#Morpheus ff

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin-r]

Hi! If it’s okay, totally okay if not, can I please request a soulmate!Morpheus x soulmate!fem!reader where she is half dream half human (she doesn’t know she’s a Dream or even that any of that exists) and she’s living a completely normal human life, with a human job (kindergarten teacher), human friends, no knowledge of who either of her parents were. But when she’s approached by The Corinthian, her normal life completely shatters. Like he had found out before Morpheus that she’s technically one of his missing Dreams and also Dream’s soulmate, and he takes her as leverage against Morpheus? Morpheus saves her from danger at the hotel with “Collectors” Convention? He’d take her back home to the Dreaming but I’m sure that’d be a difficult change for her to leave her human life

I spy a cooking opportunityyy pour moiiii to the google docss

i have actually been so busy this year it’s not even funny so I’m glad i had something to write. Let me know if there are any Spelling mistakes and errors

You were different, it wasn’t a thought or idea it was a fact. It was proven. You had a power, it was unexplainable and you’d given up on trying to explain it. It started small, lucid dreaming, you could fix, make, create, do whatever you wanted but it was only through dreams. Then, people. Your mom was dreaming of a new shopping spree and you just watched her. She saw you and just assumed you were part of it and in truth you were. You bought so many things and didn’t question where the money was from, it was only a dream that you wished you could bring her, she looked so happy. Until you woke up to your mom screaming in a room full of boxes and bags.

You brought the dream to her. 

Over the years you learned how to control it. Now years later after getting your teaching degree you became a kindergarten teacher and honestly you loved your job, the smiles and laughs of the little children who scurried around you. It was amazing it helped distract you. Seeing their little selves running over to their parents. 

You slowly just dropped your escapades in the back of your mind. You were an adoptee. You were a baby so you have no memories of who your parents were but the Arlings were a good family who treated you like you were a godsend.

“Heyyy, me and Lorrelai were wondering if you could humour us for a sec?” Debby, a fellow teacher like you asked. 

“Sure what's up?” you asked as you perched onto a nearby desk.

“Her ma's coming into town and she's wondering if she shouldn't be in town when ma's here.” 

“What's wrong with your ma?” 

“You know, controlling, demanding, taxing…you know how moms are.” the moment she said that her eyes went wide. 

“A-”

“Hey lass, there’s someone here for you!”  Since you were the only one Layla called Lass saying your byes you made your way to the front desk. 

You rarely got visitors here, maybe a rare parent but by the sounds of it it wasn’t a parent. Yiu giggled as you dodged hree running balls of energy. You could tell them to slow down but then they’d probably just go faster to avoid you, you chuckled. 

You turned the corner and almost bumped into a man. He was tall with blond hair and familiar black glasses from a show you watched a while back. He smiled and you almost flinched. You tried to smile back in the same manner but it felt painful and unreal.

“Excuse me, Miss Arling?” you nodded wondering if he was an uncle or relative you haven't met of one of the kids here.

“That’s me, who are you?” you tried to make your tone light. 

“Ah, how rude of me, my name’s Corinthian.” What an odd name.

“Mr. Corinthian? What brings you here?”

“You.” Your confusion must have amused him as he laughed like you’d just told him a funny joke. You became deathly aware of how it was just the two of you in a room that seemed to be ever shrinking. Maybe it was your imagination but he seemed to get closer without even moving. 

“I’m sorry, is-”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, thank you for how easy this was and don't worry this won't hurt a bit.” In a quick motion his hand swiped over your head and all you saw was black.

Corinthians caught you before you hit the ground. He had taken precautions so no one was going to remember you after you were gone, no bodies left to worry about. 

With a hop skip and a jump the Lord would be destroyed by the very thing in his hands and he was giggly. Slipping you into the passenger seat of his car he darted off as not to be late for his convention.

***

In and out.

You were in a car and now you're not. 

Someone was talking and when they finished people started to cheer and chatter and laugh. Your head started to ache. 

Where were you?

 What were you on?

A metallic smell filled your nose…blood? With heavy eyes you were met with bright lights, stage lights? Focused on you?

“A-ha, you're up, I was starting to think I gave you too much.” The Corinthian guy came up from behind you startling you, pathetically you tried to move away from him only to end up on the floor. He grinned again and you as you moved onto your back inching away. Like a preg before it's predator. 

He was enjoying this. 

“Still skittish I see.”

“Where am i?”

“Don't worry about it just a little collector's convention.” Collector? Is this a slave market?

“Why…” your legs came to and you began to stand and everything became clearer, the figures before you were more defined and you could make out the little devil's face, you tried to hit him but he dodged you quite easily. “What did you do to me? Who are you?”

“Little weak are we? Just a little sleeping dust and I think we already established the second one.”

Before you can speak any further the ground begins to rumble and shake. Bits of sand start to move from the corners joining and linking up. The lights flickered slightly.

“He's on his way people! SHOWTIME!”

WHO?

The sand started to pick up and wind from nowhere blew it high and a man began to emerged from it. His raven black hair was first, he was tall,  his smooth pale skin as the sand glid over him. His long black coat bellowed and a crow or a raven flew from behind him and landed on his shoulder.  The man had beautiful crystal blue eyes and in this moment they were filled with a lot of emotions, the most prominent one was-

“Angry are you?” Corithian grasped your shoulder steering you around. “This'll do you in.” The man met your eyes and something clicked. A dark blue thread began from soemewhere on you and connected all the way to him. 

“What is the meaning of this?” His eyes never leaving you but he was addressing the man holding you inhumanely tight. 

“Come on now I haven't even started.” Corithian spun you around and sat you on the chair you were on earlier. You tried to get up but you were tied to the chair by an invisible rope had you bound down. 

“Now dearie, tell us, have you ever done anything extra ordinary during the night time!” 

The man tried to move but it seemed like he too was bound by something. His head which had been lowered examining his bonds raised and his eyes met yours.

He was beautiful now that you saw him. Maybe he was a god? Considering everything that had happened so far it didn't seem to far from truth. If only the circumstances had been more favorable.

Corithian was a game show host and you both were his unwilling contestants. 

“I-what?” He shooks his head like a director towards an actor who read the script wrong. 

“No your line is yes.” 

“Yes?”

“Yes!” The crowd burst into laughter, you had an audience. 

“Your turn, Dream.” He turned his back to you as you he addresses the man. Dream. “Do you know who this is?” He asked as he pointed at you.

The man said nothing, but his eyes spoke for him. 

“Nope?” Well audience let me tell you a story…Once upon a time there lived a god called Morpheus. This god was the ruler of dreams and nightmares and he was damn good at his job. One day a mortal man believe he could trap death to delay the inevitable however his spell faltered and he caught Morpheus instead and after failing he kept the god trapped in a glass ball.”

You looked at Dream/Morpheus but he did not look at you instead his eyes were focused on the invisible cords on him. 

“A century passed and finally he was free. He roamed the world in search of the thing stolen from him, fought demons, traversed plains, spoken with the moirai. Eventually he reclaimed his tools. It was left with the dreams and nightmares of his realm.”

Corithian paused. “He got most of them except for two. One was obviously the devilishly handsome man that I am and our star guests mother.” 

Your mother? 

You didn't remember your mother, you didn't remember anything from your little years. Your eyes were hot but no tear fell. 

“Little did he know that said dream had found love. This pretty thing was a product of a human and a dream. Incredible. This child lived undiscovered and grew in silence and love. However a dream and a human were never meant to be together for a reason. 

The father was unknowingly sharing his lifespan with his love and when it ran out, so did he and so did she. A child given to an orphange, a mother and a father turned into dust, dead on site”

“Rescued by an orphanage, adopted by humans. Until today this child has been undisturbed, but Where's the fun in that.

“Alrighty visual demonstration then!” 

“Corithian.” The man who had stayed quiet stood forward. Every step tightening his bonds breaking slightly.

“I am not done!” The nightmare truly looks devilish. 

It felt like you'd been pinched.Your skin was melting away, it wasn’t painful rather it was freeing. You felt something behind you and when you reached for it. 

Wings

However, that wasn't the most surprising thing, surprisingly. It was your body. Your elbow had caught your eye then your while arm. It was like you were the physical embodiment of a galaxy. Purple, blue, yellow, red, your head was spinning. Something warms was rushing through your veins

“Ha, I didn't even have wings until I was older, more matured nightmare, maybe 105? But you? My, am I jealous? Well I guess I am,” Corinthian spoke like this was not a hostage situation and you weren't between two men who were definitely not human. 

“What is this? What have you done to me?”

“Oh sweetheart, don't tell me you're all beauty no brains? I tell you I'm a nightmare, I tell you a pretty story, what does that make you?”

“A dream?”

“100 points to whatever Harry Potter house you'd be placed in.”

“How is this possible?”

“And we're back to stupid questions, you mortals are so limited in knowledge it's a wonder you’ve reached anywhere.” 

A gust of sand filled the area but it didn’t feel gritty or painful, in fact it was quite the opposite it was soft and sweet. The particles danced in the air like dangerous flames. Morpheus/Dream/The strange man freed himself and wrapped his own set of bonds over Corithian.

“Ugh look at you embracing it like you’ve known it all your life pathetic, here I thought you might have a shot.”

“Corithian, Corinthian.” the voice from the sand was low and went through you, and it went through Corithian too, however his recovery time was impeccable.

“Oh come on, it was just getting to the best part.” 

“Soulmates! They were, Isn't it an interesting sort? Just like you and Dream here.” Corithian started to laugh a painful laugh. “You two are bonded. Linked. MEANT TO BE”

Soulmates?

“Corinthian, you are not a dog so I will not need to speak to you like one, you will return to the dreaming.” you half-heard the rest of their conversation. You eyes moved over the crowd. Lost in thought?

“And if I say no?”

“You can’t”

“If you think I’m going back to the dreaming with you-” Corinthian begins as he takes off his glasses. You see his eyes and a primal fear grips you, your blood freezes as you look away, nauseous.

“You’re not staying here.” The Morpheus states. “I brought you into this world to serve humanity, not to feed upon it.” 

Corithian looks to him. He puts his glasses back on. His bonds disappear.

“Do you know why I do it.” He shakes his head. 

“So I can taste what it’s like to be human. And you don’t care about humanity, you only care about yourself, your realm, your rules.” 

He's unravelling.

“I contain the entire collective unconscious, without my rules; it would consume me. Humanity would be consumed.” The Morpheus looks sad for a moment ready to cry but something tells you he's been holding it in for ages. 

“Or you might actually feel something, I am not the problem, Dream!” 

“You’re right, it was my fault not yours. I had so much hope for you. But I created you poorly than. So I must uncreate you now.” 

Corithian doesn't move. Slowly red sand begins to rise from him, little picks of his skin turned to dust the specks floating about in the air some brush past you but their not as soft as Dream's sand was infact their thick and jagged. 

Corithian opens his mouth to speak but it slowly begins to disappear as well. 

“I am only sorry I won’t be here to see-” you don't hear the rest as his head is inherrantly gone too.

Morpheu remains calm, he slowly walks over to the sand remains and picks up something so small you could have missed it. A skull.

“Is that…” you lose your voice. He nods turning it over in his hands. 

“Yes.” .

“Next time I make you, you will not be so flawed and petty little dream,” He speaks to the skull then directs his attention to the field of serial killers who’ve been frozen I'm their seats this whole time, it seems the nightmare's magic wore off. He places the skull in one of his pockets.  

“And you who call yourselves collectors, until now you sustained fantasies where you are the victims, daydreams in which you were always right, but no more, the dream is over, I have taken it away for this is my judgement upon you that you shall know from this moment on exactly how craven and selfish and monstrous you are and you shall feel the pain of those you have slaughtered. “

You watched as every single person in the room went out through the doors, looking so similar you thought they were under a new spell. You may not be a high lord but you could see and smell it. 

The fear. 

The agony. 

“What will happen to them?” you ask, your voice low and shaky. 

“Mass incarcerations, I have a fair idea that they will either terminate their existence and or give into the law.”

“What about what they saw here.”

“They'll remember nothing about today.”

“And me?”

“And you…first we must get your glamour up.” His hand carefully brushes against your collar bone and then up your neck and like a switch your back to your human self, you pinched it just to be sure.

“So he was right, he was telling the truth? I'm one of your creations?” You ask your hands sweaty in your grip. 

“He was half right, you are half my creation and half human. You are something new to me but we will find the answers. But first, you must have questions and I shall do my best to answer them.” 

“Your name is Dream or Morpheus?” he nodded.

“I am known by many names and thousand more titles, Oneiros, Somnia by the romans, Fashioner, Dream, Onierus, Morpheus, The Sandman. You may call me whichever you like.

“Morpheus.” A look passes in his eyes that you didn't recognise but it did not scare you in fact it brought you closer and closer. “Your eyes are like stars, they are very pretty.”

Morpheus chuckled. He did not seem like one who would but he did. It was only then you realise how close you were.

“Even after all you've been through today you still come towards me even after all this.” 

You shrug. “You saved me so that's a pro.” 

“Thank you, you have pretty eyes too.” you giggle as he humours you. 

“But…my life here, I can't just abandon everything I've known.” from your childhood to adulthood you have gained many things to live for. How could you just let it all go to follow a diety you just met?

“Corithian is a nightmare who takes measures as though not to have his fun take from him I'm afraid, no one knows who you are, his magic does not have a good record of undoing itself..”

“And if it does? There's a chance right?” You  knew you were grasping at straws but-

“Then you came resume your daily life. 

“You will not truly leave everything behind, you will simply travel between realms and back. Places and back, I can even create a dream in your image to go over your daily chores so your absence is unnoticed.”

“I couldn't ask that.”

“You forget what I made mention of to Corithian, dreams and nightmares are meant to serve humans, any dream to take on your role would be most pleased and honoured. Do we have a deal?”

You gazed over him, he seemed genuine. 

“But what about the soulmate bonds he was talking about?” 

“I will not be forcing a romantic engagement upon you, if that’s what you're worried about.”

“Isn't it killing you?”

“Mere bullets to a bulletproof vest.”

“It still hurts.” You saw a ghost of a smile on his face.

“It seems your values truly are intact even after such an ordeal. You do not ask about yourself? Whether you might find the same end as your father?”

“What will happen to me?” 

“Your human side is more than your dream so I believe you will simply exist perfectly with or without me.” 

“How would I exist with you?” 

“I am a ruler over my own realm of Dreams and Nightmares so to exist with me you would be my wife and queen.”

“Your wife.” Strangely being married to this man did not seem antagonising for a second nor did you feel any sort of fear or anxiety. Infact the idea…pleased you?

“Yes, there's a whole ceremony, then a party, all a formality really to introduce you to the others.” Other gods and goddesses. 

“Right.”

“I understand if this was a lot to understand from Corithian and his activities to becoming Queen of the Dreaming but you have the option to walk out of here enacting no fury upon yourself.” You wanted to smile, he's a perfect gentleman. 

“Is it foolish if I told you I understood everything and that's why I'm still here?” you chuckled cracking your knuckles. 

“No it's human nature, nothing foolish about you. “ 

“And how do you feel about this?” he looked surprised and stayed silent for a minute before replying. 

“Well, I never believed in soulmates for beings like me and so I'm curious, but…” he trailed off looking at you funny. “I wonder what it's like to be loved by you.” 

“I should be saying that to you. I have a lot of questions for you but I can save them for another time” 

“Then,” His hand was back in sight. “Will you come with me?” you had slight apprehension but you slipped your hands in his nonetheless.

“My care is in your hands.”

i hope this fit the bill. <3333

[nanonews]

firstly, LOOK. First Orpheus beach scene and now this. I am not okay. [insert Kylo Ren MOOOORE gif]

secondly (more comics spoilers below):

Wanda's grave = A game of you storyline (early arc)

Wanda character is to be merged with Ruby DeLonge's character in the TV adaptation, as per the casting call description

Ruby = Brief Lives storyline (later arc)

in the original story, important aGoY events set stage for BL events

But Wanda = Ruby = Wanda means BL events have to happen *before* aGoY events

WHICH MEANS

Either they somehow wrote the script so that BL happens *before* aGoY, which would in turn mean they have to set up something completely different than Thessaly to be Dream's incentive to join Delirium's search for Destruction (which in turn means no Thessaly? I have to admit I thought I'd be happy about this because fvck Thessaly but now I'm not so sure...)

OR they scrap the events of aGoY alltogether except for the death of Wanda, including Hazel and Foxglove and George and The Cuckoo, and most importantly Wanda's relationship to Barbie isn't a thing, and so the sneak peak of The Land in Season 1 was a dead end, which means stuff like the origin of the Porpentine and Alianora never gets set up???

I don't know which of these I'm more afraid of happening

Gonna go with both

Or hopefully the third option that I haven't thought out yet which means we get all the stories and characters, anyone have any ideas?

Most importantly: Don't fvck this up Netflix

Addendum: Is Indya Moore the most perfect casting in this series yet? Because holy shit they look perfect

[moosebeans]

reading the sandman universe comics like the wow this place is a freakshow. i don't respect literally any of you people meme

[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller's ff) - chapter 3

chapter 2 | series masterlist | main asterlist | chapter 4

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader.

summary: you're at your wits' end with joel. so you have to do something about it.

warnings: 18+. nsfw. mdni. mention of sarah's death. probably absolute filth. some slapping. explicit smut with a plot. softdom!joel. biting. masturbation (m and f). finger sucking. unprotected piv. a bit of ass play. pet names (darling, sweetheart). sir kink. a slight breeding kink. some violence towards the end. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 36. no use of y/n. joel's and reader's pov.

a/n: buckle up, my friends. i apologise in advance, but this has been coming for the last two chapters lmao. who am i to deny them? no one. all interactions welcome! enjoy and thank you all for reading! <3

w/c: ~3k.

It had been a week since Joel almost lost his mind, and he still couldn’t comprehend what had possessed him to do such a thing. For a split second he had lost control of his own actions and gave in to his yearning. A yearning for human connection he did not know he had. The last few months had been living hell, to say the least.

Every time he closed his eyes to try and sleep, Joel could only see Sarah’s face. Her smile, her warm hugs, her giggles, her vivacity. And then, the light abandoning her eyes, her blank expression, her limp limbs as he would press her dearly against his chest. The desperation he felt then had still not deserted him. He had been a man of God because that was what his family had imparted him, but since Sarah’s death his faith was wavering. Why would God take her away from him? Sarah was an angel sent from above, she should have not suffered such demise. So, either God was a cruel entity, or an imaginary one.

That night Joel did not even attempt to get some rest so decided to do the first night shift instead. They were still at the same cave as it had proved to be a good spot to rest up and plan what their next steps would be. Tommy had suggested they checked out the quarantine zones the government had set up in big cities, but Joel was not so keen on the idea. In the last nine months since the outbreak, they had been witness to too many ungodly acts ― all committed by the living, not so many by the dead.

That was why they were in Ouachita National Forest, further north than what they were a few months ago. They were still debating whether they should head towards Kansas City, Chicago or remain in the wilderness. Although resources were scarcer, so were the clickers. They had not encountered too many people either, which, considering their past experiences, it was a good thing. No one could be trusted anymore.

Joel sat down on a tree stump by the entrance of the cave, rifle on hand. He had his worn-out, unbuttoned military jacket on as temperatures dropped considerably after sunset. The night was so quiet it felt eerie. He could not see anything when he looked up as the treetops fully covered the night sky. He assumed it would be a starry night, clear of clouds. He kept his mind occupied with made-up scenarios to avoid drifting away into Morpheus’ world.

Hours had gone by when Joel heard the slight twitch of a branch from behind him. He rapidly stood up, gripping the rifle with tension. When he turned around and saw you, he clicked his tongue with disdain.

You were too sleepy to pick up on his rude gesture. You stretched your back, which hurt like hell. You had tried to fashion some sort of cushioned bed with leaves and grass, but your makeshift bed was still hard as a rock.

“What time is it?”, you asked grumpily.

“Not sure, around four in the morning?”, he answered without looking at you while he sat back down.

“You have a wristwatch, don’t you know how to read the time?”, you said sneeringly to get some sort of reaction out of him.

“Huh, you’re so fucking funny I’d laugh if I could”, he rolled his eyes in annoyance. “It’s broken”.

You looked at him in silence, as you had done many times in the last week. You didn’t understand how this man could kiss you like the world was ending and then, a second later, he would pretend you were nothing more than an annoying moth flying around him.

It infuriated you. He infuriated you.

He was there as if nothing had happened between the two of you, while you just woke up because of a very realistic dream. Or should you say a nightmare? Your body had some unreleased, built-up tension that was damn hard to ignore. You blamed Tommy for interrupting you ― had it not been for him, you might have known what it felt like to be under Joel. Or on top of him.

You shook your head, angry at yourself and at the man in front of you.

“Sure is, I bet they didn’t teach you how to read the time when you went to school, hmmm, when? Back in the 50s?”, you teased again.

He stood up, leaving the rifle on the ground, leaned against the stump.

“Seriously, what is your fucking problem?”, he growled, his fists tightly closed on his sides.

Finally ― a breakthrough.

“My problem?”, you chuckled. “You are my problem, Joel Miller. Are you telling me you have forgotten about what happened a week ago, huh?”, you ventured.

“What happened a week ago was a mistake, that is what it was. I don’t even know what kind of demon possessed me, because I wouldn’t even touch you with a ten-foot pole”, you could almost hear his teeth grinding against each other.

His words hurt you, but they made you even madder. Who did he think he was anyway?

“You are a fucking mistake. And what you say is complete bullshit. Do you think I have not noticed how you look at me when you believe I’m not paying attention? You pretend you are not interested, but you need a goddamn reality check if you really think so”, you snapped back, the palms of your hands tingling ― you wanted to punch him so bad.

“You are frigging delusional, darlin’. You are the only woman I have seen in the last few months, it’s not like I have much to choose from, do I? It was a desperate move, nothing else. Stop imagining things―”.

That was it. He had crossed a line. So you slapped him to shut him up. His rugged face turned ninety degrees with the force of your blow. His cheek reddened slightly.

And then you grabbed him by the neck of his flannel shirt, forcing down his face towards you so he would not have time to react. You were going to prove him who was right ― and it wasn’t him.

You kissed him, separating his lips with your tongue. You outlined his top teeth with the tip of your tongue and then he let you in. You would have smirked if you could. You mapped out his whole mouth with quick but insisting twirls, Joel following your lead. You helped him remove his jacket.

One of your hands was still holding onto his plaid shirt while the other travelled south. You could swear Joel had stopped breathing, but you distracted him by breaking the kiss and looking at him with intent. His lips were parted and wet with your spit, slightly red. You grazed the prominent bulge on his jeans with the palm of your hand, biting your bottom lip down when he heavily sighed with some relief before he trapped your mouth with his again.

You let go of the flannel shirt to work on the buckle of his belt, unfastening it with some difficulty. Joel groaned loudly when you pulled down from the brim of his jeans to bring them down just below his ass, giving you plenty of access. One of Joel’s hands darted to your neck, circling your throat with the span of his fingers and squeezing lightly. Not to the point where you couldn’t breathe, but to the point where it made the whole experience even more pleasurable.

You moaned while your hand trespassed the elastic of his underwear and dipped your fingers down. You grabbed his manhood, already hard and leaking from the tip. You smiled as your thumb rubbed the precum against his sensitive skin and then slowly started to pump him. You had not seen his cock yet, but judging by the girth of it, you were not to be disappointed. You put some pressure on his shaft before upping the rhythm of the pumps.

“Fuck it, fuck this”, Joel wailed as he broke off the kiss.

For a second, you thought he was going to push you away.

His mind was spinning like a Ferris wheel coming off its hinges. He was mad, utterly mad. He shouldn’t but wouldn’t stop. Not now when you had enticed him this far. His dick was pulsing in your hand, and he was panting like a thirsty dog which had not tasted water in days.

He grabbed your adventurous hand and forced you to take it out of his briefs. Then he pushed you towards a fallen tree nearby. Joel was right behind you, his manhood hard pressed against your ass as he bit your neck, then pecking it where he had marked you. He took off your shirt before you could complain. You wore no bra, so when the cold air touched your sensitive nipples, you sighed. Joel’s hands were resting on your hips, but both quickly moved upwards until they gently cupped both of your breasts. He massaged them with care while he left a path of kisses on the side of your neck.

Then his left hand ventured south at the same time he twirled your right nipple between his fingers. You whimpered audibly when he dunked two fingers in your wet slit. He traced you up and down, your knees trembling with delight. Your cunt was so soft with your own fluids that it felt like velvet. Joel wondered how it would taste if he flattened his tongue against the damp skin and fucked you with his tongue. He groaned at the thought, and instead he paid special attention to your clit with his dextrous fingers. Your back arched, your ass touching his bulge ― you unconsciously wiggled your hips to grind on his cock. Then he tested your entrance with one fingertip, circling it slowly, while your bottom lip was quivering.

“You want this?”, he said in a coarse voice.

You nodded.

“Speak up, sweetheart”, he demanded.

“Yes, please, sir”, you whispered.

You closed your eyes and suspired loudly when his ring finger got greedily engulfed by your dripping hole. He started slowly, then fingered you relentlessly with two digits, to the point where you had to grasp his wrist to steady yourself. He curved them towards the front of your insides, stroking the right spot. You couldn’t help but watch as his fingers disappeared between your soaked folds. Your mouth shaped a perfect ‘O’ before you let go and came violently on his fingers. But Joel gave you no truce, he carried on masturbating you until you orgasmed twice more in quick succession with tears in your eyes. Your cunt was gushing for him ― you could feel the trickle of your cum going down your inner thighs. Your knees bended and you almost fell to the floor, but Joel held you by your hips with the firm embrace of his right arm.

“Good girl”, he purred in your ear, offering you his wet left hand.

You wrapped both of your hands around his wrist to hold it in place and sucked on his fingers with wanton need, his digits touching the back of your throat. You showed him explicitly what you would do to his throbbing dick if you had the chance. You licked him clean, tasting yourself on him.

Joel understood exactly what you were doing, feeling the tip of his cock touching his lower belly. He pushed down your trousers and underwear in one swift movement. Joel placed one hand on your back to make you go down on your knees. You kneeled on the ground, and he did so behind you. You put your hands down on the fallen trunk and looked over your shoulder for a minute. Joel had freed his dick, and he was holding it from the base. For a moment you wondered if it would fit, and you bit down your lip at the idea. You felt hypnotised by the sight, pondering how it would feel against your tongue, its glans pushing past your uvula, suffocating you.

“Lean forward for me, darlin’”, he muttered, and you happily obliged with dreamy eyes.

You rested your left cheek against the fallen log in between your hands, ass up in the air. You heard the rustling of leaves as Joel positioned himself right behind you. He placed his hands on your butt cheeks and cracked them open to have a peek. Joel groaned at such blissful picture. He could see your pussy literally throbbing for him, beckoning him like a siren a sailor. What a sight to see, he thought. With a pained huff, he let go of your buttocks and guided the tip of his dick to kiss your entrance. You hissed with pleasure. Finally, you thought. But he didn’t go in ― instead he trailed the tip of his cock along your slick cunt a few times.

“Joel, please, I beg―”.

“Shh”, he hummed at the exact time he went back down to your needy hole and pushed in his tip. Your flesh parted to make way. Your pussy was aching for him, burning to feel him inside. You have never felt this aroused in your life.

He took his sweet time, caressing your clit again as he went in inch by inch until his whole length was inside you. He stayed there for a long minute, letting you get used to him filling you up entirely. Your pussy choked his manhood at irregular intervals ― you just couldn’t control your own muscles anymore. It felt like heaven for both of you.

Then he moved back slowly, his shaft almost slipping out before he pushed back in with brute force. Joel freed your clit from his touch to grab your hips and started fucking you mercilessly. He found a devilish rhythm and you just went along with it. Both of your moans could be heard from yards away, as well as the squelching sounds coming from where you two connected ― luckily for you, Tommy slept like a log.

The roughness of the wood scratched the skin on your cheek, but you didn’t care. It felt too good. Your fingers clutched, trying to hold on to something as your body was being rocked by Joel’s thrusts, an orgasm creeping up on you. And then you came again, almost screaming into the dead of night, like you never came before. You could feel your whole cunt squeezing him uncontrollably, your clit burning with electricity. You felt extremely overstimulated, but you let Joel ride you to find his own release.

Joel’s eyes had rolled to the back of his head ― he had never felt this horny before. This damn woman ―you― was doing something to him, albeit he didn’t know what. He felt your inner walls tightened firmly around his cock and he almost lost it. Every time he locked eyes on where you two met, seeing his shiny dick pulling out of you, he thought you the most beautiful woman in the whole world.

His balls were so tense he feared he was going to spill his seed in you. But he found the last bit of sanity within him ― as much as he would love to claim you for himself, he couldn’t. And so, he pulled out just in time, lodging his shaft between your buttocks. He put his hands on each side of your ass to squeeze his manhood in the fold of your skin. He leaned forward, his chest against your back, to bite you between your shoulder blades before straightening himself again. Joel pumped himself a couple of times in between your buttocks and came on you abundantly. What a waste, you thought out of nowhere.

Both of you stayed in the same exact position for a hot minute, breathing heavily with effort. You were the first one to move, although your limbs felt like jelly. You grabbed some leaves and cleaned the cum off your lower back as Joel watched you avidly.

Joel stood up and pulled up his briefs and jeans, while his mind was racing with doubt. He shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have let it go this far. What was meant to be a lesson for you, ended up being a lesson for himself too. Concealing his concern, he offered a hand to help you get up. You gladly took it and proceeded to clothe yourself again, being fully conscious of Joel’s hungry gaze.

You smiled at him.

“That was fun―”.

“A mistake”, he cut you off before you could say anything else.

You were left speechless. What did he just say?

“Are you fucking shitting me right now, Joel?”, you shouted at him. “Because if you are joking, I swear to God I will―”, your anger was raising up fast.

“No, I ain’t joking, we shouldn’t have done this. You don’t understand, I’ll just get you k―”.

“JOEL!”, you screamed at the top of your lungs when you suddenly saw a man a few yards behind him.

Before Joel could grab the rifle, a gunshot was heard and impacted on Joel’s right shoulder. He fell to the ground in agony, and you hastened to kneel beside him. Blood was quickly soaking his flannel shirt.

“No, Joel, please―”, then you felt someone pulling your hair back and yelled in pain. “Let go of me, you jerk!”. It was a different man.

The first man who had shot at Joel came towards you. Joel tried to sit up to fight back, but the man with the gun hit him in the head with the grip of the weapon and Joel fell back down on the dirt.

He was not moving. Was he dead? No, he couldn’t be. You felt the bile rise up in your throat but managed to hold it.

“Joel, Joel―”, you said with tears running down your cheeks.

“Shut up, bitch”, said the second man before slapping you.

You fought them back with all you had, but in the end, they hit you in the head too, rendering you unconscious, and dragging you away.

[allwillbecomeclear]

oops found another one:

just thinking today about a silly man with his silly stance

[kotamagic]

Lore Olympus this week is about goodbyes before danger....

Believing her vision that she's probably going to die facing Kronos, Hera is leaving goodbye letters to those she's close to. Her personal goodbye to Zeus, even with all the grief and bullshit he's given her over the centuries, kinda hurts in a heartfelt way.

As she's doing so, she runs into Echo, who has already found and read her letter.

While clearly distressed, Echo promises to finish delivering Hera's letters one the condition that she confirm that the contents her her letter is true.

I wonder if it was a love confession to Echo? Because the next shot is Hera kissing her.

As Hecate and Persephone discuss the upcoming and dangerous task at hand, Hecate mentions that it might not be a matter of WHERE to find Hades and Morpheus as much as WHEN. Kronos is, after all, the God of Time.

She also notes that such powers were finite and used up before Hades was even born. If so, why would they have to worry about WHEN as opposed to WHERE Hades, Morpheus, and maybe even Melinoe are? Unless Kronos still has a few crumbs left of his time powers...?

If we go by the theory that Hera is the missing fertility goddess, the one that Demeter's dying harpy described as "used up, before we even knew her name," maybe she is the "last crumbs" that Kronos intends to use to break free. Revenge for her treachery would just be icing on his cake.

Oh! Hi Artemis! Where the fuck have you been? I get why you've been avoiding your asshole brother, but FFS, put in your face a little more often!

What the hell have you been doing?

Oh. Well....OK then! You know what? That was a pretty damn good reason for not being around lately!

Artemis has literally been rallying the troops! I doubt Apollo would get this kind of support. Even with Apollo's televised slander of Persephone, those who know her have come to help. This is awesome and touching.

I appreciate how Ares is ready to defend Hera the moment the gates of Tartarus are opened. And, of course, Kronos demands that Hera comes first. Everything about this absolutely screams of a trap....

...AND THAT'S BECAUSE IT FUCKING IS A TRAP.

In classical villain style, Kronos pulls Hera in and slams the door behind her. But not before Persephone gets pulled in with her!

Now, they are cut off from all the support they were hoping to have with them. Will Hera be torn apart again? Or devoured? Can Persephone save her from the vision she saw?

Anyway, thanks for coming to my LO post!

[nightingale2004]

To correct my previous ask we did get some canon subtext on the Prince house, it's implied Eileen was outcasted for her marrying a muggle, otherwise the reason why she would be destitute, living in Spinner's End would be highly unusual. Based off of that, we can deduce the house would likely hold Pureblood supremacist values, although as we've seen, that has no bearing on whether an individual lands in Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Slytherin or Ravenclaw (as we see with the Marauders in the series). Again, it feels like you're basing the house solely off of Snape's personality, "booksmart and Slytherin". And again, the Eastern European-ness and theme of the names you chose. Vlad? (real subtle) Rasputin? Dimitri? The female names you chose are *marginally* better but... really? Even the worst of the Blacks and Malfoys don't have names as edgy as Nyx and Lilith. The Blacks are all named after constellations, despite how harsh Bellatrix may sound. Draco means dragon, reminiscent of Dracula, rooted in Dracul "the devil" which is Romanian/Eastern European but which ultimately has Latin roots, which would be Draco. Even Rabastan is based off a constellation and Amycus (the two edgiest DE names I could find) means "friendly, Son of Poseidon". The relevant (Non-Foreign, not from Durmstrang or otherwise) Death Eaters all have Greek, Latin, English and/or Celtic based names, and more importantly, are not overtly "dark". The least subtle name I could find was Alecto, one of the three Furies meaning unceasing. FFS, I checked Bellatrix's dad, Cygnus, and it's the Swan Constellation. Again, you decided Vlad, Draven (top 10 gothic male names), Cain, Morpheus and Hades (I could go on) would be something a British pureblood would unironically be named. Severus himself is named after the Roman Emperor, Septimus Severus. Your list is resemblant of "Ebony Darkness Dementia Raven Way".

Once again. These names on the list are just my personal Headcanon on who I think the Prince's were.

DO NOT take it so seriously. I'm not basing this on Canon or anything. J.K Rowling gave us very little information on this family along with many other pureblood families, and we as fandoms are filling in the blanks with our own ideas.

Please respectfully leave us to it.

[oneshots-heaven]

A Love That's Not Mine — Morpheus/Dream

On the search of totems of power, Morpheus meets upon Johanna Constantine who draws his attention to her — much to your dislike.

Warning: pure angst/sadness (it’s a short one) Morpheus/Dream x Dream!Reader

“He will not like seeing you sit on his throne.“

You glanced back over to Lucienne whom you had been talking to for the past hour as she sorted hundreds of parchments in the ruins of the Grand Hall in hopes of finding something certain. Something she would not talk about with you, claiming it was not of your interest.

“I appreciate your concern, but I do not care.“

Lucienne sighed at your reaction, but strained from doing anything other. It would have been pointless anyway, experience from hundreds of years had taught her that—that was how long you had known each other. A hundred years had been the recent you had spent together, buried underneath the ruins of what you had once called your home. The Dreaming—once a beautiful place filled the greatest imaginations, the fearfullest nightmares and the deepest wishes—was not what it used to be without its king to reign.

A hundred years gone by without a sigh of its rightful king and his land wasted away like a faded memory until only its truest dweller stayed. Lucienne, as much as you, was one of the only ones who remained, in the most fearful hope of his return and the re-reign of his land. Days turned into weeks, passing into months and years. A hundred years meant nothing to the ones you’d already spent in your lifetime, but a hundred years felt awfully long when you existed without any purpose.

As the king return ever so suddenly, your purpose came back along with him. However, all what once had been wasn’t the same when he returned. You had felt it cutting deep in your heart when you first saw him again. Whatever may happened to him in all those years, he would not speak much of it. All it had done was change him into another man, one that you struggled to recognize. One that struggled to recognize you.

The ruins of the Grand Hall shook upon his return from his search for his totems of power he had gotten stolen.

“May I utter one last warning?“ Lucienne said quietly, her tone so distressed. She had been a friend, especially over the last hundred years, but she still did not understand when it was not right to play with fire.

You sat still on the throne of the king, ignoring her final warning. Even with the best words, you would have not been able to explain the source of your bitterness, the very one that turned you crueler as the days passed by.

As the stone floor vibrated underneath your feet, you knew he had been successful in his search for at least one of his totems. The panicking, yet lightening gaze of Lucienne revealed that she knew just as much. The king of the Dreaming slowly returned to his highest powers. You felt it in the electrified air as he entered the Grand Hall, the surrounding changing with every of his steps, carrying a small but heavy looking pouch in his right hand. It was even smeared across his face, his eyes were almost as bright as the mystic ones of his librarian.

“Lucienne,“ he greeted her, his voice carried a hint of relief, as he caught sight of her first.

“My lord,“ she said happily, however, her smile vanished and her stolen gaze revealed her worry to him. She lowered her head quickly, closing the book in her hands, as he had already taken notice of you sitting still and sternly on his throne.

You recked your chin, eyes attached to the pouch only, avoiding his glaring glance as he stepped closer. “As I see, you have found your sand, my lord.“

“I have, indeed,“ he claimed calmly, but somehow you knew it was only the calm before the true storm. He did not turn around to address her properly and simply said instead, “Lucienne, will you please leave us alone?“

“Of course, my lord.“

As she turned away from the Grand Hall off to the side entrance, her eyes met yours for one last time as another warning, however, in this one laid a request. Keep your silence, it almost said. She asked you not to share your deepest anger, and rather to keep your mouth shut, although she knew better than that. The lord of the Dreaming may be an Endless, but it did not matter how mighty or powerful he was, you would speak your mind, especially now when what you called your home seemed to falter.

“And as I see, you’ve made yourself comfortable in my absence.“

You straightened your position, yet not dared to slip away from the throne. “As comfortable as ruins can be.“

Morpheus scoffed. “Do you really dare to sit there and hold a grudge over my absence, which was to your notice not my fault? Have you forgotten the part where I have told you about my abduction?“ “No, you did not failed to mention that.“

“So, what is this for?“ he argued, motioning to you sitting sternly on the place that belonged to him, and only him. A place you would’ve never dared to sit at without his permission, but that was years ago. A lifetime had past ever since, and so had your patience with him. The Dreaming was falling apart, its magic seemed lost, and there was no other but him to blame.

Just as there was no other to save it.

You pushed yourself out of his claimed seat, stepping down the broken apart steps to the ground level of the Grand Hall. Morpheus stood mighty, all tall and fearless, in the same spot as you walked closer to him. “I congratulate you for earning your sand back. It will bring good back to the Dreaming. It just leaves me to wonder what it has cost you.“

His gaze was brutal, but you did not let him falter you. “What it has cost me?“ he echoed. “It has cost me nothing but nerves. Put your worry aside.“

“I worry as I please, especially if humans like Johanna Constantine become a dangerous part of your deal to getting the sand back, or become a threat in general.“

His brows furrowed, the confusion being obvious written all over his face, but as your words hit him, he brushed past you stepping up the stairs to his throne, saying with his back turn on you, “Jealousy does not suit you well.“

Your blood drew cold. Someone else in your place probably would’ve known it better, to keep their mouth shut and not speak up against the judgement from their lord. Someone else would’ve, but not you, because how dare he come back after all those years of his land suffering and belittle you this way?

You laughed dryly. “You must mistaken me, my words have nothing to do with jealously.“

Morpheus huffed, letting himself down on his throne. “But what else are you trying to provoke?“

Your gaze was sternly on him. “Nothing. I am just protecting what is mine.“

He recked his chin, his hard gaze meeting yours. Two stubborn souls cannot exist next to each other. “But I am not yours to protect, nor will I ever be.“

Every argument came back to this, full circle to the harsh reminder. Always some heavy words to drown you in, to keep you away from him, as if your actions were smothering him. He always seemed to forget that all you’d ever wanted was for the Dreaming to thrive and blossom, but he instead acted as if you were an intruder in your own home.

“I am in no need of reminders of that.“ you spoke calmly, but the bitterness seeped through, poisoning every word. “But you are the king of the kingdom I exist in, so I shall remind you of that  before you go and risk our home so selfishly, once again. Because as it appears right now, you have forgotten yourself!“

Raise your voice and you’ll know when to regret it, the words were burned in your head, and although they still hurt like the first time Morpheus ever threatened you, you still didn’t listen to him. How could you when he was the source of everything you’d ever loved and kept you in constant fear to lose it all within seconds? One change of mind and it all could be gone. That was a terrible power to have and you despised him for having it.

“Don’t you dare talking to me like that.“

Tears burned hot in the corners of your inner eyes. It was written all over his face. He didn’t care about how you were feeling, perhaps he never did. But what made it even worse, was the way he looked at you—so full of rage.

You kept your head held high. There was nothing for you to lose if he would risk it all anyways.

“The Dreaming is everything I’ve got, it’s everything I love. How can you not understand my fear when you go and blur the lines between our world and the ones of people like Johanna.“ you tried to explain to him, however, with every words you’d found yourself more damned. “You took a liking on her, and I have seen how love can turn you into a fool. If you give into that, then one day the lines will be too blurred, and you’ll risk our home for something that is not worth it. And I thought you had here everything you could’ve wanted.“   Your nerves went blank as Morpheus pushed himself out of his throne. There was softness in his gaze, but you knew it was a trick to keep you from running away. In those eyes, you had lost yourself so many times that for moments, you forgot that he was an Endless. He was not created to be good, he was meant to be cruel.

He stepped in front of you, gripping your jaw so harsh within seconds as his hand snapped forwards, pulling your mouth closer to his. “Do not go over your head, my love. You are nothing more than a carnation of what I’ve wanted you to be. You’re a part of my essences, I’ve created you. You do not get to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. If this kingdom goes down, then you’ll vanish with it, because you are not real.“

Once you’d promised yourself to not show any fear in front of them, but this felt like the end. It did not matter anymore, so you did not hide as the hot swelling tears rolled your cheek onto his hands. His words hurt, like they always did, but these ones hurt even more because you could have never fulfilled the very sole reason why he created you.

Although the pain, you leaned into him as you felt as if your heart was being ripped out of your chest, mumbling, “I was your dream once, and now you’re kicking me out.“

The grip of his hands softened, strangely allowing you for the briefest of moments to lean further against him. The hardness of his gaze vanished, and for once, the treacherous softness seemed to be truthful. His hand cupped your cheek as he said, “Time changes, my dear.“

And this may was the end of what you ever were and all of what you could’ve been.

A/N: This has been sitting in my files for ages. I’ve never truly finished writing this, however, I liked some of the lines I wrote of this, so I’m sharing this unfinished piece with you all. Hope you still enjoyed it. 

[dreamscrawl]

A little sneak peek from my first The Sandman fic. (The title is A Waking Conversation with Dream.) I love the idea of [Y/N] bringing up Morpheus' ex-girlfriends at every opportunity. It's fun to tease someone like him, don't you think? The reaction every time is priceless. [Y/N] had recently met Morpheus here. She's still getting to know The Endless. (×)

[minisgatewaytoinsanity]

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022)

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling

Additional Tags: Friends to Lovers, Canon Related, Pining, Dreams, No beta but we refuse to die

Summary: 

Hob isn't quite sure anymore what's a dream and what's not. He's also not sure if it matters as long as it makes him feel like this.

[immortalcockroach]

o hmy god i just remembered the fic idea i got at 5am last night yES

bellamy being morpheus and appearing in clarke’s nightmares to help her heal??? we stan

[buckysberrytea]

𝙃𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙤 𝙒𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙏𝙤 𝙈𝙮 𝙋𝙖𝙜𝙚

Just a girl trying to write marvel , doctor who and sandman fanfictions.

Masterlist :

A Boy In The Garden

Death Or Destruction?

[grabyourpillow]

Also I just noticed the IMDb rating for the sandman is only 7,8 so let's share our love for the show and give it a good rating! Also please please drop some of the most influential platforms here or in my inbox or anywhere really just to know where to leave'em!

“Here in the Darkness”

The Sandman episode 1: Sleep of the Just

[aquitainequeen]

Lucienne to Dream/Morpheus throughout The Sandman 1×02:

My lord, you should rest. Please, you deserve to rest. You should get some rest, and some food, and some more rest. You should sleep. Please sleep. You need to sleep. You are the Lord of Dreams, ffs, why will you not sleep???

[ellooo0ooo]

As I was writing my reviewer for the finals. A Sandman ff idea flew into my mind, which is more important imp lol... anywayyyys:

What if as you are traveling with Morpheus with his sand, sand suddenly got in your eye (like I always thought whenever he's doing his sand teleportation thingy, I always questioned: "Is that one of the reasons he wears that helmet?"), and it fucking hurts, really bad. You ask Morpheus to help you get rid of it, so he blew it away for you (that is so swet btw <3<3<3) After that incident, you thought to prepare goggles to wear every time with the sand teleporter. In Morpheus' opinion, it's ridiculous, dumb, and absolutely adorable at the same time, which makes him more whipped LMAOOOOO

[writeshite]

OMG luce is back at it BOOOOOM. DO I KNOW WHO TO REQUEST FEO: no. Do I know it'll be angsty af? YES! Should I keep writing my own ff instead of writing Requests? Kinda. Also I just stepped on my MacBook and i think its dead- NYways enough from my life :)

Of course it's gonna be for morphy again, cus I love that man.

So. There ist this one guy, who cheated death in Greek mythology (wikilink) . So my Idea is that there is someone on earth who does the same, best woul be to set it in the mid 18th hundred bc of the clothes, I love the clothes.

Death had been chasing that boy for like a while, but genuinely cant discover him and when she does reader always runs away. So she asks dream for a bit help, and the the good lil brother he is, he agrees to help. He and Lucien read through nearly all the books in the library, dont find that boy in the dream books though, but they find his diary.

Morpheus reads through it and starts sympathizing with the reader, so he visits them. They argue and he starts liking them more. The rest be urs :D I just cant put things in words rn. <\3

I really loved how u made my other Request in a wonderful fanfic so... I thought why not Request again.!

Greets Luce ~

One More Lifetime Won't Kill Anyone

Summary:

“You wouldn’t like what comes after,” she warns. The prospect of eternity is hard enough as an immortal being, but as a human, it could drive one mad - grief is but just one of many things you’d have to contend with.  You consider it but then ask, “I won’t like what comes after,” you scoff, “if you’re so adamant about getting me to come with you, make me,” you challenge. She sighs, “You won’t. You’re almost too human, too kind,” you tell her, “and for that, I am thankful.”

Pairings:

Morpheus x Male!Reader

Tags:

Angst | Fluff | Mild Smut | Inspired By The Myth Of Sisyphus | Evading Death | Discussion of Death & Mortality | This Author Regrets Nothing

Words: 3182

Author's Note:

You will not believe the amount of math I had to do for this.

Death first crosses your path at eight. The plague traveled through the village - the doors were sealed days prior, windows shut, and with no contact with the outside world, your grandmother’s body was still fresh. Still on her bed beside her, your cousin was slumped; she’d stopped hacking out blood and could barely speak; the bile gathered at the corner of her lips; every so often, she would reach out her hand, and you’d curl even further in the corner. The house stank of sick, and your stomach provided a reminder you were still alive. 

When people passed, they’d mutter prayers; the plague doctor came once a day; when you responded to his calls, he would tut and leave you, ignoring your protests. You used to pound at the door, but with your energy lacking, you only begged. When Death came, she was kind. Your cousin took her hand and stood anew - dead, but anew - your grandmother followed suit, and then she turned to you. You shook your head, though; you couldn’t die; you were healthy; the ailment had yet to curse your veins.

“I’m sorry,” she comforted you. She directed the three of you from the house - you the only one corporeal - Death led from the village, the path evened out, bumps vanishing, and people fading away. The light, as it would come to be called centuries later, shone brightly. The other two were ecstatic that or had already resigned themselves to their fate; you, on the other hand, were terrified. Eight years old. Eight years old, and you turned away from Death and ran. Away from the light. Away from the village. You ignored her calls, covered your ears when your grandmother cried out for you and pleaded you return to paradise.

Like every child, you thought the forest was a perfect hiding place. The bramble pierced your feet, branches grabbing at your clothes; you stumbled through a shrub, and the ground vanished beneath you. Pulled down by gravity, you fumbled down the cliff, body contorting as it spun; the aching pain of your neck breaking was the last you felt before you died. That should have been the end.

Your village is barely what it was when you return, twenty years passed, and the old path was all that was left. The plague had done its work, and after, the lord of the land - the smell of burning flesh festered, but you ignored it through your work. The makeshift tombstones had taken the better half of a week to make; with no knowledge of Latin, English, or any of the upper languages, you’d elected to carve - as best as you could - your family’s faces. You’d erected them far from the main path, secluded beneath an old peach tree, “Sorry about running off back then,” you muttered.

You hadn’t stuck much near home; scared Death would be waiting; the first few days after not dying had been painful, your neck resetting itself slowly, all the while, you could barely move. Stuck staring up at the canopy, praying Death wouldn’t stumble across you. You’d survived on stealing from the carriages and people that passed through the woods - a hefty reward had been set up after you’d stolen from some noble, but it was well past disregarded. “Is it nice up there?” you asked. “It’s just, I remember how you would speak of the afterlife, and I —” sometimes, in the lowest moments, you regretted running, wishing you could follow along. 

Ale did well to stifle the thoughts, leaving you curled in on yourself as you cried; they were few and far between. You shook your head, “ —never mind.” 

“It depends,” another voiced. You turned, and there she stood, Death, “You look tired,” she observed.

“Usually, people say hello,” you quipped.

“I suppose you’re right. Hello.” She comes to stand beside you, “They’re happy, by the way, a little angry about you running off.”

“Understandable.” You don’t exchange much more small talk before she brings up the glaringly obvious matter of her visit. You step away when she holds out her hand, “Please, you’re long overdue,” she says, reaching out again. But you back away, shaking your head; she calls out your name, not a warning, more cautiously, as you look ten seconds away from bolting.

“Yes, well, I’ll have you know I’m doing quite well,” you tell her.

“Are you?” she asks. And you huff in response, brushing off her hand and bidding the graves your goodbye; you walk fast. Your feet carry you as far as they can; you hear a sigh, then the sound of footsteps; she’s gone when you look back and right in front of you. You halt, “Don’t fight me on this,” she pleads.

You back away, “I’m not going anywhere with you; you can’t make me.”

“I don’t want to —”

“Then don’t.”

“You wouldn’t like what comes after,” she warns. The prospect of eternity is hard enough as an immortal being, but as a human, it could drive one mad - grief is but just one of many things you’d have to contend with. 

You consider it but then ask, “I won’t like what comes after,” you scoff, “if you’re so adamant about getting me to come with you, make me,” you challenge. She sighs, “You won’t. You’re almost too human, too kind,” you tell her, “and for that, I am thankful.”

She lets you go, perhaps agreeing with your statement, but you don’t stop to ask; you run, barely stopping in the woods. You gather what you have hidden away among the trees, weave a new persona, a new life, and stow away on the first ship you can. A modest thing, the inside is damp and cold; you’re sure the captain knows of your presence - judging by the wrapped bread thrown over the crates you hide behind. Death is there sometimes, sat atop the crates; she often glances down at you, offering her hand once in a while, but you turn away, huffing stubbornly.

“Morpheus, I’m your favorite sibling, right?”

The endless in question glances over at Death; she’s laid back, face pinched in irritation, and eyes shut, “Usually, I would say yes, but I feel there’s some sort of baggage to it this time.”

She rubs her temples, “There’s a human —”

“ —Hob?” Morpheus interjects.

“No, not him, another one. He doesn’t, he ran away from me, and no matter what I do, nothing I say will convince him to pass.”

“What does this have to do with me?” he asks. She sits up, and he already knows he’s not going to like this.

He most definitely, does not like this. 

Not the favor, more so the lack of results. The library has nothing on you; he finds your family, friends, and even your village but nothing on you. Lucienne is far luckier; she resurfaces from a mountain of books, a worn-up journal in hand, and on the cover is your name; the first few pages are your childhood - dreary, at best, the plague doesn’t make for such happy moments - after it’s muddled, the writing is a mess. A few pages are caked with dirt and leaves. One even was just soaked in blood. 

“Oh dear,” Lucienne mutters, “It appears the poor boy hasn’t had a very happy life so far –is that seawater?” The next set of pages are just wet, though not too much, as they manage to read some of the writing.

Death came for me again; we had a bit of fun this time, though. The captain got sick of me stowing away in his ship and put me to work…………never peeled so many potatoes in my life…………three days…………don’t know what I’ll do…………

I accidentally married……………………count……………………shit……………………

Morpheus chuckled at the accidental marriage bit; he’d love to hear that story firsthand. “He sounds lovely,” he remarks.

“No matter what I say, you’re going to visit him, aren’t you?” Lucienne notes, and he voices agreement, already leaving the library.

Walking through dreams - not that he doesn’t already do that - your dreams are strange; most people in this century dream of riches, wealth, usurping those above their stations, but you, you dream of a little house with two other people and nothing eventful. 

“Hand me that, dear.” One of the other people, an older woman, she’s making stew, she’s always making stew, and she never eats it. Portioning what little there is to an adolescent - face often blurred and uncertain - and another child. “Oh, no, no, I’m alright. I had some of the bread; I’ll be fine. Eat up, dear; we don’t want you catching the plague so thinly looking.”

“It’s rude to trespass into other people’s minds.” The scene trickles away and is replaced by a void.

“How do you know I am trespassing?” Morpheus asks, “I could be a figment of your imagination.”

You chuckle, form appearing before him, “I doubt my mind could conjure a man of such beauty.” He smiles a little, “A man whose name eludes me.”

“How can it elude if it was never given,” he counters, “You look rather different from what Death described; shouldn’t you be sickly?”

You huff, “It’s been twenty-nine years of running from her, things are bound to change, and when you live so long, well, things get easier.”

“Then why dream of a shabby little hut?” 

“We’ve barely been acquainted, good sir,” you respond.

“Is that an invitation?”

“If you like.”

He very much did - not that he’d admit it to himself - and left the Dreaming, finding himself in the countryside; you’ve done quite well for yourself, looking healthier than you had when Death had last seen you. Your new home - correction manor house - is well spaced, with rolling fields all around, well kept, and very few staff; it’s quite isolated - a home fit for someone undying.

“You don’t look that different awake.” You say from behind him, the reigns of a horse in hand, “In fact, I’d say you look quite average.”

“Insulting me won’t do much to change the subject of my visit.”

“I suppose not,” you hand the reigns over to a waiting stableboy, “shall we?”

“You walk like a noble.” He comments, it’s not that hard to do, really, nose stuck up, face passive, and arms behind your back, you’ve got it down quite well. “You also seemed to have adjusted quickly to —what’s your title?”

“Count,” you reply, relaxing back on the armchair, “What of you? Associate of Death, what title do you hold?”

He chuckles, “I’m no associate, rather a brother fulfilling a favor, and as for a title, Lord of Dreams seems to be universal, but I prefer Morpheus.”

He asks for your name in return, and you give it; you’ve never seen the need to change it with the turning centuries, “Now then, Morpheus, why has Death sent you to my doorstep?”

“She didn’t,” he admits, “her favor required less involvement on my part.”

“And what sort of involvement would that be?” you inquire.

“I’m not quite sure yet,” he responds; you’ve both seemed to have shifted in your seats, leaning closer to the other, “Why? Are you proposing something?”

“Morpheus, we’ve only met. What do you take me for?” You feign innocence, placing a hand on his chest, and push back the lapel of his coat. You’re not sure who leans closer, but you find yourself holding him close, his hands holding your face as you fall to your bed. Clothes were discarded somewhere between the move from where you’d sat, and you didn’t bother to think of them now. Morpheus lowers himself, head nestled between your legs; you grasp him by his hair as he swallows your cock - your moans echoing in the room - he kisses along your thighs when he comes off it, dark eyes glazing back up at you.

Your back arches when he draws an orgasm from you, your legs loosened by the feeling, and you spend many hours finding endless ways to bring each other pleasure. You lie next to Morpheus, “I’ve quite enjoyed your involvement, Morpheus.”

He grins, “I doubt Death will; I’m certain the favor was to garner insight into you.”

“Oh, I think you’ve done that well enough,” you tease, and he sighs, a slight pout to his expression; you roll him onto his back, “let me give you some more insight.”

“Would you like something to cover that up, my lord?” Lucienne jests.

Morpheus is going to keep walking with dignity; he is going to ignore the blatant hickeys along his skin, the flushed look on his face, and his tussled hair. He is also going to ignore Lucienne’s smug little smirk and Death’s glare as he strides past them.

The age of enlightenment, they’re calling it. Rubbish. Traipsing around the world like they own the place, the age of entitlement is more like it. You chuckle at your own joke; your fellow counts and noblemen had been appalled by your commentary, angry that a member of their own caste would say something so indecent. The Renaissance had been no better, but at least you’d had Leonardo, a genius he was, immortalized in so many ways - you’d barely left your manor house after returning from his passing, and she’d been there. Death, gaze steady as you held his hand, “You could follow, come with,” she offered once more.

“I doubt he would; he’s a stubborn old man,” Leonardo had said before Death guided him away.

You’d left his assistant, Salaì, to his matters, then retired to your home - many of the friends you’d come to know had either passed or gone senile; their children and grandchildren had grown weary of you, “You’ve never aged a day,” they’d say, and you’d shrug, dismissing the conversation.

“Is this seat taken?”

You glance up from your mug of ale; the foam is long gone, and the taste is stale, “Of course, who else would I be reserving it for?” you quip. It’s still strange to see Morpheus among humans, they don’t seem to register him as anything other than a man, but after the years you’d spent avoiding Death - and distracting him - you’d come to know how to pick out otherworldly beings from a crowd. The endless dons 18th Century apparel befit a nobleman, his hair held back and a grim expression on his face - perhaps concern. You’d be remiss to dismiss him; he’d become quite the shadow over the years, especially today - the anniversary of your family’s death - morning hours at the grave, evening hours at the bar. 

He placed a hand on your glass before you could take another swig, “It’s still light out; at least let me get through a few glasses before you cut me off.”

“I did, last year, and we woke up in another country,” he reminds you.

You laugh, “Oh, don’t pout, Morpheus,” you pout back, over exaggerating all the while, but he doesn’t budge, and you groan. “You’re no fun; you know that? Can’t you let me live out my dreams?”

“Getting blackout drunk is your dream?”

You purse your lips and nod, “Today? Yes.”

“This isn’t healthy,” he chastises you, and you scoff.

“Says who? I’ve lived a long life; I deserve to kick back and drown myself in alcohol,” you tell him, running a hand around the rim of your glass, you haven’t had enough to get you drunk, but you’re on the edge of tipsy. You brush his hand away and knock back the rest of your drink, a satisfied smile on your face. “Cheer up, Morpheus; I’ve got enough dread to endure today.”

“There are other, healthier ways to cope with grief.”

You almost laugh, snickering at his statement, “Oh, please, what do you know of grief?” You ask him, “What could a creature of eternity know of suffering?” you seethed.

“I know well of suffering,” he defended, “I’ve lived far longer than you could ever imagine.”

You scoffed, “Suffering? You hold more power in your hand than anyone could fathom, and you think you could grasp the finite pain that boils through me?” You turned to him with a breathy laugh and the onset of tears, “You walk among gods; I hide in their shadows. Our suffering cannot be compared, perhaps you have suffered, but could you ever comprehend the mortal toil that stains my world?”

“You think my life free of turmoil,” he sadly mused.

“Is it not? You do not fear Death; she is your sister. You do not experience hunger; it is beneath you. You do not suffer thirst, illness, or fear. Your immortality was yours from birth, mine, a once fortunate accident.”

“You’ve become resentful of me.” It’s less of an observation; your journal entries at the library have become more haphazard than before, and a few unfinished sentences mention him, but without context or elaboration, what else is he to assume but the worst?

“Oh no, not you, more so myself….my stupid, cowardly self….” you lament, laughing as tears fall from your eyes. Your memories of the past, before this mess, have become hazy, your dreams have no faces, their voices carry in the distance when they speak - never clear, never certain, you’ve forgotten what so many people sound like by now, “My mind’s become forgetful,” you tell him, “I can’t remember anything that well anymore, well, except you I suppose, but then again,” you brush your hand against his, “you are a constant aren’t you?”

He smiles a little, “Always.” He accompanies you back home, and you lie atop him, mind muddled and slumber stricken; he watches over you when Death approaches. She stands by the bed, face painted with disappointment. 

“You can’t keep doing this, Morpheus; I asked for your help; falling in love with him isn’t doing that.” Death lectured.

Morpheus glanced down at you, “He needs me,” he argued.

“Does he? Or do you need him?” she counters. “I know you’ve come to care for him, but he is spiraling; you saw it. How many more years do you think he’ll manage before he goes mad?”

“He won’t. I’ll be there; I’ll always be there,” Morpheus proclaims.

The 21st Century is rather strange; technology has excelled beyond what you’d ever imagined; despite the choice of travel, you’ve elected to return home, close to the site of your long-gone village. A site now in the hands of a museum, alongside your family’s gravestones, they’d taken down the peach tree, excavated, and placed everything else behind a glass pane. You’d put off buying the land for decades, the area had never been popular, so interest was never an issue, but now, glancing at the exhibit, you felt everything and nothing all at once.

Unlucky victims of the plague….

You couldn’t read it without scoffing; what business did they have digging up the gravestones? You feel seconds away from buckling, and as you’re about ready to do so, a hand slips into yours; you hadn’t heard Morpheus approach - mind you, you could barely focus on anything - he lightly tugs, and you turn, hiding away in his embrace.

End Note:

Originally, I was gonna have this end so sad, but then, I decided to be kind. 🙂 Stay Hydrated.