onepheus-blog

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youmaythinkyouknowme‌: 

‘ well, i had to sell the family farm, my sister is a giant fucking space dragon and my hair won’t stop biting people so. you know, everything has been happening all at once. ‘

     she’s kidding — about at least one of those things but he’ll have to guess which one. if it’s any help though, she’s never had a family farm.

‘ is that a threat, or a promise? both are fine. ‘

     childlike mischief peers up at him through a pair of brown eyes and a grin to match.

‘ time is a construct, but i’ve missed you too. where’ve you been? ‘

”...Family farm? Have you chosen to live among the human populace for a time?” Dream queried, but it was not such an unusual notion. Once, he too lived among the Greeks for a short time when he’d still been wed to Calliope. 

But, he had missed her. For in all his semblance of omnipresence, even he had been preoccupied, as those of his ilk often were. Even they didn’t always dream, didn’t always sleep.

“I have wandered the worlds, searching, observing the dreams of the sleeping cosmos. Through the Great Ones, the sleeping Cthulu, to the smallest mouse resting after being chased by a feline. I have done as I always done. I am made to dream, to wander them, to guard them.”

He smiled a soft concession. “Though, I doubt you’ve need for me to become your lectern.” 

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┕ Morpheus/Dream in The Sandman #11 (1989).

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‘ depends on whether or not I get more kisses. ‘

she tugs him gently towards her body with a familiarity that takes even her by surprise. wrapping her arms around his neck, she stands up on tip-toe to press a kiss to his cheek.

‘ hi, I’m okay, better now that you’re here. how are you? ‘

The smile worked upon the Dreamweaver’s was benign and benevolent, true with gentility and feeling true peace in the presence of Balance, lithe limbs come to embrace her like starlight. For Dream did miss her, truly. 

“You will, soon,” Morpheus guarantees with softness, rarely uttered. “I wish to know what has become of you. It has been too long, Lilly.”

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Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over.

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Dream of the Endless - Gabriel Hardman

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  They frown.

     ❝ Just because I am in this form,      Morpheus,         does not mean you are in the position to                         patronize me. ❞

    Still, it has been a while, and short arms reach to keep Dream at their level, hands smoothing over the hair of Morpheus’ form, taking a better look at the eyes of their creation. The dream world is well. Dream is well. And their all-seeing eyes soften. They supposed They still have a bit of benevolence in them.

    ❝ It has been a while for you, child.                                                    You are doing well. ❞

    Time is different for Them. Traversing timelines and universes in different forms – time is no longer so linear for Them. Seconds, hours, minutes – they’re only convenient measurements.

    Omniscience. That’s a name They haven’t heard in a long time.

  ‘ of course not , my lord .    it has been too long -- forgive me . ‘

  though he is in many places , though he can see dreams within and without , write the inspiration that drives poets , artists , and writers to feverish awake from epiphany , he cannot see all . it is strange that a ghost of a smile haunts the dream king’s visage , but as created before created , there in sunlight and wisteria in this meeting that brings a nostalgic bloom to his own lips . of affinity and knowing ; rare for one outside the endless .

  ‘ for many years , i was trapped by humans .  but i am here , and the dreaming welcomes you . ‘

  the smile drifts , and falls , as it is not as sunny as before . for when did he truly smile , when did he truly laugh ? only at something so outrageous or ironic , perhaps . maybe it was the glass containment that made him small , cut him from the dreams of the living , of the sleeping . 

  at his back , matthew flies from eve’s cave and nuala rushes to prepare a beverage ; a familiar chaos in its own way .

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     “ DREAM KING, ”  the Nightmare King calls out.

he would have known the King would have arrived IF HE DREAMED.  if he hadn’t PLUCKEDhis thoughts FROM HIS HEAD, and kept them BEFORE HIS MOUTH, he would have seen the Prince of Stories in glimpses.  he, who ran through dreams, in the minds of billions and billions upon those who slumbered each night.

but in Gorgossium, night was everlasting, and some never dreamed.

carrion had been tending to a  vicious-looking flower, its petals lined with round, human teeth. a scrap of dried flesh had met its eager mouth.  in this horrid garden, there grew many a similar flower, more deadly than they were beautiful.  they did not wish to meet the Dream King.  and neither did the fresh corpses, who had become food for the large, looming crows.

and neither did the crows.

for every horrible thing that had made it home in Gorgossium found solace in only one man’s presence, who had fought of his glance and voice, and that was Christopher.

the Nightmare Man turns to Dream, his own horrid visions swimming before him.

“ i’m frightfully sorry that i couldn’t prepare.  how foolish of me. ”  no sympathy. “ but…i do know you.  who  would i be if i didn’t?

               what only escapes me is why you have come to my kingdom. ”

  ‘ i have heard the appellation of nightmare king used to refer to you , christopher carrion . ‘

  this is not the boy motley had reared from a time young , had twisted and perverted as seemed the culture of the midnight isle . a boy’s dreams that morpheus had wandered into on such odd occasions , to see these nightmarish things in the midnight isles that seemed a conjugation of what was created in the twist of dream’s own design , ever oddly . yet , this boy had grown into a nightmarish man , and here they stood , not at odds or evens but perhaps , parallels .

  but as walking so was , even the nightmare king in truth sought inspiration . sometimes , mortals thought of the original . 

  in his cloak ever-black and filled with living nebulae , tracks of fire scathing its hem and the ground behind his feet , the plants do not die and their dreams of life and of verdant emerald blooms in his wake . it is but dreams and their fragrance will not last , but it is here as much as he is . to the living , to the undead , they do not know if he is real or if are asleep and dreaming of him being there within their lives . dream was real and unreal and he ruled over all that that would never truly be .

  as it could only be for the prince of stories , the lord of the emerald marches . this was his way and there was no changing the changeless . let them stew in horrors dream can rear as real as those which swim behind glass .

  dream unfolded his arms , inclining his head as his sole measure of deference . 

  ‘ few truly expect me who are not forever and immortal , carrion king . i came here to walk among gorgossium’s horrors , and nothing more . for i’ve nightmares to conspire , and it seemed an ideal place of inspiration . ‘ there’s a brief pause , pith eyes and its polar star flashing to the prince .

  ‘ show me the nightmares you’ve sown . for i hear word you’re a monarch of maladies in your own right . ‘

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                  Responsibility for the safety of the entire Underside was not one she had aspired to when she was younger; there had never been much interest in the dealings of her father and his desire to unite all of London Below under a common banner. They were thoroughly divided — more baronies and fiefdoms than she could ever name or recall. The work of it had been substantial with him alive, and now in death with the duty passed to her ——– even more so.

She didn’t have the pull her father did. Didn’t enjoy the art of the argument. But her love of her home — and the want to protect it —- would always overrule an annoyance with confrontation. “Come along then. I know a place nearby where we can speak without being disturbed.” If something did indeed threaten the Underside, it was her obligation to listen.

       “ It must be something substantial if you felt the need to come yourself.” Once they were both on the same soil she let the door shut behind them, itchy fingers finding themselves in the bottom of her jumper’s pockets.  "What happened?“ Or, what will happen?

  there was a story in this , as there was in all things . this had been one begun long ago , when mortal follies had driven forth an ambition too large and destructive . one that pertained to a particular sort of demands . of how burgess’ hold upon him had faltered and swayed before finally succumbing to the necessity of his presence and power . morpheus had been weakened , but not crushed . not beneath their greedy or the hubris that had ultimately driven dream to lock him within a stasis or eternal nightmares .

  and now , nightmares ran rampant -- one of which he’d ascertained had escaped into the underground and sought to wreak havoc on the poor souls that could be there . the dreams nods with assent towards the woman , the blonde whom was of the proper station . ‘ thank you , lady door , ‘ he says singularly . it is gratitude , and it is enough when a towering obligation cannot tolerate dalliances .

  ‘ there is a nightmare of my creation that escaped the dreaming when i was held captive for almost a century by the order of ancient mysteries . i intend to return him to the dreaming and uncreate him , ‘ the endless expounded , following through the maze of corridors door led them through . ‘ my escape was recent . hence why my attendance to this matter was ... stalled . ‘

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the last words of Louis XIV, the Sun King, who died of gangrene on September 1, 1715

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Max Richter - Dinner And The Ship Of Dreams.

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ONE LAST DREAM, FOR A FALLEN KING. Secluded, kept away from the crowd of living souls, the Gods have made a prison fit to his name ! Guarded by the holy swords of the one and true Sky’s King, shaped by the unforgiving coldness of the Glacean’s ice, kept in this island built by the might of Titan himself : this one room, isolation, ANGELGUARD.

SO ONE lAST TIME WILL HE SLEEP, the plague of star allowing him to forget all about his misery for one night only. But dreams, as they may seem soothing, aren’t always what they seem : For Gods are found everywhere, even in the pitt of your own conscience. LANDS OF MAKE-BELIEVE, all turned black and rotten. Is this what his soul wishes for ? There is no joy here, no sound, just the night, silent and overwhelming ( that, and mysterious sentinel ). A statue ? No, from the stars that shine in his eyes, he can see that life is cursing him too. —— What a peculiar place…And aren’t you a peculiar ornament of my own imagination. Won’t even the ghost of a dear friend visit me in my slumber ? It seems not… “

  a goddess’ lost child manifests at the end of a waking world , in the realms of nightmare where plagued minds go to haunt , to where their eyes cannot turn and dream of heaven . he saw the creation of their world , of the pyre lit and set ablaze to the last fragment of the sun and the plague that spewed from a mother’s dying act of love . by her beloved had their light been saved before hers had been extinguished and forgot . 

  dream had seen their distress as babes , as nightmares that plagued their sleep and waking hours . for he knew of that desperation , and torment . nights had passed where his sands billowed mistily to envisage a brighter realm , to where their guardian had taken them . he knew ardyn , as he knew his brother . of their nightmares and contentions come to an epoch .

  it is why is he there , the dream-king , the immortal dusk fallen upon minds and the infinite worlds governed thence , that morpheus sees the boy become man and monster . in shades of billowing blackness do nightmares curve to stone and silence reign as mightily as summer squalls . wry amusement colors him as it does not the king , and in a mantle of raven’s black does he stand , furled as a pensive carrion bird . ‘ you know who i am , ardyn lucis caelum . i have seen what you conspired , as i have what you’ve lost . you are within my realm of the dreaming . here , you are within my halls . ‘

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@quinquc​ -- ;

  mists swirled at the bareness of soles , parting in the wake of a heavy black trail of cloth and embankments of ethereality undulate in motes about his person , florid and surreal . it is an odd pursuit , perhaps a blasphemy to be carved upon death’s lips that deny her sweet , cooling kiss . for times before had dream interred on the passage of the dead , combed from the river styx to grasp a hand thin and wiry , bone-white as sun-bleached and sand polished ivory . winds unfelt seem to swim through midnight strands of hair , the king of dreams come to claim a soul for his own . in a vestigial remnant of a tunnel spanned beneath parliament , it was there they would meet : an artistic embodiment , a soul he’d known much longer than the other might’ve known .

  ‘ the world you destroyed is dead , king of the 20th century . do you know where you are now ? ‘

  he stands , this silent scion of dreams and tales , a voice the vigilantist would likely recognize . death had not been difficult to persuade in this , but in this time , she would not have her due . a rare exception , but an occasional one . hands remain at his sides , before one is offered on the willowy winter of his arm .

  ‘ come . we must away from here . ‘

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hello my fellow youths...please like for a starter yiss...

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      ❝ You do not deserve to carry such a weight either. ❞ Dark eyes look into his for some affirmation, yet only finds the truth resting in his eyes. He is eternal, he is dreaming. He is the sweet slumber and the wicked nights when terrors find someone in sleep. Peace doesn’t exist, nor can it exist within him when he can see and affect dreaming. And the realization makes her heart ache. This is all he knows and will ever know. Sadness fills her eyes and dims the usual light within them, tears inching closer even with the comfort of his hand upon hers. What a fool she is for thinking that he could be free of the weight on his shoulders. They’re both tethered to their duty, aren’t they?

      ❝ But I understand. ❞ Bound, and dedicated to performing within their chains. ❝ I find more than peace–I find liberation, equality. I wish I was there to relax in a blissful eternity, but that peace is fleeting. Half my years tied to the dead, half my years tied to the world of mortals. It’s a cycle I can’t escape unless I wish to risk ALL. ❞

  ‘ perhaps not , but it is all i am capable of doing . ‘ in a world where they are truly endless , the dreams of worlds migrate through his domain , in the starry-eyed gaze that seems to project the cosmos itself is unblinking for a long moment , indiscernible as to what he could truly convey . more sympathy towards persephone , truly , as a single digit ghosts out to gently swipe away the tear that sits pale and gem-like upon his blanched digits before he lowers it . morpheus was part of their pantheon once , in a way . as oneiros whom had fathered orpheus by the muse , calliope , he understood some of what she’d undergone . even if it is threadbare and his expressions aren’t nearly as emotive , it is there and it is palpable enough . 

  ‘ i wonder if we would truly be satisfied with eternity , even a peaceful one . even i , in the billions of years i have existed , cannot conceive of a true eternity . i wonder if i would even want for it . ‘ dream’s lips thin , and purse . ‘ i see the dreams of so many beings . of gods , mortals , and even beings more like us endless . my sister has told tale of what she’s encountered , but i cannot help but wonder ... are you happy , persephone ? ‘

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i don’t think people really fully understand the beauty of dark hair and dark eyes. i don’t mean dark hair and dark eyes separately. like black hair and blue eyes. or blond hair and brown eyes. i mean dark hair AND dark eyes. people romanticize anything that’s light enough–light brown eyes that look like “gold” in sunlight. ok what about dark brown eyes that almost look black? eyes that are so rich in darkness, eyes that are so dark you could look into them forever and lose yourself. nothing is more beautiful than dark hair. dark brown and black hair. especially black hair. nothing is more beautiful than dark brown eyes. pair the two together and it’s so beautiful.