cardiganswillow

[cardiganswillow]

The Dreaming was silent. No rustle of leaves, no whisper of waves—only the stillness of a place holding its breath.

A woman lay on the marble bed, the silver strands of her hair fanned out like moonlight spilled across dark stone. Her skin glowed faintly, the last remnant of a goddess whose light was fading into slumber.

Above her, Morpheus watched.

He did not speak. Words were unnecessary now. He had been watching her since the gathering of gods, since the instant he saw her crowned in silver fire, her gaze distant yet unyielding. In her presence, the Dreaming itself had trembled—not in fear, but in recognition.

And he had decided she would never leave him.

The spell was delicate, yet final. Shadows from his robe draped over her form, seeping into her mind like ink through paper. He closed his hand around her temple, and she shivered once before her eyes fluttered shut. Her memories fell away like petals on a black tide—faces, voices, and places she had once called her own.

When she woke, it was to the sound of bells and the glow of lanterns. She was dressed in white silk threaded with silver, a crown of pale roses in her hair.

“Morpheus?” she whispered, as though his name had always been there, stitched into the fabric of her being.

“Yes, my moon,” he said, taking her hand. “At last, the day has come.”

She blinked slowly. “The day?”

“Our wedding.”

The ceremony was held in a hall of endless night, stars suspended like jeweled witnesses. He spoke the vows, and she repeated them, her voice trembling but obedient. When he kissed her, his fingers cradled her jaw as though he feared she might vanish if he let go.

When they were alone, the great hall’s starlight faded, leaving only the glow of countless candles in their shared chambers. The bed was vast and draped in silver silk, the air thick with the scent of myrrh and roses.

She stood near its edge, fingers twisting in the hem of her gown. “Morpheus… be gentle,” she murmured, her voice uncertain but soft, as though afraid to break the stillness.

His lips curved into a faint smile, a promise—or perhaps a lie. “Always.”

But when he stepped toward her, the distance between them vanished like a dream at dawn. His hands were sure and possessive, sliding over her arms as though memorizing the shape of her. She felt her breath catch—part fear, part something she could not name.

He whispered against her ear, his voice deep and low, “You are mine now. Entirely.”

The words wrapped around her like chains of velvet. She tried to keep her thoughts steady, but the warmth of his touch, the gravity of his presence, pressed her down until the world narrowed to his shadow and the sound of his voice.

He kissed her—at first slow, coaxing, almost tender. But it didn’t stay that way. The gentleness slipped, replaced by something sharper, hungrier. She gasped, half-protest, but his hand tightened at her waist, drawing her closer until there was nowhere to retreat.

The night became a blur of candlelight and shadow, of heat and the low sound of her name murmured again and again, as though he were binding her to him with every breath.

When it was over, she lay against him, her hair damp with sweat, her heart racing. His arms were locked around her like a fortress, unbreakable.

“Forever,” he whispered into her hair, and she knew he meant it—not as a vow, but as a sentence.

In the days that followed, she lived in the Dreaming as though it had always been her home. Morpheus rarely let her out of sight, weaving threads of half-truths into her every question. If she asked about the world beyond, he told her it was dangerous, that mortals had forgotten her, that she belonged here where she would be cherished.

And she believed him.

Mostly.

Now and then, when the moon rose over the Dreaming, she would feel a pull—a faint ache in her chest. Shadows of memory would flicker: the roar of the ocean, the scent of cedar, laughter that did not belong to him.

Once, she whispered in the quiet of their chambers, “Was I… someone else, before?”

Morpheus’s dark eyes softened, but his grip on her hand tightened until her fingers ached. “You have always been my bride.”

Her breath caught. The certainty in his tone left no room for doubt, but something in her resisted—weakly, like a candle against a storm.

That night, he kissed her more deeply than ever, murmuring her name until her thoughts blurred. He spoke of eternity, of the countless worlds he could give her, of the children they would raise together under his protection. His voice filled her mind until it drowned out the fragile whisper of her doubts.

Months passed in the timeless way of dreams. Her belly swelled with the child of the Dreaming. Morpheus sat with her often, weaving visions of their future: silver-haired daughters who would guard the Dreaming, sons who would shape the night sky itself.

Still, there were moments—fleeting and dangerous—when she would pause mid-laugh, her gaze unfocused, as though she were listening to a voice only she could hear.

Morpheus was always there in those moments, his touch warm yet unyielding. “Do not drift from me, my moon,” he would say. “There is nothing for you beyond my horizon.”

And so, the moon never rose again, bound to his night for as long as the Dreaming endured.

I just wrote this on a whim while fighting against sleep from taking me. •́⁠ ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠,⁠•̀

[cardiganswillow]

it really is insane to me how in the mid 2010s netflix had a reputation of making cool, inclusive series as well as saving tv shows after their networks cancelled them, and now here we are today with every halfway decent netflix original show getting cancelled after 1-2 seasons and a bajillion episodes of bigmouth

[cardiganswillow]

hot evil characters who i want to fix but will make me cry if i actually meet them in real life>>>>>>

[cardiganswillow]

[cardiganswillow]

Sandman cast you will forever be missed 🖤

[cardiganswillow]

Freely Given

Morpheus X OFC

Summary:

When Nell Carter collides literally collides with a stranger on a Chicago sidewalk, she doesn’t expect him to be anything more than an oddly beautiful man with grief in his eyes.

She certainly doesn’t expect to start dreaming of him.

What begins as a chance encounter slowly unfolds into something deeper, stranger, and more real than either of them intended.

First 5 chapters are up!

[cardiganswillow]

⤜♡→Bridgerton

⤜♡→Stranger Things

⤜♡→Fargo

⤜♡→ The Sandman (Netflix) ⤜♡→ Gladiator ⤜♡→ Shadow and Bone (Coming Soon)

divider credits: @saradika @saradika-graphics

[cardiganswillow]

The Sandman (Netflix) fic recs

★Main fic recs masterlist

Multi-parts: Heart of the Dreaming - @dragon-kazansky Lady Luck is Smiling - @thoughtsfromlayla In Your Dreams - @loveissupernatural Can't Help But Dream - @errantsomnium Symphony of Dreams - @dragon-kazansky Crimson Stained Petals - @roguelov All the Precious and Fragile Things (So easily do they break) - @alteon77 (MDNI 18+) (AO3) Sometimes It's Fated - @withoutyouimsaskia (MDN1 18+) Harmony's Requiem: A Dream's Elegy - @phythius (MDNI 18+)

One-shots: String of Fate - @7-wonders

Divider Credits: @strangergraphics

[cardiganswillow]

String of Fate

Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x Reader

Summary: Two of the three Fates don't like the ending that has long been written for Dream of the Endless, and endeavour to change that by bringing him in contact with his soulmate. While such a decision saves Morpheus's life, it also changes everything he thought he knew about the natural order of the universe when he discovers that his soulmate is a mortal.

Word count: 5.6k

A note from the author: I've had this soulmate idea stuck in my head for a very long time, but I worried that I would be unable to write it because it was out of character/I couldn't figure out how to get it to work. Then the first six episodes of season 2 dropped, I saw how much of a yearning, sad, pathetic lover boy Morpheus actually is (thinking specifically of the look he gives Nada when she comes to him in the Dreaming for the first time), and the hesitation on the faces of the Mother and Maiden before Morpheus's string is cut, and went "oh I can work with this."

Not sure yet if this will be a true series with chapters or just a series of one-shots, but there will be more parts (I've already started writing them)! I’m honestly really nervous to release this just bc of how ambitious it is haha. I so hope you enjoy reading, and would greatly appreciate hearing from you about your thoughts on this!

In a pocket realm masquerading as a cottage sit three women of varying ages, each appearing to be about twenty-five or so years older than the woman sitting on her right. The youngest, her tight curls shiny and skin clear of any blemishes, sits next to a spinning wheel and works at coiling her latest yarn into a ball. The next, a woman whose gray streaks and smile lines begin to betray the years she looks to have lived, continues to knit a scarf made of fine, black wool. The last, her white hair and wrinkled skin just barely scratching the surface of how old she truly is, idly pets a calico cat in her lap as she peruses the front page of what looks to be a newspaper.

The women are known by many names. The Gray Ladies. The Kindly Ones. The Fates. Maiden, Mother, and Crone. But at this moment, in this space so sacred to them which exists outside of the jurisdiction of any of the beings that they oversee, they are simply sister-selves.

“The Oneiromancer gave the key formerly belonging to Lucifer Morningstar to the angels,” the Crone notes blithely, summing up what she’s been reading.

“Where it should have been all along,” the Maiden says. “The Silver City cast Lucifer out in the first place and sent them to oversee Hell. Might as well finally have to clean up their own mess.”

The Mother sighs. “Speaking of messes, poor Morpheus must have one of his own to clean up after hosting all of those pantheons and realms in his very seat of power.”

“‘Poor Morpheus,’” the Crone mocks, rolling her eyes. “The last thing any of the Endless need is our pity, but especially him. No, the only thing he’ll be receiving from us is what his prophecy foretells.”

Though all three of the Ladies possess powers of Sight, the Crone has a special aptitude for events which have not yet come to pass. She also holds grudges like no other and still bitterly recalls the whole matter with Circe and the Dream King’s role in it, and has thus been keeping a particular interest in the length of the scarf currently being knit.

The Maiden, who has a memory longer than most and vividly recalls just how deeply the Sandman loves his son, despite how it may, at times, have looked otherwise, winces just slightly at the reminder of what is coming. Though the action was minute, the Mother, who is perhaps most like the name given to her in that she always wants the best for her ‘children,’ notices, as she always does.

“The oldest battle will begin, and—” the buzzing of a timer in another room cuts the Crone off. “Ah! That’ll be the cookies. One moment, lovies.”

The cat jumps off her lap as she stands from the couch with an agility that one would not expect from someone looking to be the Crone’s age and heads into the kitchen to begin preparing tea. 

“I’ll be sad to see this one end,” the Mother laments, running a hand down the rows of neat stitches. “Our sweet sister-self would call me a softie if she were in here, and maybe it’s true. How can I not be, though? Dream of the Endless is changing, though he once believed that impossible. It’s slowgoing, of course—”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from him,” the Maiden notes with a small smile.

“Nor I. But there are futures out there where he is given the chance to change fully, futures where he accomplishes a whole lot.” This isn’t a mere guess; in the same way that her sisters can keenly recall the past and peer into the future, the Mother sees the potential paths of everybody who walks Destiny’s garden.

It comes to both Maiden and Mother at the same time that neither of them particularly wants to see Dream of the Endless’s story end in such a way as the Crone has been anticipating. 

The Maiden glances through the door, where the eldest-presenting of the three has disappeared to the kitchen. “There is…something we could do, you know.”

She gravitates towards a cupboard near the window, opening it and beginning to search through what looks to be an infinite supply of yarn until she finds the skein she’s looking for. After checking the identification tag that every skein carries, so as not to get any mixed up, she hums satisfactorily.

For a species so full of themselves, human mortals only know about five to ten percent of what they would consider to be the Universe’s mysteries. What’s waiting for them after death (whatever they decide), if there’s a god (many), if they’re the only signs of intelligent life out there (hardly, and it’s a stretch even to call the human race intelligent). Another one of those mysteries is that of love. Is there such a thing as true love, as soulmates? Though they are familiar with the concept, even going so far as to attempt to label their loves as soulmates, they truly do not know if the person they are attaching themselves to is the one meant for them.

If only they knew what almost every other species capable of higher thought does: that soulmates are very real, and finding one’s is not nearly as much of a guessing game when one’s senses are heightened. Currently, Morpheus and his soulmate do not meet. While Morpheus dies, his soulmate goes on without ever having any idea of his death. There would be a few relationships before a perfectly normal and loving marriage, but his soulmate would never know the all-consuming love of being fated to someone. Now, however…

“Oops.” The new yarn is dropped in the Mother’s lap, and sparks emit as it bounces against the other yarn.

The Mother grins, scandalized. “Naughty petal,” she teases.

“Quickly now, before she returns,” the Maiden urges, returning to her seat and becoming very interested in her own project once more.

The Mother’s deft hands go to work, relying on thousands and thousands of years of practice to begin to knit the new yarn into the well-established pattern already created. By the time the Crone returns, there is no feasible way for the yarns to be separated without stepping into one of the few domains they have no power over.

Her outrage and indignation can do nothing now, for the fates of two have been combined into one, and the future has already been set in motion.

•••

Dream of the Endless is, as he is told that the youth of today say, going through it. A simple family dinner (though is anything truly simple when it involves any of the Endless?) proved to be the catalyst for attempting to reverse one of his most regrettable and shameful decisions, only for his journey to turn into a cosmic fiasco when Lucifer Morningstar abruptly retired and gave him the key to Hell, a key that he neither wanted nor needed. Still, he dutifully oversaw the various pantheons and realms as they each vied for the key, if only to ensure the safety of the woman he originally sought to free.

Although he did not necessarily expect Nada to unilaterally forgive him for what he had done, Morpheus did hope that she would understand the sincerity in his actions at present. The opposite was true. She…struck him. Dressed him down as though he were a mere child. Still, he offered her what he once did ten thousand years ago, for his love for her had not diminished in those ten thousand years: the chance to rule by his side. The Queen of the First People, always so eloquent with words, turned him down with a barb that cut so deeply, Morpheus wondered if the wound left behind would ever heal. 

“I wonder if your kind is even capable of love,” she said to him, chin held high and looking every inch the ruler she once was.

Morpheus tried to defend himself, to make her see that he did love, and that he loved her. His efforts were futile, and she cared not what he had to say. She wished him well, ever the diplomat. Then Nada was gone, to see what the Waking had in store for her, leaving behind only devastation and loneliness, those old friends. 

That was mere hours ago, the Dreaming almost immediately becoming drenched in torrential thunderstorms thereafter. Morpheus made his way to a balcony at the top of the palace, content to let the rain drown him. Lucienne, however, would not stand for it.

“My Lord,” she said tersely, black umbrella shielding her from the brunt of the storm, “perhaps solace is not the best thing for you right now.”

Perhaps she was right, but Morpheus, who was in no mood to listen to helpful solutions, glowered as he stared off ahead into the distant mountains. “Then what would you suggest?”

She thought for a moment, then sighed. “I am sure Hob Gadling is worried after your last interaction, where you told him that you may miss your next meeting. And he has said that you are always welcome.”

Pride and anger almost have Morpheus shoot the idea down before Lucienne can finish speaking. However, as he thinks about it, he realizes that there might be some merit to her suggestion. Hob Gadling had faced many triumphs and challenges throughout his long (for humans, that is) life, matters of the heart surely being one of those. Might the immortal man have some wisdom for a situation such as this?

Now he sits in the temple Hob had inadvertently created while waiting for his oldest friend to return, the New Inn, hand loosely curled around a stem of red wine that he has not yet touched. While the majority of him wishes still to be drenched in rain, another part appreciates the way that the Waking feels real. The Dreaming is real, of course, but he can manipulate every aspect of his realm. Here, he is master of none, and experiences the sights and sounds of a small pub on a Thursday night as any being would.

Morpheus had not gotten the opportunity to ask Lucienne the question he had been meaning to pose to her before he left the Dreaming. So, here in the Waking, he finds that opportunity. “Do you believe that I am incapable of love?”

From across the table, Hob Gadling cocks his head in thought. “Did the woman—did Nada say that to you?”

Morpheus nods. “They were some of her last words to me before she…left.”

The immortal sits quietly to compose his thoughts, taking a sip of his drink and staring up at the ceiling until the words he believes will comfort the Dreamlord, while also telling the truth, come to him. “She’s speaking in anger, my friend. You did an objectively bad thing to her, and she has every right to react towards you in whatever way she sees fit. But,” he says quickly, knowing that Morpheus is a breath away from angering, “she is wrong. Do you not love your realm, the dreams and nightmares that you create? Do you not love the dreamers whom you oversee? Your family, your…friends?”

None of that is romantic love, of course, but Hob is right, as he so often is. Morpheus does experience love in every one of those instances—sometimes begrudgingly, but he does love.

“You speak true, my friend,” Morpheus acknowledges, feeling his sister’s realm loosen its hold on him just slightly as the shadows of Despair begin to shrink.

Hob grins and opens his mouth to speak, but movement from the front of the pub captures his attention, and he instead waves. A mortal approaches their table—braver than most mortals in this pub, who have, so far (as is usually the case when he’s in the Waking), taken one look at the Endless and shied away in fear.

“Hey, Rob!” the mortal greets, using a name Hob must be going by in this century.

“Now, my favorite TA wouldn’t be taking advantage of my pub to work on homework for my class that you haven’t done yet, would you?” he asks.

“I’m your only TA this semester.” The sentence conveys that this is a common line for Hob, who chuckles and waves a hand nonchalantly in the air.

“Semantics!”

“But to answer your question, a couple of us are meeting up before the history grad students’ weekly happy hour to work on our term assignments for Keller’s Archival Methods class. I would never work on your homework in front of you!”

The mortal looks at Morpheus and winks, letting him in on the secret shared between student and teacher that homework for Hob Gadling’s classes has absolutely been completed in this building before, and with one quick movement of an eye, Morpheus feels himself come undone. 

(In that little pocket realm masquerading as a cottage, two of the three Fates giggle and congratulate themselves on their impeccable timing, while the third sulks as she stares into the fire.)

The concept of soulmates is not rare among beings like himself. Indeed, out of all the species capable of higher thought, humans are the only ones who believe it to be a mere myth or fairytale (humans, of course, believe almost everything that they cannot understand is a myth or fairytale, which is why the other specieses don’t bother with them the majority of the time). To them, it’s a word one would use to describe the one whom they love most in the hopes that there are some forces of the universe out there steering them towards true love. 

Most of the gods and goddesses, fae, beings, and creatures of all kinds, who have spoken about it in his presence mention a number of “signs” that average humans, with their dulled senses and limited use of brain capacity, miss. Sometimes it is simply a feeling, as though the universe has been tilted off balance the entire time, and meeting one’s soulmate has righted it. In other cases, electricity seems to spark the first time soulmates touch. Some have known their soulmate’s name before they properly introduce themselves, and others know exactly what their soulmate’s first words to them will be. He has even heard rare tales of seeing the Fates’ work itself, strings of fate connecting soulmates when they’re first in proximity.

Morpheus has never doubted the existence of soulmates, nor has he doubted the experiences he has heard. No, what he has always questioned has been the intensity of such a bond. How powerful could true love actually be, to change the life of one so powerful? Surely, a soulmate did not exert that much sway over a being of myth and legend?

He has been in love before, of course—with Alianora, with Killala, with Calliope. For a moment, when he rescued Nada from Azazel, he allowed himself to hope that such a second chance was his sign that Nada was his soulmate.

Now, he knows that those loves were pale imitations of the love that one has for a soulmate. A single wink has transformed everything that he thought he knew about life, and where he once saw no future that did not involve taking his sister’s hand, now, he sees only possibility. It’s not just a mortal who stands in front of him now, one of seven billion faceless creatures that occupy his realm for a third of their short lives. 

No, it’s you. 

Morpheus comes to know your identity immediately by virtue of you being a dreamer, yet he thinks he will not truly be satisfied unless he hears it from you directly. For a brief moment, a black string appears around his wrist, stretching and morphing into a silver one as it loops around your own. Then, it’s gone, leaving behind only the startling realization that Dream of the Endless has met his soulmate. 

You bid farewell to Hob as Morpheus watches helplessly, uncharacteristically breathless when you, the deity he now worships faithfully, deign to smile his way before leaving. He is a mere planet sucked into the orbit of a bright, shining sun as his eyes follow you across the room, watching as you greet your friends at a large table. When you toss your head back in a laugh while removing a computer from your bag, he regrets that he’s too far away to hear the sound.

“My friend?” Hob’s voice is the life preserver he needs to pull himself out of the ocean he’s found himself treading through, and finally manages to look away. “Is everything alright?”

Morpheus is unsure. On the one hand, it seems as though he has finally found what he has spent nearly his entire, endless life searching for, right when he had decided that it might be time to stop altogether. On the other hand, the intensity of the bond forming…frightens him. Further, you’re a mortal, which means that he risks once again ending a civilization of humans thanks to his romantic aspirations. Instead of answering Hob’s question, he asks one of his own. 

“You have lived a long life,” Morpheus begins, trying desperately not to sound as shaky as he feels. “Surely you have heard of the concept of soulmates?”

Hob’s smile turns soft, wistful. “Of course. Some immortals think that it’s the universe or whoever giving them something to make unending life bearable; others, like myself, are simply romantics who are charmed by the idea of having a love to follow them from life to life. I’ve heard your lot have a much easier time finding soulmates than us regular ol’ immortals, that your heightened senses show you things the rest of us can’t see.” His brow furrows in thought as he digests the rather odd change in subject. “Why do you ask? Did…did you believe Nada to be your soulmate?”

Morpheus is relieved that Hob hasn’t made the connection between his oldest friend’s sudden odd behavior and the appearance of his student. “Yes,” he answers truthfully. “For a time, I did.”

None of his previous feelings matter anymore, though, now that the answer to his happiness is sitting across the room. 

“Forgive me, Hob, but I must end our meeting sooner than I hoped. There are…matters that I must attend to.” He needs to leave, for if he does not, he fears he may occupy this chair all night and watch you in a manner that would be considered ‘creepy’ by today’s standards.

To his credit, Hob does not act like their meeting is being cut short. “No worries at all. You know you’re welcome any time.”

“Thank you for your hospitality and counsel.”

Morpheus hesitates before leaving, defenseless against fate as his gaze is drawn back to you once more. After a moment, he opens the door to the pub and steps back into his own realm.

The ornate stained glass windows of his throne room do not allow him to see outside. But Morpheus does not require windows to know that the weather has already cleared, from booming thunder, bright lightning, and gale-force winds to clearing clouds and hesitant rays of sunlight beginning to dry the drenched landscape of the Dreaming. His realm’s weather is a direct reflection of his own emotions, and as he staggers to sit on the steps leading up to his throne, hope begins to warm his own waterlogged heart.

A soulmate. He would be lying if he were to say he hadn’t ever imagined the possibility of there being someone out there fated for him. Hob Gadling had called himself a romantic when explaining what he knew of the phenomena, and though Morpheus would never use the word to describe himself, he does think it apt. For all that he has been a being so devoted to his duties, he has also longed for someone to share those duties with.

If what he has seen is true, and he truly has become the first of the Endless to have a soulmate, then there is much to consider. There is only one person equipped to help him with this (only one person whose help he wants with this), even if she has never been through such an experience herself, which is how he finds himself in his gallery, staring ahead at the ankh placed in a frame.

“Sister,” Morpheus calls. “I must speak with you.”

“Hiya, little brother,” Death’s voice sounds from her sigil after mere seconds. “This a quick matter?”

“I would prefer that you come through, if you have some time.” Though no day can ever be slow when one is an anthropomorphic personification of a vital universal concept, Morpheus does hope that today, at least, is not busy for his sister.

“I always have time for you,” she says fondly.

One moment, there is nothing but air in front of him. The next, his beloved sister, her trademark smile the antithesis of the all-black ensemble she always sports. Said smile falters when she takes in Morpheus’s affect, likely resembling that of a wounded animal.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Death asks, placing a hand on his arm. “I figured you would be sad after the whole Nada thing—”

Wonderful, Morpheus thinks distantly, word of my rejection has already spread beyond the boundaries of the Dreaming.

“—but this is…not sadness. I’ve seen you sad before. A lot, actually.”

He tries not to take offense, for he knows that she speaks true.

“You have,” he agrees. “And you are correct.”

“Well, out with it then. What’s got you in such a state?”

He has to make an effort to say the words, a part of him worried that it might not be true if he actually voices what he’s just experienced. “It appears that I have…found my soulmate.”

Death’s smile slides off her face in shock before quickly reappearing, somehow wider than before. “Shut up!”

Morpheus’s brows furrow as anger rushes through him. “I beg your pardon?”

When she begins to laugh, those thunderclouds that were only just banished begin to build again over the palace. The Endless were never technically children, but at this moment, Morpheus feels every bit the little brother that he is as he perceives his eldest sister to be making fun of him.

“This is no joke, my sister.” His voice booms through the gallery, making the frames shake just slightly.

“No, sorry, I didn’t mean it in a bad way! You unintentionally quoted a movie, that’s all—remind me to show you that movie sometime, same actress as the one in Mary Poppins! I’m simply trying to say how shocked I am.” Death’s eyes shine as she looks at him. “Dream! Your soulmate? You’re sure?”

“The string of fate all but confirmed it.”

She squeals, a high-pitched shriek that echoes through his gallery, stopping suddenly when she realizes her merriment is not shared. “Wait. Why are you not excited? I thought you would be more excited!”

“It would appear that my soulmate is…mortal.”

Enthusiasm deflates out of her like air being released from a balloon. “Oh. Well. That is a problem, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he agrees, even though that feels to be a massive understatement. His soulmate being a mortal is more than a problem; it’s a tragedy just waiting to happen.

Death’s eyes flick around the room before she looks at Morpheus again. “Y’know who would be able to help us with this?”

He knows exactly where she’s going with this and wants no part in it. “Sister, no—”

“Destiny!”

“It is alright, truly—” 

The last thing he needs is another of his siblings involved in this situation, specifically the one who can tell him what he fears to hear, but his words fall on deaf ears as Death stands in front of Destiny’s sigil.

“Hello, big brother!” Death runs a finger along Destiny’s frame. “May we come through?”

The reply is immediate. “You are both meant to be in my realm at this time.”

“Ooh, lucky us.” Death grins and takes Morpheus’s arm so that he cannot escape, stepping into Destiny’s Garden as the fabric between realms gives way upon their eldest brother’s invitation.

Destiny of the Endless stands before them, looking as he always does—wearing his robes and carrying his Book, stern and acting as though he carries the weight of many worlds on his shoulders (which is technically true). Out of all of his siblings, Morpheus speaks the least to Destiny, for he knows that there will never be room for a friendly conversation if the Book does not require it.

“Death. Dream,” Destiny acknowledges with a slight nod. Death darts over to give him a kiss on the cheek, and though he tries his best to keep his face as stonelike as the statues surrounding the garden, his lips still twitch up just slightly at the affection.

“Brother,” Morpheus greets. “Need I explain the situation to you, or has your Book explained it already?”

“Yes, I know what has happened.”

“Then you know that our sister believes you have answers to a number of questions.”

“Do not hide your curiosity behind our sister’s actions. You also want answers.”

Even though he knows Destiny isn’t being malicious by saying it, Morpheus still feels chastised and has to fight the urge to lower his eyes to the ground. “Yes,” he says, a little quieter than before, “I do.”

“Your path has stayed the same for centuries now, with little variation.” Destiny opens the Book to a page that must contain Morpheus’s story. “Yesterday, that changed.”

He gets the feeling that the debacle with the key to Hell has something to do with his story changing. “I was not supposed to meet…”

It’s impossible to bring himself to say the word to his brother, to breathe life into his hopes in front of one who could so easily crush them.

“No. But for reasons that I do not understand and cannot say, forces intervened. The moment that you left the Dreaming, it was providence that you would meet your soulmate.”

Though he knows that he must temper his emotions, that there is still a large part of the equation that has yet to be solved, this confirmation that the string of fate Morpheus saw connecting you to him was not a trick of the eye, that the sudden intensity with which he found himself falling for you was not mere desperation to be loved after crushing rejection, is a gift. 

“The first of the Endless to find their soulmate!” Death says beside him, likely almost as happy as he is, simply due to one of her siblings finding happiness. “And here I thought that the Fates simply enjoyed being cruel to us because of our power.”

“There is still the matter of my soulmate’s mortality,” Dream reminds both his sister and himself.

This, he believes, is where the fantasy comes to an end. Death may be pleasantly surprised that the Hecate allowed him a soulmate in the first place, but he worries that their cruelty lies in the linking of his soul to a mortal’s. There will be no falling in love, no learning another in every way that matters. There will be no marriage, no everlasting partnership. No, he will be forced to know that there is someone out there for him, but that making a move would ensure your demise, and likely the demise of many others. He will be forced to watch from afar as you go through life without him, until eventually his chance at true love takes his sister’s hand and journeys to the Sunless Lands.

“We are forbidden to love mortals, lest we bring about their ruin.” His voice sounds hollow as he repeats this unwritten law, matching the hollowness that he is soon to feel for the rest of his endless life.

Death smiles sympathetically, but does not seem as heartbroken for him as he might have imagined. “I have a theory, if you’d be willing to hear it?”

Morpheus nods. “By all means.”

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while, honestly, and the past few days have made me consider that there might be some weight behind this idea. Though we, the Endless, all have our different purposes, our main one is to serve humanity. Humans hold quite a lot of power, even if they don’t realize it. They decide where they go after they die, and their belief, or lack thereof, gives the gods power. Beings with power like to believe that we have control over humans, but if anything, they have control over us.

“Nada and the First People believed that to love an Endless meant devastation for them. Might that be why the First People were wiped out, and not because it’s an unwritten law?”

Morpheus has never considered this, and mulls the possibility over. Desire, specifically, had courted a mortal in order to sire a child in the hopes of Morpheus spilling family blood. Though they did not love Unity Kincaid, he knows from Unity’s own words that she loved her ‘golden-eyed man’ very much. Yet there was never the end of a civilization due to her love, nor did there seem to be any natural consequences for such a union.

Is Death right? Has Morpheus been living under a misguided belief all this time?

“Destiny?” Morpheus asks, yet again, afraid to know what his brother might say. “Is she correct?”

“The Gray Ladies, for all of their aforementioned cruelty and disdain towards us, respect the concept of love; they relish playing matchmaker. It is one of their favorite parts of their function.”

Their other favorite, of course, is when their services as the Kindly Ones are invoked.

Morpheus must uncharacteristically swallow to clear his throat. “So it is true? I will not bring about the end of modern civilization by pursuing my soulmate?”

Destiny remains silent, and Death whoops excitedly.

“That’s a yes!” she declares, wrapping an arm around Morpheus’s shoulders and squeezing—the closest to a hug he typically allows. “Thank you. This visit has been everything I hoped it would be.”

“It is time now for you both to depart,” Destiny responds. He’s not being rude by ushering his siblings out of his realm; it is simply what the Book demands, and he must follow that steadfastly.

“Yes, of course, we’ll let you get back to it. Farewell, Destiny!” Death bids, waving once before disappearing through the tear in the veil that will undoubtedly lead back to the Dreaming.

“Thank you, brother. Truly.” Morpheus would thank him more profusely than this, but it would be in vain. Destiny knows just how thankful Morpheus truly is.

“Dream,” Destiny calls as Morpheus has one foot back in his realm. 

He turns to look at his older brother, only to see the fond twitch of his lips typically reserved for Death or Delirium directed towards him.

“Good luck.” 

It is not the usual foreboding tone of someone who knows what is to come and is merely conveying the necessary information as required by his function. No, these words are sincere, are well wishes that one would give to someone they care greatly about, and he appreciates them all the more as a result. 

Morpheus nods gratefully, then makes his way through to the Dreaming, where Death stands beaming with her hands clasped in front of her.

“You have a soulmate,” she breathes, awed.

“I do.” While he knows he should be visibly thrilled, he cannot help but to remain serious as he works to fully digest the information, works through what it actually means for him and his future.

Death notices this, as she always does, and takes his hands in hers. “You get to be loved, Dream, just like you’ve always wanted. Don’t be scared of this gift that you’ve been given.”

But he is scared. Terrified is a better word to describe how he’s feeling. What if you deny him as Nada has done? What if the gravity of a soulmate bond, of loving one of the Endless, proves too tall a task for you? He could not bear it if his love—if the reveal of so much beyond the world you’ve been raised to know—were to cause you fear. He cannot get this wrong, will not get this wrong, yet…

“I know not how to court in this day and age, let alone court a mortal,” he says weakly. It is a flimsy excuse, of course, and one that Death sees right through.

“You’re asking the wrong being, since it’s been a good two hundred years or so since I’ve been truly involved with anybody. I’m quite sure that there’s some information on modern dating rituals—it’s called dating now, by the way, not courting—in that ginormous library of yours. Your raven was recently human, too, wasn’t he?”

He need not say anything, for they both know the questions are rhetorical. She squeezes his hands softly before releasing them and stepping towards her frame.

“I’ve got to get back to work, okay? But please don’t doubt yourself. You deserve this! And you’ll figure out how you want to approach this situation; you always do.”

Death has always had an unshakable faith in him, even when he does not believe the same of himself. “I appreciate your wisdom, as always, my dear sister.”

“Bye, Dream.” She opens her own rift between realms, likely to the Waking. “I expect to hear all about this soulmate of yours when we meet next!” 

Then Morpheus is alone, left to his own devices as he tries to figure out where one starts when they first meet their soulmate.

[cardiganswillow]

Harmony's Requiem:

A Dream's Elegy

In pursuit of peace, the Queen of Harmony

fractures. What will it mean for the world?

Chapter 4:

The Dissonance

Eirene, Goddess of Harmony and Goodwill, the Queen of Animosity, found herself at a crossroads. Her wedding day came, a promise of peace and union, a treacherous deal in the Dreaming. She journeyed into the realm of nightmares and dreams, her heart heavy with the weight of a peace she wasn't sure she could maintain. The obstacles she faced were not merely trials of strength, but riddles of the soul, challenges that even a goddess might not overcome.

tags and warnings: arranged marriage, morpheus x goddess!reader, angst, smut in later parts, fluff in later parts, slowburn

fair warning: this fan fiction series does not follow the events from the actual series.

previous - next

The castle stairs were made of obsidian and sighs, their edges sharp enough to slice through pretense. Morpheus stood at their midpoint, hands clasped rigidly behind his back, as the horizon rippled with false dawns.

“Whatcha doin’ here, boss?” Matthew landed on a post, his feathers ruffled by the Dreaming’s caprice.

“Waiting,” Morpheus said, too quickly.

“For…?”

A glare. The post sprouted thorns. Matthew hopped sideways, squawking. “Okay, okay! But if you’re aiming for ‘brooding sovereign,’ you are not nailing it. You're gushing like a tomato."

Morpheus’ jaw twitched. “Silence has virtues, Matthew.”

“Sure, but so does admitting you’re waiting for your wife.”

The stair beneath Morpheus’ boot cracked, spiderwebbing into a map of fault lines. “She is late.”

“She’s not. You’re early. By like… three existential crises.”

Wind swept through, carrying the scent of Eirene’s perfume—honeysuckle and steel. Morpheus turned, his cloak billowing with forced drama. “You are dismissed.”

“Dismiss this,” Matthew muttered, flapping toward a suddenly materialized fig tree.

When Eirene appeared at the stair’s base, sunlight gilded her hair. Morpheus noted, with clinical detachment, that her smile could unravel centuries of carefully curated gloom.

“Waiting long?” she called.

“No,” he lied.

The stairs flattened into a path, the Dreaming itself rolling out a carpet. Eirene’s laugh echoed. “Liar.”

He offered his arm. Not because he wished to, but because the alternative—letting her see his hands tremble—was unthinkable.

The border between Dreaming and Waking hung like a rotting tapestry—threads of reality fraying, colors bleeding into sickly gray. Eirene’s breath crystallized in the air, though no cold touched her skin. This place eats warmth, she realized. Eats hope.

Morpheus stepped forward, black sand swirling around his fingers. “Stay close.”

“Or what?” Eirene matched his stride, her own power humming beneath her ribs—a chord only she could hear. “You’ll miss my dazzling commentary?”

He didn’t smile, but the sand coiled tighter. “Or you’ll become its next meal.”

The nightmare revealed itself in increments: a shadow pooling too thickly, the stench of burnt hair, a sound like teeth grinding on bone. Then—form. A hunched thing with too many joints, its skin a mosaic of indecision—faces frozen mid-scream, hands clutching at void.

“Ah,” Morpheus murmured. “A Leech of Ambivalence. It gorges on those who cannot choose.”

“Charming.” Eirene’s fingers twitched, plucking an invisible string. The air shivered. “Shall we harmonize?”

The Leech lunged. Morpheus’ sand became a blade, severing one grasping limb. Eirene sang a single note—clear, piercing—and the creature recoiled, its many mouths wailing in dissonance.

“Fascinating,” Morpheus said, sidestepping a flailing tendril. “It hates your melody.”

“It’s not the melody.” She dodged, her gown tearing as claws grazed her hip. “It’s the certainty.”

He froze. For a heartbeat, she thought she’d lost him to some abyss of thought. Then his hand closed around hers, cold and unyielding. “Then certainty we shall wield.”

The sand surged, black and liquid, as Eirene’s voice rose in counterpoint. The Leech unraveled, its form dissolving into ash and whimpers.

When silence fell, Morpheus still hadn’t released her hand.

“Well,” Eirene breathed, blood singing with adrenaline, “that was almost…”

“Collaborative?”

“I was going to say romantic.”

He dropped her hand as if scalded. “Do not mistake necessity for sentiment.”

But as they crossed back into the Dreaming, she noticed—he walked slower. Let her linger.

The path back to the castle blurred at the edges, the Dreaming’s colors leaching into sepia. Eirene counted her breaths—seven, eight, nine—to distract from the weight in her bones. Her fingers, still humming from the battle’s resonance, had begun to transparent. Just a flicker, there and gone.

“You lag” Morpheus said, not turning.

“Merely savoring the view.” She forced a smile, kicking a pebble that dissolved mid-arc. “Your realm has a flair for melodrama, husband. All these wilting roses? A bit on the nose.”

He halted, finally facing her. “The roses are unchanged.”

Ah. So the decay was hers alone to see. She pressed on, her gown snagging on thorns that hadn’t existed moments before.

“Eirene.” His voice sharpened. “You bleed.”

She glanced down. A crimson bloom spread across her hip where the Leech had grazed her. No—not blood. The edges shimmered, golden and wrong. Divine ichor.

“A scratch,” she lied, plucking a honeysuckle vine to wrap around the wound. The flowers withered instantly, their petals crumbling to ash.

Morpheus seized her wrist. “You are no nightmare to fade with the dawn. What is this?”

For a heartbeat, she considered truth: Every war-monger’s oath gnaws at me. Every treaty torn unravels my thread.

“Fatigue,” she said lightly, pulling free. “Even goddesses tire of your brooding.”

The castle gates loomed ahead. Eirene’s knees buckled.

Morpheus caught her before she struck the earth, his arms rigid with reluctance. “You are… diminished.”

“And you are warm,” she murmured, cheek against his chest. “Who knew?”

He stiffened. “This is no jest.”

“No.” Her laugh frayed into a cough. “But I’d rather laugh than mourn.”

When he lifted her, the Dreaming itself recoiled—a queen cradled like shattered glass, her hair streaked with sudden silver.

“You will explain this,” he said, more plea than command.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered.

But as the gates closed behind them, the first mortal gun shot in the Waking. Somewhere, a thread snapped.

Eirene did not flinch.

I'm quite excited for the next chapters hehe. I can't wait for you to see it:>

@deniixlovezelda

@villain-in-the-dark

@universallyrascaldreamercookie

[cardiganswillow]

THE SANDMAN

2.05 The Song of Orpheus

[cardiganswillow]

Harmony's Requiem:

A Dream's Elegy

In pursuit of peace, the Queen of Harmony

fractures. What will it mean for the world?

Chapter 3:

Search

Eirene, Goddess of Harmony and Goodwill, the Queen of Animosity, found herself at a crossroads. Her wedding day came, a promise of peace and union, a treacherous deal in the Dreaming. She journeyed into the realm of nightmares and dreams, her heart heavy with the weight of a peace she wasn't sure she could maintain. The obstacles she faced were not merely trials of strength, but riddles of the soul, challenges that even a goddess might not overcome.

tags and warnings: arranged marriage, morpheus x goddess!reader, angst, smut in later parts, fluff in later parts, slowburn

fair warning: this fan fiction series does not follow the events from the actual series.

previous - next

The morning mist smelled of honeysuckle and dew-kissed roses, a stark contrast to the storm-wracked atmosphere of the previous night. The oppressive weight of the Dreaming had lifted, replaced by a lightness that felt almost… hopeful. Queen Eirene emerged from the bed, her movements fluid and graceful, a smile playing on her lips. The chamber doors swung open before she could reach them, revealing Aella, her face etched with concern. The servant had witnessed the explosive argument at the Endless’ table, the raw animosity between Eirene and Morpheus.

“Did something… transpire last night, my lady?” Aella ventured, her voice soft yet hesitant.

Eirene’s laughter was light, almost giddy. “Oh, dear Aella, it was nothing. Nothing at all. Well, something did happen, but not in the way you fear.”

Aella frowned, her confusion deepening. “But… the argument? The shouting?”

Eirene’s eyes sparkled, a mischievous glint in their depths. “We… reconciled. He apologized! Can you believe it? An Endless? Apologizing?” Aella’s jaw dropped, her surprise palpable.

Eirene stepped into the waiting bath, warm water swirling around her like a comforting embrace. As Aella poured fragrant oils into the water, the queen recounted the events of the previous night, her voice animated, her laughter echoing in the spacious chamber. There was no need for the soothing oils. Eirene looked remarkably refreshed, the exhaustion from the wedding and the emotional turmoil seemingly shed along with the night. It was a new day, a new beginning.

Aella, still slightly bewildered, continued her ministrations, her own worries easing under the radiant optimism of her queen. The tension between Morpheus and Eirene had been a dark storm, but the dawn had broken. The scent of roses was a promise.

The library stretched endlessly, shelves rearranging themselves like a living labyrinth. Eirene lingered by a table piled with star charts, her fingers brushing a constellation that pulsed faintly at her touch.

“He’s been gone since dawn, if that helps,” Matthew croaked from his perch on Lucienne’s shoulder, his beady eyes glinting. “Boss is allergic to downtime. You’ll get used to it.”

Eirene arched a brow. “Or perhaps he will learn to tolerate interruptions.”

Lucienne hid a smile behind her book. “The throne room is… quieter these days. You’re welcome to wait there, my lady.”

Wait. The word rankled. Eirene had spent centuries weaving harmony from chaos; patience was her armor, but not her nature. “No need. I’ll find him myself.”

“Respectfully,” Lucienne interjected, too politely, “the Dreaming reshapes itself for its ruler. Without him, even a goddess might lose her way.”

A challenge. A kindness. Eirene smiled, sharp as a blade. “Then I’ll carve a new path.”

She turned, skirts swirling, and nearly collided with a wall that hadn’t existed moments before. Behind her, Matthew snorted. “Told ya. This place hates newbies.”

The castle’s corridors spat Eirene out into a sunlit glade she hadn’t intended to find. Typical, she thought, brushing willow fronds from her hair. The Dreaming reshaped itself like a coy lover, revealing only what it wished.

The garden before her was a symphony of green—vines heavy with jasmine, grass that sighed underfoot, bees drunk on nectar. At its heart stood a man beneath an oak, his quill scratching parchment. He looked up, adjusting round spectacles that caught the light.

“Ah, the queen!” His voice was rich, earthy, like roots cradling hidden streams. “Lovely morning, my lady.”

Eirene recognized him from the wedding’s periphery. “You were with Lucienne last night. Did the festivities please you?”

“Immensely, though I regret not bidding you farewell.” He rose, sketching a bow. “Fiddler’s Green, at your service. Though some call me Gilbert.”

“A pleasure,” Eirene said, meaning it. His aura radiated the kind of peace that could lull wars to sleep. “This place… it’s you, isn’t it? The garden.”

Gilbert’s eyes crinkled. “In a sense. Memories grow here, you see. Even yours, given time.”

The breeze carried the scent of parchment and petrichor. Eirene sank onto a mossy stone. “Have you seen my husband?”

“He passed through at dawn.” Gilbert’s quill tapped the page thoughtfully. “Remarkably… unstormlike. Less thunder, more twilight. Though he lingered by the lake as if fighting a smile. Curious, no?”

Eirene’s pulse quickened. “Curious indeed.”

“Take this.” Gilbert tore a leaf from his book—a map inked in silver. “The quickest path to where he's probably gone. If you hurry.”

She stood, tucking the map into her sleeve. “Why help me?”

“Because,” he said, already writing again, “even the Endless need someone to remind them they’re still men.”

The map dissolved in Eirene’s hands like smoke, its silver ink bleeding into the air. Of course, she thought, bitterness sharp on her tongue. The Dreaming bent only to his will, a realm as stubborn and inscrutable as its master.

She found herself back at the throne room’s entrance, its obsidian doors yawning open in silent mockery. Inside, the vaulted ceiling shimmered with false constellations, each star a captured dream. The throne itself—a jagged spire of onyx—loomed at the center, cold and unwelcoming.

“He does this often, you know.”

Lucienne appeared beside her, holding a tray of tea that smelled of bergamot and regret. “Disappear. It’s not personal, my lady.”

Eirene sank onto the throne’s steps, ignoring how the stone leached warmth from her bones. “Isn’t it? We’re bound now. Shouldn’t that mean something?”

“Binding an Endless is like tethering a hurricane.” Lucienne set the tea beside her, untouched. “But hurricanes have eyes. Quiet centers. You’ll learn to find his.”

A flicker in the air—a shift in pressure, the scent of petrichor. Morpheus stood at the room’s edge, his cloak still dusted with starlight. “You sought me.”

Eirene didn’t rise. “You left.”

“The Dreaming requires maintenance.”

“So does a marriage.”

His gaze flicked to Lucienne, who vanished with a tactful cough. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost weary. “You wish to accompany me.”

“I wish to understand.” She stood, the throne room’s shadows curling around her ankles like cats. “This realm is yours, but I am part of it now. Let me in.”

For a heartbeat, the constellations stilled. Then Morpheus extended his hand, sand swirling in his palm. “Tomorrow. There’s a nightmare near the Waking’s edge. It feeds on indecision.”

“Indecision?” She arched a brow. “How novel. I thought you preferred brooding.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Bring a weapon.”

“I am a weapon.” she said, and this time, he didn’t look away.

I've finally panned out the whole story. The following chapters will be fluff but also angst. I haven't written it properly yet, just a draft. The line below the story title will soon make sense. Not yet, but soon. :>

@deniixlovezelda

@villain-in-the-dark

@universallyrascaldreamercookie

[cardiganswillow]

The Sandman (Netflix) fic recs

★Main fic recs masterlist

Multi-parts: Heart of the Dreaming - @dragon-kazansky Lady Luck is Smiling - @thoughtsfromlayla In Your Dreams - @loveissupernatural Can't Help But Dream - @errantsomnium Symphony of Dreams - @dragon-kazansky Crimson Stained Petals - @roguelov All the Precious and Fragile Things (So easily do they break) - @alteon77 (MDNI 18+) (AO3) Sometimes It's Fated - @withoutyouimsaskia (MDN1 18+) Harmony's Requiem: A Dream's Elegy - @phythius (MDNI 18+)

One-shots:

Divider Credits: @strangergraphics

[cardiganswillow]

someone had to do it

[cardiganswillow]

I get why morphine is named after Morpheus. That man is addictive.

[cardiganswillow]

Updated Masterlist of Writing and Art

About the writer/artist: I like to write and paint. My current obsession is Sandman, but I enjoy most fantasy fandoms as well as anime (I think I’m on season seven billion of One Piece right now 🤣). I'm also weird as they come (and awkward, too), so just please ignore my oddball (coughTERRIBLEcough) sense of humor.

On a more personal note, I have PTSD and suffer from severe manic depressive episodes. Writing and art are my most familiar coping mechanisms, and I need them like I need oxygen. Seriously, there were times in my life that knowing I had to finish a story or a piece of art was the only thing stopping me from ending up dead. So, I don't take part in fandom drama. Having my peace and protecting my mental health are very big deals to me, and I won't risk those for anything if I can help it.

As for my writing, it ranges from short one-shots to ridiculously long novel series. I use third person POV (on longer series) as well as second person (on shorter things). I also try to always exclude physical descriptions when writing main character OCs and assign them nicknames to avoid using Y/N. I love to read Y/N fics, but writing them makes me feel like I'm at work. And who actually wants to ever feel like they're at work when they're engaging in a hobby? Definitely not me.

Lastly, there's usually more stuff on my AO3 page than I have listed here, because I forget to post it pretty often. Oops. I'll get around to moving it all over one day. Probably. Maybe.

Feel free to leave an ask if you want or just drop by my DMs. <3

Artwork links are at the bottom of this list, so if you're here for those, that's where they are.

Sandman 'Verse

All the Precious and Fragile Things (so easily do they break)

After banishing his lover from the Dreaming for her betrayal, Morpheus learns that she is pregnant with his child.

And that she’s been captured by a revenge-seeking Alexander Burgess.

What the both of them are unaware of is that this will set in motion a cascade of unfavorable events, causing a chain reaction that threatens the whole of existence itself.

PART I: All of This Past

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

PART II: These Tender, Loving Mercies

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

PART III: When It All Falls Down

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

PART IV: The Dark of War

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Epilogue

Sometimes He's Sweet

Morpheus hates the holidays.

As excited as she seems to experience the mortal holiday, he's… less so. Much less so. With the entire collective unconscious contained within him, this time of year can be wholly overwhelming, a miasma of too much red and green, too much worry, too much loneliness, too much excitement, too many similarly themed dreams, too many similarly themed nightmares, and far far too many holiday songs. It all bleeds out from the collective unconscious into his own mind, sticks there like weeping sap to a tree until he feels half-mad with the unrelenting presence of it, with his inability to get free from its cloying trespass upon his very being.

This is just a little sweet fluff for the holiday season. It takes place between chapters 19 and 20 of "All the Precious and Fragile Things". No spoilers here if you've read that far!

The Dog Debacle (or how best to sneak a dragon into the dreaming)

Morpheus' daughter gets a new dog.

Well..... kind of.

That Familiar Feeling of Family (or how Hob Gadling ended up as an uncle to his stranger's oftentimes feral children)

It's a pretty universally known thing that families are just strange. As Hob is quickly figuring out, however, this little fact is magnified by AT LEAST a billion when the family in question is Endless.

(A lighthearted story in which Hob Gadling finds out his stranger has married, makes friends with a homicidal maniac/ruler, and manages to become an exemplary uncle to a pack of magically mischievous children. Really, now all he has to do is convince everyone to stop calling his and Dream's weekly meetups "playdates", and then his life would be practically perfect.)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

The Maker, the Muse, and the Sundered Song

In his temple, what remains of Orpheus waits in trepidation. Something is changing. Something that he knows might alter the very fabric of the world as he understands it.

Finally freed from captivity, Calliope struggles to make any meaningful changes to the laws that saw her bound and taken in the first place. When the strange woman appears on Mount Parnassus and offers help, Calliope knows she would be a fool not to accept it. Even if she thinks that she's being lied to.

Meanwhile in the peace of the Dreaming, Morpheus grapples with guilt over his son's fate. As he basks in the love of his new children, he can't help but to regret his own failings where Orpheus is concerned.

And as for May, she's really just got a job to do. And her own traumatic issues to deal with. And if it's all hella awkward because she's having to work alongside her husband's ex-wife, she'll see it done anyway. There's even the small possibility that she might eventually admit to Calliope the truth about her identity. That is if she can ever actually work up the courage to say it aloud.

Chapter 1

Nothing in This Closet but Boots and a Boy

Morpheus is wildly protective of his daughter.

That's probably bad for the boy in said daughter's closet.

AU's and Other Stuff in the Sandman 'Verse

Of Exes, Hellhounds, and Waffle Fries

Morpheus shows up to rescue the woman he probably loves (though he won't admit it) from hellhounds and ends up getting roped into helping with her family. This is one of those extras that doesn't fit into the main story, but it's fun, so I'm posting it.

The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications

It's a tale as old as time.

Two idiots fall in love. Two idiots fall out of love.

Neither one of them is expecting a baby to come along and derail their unhappily ever after.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Original Fanart

I like to play around with different styles and to try new things with my artwork. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. I'm still learning, and I am so far from being a professional that it's laughable. But I only post things that I think look decent or that I think others might enjoy.

The Lover's Argument (Morpheus x oc)

Oneiros (Morpheus in Grecian garb)

Because I could not stop for Death, she kindly stopped for me... (Regency era Dream and Death)

[cardiganswillow]

i miss my emo husband 😞