’t know where you end, and he begins. “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” His fingers shake as they wipe away your tears and tuck the blankets tighter around your shoulders.
The bedchamber is cool and dark with no shards of light that could irritate your eyes or worsen your building headache from crying so goddamn much.
You cling to him and smush your face into his chest. “Morpheus…’M sorry.” In this strange, fairytale land, the strange god embracing you feels like home.
Something damp trickles down your forehead. “Shhh. Did you think killing that man scared me off?” When you look up, you see tears glimmering on Morpheus’s face like sapphire beads.
“It should have.” You’ve always had darkness in your heart. You might have been born with it, a seed planted by your mother’s hatred and watered by your pain.
But if Desire was telling the truth, Morpheus is as flawed as he is beautiful. That’s oddly comforting.
His mouth tastes like you when he kisses you. “Listen to me, beloved. I have been captured like that once before. I languished in a prison for almost a century. I was forgotten. Abandoned. Starved. All of this around you that I built crumbled into dust. At long last, it was the pity of an old man and my rage that freed me. But you… No one has ever protected me like you did,” He whispers.
Your arms tighten around his waist. You love him, you hate him. Most of all, your heart breaks for the decades he spent alone.
He swallows thickly. “That’s all I ever wanted. For my whole existence. Someone to fight for me.” You wanted that, too.
“And if you had chosen to leave me there, to keep you and our child safe, I would’ve let you. I would have forgiven you. That is how much I love you.” His hand sketched slow, circular patterns across your stomach, never shying from the rolls.
Your lips ghost over his shoulder, sending a shiver through him. You don’t kiss him with forgiveness, not yet. Even though you can’t say it aloud, you want him to know you’re here. He’ll always catch you, no matter where you run, so he won’t ever be alone again.
“Maybe you’ll regret it. That it was me.” You can be just as cruel and monstrous as him; there are other kinder, prettier, gentler, sweeter people. He could be anywhere else right now other than tethered to a canvas of scars with her teeth bared.
He kisses your forehead with his hands, cradling your cheeks like a dragon cradling its hoard. “Do your worst.”
this is the smuttiest thing ive written for this fic yet. hope you guys like this!
Citrus blues.
-------------
I climb mountains.
A resting place near a fountain
Under the willow tree.
Where you hear the shallow sea
Which scrubs the stony shore
Where sea urchins find home.
I have poppies around me
I snap their stalks and drink the milk.
The cobweb which is like the silk that stones me
Sometimes i have to.
Sometimes i don't.
But it's always there.
My flask with the teardrops for tomorrow. Sometimes worry, sometimes sorrow.
So may i borrow your time.
And put some lime in my eyes.
Until another day dies.
So I'm not saying goodbyes.
Im saying hello to your beautiful eyes.
And im asking for citrus blues.
Because i already have salt and tequila.
Hunches and cues with clues.
Left with tobacco crumbs and Shangri-La cruise.
-------
Poem by Marko Tivanovac
Background pic (pls if you know tell me)
Things To Consider When Writing With Mythologies
Mythologies, often ancient narratives passed down through generations, hold profound cultural significance. They are not just tales of gods and heroes but windows into the beliefs, values, and fears of societies long gone. This is why it’s important to ensure you are culturally accurate and don’t accidentally offend members of the communities you are writing about.
I personally am writing a WIP based around Japanese mythology, so here are some things I think you should consider when writing with mythologies.
Using Myths to Drive Plot and Character Development
Myths can serve as the very essence of your story's conflicts and themes. Imagine a tale where a young protagonist discovers they are the reincarnation of an ancient hero, destined to fulfill an ancient prophecy. The hero's journey in such a narrative would be profoundly tied to the mythological elements, guiding their growth and purpose.
Characters, too, can be shaped by the myths of their world. For instance, in Rick Riordan's "Percy Jackson and the Olympians" series, the characters are demigods, offspring of gods and mortals, and their quests are directly connected to the Greek mythos, intertwining their destinies with the larger tapestry of ancient legends.
Understanding Mythologies and Their Significance
Mythologies have been an integral part of human storytelling since time immemorial. They are not mere tales of gods and heroes but serve as essential cultural artifacts that mirror the beliefs, fears, and aspirations of ancient civilizations. Understanding the significance of mythologies can help us appreciate their profound impact on both the past and present, enriching our fantasy writing with layers of depth and meaning.
Mirrors of Cultural Beliefs
Mythologies offer a glimpse into the foundational beliefs and values of various cultures. These stories often revolve around the origins of the world, the creation of humanity, and the forces that govern existence. For instance, Greek mythology's creation story of Chaos giving rise to Gaia (Earth), Tartarus (Underworld), and Eros (Love) reflects the Greeks' attempt to explain the beginning of all things.
Archetypes and Universality
Myths are replete with archetypal characters and motifs that resonate with the human psyche. The hero's journey, the wise mentor, the epic battle between good and evil—these recurring themes transcend time and culture, connecting us to our shared human experience. As writers, tapping into these archetypes can make our characters and narratives more relatable and emotionally compelling.
Incorporating the essence of mythologies into our fantasy narratives allows us to harness the timeless power of these ancient tales. By honoring the significance of myths, we can create stories that resonate with readers on a profound and universal level.
Using Myths to Drive Plot and Character Development
Myths serve as powerful catalysts for driving the plot and shaping the characters in your fantasy world. By integrating mythological elements into your narrative, you infuse your story with a sense of wonder and connect your characters to something greater than themselves. Let's explore how myths can be harnessed to propel both plot and character development in your fantasy writing.
Mythological Themes as Central Conflicts
Incorporate mythological themes as the central conflicts driving your plot. Whether it's an ancient prophecy, a long-forgotten curse, or a divine mandate, mythological elements can set the stage for epic quests and high-stakes adventures. For example, in J.K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" series, the prophecies surrounding the Boy Who Lived and the rise of Voldemort become pivotal drivers of the plot.
Character Identity and Mythical Lineage
Give your characters a connection to the myths of your world. A character could be the descendant of a heroic figure from ancient times, bearing the weight of fulfilling an age-old prophecy. This connection to the past can shape their identity, motivations, and personal journeys.
Quests Rooted in Mythology
Craft quests and challenges that are steeped in mythological lore. By sending your characters on quests to recover sacred artifacts, defeat mythical beasts, or seek guidance from divine beings, you not only enrich your plot but also create opportunities for character growth and self-discovery.
The Mythic Impact on World Events
Consider how mythological elements influence the world events in your fantasy setting. Wars, political intrigue, and cultural practices may be shaped by the belief in ancient prophecies or the legacy of mythical beings.
Character Arcs Entwined with Myths
Let your characters' arcs intertwine with the myths of your world. As they confront their fears, overcome challenges, and evolve, they may embody the archetypal hero's transformation—rising to greatness or succumbing to tragic flaws.
Symbolism and Allegory in Mythological Writing
Incorporating symbolism and allegory into your mythological writing adds a layer of depth and complexity to your storytelling. These literary techniques allow you to explore profound themes and hidden meanings, making your fantasy narrative more thought-provoking and resonant with readers. Let's delve into how to effectively use symbolism and allegory in the context of myths.
The Power of Symbolism
Symbols are objects, characters, or events that carry deeper meanings beyond their literal interpretation. In mythological writing, symbols can represent abstract concepts, emotions, or significant aspects of the human condition. For instance, a mythical sword might symbolize justice and valor, while a sacred tree could represent the interconnectedness of life.
Allegorical Tales
Allegories are narratives that use symbolic characters and events to convey moral, philosophical, or political messages. Consider crafting allegorical myths to explore real-world issues in a fantastical context. For example, George Orwell's "Animal Farm" uses allegory to critique political systems and human nature.
Symbolism in Creatures and Settings
Leverage mythical creatures and settings as symbolic representations of broader concepts. A mythical dragon guarding a treasure might symbolize the greed that corrupts societies, while a mystical forest could represent the unknown and the call to adventure.
Interpretation and Depth
Allow room for interpretation in your myths. A richly layered narrative invites readers to contemplate various meanings and draw their own conclusions, fostering engagement and making your story more memorable.
Balancing Allegory and Narrative
Remember to strike a balance between allegory and storytelling. While powerful symbolism can add depth, be mindful not to overshadow the narrative's flow and character development.
Through symbolism and allegory, your mythological writing becomes a vessel for exploring timeless truths, moral dilemmas, and the complexities of the human experience. This layer of meaning elevates your storytelling, leaving a lasting impression on readers.
Blending Myths with Worldbuilding
The seamless integration of myths into your worldbuilding can elevate your fantasy realm from a mere backdrop to a living, breathing entity. By infusing every aspect of your world with mythological elements, you create a rich and immersive setting that captivates readers and allows them to fully immerse themselves in the wonder of your creation. Let's explore how to blend myths with worldbuilding to craft a cohesive and enchanting fantasy world.
Mythical Origins and History
Incorporate myths into the history of your world. Legends of ancient gods or legendary heroes can serve as the foundation of your world's creation and early development. These myths not only add depth but also explain the origins of key elements in your world, such as magical artifacts or mystical locations.
Mythical Geography and Landmarks
Infuse your world with mythical geography. Sacred mountains, enchanted forests, and mysterious islands can be inspired by myths or even be the settings of ancient mythological events. The presence of these mythical landmarks makes your world feel magical and mystical.
Divine Architecture and Symbols
Represent the influence of myths on architecture and symbols within your fantasy world. Temples dedicated to mythical deities, sacred runes, or sigils used for protection can add authenticity to your setting, giving readers a sense of a world with deep-rooted beliefs.
Rituals and Traditions
Showcase rituals and traditions that have evolved from ancient myths. Festivals celebrating mythical figures or events can be an essential part of your world's cultural identity. These traditions can create vibrant backdrops for scenes and contribute to the sense of community in your world.
Legendary Artifacts and Items
Integrate legendary artifacts and items from myths into your world. These powerful objects can become central to the plot or wielded by characters of great significance. For example, the Sword of Excalibur from Arthurian legends or Thor's hammer, Mjölnir, from Norse myths are iconic mythical artifacts.
Creatures and Races
Inspire the creation of unique creatures and races based on myths. Drawing from various mythologies, you can invent fantastical beings like phoenixes, centaurs, or sirens. Alternatively, reimagine existing mythical creatures in new and intriguing ways.
Myths and Cultural Diversity
Explore how myths shape the cultural identity of different regions or races in your world. Diverse myths can contribute to varied customs, values, and worldviews. This cultural tapestry enriches your world and provides opportunities for compelling conflicts and interactions between characters.
Avoiding Cultural Appropriation and Stereotypes
As writers, we have the incredible opportunity to draw inspiration from a wide array of cultures and myths to enrich our fantasy worlds. However, with this privilege comes the responsibility to approach the task with cultural sensitivity and respect. Avoiding cultural appropriation and stereotypes is crucial in creating a story that celebrates diversity and promotes understanding. Let's delve into ways to navigate this delicate terrain while crafting a mythologically inspired narrative.
Research Extensively
Thorough research is paramount when incorporating elements from real-world cultures into your writing. Dive deep into the myths, traditions, history, and values of the culture you intend to draw from. Seek out diverse sources and perspectives to gain a comprehensive understanding.
Understand Cultural Context
Cultural context matters. Recognize that myths are deeply rooted in cultural experiences and may carry sacred or sensitive meanings. Ensure that you grasp the nuances and significance of the myths you're using, and handle them with the utmost respect.
Avoid Stereotypes and Exoticization
Steer clear of perpetuating stereotypes or exoticizing cultures. Respectfully depict characters and settings without reducing them to one-dimensional or caricatured portrayals. Create fully fleshed-out characters with their own motivations, strengths, flaws, and complexities.
Collaborate and Seek Feedback
Consider collaborating with sensitivity readers or cultural consultants who are well-versed in the culture you're representing. Their insights can provide invaluable guidance and help you navigate potential pitfalls.
I hope this blog on Things To Consider When Writing With Mythologies will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.
Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks?
Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey!
So I’ve had this scene from Cryptid Sightings stuck in my head since I read it. This guy deserves his smooches tbh
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