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alteon77 · 7 months

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That Familiar Feeling of Family (or how Hob Gadling ended up as an uncle to his stranger's oftentimes feral children): Chapter 1

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.)

AO3 here, Masterlist here

Hob is running.

Now, that isn't an unusual occurrence in and of itself. After all, the immortal has been forced to flee many many times in his centuries of existence, and he can say without a speck of arrogance that he's become rather adept at it. But this running is dramatically different for one very large reason.

A literally large reason.

In that it's the first occasion, at least as far as he's aware, that he's ever had to try and outsprint a gargantuan bloody dragon.

Try being the operative term here, because while he is indeed foolishly attempting it, he's also failing miserably if the puff of steamed breath that's tickling his neck is any indication. Which he guesses makes an inordinate amount of sense. Really, has he mentioned already how massive his pursuer is?

The beast behind him lets out a loud, guttural roar, its feet causing the ground to shake as it chases after him like it's just a giant dog and he's got a half opened packet of hot dogs in his coat pocket.

Hob idly wonders whether he'll actually die if (probably better to say when) that thing finally catches and devours him. He's never had the misfortune of being consumed before, so he's not quite sure how that will work out for him. What if there's just an arm left? Will it still be him? Will he spend his eternity as nothing more than a single discarded body part that has sentience but no way to speak?

"Archibald! No! Bad!"

The voice, when it calls out this rather ludicrous admonishment, is definitely that of a child. A little girl if he had to guess, and when he does a quick glance around to see where she might be at (so he can hopefully save her from being eaten) he's shocked to spot her standing near his would-be killer. For a minute, Hob can't make sense of what he's seeing. The girl is in front of the reptilian monster, uncomfortably close to one of its frankly enormous nostrils, and she's pointing a finger at it, wearing the sternest expression on her youthful features that he's ever seen in his life.

The dragon crouches down, hanging its head as if in shame while the child, his possible savior, roundly chastises it. "Archie! You know better. What would Dadda say?"

She softens her scolding, though, by running one of her tiny hands along the leathery snout over its mouth, the same mouth that Hob is completely certain is filled with rows and rows of razor sharp teeth, and he isn't quite sure how to handle this. What’s the protocol here? He feels frozen as he watches the scene unfold before him, not knowing whether he should intervene and usher the girl out of harm's way or whether she’s really in any danger at all, since she seems almost as if…. as if she commands this thing? Like a young Daenerys Targaryen, except for the facts that she looks to be about five and she's clothed in a ridiculously frilly pink dress paired with shiny, immaculately black combat boots.

He's honestly… so confused. But he finds himself moving closer anyway, driven by that curiosity he’s never lost in all of his hundreds of years of living.

The girl seems to gentle towards her… pet? Can a dragon even be called a pet? He's having difficulty thinking of this nightmarish creature as anything so mundane, but even he has to admit that it’s exactly what the hellbeast appears to be regardless.

"He won't let you… won't let you be a dragon if he… finds out about this."

The dragon, that he's just starting to process must be named Archibald or Archie, since he's heard her say it a couple times, lowers its massive head to nuzzle against the child, a puff of steam unfurling from its nostrils to ruffle her hair as it huffs like it's pouting. She soothes it then, stroking her fingers along its dark scales, the ones that seem shot through with a little sapphire when the brilliant sun from above hits them at just the right angle.

"I know," she goes on. "I won't tell him, Archie, but no chasing the dreamers. Dadda was ad… ada…" She frowns at this as if she's struggling over the word.

And Hob, having once had a precious son of his own who sometimes got caught up on pronouncing things, can't help but to offer a quiet, "Adamant?"

The little girl's face lights up, her ocean blue eyes widening at him in something like grateful glee. "Adamant," she repeats slowly. "That's… it."

He takes a minute to study her then, this too young dragon tamer. She's a small child, lovely in that same ethereal, unnatural way that he's always associated with his stranger. Her hair is a mess of riotous raven curls that seem to be coming loose from a single braid plaited at the back of her head, and her complexion is almost translucently pale save for the bright rosy flush on her cheeks.

"I'm… Hob," he supplies with only a mite of hesitation.

Her smile is almost overwhelming in its joy. "Hi, Hob! I'm Aurora!"

And he opens his mouth then to ask after her parents and where they might be, to question her about the ferocious looking mythological beast that she seems to be in control of, but he isn't afforded the opportunity to do any of those things. Another voice joins them before he can, a melodic, otherworldly one that Hob knows all too well.

It's his… stranger.

His coat is longer here, draping down to the ground like something Hob would have worn in his goth punk days back in the eighties, but other than that he seems to have on the same black shirt, black pants, and black boots combo that Hob last saw him in.

Hob takes a minute to gawk. He isn't ashamed to admit that his stranger is beautiful, all marble skin and high cut cheekbones, his hair a wild disarray of windblown black that sticks up at odd angles, almost as if it's the one part of his appearance that his magic can't seem to render as tame.

"Aurora, what have I relayed to you concerning Archibald? I was told that he was in dragon form and terrorizing the wolves yet again."

"Dadda," the girl in question starts, sounding very contrite. "He won't do it… anymore."

His stranger's face tightens in what Hob thinks is supposed to be a severe expression, though it's clear he's not quite getting there in his daughter's bubbly presence.

Wait.

Waaaaaait a minute.

What?

What did....

His… daughter? She'd said Dadda, hadn't she? Hadn’t she…. referred to his stranger by that title? His stranger? His stubborn, broody, took-a-century-to-admit-that-Hob-was-even-his-friend stranger? For a moment, Hob feels like he needs to sit, like he might pass out between the running for his life not ten minutes prior and the revelation that this child could belong…. to…. to Dream.

Not that Hob ever really calls him that. He’d only gotten the name a few years ago when they'd last met, and while it had been a nice piece of information to have (and long overdue in his humble and frustrated opinion) he’d spent over six hundred years referring to his stranger as just that. And he honestly doesn’t see this habit of his changing anytime soon.

"I believe that is what I was promised when last he engaged in such unruliness," Dream goes on, seemingly oblivious to the panic attack that Hob is having. Truthfully, that shocks Hob not at all.

"He's still a… a baby, Dadda."

And yeah. Hob’s not wrong. She'd assuredly called him Dadda, had just said it again even.

"Be that as it may, he is not permitted to wreak havoc on the realm or its inhabitants. No matter his age, starshine."

At last, Hob seems to find his voice, and he uses it to let out a small, barely there, "Dadda?"

He flushes a little with embarrassment as soon as the word is out of his mouth, because it sounds… not great. It's definitely not what he imagined himself saying at his next meeting with his oldest friend. But his stranger only goes stock still, his shoulders tensing as he glances towards Hob, his eyes narrowing in something that Hob thinks might actually be confusion.

Which… is all too completely understandable. Although, Hob will confess that he's never thought that his mopey stranger would ever be capable of looking as thoroughly perplexed as he does right this moment.

"Hob Gadling?" Dream questions.

"Is that… Is that your daughter?"

"It is," he allows slowly. "This is Aurora."

And while he introduces them, albeit awkwardly, Hob thinks he detects a fair amount of fatherly pride in the way that Dream puts one elegant, long fingered hand on the girl's shoulder to pull her against his side, in the way that his rather harsh, angular features soften as he smiles down at her. Seeing this, he supposes, might make him happy in any other situation, and it's a nice thing that his rather… er, reserved (i.e. cold, distant, and emotionally repressed, though Hob would never say it aloud) stranger is obviously comfortable enough with him to show it.

But… this isn't any other situation. This is a rather… big piece of news that Hob's just been walloped over the head with.

“You have a child?” Hob blurts out, his brain processing this revelation so sporadically that it’s almost humiliating.

Dream's brow furrows. “I believe that I only just conveyed as much to you. Are you…. quite well?”

“I’m sorry. A daughter? I can’t…." Hob struggles to articulate his thoughts, an utterly unsurprising complication given that he's relatively certain that this has to all be some strange fever dream. "Why didn’t you tell me about her the last time we met?”

Dream narrows his eyes again before glancing down at the girl. “Starshine, go and assist Archibald in returning to his dog form.”

Dog form? Dog form? That fire-breathing beast becomes a dog? For some reason, he's picturing Cerberus, with its three terrifying heads and the blood of those unlucky dead who try to escape the Underworld dripping from each of their corresponding fang-toothed maws. Hob wonders idly if the aneurysm he's sure to have soon is going to kill him.

“But Dadda….”

“No. He is forbidden from being a dragon for at least a week. Especially since I now see that he has been chasing the dreamers despite my explicit directive not to do so.”

Pointedly, he looks towards Hob, who in turn swings his gaze to his young, temporarily forgotten, savior. Her eyes have gone wide and pleading, and Hob feels his stomach lurch in guilt.

"I was… just walking about, old friend."

And that wanker, that enigmatic tosspot (who hadn't even bothered to tell him he had a child) only raises an eyebrow in an expression of such incredulity that Hob knows he's trying to call bullshit without actually speaking the words. "Walking?"

"Yes. Briskly."

That eyebrow goes somehow higher up on Dream's forehead. "By which you mean you were running."

Hob shakes his head. He's done some shady things in his very long life, but even he's not heartless enough to separate a girl from her… er, pet. "No. Not at all. Just… strolling. Vigorously."

And for some reason, Dream seems amused by this, as if he is aware that Hob is lying and it's humorous to him. “Very well. Three days then, Aurora.”

She claps gleefully (like she's just won something grand) before wandering out of earshot to presumably tend to her dragon/dog, and Morpheus grants Hob a small smile when she's gone. "You need not have lied on that vile monstrosity's behalf, Hob Gadling."

"I didn't-"

"You indeed did. This is my realm. I know all that transpires within its borders."

There's a loud pop from where the girl and the dragon are, and when Hob swings his gaze over towards them, he sees a great quantity of smoke clearing rapidly away.

"Obviously not, or else you'd know it was on your daughter's behalf that I stretched the truth a bit," Hob snarks back.

Aurora steps out of the cloud before plopping down on the ground, followed immediately by a small, fluffy… thing that comes running out from behind her, yapping loudly. Hob winces, thinking that he almost prefers that menacing roar from earlier to the high-pitched noise it's making now.

"You utterly discarded the truth in this case, friend."

Hob crosses his arms over his chest in a defensive gesture. He can admit to feeling a little… well, hurt that Dream obviously hadn't bothered to inform him of his child, and despite that being referred to as a friend by this brooding pillock does make him slightly less upset, he's still angry.

"Pets are important to children. I didn't want to see her lose one to your temper."

Little Aurora pulls a sketchbook and a container of pencils from the bag that Hob is absolutely positive she hadn't had with her before. Humming, she munches happily on something that Hob thinks might be crackers, and he is suddenly aware of the fact that someone must have taken the time to pack these for her. Hob, to preserve what little bit of his sanity he has remaining, is going to assume that it was this child's mother who'd done so since he can't for the life of him imagine this eternal god-like entity before him puttering around a kitchen and preparing snacks like a normal bloke. That might be more unbelievable than the dragon as far as Hob's concerned.

"Ah. I see," Dream tells him, and it sounds almost as if he's trying to be… kind? "Let me set your mind at ease then, Hob Gadling. Even were I willing to hurt my daughter and do away with that ghastly creature, my wife would never allow such a thing. So, you need not worry over the matter."

Hob feels himself go rigid. Did he just say….. "Wait a minute? Wife?"

"You are soon to wake, Hob."

"Oh, no, no, no," Hob protests, putting his hands up, palm out, towards Dream. "You need to explain to me what you mean by wife."

It's no use, though. Between one blink and the next, Hob is lurching from his sleep, the image of his stranger smirking at him still fresh in his mind. His breathing is heavy, and he's soaked through with sweat, enough so that he knows he's going to have to change the sheets today. Wearily, he scrubs a tired hand over his face, and he tells himself that all of that must have been some strange fever dream, after all.

Reaching out for the bottle of water he keeps by his bed, Hob is alarmed to see a piece of paper folded and tucked there. He snatches it up, opening the thick parchment to reveal an array of hearts drawn and colored in what he thinks might be twenty different shades of crayon. The message at the bottom is done in a messy, childish scrawl, and it reads:

Deer Mr. Hob. It wuz nise to sea u. Visit agin turmeric, pleeze.

And Hob Gadling, who'd once won immortality just with the questionable skill of being able to run his mouth, finds that in this case, he can only stare blankly at the invitation in complete silence.

NEXT CHAPTER

#hob gadling #sandman fic #morpheus x original character #dad!morpheus #morpheus as a father #morpheus fic #sandman fanfiction #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus x oc #sandman oc #dragons as cute fluffy dogs #dream of the endless #morpheus hob gadling bromance #hob gadling as a reluctant life coach to an ornery endless #morpheus x reader

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peachesofteal · 1 year

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Dream of the Endless Masterlist

Main Masterlist

All works are 18+ Minors DNI

Lavender for Luck - Witchling series - fic complete. one shots ongoing. You try to stay away from other magical beings, on principle. The Fragile Ones - one shot Endless aren't meant to love such fragile things. A Tear in Your Hand - fic complete 49.6k words - AO3 only There’s a writer in the Waking World, spinning stories so unimaginable that even the King of Dreams is intrigued. Silent All These Years - series ongoing - AO3 only - Act 2 of ATIYH A story cannot spin itself, especially when the threads of fate have become tangled in an Endless. In the Woods - fic ongoing - AO3 only Mirror mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?

Musings: Tell me Noodles Restless Monster

#the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless x original female character #morpheus x reader #morpheus x original character #the sandman netflix #peaches writes

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writing-for-life · 11 months

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The Light of Stars Master Post

Here is the promised master post, which sends you directly to the chapters on Ao3.

Your comments, likes and reblogs/shares are super-appreciated, be it here or on Ao3. Writers and creators love to hear from you.

Art by me

Chapter 30: Epilogue, in which we find out that some stories are not fully told, and where the journey will take us.

Chapter 29: Solid Dreams, in which we hear the story of the true nature of all 12 dream stones.

Chapter 28: Sapphire, in which commitment leads to shenanigans in the throne room. But of course that’s not really the most important bit (or is it?).

Chapter 27: Aletheia, in which confessions are made that cause deep pain.

Chapter 26: Philia, in which we meet an old friend.

Chapter 25: Petaloudia, in which we care about those left behind.

Chapter 24: Chrysalis, in which everything changes yet stays the same.

Chapter 23: The Dreaming Is You, in which all hope seems lost, but that’s not an option.

Chapter 22: Stygian Sleep, in which a dream leads to what was always the only reality.

Chapter 21: Mnēmē, in which memories lead to despair, and two siblings enlist the help of a third.

Chapter 20: Cosmic Dust, in which love seems lost, and G.K. Chesterton & Syed Arshad teach us something about its meaning.

Chapter 19: Dying Stars, in which sacrifices are made and memories are lost.

Chapter 18: Collapse, in which what once felt safe comes crashing down.

Chapter 17: Imbalance, in which old wounds are opened and new ones are caused.

Chapter 16: The Veil of Night, in which two sisters talk some more, and the chapter title is appropriately ambiguous.

Chapter 15: A Waking World of Possibilities, in which we explore female friendship and awkward scenes in restaurants.

Chapter 14: Surrender, in which the chapter title says all there is to say.

Chapter 13: Wide Awake Yet Dreaming, in which dams finally break and the lines between reality and dreaming become blurred.

Chapter 12: It’s Not In The Stars To Hold Our Destiny, But In Ourselves, in which siblings talk and far reaching decisions are made.

Chapter 11: Dreamless, in which Desire is our favourite bitch, and they always catch on a bit quicker than everyone else.

Chapter 10: The Dream is Over, in which we remember Neil Gaiman once said we would never see Morpheus dance, and this writer says: “Hold my beer…” (but really, that’s not what the chapter is about. At all.)

Chapter 9: Of Ravens and Humans, in which a raven is a bit indiscreet, and no one is truly sorry about it.

Chapter 8: Creating Stars, in which we meet the Three Sisters (but not the ones you’re thinking of).

Chapter 7: Kerykeion, in which Morpheus remembers something he had long forgotten.

Chapter 6: Rainbows, in which we see refractions of light and discuss the wonders of drinking coffee (don’t take that one too seriously).

Chapter 5: Painting the Invisible, in which the Lord of Dreams has to admit to a deficit in understanding the workings of mortal feelings.

Chapter 4: The Science of Sleep, in which sleep brings peace and paintings uncover that which is true.

Chapter 3: Stories Past But Not Forgotten, in which the door to Lucienne's Library opens other doors.

Chapter 2: Understanding Without Knowing, in which a quest begins in both the Dreaming and the Waking World, and a very reluctant alliance to find the answers is formed.

Chapter 1: Juxtapositions, in which artist Thalia Callaghan finds herself having strange dreams.

#sandman fanfiction #sandman fanfic #dream x oc #morpheus x original character #morpheus x oc #dream of the endless | morpheus #dream of the endless #morpheus #the sandman #sandman #writeblr #fanfic #fanfiction #read on ao3 #ao3 fanfic #the light of stars

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deliciousbasementtrash · 2 years

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Hopes and Dreams

Art credit: https://hear-the-voice-of-my-soul.tumblr.com/post/159573635579

Summary: you are a new Goddess: Hope. You were made for one of the Endless siblings if not all of them, and humanity. You must figure out which sibling you were made for. But what if they don’t want you?

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x F!GoddessReader, Dream x OC Reader

Word Count: 1285

Warnings: Somewhat harsh language, meanish Dream (let me know if I should add more please)

Note: Sorry this is a little choppy because I hate writing beginnings and want to dive right in. That being said there will be more chapters in the future (not sure how many). Also please, please leave comments.

Part One: Creation, Part Two: Power, Part Three: Roomies with Death and a Deal with Dream; Part Four: Pain and Nightmares

I started existing on March 25th, 1801.

I do not know when nor how I was created. I simply was. As humans live and breathe and love, so do I. My power is them, and they are my power.

And I adore them so.

They are very adorable creatures, and they refer to my gifts, they refer to me, as Hope.

I am Artemea, Goddess of Hope.

My purpose in the human world was unclear at first. Humans naturally have an innate gift to hope. I wondered what I was here for if they could manage it fine on their own. I had no guidance when I came into the world. I only knew three things:

My name

My purpose

My gifts

But I did not know how or why. That was until I meet Destiny the eldest of all the Endless.

I was sitting in a meadow when Destiny arrived. He appeared to me in a large and worn brown cloak. A strange chain around his wrist bound to a large leather-bound book. His face was melted with age, his eyes milky-white.

He told me of Gods and Goddesses; he told me of the Endless. All of which is information of the past. But then he opened his large-leather bound book, and the meadow went silent as he spoke.

“Child, you wonder about your existence. You know you are the Goddess of Hope, you know your purpose is to serve the humans, and you know the plentiful gift of your power. But you do not know why you were created, and you do not know how to use your power. I am here to tell you. Heed my words. You were created as a gift to mankind and to one of my siblings. You will find the sibling and you will devote your power to them. In doing so, both of your power will grow, and mankind will be better for it. To access your power you must listen.”

“What do you mean I am a gift? What do you mean by listening–” I rose quickly, but it was too late. Only a moment, a breath had passed, but Destiny was gone. And I was left with more questions than answers.

Destiny told me he had six siblings: Death, Dream, Destruction, Desire, Despair, and Delirium. I just have to figure out which one I am a gift for, and with luck, my existence will fall into place after.

Perhaps, I should just check them off the list from eldest to youngest. Death could not be so hard to find. But I was so–so tired. The sun was warm, and a nice breeze swayed the trees. Suddenly I grew so exhausted it was though sandbags weighed down my eyelids. I had no choice but to sleep.

“What are you doing in my realm?” A man with fluffy dark hair and a harsh expression asked.

I blinked repeatedly, whipping my head around. I was no longer in the meadow. I was in a large throne room with three stained glass windows, and a large grey staircase that lead to a throne; who sat a man ghastly pale, dressed in all black.

I smiled large and bright at him, “You must be Dream. Your brother told me about you.”

“I have many siblings you will have to be more specific. Tell me quickly or I will have you removed.” His voice was as dark and cool as the deep depths of the ocean.

“Forgive me, Dream of the Endless,” I said in a sweet voice as I bowed low, “I am new to my gifts and living. I do not quite understand the etiquette of living beings just yet, and I am unsure how I got here. The sibling I speak of is Destiny. He told me I had to find which of the Endless I am a gift for.”

“Destiny,” the God who was not a God seemed utterly shocked, “What did my brother tell you exactly? Who are you?”

“I am Artemea; Goddess of Hope. Destiny told me I was made for one of his siblings, that whoever I am made for, both of our power, both of our gifts will grow exponentially.” I said, no longer bowing. I looked Dream in the eyes as I said it.

His eyes flashed bright white as the rest of his body was encompassed in a dark shadow, “And why would you be a gift for me? What would I want or need from you?”

The smile left my face as I fanned out my wings and called to my power. Dream of the Endless was angry, and it set my power, my very being on edge. But I continued.

“I cannot explain it, but I must be drawn to you and your realm. Why else would I be here? I cannot tell you how I will be of help to you. I cannot tell you how my power works. All I can tell you is what Destiny told me. I am no liar, King of Dreams.”

Some of the shadows receded into his body, as he slowly looked me up and down, “Why would you be created for me? Why would it not be any of my other siblings? Who said I wanted you? Who created you?”

“I…I do not know; I wish I did,” I said, my large grey eyes finally breaking eye contact with the Endless.

“I do not know what kind of game you are playing, but I will not have it. Leave now and I will not harm you. Come back uninvited again and I will kill you, Little Goddess.”

I shook my head in anger, “That’s it? You do not heed Destiny’s words?”

Dream’s lips perched into a sneer, “I will not take the word of some trespassing stranger, who appears to know very little. I will not ask again. Leave, Goddess.”

“As you wish, all-knowing, all-powerful, King of Dreams, King of Nightmares, The Sandman,” I mocked and perched my own lips into a sneer. My white feathered wings fanning out behind me. I wanted to look beautifully intimating, so I let some of my power bleed from my skin. The dark room now glowed with a heavenly gold as my light burned the rest of Dream’s shadows away.

A look of shock passed on his face just before I spread my wings and flew away from his realm. I couldn’t help but feel lost. His realm, whether he acknowledged it or not, calls for me. And I don’t think I was imagining the sadness the realm felt when I left.

I looked at the beautiful landscape beneath me of ever-changing greens, waters, and florals. I saw how my shadow crossed over the realm and the creatures seemed to reach for it. I shook my head. That couldn’t be.

A flap of wings and a caw at my side drew my attention.

A raven with a white chest flew side by side with me.

“You are no normal bird are you?” I ask, looking her in the eye.

“No, miss. His highness wanted to verify your exit,” the raven said with a soft voice.

I smiled at her, “I see. What’s your name?”

The bird squawked like she was confused, “Jessamy, miss.”

“Hello Jessamy. I am Artemea. Care for a race?”

I could have sworn a smirk passed on the bird’s face as she flapped her wings harder, flying far faster than I was.

I laughed hard, a free and joyful sound. As I raced Jessamy out of Dream’s Kingdom.

I was breathless as I reached the gate to the human world. I looked at Jessamy and nodded my head.

“Until we meet again,” and with that, I went through.

#the sandman #dream x reader #dream x fem!reader #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #morpheus x original character #netflix sandman #king of nightmares #dream x goddess #fanfiction #neil gaiman

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hoodievixen · 11 months

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With My Own Eyes - Part 7 (Dream of the Endless x OC)

Based off of this

Summary: Morpheus just wanted to keep his soulmate safe. She just wanted to make her own decisions. Doesn't help that he doesn't show her his face.

Words Count: ~ 2 K

Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, witchcraft, bad grammar and even worse spelling, !Comic Spoilers!

A/N: Ya know what, f*ck it! I'm writing the parts I want to, no more filler I don't want to write.

Tag List: @intothesoul @ poemfreak306

Master List

Lily was walking beside Morpheus as they walked between locations. She looked over to the horizon, looking at the sun set. It had been a long day, and it wasn't even done yet. And she was so appreciative for it. "Thanks," she said to Morpheus through the familiar science.

"For what?" he asked, genuinely unaware of what she was greatful for.

"Not treating me any different," Lily answered. "Usually when people learn about my chronic pain, they treat me like something fragile, like I need to be taken care of. But you didn't. Like we're out here walking around just like we did my second day here. I wouldn't know what to do if someone else constantly took care of me. Like I'm not glass, I won't break that easily."

Dream paused to watch her. She wore such a sweet genuine smile ad her face was lit up by the sunset. He felt so guilty. That was the exact reason he brought her with him today. He didn't want her to leave his sight, incase something happened. Dream did not want her to experience any more pain, but incase she did, he wanted to be there. But since he could not abandon his own duties, he brought her along, where she showd to be helpful.

-----

Lily couldn't get the dumb smile off her face. She loved today. It was like she ha been a kid again. It all started with her jumping off the bridge to the castle to the lake below. It was the world of dreams, with the king at her side, there was nothing she needed to be afraid of.

She and Dream walked back into the palace long after the sun had set. "Please," she pleaded with him. She held up her reaction, dropping quire few flower in the process. "I made it for you," she said about the flower crown. Lily was already wearing her own.

"And it is quite lovely," he assured her.

The two had quickly made their way to the throne room. "There you are my lord," Lucienne commented, "Did he two of you enjoy your day."

"Indeed", Dream answered.

"It was fun," Lily gave a fraction more of detail.

The librarian smiled, "I am glad to hear that."

Her expression returned to that of business. "My Lord, might I have a word with you in the library?"

Lily was quick to pick up when she wasn't wanted. "I'll get going," she assured them, "I should get some him in my stomach." The witch walked out, still doing so him with the collection of flowers in her arms.

"What is it Lucienne?" the dream lord asked, already haven taken of his helm.

The librarian gave him a look of disamusement. "You still refuse to show her your face?" she wondered in a way that was more closer to scolding than asking. "Clearly things are going well. If you want to proceed with this relationship, you are doing to need to take that step."

"I don't not wish to risk anything," Dream reminded her, "She'll see my face when the time is right."

-------

Dream wasn't sure what to think I the smile Lily wore. It was muh loer to a smirk. How ere the blush on her cheeks was a good sighn. "Never durst a poet touch a pen to write," she tried to disregard all that was in his hear dealt letter with the quote.

"Until his ink was tempered with love's sigh," He finished the quote for her.

He hel onto her hand lowering his head to her. "It has a precious seeing to the eye: A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind: a loves ears will hear the lowest sound." Whole it was not the same quote it did one from the same source material.

Sibyl snorted, "So you know Shakespeare."

"Hes more of a business aquantence than anything, we did have a deal or his insperation," Dream commented nonchalantly.

"What!?" she dramatically yelled in disbelief. "You can't just say something like that without an explanation!"

------

Sibyl thought she was being clever. She really just wanted to see his face. It felt off relation all these feeling of fondness toward a mosquito like face, knowing there was so thin else beneath it. She had already done portraits for Lucienne and a handful of others who were will. To it for a sketch. Sue they wee enor masterpieces, but Sibyl quite liked the collection he was a assembling. Of course a collection of portraits of a royal ourt would be nothing without a portrait of it's king.

Dream still reused to take of his helm, saying that there was no rush to do his painting, as there were still many castle residences that she had yet to do.

Lily came up with a compromise. She grabbed a sketch book as well as pencils. "How about you tell m what you look like, and I try to draw you," she offered, "Sorta like a police sketch."

Dream said nothing.

Sibyl wasn't sure what that meant so she started to ask questions. "What color is your hair," she asked hesitantly, wanting to jot down notes of colors.

"Black," he softly answers, "And my eyes are of stars."

That was all she was able to get out of him.

------

Lily sat on the stairs near Dream. While she had a sketchbook beside her, she wasn't drawing in it, to distracted by the pain in her lower abdomen, and the counsil the king of the realm was giving to his subjects.

"Thank you my lord," the dream said, containing excitement. They bowed to Dream before turning to Sibyl. "My lady."

Her eyebrows quirked, but the dream was already rushing out before she could say anything. It took her long enough to get Lucienne to stop calling her that all the time, she didn't want to with every other resident of the Dreaming. "Why do people call me that?" she complained.

"It is the most common form of respect they can give," Morpheus explained, "Do you wish for them to call you something different? Just say the word, and it shall be so."

Sibyl leaned back against the stairs, somehow both relevwainf ache and causing more. "Can't they just ya know, use my name," she pointed out, "I'd even accept Miss Crow, it's what my students call me."

"Lily," Dream called out calmly, "They dare not disrespect you. After all we are fated." He gestured to her arm. She had recently worn shorter sleeves more often so it was viable there amongst her tattoos, Dream of the Endless.

Lily rubbed the heel of her palm against it as if trying to rub it off. "But it's not like we're married or anything," she pointed out. "... What even is our relationship..?" Her voice was soft, barely a whisper.

Dream intertwined his fingers with hers, holding her hold before she found something else to occupy her fidgety fingers. "I have expressed my intent to court you since you arrived in the Dreaming," he pointed out, "Might I point out you've been returning such actions recently as well."

Sibyl looked at him, pressing her lips together. Everything was so much weirdsd cause of him helm. It would be so much easier to accepted it, if there wasn't a blatant sign he didn't trust her. But there was little denying it, "I guess we're dating."

-------

Sibyl had fallen asleep in the library. Across the table before her were grimores of old, as well as her notes of them. So many of the witch stories have been lost to time and man, he was glad there was at least one person left to find the meaning and uses they hold.

Dream reached out a crossed her check. She let out a little mumble, but stayed asleep. She wasn't likely going to walk back to her own chambers. Still Dream did not wanting her to wake up more sore than she already would be.

Lily was weightless in his arms as he carried her to her room. She continued to sleep, curled up against him, breath tickling his neck. It had been quite warm in the Dreaming that day, and Sibyl had dressed as soon, with much skin on show. He knew she was still rather modest in modern standard, but he had not been there for the development for those standards. So of course it would be hard for him touching the bare skin of the woman he loves.

The way she grips onto him as he set her down is aching. He gives into her tugs, laying down next to her. She looked so peaceful asleep, her mind dreamless. How he'd love to fill her mind of the sweetest dreams, but dare not risk her safety with her physically being in the Dreaming.

There was however another way he could bring her pleasure.

-----

Lily woke up with a groan. Not from her stubbornness of wanting to stay asleep. It was more so brought about by the sensation of lips kissing the inside of her legs. But still with her eyes open she saw nothing but darkness, as there was a had over her eyes.

"You can go back to sleep, Love," a soft voice cooed before a light kiss was pressed against her jaw.

"Morpheus," she declared, in both confusion and excitement. To kiss her he had to remove his helm, meaning if he were to remove his hand she be able to see his face. That's all she wanted.

She reached up to grab at his hand, but she felt the hand on her face stiffen. "Stop," he demanded.

Lily moved to sit up, something not quiet easy with Morpheus looming over her. He returned to placing kissing in her neck, going lower to her chest and lingering close to her shirt's neckline. She felt his hair tickling at her cheek and jawline. Sibyl slowly reached out in the direction it came frem, wanting to run her hand through his hair, or cup his cheek, just to touch him. She resisted a smile at the thought of how romantic it would be, already in love, but the night she would first see his face filled with said love and passion.

His other hand came up and grabbed at her wrist. He placed a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth, before Morpheus moved down once again, to where he had been when she first awoke.

"Stop," she pleaded. Still he continued. Lily forced her legs together, "Morpheus stop!" Any sleep or amusement had left her voice. If anything she was a bit angry.

Morpheus listened to her, though he was confused on why she wanted that.

Sibyl let out a quick sigh of agrivation. "You expect me to trust you with my body, while you do not trust me to know your face," she pointed out, "You have to see the hypocracy in that."

Morpheus open his mouth to speak. Even though she couldn't see it, it was like she knew he was going to reaspond. "I don't care about what excuse you're going to say," she scolded him calmly, "Trust is a two way street, and I feel like your not even acknowledging it's existence. Now either remove your hand and let me see you, or this needs to stop."

Lily had enough. She had been patient long enough, but if her wanted the intamancy of lovers, he'd need to have more trust in her than that of a stranger.

She did not expect him to actually leave.

------

They both needed time to calm down. So Lily waited until morning before going to find Morpheus. He was in the throne room, the most common place she finds him. Sitting upon his head, once again, was that stupid spine trunked helm.

"We need to talk," she told him calmly. She did not hesitate to approach him, even if he was just silently watching her. "And not just me talking to you. We need to have dialog back and forth."

"There is nothing we need to talk about," he said simply.

Lily huffed, crossing her arms across her chest. "Morpheus I was serious about what I said last night," she told him. "I feel you do not trust me. I have gone against common sense and have learned to trust. Despite the fact you kidnapped me, refused to let me go home, and continue to not show me your face.

I want to presume a relationship between us, but I can't with out knowing you trust me." Clearly she was angry, but she waa staying calm, pleading with him to be reasonable.

"Lily," he sighed, stepping a single step closer for her to be in reach. "There will come a day that I will."

Sibyl took another step, standing in front of him. She reached up placing her hand on his shoulders. "Why can't it be today?" she stressed.

Morpheus didn't answer. He couldn't answer. How would one explain that the mere knowledge of his face may cause her to leaving him. Dream wouldn't be able to live if that were to happen.

Sibyl grew frustrated with his silence. Slowly she moved her hands to his neck. She slid her fingers under the helm.

Lily fell onto her bed. Her bed in her flat in London. She let out a scream of frustration, kicking at her mattress. He sent her out of the Dreaming, ending it it all with her.

#The Sandman #sandman comics #netflix sandman #sandman x reader #sandman x y/n #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus #morpheus x reader #morpheus x original character

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miraclesabound · 2 years

Text

Love in Idleness

Summary: Johanna’s friend Annie thinks she imagined the way Morpheus looks at her - and then she gets exposed to a plant that shows her the truth.

Also available on AO3.

Pairing: Morpheus/F!Plus-Size!OC Annie Magdalene (written in second person)

Notes: My first ever sex pollen fic! I’ve been toying with this idea since before the show premiered. Johanna, Matthew, Lucienne, Death and Desire all make appearances. Annie is an original character, but I’ve written her in second person so that she can be read as any race. Set after Season 1 - Johanna is still dealing with the fallout from losing Rachel.

FAN ART by @miranhas-art

Content/Warnings: Sex pollen, self-doubt related to weight, Desire actually NOT being a little shit for once, but it still blowing up in their face, worries about mortality, canon-typical language, fingering, PiV sex/dream sex. In the intro, items related to funeral preparation and difficulty with grief.

Tags: @writeforfandoms, @insomniamamma, @edwardmunsen, @darklingveracruz, @morpheus-helm, @bowieandqueen11, @mylifeisactuallyamess, @whovianayesha, @blueeyesatnight, @yayforawesome

Normally, a large raven landing on your windowsill would catch your attention. However, you’ve been knee-deep in paperwork for weeks. Johanna had called you to tell you about Rachel dying, and you’ve been handling the administrative side of things while Jo assists Sam, Rachel’s father. You don’t mind doing it – Johanna’s been your best friend since you were six, and she loved Rachel. That’s more than enough reason for you to direct your research efforts towards something useful instead of studying your family’s grimoires all day. As such, it takes the raven clearing his throat for you to look his way. Your eyes widen when he begins to speak.

“I’m looking for Johanna Constantine – am I in the right place? I have a note for her.” He lifts one of his legs, and you see a band of paper secured there.

“Uh…yes…” You stand up from your desk and poke your head into the hallway. “JO!” you call out. “Can you come in here a sec?” You only hope you don’t sound panicked.

Johanna shows up quickly, and she looks you over. “You ok, Annie? What’s – oh!” She sees the raven, and her eyes light up in recognition. “Matthew, is that you?”

“Hi, Johanna,” the raven says. “Yeah, it’s me – the boss wanted to give you this.”

Johanna sees the paper and gently unwraps it from Matthew’s leg. Opening it, she reads over the words with a slight frown. “How soon does he want an answer?” she asks.

“As soon as possible,” Matthew tells her. “Just call out for him, and he’ll come by. You both have a good night.” He flies off, and Jo shows you the note.

Muttering to yourself, you read aloud, “For your service, you are hereby invited to the Palace of the Dreaming as – wait, WHAT???”

“It’s real,” Johanna reassures you. “Keep reading.”

Clearing your throat, you start up again. “You are hereby invited to the Palace of the Dreaming as the guest of Dream of the Endless. An invitation has also been sent to Death and Desire. Please respond promptly with your attendance.”

You jokingly shove Johanna’s arm. “You met Dream of the Endless, from the family that the Magdalene family has studied for four hundred years, and you didn’t tell me??”

You realize your tone was misplaced when Jo looks at you sadly. “He’s the one who eased Rachel’s passing. I thought that made us even for me helping find his sand, but I guess he wanted to offer another boon.”

“I’m sorry,” you tell her. “I shouldn’t have teased.”

She waves away your concern. “No fuss – but I can tell you, I won’t be fit company right now, my head’s still kinda fucked.” She taps her lip. “Ya know, I have an idea. Got any paper you can spare?”

You tear off a piece from the notepad you’ve been using and pass her a pen. She writes the word MORPHEUS with intentional, bold strokes – quite different from her usual scratchy handwriting. When she’s done, she looks to you. “Want to do the honors?”

Realizing what she’s doing, you nod, and clear your throat. With clear intonation, you say, “I call upon Morpheus, Dream of the Endless.” Not even a tenth of a second after you finish speaking, the walls shake, and the lights begin to flicker. Jo squeezes your hand in reassurance.

When the lights and shaking cease, you realize that there’s now a third person in the room. He’s tall, black-haired, and his eyes will steal your breath if you’re not careful. Combine that with his dark attire and gorgeous features, and he’s exactly your type. When he speaks, his voice is like dark honey. “Who is it that called me?”

“That was us, boss,” Johanna says. The man turns to see the both of you. “Matthew brought your note.”

“I’m glad to see you well, Constantine. Then you’ll be joining me for family dinner?” he asks.

Johanna shakes her head. “I’m afraid I’d be bad company – I’m still handling some of Rachel’s affairs, and I don’t much feel like small talk. However…” she gently pushes you towards him. “This is my friend Annie Magdalene – she is from a very prestigious magical bloodline. It might benefit her to visit the Palace.”

“Jo, what are you doing??” you hiss.

“Giving you an in – you think your parents would ever forgive you if you had a chance to dine with an Endless and didn’t take it?”

“Magdalene?” he cuts in. “I know that name.”

Gathering your courage, you say, “We’re a family of practitioners and magical historians, sir – sire…what would you have me call you?” You know full well that if you insult him, you definitely won’t get the invite, and you may suffer something painful to boot.

However, he offers you a small, warm smile that makes your heart flip. “You may call me Dream or Morpheus, Miss Magdalene. And is this what you wish as well?” You’re not sure, but he seems to be looking appreciatively at your curves and rolls.

“Only if it’s no trouble.”

“None at all. If you’re willing, I’d like to spend some time with you before you come to the Palace next week. May I see you later tonight?”

Johanna is smiling in approval of your good fortune, but you must admit you’re still a little confused. “Where would we meet?” you ask.

“Leave that to me,” Morpheus says.

You’ve visited this vineyard many times in your dreams, but this is the first time you’ve had company. As you pluck a grape from one of the vines, a voice close behind you asks, “Are they almost ready?”

You’re startled only for a second, but when you turn around and see Morpheus, you smile. Of course, he would visit you in your dreams. You hold the grape out to him. “See for yourself?”

He opens his hand, and you drop the grape to him. He catches it deftly between two fingers and turns it this way and that to get a proper look at it. “Perfect color and shape – and the right level of firmness. Beautiful work, Miss Magdalene.”

His compliment warms you, but you feel the need to be honest. “I don’t know how much credit I can take,” you tell him. “I’ve been dreaming of this place since I was a kid, and it was already beautiful then.”

“Then at least someone is here to treasure it.” The conversation flows easily from there, and you wake up with a smile on your face.

The next several nights are much the same. Morpheus appears in the vineyard to spend time with you, whether to chat or just to sit together. You find in these times that Morpheus is not just a beautiful face. He has the mind of a poet, and sometimes, you love to just listen to his words. He does his best not to dominate your conversations, but his voice inspires the best nights of sleep you’ve had in a long time.

The one thing you do notice is that he doesn’t give you that same appraising look again that he offered the first time you met. Perhaps it’s just him being a gentleman, but you’re worried. Did you misread him when you met him? You’d thought it was appreciation, but he just doesn’t seem interested in your body like he was before.

It stings, but you’ll live. True friendship with a member of the Endless is still worth more than your weight in gold and wine – you’ll take it for the gift it is.

On the day of the event, you dream of the Palace for the first time. It’s utterly gorgeous – truly the home of a king in his prime. The structure is perfectly engineered, and the gardens stretch on for miles. You’re tempted to go exploring, but then Morpheus calls out to you.

You walk over the great bridge, and he’s waiting there with a woman you haven’t met before. He introduces her – Lucienne, his Chief Librarian – and she shakes your hand warmly. “So glad you could make it, Miss Magdalene,” she says with true sincerity. “We don’t often have guests when it’s not a matter of state.”

“And I truly appreciate that,” you tell her. “From what I’ve studied, I know this isn’t typical.”

Lucienne nods, and then turns to Morpheus as the three of you walk past the hippogriff, wyvern and griffin who guard the palace entrance. “All invitations have been answered as of today, my lord. Death and Desire will be in attendance. However,” she looks at Morpheus over her glasses. “Desire did specify that they will not be able to attend the dinner itself. They will arrive afterwards.”

You almost miss the way Morpheus rolls his eyes, but the annoyance is still present in his tone. “I appreciate them giving notice, I suppose – but it would have been nice to know sooner.”

Lucienne shrugs. “They would have given the kitchen a headache anyway.”

You do your best to contain a snort, and you’re relieved when you hear a laugh echo behind you. “It’s true – I remember how the last dinner went.” The voice comes from a lovely woman with a warm smile, curly black hair, and dark skin. “I don’t think even they knew what they wanted; they simply couldn’t be satisfied.”

“Sister, I greet you,” Morpheus says. “Miss Magdalene, this is my older sister, the Lady Death. Sister, this is Miss Annie Magdalene. She’s a friend of the Constantine family, and she is my guest for this dinner.” You feel a slight shiver pass through you – you realize it’s the first time he’s actually said your first name.

If Death sees your reaction, she’s kind enough to be discreet. Instead, she pulls you into a hug, quite possibly the best one you’ve ever had. “Well, any friend of Dream’s is a friend of mine – would you like to sit next to me for the dinner?”

“That would be wonderful,” you tell her, and you mean it.

The dinner goes beautifully – the food is perfect, of course, but it’s the company that really makes it. Death is especially chatty, and she tells you of the worlds she’s seen and the people she’s met. In turn, you explain to her and Morpheus how your family came to study theirs.

The meal concludes, and while you’re certain there will be further conversation at the table, you find yourself wanting to wander. While Death and Morpheus’s backs are turned, you find a side door and turn the handle. It opens into the courtyard, and as you walk out, you see an archway leading into the Palace gardens.

“It’s not safe to walk in there alone, you know,” a voice purrs behind you. When you turn, you see a devastatingly gorgeous blond person leaning against the garden entryway. From your family’s books, you recognize that this must be Morpheus’ sibling Desire. They’re almost a little too pretty, you think. Their hair is perfectly coiffed, their make-up and smile are razor sharp, and their black blazer is open, showing a slender build that would put even the most renowned model to shame. Good grief, is everyone in this family stunning?

“You must be that Magdalene woman I’ve heard about,” they say. “An invite to my brother’s palace is no small matter – what favor did you manage to grant him, sweetling?”

You know from your research that this being is temperamental at best and an active saboteur at worst – but when they offer their arm, you still accept it. Indeed, as you begin to traverse the gardens together, you find yourself spilling your guts about everything – Morpheus’ invitation to Johanna, her arranging for you to visit instead, the many dreams you’ve had where you and Morpheus simply talk…

“Then you and my brother are courting?” Desire asks.

You’d been smiling while discussing your and Morpheus’ conversations, but Desire’s question makes your heart deflate. “It’s not like that,” you tell them. “I thought there was something there, but I don’t think I’m his type. I’m not slim and elegant like Johanna, and I’m just a researcher, not a practitioner – and a fat one at that.”

You appreciate Desire not immediately trying to say that you’re not plump. You’ve always hated when people do that – you know what you are, and it’s better to be a realist, even in a place like this.

You’ve come to a grove full of beautiful purple flowers – pansies, if you’re not mistaken. Your fingers drift towards one, but Desire quickly catches your wrist. “I wouldn’t do that, sweetling – you’re mortal after all. Allow me.” With their free hand, they pluck the bloom and tuck it behind your ear. Unfortunately, neither of you notice the spray of pollen and juice that comes loose from the vine when the flower is plucked. Instead, your attention is drawn to a marble bench, and the two of you sit down together.

“I won’t speak to my brother’s desires,” Desire tells you. “But I don’t know of any woman who shouldn’t walk with flowers in her hair at least once.” They smile as they arrange the strands of your hair and secure the blossom. “There – lovely as a picture.”

Your own smile returns briefly. “Thank you, I – ” you cut off with a hiss. “SHIT, my head…”

“Are you all right?” Desire asks. “Let me bring you back inside.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” you agree. You stand up, take maybe three steps – and then your feet go out from under you as the heat and pain move down into your chest.

Desire catches you before you can hit your head. You could swear you see true panic in their molten gold eyes. “Fuck – fuck fuck fuck!” they mutter. Raising their voice, they call for help – “MORPHEUS! DEATH! SOMEONE HELP!!!”

There must be a summoning power in Desire’s call. The palace is at least fifty yards away, but Morpheus and Death appear in the grove immediately. It’s Death who moves first – she helps you back to the bench, and when you’re seated, she has you face her, looking at your eyes. “Talk to me, Annie,” she says. “When did this start – just now?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. “I think I need to go home – ” Another flash of heat rolls through you, and this time, you feel it between your legs. “What is happening to me??”

Morpheus turns to Desire, and his eyes go black, only his pupils showing as pricks of starlight. “What did you do, sibling?” You bite your lip to avoid moaning – the dangerous tone he’s using now makes you want to crawl over and worship at his feet.

“Nothing, I swear!” Desire protests. “We were having conversation, and I picked a flower for her to wear – I thought it would look nice!”

They gesture in your direction, and Morpheus finally sees the purple bloom in your hair. He doesn’t curse, but he rips the flower away, stomping it under his foot. Turning back to Desire, he slaps them hard across the face. “I TOLD you! I told you what would happen if you interfered with me or mine again. And now you use Love-in-Idleness to poison an honored guest??”

To their credit, Desire takes the hit like an absolute champion. Shaking off their pain, they look Morpheus straight in the eyes. “I didn’t know what this was, brother. Besides, I thought Love-in-Idleness made you fall for the first person you saw after exposure. I can tell – it’s not me she wants.”

“There were multiple variants,” Morpheus says. “Will Shakespeare put the version you describe in his play – but he considered different ideas. All of them ended up here in my gardens. Do you not see how suspicious it looks that you just happened to pick the version that amplified sexual desire?”

“Intentional or not, something has to be done,” Death says. Her hand is pleasantly cool where she checks your temperature. “She’s feverish and her pulse is wild. Today isn’t the day she has an appointment with me, but unless someone who cares for her gets this out of her system, that could change.”

“Appointment??” Your eyes go wide. “I don’t want to die!” You double over as another spasm racks your body.

“We won’t let that happen.” Morpheus says. Kneeling before you, he kisses your knuckles like a knight of old, and his eyes return to their usual shade of blue. “We’ll find the one you want – he must be here in the Dreaming somewhere. He’ll fix this.”

Tears fill your eyes, even as the feel of his lips makes you ache. “Then I’m doomed – you don’t want me back.”

It’s unknown if Morpheus of the Endless has a heart in the human sense, but at the very least, he has a soul. Right now, it feels like it’s being ripped away. “You…you truly believe that?” he asks. “Even with the time we’ve spent together?”

“Unfortunately, that’s exactly what she believes,” Desire says. “When we were talking, she was convinced that you weren’t the woman for her.”

It’s Death who gets to business. “Desire, you know these things – can you confirm that Morpheus and Annie have the same feelings for each other?”

“My sister, I swear it on our parents.” Desire’s smirk is completely gone. “Our brother is unaffected by the pollen but still cares, and Miss Magdalene was practically glowing when she talked about him, even before we came to the grove. The affection is mutual.”

Your gaze flicks to Morpheus, your eyes still brimming with tears. You don’t dare ask if it’s true – if Desire is misinformed, the heartbreak might kill you before the drug does.

However, all doubts are erased when Morpheus walks over to you and lifts you into his arms in a full bridal carry. You cling tightly to him, even knowing that he wouldn’t let you fall. Death and Desire briefly look at each other, and then they disappear. Before you can ponder that too much, Morpheus leans in and kisses your forehead. “I’m going to take care of you, sweetheart – I promise.”

Your surroundings fade – and then they reform into an elegant bedroom suite inside the Palace. The cool sheets where Morpheus lies down with you sooth some of the tension in your body instead of scratching like your sheets back home do. Nevertheless, your system is singing for your Dream Lord’s touch. Reaching behind you, you try to find him, but he grabs your wrist and pins it down in front of you.

“Annie, listen to me,” he says. “I need to make you come at least once so that I know you’re safe from danger. After that, I’m all yours. Can you be good and let me work?” You can barely manage to tell him that yes, you’ll be good, you’ll do whatever he wants – when he promises to get you off, you almost black out imagining what he might have in mind. “That’s my girl.” He releases your wrist, and your fingers tangle in the sheets.

Morpheus kisses the point where your neck meets your shoulder, and you can’t help the shudder that rolls through you. You’re sensitive at the best of times, but with the flower in your system, you feel like you’re going to break into pieces. “Morpheus, please…” you beg, “I need you!”

He knows full well that you’re speaking of your survival, not just your arousal. As such, he hurries to help you get naked from the waist down. Morpheus isn’t immune to your shape or sounds, and he promises himself he’ll lavish you with affection – later. Right now, he needs to make sure you’ll be ok.

Once your hips and legs are bare to him, he turns your face towards him. “I need you to use your words, sweetheart – I may know your dreams, but I’m not a mind-reader. What will work for you?”

“I need at least two fingers inside while my clit gets rubbed,” you tell him. “I usually like to edge myself a while but – FUCK!” Another heavy wave of arousal and heat hits you, and you swear that you can feel your heart falling out of rhythm.

“Understood.” Morpheus gives you a quick kiss and gets to work.

His clever thick fingers find the right spot almost immediately, and you groan in relief. Even just being filled is helping quite a bit. You vaguely remember a legend from the grimoire stating that Morpheus had been married at least once – you can’t say you’re surprised. With how he’s using his hands, this is clearly someone who knows how to please a partner. You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life.

Your orgasm catches you off-guard, hitting you with enough force that you think your heart did in fact explode. But no – as you come down, you realize that the edge with the pollen was so painful that your current adrenaline buzz feels sleepy by comparison.

Morpheus places a hand on your neck, finding your pulse. Your heartrate is still elevated, but not nearly as high as it was before. When you turn to face him, a lazy smile on your face, he feels his own relief as well. He kisses you again – but now, he can be a bit more leisurely. Pulling you on top of him, he keeps your mouths connected and lets his hands wander.

You’re so plush, he realizes – wherever he touches, his fingers sink into your flesh. If he didn’t know better, he’d think you were made of his own sand – a sculpture of soft perfection.

That very flesh is still warm to the touch, even if the worst of the fever is gone. Breaking the kiss, he notes how you chase his mouth with yours, and he asks, “Do you still burn, sweet girl?”

You nod. “You were wonderful, Morpheus – but yes, it’s still pretty intense.”

“Then let’s fix it.” Taking your hand, he places it over his crotch with a smirk. “For both of us?”

You feel his hardness and gulp. “Where do you want me?” you ask.

“You’re perfect where you are, darling – but I want to see more of you.” After you take off your shirt and bra, he sits up so you’re in his lap. “Beautiful,” he says, and you can see from the look in his eyes that he means it. You’re not a virgin, but you can’t remember any time that a partner looked at you with such pure hunger. Even if you didn’t still have the flower in your system, those beautiful eyes would reduce you to a puddle.

Your cunt pulses, and you’re thankful for Morpheus holding you up. “What about you?” you ask breathlessly. He snaps his fingers, and you now feel his naked hardness beneath you.

“Can I have you, Annie?” His voice is low and deep, but not demanding. “I want you to be safe and I want you.”

“I’m yours,” you tell him. If you’re honest with yourself, you were his as soon as you met him, flower or no flower.

Once you say that, he doesn’t waste any time. You’re still incredibly wet after your first orgasm, and there’s barely any resistance when he slides his cock inside of you.

You may be on top, but Morpheus is the one setting the pace. He may look slender, but his arms are strong around your middle, and he lifts you with minimal effort up and down on himself. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised – the way he carried you earlier, it’s obvious that your weight is no imposition to him.

What is a surprise is the tenderness he’s trying to include, even as he fucks you silly. For every thrust that rocks you to the core, there’s a stroke or caress of your arm, your hip, your face… It’s as if he’s trying to remind you that you’re here and you’re safe.

Your orgasm builds more slowly this time – it’s the glow of an ember more than the roar of a flame. Still, your desperation to come remains high, and you whine into Morpheus’s shoulder as the glow grows. He chuckles slightly, and taps your back to make you look him in the eyes. “Kiss me and I’ll give you what you want. Can you do that for me?” he asks.

You lock your lips onto his, and you groan into his mouth as he starts stroking your clit. You swear you can feel his smile as he strokes faster and faster…

When you come, it cascades out from your core like the feeling of slipping into a bath – you can tell that the fire inside is finally quenched. You still appreciate the jolt you feel as Morpheus disconnects your lips and finishes as well, but your heart isn’t catapulting around your rib cage anymore. However, a new kind of anxiety is settling in.

Morpheus sees the look of concern on your face and wipes a few beads of sweat off your forehead. “Are you all right?” he asks. “I know this was sudden.”

“Should I be worried about getting pregnant?” you wonder. You really like this man, this god, this Morpheus – but you don’t know if you’re ready for a baby, even with someone that you could easily fall in love with.

“No – for our kind, child-bearing is a very intentional process.” You swear you see a shadow of sorrow flit through Morpheus’s eyes. It’s gone before you can analyze it too deeply, and he says, “I wouldn’t surprise you with that, especially in these circumstances.”

He pulls out of you slowly, and you kiss his cheek to let him know you’re ok. “What now?” you ask. “I would ask if I can sleep over, but I guess I’m already doing that.”

Morpheus lets out a brief laugh. “I understand your meaning, darling.” He wraps a blanket around you, and with a wave of his hand, you’re back in the dream version of your own bedroom. “You’ve had an intense experience – I think resting in your own space will be best.”

“For…how long?” you ask. “I’d like to see you again.” You’d like to do a lot more than that, but you don’t want to seem desperate.

“You will soon enough,” he promises, and kisses your cheek. “Rest well, Annie.”

It ends up being about three weeks later, but Morpheus does keep his word to you. You’re dreaming of the vineyard again for the first time since the dinner, and as you turn a corner, he’s there waiting for you. He pulls you into a firm embrace and kisses the side of your forehead. “Have you been well?” he asks.

You nod. “I’m feeling a hundred times better, but I did miss you.”

“I missed you too – but there were arrangements I had to make before I could come check on you.”

“Oh?” You truly don’t know what he might mean by that.

Letting you go, he squeezes your hand. “I had thought,” he says, “that perhaps we could go on a tour of the Dreaming together, and I needed to map a route. You’ve only seen your section and the Palace, after all.”

You smile wide. “Is my Lord Morpheus asking me on a date?”

He returns your grin, even if his smile is more understated. “Yes, I am – I don’t want my intentions to be unclear this time.”

Linking your arm into his, you ask, “Where to?”

#the sandman #the sandman spoilers #the sandman fanfic #morpheus x reader #morpheus x original character

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titlemewickedwonderland · 2 years

Text

Mr. Sandman (Chapter 1)

Summary: Felicity Burgess, the adopted daughter of Alex Burgess and Paul McGuire lived a sheltered life from the dark secret that lay beneath her feet. But what happens when that secret is now her's to keep? Will her love for her family keep her from doing the right thing or will Mr. Sandman bring her a dream worth sacrificing everything?

Chapter Triggers: Slight cursing

Author's Note: This is my first The Sandman series so please let me know how I do! I am a big fan of the show!

"A single dream is more powerful than a thousand realities." - J.R.R. Tolkien

Wonderland's Workshop

As children, we are told many lies that we think as true. We are told there are no such things as monsters beneath our beds or inside our closets, and that there is nothing hiding in the darkness as soon as we turn off the lights. We are told that nightmares are not real and that they cannot hurt us. We are told that dreams really do come true to those who believe in them the most. You get the point right? Well, those are lies. All of them. There are monsters who hide beneath our beds and in our closets. There are shadows in the darkness in the shape of humanoid creatures with glowing eyes staring at you while you sleep. Nightmares do, in fact, have the ability to harm you if you aren't careful and dreams do not come true if you simply wish for it hard enough. How does one know all this? It's because, unlike most people, in some very rare cases there are those who can see beyond the veil of lies that we are told when we are young. Felicity Burgess was one of those special people. She grew up with views and beliefs that were beyond what people would consider socially acceptable. People say she never quite grew up. They say she might have been cursed as a child while living in that god-awful mansion of the Mad Demon King Roderick Burgess. Others may say she is a witch like her grandfather before her. That she is just not right in the head. Now, there is some truth in that. Not all, mind you. But some nonetheless. See, Felicity Burgess was the daughter of Alex Burgess and Paul McGuire. Two men who lived two separate lives in the same mansion but loved with the same heart while living under the rule of the head of the Burgess household. She was, of course, the adopted daughter since they could not have children of their own for obvious reasons. She was nothing but a babe taken from the Children's Home in the city after she was disposed of in their care after her mother died in childbirth, her birth father not being in the picture whatsoever and thus no one could care for her. So her fate found her care in the hands of the Demon King's son Alex Burgess.

Growing up in the mansion came with its pros and cons. Felicity never once wished for anything material as it was given to her without ever being asked courtesy of her two parents who adored her to the ends of the earth. While Alex was generally good-natured but awkward with her his love for the girl was evident even when he would grumble about something she did in a faux disapproving manner. Paul on the other hand had no qualms about fawning over the child and spoiling her rotten. It is a surprise most often people find that despite Felicity's upbringing when it came to her parents, the girl was not at all a spoiled brat. When they got past her surname to actually meet the poor girl they would find that she was rather soft-spoken and a bit shy unless in the company of those she had known her entire life. The gentle soul that she was would often cry if she saw even the slightest bit of injury come to anyone. I don't know how many times her tears were dabbed away by loving hands after she'd witnessed someone get a little papercut of all things. But that was just the kind of empathetic girl Felicity Burgess was and everyone seemed to love her. So it was clear to say that she was not aware that beneath her very feet lay something dangerous, something magical, and something utterly not of this world.

She was not privy to her grandfather's mistake. She was not told that hidden in her parents' cellar below them was a creature that had been captured and held prisoner for decades. She had heard rumors of Grandfather Roderick's past use of magic and his fascination with the arts of supernaturalism but she never had put two and two together thanks to the carefully hidden truth Alex and Paul kept from her. Even as she grew older and began to take more freedom around the mansion anytime the guards would see her or her fathers saw her go too close to one particular hallway leading to the cellar door her attention would be diverted elsewhere. It got to the point that she dare not go even 10 feet from the end of the hallway in fear of Alex's scolding. He seemed to get meaner and meaner about it the more he aged and the older she got. She did not understand it but Paul always told her one day she would.

Many years later, now that she was 18 years of age; her life was filled with the activities that Alex had begun teaching her. Mostly to keep her occupied and away from the basement as much as possible and because she was growing up into a fine young lady meaning she would be married off soon much to her distaste. She did not want to marry because frankly, she did not need the money nor did she care for the prospect of a husband. The ways of life had changed much since she was young so having an arranged marriage was almost unfathomable to her. They were not in the 1800s anymore but Alex was stuck in the old ways so frantically speaking it was only a matter of time for the poor girl.

"Lissy! Where are you pumpkin?" The sound of heavy footfalls paused when a slender hand rose from behind a cluster of rose bushes in a lazy wave.

A few steps further revealed the young woman lying in the soft grass with a small book grasped above her head. Her wild locks of auburn glistened in the faint light that was quickly fading from the sky making her hair glow like fire. A playful nudge to her foot made the girl drop her arms showing her face; pale and smooth like the palest of ivory with the greenest of eyes framed by thick lashes peering back up at the man standing above her blocking out the rest of the light. A fond smile graced Paul's features as he crouched down on his heels to be more level with his daughter.

"He didn't mean it pumpkin. He's just been in a bad mood recently, and hasn't been sleeping well." his voice was soft and his touch tender while he stroked her hair off her brow. He was keen to convince the girl that just looked up at him from the ground with pursed lips and furrowed brows for he hated when she and Alex argued.

"But does that give him the right to fly off the handle at me like that?" one brow raised condescendingly making the man's face fall slightly and shoulders slump.

"Of course not Felicity," he replied with a tired sigh.

"Exactly." the teen sat up and placed her book aside to look at her father with sad eyes. "Has the doctor been out to visit him today?" she tilted her head as her bright eyes scanned his face. She noticed how tired he looked. The bags beneath his eyes were a little more prominent than she remembered and her brows furrowed as she raised a hand to his face.

Her pale fingers were a deep contrast against his light brown skin as she traced beneath his light hazel eyes. Her frown deepened seeing him looking so haggard made her worry for Alex double now seeing just how much worrying about Alex had taken a toll on Paul. Guilt gnawed at her insides when she thought of all the countless times she'd fought with Alex recently over the last few months not realizing that it'd taken an effect on Paul as well. She didn't want to seem like a disappointing daughter to them truly but she felt she failed them a little bit as she stared at the man peering at her with a knowing look only a father could give.

"It's not your fault Pumpkin, I promise. Your father and I are just getting old you know. We are cranky." he offered some sort of reassurance but it only dug the thorn a little deeper in the girl's chest.

"You're not old." she replied with a small smile. "and I have never heard you raise your voice once mister so you aren't considered cranky," she added teasingly

"Not that you know of missy." Paul tapped her button nose before rising to his feet. "Let's get back inside, Alex is waiting with our evening tea blend."

Pouting slightly the redhead took his offered palm with one hand while the other snatched her little book off the grass as she rose. His hazel eyes caught sight of the title and a nostalgic smile crossed his face as he tipped his chin down at the item in her hand.

"I thought Alex had the maids get rid of all those fantastical storybooks." he raised a brow teasingly down at the girl as he led her back inside the large mansion.

"He did," Felicity replied airily as she bounced on her toes before placing a finger to her lips with a look of mischief twinkling in her emeralds. "As far as he knows."

Paul's warm laughter echoed in the halls as he led them into the kitchen where Alex sat at a table in his wheelchair with a cup of steaming tea in front of him on a saucer. The jovial sound turned his head and he watched as his partner led their daughter into the room. They looked so carefree and happy and for a moment he too was happy seeing such a pure sight. He hated the idea of what he was going to say that would wipe that innocence off the beautiful girl's face. He watched as Paul pulled a chair out for their daughter like a true gentleman before seating himself between himself and the girl.

"And here I thought the sunshine was fading from the sky." he joked catching their attention. "What's gotten the pair of ya in a good mood aye?"

"Nothing," Felicity stated quickly and shot her dad a small smile that hid secrets Alex may never know.

"Hmm." Alex hummed squinting at the pair of them. "Well, I'd hate to be the bearer of bad news, my dear. But there is some business that I'd like to discuss with you."

As he expected, that teasing smile and the happy glow died quicker than a fire consuming a pile of dried leaves. Those large green eyes focused on him in a way that made his chest clench. He hated to think this would cause another fight between them but it was not something he could avoid much longer the weaker his body became.

"Father if this is about marriage-" the girl began but he was quick to brush that aside with a wave of his hand.

"No no, my darling girl it's not about that. Not this time." he took a hold of his cup and took a sip of the tea before speaking again. A bit of unease in his voice. "You see, your old man hasn't been truthful with you. There are secrets within these walls that neither Paul nor I dare speak to you about; mostly because we didn't want you to be burdened by your grandfather - my father, Roderick's mistake and foolishness. It has been our burden to bear for a century now and well…" for once he was lost for words and Felicity had not spoken a word in the silence.

When Alex nor Paul said anything the girl's shoulders straightened a bit and she reached for her cup; to give her hands something to do out of nervous habit. "I know," she stated carefully as she reached across the table to grab the sugar cubes and carefully dropped three into her hot tea.

"You know?" Paul's voice was a little pinched as he shared a look with his husband.

"Yes. Well, technically no. But yes." the teen stirred her tea before her green eyes raised to meet her father's across the table. "I do not know the truth of your secret. I may be young but I am not stupid. Whatever it is that you have been guarding with your life for decades started with my Grandfather. I do not know what it is but I know there is something in that basement you do not want me to know about." she tilted her head to peer up through fire-tinted hair. "I know it's powerful enough to make you scared of it or else you wouldn't have kept it alive in that cellar for decades and shooed me away anytime I dare go near." she shrugged and sipped at her beverage.

"The entity in the basement was never your burden to bear, my dear," Paul said soothingly as he reached over to grab his daughter's hand.

"We were only trying to protect you."

"And what of you guys?" she glanced between the two. "I think I am old enough to make my own decisions. I am almost 19 years old for starters. You guys are not as young as you would like to think and you cannot hide your secret forever. It started with my Grandfather and it will end with me whenever you both are long gone from this world."

"Since when have you begun to grow up?" Alex's voice held a tinge of emotion in his voice as his dark eyes peered at her from across the table with regret deeply settling in his chest. He had been so busy trying to protect her that the older she got the less he realized that she was a capable woman now.

"I've never grown up father." her tone was even but soft as she gazed at him with a faint smile. "I will forever be that little girl who believes in fairy tales and magic and who has innocent dreams." she swallowed looking away. "The only difference between that little girl and me is that I have to look at this world through a lens that was never meant for me to wear and I'm okay with it; as long as it means keeping you safe."

"Sweetheart, we don't want you to have to be burdened by that thing's existence-"

"So what is it then?" she looked between the two. "You claim you don't want me to be 'burdened' or 'cursed' by it but you never once allowed me in on the secret. You can't tell me you don't want me to be troubled by it and at the same time drag me away from it without the chance to understand what hell is going on! It's a two-sided coin here when it should just be a one-way road."

"You do not understand Felicity!" Alex's voice raised slightly and a flash of hurt sparked in her jade-colored irises as she rose from her chair and leaned against the table with her hands.

"Because you won't let me understand father! You are the worst hypocrite on this earth! Do you want to protect me?! Then protect me by teaching me about that thing in our cellar!" she demanded

The fire in her eyes was nothing that Alex had ever seen before. The passion, the determination, and the side of her that simply was fed up with being lied to and shooed away as if she were nothing but another servant whose nose didn't belong in the household's business. Her usual innocence was temped down by the blaze that lit her features and it almost scared Alex to think the damage he might have caused to her by pushing her away.

"I did not want to have you hurt my firefly," Alex whispered softly lowering his gaze as if in shame. "I should have thought that by protecting you from what happened then you could have a normal life."

"But I am not normal, I have never been normal; none of us are as long as we hold the Burgess name." Felicity's anger deflated. "Please…Just, I have nothing left after you and Paul leave me…the least I can do is make your lasting moments peaceful; even if that means shouldering the burden you have carried too long by yourselves"

What was she planning to do? She did not know. Nor did her fathers. But the men knew that since it was too late to take back the words they would be forced to show Felicity just what was hidden beneath the lower floors of the Burgess mansion. When Felicity went to bed that night she found sleep to flee from her anytime she tried closing her eyes. She was replaying the conversation over and over in her mind many times which only allowed anxiety to creep into her mind the longer she thought of just what the darkest secret hidden in the basement could be. What kind of monster did they hide down there? It was still dark and late outside when she heard tapping at her window. At first, she thought perhaps it had been the wind knocking a branch at her glass as it was rather windy that night but the taps were rheumatic and it eventually made her rise to peer out from beneath her curtains. At first, she could only see her own reflection in the darkness that lay beyond her windows. But then a flash of white thunked against the glass and she jerked back.

"Good heavens what was that?!" she placed a hand to her thudding heart before she saw it again but this time it did not flee from her sight and she just barely managed to see the outline of a bird figure in the dimmest light of the moon.

A bird? Blinking in confusion the girl dared to unlock her windows and open them to make sure the poor thing had not harmed itself by running into her window but as soon as she did the small form darted into her bedroom and landed on one of the posts of her bedframe. It looked like a crow or was it a raven? Whatever type of bird it was, it stared at her with intelligence in its beady little eyes as it hopped once then twice with a caw and flap of feathered wings. It was unusually colored, not like any crow or raven that she'd ever seen before. It was normally sized with black glossy feathers with a black beak, talon, and eyes but the chest was pure white.

"Where did you come little birdy?" she asked curiously as she walked over and cautiously sat on the bed's edge peering up at the bird who merely cocked its head at her.

"Are you hungry? I can get you some bread from the kitchens?" she offered to rise again. She did not care if she was only dressed in a long-sleeved T-shirt with a pair of shorts beneath as she headed for her door; no one would be awake at this hour but the guards beneath her feet in the cellar. But as she opened her bedroom door she had to duck as the raven darted past her head and into the hallway. Scared that it'd knock something over Felicity chased it. It was hard trying to find the thing in the dark while trying to not sound like an elephant running down the halls but she'd managed not to wake her parents. When she thought she'd finally catch up to the raven it disappeared around a corner and she skidded to a halt at the end of a long hallway decorated with glass cases of artifacts of ancient cities and the like. Her heart nearly stuttered in her chest as she peered down into the darkness. A window at the end barely illuminated the pathway from the moonlight but it was clear enough to the redhead this was not your usual hallway. The raven with the white breast sat on the window sill's edge right next to the door leading into the cellar.

"C-come here little birdy. Come on." she cooed in a shaky voice as she held her hand out. "I can't go down this hallway. You need to come back this way!" she whisper yelled glancing behind her to make sure there were no guards nearby.

It barely registered to her that it was the short time in space that the guards would be swapping shifts so there were none to guard the door. The raven did not move and only let out a loud caw which Felicity winced and quickly took a few steps inside the dark hallway as if she could hush the bird's loudness.

"Quiet! We aren't supposed to be down here!" she hissed frantically. But as she returned her gaze back over to her unwelcomed feathered guest she froze when she realized it was no longer there. It'd disappeared, vanished completely into thin air. There was nowhere to go without it being seen but it was not there. She hadn't seen it fly off anywhere and the window there could not be opened. Feeling the shudder race down her body she found herself taking a step backward back towards the safety of the open space but as she began distancing herself from the forbidden hall she felt as if something -something ghostly and ethereal- tug at her shirt as if to pull her back. She froze and closed her eyes feeling the thrum of energy. So ominous and powerful seep into her core and made her heart thud erratically at its presence. It felt as if someone was trying to guide her into the darkness behind her.

When she felt as if the blackness behind her lids would swallow her into the void her green eyes opened wide only to find herself standing in front of the cellar door. One hand planted on the doorknob. Wait, when had she moved!? She hadn't even registered her limbs moving until she'd opened her eyes to find her at the completely opposite side of the hall in front of the forbidden door. The cool metal of the doorknob beneath her palm began to turn and she realized her hand was turning it. But she couldn't open it. When she tried it would not budge. Breathing a sigh of relief she pressed her forehead against the metal door; feeling the thrum of magic or whatever it was behind that door make her skin tingle. She'd forgotten this specific door had a keypad code that she did not know the numbers to and thus whatever was trying to drag her down to the cellar was stumped. Quickly letting go of the doorknob the Burgess heiress quickly dashed back down the hall and up the stairs to her room. She would not be getting sleep tonight that's for certain. But she did. Her eyes slid closed as soon as her body slid beneath her covers but her sleep was restless.

Click here for chapter 2

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#sandman netflix #the sandman #the sandman fandom #Morpheus #lord morpheus #the sandman series #dream of the endless #dream #morpheus dream of the endless #fanfiction #netflix the sandman #fanfiction: Mr. Sandman #dream x original character #morpheus x original character

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004thebrave · 2 years

Text

In the darkness I will meet my creators And they will all agree, that I’m a suffocator I should go now quietly For my bones have found a place To lie down and sleep – smother by Daughter

Tom Sturridge as The Dream of the Endless

Ella Purnell as Sandy the Muse, a dream created by Morpheus

#the sandbox #the sandman netflix #the sandman au #original female character #tom sturridge #ella purnell #sweetbitter 2018 #morpheus the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus x original character #neil gaiman

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thethreeeyed-raven · 8 months

Note

any hcs for dream of the endless?

love your writing sm 🫶🫶

dream of the endless headcanons

the kingdom of dreams | warnings : me professing my undying love for morpheus, dream of the endless is bbg you can’t change my mind, he’s just a sad cat | a/n : contains smut so if you don’t like smut go fuck urself uwu🥺 (IM JOKING) | tags : @knight-of-flowerss , @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom | dream of the endless playlist

despite being perceived as cold and distant, he has a soft spot for people and wishes to be loved in return.

because he's literally billions of years old, he's definitely experienced🫣, but he's never experienced true love (its ok bbg i can love u💗)

he has an insane soft spot for you, and will do anything to protect you

ANYTHING

bbg needs love and affection, bro craves for it

he gets jealous very easily and you have to constantly remind him that you're there and will never leave him

very emotional but never lets it show (he just like me fr but i cant keep it in)

his love language is definitely words of affirmation

he loves to tell you how in love he is with you and loves when you tell him the same

not keen on pda, he prefers to show affection in private

bby is a loner and feels isolated even amongst others

though an ancient being, he too often struggles with insecurity

yk how it mentions he was cruel or whatever? he regrets it so much

stop hes my bbg i love him sm ill protect him with my life.

he fears loosing his sister death, as she is the only sibling of his he is remotely close to.

pookie was locked up for 100 years, he CRAVES physical intimicy

hes open to experimenting

tbh i dont think hes the type to enjoy rough sex, i think he would prefer it to be passionate and loving.

he likes it slow, he wants to take his time and feel every inch of you.

he likes to be dominant and to be dominated

#the sandman fanfic #the sandman x reader #the sandman #the sandman x you #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #lord morpheus #morpheus #morpheus x you #morpheus x oc #morpheus x hob #morpheus x corinthian #morpheus x original character #morpheus x y/n #morpheus headcanons #dream of the endless headcanons

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 9 months

Text

Promises Five: The Hunt

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Dream of the Endless had been promised a bride.

A/N: I'll offer song recs to folks who are interested in asks! Still dealing with some mental health issues, but pushing through. HOLY SHIT THE NEXT CHAPTER. 0,0 Liking is sweet, commenting is divine. Talk to the lonely hermit, people. Her dog is tired of her shit.

The hounds sang after the hinds, and their masters followed them under the trees.

In the distance, the high castle sat like a toy house from which all the dolls had escaped, spreading their games and pageantry through the forest with bells and horns to warn away the deer and fox. Huntsmen released other deer, fox, and fowl from prearranged cages out of sight of the king and his swarm of courtiers, so the dolls could play pretend at feats of skill.

The bard kept to the back, holding a tight rein on her grey mare – who didn’t understand why she couldn’t stop and graze if the bard insisted on moving so slowly – in the company of the ladies Alder. Eilwyn, who’d visited the bard’s chamber two nights past, glimmered and glowed, illuminated like a piece of art in the dappled sunlight and the eyes of a few dozen would-be suitors. Officially, no one could pay court until the Endless had his pick. Unofficially, Eilwyn had received six declarations of love, five bad poems about her eyes, one good poem about her hair, and an uninspired puzzle box containing a gaudy necklace without a single gem of value.

Eilwyn loved it all, of course.

But as the younger woman amused herself snaring hearts for her collection, the bard conversed with the Dowager Alder, Eilwyn’s grandmother.

“The city lights are unbearable,” the elder Alder insisted. “My eyes are bad enough as it is, but when every street and tavern glows like the moon, I can hardly make out the planets with my telescope, let alone the fainter stars. With the travel time, I’ll lose whole weeks of work, and gods know if I’ll be alive to note my calculations this time next year.”

Manly shouts and howling dogs suggested something ahead had died, or was about to. The bard wondered how many of these fools in their fine furs would discover the material cost of bloodsport when they couldn’t scrub the stains from their velvets in the morning.

“You say that every year.”

The Elder Alder, on her aged palfrey, squinted at the green canopy shielding her beloved sky and tutted.

“And one year I’ll be right, like I always am in the end.”

The woman was an astronomer, a mathematical magician, and the idea of death hadn’t scared her since the bard first met her as a young maid. The wheel of the heavens moved before her, and it would move after, and that was well enough if she could just understand the damn thing before she shuffled off this mortal coil. She’d written books, and papers, and more books, and the bard wondered if Death would really hold off until the universe held no more mysteries. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Of course, Lady Alder.”

Arthritis had long-since gnarled the lady’s hands, and they twisted over the saddle pommel and a hank of her horse’s main like knobby cypress knees, straining with the roll and sway of her palfrey’s gait.

“How far is the damned camp?”

Another lady – one of the fools hoping to wed her daughter to the Endless riding very far ahead near the king – seized the reins of her precious child’s horse and passed the odd trio. She did not look to the side. She did not look at anything. She lifted her nose far too high. And she nearly trotted over her own servants in passing.

The bard waved, and the daughter gawked with wide eyes as she was spirited away from poor influences and dangerous words. Really, any damage was already done, and fleeing the scene of battle only showed weakness. What kind of lesson would the girl really learn besides the fact that her mother enjoyed making a spectacle of her piety? Parents really had the strangest ideas about children.

“Grandmother!” Eilwyn exclaimed, clearly delighted.

The bard, equally delighted, couldn’t help herself. “Such language from so fair a lady. Shocking.”

The Dowager shifted in her saddle, face puckered in discomfort. “Hush, the both of you.”

Oh, if only she could. She laughed to imagine how much pain and trouble might’ve been saved. And how many adventures missed. They never would’ve been friends at all if the bard kept her own counsel.

“You expect a bard to hold her tongue?”

“The sun will freeze first.” The Dowager made a point of staring down her granddaughter, though, and her granddaughter made a point of smiling very prettily in reply. A lord several lengths ahead called for Lady Eilwyn’s attention, and she brokered an armistice by riding out of her grandmother’s line of sight entirely, leaving the two old companions to fight their own wars.

“My old bones are not made for riding.”

A jolt of pity seared the bard’s belly like the pain after eating a rotten fish. She’d rather purge it and be done, but the prickling discomfort would only grow with age. There was no course but to swallow it down and imagine it hurt much less than it would in time.

“Why didn’t you take the coach then? It could’ve brought you in comfort.”

Swollen knuckles flexing, the lady scoffed. “With the rest of the invalids? Don’t insult me.”

“But it’s so much fun, old friend.”

“Old,” Lady Alder muttered. “Yes. I am that.”

The bard shifted in her own saddle, wondering if she could stomach any of the inevitable banquet awaiting them.

“That wasn’t the word I’d hoped you’d echo.”

An eye sharper than any hawk’s pinned her from the side, and she felt like a child caught sulking. “If you need reassurance as to that, then you are not half so clever as you make yourself out to be.”

She seized on the opportunity for levity and smiled with all her teeth. “You’ve known me for a fool many years, have you not?”

“Aye, but a clever one.” The lady considered. “Most days.”

“Such praise you give me.”

“You fished for it so often the lake is empty.”

“Unfair but not untrue.”

The lady hummed her affirmation, welcoming in a moment of calm as they road in the wake of the hunt’s chaos.

Ahead, those most eager to prove themselves brought down smaller prey on their way to the day’s camp. Once all had a chance to refresh themselves with wine as their horses grazed, most would sally out again in the name of dead beasts. Dusk would bring them back, and they’d spend the night drinking, feasting, and debauching one another just outside the safe ring of torchlight, pretending to be very daring and wild for fucking someone in a bush. A bit more hunting in the morning for those who could still sit straight in the saddle, and then all would return bloody and victorious to the castle.

The bard struggled to understand those who found the prospect of a royal hunt… thrilling. None worried to go home hungry, and the creatures they met in the wood came hobbled, with teeth filed and tusks blunted.

Rushing down a winding stair risked greater peril.

Bored by the day’s excitement, she let her thoughts spin out in wider and wider passes, circling the crux of the drama.

What did the King of Dreams dream of?

Revenge, she suspected. Vengeance on the king that may boil over on the land he ruled, and she must guide her favorites out of the flood’s path. Those practical answers satisfied the part of her that always craved a direction, a purpose, the next challenge to conquer, but the Dream King’s retribution sat like a wax seal over a longer letter. She would very much like to read that letter, even if it was dangerous, and unwise, and entirely reckless.

The Prince of Stories must have depths unfathomable, millennia upon eon of secrets and experiences carved into his bones. She wanted to dismiss her curiosity as nothing but interest in a vision of her future. Would she be like him in another thousand years? No. She’d still be human, and he was Endless. All the lifetimes of the Earth couldn’t teach her to understand one such as him.

But that didn’t mean she had no desire to try.

From farther up the line, a runner came jogging, peering up at the faces of the mounted company. He looked from one to another, seeking the right address to receive his message. The bard paused, recognizing the Everard house colors on servant’s tabard. Her horse stamped, whickering around the bit as her rider leaned out of the saddle to catch the young man’s eye. He saw her and darted to her side quick as an arrow.

“Is all well?” the bard asked.

“My lady Alis Everard and my lord Tomas Everard request you ride with them.”

The bard looked to Lady Alder. She hardly needed her friend’s permission, and none of the Alders were the sort to cherish grudges over perceived slights. But the bard didn’t want to leave her to ride alone, either. She needed good conversation and someone who cared enough to notice if she swayed on her horse.

“Oh, go tend to your nervous foal.” Lady Alder waved her off. “My own proud filly will see you pass and return to keep me amused. We favor different arts, but she has a sharp enough eye to see trouble riding by.”

“Thank you.” The bard pulled out of the column of riders, careful to avoid the servant at her side. “I’ll see you at the camp.”

Whatever Lady Alder replied was lost to the wind. Finally given her head, the bard’s mare leapt into a canter, her hooves thumping a second heartbeat that rattled up and through her rider. Old loam and the sharp green scent of freshly broken twigs gathered around her like a cloak as she moved just left of the path, removed from the rock and dust of the road.

The bard knew what colors to look for, and she let all definition blur as she moved past lords, ladies, knights, and their scores of attendants. They all looked so strange and out of place in the tunnel of green woods, dressed to stand out in a part of the world where blending in more often preserved life.

Near the front of the cavalcade, she found the Everards. Alis stared with wide eyes as the bard pulled even with her, mare prancing and snorting in frustration as her run came to an end. Her dramatic entrance pulled other eyes, and the king – only a few riders ahead – glanced back with frustrated disgust. Perhaps she should apologize that she wasn’t a stag. For all of the ruckus she’d heard from afar, she saw precious few carcasses dangling from the hunters’ belts.

“Thank you for coming in such haste,” Lord Everard said. Stifled amusement plucked at his lips, trying to lift them into a broad, laughing gale. It would be bad manners to laugh too loudly too near the king over a jest to which he wasn’t party, but Everard clearly struggled.

She answered with the grin he’d tried to school away. “Best way to travel. Now, what is the matter?”

Lord Everard gestured to his daughter, and she in turn tried to sink into the mud of the forest track. She hunched low, like she could melt into her boots. Her complexion had gone pale, despite the flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, and her gloves creaked as her dainty hands squeezed into fists. The bard let the merriment fade, looking and listening beyond the girl’s silence.

Alis’s doe eyes flicked towards the shadow who rode beside her king, and the bard understood.

Dream of the Endless wore his customary black, with the blood-red ruby shining on his breast like a heart he’d ripped from his prey. His nightmare mount had teeth where it ought to have eyes, and it laughed with a man’s voice. He carried a raven on his shoulder rather than a hawk on his glove, and anyone who hadn’t met his sister may mistake him for an aspect of Death. Or something worse, perhaps.

Lord of Nightmares indeed.

“He frightens me,” Alis whispered, leaning close. “I’ve had nothing but bad dreams since I came to the castle.”

As she should. A glance at her father confirmed he thought the same. Just because he’d been forced to bring his child to this storm didn’t mean he didn’t fear the lightning. He had too much sense for this farce and too big a heart to let the girl suffer. If his wife were not busy running the estate, she’d be here to shelter and comfort their little girl, but in her absence, he must ask the bard to fill the role, and she gladly pulled Alis’s attention from bad dreams to simpler truths.

“And you’ve never had a nightmare before?” She didn’t chide. She reminded. Even in the security of her own bed in her own home, the girl had touched the darker shores of the Dreaming. Its king would not reach out to swallow her now, even though he prowled so near in the Waking. “Alis, believe me, you are safe.”

Alis pulled her spine straight, taking a deep, intentional breath that shuddered on the way in and trembled on the way out.

“Do you promise?”

“I promise that if I’m wrong, I’ll find a convenient sword to fall on, and you can say you told me so. Does that make you feel better?”

“A little.” Realizing what she’d said, Alis blanched and rushed to add, “But only because I know you’d come back!”

This time her father did laugh, and the bard reached to reassure her with an honest to gods giggle, when chaos erupted at the front. The king and his companions came to a dead stop, and without warning or order, those who rode behind struggled to halt in time. Rearing horses and shouts of alarm rolled down the line like a breaker, and in the wave of confusion that followed, the bard once again left the road to circle forward.

They’d reached the camp.

A glory of golden stitching over swaths of emerald, the vast tents might cover an entire town, and smoke rising with the smells of rosemary and stewed venison hinted at the delights within.

The display paled behind the entity waiting at the edge of the woods, however.

Golden eyes like licks of flame from the sun’s heart smiled over ruby lips. Welcoming and menacing and all-too pleased with themselves.

Power perfumed the air, like honeysuckle and ambergris, clashing with the winter-cold snap of Dream’s clear displeasure. The King of Dreams had lost the veneer of humanity, and he set himself against the intruder like the deepest hour of the night resisting the dawn.

Few creatures could stand up to the king’s guest. Even fewer commanded the presence of function beyond personification. The bard did not know who the stranger was, but she knew what they were.

Another fucking Endless.

Every inch screamed of passion, romance, obsession. Golden hair and loose-fit silks that flowed like water into a garment that was neither tunic nor gown inspired sensual curiosities. They rode a unicorn, a bay mount with cloven hooves, a lion’s tail, and a goat’s beard. The russet horn glinted with flecks of gold, like treasure winking through a smear of blood.

The King of Dreams sneered, lip curling as he shared a frigid greeting.

“Sibling.”

The Endless in their path laughed, bright as bells and smooth brandy. It sounded to the bard’s ears like trouble. “I hope you don’t mind if I join in your hunt. Big brother.”

#fic: promises #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus x oc #female reader #morpheus x original character #dark!morpheus #fantasy!au

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alteon77 · 10 months

Text

The Maker, the Muse, and the Sundered Song: Chapter 1

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.

AO3 here, Masterlist here

Quick note: This is one of the short stories that I've had a ton of requests about posting, so I'm going ahead and putting it on here. This is set in the Precious Fragile Things 'verse about six years after the epilogue.

"Father!"

In the river of Fiddler's Green, Orpheus dips his hand under the clear water, rummaging around beneath its glittering surface with an intent furrow to his brow, the expression almost amusing for how out of place it seems on his youthful features. When at last he lifts the limb up and holds it out, his fingers splayed wide, Morpheus leans over to see what his son has found. Settled on his palm is a rock, one smoothed by the gentle currents here, and despite how blandly unremarkable such a trophy is, Morpheus cannot help but to smile at it regardless.

"You have found a rather impressive stone, my son."

"Is it magic?" Orpheus asks, a grin lighting up his face as he beams. It twists Morpheus' heart in emotion, that look of utter adoration. His son loves him as Morpheus has never known love before, wholly and all encompassing in the way that only a child is capable of.

"Perhaps," Morpheus allows. "Shall I tell you a story of it?"

As predicted, the boy, his boy, clambers out of the river, making his way to Morpheus before he crawls into his lap. He's wet still, his tunic having been drenched while he'd fallen a few times in his bid to find a suitable treasure, one that Morpheus knows he will ultimately store in the small box near his bed where he keeps such things. With the lightest touch of his power, Morpheus dries him, unwilling to see this child catch an ailment or chill from the sodden fabric.

Morpheus circles his son in his hold, his arms settling around the boy as he buries his face in his dark curls and breathes in the scent of him. He smells like sunshine and warmth, like the heat of a day spent outside playing when one is young and given to such frivolity.

"Father," Orpheus demands in his tiny, enthusiastic voice. "The tale!"

And with a low chuckle, Morpheus gathers his child closer to him. "Very well. Shall we begin today with Chaos? Or perhaps the Titans?"

"The thread, father! I want to hear of the thread!"

Ariadne and Theseus then, unfortunately one of his son's favorites, though Morpheus does not think he will ever understand why. His boy, another smile stretching across his still babyish face, claps eagerly in anticipation, and though Morpheus is relatively tired of this telling, he can do naught but to carry on with it regardless.

For he loves this child of his, so completely that he feels remade in the glow of his affection, so completely that he can never imagine seeing him hurt or brought low. He thinks, as a father should, that he would rend worlds to ensure this sweet boy of his always stays so happy as he is now, that he would tear the very fabric of creation apart so he might never know pain or suffering. With certainty, however, Morpheus knows this to be impossible. For Orpheus will grow as all mortals are wont to do, and once he does he will make his way into the world on his own, will be exposed to a great many things that Morpheus rather wishes he could avoid. It is the way of life, the way of all children really. They are born. They live. They mature. They pass. And despite the protectiveness that Morpheus feels for his son, he is well aware that he cannot circumvent this cycle.

No matter how fervently he might wish for it to be different.

Though in this moment, his baby is here with him, safe and content, and Morpheus thinks he would be a fool to waste such a precious thing as that on his own melancholic wanderings.

"As you wish, my son," he murmurs at last as he drops a kiss atop the Orpheus' head. "Once not long ago, there was a demigod called Theseus…"

"Dadda! Look!"

Morpheus glances up, blinking out of his sorrowful remembrance slowly as he takes stock of his surroundings. He is in the Dreaming, and many centuries have passed since Orpheus was a young child content to spend time in his father's presence.

Fiddlers Green is, as it is on most days, splendid in its beauty. There's a warm breeze gently blowing through the air, carrying on it the fragrance of nearby jasmine blooms. All around him, the land is covered in rich greens, a testament to the verdancy of this place, and the sun shines brightly, its heat pleasant on him where he sits near the river bank's edge.

His wife is in the Waking for the moment, though her reasoning for going had been relatively vague, and he had brought his son to this place in an effort to stay the worry threatening to overtake him. It is always this way, despite that he had realized years ago that his beloved would come and go as she pleased, however much he might hate the idea of her being outside of the protection of their realm. So now he finds other ways to manage his panic regarding the matter, strict as he is in his resolve to control his own frustrating fears.

"Dadda, please look," Chalen tries again, and this time Morpheus does as he has been bid, peering down at what this boy of his is cradling in his hand.

It's a rock, one smooth and polished by the flowing water of the river here, and Chalen holds it before him as if it is a prized discovery, one worthy of admiration.

Morpheus stares at it, his throat working arduously on a swallow at the sight of the stone perched on little Chalen's palm, his fingers curled guardedly in as if the object might sprout wings and fly from where it is nestled.

Which, given this child's skill with his power, could very well be a possibility.

"What have you brought me, son?" he asks, his voice rough with emotion as he again reminds himself that this isn't Orpheus. This isn't the child that he had inevitably failed so completely with his own foolish pride, with his own stubborn rigidity regarding his inability to even attempt an understanding of the boy's grief.

No. This is instead his other son, the one that he vows daily he will never err similarly against.

And Chalen, his sweet child of only six, smiles at Morpheus in that sometimes hesitant, shy way of his. His eyes, though, as wide and blue as a spring sky, shine in something that Morpheus can only call excitement. "It's magic," he declares, his tone sure and steady, not a hint of doubt in it.

"Magic?"

"Yep."

The pebble shakes, a faint light glowing from it, and Morpheus nearly snatches the thing out of his son's hand in a fit of his oft observed protectiveness. It had been like this with his daughter, watching her learn her way around her fledgling power with an anxious lurch in his stomach every time she wielded it. This had been the compromise between Morpheus and his wife, however. Their children could work to hone their proficiency at managing magic much sooner than he had allowed Aurora, but only if their making was kept small and contained, kept as these little demonstrations that wouldn't interfere with the running of the realm.

Between one heartbeat and the next, the stone transforms, sprouting eight legs all covered in fur that it wobbles around on as if disoriented. Atop this creation, eight glassy black eyeballs form that stare intently up at both father and son, an odd sight since the body of this soon to be arachnid is still very, very much that of a glossy rock.

Tiny hairs grow from the creature, spreading over the entirety of its thorax and abdomen before finally it wholly resembles what he's sure Chalen had meant for it to be. His son at this point has made dozens of these, dozens of perfectly ordinary, if a little large, spiders, and Morpheus would be lying were he to say that his rendering of them is not improving with each attempt. The freshly crafted being feels out along Chalen's palm with its new pedipalps, the shortened legs nearest its head, and the boy giggles in response.

"It tickles, Dadda," he relays just before he crouches down amongst the grass and lowers his hand near the ground, which the spider crawls quickly onto as if it is grateful to be free, as if it is all too willing to run from the gentle attention of the entity that had sparked life into it.

"That was an impressive spider, my star." Morpheus can't help the way that his words come out so strained and rasping. He finds himself overwhelmed with his emotion, with his memories of the child he had done so poorly by. It's not a sudden feeling nor a sudden realization on his part. Instead, it is one he's harbored for decades. Long ago Morpheus had understood all of his shortcomings where his relationship with Orpheus was concerned, and the regret of that has haunted him regularly since.

This sensation of remorse, of deficiency, is only magnified tenfold when Chalen climbs onto his lap like Orpheus often did as a youth.

"I love you, Dadda," his boy offers before weaving his small arms about Morpheus' torso to cling to him.

And Dream of the Endless can do naught but to return the embrace, burying his face in Chalen's raven dark curls to breathe the scent of him in. Like Orpheus, this son of his smells like sunshine too, and it makes his heart unexpectedly wrench in grief.

Still, this child is not Orpheus, and he deserves better than for his father to compare him constantly to the ghost of dereliction past, so Morpheus tightens his hold ever so slightly before murmuring, "I love you as well, my starlight."

They stay like that for a while until Chalen is ready to run again, and Morpheus falters for only a moment before allowing him to rise, to go and do as he will. Letting go, after all, is sometimes a father's duty as well, difficult though he's always found it to be.

In the dingy basement where she's kept, Clio pulls idly at the shackle locked tightly about her ankle. It's no use, she knows, but the metal chafes something terrible, rubbing the skin beneath it near raw so that she thinks she would do anything to have it off if even for a moment. Even the illusion of freedom at this point would be welcome to her, the ability to freely walk around the dank place of her captivity as tempting as an amphora vase of undiluted wine to a drunkard. But it is not to be. The restraints they'd put on her had been wholly unnecessary, a mocking bit of torment from the man that had abducted her. After all, while owned by the old laws, she could not flee even if she tried to, the rules regarding this contract absolute in their restriction.

It's dark here, pitch black in this forsaken desmoterion to which she has been banished, and her captors are monstrous in their demands, taking from her that which she is unwilling to give and utterly cruel in her treatment. For many years, she has not known a full meal in her belly nor the comfort of having clothing to cover her nude form. And while she is immortal and does not truly require these things, the mortals who have chained her down here act as if she is little better than an animal that they are readying to slaughter.

And there are some days, horrible hopeless days, that Clio wishes they would do just that.

She can still be hurt, can still mourn, can still feel the savage abuses they visit on her. When first she was stolen away from her home, she had thought that her thieves would only require knowledge, inspiration, but they seem to have no care for such a thing from her. In truth, they seem to care only for what they can do to her, for the fact that they can injure her time and time again without it bringing about her death. And injure they assuredly do. Repeatedly. Violently. Frequently enough that Clio has often cursed her immortality for its refusal to simply allow her end.

The door atop the steep steps into her basement opens, a thin ray of light shining in through the crack of it, and Clio squints up from where she's huddled near the corner of the room. The man there descends the stairs slowly, a malicious grin curving his lips as he fiddles with the fastenings of his clothing.

Clio gulps past the lump in her throat and prays fervently to gods, both old and new, that perhaps this time she might not survive. It is a futile thing, she knows, since nobody can hear her in this Tartarus to which she has been cursed. And so she gathers her courage as best she can, preparing herself for whatever brutality might be visited on her this night.

On Mount Parnassus, in a pocket realm hidden from the outside world, May takes a minute to collect herself and weigh the ridiculously insane but necessary action she's about to take. This could be stupid of her, she knows, wholly idiotic. But she isn't quite sure what else to do.

It's been nearly three years since Morpheus rescued Calliope, and for almost all of them, Calliope has been attempting to rewrite the old laws, attempting to ensure that what happened to her cannot be revisited on any of her sisters ever again. And in this massive undertaking, she's made almost no progress.

Which is to say she's made none. A fact that unfortunately isn't at all surprising to May.

The truth of the matter is that if the muse intends to rewrite the laws woven in Great Design, if she means to undo a part of it, then she's going to require a maker. Of the two left currently in existence (which are really just May and her brother Viego) May knows that she's the only one capable of handling such a delicate, grueling task, and so she's who Calliope needs to address and end this travesty in any meaningful way.

No matter how uncomfortable that might (probably will) prove to be.

Honestly, though, May can't for the life of her figure out why her mother had allowed such a thing in the first place. Did she not understand, as the universe grew rapidly, that slavery was wrong? Did her mother not grasp how these rules would make it so others could snatch up their victim's lives as if they had a right to them? And if she did eventually realize how bad the whole concept was, why the hell hadn't she put a stop to it right then and there?

May shakes her head as if to force herself to focus. Despite whatever her mother should abso-fuckin-lutely have done differently, she's not able to straighten this mess now. That mantle has fallen instead to May, who resolves to try and manage what she can to fix the flaw in the Design. As draining as it might be, she'll help Calliope to take care of it.

Drawing in one more steadying breath, May gathers up her courage and walks through the entrance, the magic of this place washing over her as she does. It's a cold kind of power, and it tingles a bit as she passes, the sensation somewhat like that of being unlucky enough to catch the spray of a waterfall during a freezing winter's day.

Once she emerges on the other side, she finds Calliope easily enough, spotting her immediately at the edge of a small lake. It's surrounded by flowers, fragrant hyacinths that bloom in rich shades of blue and lavender and rosy pink. Moss covers the entrance to a cave, and water from the lake burbles into a nearby stream that flows over the mountain's edge in a quiet, subdued murmur. The muse crouches by it, splashing her face with her cupped hands. This close to her, May can make out her clothes, from the immaculately clean, white chiton to the lacings along the back that are gold, possibly from a girdle made of the precious metal.

May knows the moment that this woman becomes aware of her presence, however, given that she's watching as Calliope's back goes rigid in what May is pretty sure might be fear.

"I didn't come to entrap you," May calls out, trying to keep her tone as reassuring as possible. "I promise."

Calliope stands like a soldier getting ready to make their last charge anyway as she turns to face her, and May thinks, somewhat distantly, that she's rather lovely. Her hair is unbound, and it hangs down her back in silken waves that catch the sunlight on the gloss of their strands. Her eyes, a beautiful brown, narrow as she peers at May in a wariness that May completely gets. After all, this being had spent many decades in captivity, and the lingering fear of being enslaved to another after something like that is one May understands all too well.

"Who are you?" Calliope asks, her voice heavy with the accent that most of the remaining Grecian deities retain even to this day.

"I'm May. May Westin. I've… come to help."

Wisely, May leaves out the part about being wed to Morpheus, thinking as she does that this entity knowing too early that she's basically her ex's new wife might not go over so smoothly.

Which, she supposes, is entirely fair. This whole situation is awkward to the extreme, but… it must be seen to regardless. And if May can spare Calliope a little of that unpleasantness, then she's going to. Or at least that's what she tells herself despite that she can't deny the way her intentional silence on this reminds her of nothing so much as cowardice.

"Help?" At this, the muse arches up a single eyebrow and appears for a moment as if she might scoff in disbelief.

"Yeah. With your mission to change the old ways. I… I know how to, and I heard about what you were doing, so… here I am. Ready to assist."

"You wish to… offer assistance in my quest to unmake the laws?"

Unmake. May could almost laugh at that phrasing, because this woman has no idea how right she is on that front. There will be a good deal of unmaking involved in this endeavor, but May doesn't tell her that. Instead, she simply answers, "That's right."

Calliope doesn't speak for a while, her forehead bunched up as if she's having difficulty making sense of what May's just offered. "Why?"

"Because…" May feels her heart begin to race, her hands shaking as some undefinable terror creeps over her awareness. She's remembering her own ordeal, her own brush with being forcibly bound. Because I was held prisoner, she wants to say. Because I know how horrid it is to have one's freedom snatched away like they never had it at all. Because I have a daughter that was trapped in a binding circle for a small length of time that felt like an eternity while I worked to free her. Because the thought of ever having it happen to another sickens me more than anything else ever has.

"Because?"

"It needs to be done," May settles on instead, unwilling to unload all of her trauma on this poor woman who was just minding her business until May barged in on her not ten minutes ago.

"And you… are capable of this?"

May nods quickly. "I am."

"Then if you are truly willing to aid me concerning this matter, you might start now. I am readying to leave to my sister's side and free her from her captor."

Relief washes over May. Not at the news that yet another of these poor muses has been taken but that Calliope is going to accept her for this task. This will go so much easier if she's working with the muse as opposed to being forced to shadow her. Teamwork, as her brother likes to say, makes the dream work and all.

"We can absolutely do that. Which sister is it, and where is she being kept?"

At this, Calliope hesitates. "It is Clio, but beyond that, I… am unsure."

May resists the urge to frown as she mentally digs through her many, many memories of the Greek deities. "Clio? The muse of… history?"

"Yes."

"Okay. That's… a bit weird. I mean, no offense to your sister, but history is…. I don't know what someone would really use her for."

"Neither do I."

May bites her lower lip in thought. "How did you find out that she had been taken?"

"The Moirai informed me of as much," Calliope supplies and in the blink of an eye, her appearance changes. From one second to the next, her hair is pinned up intricately atop her head and the water that had dripped down on her chiton no more.

"The fates? Well, then, I guess we can assume it's true." May blows out a frustrated breath. It's just like those irritating entities to give only the tiniest piece of information possible. She knows she can cast out to look for Clio with her magic, but something like that takes time, too much time that she's not sure Calliope would agree to give her. It's the binding that muddles a search like that up, the ownership aspect of what's happening to these muses making it a million times harder. It's set so firmly in the Design's weaving that it's extremely difficult to locate their threads, so to speak, hidden as they are by their captor's claim on them.

"Do you… have any idea of where to start?"

And at this Calliope grants May a faint smile, the kind born of wry satisfaction. "Yes…. I believe so. It is a… thin lead but a lead nonetheless."

Lead. Like she's a detective in a crime drama. The absurdity of that makes May grin. "Well, then. I've got a couple of hours. Let's blow this popsicle stand."

The muse frowns in confusion. "Popsicle stand?" She repeats the words like she's trying them out for the first time, which is probably the actual case now that May's thinking about it. On further consideration, she can't imagine what reason Calliope might have had to say popsicle before this.

"I'll… uh, explain it on the way," is May's promise as she nods her head one more time, fidgeting with her fingers as she often does when she's nervous about something. "We should... um, probably get going."

Calliope studies her anew at that, a scrutiny in her gaze that makes May think the muse is spooked, that she's going to call the whole thing off. In the end, she doesn't, though. Instead, her features go hard, impassively cold, as she brushes past May on the way to the realm entrance. "Very well, May Westin. Let us leave this place then."

#morpheus x oc #sandman fanfiction #the song of orpheus #morpheus x original character #sandman fic #sandman oc #dad!morpheus #morpheus fic #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus x reader #MakerMuseSunderedSong

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peachesofteal · 1 year

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In the Woods

Morpheus/Original Female Character Chapter 1 - 5.5k words Warnings: 18 + Minors DNI, minor character(s) death, nightmares. Mirror mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?

Inside a house, on a farm in the middle of the Irish countryside, a baby cries in a bassinet. The sun has long gone down, and the child’s parents have been sleeping in their bed across the hall for hours. Their baby, Róisín, who has a nest of golden curls atop her head, kicks her feet in frustration. She’s uneasy, something has stirred in her room, and it frightens her. She calls for help, for her parents to come and scoop her into their arms, for them to protect her. It is a difficult thing, to feel as she does, and unable to communicate it. Róisín screams until her face turns red.

A shadow slinks across the worn wooden floor, its feet stepping lightly on the boards, a small creature in its arms. The creature, a baby in her own right, sleeps undisturbed, face wrinkled from the amusement of her dreams. Pillowy soft dreams that shift into clouds of oranges and pinks, ebbing and flowing with her unconscious mind. The tiny creature, a small being, wears a soft dress that has her name stitched into the hem. A gentle finger strokes the apple of her cheek, warm lips press to her forehead as she is lowered into the bassinet next to Róisín.

Keep reading here.

#the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless x original female character #morpheus x original character #fairytale retelling #this fic has infected my brain #so here it is #dream of the endless #peaches writes #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader

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writing-for-life · 4 months

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I’ll be honest—I thought I wouldn’t finish it in time because the past two weeks have been chaos (sick child), but here it is:

A little one shot I wrote for Christmas as a gift to those of you who are reading/have read “The Light of Stars”. And of course it’s for everyone else as well (you might just not understand all the little references in the same way).

A quick word of warning:

This is a completely standalone fluff piece, but if you aren’t in the vicinity of chapter 22/23 of TLoS yet, you could consider it slightly spoilery, simply due to the fact where Thalia is at this moment in time. So I’ll leave it up to you if you want to read it if you’re not that far in.

I am tagging those of you who I know have read or are still reading, but feel no pressure to read this any time soon (nothing wrong with Christmas feelings in March).

If I forgot you (I’ve had such lovely discussions with many of you on Ao3), it’s just because I don’t know who you are on Tumblr, but this is obviously also for you.

All that’s left to say at this point is: Have a lovely Christmas if you’re celebrating, and thank you for being on this journey with me.

I’m missing these two, and I’m busy writing the sequel, but progress has slowed down a bit at the moment because… life. I promise they’ll be back for good, and up until then, here they are for now:

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022), The Sandman (Comics)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Original Female Character(s), Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Original Character(s), Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Reader

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, Original Female Character(s), Thalia Callaghan

Additional Tags: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Christmas Eve, Christmas Tree, Christmas Decorations, Romance, Female Friendship, Sexual Tension, Grief/Mourning, Love Transcends All

Series: Part 2 of The Light of Stars

Summary:

What happens when it is your first Christmas in the Dreaming and you miss your best friend?

For Thalia, there is only one way to find out…

@marlowe-zara @tickldpnk8 @safeuphigh @bluecsparrot @rey-jake-therapist @moonythesheep @intothesoul

#sandman #the sandman #the sandman fanfiction #lord morpheus #dream of the endless #morpheus #dream of the endless x original character #morpheus x oc #morpheus x original character #dream of the endless x oc #sandman fanfiction #sandman fanfic #Thalia my beloved you deserve your own tag #the light of stars #queue crew #christmas gift for my mutuals #and everyone else

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deliciousbasementtrash · 2 years

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Hopes and Dreams

Art from Danish School (19th century)

In this chapter you have an encounter with Death. Feeling defeated after Dream’s rejection her warm smile is more than comforting. Death brings the Goddess of Hope, Hope in a time where she needs it.

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x F!Goddess Reader, Dream x OC Reader (Dream is not in this chapter, it is a somewhat slowburn)

Warning: blood, death

Word Count: 1498

Note: This is a continuation series; I’m not sure how long it will be

Part One: Creation; Part Three: Roomies with Death and a Deal with Dream; Part Four: Pain and Nightmares

Part Two: Power

As I passed back into the human realm a sense of defeat overcame me. What if all of the Endless siblings react the way Dream did? What if I am a gift that no one wants to receive? Anger quickly filled my mind; why couldn’t Destiny have been more clear? Why couldn’t my creator guide me in any way?

I shook my head, trying to clear the useless thoughts from my brain. Those thoughts were not productive; they lead me to anger and despair. Two emotions that will not help my current state at all. Instead, I decided to focus on the latter part of Destiny’s words.

I can tell my power is vast, but every time I try and reach for it, it repels my hand like magnetic monopoles. Confusion fogged my brain. I could call to the power easily when Dream was opposing me as a threat. But now it seemed to reject me.

“What was it Destiny said? I have to listen?” I muttered out loud to myself.

I huffed as I sat down in the meadow, the grass tickling the backs of my legs and thighs.

Listen, the old gob told me.

I exhaled roughly and closed my eyes, and began to draw my attention inward. And I heard…

Crickets, bees, the wind in the trees, the woodpecker nailing into a nearby tree, raccoons cooing. I heard everything; I heard too much. Too much for me to focus, too much for me to hear beyond the mundane sounds of the human world. The human world was so loud. How could anyone focus on anything?

I clenched my jaw and shook my head. My forefinger anxiously tapped my thumb as I tried to relax. It shouldn’t be this hard. Frustration ate at my skin as I tried again and again and all I could hear was the meadow around me.

“Well this very clearly is not working, and I have resorted to talking to myself so my existence is clearly going well,” I quipped to the open air.

Needing a change of pace I rose from the meadow and started aimlessly walking. It wasn’t long before a worn-down wooden cabin came into view. My body urged me to go in. Like a fish on a hook, I could not resist.

Having some idea of politeness I rose my fist to knock on the door. The wood was so worn my soft knocks left indents in the door. I cringed and hoped whoever the homeowner was wouldn’t be angry. But no one came to the door. There was smoke coming out of their chimney, and chickens running around the house. There had to be someone home.

So, like a Godly entitled creature I am; I let myself in.

Inside the cabin was nicer than the outside. More care had been given inside the home. Herbs hung from the ceiling, and hand-carved rocking chairs furnished the home, along with a nice fur rug.

“Hello?” I asked, my body still urging me forward, “Is anyone home?”

A sound so soft passed my left ear. My head turned quickly, my pupils dilating, like an owl.

“H…el..p m…e,” a man whispered out.

Instantly I inhaled deeply and walked toward the sound, my body grew hesitant, no longer a fish on a hook.

“Sir?” I called out.

“H…ere…” he could barely grunt the sound out.

I found the man at the bottom of a ladder with a bookshelf on top of him. Instantly I gripped the bookcase and threw it off of him. The man’s breathing was uneven and staccato, he let out a sigh of relief as the weight was lifted from his body.

Fear gripped my chest as I saw blood leak from the old man’s side. Quickly I grabbed my dress and ripped it with my teeth, wrapping the man’s side to best staunch the bleeding.

Blood still pooled too quickly, too rapidly. Tears formed in my eyes.

The old man’s leathery hands found mine and he gripped them harder than I would have thought possible. His face was heavily wrinkled, but his eyes were bright and young. I could tell just from one look that this man was kind. That he would have peace in the afterlife. He looked at me in awe. He took in my overtly large eyes and wings and did not flinch.

“I prayed for an angel to save me. Are you my angel?” He asked, his leathery hand reaching up to brush against my cheek.

Something deep within me clicked in place as he did. I smiled large and bright and pressed my forehead against his own. I saw each and every one of his memories: past, present, future, even his dreams. I saw who this man was inside and out. I listened to his life, his worries, his loves. And at that moment I knew what he needed to hear to give him something he desperately craved and Hoped.

“I am your angel, and I came here to tell you that you will see your Jesabel again soon, my dearest Ron,” It was as though I was possessed by the bright sun of a summer's day. The feeling of sun-kissed cheeks, and cool bodies from swimming in the lake. Only coming out to eat a ham and cheese sandwich and then jumping back in. It was the feeling that brought Ron the most comfort, the most hope. He longed to feel that peace again. To feel that type of peace with his wife who passed two years ago. He didn’t want to be in pain anymore, he hoped for a life of peace with his Jesabel. He longed to feel her love again; it was his greatest hope, his deepest dream.

Ron started crying, gently I wiped his tears.

“These are happy tears, my angel,” Ron said smiling, brighter than he had been in months. Full of hope.

I hummed softly as I traced a finger over his brow and his nose like I knew his mother used to do. Slowly I saw the brightness leave his eyes. My heart clenched in pain as I saw the life leave Ron’s eyes.

“I will take good care of him,” a woman said behind me, holding Ron’s ghostly hand.

She was the embodiment of kindness, pure selflessness, and beauty.

I knew her instantly, “Death.”

“Hello Hope, Destiny has told me all about you. I will be back in a moment, stay here for me, will you?”

Still cradling Ron’s dead body I nodded. Slowly, I released my hands from his body. Blood stained my pristine white dress. The urge to rip it off my body, and scrub until I was raw, crawled under my skin. I shook my head and quickly spread my hands as wide as they would and clenched them into fight fists, over and over.

A flash of a shadow in my peripheral made me turn.

“You handled him extremely well. He faced no fear or anger in the end; I have to commend you,” Death said, slowly smiling at me.

I was no longer in the mood for smiling. Even though I knew he had his peaceful afterlife; I couldn’t help but feel…

“The first life I guided I felt empty too,” Death said, taking a step closer to me, “but know that you gave him hope and peace. He felt no pain, only relief.”

Her hand was warm as she reached up and gripped my bicep.

“It’s not just emptiness I feel, Death. At that moment Ron gave me a purpose. I knew how to use my gift. It was second nature like breathing. I finally understood the point of me living. But now he is gone and with him the understanding of how to use my power. For one moment I did not feel so completely and utterly alone and lost. I… I felt Hope, Death.”

Death shook her head, her curls bouncing as she did, “You will never be alone. It is as Destiny told you; you need only listen.”

Tears of frustration filled my eyes, “I might need some more instruction because I have been completely inept trying to figure it out on my own.”

Death laughed, “My goodness you are as dramatic as my brother. I like you, Hope. You brought comfort to a dying man who would have otherwise been alone and scared. I will train you to the best of my abilities. You will work by my side and live at my kingdom for as long as you want.”

Something bright rose in my chest, something akin to joy, “Am I meant to be your gift, Death?”

“Sadly, no. But I will steal as much time with you as I can, my Little Hope.”

My eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, I was at least a head taller than Death. But I did not want to question her just in case she took away the best offer I could have ever received.

Death reached out her hand, and I took it without a fear in my mind.

#the sandman #netflix the sandman #sandman x reader #sandman x oc #morpheus x reader #morpheus x original character #morpheus #fanfiction #dream x reader #dream x goddess #dream x fem!reader #dream of the endless #neil gaiman

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