#dream of the endless/goddess fanfiction

[thepaintedlady00]

Morpheus x Elemental Queen Reader, where after he is freed from Burgess Manor & while he is on the hunt for his tools, stumbles into the Reader's realm & finds himself surrounded by her elementals. He's brought before her & he meets the elusive & powerful immortal elemental queen. They become allies & she helps him along his journey. They soon become inseparable. Sometime after Dream learns his enemies have been defeated by her & her vast armies. They get married & have an family together.

I love getting to write two badass rulers falling in love and joining their kingdoms together! 😍😍😍 Sorry for the long wait, I hope you enjoy reading it!

Dream of the Endless wasn't expecting to have much trouble in retrieving his tools. After the century he spent in isolation and silent torment all he wanted was to repair his home, to regain the lost power he'd been denied for so long. So you can imagine his surprise when instead of being taken to Hell to retrieve his helm, he and Matthew arrived in a lush forest. All around them there was life, sunlight and warmth, tall fields of grass and raging rivers, animals watching them as they made their way down the neatly paved path. "I gotta say, this isn't what I thought Hell would look like."

"This is not Hell," Dream stated, weary eyes watching as the animals turned away from them, vanishing into the forest brush. "I do not know where we are, nor how we arrived here."

"Maybe you've lost your touch a bit," the raven offered. "Not to imply you're not capable or anything it's just, uh, been a while from my understanding."

Dream looked down at the bird as he hopped through a pile of leaves, the seasons shifting the further they walked along the path. He could sense eyes following them, sense power flowing through the forest and wrapping around him. For a moment he expected that power to crush him, it certainly could given his weakened state, but it didn't. Instead it swirled around him, feeling and sensing all that he was before it was gone and the forest grew eerily still.

The loud rumbling of the trees made Dream and Matthew stop walking as the trees around them grew closer, closing the gaps between them and forming a thick barrier. The bark on the trees twisted and peeled, revealing faces each different in every way but the same in one, their eyes watched Dream and their mouths moved in slow utterings that filled the air with words, a language he did not understand. The path behind them was gone, blocked by the faced trees.

"It appears we are to meet whatever force is responsible for bringing us here." Dream continued down the path, trying to ignore Matthews questions and the sound of the trees shifting behind them, forcing them to continue forward. Their voices, the words, were not possible to ignore and he found himself searching him mind trying to place what language it was they spoke, but nothing came. Either he did not know it or it was one he'd known once but forgotten as the eons passed.

A large tree, roots as tall as the forest around them, sat tall and proud on an island. Crystal clear waterfalls fell from the edges of the island and into a deep crevasse that surrounded the tree, but Dream could see some of its roots acted as bridges, carved and ornate with statues of wood and ice and rock standing guard. The path vanished, the trees forming a straight line behind them and leaving Dream with only two choices, cross the bridge or remain here and wither.

As they crossed Matthew examined the statues, commenting on how intimidating they looked, but Dream was more focused on the tree. Leaves of every color filled its thick branches, vines of silver and gold wrapped around the trunk, glowing with the bright sunlight hit them and casting marvelous kaleidoscope shapes around them. It was beautiful, this whole world that'd he'd just stumbled upon was something he'd never seen before, not even in dreams.

As they neared the tree an ornate door grew more noticeable, two statues of dull embers and molten lava waited for them. When Dream stopped at their feet, their eyes moved, looking down at him with glowing fire. One spoke in the same language as the trees did, it's voice no more than a low growl. When he did not answer, the other spoke, this time in words he understood. "Who are you?"

"I am Dream of the Endless. King of dreams and ruler of the nightmare realms." He said, head held high as the statues looked at one another. "I seek an audience with whatever sovereign you serve, for I fear I know not how I came to be here."

Both statues growled and looked at Matthew, pointing to the small bird. "Your messenger shall go with your message. You will remain, Endless."

Matthew grumbled. "Any ideas on what I should expect?"

"No." He knelt down to the raven and sighed. "Inform whoever rules this realm of the mistake that has happened and tell them we merely seek the exit."

"Got it."

"Matthew," Dream stopped the raven, fear curling in his chest along with memories of Jessamy. "If they should try to hurt you, leave without me. You will be able to find a way to navigate out of here."

The raven scoffed. "I'm not going to abandon you, boss. Just sit tight, I'll be back before you know it."

Matthew hopped up to the guards feet and looked up at them with a nervous cough. The gate behind them opened just enough for him to fit through and then closed tightly behind him. Dream waited, the heavy feeling in his chest not once relenting until the doors opened wider and Matthew came flying down a pair of ornate stairs. The guards stepped to the side and bowed to him. "It seems you have been deemed worthy of an audience, Endless one. Speak with caution."

The raven cawed as he grew closer. "That went better than I expected."

"What manner of being rules this realm?" he asked as they began walking up the stairs.

"I'm not really sure how to describe her..." Matthew chuckled. "She was surprised by the news, but she didn't seem too upset."

"A queen then?" Dream hummed softly. "Is she a fairie?"

"Again... I'm not too sure on what's what. I've only been around for like a day, remember?"

They walked in silence after that until the stairs brought them to a large room at the top of the tree. The ceiling was merely a canopy of leaves and hanging vines holding glowing crystal chandeliers. A long white rug spread across the floor in front of them all the way across the room where a throne stood tall, the right was fire and wood with green leaves and embers floating behind it while the right was stone and ice with decaying branches and jagged crystals growing out of it. Standing before the throne, raised up on the taller steps was a woman, the queen of this land he presumed.

Two large wings of green earth and blossoming flowers spread out from her back, long hair woven between them in an elegant braid. Her skin was covered in veins of green on her hands, but as the veins moved up her arms they shifted to brown and red and blue. She turned toward him, her eyes capturing his and stealing the breath from his lungs. She turned, the jewels that hung in her hair and on her long gown twinkled and clacked together softly. Dream was frozen, rooted in place as she looked at him. She was far more beautiful than he was expecting.

"You are Dream of the Endless." Her voice echoed around him, power washing over him like a powerful gust of wind. "Brother of Destiny and Death."

"You know my siblings?" He asked, voice weaker than he'd meant it to be.

She tilted her head. "Only a few of them. I stopped allowing your kind into my domain after your wretched sibling, Desire, came and abused my hospitality." Dream silently cursed his sibling as she took a powerful step toward him, head high and eyes devouring every inch of him. "Have you come to do the same, King of Dreams?"

"No." He bowed his head reverently. "In truth, I do not know how we came to be here. My sand was meant to take us to Hell."

"Hell," she mused. "A terrible place to visit willingly."

He chuckled, the sound bringing a softness to her face. "It is, but I have unresolved business with the Morningstar."

The queen looked thoughtful for a moment. "It is odd then, that you would end up here. My realm is well hidden, even to beings such as yourself."

"It is beautiful," Dream said, looking up at the leaves and gesturing to the view from the open spaces in the branches. "I've not seen anything like it before."

"High praise, coming from one that sees all the fantasies of men."

Matthew cleared his throat from his perch. "Think you can help us find our way out of here, uh, your majesty?"

The woman held her hand out, beckoning the raven to her. When Matthew landed on her arm she smiled brightly, eyes looking over the sleek feathers of his companion with wonder. "Such a beautiful raven you make. Was the transition difficult?"

"Transition?" Matthew repeated. "I, um, I'm still kinda new to all this."

"Oh, forgive me," she said. "I can help you. So long as you leave me with something."

There is was, Dream thought. "Name your price."

"A promise." She looked up at him. "That you not tell others of what you've seen here, nor of how to find this place."

Oh... Dream nodded his head. "I promise."

She moved toward the open skyline, the branches bending to her will as she gestured out toward another path of ice and snow. "The way out is through the mountains. It is a ways to walk, but if you wish it, I shall accompany you."

"It would honor me," he said, bowing deeper to her.

True to her word, the goddess walked beside him, shouldering his raven the majority of the walk. They made conversation with one another, sharing things between two rulers. Dream thought it would have been more difficult to talk to her, but it wasn't and he found himself wanting to talk to her forever. She was beautiful and kind and he'd not met any like her in all the years of his exitance. At the end of the path she kissed his cheek and pressed a hand to his chest. "I wish you luck on your journey and offer you this warning, on the path ahead you will be faced with choices, ones that will decide your fate. When the spirit returns to his place and the tremors cease, choose the kinder path."

She sounded like The Fates, riddles and unsaid words hanging between them as he took her hand in his, keeping it pressed to his chest. "Will I see you again?"

"If you so wish it." She said with a smile. "First you must choose wisely."

Dream went about his quest, recovering his lost tools and saving his crumbling realm. When faced with Lyta Hall, the goddess' words echoed in his mind and he found himself waiting. He allowed the two to say goodbye and instead of offering Lyta a vague warning, he offered her a promise. Her child would be watched over and kept safe from any that would do him harm. After dealing with The Corinthian and setting everything right with his subjects Dream found himself thinking of the goddess more often, wondering if she would visit him or if she'd forgotten about him entirely.

As if she'd heard his thoughts he entered the library one morning to find her standing there, speaking with Lucienne as his librarian studied her wings, fresh with new flowers and moss. They greeted one another fondly, and each day that passed after that they spent with one another. He would visit her realm and she would visit his. One day upon his arrival into her realm she was not there to greet him, none of her elemental statues or trees or even animal companions met him either.

A faint smell of smoke and blood tinged the air around him, and he found himself running down the path toward her palace. Lucifer and Desire were both set on ruining him, of bringing him and all he loved to the ground. It wouldn't be difficult for anyone to find her if they'd watched him closely enough, something that he should have been more careful of. There across the guarded bridge she stood, wielding a spear of the elements she commanded, the blood of the demons that had attacked her realm covering her dress and arms. She looked at him and smiled, strong and brave and absolutely beautiful. Dream knew then that he loved her and all he could think of from that moment on was how he could make her his queen.

As it turned out, that wasn't difficult. After the first attack, the goddess let loose a wave of her power and effectively smote his enemies. Any that lived, Desire most of all, got the message loud and clear. Dream was hers now, and anyone that tried to move against him would meet her in battle and they would lose. Peace, a thing he'd not truly been able to feel in so long, finally filled The Dreaming. In that peace her realm and his became one, as they did.

Now when Dream would enter his throne room, her throne sat beside his and his wife helped him create new dreams and nightmares to gift to the world of men. And so it would be for eternity.

[melancholypancakes]

Taking a break for a while

Update: So, I’m currently working on the “The Untold Myth of Dream of the Endless & Aphrodite the Goddess of Love” fanfiction. 

It’s a long story, due to talking a lot about Morpheus and Aphrodite’s friendship and personal lives. 

I’m also, moving in with my grandparents to try it out and get into the work business. 

If that doesn’t work out, there are always new jobs, if I don’t like the countryside I’ll just move back to the city with my mom and stepfather. 

This might be temporary or might not be, who’s to know. The reason I say, “Taking a break for a while” It’s due to the internet and I might be busy during workdays to upload any art, or type of fanfiction or just be on Tumblr to reblog fanfiction I just like. 

There are a lot of headcanons I would like to write for Morpheus, Witch! Y/n and Aphrodite I would love to write but the Problem is I might be too busy.

Also, I am highly thinking of writing a “Desire of the Endless x Aphrodite, Goddess of Love” Fanfic soon and Desire will be identified as a girl in that one ;)

I will be back soon, but then again it might take a while. 

Be good to each other and stay safe, everyone!

                                                             Love- @Melancholypancakes 

[preciouslandmermaid]

quiet fury in your head [xi]

Dream of the Endless x AFAB!Reader!Goddess / Sandman Fanfiction

Note: This one took me so long to write and i don't love it LMAO but next chapter is gonna be like pure smut-no-plot so...that'll be fun. The fic only has TWO MORE CHAPTERS until it's complete that's crazy lmao tagging @sapphireonline cuz they asked so nicely to be tagged :). Also, my fics on ao3 are for registered users only due to AI scraping.

No use of Y/N. See part 1 for all the tags tbh.

Warnings: none

Rating: 18+

(Read on AO3)    ||   (masterpost for other chapters)  

While standing on the shining, white salt flats, The Gates of Horn and Ivory open for you and the Dreaming cautiously welcomes you.

It’s emptier than you recalled (or perhaps the Dreaming creatures are hiding from you). You allow yourself the pleasure of viewing the Dreaming for the first time without anxiety and without fear. You glide your fingertips across a cobblestone bridge, and the clear, inviting bubbling brook beneath reflects an uneasy, shifting portrait of heartbreak and exhaustion. It takes a moment to realize the reflection is your own. You push away from the bridge, dusting residue from your palms, and trek deeper into the Dreaming.

A swarm of blue, shimmering butterflies fly past – their wings glow beneath rays of sunlight and faint glimmers of light trail in their wake. You lift your hands in greeting, hopeful that one might land upon your palm, but they merely dance through your fingertips with glittery wings before vanishing into the air. These creations radiated with such gentleness and care.

Morpheus’ absence is a thorn beneath your nail. You wrestle your difficult emotions into subservient silence. Your desire for him will achieve nothing and accomplish nothing. The prideful King has made his choice. He chose a glass orb prison in an amateur’s basement rather than to be with you and fulfill a centuries-old promise to reunite.

The landscape deepens to rich burgundy, dusky tan, and blooms beneath effervescent golden sunlight. The dry, warm air fills your nostrils and lungs. You stand on a plateau of flat, crimson rock. The sun remains in a perpetual state of dusk, painting the sky periwinkle, and pink, and streaking claws of orange. You crouch and lift fine, rusted sand and gravel into your palm. You hold it for a moment, sensing its warmth, feeling the essence of Dream’s magic before releasing it, and watching it swirl and twist on the wind.

A creature approaches you, timidly, and is burdened by a shell on its back—its face is weathered and gray. The skin around its neck is saggy and loose. A lantern swings on the tall, oak-sculpted stick it carries. It stands a few feet shorter than you, squat and bipedal, and watches you with beady and cautious eyes.

It bows its bald, speckled head. “I remember you,” it says in low, resonate timbre. “The Dreaming whispers your name, Lady Morrigan.” It speaks slowly with small ‘hmms’ between each word.

You think of the Corinthian. Do all the creatures assume you abandoned them? Is this creature yours? Did you create him? You hold no memories of creating anything inside the Dreaming. You only manipulated what already existed. Yet, you cannot ignore the fact that you may have forgotten something. Anything is possible in the life of a reborn God.

“Do they know I died?” You ask, “that I was unmade in the minds of Men? That I was forgotten? Erased?” You can’t help but spit that final word with contemptuous venom. The graciousness of forgiveness is a difficult lesson to learn.

The lantern swings when it starts to walk again. “The minds of Men may have forgotten. We did not.”

“Do you expect my gratitude?” you ask dryly.

Are you supposed to give this tortoise-creature a boon? That is what your devotees of old wanted. They had chanted, and sacrificed, and called you into their battlefields or into their beds. They begged for your blessing on all fours and you were fickle; You would kiss the brows of beloved warriors, or bite their hearts with a freezing, cold grip.

But you are no longer Nemain of the Sisters Three. You are simply The Morrigan, Queen of Nightmares, a forgotten monarch in the realm of Dreams. Your purpose slowly manifests before you. You promised Dream that you would return. If only he wasn’t so unreasonably stubborn, then he would’ve been next to you, with Roderick’s bones ground to dust beneath your heel. You desire for vengeance seizes like a vice around your throat. Roderick ought to be dead. The roots of his family tree torn asunder and fed to his funeral pyre.

The creature finally deigned to respond, “I expect nothing, my lady.”

Its black tongue licks its’ wrinkled, dry beak. You sense its’ desire to leave. The Dreaming flutters with this knowledge and cajoles you into trying to get it to stay. You fold your arms across your chest. It moves at a glacial pace, its’ lantern swinging, its’ clawed feet kicking up small plumes of reddish dust.

You say, “It will take you decades to reach where you’re going.”

“It is not about where I will be,” It says, “it is about the going.”

You shrug and allow the creature be.

*

You cannot effect anything within the Dreaming. Those powers remain locked inside a small ring that Dream used to wear on his pinkie finger. Aimless, you walk through the Dreaming, and you talk to Her inhabitants and in the words of a strange tortoise—you focus on ‘the going’, rather than the destination.

The castle doors groan when they open. From the outside, it seems as if nothing had changed, but the interior plumes with dusty motes and freckles of ancient, unraveling magic. Your fingertips trail against the dusty banister as you move through the arched hallways with new eyes and a wounded heart.

You don’t know this castle well. You never traversed it when you were confined to the Dreaming. Except for one place, of course. A place where an old friend might be found.

The scent of paper and leather fills your nostrils and Lucienne steps from the aisle of books as if she was expecting you.

“Lady,” she bows her head as she says it.

“Lucienne.” Her name is a feathery sigh from your throat. The sudden warmth that spreads through your chest is unexpected, but not unwelcome. Lucienne’s face hasn’t changed. Her inquisitive eyes peer at you from behind her rounded spectacles. Her full cheeks round when she smiles.

“I cannot express how good it is to see you,” she says, a book clutched to her chest. “The shelves knew of your return before I did.” She looks up, her expression icing into fraught sadness streaked with regret. The spine of a book trembles, like a frightened creature, before drops from the shelve and falls open to reveal its blank pages. Are all the stories gone?

“They are not all empty,” Lucienne says, as if reading your mind, and offers the book she’s holding to you. You read the etched, golden title. The Adventures Of...it reads before fading away onto the stiff leather. You flip through and discover an irregular layout of full chapters combined with blank sheets.

You ask, “What else remains?”

“Your room,” she says, returning the book to her hands and wearing it like a shield before her heart. “I did not go within, of course,” she adds quickly, “but I know it’s there.”

You knew it too. You lick your lips and silently leave the room without farewell. Lucienne doesn’t call after you, nor does she ask the questions you can see written across her face. There will be a time for questions later. Right now, you need to explore and confirm this reality – this land of broken Dreaming. A palace without a monarch. A graveyard without a keeper. A home without a hearth. The doorknob turns beneath your palm, welcoming you, as so many small pieces of the Dreaming tend to do.

A room you never slept in—except for when you were poisoned. A closet with clothes you never wore—except for your single black cloak. You step into the closet and quietly admire the craftsmanship of Dream’s meticulous touch. Your fingertips glide through gauzy starlight, twinkling in your palm. You lift your nose to floral fabrics and your stomach swoops at the scent of full spring dancing through your nostrils—lush, bright meadows, humming bumblebees, and the tickle of pollen at the back of your throat. The burning cold of frost, the viscous-ember of magma, the angry swell of a blue-gray sea; all of it is contained within your wardrobe.

Your jaw clenches. How can someone capable of such careful beauty be so stubborn and illogical? Why can’t he see that his realm need him? That his selfishness is causing harm? You clench your hand around fabric that is storm-cloud and heat-lightning.

A name drops into your mind. A name you had accidentally forgotten. You sweep yourself into the dress in swirls of gray-and-white color before you vanish from the Dreaming in a thunderclap.

*

Your toes sink into the damp, cold sand and the rainwater prickles onto your skin. The air hums with the brewing storm. Something in your veins – something powerful – ricochets down your spine.

“Dima!” you shout into the roiling, dark clouds above the ocean. “Morrigan, Goddess of Nightmares, calls upon you.”

The lightning flashes and strikes, erupting a piece of earth beside you, and sending hardened diamonds into the air as the budding rain commits to a roaring deluge. Dima is crouched in a three-point landing, her head bowed, kneeling and reverent at your feet. Your heart burns with joy.

“Rise,” you say while opening your palm to her. “I would meet your eyes as a friend.”

Her hand slides into yours and you meet her white-eyes with a smile aching your cheeks.

“You changed your name,” she says. You cannot tell if the water down her face is from the rain or her tears. In the end, it does not matter. You are happy to see her. She came when you called. She remembered you. That is all that matters.

“You remember me.”

“I am not as fickle as mortals.” Dima sniffs. “The sky, the stones, the water, and trees…” She gestures with both arms to the world. “We don’t forget.”

You say, “Neither do Endless.” It wasn’t only Dream’s devotion that re-made you and brought you back into the world as a Goddess. Dima, too, played her part in your revival. An Endless and the personification of Storms believe in a Goddess. What an odd following you have claimed. Dima looks away when you mention Morpheus.

“He lifted your banishment,” you whisper, and your words are clear despite the storm. “Didn’t he tell you?”

Dima folds her fist over her heart. “I could not go back without you.”

“Then come back with me now.” You offer her your hand once more.

Her smile is bright. “Is this a choice or an order, my Lady?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head at the gall – the bravery – of her. You are the Queen of Nightmares and yet Dima does not flinch. Perhaps that’s because she knew you before your death. You don’t frighten her and you don’t want to. She was your first friend, after all.

“A choice, Dima.”

The rainfall starts to lessen. “Then I choose to accept.”

*

50 years later…

(1972)

This is your third time visiting Fawney Rig. The second had been a rushed visit after you felt Jessamy’s death. It had been like an arrow through your lungs. You brought yourself to the cellar and demanded Morpheus allow revenge—if not for him then for Jessamy.

You were bound to Corinthian’s promise to not harm Roderick. But, you could harm others. You could make them all suffer for their foolishness. You could make Roderick miserable. But, you wouldn’t do it without Morpheus’ blessing. He needed to balance the scales. He needed to owe you his life, or something close to it, so that you could truly be equals.

Yet, Morpheus did not speak to you.

That had been about fifty years ago—give or take. It was time to see if the Dream Lord’s stubbornness had finally eroded. The snowfall is light, though thick piles rest on the pine like bruises. You choose to feel the cold. You let it push through the weaves of your wool coat and prickle against your cheeks and nose.

You reach for the doorknob and your fingers freeze in mid-air, straining against an invisible force, before omniscience wraps itself around you. They’ve warded Fawney Rig from me, you think with a furrowed brow. It was Corinthian, of this you have no doubt.

“Cowardly little nightmare,” you mutter to yourself, though you are a little impressed. It’s been decades since you’ve seen Dream, yet Corinthian is afraid of you, and worried that you’ll find a way around the promise that was made. “Smart,” you concede, blinking snowflakes from your eyelashes, “but cowardly.”

You reach out to Dream through the ambiguous, void-space of one mind talking to another.

“I do not expect a reply, Lord of Dreams, but I’d like you to know that they’ve warded the mansion against me.” You pause walking the perimeter. “So, even if you wished for my help, I could not give it.”

The magic surrounding Fawney Rig is well-crafted, tailored, and not even your various shape-shifted forms can penetrate it. You circle towards the entrance.

“It’s snowing. The moon is full.” You don’t know if Dream can hear you, but it feels nice to try. He rejects all of your ritual daggers, but perhaps he will take this instead – insignificant details of the world that he loves from the Goddess he revived.

“I’ve always had a fondness for nights like these. The world is gray and white. The moon is like a silver coin in the sky.”

You crumple powdery snow between your fingers. “You know, the mountains were my favorite place in the Dreaming. They still are, if we’re being forthcoming about it. I’ve yet to visit them again. They remind me of...solitude and serenity, the clarity that comes from being a distance.”

You pull a novel from the inner lining of your coat. There are hours before the next shift change and you want to see if the guards perform any rituals during the transition. You are curious to discover if you can break these bonds.

The hours whittle away as you speak to Dream, mind-to-mind.

“I heard about Roderick’s death. It could’ve been crueler. Should have been.”

“I would’ve driven him mad, if it had been me. I would have plagued him with visions of his dead son until he freed you with broken, bloody hands.”

“I ran into your sibling, Desire. About…” You count the years in your head. “Thirteen years ago? I asked if they knew I’d die if I returned to the Heart Tree and they said they had their suspicions.” You scoff. “Which I believe means yes. You likely know them better than I, so draw your own conclusions.” You idly wave your hand as if brushing the story aside.

You disliked being set up as a pawn in an emotional chess game between ancient, cosmic entities. You had told Desire as much and were seething when you turned your heel and said, “Leave me out of it next time.”

You aren’t a pawn, anymore. You look after the Dreaming. You look after mortals—especially young, scared children, like that little girl with the dog—regardless of whether or not they provide offerings or prayers. You don’t like to get involved in their messy, dramatic, and short mortal lives, but you like to watch them. You like to see how the threads of fate unravel and twist unexpectedly.

In time, you know that ‘The Morrigan’ will eventually reach the collective consciousness, but you just don’t yet know what new stories they will tell.

“I’ll return when I can.” You rise to your feet from where you had been sitting in the snow.

“Why?” His voice scrapes through your mind like gravel. Your knees buckle and you catch yourself on the manor’s brick wall. The cold air bites through your lungs. You want to live inside the roughed caress of his voice. A sweeter sound never made, you think, as you try to calm your heart.

Your heart hums. “Nobody else listens half as well as you do.” You touch your forehead against the wall and the Ward stings your skin.

“Until next we meet, Morpheus.” The promise lingers in the air among the snowflakes.

[orionsangel86]

Ya know y'all arent thinking this through properly.

Marriage is the safest option actually.

The only person who ever killed an Endless before is suffering eternal torment and will continue to suffer eternal torment until the end of the universe. All y'all choosing kill are basically opting for eternal torture. Pass.

The 50% of you choosing fuck, I get ya, y'all dont wanna commit to the ultimate emo king, but this was literally Nada's choice. She got to fuck the Dream Lord and then rejected him. 10,000 years of Hell was her punishment for that. The boy don't take kindly to rejection and he does NOT do casual flings. Y'all wanna fuck and run on Dream of the Endless? Nah I'm not risking that. Hard pass on 10,000 years of Hell.

Choose the Calliope option. Or the option Nada could have chosen. If Dream falls in love with a simple mortal, one who doesnt rule a kingdom, how bad could the destruction truly be of he decides to make you a goddess and Queen of his realm? I'll take that risk.

Then you're set. You get to strut around the Dreaming as Queen. Hang out with Lucienne in the library. Take relaxing strolls in Fiddlers Green. You also get to nag your emo husband into seeing a therapist and if you are so inclined distract him from his melacholy with a good fucking every now and again. Take tea with Death on weekends. Invite Hob Gadling around every Thursday and encourage an open relationship if you get sick of being the only romantic partner in the boys life. Start a polycule with the only other person in existence who would happily put up with the moody bastard!

And honestly? Most of the time the reason Dream's relationships failed is because once he had wooed and won his lovers, he went back to his work and sort of forgot about them. They felt neglected and then left him.

Me though? If I dont have to see his uber melancholy ass for a few years because he gets wrapped up in creating new nightmares I am more than happy to spend that time chilling and doing my own thing. I'll set myself up in a wing in his castle, access all the streaming services without paying, order as much dream food as I want, chat with the Fashion Thing about whipping me up the best couture gowns from the minds of the best fashion designers on Earth, read a couple of Tolkiens unpublished works and I dunno, take up fluid art as a hobby and spend all my time doing creative projects. I'll declare myself goddess of fanfiction and set out to provide fan writers the best inspiration and dedication to finishing their unpublished wips.

I'm not needy. I'll be more than happy to just be there when he needs me and otherwise do my own thing, which I think is all he ever wanted anyway. I could make this marriage work because I am stubborn enough and have enough self preservation instincts to make SURE it works. Lmao.

[thestrangestinthisstrangeland]

As We Lay Dreaming- chapter 14

warnings: This story draws inspiration from African mythology. With that comes American heartbreak. I don’t tell slave stories, but enslaved people are a large part of this history— warnings for mentions of this during Glory/Oshun’s awakening.

summary: The truth is as beautiful and sad as the woman who holds it locked inside. With the help of her grandmother and the secret she’s been sleeping with, and the Dream king of coursed Glory will find that in spite of fighting it, the truth might just set her free.

AO3

masterlist

I do not know this place. It is a dream, yes, but it is not mine. 

I am standing on a wide shore of pitch black sands that sparkle and shine. They shimmer so much that, for a moment, I am disoriented and wonder if maybe I’m actually looking at the sky. But no, this is a beach, and I am standing firmly on it. 

The dark waves come in breaking white; their soft rhythm is as calming as Dreams touch. I think of how he stroked my palm as I fell asleep. I know he is here with me, and not just metaphorically. I don’t need to see him to know that the shadow, even blacker than the sand, belongs to my unseen ghost. 

The winds blow, and I want to walk along the water's edge, but I don’t know which way.

It is so beautiful. Honestly, I could lie down right here and let the imprint hold me until the tides come to carry me home. 

“Peaceful, isn’t it? Sort of like walking the back roads. Waves sound like wind through trees when you close your eyes.”

I hear her voice, clear as the memories of our lives together. That’s probably because she is standing beside me. 

Selma. 

I draw back, not afraid, just overwhelmed. 

Swallowing the overflow of emotion I know she’ll scold me for if I let it show, I nod. “It’s beautiful,” I manage, don’t cry, I tell myself. If I cry, she’ll tell me to ‘hush up. 

We look at one another, and it’s like peering into my future. The high cheekbones, the dark eyes, and black lashes. The same curve to our nose and full top lip. “Hi, grandma!” 

“Oh, my sweet Glory.” She smiles so bright I can’t stop my tears from falling now. It’s almost unsettling to see her like she was before the stiffness attacked her limbs, freezing her in place until she could not communicate with us. Not so much as a blink. 

I fall onto her, pulling her so close that she has no choice but to let me feel her. She is soft like only grandmothers can be. She smells of Sunday dinner cooked over open pots and late summer evenings spent on the porch listening to her hum some old hymn, breaking the tune to call out for Jamie not to play near the water…  She is my young life, and I am a child again. 

“So, you finally found a way to me.” She says with a warm chuckle that makes her belly shake, and I pull back, smiling at her suspicious gaze. 

“Yes, I had some help— from the Dream King!” I try not to let on how I feel when I say his title, but I can’t pretend I’m not bursting at the seams to tell her. She was always the one I told my secrets to when I had any. 

“Mmhmm. I figured.” She says, petting my face and hair. I know that look, and she knows what I’ve been up to. I burn hot with embarrassment, but I'm a grown woman now; I can’t pretend to be a virgin forever. Those sleeping babies came from somewhere, even if they aren’t his. “He finally let you come to me?”

“How did you know?” I ask with a grin and a nudge at her side. She’s always been sly. 

“Oh, you learn lots of things once you’ve been here long enough.”

Of course. Old Selma Hill was never one to be outwitted, even in dreams, it seems. 

“And– I can sense him even when he tries to stay hidden.” She winked. “Hello Morpheus,” she calls, and we both turn our heads to find him stepping out from around nothing, as though sky and sand are a corner to hide behind. 

“Selma.” He nods.

“You look as pale and handsome as ever,” She says with a crooked smile.

A more gracious nod this time. “I am only here to see that Glory finds her answers undisturbed.”

“You know I would never cause any harm to this child!” She scolds him.

“I know, great one. It is not you I worry about.” He tells her, black robes flowing in the ocean breeze, showing glimpses of his thin yet deceptively muscular frame. 

“Then others know?” She asks, sounding suspicious again. 

I look at her and see a flicker across her face. A change—someone else who looks and sounds familiar but is too young to be my grandma.

“Yes, I think so. I am both here and in the waking world to see that she be given this chance at learning the truth undisturbed. I can not do much more than what I am now, which is to watch. You must be the one to show her.” Dream says in his lordly way that makes me feel both proud and small. 

“I will,” she tells him without hesitating, and when my grandmother bows, she is the woman I know– but when she rises, she is someone else. 

“Grandma!” I step away, horrified? I don’t know. This is her dream. Maybe this is how she sees herself. 

“Are you afraid, child?” The woman asks. She is so beautiful I can hardly stand to look at her.

“No.”

“Yes, you are,”

“I’m just confused.”

“Do not fear your own kind Glory.” Dream offers. He is close to us. I didn’t even notice him walk up. “This is much more than most are given. When the sleeping ones wake, so often they wander the world lost and angry, looking for answers as to why they’ve been forgotten; that is the lucky few who wake at all. Here, you will find your answers, but you must listen. ”

He is always sincere, but I can tell now that he is determined for me to come out of this reborn– no, not reborn. Awake. 

Looking back at the woman, I see in her eyes that yes, she is still my grandmother, but young, young like I am young. Young like my mama before she died.

“Mama?”

She shakes her head no but smiles like that old Chesire cat from the book I used to read while mama cleaned that fancy house. Something about it never left me. That’s the look of someone who knows everything that’s ever happened and ever will, but they have no intention of telling you. 

“Do you know my true name?” She asks. “Not Selma. Not Lucinda.”

I do not even know who this woman is, let alone her name– and yet, I’ve seen her face so many times it’s silly that she should even ask. How does that make any sense? 

“The answer is right there,” She says and pokes between my eyes, her touch hot as a lit match tip. “The recognition is in the center space. Look but close your eyes.” 

“I don’t… I’m sorry.” I shake my head, backing away, but she follows, “Please just tell me where my grandma went.”

“Hush.” The heel of her hand is against my head before I can move, and she hits me, not with force, but vision…

An explosion of light and sound transports me and the beach is small, I am small, the world opens up, and I think I see a hooded figure, a man holding a book chained to his wrist, flipping pages without turning them, all the way back to the beginning and I see them at their start.

I see all of them… 

They rise like waking mountains from the earth, stretching their limbs, beautiful and long. They are the earth– and the sun and the sea. They are the moon and stars, glowing every shade of brown and black you've ever seen. Together they create the magical spaces there are no words for, but if you draw breath, you know they exist, for they are the space in-between.

Born from the mind of Olodumare, they are the Orisha, and their numbers reach into the hundreds.

Some are lesser and watch over the little things that have no voice to speak— while others rise as Kings and Queens.

Be they of mountain or sky, forest or field; they are as mighty as they are many. Lover, as skilled at affection as they are warrior, deadly with their weapon of choice. And every one of them just as easily humbled before humanity as the next. They rise tall but never forget themselves before the ones who worship their names and tell their stories over campfires and cook pots, shrines and bedsides — inside great the temples through the smoke of incense.

On the head of the great ones are the crowns of their domain– Horns, feathers, and antlers, swirling light from countless galaxies, and sea moss laced with pearls, shells, and electric life from the depths below. In their hands are symbols of their work. A staff, a trident, a sword, a bow. Flames of crafting and the breath of life itself balanced in the palm of these newly awakened ancients who step onto the lands of the first world.

And they call this place Alkebulan.

Africa

Time passed, and all was good, but something was missing.

Olodumare went to his daughter Yemaya with a heavy heart, asking her to make his creation complete. She was the mother of all things beyond the mountain, so she left his halls with a smile, knowing just what it was the world needed.

Seven nights later, a new goddess walked out of the river.

Her crown was of golden sunlight, its rays the cloth that covered her.

Every moving thing stopped and turned, for none had seen beauty quite like this before.

She was the beginning of good things to come.

Prosperity, fertility, and the promise of eternal good health from those who drank from the sweet river waters of her birth.

She was the goddess of love and beauty, the likes of which the world had not yet seen, and her name was Oshun

Yemaya sat back and watched the fruits of her labors with pride.

Oko, god of hunting and farming, watched how Oshun gave her love freely to all who came to her, blessing the women of the land and guarding the children who played at her feet.

He would stand in his bountiful fields and bless her name, for she was the greatest thing he had seeded that had ever come to harvest.

**

The women sing the song of their grandmothers under the orange August sky.

By the light of the open flame, against the setting sun, they eat and drink and share wisdom and warnings. They dance and play with white calla lilies in their hair and lay gifts of melon and oranges at the river's edge.

It is not until night, when a little one wakes, her eyes blinking in the dark, that she sees her first white face.

She calls out for Oshun to protect them, but what is a goddess of love against agents of evil? They bind her and break her as they do the ones who sing her songs; they drag her from the river with her sisters and her mother, with all of her children, into the cold and endless night.

**

Under the creaking Timbers that drip with salt water, they lie in the belly of a floating demon and whisper her story to keep themselves sane.

Chains and fear, the stench of death.

These things are real, the stories are the escape, and with them, mother swims, and daughter rises into the sky, hoping to warm them through the hard skeleton of their descent.

**

Some of the old ones were lost, their tales forgotten on the voyage across the waters, but Yemaya was the goddess of the sea and her daughter, the eye of the sun. They curled up, tucked safely away inside the hearts of the women who carried them here.

**

Washed up like driftwood, I am on my hands and knees. I am desperate to breathe, trying to digest what I've just seen while rejecting the ocean water that washes over me, shoving me back down to the black sands.

For a moment, I'm convinced the thing that gave me life might take it away, but I feel strong hands grab hold of my arms and lift me up.

It is her. Yemaya.

"Mama?"

She smiles.

"You were sleeping too!"

She nods.

"How did you find your way inside her? Inside the woman — Selma?"

"Your journey is not complete." She says and lets me go.

The waves grab hold and take me back under. 

**

By the light of a tiny fire deep in the woods, the women sing songs none but the ones here can ever know about. The punishment for meeting is death, but this is their religion. This is their faith and the thing that has kept them going all these long years.

The children of Oshun and daughters of Yemaya sing praises and hymns on Sundays, but their hearts belong to the old ways, so under the silver eye of the moon in the heat of an August night, they thank the one their lost ancestors—their grandmothers—prayed to, for they pray to her as well.

Sitting tiny in her mother's lap, a child listens; light from the candle her mother holds flickers across her face. The little one knows these stories by heart; they beat with the first rhythm, and she walks by it with ease. This child, this girl, listens to every word, and inside her, sleeping just waiting— the story lives.

I open my eyes. I am lying on the sand this time.

"That was you?" I ask, looking up at her. "The girl in the forest."

She offers a hand and helps me up. "The way is strange, but we are loved. Consider it a blessing to have been remembered at all. Many were not."

I understand, and I am grateful, both as Glory and Oshun. "But my mother was Lucinda."

“Glory's mother was Lucinda, yes. And I am the mother of Oshun."

"Why wasn't Oshun inside of Lucinda?"

"We can not control who we are drawn to. Your spirit chose this child, and as this woman, you will live with the strength of her hard life and the power, energy, and essence of the goddess."

As she speaks, I can feel it– like a vibration of a second life that has always lived inside of me, but I can not pretend that I'm not angry too. "Where was she when I needed her."

"She was waiting. She was asleep."

"She could have stopped him."

Yemaya shakes her head at me. "No child. It does not work this way. Look at me. Do you think I wanted to wake up inside the broken mind of an old mortal? Waiting for her to die to be born again! I learned of her losses, and they pained me— her poor daughter, her grandson, and granddaughter… but there was hope."

She smiles at me and lays her slender black hand on my cheek "all was not lost. It was like forming you all over again." She says, and I know that she means learning of my slumber. "I have waited a long time, but it was worth the strange passage of time. And remember this daughter. Our stories were never forgotten. They worship us still."

"So, I am a goddess?"

"You were. And now you are Glory, and the spirit of Oshun lives on in you. You walk as two in one body, it will take some time, but soon you will not remember having ever been simply Glory or Oshun. You will be a woman who has known the taste of starlight, felt the sun's blessing on her cheek and known the power of her name."

"Changed thousands of diapers. Scrubbed floors, done more laundry than a maid, never had a pretty new dress, had four babies damn near in a row…

Yemaya's laughter was soft and kind. Nothing like my grandmother's, but I went to her just the same. Her arms were strong and held me tight. "All of these things, both your joys and defeats, will come together as you do."

I believe her. What choice do I have? In the far distance, I hear stomping against floorboards. It is the sound of anger and madness, like people trapped and trying to break free, but we are on the beach, and I see only the sparkling sands and black sky alive with stars.

"Follow it," Yemaya says, and I do not think to disobey her— she is the mother of all things.

I leave her warmth. It is one of the hardest things I've ever done; that sound is death. It is pain and despair, and I am terrified.

Eyes fixed ahead, I reach out to the side, my hand opening wide "please, please, please— I don't want to do this alone." No way has he abandoned me now…

His hand is cool and large, and safe. I don't even have to look to feel comforted by it.

Together we walk on until I notice the wooden boards beneath my feet. One, two, three, they are spaced out wide in between but slowly close the distance between them until they form a path. I let my gaze wander up to see where it ends.

I know this place. It is the one-room steepled church that stole my Sunday mornings until I started running away. They wanted me on my knees, praising his name. But I found my peace in the swamps and fields and climbing trees.

The wind from the ocean stirs and inside the chaos calms to the steady but sad stomp and clap of my people. It has a mournful beat left over from a place I've never been. The place where I was born.

They are calling me home.

Behind us, I hear my grandmother. When I look, she is back to the form I know, singing praises to the lord. Her songs are minor notes full of joyful sorrow. These are the songs of my youth, and they still frighten me.

Dream is with me; I can feel him there but pay him no mind as I watch her, singing and crying like she is praising her savior, and I wonder— is this the reason our true nature was forgotten? Why the ancients inside us stayed silent? Overshadowed by his righteous image, they never stood a chance against that flowing hair and kind eyes as he bled for sins we never committed. Funny, some of those sins were considered gifts before they were insults to this one true god.

Is this why our truth stays hidden?

Is this why Jamie died in the rivers that should have protected him? They are my own sweet waters, are they not? But I was sleeping inside myself. Had I been awake, I would have laid him in a bed of white flowers on the shore.

Selma rocks and sways. She sings until she is near tears, tossing her arms open to be saved by the one who is both father and son, the alpha and omega— the beginning and the end.

"The past can hold us back." Dream says softly, his hand on my shoulder. He feels my anger. I can, too; it flows from me into him, and I flinch, not wanting to spread these dark thoughts, "It is better to let go." He's right, I know, he's right, but I fear we were lost before we were ever given a chance to be found, and I am angry. It was never our fault, though. People in the dark will always seek the light.

I turn slowly, "Listen," I hear Yemaya whisper.

I turn and face that church. As much as I hate it, I know I will find some peace there.

The beat they stomp goes to my grandmother's song, but as I step closer, I realize it's lost that dragging slump; it feels less downtrodden.

The door is open now, and inside, I see light.

The light is them. My people, and as I walk down the center aisle, I make out their faces that are every shade of black that the world has forgotten there could be-- just as their gods before them. But they were made in the image of the gods, and I am here now. I have not forgotten.

I was once a living goddess. I blessed the women's bellies, ensured the prosperity of the houses, brought love into all their lives and joy to their hearts. Every day I walked among them, I was welcomed by their smiling faces and open arms, just like that one true god.

I have to stop and feel life again; I lay my hands on the stomach of a mortal, feeling how the baby grows and moves in the womb of it's mother. There is another woman who comes asking for my blessing too, and that one. I smile when a child laughs. I pick up another who holds me tight. Her tiny arms feel like the embrace of my own little girl in the waking world and the memory of her is a violent punch of reality.

I stumble, and they all reach out to keep me on my feet, chanting low until it becomes a new song, one of comfort and praise, and I think I am happy here. I could stay in this place forever with them, safe and content.

The church is gone.

We are standing in the highlands of home together where we belong. In the lush forests of Africa and all I can think is that I should have stayed, I wish I could have stayed, but the ones who were taken needed me more. Still I love them all and they all know my name. They still know my name.

I am alone in this place.

It is the church again.

Plain white-washed walls and creaking floorboards. A cross where another god died. He was not the god of my people but they pray to him just the same.

No, I do not fault them. I am not angry. They needed something in such times of despair. If only I could have broken free from the shell of the women who carried me over and passed me down, but they did not know.

It was not their fault.

I am here now.

Now I know who I am.

I am a daughter of Yemaja, and once, at the beginning of all things, I was Oshun.

"Do you see now?"

My grandmother and I stand facing the water again.

"Yes, I see."

"And do you believe."

"In what, grandmother?"

"Yourself"

I am not prepared to answer this. "Most of the world has forgotten me."

"But you have remembered. He, has remembered."

"I think he's always known," I say, unable to stop myself from smiling.

"He's wise in spite of himself. Very wise. Let him love you. He will keep you safe."

"Men promise so many things," I say, feeling the possible crush of disappointment. "Then they are the thing to fear."

"He is not a man." She reminds me, and I feel her soft hand on my cheek as the dream that is not a dream begins to fade. "And you are much more than a woman. But, outside of this place, you must remind yourself of that because they will do everything within their power to strip you of the powers you once took for granted. Be well, sweet child. And do not come to this place again, for this place is also a sort of death, and it is not your time to die."

Time takes a cigarette, puts it in your mouth

You pull on your finger, then another finger, then your cigarette

The wall-to-wall is calling, it lingers, then you forget

Ohhh, you're a rock 'n' roll suicide

Last song on the record.

Time’s up.

*

In the large room he'd made hers, where he'd thought his power could keep most danger at bay, the King of Dreams lay beside the sleeping woman whose eyes flicked back and forth under her shut lids.

She was on her way to the waking world, and he was her guide through swamps of swirling blue water, swarming hippos and crawdads, horned buffalo, bullfrogs, and cranes, whose white feather wingspan was as wide as Dream was tall. While here, he listened to her breathe as she slept. He listened to her children stir in their beds down the hall, still under the protection of the raven.

For once, he preferred the peace of the real.

The room was still and quiet but for the music. She'd made the space comfortable in the way mortals tend to make their surroundings naturally; all of her things were displayed, or laid out and placed where she wanted them to be. The heat of her daily routines left trails that could not be seen with the naked eye. But those like Dream and his kind could spot and follow them easily.

It was relaxing for him to lay in the middle of her world for once in spite of what was happening. Being so rarely afforded the opportunity, he'd taken a moment to rest beside her and just be. She may be rising through pink clouds along the side of a crumbling building in the dreaming, but in this room, Glory slept through it like the princess of a dark fairytale told to her children before bed-- her prince holding dreams in the palm of his hand instead of a kiss to wake her.

Her hands held tight to his arm that lay draped over her stomach. She twitched and moaned, her frown deepening as she began to rouse from the dream within Selma Hill's mind, and Dream, her loyal servant, stayed both here and there, ever watchful. He would not leave her exposed to Desire's lustful gaze since they'd dragged Glory into this ridiculous conflict against her wishes.

Of course he fully intended to get his point across without leaving room for interpretation this time, but that was a fight for another day, one that would take his full attention. His focus was on his queen– if she still found him worthy.

Eyes open now, he looked at her, resting with his other arm under her shoulders, and stroked her soft cheek like he had her daughter; a child who he'd grown to care for as much as he did all the rest of her children.

Damn them all.

He had too much room for them and not enough space for so much love. It was the surest way to yet another sad ending for the lonely King. "Ah well. Best save the hurt for when it happens." He said quietly and kissed her forehead, closed his eyes, and waited, all the while knowing every second of what happened within the Dreaming.

Glory's lips parted with a name she did not say in this world, but in the dark, she shouted. Her hands curled into fists gripping the sheets, her chest rising and falling with the panicked breath of a woman fighting to emerge from haze of two minds, and all the while, the music played on.

Oh no love! you're not alone

No matter what or who you've been

No matter when or where you've seen

All the knives seem to lacerate your brain

I've had my share, I'll help you with the pain

You're not alone

To anyone who didn’t know, they looked like two young people in love, passed out after a wild night.

The sleeping man could have been some beautiful, once-in-a-lifetime occurrence not unlike the one singing on the spinning record.

The woman, well, she was something different. Her sleep was peaceful, yes, but something was captivating about her and the way she looked regal even while lying in bed.

Moaning softly, she curled towards him, still holding his hand until her head tossed back like the air was slowly being pulled up and out of her lungs by a giant’s fist.

She sprang up sitting beside him, clutching her heart.

The room erupted with her own internal light until she sank back down into the bed and into his arms— the touch of Dream’s lips to her temple reassuring as he held her tight.

“Enough of this. It is time to come back. You are fighting with yourself but you must find peace. Work as one. Rise together.” He said gently.

Clutching her tight, Dream spoke against her warmth “ You are here, here in the room I made for you, in the house I gave to you because I love you.” He whispered watching the women stop resisting. They stood at the edge of the dreaming now, the unification nearly complete, “I will come back and pull you free if I must,” He warned over the music.

Just turn on with me and you're not alone

Let's turn on with me and you're not alone

Let's turn on and be not alone

Gimme your hands cause you're wonderful

Gimme your hands cause you're wonderful

Oh gimme your hands

“Wake up” He commanded, watching, waiting.

Dream nuzzled her face, so calm and relaxed in sleep. “I love you ” He added-- pleaded.

Glory, perhaps Oshun. Fractured pieces of both doing their best to work as one, let her eyes flutter open.

She lay there aware of everything that had happened, her mind still reeling, the world feeling like it was hurtling in the opposite direction. She squeezed his arm. There was only one place that centered her after such a dizzying journey.

She looked at him.

“Morpheus.” She touched his face, so relieved to feel his cool flesh.

Forehead to hers he breathed in her exhale and closed his eyes. “I am here Glory, whose true name is Oshun. I am here.”

**

Stirring from her much needed, uneventful and true sleep, Glory sat up and looked down at Dream who stroked the back of her bare arm.

“How long have I been asleep?”

His jaw flexed as he sighed, “Long enough for me to learn that Raymond does not like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, Esther might be smarter than all of us, and I believe you are not alone…”

She turned and looked down at him. “What do you mean?”

“Your youngest son– Arthur Hill.”

She held her laugh behind a smile. “Just Arthur is fine” She said, reaching back to lay her hand over his. “What about him?”

“He is different.”

“I know.” Arthur had always loved watching her get dressed. He’d shown an interest in her shoes and makeup more than once. He had a gentleness about him and his soft spirit worried her. Life would not be easy for him in this cruel world.

“Not like that. I mean, he is – more like you than you may have realized. He gives off the energy of more than one life Glory and you should watch for the signs. He is special.”

Wide eyed, she swung her head around and looked at the shut door. “Arthur…” Tears pooled. “Why us? Why my family?”

“I do not know. It might be a matter of convenience, safety. When one comes, the others might follow. I can not say.”

“I hope he’s alright.” She said, her voice trailing as she drew her knees up to her chest.

“He is fine. He is still a boy who knows nothing but playing with his siblings, a little television and comic books.”

She laughed through her tears. “He’s sweet, so sweet, nothing like his father, he looks so much like him though.”

“With his mother’s heart.”

Glory shut her eyes and wiped her tears.

“Are you alright?”

With a nod, she let out a deep breath and turned around to face him, her back to the foot of the bed. “Thank you. For being in there with me, I mean.”

“I would not have let you go in alone.”

She gazed down at the face that never changed for her knowing this was true. “There are only two things I don’t understand, well, there’s a lot I don’t understand, but time will take care of that, but one I can ask you now,”

“What is that?” He asked, hand on her thigh.

“Why didn’t you want me to know? And don’t lie!”

He seemed caught, trapped by the blunt delivery.

“I…”

“Just tell me,”

He pushed up and sat facing her, his stars so dim his eyes were black but more like the eyes of a man that way. “I assumed you were Orisha. You are powerful Oshun, you are a goddess, and yes I am the King of Dreams, but I have known your kind before. You grow weary of my world. You like to gaze at humanity through eyes that see them the same way you do. I never can, and I never will. I can not leave the Dreaming to become a god. I can not give up my realm to rule a kingdom that is not my own at your side.“

“So when I’m Glory, I’m just a simple country girl you can have because I’m no threat to your greatness ?”

“I did not say that.”

“Didn’t you?”

He raised his brows, their eyes meeting. “Did I?”

The silence went on until she felt his hand slide up her thigh and cross over her belly to her waist, where he started to pull her close. “What are you doing?” She asked, resisting.

“I do not want to fight with you.”

“We’re not fighting.”

“It feels like the start of something very similar to a fight.”

“I just don’t want you to take advantage of me.”

“And I do not want to watch you walk away.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She leaned back looking him over. “Dream. Morpheus!” His stern face hardened just a bit more, which she did not know was possible. “The only place I’m going is with you to warn your little sibling to back off.”

That got him. “What?”

She smiled and sat up to smooth his hair back. “You said it yourself. I’m powerful. Maybe not as much as you, but surely a goddess of love, prosperity, and sensuality can tell the personification of Desire to stay away?” She asked, rising up onto her knees.

He watched her, understanding, Dream’s energy shifting as he took her by the hips. “Desire would be flattered to see you again.” He said, showing his hidden sense of humor.

She grinned. “I’m sure.”

“But, what was the other thing?”

Glory paused, head tilted just a bit “I still don’t know who my father is. Do you?”

“No.” He said, realizing it. “No, I don’t.”

“Another mystery for another day. For now, I just want to celebrate knowing who I am for the first time in my life.”

Their lips met as she slipped her leg over his.

The sound of little fists banging at the door and the cry of “mama!” pulled them apart. Glory's laughter broke the kiss, her head falling to his shoulder and Dream held her for just another second before he let her go and watched her leave the bed.

A Goddess of love, beauty and fertility– he should have known.

**

“You hear? The boss is leaving again Luce. I don’t like this. Not one bit.” Matthew flapped up onto Lucienne's long table.

“It’s not our place to like, or not like,” She said, dragging her gaze up and over one of her books. “Just to do as he asks and see that our work is done.” She said and went back to reading.

The raven hopped around from book to book quietly for a minute or two until Lucienne finally paused, laid her hand down on top of the pages and gave him "the look" over her glasses. “But you’ve got more to say. Haven't you?”

“It’s just that he’s been spending so much time with her, and he’s always leaving.I-I get it. She’s a great girl. She really is! Excuse me, woman! Glory is one hell of a woman. She’s kind, and smart and an incredible mother. Those kids worship her. Wait until they find out she’s a real goddess!”

“A what?”

Matthew hopped back. “What?”

“What did you say?”

“Uh…”

“Matthew.”

“You’re kidding me. You didn’t know? You’ve got to be kidding me! This is amazing! Me? Matthew the Raven knew something before luicenne the librarian? Wow. I don’t even know what to say, other than, maybe sorry?”

“Of course I knew." Her tight half smile took the wind out from under his wings "But when did you find out?”

“Well, the boss asked me to keep a look out. He and Glory had to go into her grandmother’s dreams and that left her kids open to danger and what with Desire pulling their little stunt, he just didn’t trust leaving the house open, even with the new protection spell.”

Lucienne slammed the book shut “Desire's what?”

"I shouldn't say…"

"Matthew if you mean to keep this from me."

"They broke into Glory's room!" He confessed not wanting to get on Lucienne's bad side.

She was up and walking before he could process her reaction. “Hey! Where you goin?”

“To ask his majesty why I wasn’t informed of this! I was asked to keep Glory’s truth secret. However I was never told of Desire’s violation this… indignity! I don’t know if it was mere oversight or if I’ve offended him in some way.”

“Wait!” He flew to her shoulder. “Maybe he just didn’t want you talking him out of it.” He said “Wow you walk fast when you’re angry… maybe it's just that you’re really good at talking sense into him and once he found out it, well, maybe he didn't want to listen to reason. Can you blame the guy if he wants to show a little muscle.”

"Dream is the King of this realm. He is powerful, more so than I think he remembers at times, he is so bound to duty and honor. However, muscle, is not something he needs to resort to Matthew --it is beneath him."

"Sure…" He said and landed on her shoulder.

The walk was a long one through the halls of the dreamings castle and with the king away it seemed to go through every form it had ever taken on which made the treck harrowing at best. "You're slowing down." Matthew said once the massive room came into view.

Lucienne sighed, shrugging Matthew away. “I…” The throne room was as empty as she knew it would be. “I admit I didn’t know about Desire, but I am not his keeper. I am his librarian. His confidant at times– always his friend and nothing more.” She looked down at Matthew. “I just hope he knows what he’s doing.”

“Well, so far he’s been doing a pretty good job.” Matthew said and if he'd been able to he would have smiled at her. “But just in case, do you know how to summon his big sister?”

[deliciousbasementtrash]

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.

[fatecantstopme]

Fic Masterlist

Here's my fanfiction Masterlist! Read all warnings for each fic please.

Buy Me a Coffee 💜

🥵 = Smut

😬 = Angst

🥰 = Fluff

The Sandman

Morpheus Am I Dreaming? (🥵🥰😬) Let Me Remind You (🥵🥰😬) My Hope (🥰😬) Endless Rapture (🥵😬) Dream's Desire (🥵🥰😬) Need (🥵🥰)

Marvel

Bucky Barnes Unrequited Love (🥵) Give Me What I Want (🥵) How Could I Not? (🥵🥰😬) The Birthday (🥵) If Only (😬🥵) I've Made Mistakes (🥵😬🥰) One More (🥵) Hello Gorgeous (🥵😬) We Were Never Just Friends (🥵😬🥰) I Thought It Was Gonna Be Me (🥵😬🥰) Turning Tables (🥵) Life Finds a Way (😬🥰) Not Afraid to Love You (😬🥵) Love Marks (🥵🥰) I Was Thinking Maybe, Eight? (🥵😬) Why Wait? (🥵😬) Your Past Is Not Our Future (🥵😬) Before I Knew What Love Was (🥵🥰😬) The Wink (🥵) From Past to Future (🥵😬) Lustful Agony (🥵🥰😬) DBF!Bucky Series: Aged to Perfection (🥵) My Forever (🥵🥰😬)

BBF!Bucky Series: Save Me From Myself (🥰😬) I've Got You (🥰😬) My Whole Heart (🥵)

Steve Rogers Bring Me Back to Life (🥵😬) Thor Goddess of Thunder (🥵)

Supernatural

Dean Winchester She's My Siren (🥵🥰) This Isn't Real (🥵😬🥰) Not Yours to Take (😬🥰) Spell Bound (🥵🥰) Changed (🥵😬🥰) Truth Serum (🥵🥰) Take Your Time (😬🥰) What I'd Give (🥵😬🥰) Unattached Drifter Christmas (🥵🥰) Not Good Enough (🥵😬🥰) My Past, My Present, My Future (🥵😬🥰) Help Me Remember (🥵😬🥰) Fiend (🥵😬)

TVD/The Originals

Elijah Mikaelson The Original and The Anthropologist (🥵😬🥰) All My Life (🥰😬)

Riverdale

FP Jones The Serpent Queen (🥵) Remember Me Series Part One Part Two

NCIS

Jethro Gibbs Can't Wait (🥰)

Law and Order: SVU

Elliot Stabler If I Had to Choose...I'd Choose You (🥵😬🥰) The Connection (🥵😬🥰) That's Not What I See (🥵🥰) Love is Never Easy (🥵😬🥰)

Rafael Barba Still Perfect (🥵😬🥰) Better Together (🥵😬🥰) Late Night Brilliance (🥵🥰)

Nick Amaro I Can't Walk Away (🥵😬🥰) Trust Changes Everything (🥵🥰)

Criminal Minds

Aaron Hotchner Undercover (🥵😬🥰) Never Do That Again (🥵😬🥰) I Can't Lose You Series Part One (😬🥰) Part Two (😬) Part Three (😬🥰) Part Four (🥵😬🥰) Part Five (Coming Soon!)

Luke Alvez Don't Take The Girl (🥵😬🥰)

RPF

Henry Cavill Just You Wait (🥵🥰) My Favorite Cardio (🥵)

Chris Evans Fake It Til You Make it (🥵😬🥰) If I Love You Too Much, I'm Sorry (🥵🥰)

Buy Me a Coffee 💜

[orionsangel86]

Still on my soapbox about this because I fucking can't get enough.

Okay so lets talk about the Cat King! Does he have a name other than Cat King? Regardless, he is a handsome, sexy, charismatic and confident character. When the boys first meet him, he is dismissive and mimics boredom and states that he doesn't care about them or their case - but this is soon shown to be a front.

He displays a range of abilities throughout the show, including:

Shapeshifting

Teleportation (of both himself and others)

Time Manipulation

Can compell you to speak the truth

Possibly has the ability to manipulate people into feeling lust and desire for him

Can cast spells over objects to inact his will on people

Not immortal but clearly doesn't age.

Has 9 lives - presumably once the 9th life is done he will die.

These are some pretty heavy powers to possess. We know next to nothing about him other than he is the Cat King in this particular small town, but given his abilities and what we know of this universe, it seems fair to link him to either the Gods, the Fae, or the Endless.

Similarities with Desire

From the moment he appears on screen the comparison stood out to me.

He has golden cats eyes which do not change even when he shapeshifts (yes okay the eyes are cat's eyes but its very reminiscent of the golden eyes of Desire)

He has a lovely gender non conformity in his wardrobe choices. The boy can rock a skirt that's for sure. Certainly seems apt for a child of a nonbinery entity

"My Kingdom is all about Want and Pleasure" - is someone trying to emulate their parent?

He actually transforms himself into people he thinks Edwin desires - whilst not a trait Desire is known to have, it certainly seems like something they COULD do if they wanted to.

"I'm a fair and consensual Cat King" - as much as this is true, is this a case of like parent, like child with the kinda rapey "if I want something I'll have it" attitude because trapping someone against their will and implying sexual favours will free them doesn't exactly scream that you are "fair and consensual" and whilst Desire never did anything truly rapey in the show - they glossed over the whole Unity situation - we all know Desire in the comics hardly respects consent.

the general link between Desire and Cats - Desire literally dresses as a cat with a swishing tale and twitching ears. Clearly cats are creatures Desire likes.

So could the Cat King be a child of Desire? Well I think its totally possible! He seems like the kind of character that would have major daddy issues/mommy issues/general parent issues lol, and Desire is certainly the type of creature to totally neglect their kids and make them feel pretty terrible about themselves. So that could totally be a really fun dynamic to explore.

It does beg the question who the other parent would be. I think some form of cat God or Goddess would make sense. Lady Bast? lol. Perhaps she got bored of waiting for Dream and had a whirlwind affair with Desire instead?

Or perhaps his other parent was a simply cat spirit or cat fae that coupled with Desire for a short while.

Whatever the answer, I really like this headcanon, think its really fun, and hope that fandom embraces it in future fanfictions because I would LOVE to imagine a meeting between these two and how that may go down.

And who knows, with Mason on board maybe we can get some canon exploration one day! If everyone watches Dead Boy Detectives so we get a renewal that is!!!

YOOOO MASON IS ON BOARD!

@nualaofthefaerie tweeted this after we were geeking out yesterday about how much Lukas Gage reminded us of Desire and I joked that he was Desire's child.

Listen I am full on headcanoning this into reality. That Cat King was faaaar too much like Desire for me to ignore it. Huuuuge Desire vibes!

Clearly Desire themself agrees with us!

So what are we thinking? Talk to meeee about this! Who is the other parent? Lukas Gage is a child of the Endless with 9 lives and whole host of magical powers and probably a lot of parental issues twisting him up. Is Desire a good parent? Highly unlikely lol. But you gotta admit it makes for excellent fanfiction. :P

[igotanidea]

Morpheus reading his fanfiction pt 2

Here;s the next part of fanfiction reading. Part 1 can be found here

WARNING: I can't believe it <facepalm> SMUT

-Keep your voice down, Dream! Do you want the whole Realm to hear you?

He looked at me with angry pout but did lower his voice

-What do you mean smut section? What even is that?

-Oh, Dream, for an eternal, endless being you can be so oblivious at times. You know smut are the stories when you meet a girl and fall for her.

-I don’t . …

-And God! You are paired with so many different races…..

-Stop it. – he warned

-Humans, witches, fairies, goddesses – y/n rolls her eyes as she’s chanting - I’m pretty sure I even saw a fallen star story somewhere. Not to mention a fan fiction when you got Hob’s daughter pregnant.

-I… I did what? That is outrageous. Not to mention the fact Hob does not have a daughter.

-Are you sure? – I smirked – besides, aren’t you the most tender lover who praises the one who captures his heart – I narrowed my eyes at him playfully – and all the descriptions –I blew a raspberry – I mean.. wow!

-That is enough! – Dream abruptly stood from his chair almost tripping it over. He took a few steps towards me, and got me surprised by the course of action. Damn it! His miscomprehension of personal space making my breath hitch.

-Is it? I thought you wanted to know all about it. It’s still a story and you always said you like a good story.

-Than shall I make you describe it in details? – he asked grabbing my chin forcing me to look at him. Shit! Abort! – I thought to myself knowing well enough my pose was crumbling and I was giving myself away. This wet emo of a cat knew exactly the game he was playing at that moment. There was no way he didn’t notice my blushed cheeks and my heart race fastening.

-Well, wouldn’t you like that? – two can play this game, but it takes a lot of me to stop my legs from trembling and keep my voice cool. As I leaned closer, our faces were merely inches apart, my breath on his face. Just a second that seemed like an eternity before he pulled away and sat back on his chair. That left me with a mix of opposed feelings - satisfaction that I did not break but also some sort of… disappointment. He backed out so easily.

-Talk – Morpheus waved his hand around pretending that he didn’t care anymore. Liar.

-Well – I taped my chin with index finger and started circling the room like a predator hunting a prey – there’s this one particular memorable story. You met a girl, obviously. A female you utterly fell for. But, oh, how sad she did not reciprocate –I was now standing behind his chair pouting in fake sadness. – And what does the Dream Lord do when someone defies him? – I leaned so now I was devilishly whispering in his ear – I think someone may have an opinion on that…..

-y/n … - Dream warned but did not turn or took any action to really stop me

-Thankfully, the author of this story was merciful. So, you, I mean, Lord of Dreams, gave the girl so much love and affection and was simply so caring and gentle that she finally, finally – I emphasized the words- fell for him too. And, god, what a sensual fall it was. It took all night and some part of the day as well, if I remember correctly. After all, an Endeless have much more stamina than any human man. 

-This is your last warning.- I may be delusional, but I believe Morpheus’ breath was slightly fastened, eyes glistening with something I could not decipher.

-But you wanted me to describe it – I tilted my head innocently, now standing right in front of him – I’m just following your order. So shall I characterize more? That may be actually hard since from then there were not much words in this story. More like… sounds – I looked at him with smugness all over my face but started laughing immediately.

Dream just sat in his chair with blank, emotionless face, his eyes fixed on some undetermined point in space, emptiness behind them. His arms just fallen by his side. He was even paler than usual, which I did not think possible and did not move for a while which made me chuckle even more.

Oh my god – I thought – I broke him – another giggle escaped my mouth – I literally blew his mind.

It took a couple of minutes of this stillness to actually made me worried. What if I really did broke the Dream Lord? Maybe that was a bit too much teasing for him.

-Dream? – I crouched next to him – Morpheus? Are you ok? – I tried to look into his eyes, my hand resting on his thigh.

No answer.

-Do you want me to tell you another story? – I continued

Nothing. Again.

At this point I started to slightly panic. Should I call Lucienne or Matthew or….?

-Don’t even think about it – he finally hissed, his vision sharpening as he knew exactly that I was considering calling the reinforcement.

-Oh, thank god, I thought you were gone for good.

-Were you worried? – he looks at me teasingly..

-You wish – I scoffed – I wouldn’t want to have a vegetable of a Dream Lord on my hands. Did you manage to wrap your head around this story I was telling? – I asked - Well, that was just the begging, so….

-I think that’s enough – Dream said with shaking voice ­ - please

-Did you just …  - I looked at him confused, not believing the word he used – Oh, Dream…  - I shook my head at the sight of the mighty Lord of Dreams with watery, sad eyes looking at the floor – Hey, I’m sorry, but you wanted to know.

Silence.

-Why are you acting like this? There’s nothing wrong in those stories. At least not in this kind of smut. The dark, however… - I smirked again, but seeing Morpheus sad face did not finish the sentence.

-I have my own share of sad love stories. It never ends well. So hearing about the ones that actually works….. – he shook his head.

-Come on’ Dream. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You are an eternal being of a thousands of years… you can have your happy ending. Just not while looking like a sad wet cat.

-Mention this once again and I shall not be so understanding – he stopped sulking and looked at me with anger .

-Ok, hey, hold the fire! – I raised my hands in surrender – It brought the effect of knocking you out of your misery, after all. Now come on, I’m sure everyone is looking for their King. And … if I were you.. I would make sure that this section of library is restricted area

-How about I only make it possible for us two to enter here. I might need some sort of further explanation in the future. – he whispered to my ear standing right behind me. Close behind me.

-Explanation, my king? – I asked softly tiling my head just a tad towards him – I don’t think I understand what you mean by that….

-Oh you know perfectly. Is it not what you wanted after all, love?- he lowered his voice and I shivered involuntarily.  

Shit.  I fell into my own trap. By the way it’s unbelievable how erratic he can be in his behavior. A second ago he was almost crying and now he’s trying to be the man? Shit. Shit.   

-So, what do you say? – his hands were now on my waist and I freezed completely. –Hmm? Why so quiet now?

-I… I … - I stuttered but quickly spun around in his arms gathering myself and placing my hands on his neck – from what I know, you like being dominant so why don’t you show me if that’s true, my King.

-I hate you – he hissed and the next thing I knew was his lips on mine. Contrary to what I said to him before he was not rough or dominant at all. There was some particular gentleness and care in all of his action. Almost like I was some delicate, porcelain doll he was afraid to brake. Of course, it was still a kiss full of passion that he was hiding underneath, covering it from the world afraid of letting his guard down. And damn, I was always the one who thought myself unable to be taken by cliché romantics but I was melting under his touch.

-I apologize – he pulled away after a while that seemed both like eternity and a second, for sure not enough. His eyes were shining and he was definitely not sorry for what he did, more like awaiting my reaction. And that was good, because shit I did wanted more.

-Come back here – I whispered pulling him back to me by the lapels of his coat and pressing all my body against him, tangling my hands in his silky hair.

He was quick to reciprocate as he grabbed me tighter than it seemed physically possible. His hands was roaming at my sides playing with the hem of my shirt trying to touch every inch of bare skin he could. Feeling him get rid of the hidden tension I  slid my palm underneath his shirt tracing his sculpted muscles. Oh, shit! This is gonna be the end of me – I thought when I felt his soft lips moving towards my neck reaching the soft spot between the collarbone and the shoulder and making me moan.

-There you are – he smirked.

-Don’t you have enough of this? – I groaned impatiently. My most sensitive part was already pumping and aching feeling and well, hoping for what was coming.   

-No – he muttered against my skin moving lower and lower and…. – you had your fair share of teasing so why shouldn’t I?

-Morpheus! – I grabbed his hair so I could look him in the eyes – do not test my patience, now.

-Tell me what you want then. Tell me exactly what you want. – God, his eyes, his voice, his lips…... What was he doing to me? It was like my whole rational thinking just flew out of the window. It was only him and me.  

-I want you to touch me. I want to feel you whole. I want to know you want me as bad as I want you now.

-I do – he moved back to my lips whispering between kissed – I want you. I want to worship you like a goddess you are.

-Less talking, more action – I whispered back.

He smirked and without taking a single step, in the blink of an eye, we were in private chambers. Well, calling it a chamber may be a bit much since the only furniture there was really the king sized bed. Truly, the only necessary one. Without breaking the kiss which was becoming more and more heated Morpheus was walking me backwards towards it, holding me flush against him to prevent me from falling. Laying me down on the soft cushions and silky sheets may have been the most intimate moment I’ve ever experienced and we were only starting.

-Morpheus – I gasped when he climbed on top of me, slowly pulling my shirt up

-I love it when you say my name – he whispered freeing me of my bra and starting unbuttoning my pants along with underwear – say it again – he kissed my inner thigh which did not stop his hands from massaging my breast causing heat waves to roll through my body

-Morpheus – I moaned unable to control myself. - this is not fair - I tugged at his coat trying to slid it of him. With a single thought he made the clothes disappear and the view made me shiver again.

-You are divine. – he slowly moved towards the place when I needed him most. I can’t believe I needed some stories to actually make a move – he started working on my clit and it send me over the edge. No coherent phrase in my mind, almost like my brain just shut off leaving the place only for the senses and the overwhelming pleasure.

-Please – I begged him – please, get to the point.

-You are so impatient, my love – Dream left my soft spot and started moving up, leaving a trail of kissed on my stomach, breast, neck and finally capturing my lips again. It was just a couple of minutes and I’ve already missed their feeling on mine.

-Don’t tell me I’m the only one – I smirked, eyes closed feeling him hardened at my entrance.

-Impatient and cheeky. Open your eyes, I want to see your emotions. Each of your perfect features. Tell me, does it feel good? – he slightly moved forward preparing me for entering.

-Oh, shit, this is … this is…

-Tell me – he attacked my neck again sucking the delicate skin and leaving marks there and I immediately tangled my fingers in his hair pulling a little and making him groan.

-Overwhelming.

-Good – he muttered and with one thrust entered me.

-Oh, fuck! – I screamed but he was quick to shut my mouth with his own,  picking up on the pace. I started to writhe and wince underneath him fully at his mercy.

-Does it make you hurt, love?  - he asked with concern seeing my expression.

-No! no, just move faster, please. I’m so… close. Give me all, please. Please.

-I will. You shall have it all.

-Oh, God, Dream, I’m yours, please don’t stop. Please, I …. – I gasped when I finally reached my high. Stars exploded, worlds collided and I could not care less if anyone heard me when I came and screamed his name at the top of my lungs. Dream followed me soon after exploding inside, fulfilled. We both got what we wanted even if it was in the most unexpected way.  I was lying on my back desperately trying to catch my breath when I felt Morpheus’ arms sneak around me pulling me close to his chest.

-Shh. Shh, my love. I’m here. I;m yours now as you are mine –he was gently stroking my messy hair bringing me down to earth - How are you feeling? Was it good? – he kissed my temple rubbing my back.

-I feel …. happy – I simply said – cherished. Satisfied.

-Loved? – he whispered causing me to prop myself on the elbow to look at him carefully. Was he serious?

-I though you didn’t need love?

-I never said that.

-But…

-I only mentioned that my love stories never ended well.

-Quite a moment to reminiscent on that. – I muttered pouting

-Apologies. – he pulled me in again – My imprisonment changed me and I really am hoping I could turn the fate around. Hopefully, you will be there to help me. I do not intend on letting you go. The question is – will you have me?

-I will – I whispered – like Hell I will. – I promised

-Thank you. – he rubbed his nose against mine – I think I was holding back what I feel for you for too long

Who knew that fanfiction would be the spark you needed. – I smiled as he pulled me closer and we just stayed like that enjoying the moment of intimacy. This was a beginning of something that was yet to be determined.

[many-gay-magpies]

im having Thoughts about a sandman/bbc merlin crossover entirely because of this post and you are all going to hear them .

pretty much just continuing off of my tags on that reblog, i LOVE the concept of merlin just. EXISTING in that world. and how that would all work. after i read that post i was like what would he even BE? would he be a lost endless himself? and then it came to me, because DUH-- the triple goddess. the three-in-one (god help me i still think of shampoo everytime i refer to them as that). im just gonna put my tags here because it's easier than restating everything i already said:

i'm not sure of exactly WHAT merlin's role would be in this world-- maybe he's the embodiment of magic on earth, the "anthropomorphic embodiment of human magic" just as dream is the anthropomorphic embodiment of dreams. all the stuff that was true in bbc merlin could still apply: once earth had its OWN magic, just as the dreaming and all the other endless's realms did, in the form of plentiful human magic users and magical creatures, but king uther's purge wiped nearly all of it away. the three-in-one, who perhaps watched over this world just as they did all the others, had to rectify this unbalance by creating one single being, in which was held all that lost power: merlin. emrys. he is not an endless, not in name or ancestry, but he is a protector of the world in his own right; lord of magic, magical creatures, magic-users. the waking world IS his domain. i don't know how arthur would factor into this, except maybe the "golden age" he and merlin are prophecised to bring about is a world in which magic roams freely in the waking world again? i don't really have that worked out.

ANYWAY. now im having thoughts about, like OP of the og post said, merlin and hob (each going by whatever monicker they've chosen this particular century) teaching history at the same school and taking notice of each other, because both of them know the signs of an immortal undercover and see them in one another-- and perhaps hob even recognizes something OTHER in merlin, that speck of otherworldliness he's only ever seen in his strange friend. something a bit too knowing, too ethereal about the eyes; something eternal and ageless about that smile which, so unlike his strange friend's, is almost ever-present. they confront each other and maybe, in hopes of learning more about the odd stranger he meets once every century, hob asks about him; described him to merlin and inquires about him. in response, merlin smiles and replies something along the lines of "it appears you've caught the eye of one of the Endless. more than one, most likely, if you've managed to stay alive this long."

and now i'm having OTHER bbc merlin/the sandman crossover thoughts, as well-- because in this hypothetical world, merlin watches over all magic users, he is RESPONSIBLE for them. seeing any new person make use of the magic in the world fills him with great joy, because it means that magic is reawakening at last. merlin takes it upon himself to investigate new magic-users, and perhaps in one such investigation, he stumbles upon a disgrace to magic-kind: roderick burgess, who calls himself "the magus" and twists magic to serve him in the darkest, most corrupt ways. merlin is disgusted, and seeks to stop him-- and maybe, in doing so, finds that that "devil locked in his basement" is not quite the myth everyone thinks.

i said in the tags of that post that i'd most likely not be the one to write that fic if it got written, but now im considering going back on my words HDJFBFJFB-- i will admit that im far more familiar with bbc merlin than i am with the sandman, as i've only ever watched the show and never read the comics, so any fic i DID write would probably be from merlin's perspective (or hob's, since the show doesn't tell you too terribly much about him and id feel free to play around with his character a but). my problem when it comes to writing fanfiction is that i'm never too sure of how to write someone "in character" and i get intimidated trying to, so id probably be far too intimidated to write anything from dream's perspective-- but, well, we'll see what happens :P

[universal-kitty]

   Harvest Moon & Story of Seasons: To the Ones I’ve Loved (and Have Crushed On, In Some Form or Another)

   This will be under the cut, because there are a LOT of games to address!

Cliff: More Friends of Mineral Town/DS Cute

One of my lovetime faves from the series! I related to him, what with us both being shy and needing help a lot from the people around us. Look at how cute he is when he blushes!! Whenever I play DS Cute, he’s always my first option.

(He also likes grapes. Always a good choice.)

Gray: More Friends of Mineral Town/DS Cute

I...have complicated feelings for Gray, honestly. On one hand, he’s never stood out too much to me, for some reason. He’s a fun enough character- a gruff grandson of the local blacksmith, who softens up over your relationship with him- but he never caught my eye as someone I’d wish to chase down as much as, say, Cliff.

But at the same time, I have many fond memories of calling him “Uma Boy” (because of his hat) and it’s cute?? It has “childhood friends to lovers” vibes that still makes me hesitate when I want to say I- supposedly- have no interest in him...

Karen: Friends of Mineral Town/HM DS

While I prefer her art design to this one (the one with her two-toned hair), I adore this bachorlette regardless! A part of it her design, but the other part of it her assertive nature... After all, when I’m not looking to grow together with someone, I’m looking for someone who will help me come out of my shell! (Even if I must be dragged out, which Karen would certainly do.)

Marlin: DS Cute

Gosh... I remember overlooking a lot of bachelors back in the day. I was admittedly kinda shallow as a kid, so I easily looked over plenty of fine guys in favor of the “prettier” ones...ignoring my vague interest in the girls. However, in my endless attempts to see all heart events (cheat codes, babey!)....I ended up really liking Marlin. More than I thought I would.

He’s sickly, but determined to make it on his own. Hating that he’s babied, but acknowledging the fact that being sick is kinda scary for the family who looks after him, his elder sister, Vesta (owner of a popular farm in Forget-Me-Not Valley), and their hired help, Celia.

He blushes cute, is cute, and though I never married him in game, I did consider it. He’s doing his best and is so damn supportive...

Celia: HM DS

Speaking of Celia-!! Talk about one of my earlier girl-crushes! I had feelings for her that I could never pin down, because I didn’t hate her or anything, but I didn’t quite....friend-like her, either. Apparently, it’s because I’m panromantic af. Who would’ve guessed?!

Anyways. She’s cute, oblivious like me, and just as hardworking as Vesta, with all the kindness to look after Marlin w/o taking away his agency and wanting to help others.... Basically, I’m saying that if I F/O any one of these two, the other is coming with. Farming power throuple.

Flora: HM DS

(Belated sidenote that HM DS and DS Cute are the same game, but Different Gender. Natsume was slow on that one for a long while.)

Flora was yet another one of those ladies that I liked, but didn’t know it was because I was actually p gay. Whoops! Anyways, you see this lovely lass working on site with Carter (an older bachelor, for those who have a Type for older men). They’ve been working on this mine site, because...I think there’s some archeological finds down there? It’s been a long time since I played, so I don’t remember much!

....However, strong woman in a tank top and shorts make me a happy, fluster gay and her hair looking as fluffy as it does only intensifies it. (Ah, to lovingly brush off the dust and mud from her face from a long day at work... Clean her glasses for her while she cleans up... [dreamy sigh])

Skye: DS Cute

(oh god, I wrote his name as Skype accidentally, oH NO) Another bachelor I really liked during the early days....though for a long time, it was a toss up on if I Liked him or liked him [to pair with an OC]. While I did eventually pair him with an OC (Claire, the blonde MC option for DS Cute), there’s still a fondness in my heart for him...

And a plot twist, now... His “chick beam” ain’t gonna work on someone who’s not a girl~!

Muffy: HM DS

She’s just....cute. And hardworking. Flirty. The girl at the bar not only helping serve up drinks (to the best of her abilities; she’s learning), but a fun time! Definitely a bit of the stereotypical femme, but good gosh, I’d never want her any other way. Literally the only problem I’d have is I get uncomfortable around drunk people (past issues, fear of potential addictive personality, and drunk ppl are usually Loud People).

Otherwise, I’d love to be supportive of Muffy, her dreams, and how damn cute she looks!! (And relate to fears of getting our hearts broken, but oooohhh it’s got fic potential, that does.)

Keira: HM DS

This lovely lady is not only one of the early-day, special bachelorettes, but mute, as well! Her voice was taken away by the Witch Princess and (with no in game way to get it back for her) she communicates by writing on a board.

....Basically, I want to learn sign language with her and create a peaceful house with her and maybe a bunch of cats. Purrhaps.

Jamie: Magical Melody

(I was no longer able to get sprites/icons from this point forward, sorry!!) This game. Is so difficult...and go figure the one I like the best is the hardest possible spouse to woo! Complete the game, ship out at least one of EVERY crop, have owned one of every animal (at some point), and etc. Oh. My goddess. THE AMOUNT OF WORK TO MARRY SOMEONE YOU CAN’T EVEN KEEP!!!!

....Yeah, uh. All that work and the game resets. No post-marriage bliss for the PC and Jamie. (Who is apparently genderfluid.) I.....augh. In the end, it’s not even their nearly-toxic, tsundere personality that drives me up the wall.... It’s the fact that I can’t marry them and have it stay that way unless I want to write a bunch of fanfiction about it. :/

Meanies. Making me write out all this stuff myself...

Ray: Magical Melody

I feel sorry to say it, but I will: When I learned the game wouldn’t let the player marry Jamie permanently, I sought out someone else...and found comfort in Ray. He’s a well-known fisher and- apparently- has a timeslot on the TV for talking about fishing, too.

It’s a very fish-based lifestyle, but I guess that’s why I play as a farmer, right~? We can bring some variety in to the meal table! (Also, he’s a shy guy. What a cutie~)

Chase: Animal Parade

The reason I got into playing this game....and then everything else solidified my reasons to play forevermore! And to this day, Animal Parade is my favorite HM/SoS game of all time. (Literally the only thing that could’ve made it more perfect would be changing hairstyles/colors... Oh, and gay marriage. Gimme that too, pls.)

ANYWAYS, this asshole is tsundere as hell and a prickly pear, but.... If you can fight past it to befriend him, he’s pretty fun and....I guess dedicated to his work, is the best way I can phrase it. He’s still very much not too “soft” even after marriage (though he can be pretty damn cute), but... Basically, imagine Gordon Ramsey in a dating sim, complete with a redesign. Pretty accurate description of Chase.

I ship him more w/ an OC I have than myself, buuuut he’s still precious to me. In a dorky, tsundere way. (Also, I think about the OC I ship him with all the time... That whole save file was me being dedicated to marrying this man, from the name of the farm to the crops I sold. Goodness!)

Wizard: Animal Parade

The husband. Of all time. Not just for his looks, but also his sweet, quiet, gentle personality. Wizard (who’s real name is not revealed until you marry him) speaks in many ellipses.....some longer...than others.... But he’s also a stargazer. Oh, and implied to be long-lived. Y’know. Things to break your heart with.

I simply cannot put into words how much I adore him. I originally played this game to marry Chase (as I mentioned above), but it was Wizard who stole my heart. He’s been on my F/O list ever since and it’s there he’ll stay!

Harvest King: Animal Parade

One who actually used to be on my F/O list, but I removed him because I thought feelings had faded.....haha, fool. Nobody escapes the king. (Or, well, Harvest God, but y’know. Translation avoiding mentions of “god” and all.)

Honestly, I didn’t know how to feel about him aside from “I like his design” for a long while. He’s got a lot of elements that are aesthetically pleasing to me, but w/o good characterization to back him up... What’s left? (Plus, him not living at home with the PC kinda sucked. Was being a single parent really gonna be okay with me...?)

What ended up breaking my heart and reviving it all at once was his 20 heart line. “After you are gone… I shall love what you loved… I shall sing the songs that you sang.”

He is immortal. He must stay atop the mountain, only able to watch...sneak away, perhaps, when he can. He sees the inevitability of the PC’s death...and fuck. It hurts in the most bittersweet way. To imagine him, alone, years upon thousands of years after they are gone.....and yet, remember them so well. Perhaps still distantly watch over what becomes of his family line...

To love this man is to experience the love and pain of mortal/immortal couples, and- truly- know what the phrase means: “To love and have lost is better than to never love at all.”

Harvest Goddess: Animal Parade

There are many incarnations of the Goddess throughout the HM/SoS series, but this one from AP is a forever fave from me. Her design is gorgeous on so many levels (the looping braid, the ombre in her hair color, her outfit, the wing-like extensions on her back, the large hoop bracelets, etc), her face looks so kind and.......breathtaking beyond words--

And much like Wizard and Harvest King before her, she has a name she can only share with you after marriage. And having that detail be a part of her marriage ceremony is what hits a little harder, I feel. It feels so much more personal to have a name that isn’t just “Harvest Goddess” to call her. (I’m pretty sure some of the other games have done this, too? But again, I personally prefer this iteration!)

....If I ever were to ship with her, I honestly feel like I’d have to do an OT3 w/ Harvest King. He’s a prickly bastard and Harvest Goddess here would likely roll her eyes at him many a time, but... Considering their understanding and eventual love of mortal life, I’d say they could reach an agreement someday.

Toby: Animal Parade

Gosh. Another character I didn’t think much of until later... I wanted to do an LP of Animal Parade and- for the occasion- got obsessed with a new OC to focus on; I named her Elise and framed everything after her around musicians and songs. (Because her name was a reference to Fur Elise.) Of course, I then had to think of who she’d marry....

Toby was not only an option for her, but quickly caught my interest as easily as he caught fish. Though it might’ve helped that he reminded me of another, old anime crush!

Anyways, much like he appears, Toby is a laid back young man. He spends his days happily enjoying his hobby- fishing (he isn’t employed, despite his family owning a business)- and soaking up nature. His heart events reflect this, musing about the tranquility of nature and enjoying the silence and relaxation of fishing. (There’s also a few occasions where he opens his eyes... The color of them is SO pretty!)

And if you marry him? Traditional Japanese wedding attire. He looks so handsome in it~!

Candace: Animal Parade

I just....really like shy girls. And Candace especially makes me feel SO MANY warm fuzzies. Has high social anxiety, but prefers her time be spent in her family’s shop, Sonata Tailoring. She’s a talented worker, and with her grandmother’s help and sister’s guidance, it’s become quite the fashion hotspot! (Well.... Perhaps it’ll do far better after the PC helps heal up the island some more, y’know? The place isn’t doing so hot without help from the Harvest Sprites!)

ALSO, I really, really love her big hair and outfit... Her big braids look so soft and she looks incredibly cozy in her cardigan... Honestly, the cardigan, button up shirt, and skirt alone work together to put together the image of someone shy, yet warm in both personality and in being! (...But I bet her fingers get cold... Gee, suppose I could do something about that...?)

Precious. 100/10, would love to kiss her cheek softly and make her blush while snow falls outside, but we’re in my warm home with a big puppy and the fireplace going.

Vaughn: Island of Happiness/Sunshine Islands

Heehee, tiny. Anyways, meet cowboy husband! Fond of farm animals, his work (delivering farm animals to the island)....and that’s about it. Not really too thrilled about other people, but his whole arc is about warming up to you, anyways, so. It’s one of those, fksjfkls.

He’s REALLY cute, though.... I wish I had more memories w/ him, but I lost the OG file where I married him and we had a kid, so. Heck. :)

William Terry Louis Andrew Carrick Jonathan Dredge Hams Redding Rodger Southwark Alnwick Plymouth Junior Regison III: Sunshine Islands

Yes. Yes, I did need to write out his full name. I married this man and if I have to process that this is my husband’s full name, you do, too. (Seriously, why did they make his name so long?!) This man’s long name aside...

Not only is he your typical rich boy (complete with Big Boat), but he’s also....a prince! Bet you woulda never seen that coming... (And yes, he does have a white horse that he rides around occasionally.) I know I’m roasting him, here, but he deserves it. A little bit. Maybe. Totally not because I can still feel the distant effects of this man flustering me in the past...

(He’s so charming and he has some misguided moments, but goodness, he is just Pure of Heart, Dumb of Ass. I love him.)

Lily: Sunshine Islands

Visiting treasure hunter, adorkable, and with a way of finding her next great adventure. She’s so lively! And lovely! Maybe she should look into a mirror and find out the great treasure of all is herself!!!

Okay, that was pretty cheesy.

Regardless, she’s a delight, I love her character, and any jealousy I might’ve had towards her in the past? Gone for deep feelings of, “Let me love you and let’s create the greatest treasure collection of all~!”

Angelo: Grand Bazaar

I remember Angelo not quite being my first choice when I got Grand Bazaar. He seemed adorable, and having another artist around is always a plus, but... I simply wasn’t sure if I should go through with it. Would he impress me that much?

...In the end, he did. I remember being with my cousins when I stumbled into his final heart event, freaking out and hurrying to write it down! (I had a habit of writing down the dialogue to every heart event I witnessed. I have some of them still, to this day!)

He’s far more of a well-rounded artist than I am, but I think that’s just another thing to love about him. Well, that, and a difficulty handling people when he needs them to stop! (It’s relatable, is what I mean; telling people off- even if you really need to- is hard! Especially when it’s a kid!) He’s just....a ton of fun at the end of the day. And that fluffy hair...... You know I love it~!

Emiko: Grand Bazaar

I never got to meet Emiko, to my memory. I didn’t play Grand Bazaar a lot, nor for too long, as the learning curve for the bazaar was steep. (I wasn’t much one for learning recipes, and then they wanted me to learn how to peddle my wares?! And sometimes, it went by so fast!!! It was super overwhelming...) However, she’s a special bachelorette, so getting to meet her at all would’ve been a surprise/struggle for the me who fought trying to learn the bazaar alone...

Looking on her here and now... She. Is. Adorable. Hard to woo, but a secret shrine-area behind the waterfall? The last heart event is letting her see the world for herself...? I love that so much. Getting to re-experience the world through a new view is something I treasure dearly, and Emiko is just that...along with being super adorable. I harp on it because it’s true!!

Maybe someday, if I try the game again with more success... I’ll play as a guy just to court Emiko.

Cam: Tale of Two Towns

Literally the reason I bought this game in the first place, LMAO! He looked really cute and hearing that he worked at a flower shop? How could I ever resist?! The scene was set up for adorableness and potential romance (based around flowers) and so I was eagerly swept away~!

And he does live up to that sweet, charming air...while also being a bit social anxious; how relatable!

Kana: Tale of Two Towns

I haven’t played this game in forever, but if there was anything to ever remember about it..... Kana is a himbo. This man works with horses, so he is strong. Respects women. His dummy part kicks in because this man rarely thinks of anything else except horses (we stan this man and his hyperfixation). You can befriend him with gifts of horse treats.

Marrying this man is marrying him AND getting a free horse-sister out of it (her name is Hayate) and with arms like that? What a dream come true, on all sides.

Nori: Tale of Two Towns

Local seamstress and assistant to her grandfather at his seed shop. Honestly... She kinda reminds me of myself. Although while I’ve quieted down in some ways, I’ve stayed lively in others! I mostly just need friends around to bring my energy up, instead of producing it fresh, myself, ehehe.

But seriously... Her kindness goes above and beyond, perfectionist anxiety is relatable, and it just...sounds nice to put together a life with her. Helping others, helping each other, helping ourselves. Wow.

Reina: Tale of Two Towns

The botanist who- much like someone else- hyperfixates on her work until the world around her is white noise. While it is a shame to feel like you’re not being listened to and your S/O is lost in her work... Honestly, the thought of learning about plants from her has me losing it. Also, a home filled with perfectly cared-for plants? MAJOR serotonin.

It’s like.....the ideal cottagecore couple, just with more farming involved. (Personally, for me, the image of cottagecore has always been small, personal gardens and not the sprawling estate of land-for-crops (and animals!) that HM puts out.) One of us will be making cute journals...or maybe it’s both of us? She does aesthetic research journals and I do cute, personal ones? With poems and such?

UGH. Just call me a simp and get it over with.

Sanjay: A New Beginning

Do I even have to say it? How fast I fell for this man? Because I shouldn’t. I’m incredibly predictable with my tastes and they will likely never change.

Anywho. Butler to Amir (another potential bachelor), but all I wanted was this soft-hearted, gentle man who looks out for everyone, is incredibly kind and friendly, and loves tea a whole bunch. His long hair, put into a braid.... [sighs dreamily] How ever am I going to cope...?

I never did finish ANB, but I want to! Because this man is SO HANDSOME and I wanna put a ring on it. (Sorry, Amir! You might need to employ someone else! Thanks, bye!)

Inari: Trio of Towns

This one came from a recommendation, one I wasn’t at all expecting...and now I’m “stuck” with this one. And don’t want them to let go.

They remind me of two previous spouses already on the list: Harvest King/Goddess and Jamie. The latter for their gender being undefined until marriage (where the game will then either dress Inari up in masculine marriage clothes or feminine marriage clothes, to be the opposite gender to the PC). The former checks out in that- like them and many other special candidates- Inari will not live at home with the player. It breaks my heart, but the reward itself is seeing this lovely fox deity learn how to love, to be willing to put their heart on the line, and even have a child.

I couldn’t be happier to be introduced to this game in such a way. Consider my first save slot dedicated to you, darling kitsune~! (And a spot for you on the F/O list sometime soon, too!)

Yuzuki: Trio of Towns

“I won’t fall in love with another bachelor,” I lied, lyingly. “I will just be in love with Inari. Nobody else.” A fool, I was. Predictable, as all times before. I read a little too much into a character....and suddenly, a proposal comb is being slapped into my hand. Dammit!

Being the fan-favorite occasionally helps my interest in certain characters, but what always gets me in the end...is that personality. Oh, and does Yuzuki deliver... Not only is he a kind, supportive man with his own business, but said business is making hairpins! His grandmother usually helps model them, but more and more during your romancing does your PC model for him, instead. (Literally the first piece you model he made SPECIFICALLY with you in mind, oh my god.)

But wait! There’s more! Being a model that knocks him breathless...and shows a surprising bit of ego. (Not a bad thing, but definitely not a vice I was expecting from him!) So many cute lines. Goodness.

....I admittedly just watched the heart/flower events, so I’m SOFT.

[boundforhiveswaphell]

The Campfire Song Except Without the Song Part; A Tender Pseudoreligious Story

Artemis, my lovely dnd pc, regales her party with the Tabaxi creation myth, which also happens to be Homestuck fanfiction. 

In other words, a short story written about an evening around the campfire involving my group's DnD party. All characters mentioned are original excluding the four beta kids, obviously! So, no. This isn't the beta kids playing DnD, sorry to get your hopes up. Many thanks to my lovely, lovely beta reader, Nym_P_Pseudo on Ao3! And so, I humbly present.... a Work. 

This can also be found here on Ao3 - if you wanna check out my other, non-homestuck stories!

Smoke danced before them, ember and ash swirling in the summer air. Rancorous laughter merged with the crash of distant waves, the crackle of fire and the shifting of feet providing the backdrop. The evening was alight with fireflies, and the sweet smell of the afternoon’s hunt whirled through the sky in long, lazy arcs.

Khr, the party’s resident Gnoll, was doubled over in laughter. His sickle was embedded in the earth beside him, forgotten in the evening’s relative peace. His laugh was unmistakable - a high-pitched keening giggle that rebounded off the trees. His dark claws were sunk into his knee-fur, and his mouth was agape as he struggled to breathe. Bella, a diminutive figure chuckled beside him. Her elfin features beamed with pride behind the curtain of dark hair, a clear indication that she was the source of his laughter.

“And what would you two be up to?” inquired Vega, her tone joking and light. Her robes glimmered with magic, fine craftsmanship showing even in the dim lighting. A quarterstaff rested beside her, also pulsing with power. Her face was unwrinkled and child-like - but when she smiled, her eyes showed depth beyond their years.

“Nothing!” barked Khr and Bella, near in perfect synchronization. They looked at each other and burst into yet more giggles, even louder than before. Artemis snorted as she tended the fire, feeding another log into its base. She turned to the pair to find them both practically rolling in the dirt, Khr’s tail thumping the ground.

“Sisters help me,” muttered Artemis, lips curled in a grin made menacing by her fangs. Her catlike eyes blinked slowly as she surveyed the group. They were a rag-tag bunch, for sure, but they were certainly capable enough when it came to the adventuring business. She was proud of each of them in turn and loved them as she would her own blood.

“Artemis, I thought you only had brothers?” It was Foofy, the puppet’s, high, comical voice that broke her reverie.

Artemis’s creme-colored face looked up from the fire in confusion. Did pupp… not know who the sisters were? “Y’know,” she began, speaking slowly and deliberately as if to a child. “The Jade and Violet Sisters?” 

“The fucking what?” Merlin, a brooding young prince, had joined in on the conversation - ever the eavesdropper.

“I - the Sisters! Life and death, the giver and ender? Y’know, the important ones?”

“Let me restate since you didn’t understand the first time - The fucking what?”

The party had gone eerily silent, Khr and Bella stopping their childish antics to watch the imminent conflict. Judging by their perplexed expressions, it seemed that no one else knew what she was talking about, either. Her mother would be having a conniption in the face of so many pagans.

Artemis was still not entirely sure if her companions were playing a joke on her, but she prepared to educate the gaggle of heathens regardless. She quietly called upon a lifetime of her mother’s adages and stories, harkening back to her days as a helpless whelp being told tales of the strings that shaped the very world. A silent prayer formed on her lips to the Violet Sister, to spare the heretics before her.

She let out the breath she was holding and opened her eyes.

“Would you like me to tell you?”

“Maybe,” came Khr’s grating voice, still breathless from his earlier hysterics. “Is this one of your father’s weird Dragonborn things?” 

“No!” huffed Artemis. “It’s Catfolk history. I learned both as a cub.”

“What are you, anyway?” Foofy’s pitchy tone again. Artemis chuckled softly.

“We’ve been over this, Foof. My mother’s Tabaxi, and my dad’s Dragonborn.” Foofy sat in thought for a moment before nodding sagely, as if in understanding. Artemis shook her head in fondness. 

“So,” she continued. “Do you lot want to hear the story?”

Seven bright pairs of eyes captured in varying degrees of interest stared back. Foofy was the first to answer with an enthusiastic nod and a cry of “yes!”. 

Gracefully pulling herself off of the pine-soaked earth, Artemis rose to her full height. It was for dramatism, of course - she would have towered over her companions even while sitting. 

“This world,” she began, “was once a wide and white nothingness. Bright, inescapable, and unfathomable.” Artemis’ voice mimicked her mother’s famous story-telling cadence, though she withheld a majority of the dramatic flair. It was a low, sweet tone, like honey trickling from a spoon. 

“The desire to create - that which we all feel - and to leave one’s mark on the world. The hunger to know and to understand the world in which we live. The void, empty as it was, still felt this need, this innate desire. It is from this grandest, ceaseless emotion that Heat and Clockwork willed himself into existence.” Fire blazed behind her eyes, and the scarlet of her scales seemed to glow brighter in the dying ember’s light. 

“It was a fiery blaze of desire, passion, and want. The universe willed itself to create, and Brother Crimson was to be its first creation.

“Born of invention itself, his destiny would be as such. He was the antithesis of the blank void around him, dark and fire-fueled, his burning red eyes like hot coals. His life’s work would be to build from the space before him, a task whose monotony was comforting.

“Lord Time created this, the first world, in a symphony of molten rock and flame. It was here, at the center of this feverish landscape that the Forge was created - the workshop of the gods.” 

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good,” drawled Steve, the party’s quip-hurling bard, “But I was under the assumption we were learning about a few familial goddesses, not some red cherry-scented loser!” If his words weren’t enough to set Artemis off, his languid, careless posture certainly was. He was sprawled across a wide log next to Vega, lying with his stomach to the skies. His back was a half-circle against the ground, curled in what must have been the most uncomfortable position possible.

Artemis ignored the barb, instead choosing to reprimand her friend using a most motherly tone. “Sit your sorry excuse for an ass up before you ruin your back, Stephen. You’ll be sore in the morning if you fall asleep like that!” 

Maybe not a motherly tone, but it got the point across.

“The Forge,” she continued, eyeing Steve with an unveiled challenge, “would become Heat and Clockwork’s playground, an endless molten landscape with which to smelt his creations, and to flaunt his prowess as a skilled smith of rhyme.” Her expression shifted back to the flickering eyes and bright smile of a well-meaning zealot. 

“Hold on, hold on!” Maxwell’s lilting voice interrupted. “You lost me at Brother Crimson. Who is he? I thought it was Heat and Clockwork?”

Artemis’ whiskers twitched in poorly concealed amusement. “They are the same, Max. Lord Time, Knight of the Forge, Ascendant’s Anger, et cetera. It’s all the same, dear.” Though her expression seemed annoyed, her tone was light and full of affection. “Any other questions?” The cleric murmured a soft “no” in response.

“The Knight’s hands carefully crafted the First Being, his finest creation. All was perfection, from the soft feline face to the fur that rippled down her back. Satisfied with his work, Brother Crimson stood back and proudly surveyed it. The fires around him grew dim, no longer needed to smelt and shape.

“With a smile as bright as the heavens-jewel, the Knight of the Forge breathed into his creation, giving life from himself to the beast before him. Though he blew and blew, the statue did not - could not - move. Its empty eyes seemed to mock his disheartened visage.

“Tears of sputtering, flaming rock rolled down his stony cheeks. He tried again and again, forming new husks as quickly as he destroyed them. The Pyre found that no creation of his would breathe. Thus, his passion rendered into bitterness, and the fires of his purpose grew cold. He was alone in this vast world, without a means to escape.”

The group was still and silent. Artemis’ voice swept over them like an enrapturing spell. 

“His despair was so great, and so vast, that from it formed the first Sister. The Jade Sister, Frost and Frogs, stood before him in all her radiant glory. Her hair was long, dark, and tangled, an ever-moving sea of creatures and landscapes. It was full of beastly things and lilypads alike, a cacophony of creation. She had three eyes that glowed green as grass, bloody and beautiful in all that they saw. Her teeth were sharp as needles, stained with the raven-wine of those who would come after. She was splendid. She was beautiful.” 

“She was life itself.” 

“Okay, gayass.” Khr, ever the instigator, called to her across the circle. Artemis rolled her eyes and suppressed a chuckle.

“The Jade Sister,” she continued, “reached out to her Brother. Shaking, unsure, he took her hands in his - and the world went green. A verdant, endless green. Viridian and emerald as far as one could dream.

“And lying, hidden, at the center of this green expanse lay a secret. That which Brother Crimson had so desired to produce - life.” The forest around them seemed to sing a hymn of agreement as she spoke. The branches of the looming pines shifted and creaked, whispering the name of their creator. 

“Heat and Clockwork dried his tears and filled his lungs with feral joy - he knew in his heart that his creations would no longer be lifeless. Though the world was devoid except for them, the Crimson Brother would scream and cry for all the void to hear that he was no longer alone. Touched by his display, the Fern Mother held his hands in her own, gripping so tightly that her claws coaxed the wound-sea from his veins.

“Locked in an embrace, the Siblings danced upon the newly lush ground. With each step they took, a forest was brought to seed. With each note they sang, a field was grown to fruition. Before his Sister’s birth, the Blind Son thought he had known happiness - but as he leapt and twirled with the Witch he came to understand that it was nothing in the face of her smile.”

Khr hurled another jest, louder this time, but much the same.

“I have a girlfriend at home, Khr,” Artemis admonished. “I’ve no reason to go chasing after goddesses.” Bella let loose a mocking “Oooh!” in response, and he elbowed her with an embarrassed chuckle. 

“And so,” she continued, “The two waltzed their way to the heart of the earth, where the Forge lay empty.

“Frost and Frogs, all gleaming teeth, placed her hands onto the First Being. At her touch, it awoke - its ears and tail began to twitch, filled with the life that surrounded the Jade Sister. It bounced and leaped and jumped. The Siblings danced with their creation, their happiness burning brighter than the Forge could ever hope to be.

“It was from this immense jubilation that the Cobalt Brother was born. His siblings’ bliss was so powerful, so potent that it spat forth the god of Wind and Shade. Born of laughter, harlequin god, bringing joy to those who would gamble and hope.” As she spoke, the wind around them stirred, ruffling Artemis’ fur and scattering the lingering smoke from the now cooling embers.

“His visage is porcelain and pale; his eyes drip with black blood, thick with stars like the night sky. Like his sister, he is always smiling, though his teeth are far less terrifying than the Fern Mother’s maw. His arms are uncountable and many - each unseen and unknowable. In his left-most arm, he carries a hammer with which to shape the world. In his right-most, a mask, its face obscured. It is said that with it, he can assume the shape of any creature he should so choose.” 

“What the fuck…” muttered Merlin.

“The fuck indeed!” Artemis laughed. “The Trickster is the god of curses and profanity, in addition to his other domains.”

“A god for cursing, hm? I need one of those…” 

Artemis let a brief silence hang and then continued. “As they walked, the Motley Jester’s thoughts turned to mischief - born of laughter, he was predisposed. A dark grin festered behind his eyes - and with one swing of his hammer, the Son of the Tempest brought forth a mighty gale to set the world spinning.”

“The Heir’s joke completed, his siblings fell to the earth below as it began to spin beneath them. Slowly, but it did - they watched as the sun above them moved slowly to their West. Their creation was spinning, much to their chagrin - but they loved each other, and could not stay mad at their youngest Brother. They continued their walk to the Forge, excited to show the Motley Jester their playground.”

“Upon their arrival, he turned his attention to the First Being - now a stumbling, walking beast. Its claws were sharp as daggers, its fur dense as earth. A single entity, born of metal and fire, of life and verdance. The Trickster produced his signature leer, and wrest a mask from the void into one of his many arms. It was a perfect mockery of the creature's face, fine as silver and smooth as bone. Ensuring his Siblings were preoccupied with other parts of the Forge, Brother Cobalt fitted the mask upon the First Being’s face.

“It was from this perfect mask of porcelain that the First Being felt - was given the ability to form bonds, to experience emotions, just as its creators had done.” Artemis’ claws gleamed in the moonlight as she spoke, a deadly reflection of the First Being she described.

“The Siblings hollered with delight at their creation’s fate, a sweet song with which it joined in harmony. It was a joyous night, and the lush earth, spinning, living, and beautifully cratered, seemed to pulse with excitement. From the rich earth below, the Witch pulled woven cords to the surface. Her brothers wrapped them around rocks and trees, pulling them taut. It was then, the three Siblings acting in harmony, that the first Song was played.” Had any of her audience not been so enraptured with her words, they would have heard the dulcet tones of a soft-spoken tune in the distance.

“The Trickster played strings with his hammer by his side, striking deep notes in a flurry of exhilaration. His sister’s tones were more muted, though just as excitable. She plucked the strings with her long, clawed hands - careful not to tear them. The eldest brother, though slow to join his family, plucked and sang a melody. It was brash and loud, a flurry of notes that was perfect to the ear.

“From each string plucked, from each note coaxed, a new being was born unto the world. It is said that the songs made that day were the purest expressions of music, unmatched by any performer.” Vega gave Steve a warning look, to deter him from making an expected pompous comment regarding his playing skill.

“The Forge was alight with sparks and laughter, and the Siblings’ bonds grew stronger as they worked beside one another.” Her expression grew dark. “But - they worked too quickly. The world they had created was only so big, after all. And as they built a thousand creatures, they began to fill and fill the space that was left. They crowded the land, clawing at each other. Their claws and teeth, built for singing and creating, had become tools of violence.

“It was the screaming that alerted the Siblings to their creation’s plight. Screaming, endless screaming as they fought for space. The Siblings looked upon their earth in horror, in fear, of what they had done. Their world was suffering for their foolishness.

“Heat and Clockwork, the eldest of the three, knew what must be done. The other two, in the hearts, knew as well - though neither the Witch nor the Heir could bring themselves to do it.

“Foolish children that they were, their creations had not been designed to die - they could not kill each other. Their gods had cursed them to an endless cycle of suffering.” She paused, looking into her companion’s eyes. 

“Brother Cobalt would eventually decide their course of action. He looked into Heat and Clockwork’s scarlet-red eyes as he summoned a gust of air to smother the flames of his Brother’s Forge. The rich earth around them grew cold and empty, the blissful heat that emanated from the planet’s core now gone. The creatures stilled, the air devoid of the warmth that kept them moving.” Like the creatures she described, Artemis’ movements slowed and halted as she spoke, coming to a standstill. 

“The Siblings made a pact, there in the cold and silent Forge. They would not meet again, under any circumstance. Their love for each other was too strong - they would be unable to resist creating more things to fill the earth. Though the Jade Sister, giver of life, had tried to revoke it from her creations, she quickly discovered she was only able to give life, not take it away. Resolute in their decision, the Siblings, weary and heart-broken, pulled themselves away to the farthest corners of the earth.

“Time passed. The Siblings grew restless. Lonely, locked away by themselves for their selfishness. A deep sadness ran through them, and as a result, into the remains of their creations. For the first time in eons, the Forge sat empty, it’s bellows long since cold and forgotten. Lord Time tinkered by himself in his endless stone castles, building things that could not fulfill him. Space’s Beldam performed a joyless dance for the depleted world around her, it’s once vibrant colors dulled. Her footsteps no longer brought forth life - they left trails of a withering blight in their path. Breath’s Scion, the gleeful god, was the saddest of the three. He could not truly understand why they had separated, just that he was now alone.” Her eyes were cold. She was glad for the silence of the night around them.

“Frost and Frogs, born from an abundance of loneliness, collapsed onto the earth she had so loved. Her voice warbled from her vicious mouth, a sad, keening sound. It was high and sweet, carrying easily to the other Siblings. Hearing her mournful call, both Brothers joined her in the sound. It was a feral instinct, deep and instilled. And though they were leagues apart, their song was harmonious, clear as day.” The woods around her seemed to stop. Each member of her party stood in slack-jawed enchantment at her words.

“It is from this hopeless, despair-driven sound that the Violet Sister was born. Called from the same white void as her siblings, she was thrown forth from the emptiness. From her head sprout a pair of long, needle-thin horns. Her lavender skin is marked and scratched, places where her ebony-black blood drips in slow, rhythmic steps. Black twines of a shadow substance beyond mortal comprehension twist from her skin, enveloping her in an unknowable darkness of tentacles. She is the blind goddess, the Empty one, ruler of the creatures that lurk below, the end of life and the bringer of death.” Artemis took a breath. “She is the goddess of Light and Rain.”

“Piss!” cursed Steve, eyes wide with poorly masked fear. “You named this - this monster Light and Rain? What kind of a name is that?”

No longer content to let him disrespect her deities, Artemis squared her shoulders, bringing her up to her full height. The tallest of the party, Artemis was a fearsome sight. Her eyes and scales gleamed a menacing red in the firelight. When she pulled her lips back to reveal honed, gleaming teeth, it was enough to make anyone not used to her promptly shit their breeches. 

“Light and Rain is the goddess of the unseen, the otherworldly, and the unknown,” Artemis’ steel-sure voice was the only sound that could be heard over Steve’s ragged breathing. “I will make the place I dump your sorry excuse for a corpse very unknown if you call her a monster again.”

 Vega snickered from her comfortable place on the log. Anyone who had met Artemis for half a second knew she’d never actually act on that threat, especially not to Steve - the dorky kid she treated like one of her younger brothers. Despite the clear emptiness of her threat, it was enough to make Steve back down with a few mumbled apologies. Mollified, Artemis turned her gaze back to the rest of the party. She was close enough to the story’s end now that she was unconcerned with Steve’s ill-mannered words.

“Light and Rain, newly born into the dying world, cast her soothing gaze across the fractured land before her. Though she was young, her knowledge was vast. The Grim Seer gathered her elder siblings into her arms, pulling them together once more.

“Though Heat and Clockwork’s furnace-bound eyes burned through her, she continued. Though the needle-fine teeth of Frost and Frogs sunk into her skin, she persisted. Though Wind and Shade’s star-strewn tears burned like acid, she pursued. They held each other in an expression of the purest love, reunited and whole.

“The four held each other, crying. They sensed that with this newest addition, they were complete. Their struggle was over. No words needed to be spoken as they parted, smiles bittersweet and tears drying away. They looked at one another, then to Light and Rain. They knew what must be done.

“The Violet Sister’s horns crackled with dark, purple energy - and then with a flash of light as bright as their void, the world was clean. Her claws had flashed across the earth, quick as lightning. The First Beings were free of their chains of ill-begotten immortality. Light’s Mistress had granted their creations a most peculiar, but needed gift - the gift of death.” A light smile played on her lips. She was thoroughly enjoying the shocked faces of her party.

“It was known as the Scratch - it was the beginnings of our universe. Now mortal, the creations found peace in themselves - and the Siblings found peace in each other. And so, our world was born. The Catfolk, the First Beings, were the first to speak to their creators, spreading this truth to the other races.”

Artemis’s words were interrupted by an enormous yawn from none other than Khr - his arms stretched to the sky, claws curling inwards. “Sorry…” he murmured, eyes threatening to close.

“Well then,” chuckled Artemis. “I believe we’ll call it a night here.”

“What, no! We have to know more!” whined Merlin, now suddenly interested in the mythos. 

“Later, dear. Save it for the next campfire.” Her smile was genuine, and her eyes kind to reflect it. “You need to go to bed. We've got work to do tomorrow!” With that, the magic dissipated. It was clear the evening’s entertainment was over. She tutted and shushed her companions as she ushered them to their tents, wishing them a restful sleep. As she snuffed out the last of the fire with a kick of dirt, she chuckled to herself. Maybe her mother would be proud - stop calling her a heathen for not wanting to listen to the same tired stories. 

As she padded back to her tent, Artemis was treated with the passing conversation from another party member’s shelter. Though the voice was muffled, it’s high cadence could belong to none other than Bella.

“Catfolk are badass!”

[preciouslandmermaid]

quiet fury in your head [ix]

Dream of the Endless x AFAB!Reader!Goddess / Sandman Fanfiction

Note: I was working on the playlist I have for this story and it inspired me to get this chapter out. Truthfully, I had about 80% of the chapter already written AGES ago, and so all I had to do was add the beginning scene/tweak a few things lol

No use of Y/N. See part 1 for all the tags tbh.

Warnings: self-harm in a ritualistic way + blood/injury + angst

Rating: 18+

(Read on AO3)    ||   (masterpost for other chapters)  

The wind gently tugs at your cloak as you stand on the pier. It is wholly unnecessary to be here on the pier, but this is how Dream leaves for his Odyssey, and you’ve always enjoyed the cyclical rhythm of repetition. You were once a trio. There’s power in rituals and repetition. You won’t leave the Dreaming through the waters, but you’ll leave while standing on this pier, the same way Dream does.

“No fanfare or farewell,” Lucienne’s voice floats to your ears. “I’m glad I caught you before you left.”

“Are you?” You glance over your shoulder and your eyebrows tick upward. Lucienne is not alone. Of the Dreaming inhabitants, you bonded with Lucienne and Dima, but there had been other passing connections throughout the centuries. You had not felt them significant at the time, but the presence of Abel, Cain, and the Corinthian proves differently. I have touched their lives even if they have not touched mine. You turn and face the small gathering. The brothers, Abel and Cain, were less of a surprise than the Corinthian who stood with his hands in his pockets and the light reflecting off his sunglasses.

“I wished to give you this,” Lucienne says while passing a leather-bound book to your hands. Instinctively, you open to see the language written within, but blank pages flutter before you like a flurry of white moths, a storm of white sheets.

A fist squeezes inside your throat. “Your kindness is witnessed, Lucienne,” you respond stiffly. This is not an offering like the times of old. This is a gift. Lucienne, loyal to Dream and his Realm, took the time to give you something to remember her by.

“I admit I will miss your presence in the library,” she says, “and our lessons.”

“I will return to the Dreaming someday,” you inform her and her gentle, melancholy smile brightens and reaches her dark, intelligent eyes. Lucienne steps back, nods her head and, the brothers rush into the space she once occupied.

“Lady,” Abel bows, “my brother and I will miss your visits.”

Cain says, “We will miss your stories, especially.”

Throughout the centuries, there had been a handful of times when boredom and loneliness brought you to the brother’s home. You enjoyed watching their endless story – the death and rebirth – the tragedy and anger. It reminded you of your sisters. They’ve always allowed you to stay the for the evening if you agreed to share a story of your people—be it the other Gods or creatures of folktale.

“And your company,” Abel says with a sharp glance at Cain.

“I already said that,” Cain replies hotly. This is their destiny, the wind tugs at the hem of your dark cloak, and I cannot stay to watch it play out once more. You have your future to write. Sisters to bury. A friend to find. A new Godhood to shape.

“Be well,” you cut in before they can continue to argue, “and I will return with new stories.”

It may be a millennium before you return, but time has no bearing on a dream. The brothers bicker quietly as they shuffle back toward the shore. You draw your breath into your lungs and briefly hold it. The Corinthian’s golden head cocks to the side and is studying you when he approaches. You taste the memory of saltwater and bright storms. You will not be bowed by a Nightmare. You exhale and push your shoulders back.

“Have you come to claim your favor?” you ask softly. You feel Lucienne’s eyes on you and imagine how the sight may appear—Corinthian and yourself standing close and speaking in low, intimate tones, as the waters of Odyssey gently lap and wave beneath the dark pier.

His lips quirk. “No. Although, I’m happy to hear you haven’t forgotten it.”

“Of course not. I do not offer promises and favors lightly,” the haughtiness in your tone reminds you of your Old Self – the Goddess of Rage, the Lady Nemain of the Three Sisters. If he has nothing to offer and no farewells to give then I will be on my way. I cannot – I do not wish to delay any longer. I have waited long enough.

You say, “Farewell, Corinthian,” and a shroud of raven feathers encircles you as you vanish from the Dreaming.

************

You stand alone in a scorched grove of ash and blackened soil. The mountains in the distance are haloed by rings of gray smoke and rivers of luminous, orange lava spilled into the valley, inflaming dry brush and shrubs, and boiling once beautiful lakes into sulfur. The sky overhead flashes with lightning, and the air tastes of eroded stone and thunder, of smoldering wood and lonely, empty grief. Your fists clench at your sides.

The Otherworld was a place of verdant, wild fertility, and blue skies. Surely, it could not all be lost, could it? Something must have grown from the ashes. Your hope burns inside your chest.

“I am proud of you, pet,” Desire says, wearing Dream’s face. Their arrival is merely mildly surprising, though not wholly unexpected. You keep shifting through the black soil, pushing dirt with a stick and kicking aside rocks.

“I haven’t buried their tokens yet,” you reply.

“You will and perhaps...in doing so…” Desire trails off, smirking coyly.

You stop and cross your arms. It’s strange to see Dream wearing an expression like this one. It looks wrong and unnatural, yet your stomach clenches as if it is him. A low stirring of desire coils and you tamper it away. This is not your Dream. It is not Morpheus.

“What?” You prod against Desire’s continued silence.

“There’s still magic here,” they say with a wink before vanishing.

“Your secrets no longer tempt me,” you mutter, though Desire has long since vanished. There is nothing Desire can offer you. They cannot revive your sisters and would offer you only impostors. They would look, and perhaps act as Badb and Macha, but it would not be them. You are here to see the destruction for yourself and bury your sisters. Nothing more and nothing less.

All of the beautiful oak Dagda’s trees have been chopped and reduced to low stumps. Some were torn asunder from the earth and cast aside, their roots gnarled and twisted, or blackened into white-gray charcoal. Dagda. your Chieftain God had a white beard that twisted like tree roots and wise, ebony eyes—a face that you will always remember, but are destined to never see again. You swallow past the lump inside your throat.

It takes minutes or hours before you find the Heart Tree—Dagda’s magnificent oak. The symbol of his power and his standing with the Gods.

Or, rather, you find what remains of it.

The massive stump could fit an entire village within its rings. You drag your fingers across the rough, dark bark of its sprawling roots and then dig your fingertips into the divots and cracks with a strenuous exhale. The hem of your bloody dress catches on the jagged surface and you tugged it free, tearing it.

You ignore the rip and continue to climb.

You claw your way to the edge and pull yourself onto the flat, spiral-marked surface of Dagda’s Heart Tree. You do not stop crawling until you reach its center and collapse, face first, into the soft and sweet-smelling oak. Your fingertips are scarlet, blood seeping into your nail beds, and your hands are chaffed raw.

A raven lands near your forearm, “Lady Morrigan?”

“I am alright.” You lie, knowing her connection to Morpheus, and hating that he might see your sorrow and shame. The destruction is real. The death is real. There is nothing left of the Otherworld.

If only you had defeated Lugh, you might have saved your sisters and saved your home. Your nose squishes against the wood, and you breathe deep and seek an impression of Dagda’s magic within the layered bark.

Please, you beg the impassive wood, please, I do not wish to be alone forever.

The raven nudges her beak into your elbow. You sense that she is attempting to comfort you and wish you had any energy to smile or offer gratitude.

************

Dream sits on his throne, and holds your feather between his forefinger and thumb, and watches the play of light on the glossy, obsidian surface.

You have not moved from your fetal position on the large, forgotten tree stump. He watches through his raven – Myrtle—and his chest aches at the marks of grief shadowed beneath your eyes. He wishes to spare you from suffering.

Again and again, he considers summoning you to the Dreaming, using this feather like a sigil, and returning you to your rightful place beside him. But he resists the temptation. He has released you and you promised you would return.

He contemplates whether or not he made the correct choice. However, as long as Myrtle remains, he could take an odyssey into the Otherworld if you need him. He twirls the feather between his fingers and sighs. A sense of melancholy and regret found a home inside his chest. I should have followed. But I cannot abandon my responsibilities within the Dreaming for the sake of a whim.

************

Your weary bones ache as you walk. The feasting hall stands against the ashen backdrop like a skeletal, black behemoth. You pluck a piece of charcoal from the shifting ash and gravel and draw your old tattoos onto your skin. They had faded over time as your followers diminished and the rest of your pantheon died.

It’s time to mourn your sisters. It’s time to lay their tokens beneath the Heart Tree as Desire instructed.

You are the last remaining Goddess of a forgotten and abandoned worship. You are the last of your kind. And you owe it – to yourself, to the mortal you once were, to your sisters – to continue to live and find a way to rebuild what you lost.

You find the homestead that you shared and it is remarkably unburnt. A collection of small animal skulls hangs on red threads from the ceiling in Badb’s room and its rich, perfumed scent of dried flowers lingers in the smoky air.

You gasp and stubbornly wipe away the tears clinging to your eyes.

Macha’s room glows with warmth, swaths of carnelian and crimson fabrics are draped over the wooden beams, and elaborate woven rugs cover the floor. You snip a crow’s skull from its thread and collect Macha’s hairbrush made of horsehair. These tokens, you think, will suffice.

Lastly, you approach your room and behold the sight of a lifetime eons ago. The walls are covered with your favorite offerings—bronze spears that glimmer when the sun cuts through the open window. You break the tip of a spear and stand at the center of your sparse room with a rueful smile. Dream’s raven lands on the windowsill and caws.

You bow your head in silent appreciation. You had sensed her vigil. You know her presence meant Morpheus is watching over you as well, but that particular knowledge is harder to stomach.

You do not want him to be privy to this ritual. Your grief is choking your lungs.

It is not a long walk to return to the Heart Tree, though it feels as if it takes centuries. Your mind fills with a certain blackly-clad dressed individual in a starry cloak and unfathomable eyes. Oh, Morpheus. Your time in the Dreaming has softened you to him. You recall how he stood on the beach framed by cobalt waves with his hands clasped behind his back. You had watched his subjects and their subdued and hidden adoration of their Maker, and how even the blades of grass turned toward him.

He is an isolated, dark star in a kaleidoscope of wonder and radiance.

You wonder if it meant something that he offered you mercy, that he warranted you an exploration of the Otherworld because he felt some type of kinship to you. Could he see me as an equal now? You shake your head. These musings are useless. They serve little purpose but to make your chest ache with ruinous desire. You set aside all thoughts of Morpheus and his inscrutable sentiments.

The bronze spear tip is warm in your palm. You were once the Queen of Raven’s, weren’t you? You nudge against the raven’s mind, feeling Morpheus there, and learn the raven’s name is Myrtle.

You meet her dark eyes and see Morpheus in them, “I’m sorry,” You say earnestly, abandoning your sense of pride for this one, single precious moment. With a firm mental hand, you push his essence from Myrtle, and she flies– startled – into the air.

The soil is waiting.

You press the gilded point to your vulnerable inner wrist. A God should not be able to bleed. However, your weakened powers are heightened within the Otherworld, even if it is a shadow of itself. You bleed if you will it. A pinprick of deep crimson wells at the slight pressure of your hand.

“Farewell, sisters.”

You drag the point upward toward your inner elbow and rivulets of blood pour onto Badb’s and Macha’s tokens. You speak the poems of remembrance and farewell in a pleading and undulating tone that is reminiscent of your followers chanting beneath full moons. Your skin burns. The ash and dirt stir at your feet.

Your bloody fingers are freckled with dirt as you dig and bury Badb’s skull and Macha’s hairbrush beneath the Heart Tree’s roots. There. I have finished my task for Desire. I am free. I am free to live at last.

Your eyes snap backward into your skull. You see stars. You see your sisters. A rush of cold air whips around your face. You see Lugh’s laughing face. You see the glorious battlefields. The ground trembles. You see, through Myrtle’s eyes, that one of the volcanoes has erupted.

The Otherworld thickens with soot, memory, and supplication.

Morpheus’ face appears before you.

“You said you wished to see the Otherworld. Not that you wished to revive your sisters.” He clutches your bleeding wrist with wild, bright, and burning eyes. His voice is as impassive as stone.

Is that what I was doing? You wonder, though your dry lips cannot form the words. An icy panic latches itself onto your heart. The Otherworld is crumbling – it is dying. You feel it. A part of you, the part of you that is Badb, abruptly understands that the Otherworld has been waiting for your return. This is your fate and your doom.

Desire wanted me to come here...they said magic remained...did they know? Morpheus squeezes your bloody wrist. But your broken skin stubbornly refuses to heal. Did they believe I could revive my sisters in the end?

The Otherworld opens its arms to you. You are its doom and its epilogue. It wanted all its children home before it imploded like a dying star. You are a stream returning to the ocean. You are a plant wilting and rotting to compost. The Otherworld cracks.

“This is how it ends. You – Morpheus – were destined to be my undoing – my ruin.” Your voice sounds like Badb’s, raspy and weary and older than the stars themselves.

“You’re lying,” he seethes and his rage is cold. You taste his fear in the wind. I do not wish to leave you either, Morpheus. His eyes harden like black ice. If he does not believe you, well, it does not matter because the End is coming for you. Everything ends. Even Gods.

Something hot trickles down your cheeks.

“My fate is yours, Dream,” you shout over the cacophony of the tempest and volcanic earthquakes, “it has always been yours.”

Finally, you understand the prophecy. Nemain of the Three Sisters, The Banshee Queen, is meant to die in the arms of Dream the Endless. This is how your story goes:

He will always save you from Lugh’s poison. You will always venture into the Dreaming and marvel at its splendor.

Desire will always find you. Dream will always release you from the Dreaming’s prison...and protection.

You will always return to the Otherworld and bury your sister’s tokens.

And he will always lose you.

You will always be dead, worse off than a shade, with your name forgotten and history buried. You have already done this and will do it all again. This is what it means to be a God. A story. A written ending cannot be changed.

Perhaps the act of burying your sister’s tokens will be enough to return your sisters to the collective consciousness. Desire said there is magic here. You don’t need the whole tree. A small acorn of magic will be enough.

Let the stories sing of the magnificent Morrigan. Let her be courageous and devious, wicked, and wise. Let her contain all the fractured angles of a glistening gemstone. And let your name, Nemain, fall into dusted obscurity among the annuals of history. It will be enough. If you can change the narrative, in this small, wonderful way, then all of it—your loneliness, guilt, despair, grief, and longing—it’ll be worth it. You mentally sing your wish to the winds.

“No.” His anger thaws. “No.” He must’ve seen the resignation and sincerity in your face. “You promised you would return.”

You hold Dream’s face between your hands. You realize the wetness gliding over your face isn’t sweat or blood, but tears and you blink them away. Gods do not cry. And, more selfishly, you don’t want your final moments to be blurred.

“It would seem I am unable to honor my promise. I hope you will not hate me for it, though I will not fault you if you do.”

“I do not,” he says fiercely, his pale hands are marred with your blood, and they grip your face in desperation as the Otherworld collapses.

A faint, white light shines and sparkles through the fissures. A flicker of frustration etches across Dream’s usually calm, proud face.

“Come to the Dreaming.”

Even at the end of all things, you will not obey his orders. He would do well to understand that.

“I do not belong there,” you say with some difficulty, “you said so upon our first meeting and it was the truth. I am neither dream, nor nightmare, nor memory.”

“And what of my memories?” He pins you beneath his weighted gaze. “I do not forget so easily.”

You surge forward and kiss him with a tumultuous, wounded heart. Dream is motionless. You groan against his stubborn mouth, wishing for reciprocation, and hating the way your heart shatters at his stoicism. It is an odd feeling to let the tears fall.

You are not a creature of tears and sorrow. You are a herald of death and blood lust. Or you were. You were.

Dream slants his mouth over yours, adjusting, and you shudder, mollified.

You will fracture into oblivion and obscurity, yes, but at least you have this moment. In an era of solitude and bereavement, you will not face death alone. The dirt shimmers with light. You pull away from him with the solemn decision to face your death with your eyes open.

Morpheus’ intense expression steals the breath from your lungs. You burn alive like a sacrificial lamb in the light of his eyes.

“The Morrigan,” he whispers your name in reverence, “Queen of Nightmares.”

************ After the Otherworld shattered in brilliant light, his sister did not come and claim the Morrigan’s soul. This fact offers a paltry balm to his wounded heart. You might still yet live. Somewhere. Though Dream doesn’t know how to find you.

You do not dream, so he cannot find you within the Dreaming. And although your raven father no longer vibrates with echoes of your magic, he carries it with him, trapped in a desperate and melancholy hope within his breast pocket.

He cannot undo destiny. If it was your fate to become ‘undone’ – as you put it – then that was your fate. There is no bargain to be made, no trick to reveal, and no nightmare to banish. He considers calling upon his brother, Destiny, but what purpose would that serve? He knows how the story ends. He was there.

He focuses on his duties, his realm, and his creations.

It rains often.

He creates a Nightmare with black, feathered wings and sharp fangs, but struggles to complete the Nightmare’s eyes. He can only think of your eyes—deep, electrifying, the amount of swirling stars within them varying based on your mood—and he cannot get it right.

The Nightmare remains unfinished.

He doesn’t lament over the unfairness of losing you. He is Endless. This is the way things are, the way they were always meant to be, and it would be unproductive to whinge over it.

He has found himself at the stormy cliffside more often than expected. He stands with his hands clasped behind his back and focuses on remembrance—he’ll recall the sublime shape of your spine, the arch of your neck exposed to him with an up-do hairstyle, the play of your emotions across your face, fierce and breathtaking, even when sharpened with malice. He recalls the way your eyes looked on that final, fateful day. The galaxies within your irises had imploded, creating a field of black holes, and streaks of warping and bulbous light consumed the darkness before cannibalizing itself.

Another day, he returns to the mountainside where he secretly witnessed your first and only smile. He lifts his palm and lets the snowflakes settle on his skin with iced, tiny kisses.

He recalls your tearful expression, accepting his scorn, his denial, in light of everything you’d done. Your instinctive selfishness and desire for survival, luminous anger, and gilded conceit.

He doesn’t offer forgiveness or mercy for his creations. His realm requires ancient laws and stalwart order. That is how it functions. But he offered those gifts to you because you were not of his realm.

You were an outsider, who effortlessly wove yourself into the tapestry of the Dreaming – into him. He felt your touch, rich like blood, delicate as spring’s bloom, in the whispered nightmares you left behind.

Your final gift to him had been a kiss that seared his soul and bound him forever.

To him, none can compare, and he aches like a man starved for food at a banquet.

He has sensed Lucienne’s worry for him. However, she’s loyal and smart enough to not broach the topic.

He knows when others are speaking of you because they hush when he enters a room. Save for Corinthian. In the days after your annihilation, your death, Corinthian approached him and petitioned himself to search the living, waking world to try and find you.

He saw it for what it was. A poor, thinly veiled attempt to escape the Dreaming. He denied him.

Under the full, blue-gray moonlight, Dream stands in a field of pink camellias, pale red carnations, and purple heliotropes dappled with fresh rainwater. He pulls your feather from his coat and slides it across his lips – a poor substitution to your touch – but it’s all he has.

****

A/N: Flower meanings: pink camellias symbolize longing, pale red carnations symbolize an aching heart, while heliotropes symbolize eternal love/devotion.

[auroral-melody]

Why do you ship Lucifer/Dream ? I'm just curious.

NONNY I LOVE YOU FOR GIVING ME AN OPPORTUNITY TO JUST YELL ABOUT THEM

As with most of the convoluted, context-less things I post (e.g., the full-on rewritten characterization of Beelzebub in Good Omens), it started with a simple conversation between myself, @procrastinatingbookworm​, and @aqueeraphale​…and ended up in a hence unwritten fanfic that maybe we’ll get around to eventually.

Put it this way: self-written fanfiction is the answer to why I ship them. I need to actually write it on a page for y’all. I’m not really going to go into ~Oh, My Ship Is Canon~ because it’s clearly not. I’ll point out a few things in canon I want to talk about, but this isn’t a “I ship them because [] and [] in canon” it’s a “I ship them because I HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT STORIES I WROTE/MY FRIENDS WROTE”.

So how did this happen?

I’m pretty sure it started with something along the lines of generally agreeing Dream being bi, on the basis of Lucifer Pretty. Which evolved into an, “oh, that’s fun! let’s write it” RP, along with some doodles (back in May 2018. My art has improved since, and my character design thoughts, but)

Which turned into the concept that basically goes as follows

- Morpheus lonely and depressed- Death essentially brings him to Lux, to definitely set him up with Luci bc hey obvs they’re both bi disasters. Maybe see what happens- Morpheus voice I don’t dance- Death voice Okay I’m lesbian but he’s being nice and offering so I’ll dance with Luci instead- Morpheus voice [shocked pikachu meme]

Basically, it boils down to the fact that Morpheus was a very…lonely and sad person and tends to make enemies easily. Lucifer clearly doesn’t hate him, or Dream would probably be dead in a ditch, but he’s obviously engaged in their relationship as friendly rivals. Lucifer has just left Hell, and is kinda not knowing what to do with himself. He’s looking for something new and different.

They’re both incredibly touchstarved/affection-starved. Morpheus intentionally isolates himself from his friends and family, not seeking out friends, while Lucifer has spent the last billions of years completely alone in Hell.

So the setup here works pretty well. Death wants to help her brother, Lucifer is like, the one person who isn’t pissed at him, Morpheus Sad.

From then on is essentially just what we’ve written. They end up…somewhat dependent on one another for comfort because they just aren’t good at investing in any other relationships. And Death and Lucifer become more friendly.

Morpheus and Luci’s relationship is…tumultuous at best. They care for each other, but they cling so much to the One Thing they like at the moment. It’s not exactly the best thing. So the fact that Dream transformed into Daniel was pretty awful for everyone involved.

This AU fits in with the Lucifer continuity mostly based on Lucifer taking place shortly after Sandman ends. Dream is not often brought up, but allow me to go through some places where he is, and how I interpret them in context of the AU.

Obviously, this will have some spoilers. Also light NSFW art.

Lucifer (2000), issue #8.

[Image Description: Four panels of the Lucifer comic. The first is a backdrop, with Lucifer’s text saying, “But to Dream of the Endless, I imagine it would look like poaching, pure and simple. And since he’s the gamewarden he wouldn’t like that at all.” The second panel shows him holding a sword over a goddess’s son. The goddess, Izanami-no-Mikoto, looks on. She is made of stone. He says, “He’ll do it. I won’t even need to compel him. If I speak his name, he’ll come, and see what you’ve made here. So it’s your call, Queen of Death. Heads I win, and tails -- tails it all comes down.” The third panel shows the goddess holding up a hand to stop him. The fourth, the kneeling son says, “She offers atonement, Lucifer Morningstar. She offers your wings.” End description.]

In the AU, it makes a lot of sense that Lucifer would be able to easily summon Dream of the Endless with a single word. “He’ll do it. I won’t even need to compel him” is an interesting phrase. The absolute certainty in Dream’s actions – even if this is after Morpheus’s transformation (which I’m not sure of), Lucifer characterizes Dream as though he knows him well.

Oof. Lucifer: Nirvana.

[Image description: A watercolor cream and purple comic panel. In the distance, there is a boat. From the boat, Dream of the Endless says, “Bearing in mind our previous meetings, Lucifer Morningstar, might I suggest a bargain? I will ask no favors if you will offer me no gifts.” End description.]

This is the only conversation I recall in Lucifer or Sandman in which Daniel!Dream and Lucifer speak to one another. Yet Dream says,

“Bearing in mind our previous meetings, Lucifer Morningstar, might I suggest a bargain? I will ask no favors if you offer me no gifts.”

In the AU, their relationship soon after Dream becomes this version is tentative. Hostile at worst. They might be trying to figure out what comes next.

[@procrastinatingbookworm​ and I did write a fic on this! Find it here!]

Either way, they’ve talked before.

[Image description: A close picture, misty, cream and purple, watercolor, of a small boat, silhouetted. Dream’s silhouette is on the right, along with a small bird perched on the end of the boat. Lucifer is sitting, lounging on the left side of the boat. Lucifer says, “The situation isn’t likely to call for either. Your predecessor preferred a corkscrew to a stiletto. What’s your position?” End description.]

How did they end up on a boat in the middle of nowhere? Lucifer looks supremely comfortable, lounging, completely trusting that Dream offers him no harm. They’re standing, very awkwardly, on opposite sides of the boat.

Lucifer is making a metaphor here, regarding how Morpheus was not very to-the-point. He knew how Morpheus worked, how he thought. He’s asking in an almost affronting way: “What’s your position?” that could be interpreted as curious or as a thinly veiled hostility.

[Image description: A watercolor of Dream’s profile, somewhat silhouetted. He has white hair. He says, ‘By all means let us be direct. Someone has used human dreamers to stage an assault on you. I assure you, this someone has attracted my attention, too. The matter will be dealt with.” End description.] 

Dream is taking this matter very seriously. It just seems that Morpheus may not have put as much attention into random attacks, but Dream is very involved. In the AU, this is kind of because Dream is keeping an eye out for Lucifer.

This conversation just hints, to me, of much more backstory between them.

They’ve been trying to bargain, offering favors or gifts to one another – something they don’t really have a good reason to do in the comics, except maybe to secure an alliance, but that feels…?? Well, considering the rest of the conversation…

[Image description: two panels, watercolor. The left is Lucifer’s face, and he says, “Actually I intend to deal with it myself. It would be unfortunate if our investigations hampered each other.” The right panel is of Dream, with a hand on his waist, looking down. He says, “I am interpreting that statement as a threat. Very well. This touches profoundly on my interests, but you are the injured party. Your rights are paramount.” End description.]

Lucifer is certainly difficult to make an alliance with. (Tangent, but I love this issue’s art style.) Dream still seems surprised – “Very well.” He is respecting Lucifer’s somewhat “bugger off” statement.

[Image description: A watercolor landscape shot of Lucifer on the left, with black wings spread, and Dream on the right, turned away from both the camera and Lucifer. Dream is saying, “I will conduct my own inquiries, along avenues that will not intersect with your own. Whatever I discover I will pass on to you. Via an intermediary, of course.” Lucifer replies, “As you like. But somewhere discreet. No white ravens.” He is referencing the bird also present but off-panel. End description.]

At this point, Dream turns mostly away from him. In my eyes, I see this as hurt/deflecting, supported by the fact that he says he will pass information via an intermediary – unnecessary, it feels, considering they’ve been talking, they’ve had multiple conversations before...it’s very sudden. Feels like it was based off of what Lucifer said. Which was a threat, but still, Dream knows how to not cross boundaries and get himself killed from a threat.

Lucifer doesn’t seem to have a strong opinion on this, or rather, he says, “As you like.” Letting Dream do whatever.

I don’t really have much to say on that part. It’s just a really fascinating conversation.

The Sandman (1989) Issue 72:

[Image description: Mazikeen and Lucifer sitting on what looks like a bench or stone beside one another. Mazikeen is to the left. She has an arm around Lucifer’s shoulders. Lucifer has his hands steepled in front of his face and his expression is unreadable, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. Mazikeen is almost leaning on him. She is wearing a red dress with no sleeves. Lucifer is wearing a blue suit. Both have curled hair, and Mazikeen is not wearing a mask. Overlaid, there is text from Matthew the raven, talking about Morpheus’s death. Matthew says, “I mean, Despair may be the thing that comes after hope, but there’s still hope. Right? When there’s no hope you might as well be dead. What’s in my heart?” End description.]

I find this significant in the AU because, firstly, it’s a point where Mazikeen shows affection to Lucifer. She has her arm around him. It feels...comforting, to me. Secondly, it’s the one panel of Lucifer I can find in the Wake -- and it’s when Matthew is talking about how he cares about Dream, and he’s figuring out his relationship with this new Dream.

Overall, Lucifer clearly respects Dream as just...another individual. He attends his funeral. He speaks with him multiple times.

In our AU, he and Dream are happily married, and their relationship post-Morpheus is settled, loving, happy. Because I love happy endings!!!!!!!!!!!!

I hope you enjoyed reading!! Feel free to shoot me a question about my thoughts on this AU. Because I have a LOT.

[themildestofwriters]

Meet the Writer Tag

Thank you @gottaenjoythelittlethingzz for tagging me in this post! It brought a smile to my face and was a great way to start the day! I love the interaction and hope it only continues.

Now, onto the questions asked.

1. What’s your favourite Fandom/media source to write for? If not an FF writer, what Fandom would you like to write for? What would you write for if you had no other choice to get out of writers block?

I don’t have a preference. Though I have written for The Familiar of Zero, “Star Wars: The Old Republic”, “Dragon Age”, and “Avatar: The Legends of Korra”. Speaking of which, I should probably work on those, but my WIP calls!

2. Is quantity of words or pages important to you?

As implied above, I come from a fanfiction writing background where the rules don’t really matter, a thirteen thousand-word chapter is normal and a prologue that’s long enough to be its own novella is expected. I am trying to make my chapters a wee bit smaller in my WIP. If chapter 2 is any indication, it’s going to bee a bit difficult.

Pages are of no use to me; when someone asks how many pages a chapter is I don’t really care and instead prefer to mention word count.

3. What’s the last book you read?

The last book I read was a lovely romance novel by the name of The Dark Wife written by Sarah Diemer. It’s an LGBT+ ‘re-imagining’ of the Persephone and Hades tale from Greek Mythology with the twist being that Hades is a woman. Now, I’m not normally interested in romance but it was quite inspiring and interesting to read. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a good read I recommend. I should probably write a review of it later...

Either way, you can thank the magnificent artist @almondmilkgirl for introducing me to the novel via fanart which looks an awful lot like two characters of mine. I had been looking for art of a gender-bent Hades for my WIP (Greek dress up party) only to find some done by the aforementioned artist.

4. Who’s your favourite author?

I don’t have one. I see a book, I read the book, I don’t really care who wrote it. There are some authors that I do have an interest in, but I can’t really pick and chose which author is my favourite.

5. What’s the last TV show you watched?

The last show I watched was Altered Carbon, if Netflix counts. In fact, my most famous post on Tumblr happens to be about Altered Carbon. Good show; recommend. 10/10 would guillotine the rich again.

6. What’s the last movie you watched?

I watched it a third time with my parents—first time for them—and it was good. It wasn’t perfect, had its ups and downs, but it’s certainly a highlight movie. Mother didn’t seem impressed as I may have blown the ending out of proportion upon returning from my first visit. Okay, not everyone died, but a lot of people did!

7. Who’s your favourite tv show/movie writer/director?

Same with authors, I don’t really care for who writes, who directs, it’s the content itself that matters. There are some writers and directors that I do have an interest in, but ultimately, it’s only a passing interest and not something I care too much about.

8. Where’s your favourite place to write? If you don’t have one where would you like to travel/visit to write?

My bedroom. It’s comfortable, it’s quiet, it’s the furthest room from everything else. It’s small, it’s cramped, my desk is an old organ I gutted and my chair is a dining room table chair. It’s convenient.

9. What’s your dream career that involves writing?

Author. That’s what I want to be, a published author.

10. Do you use outlines when planning for a project? If so, at what part of the story do you start (characters, plot, beginning, middle, end)? What’s your process?

There are three main stories of mine which I’ll discuss because I’m pretty sure I did a bit different for each of them.

The first I’ll discuss is A God Among Us, a WIP about the primordial goddess of night coming down to Earth to learn about the mortals and why her brothers and sisters destroyed each other for them. I started with a concept, the basic plot of a slice of life tale about a goddess out of her element trying to learn about humans. After the concept came the Goddess and from there the rest of the characters. The plot, the actual plot came last.

Then there’s Star Wars: The Sith, Zero, a fanfiction I’m writing and the longest thing I’ve written... ever. I chose the character first, the fan-favourite Lousie de La Valliere (accent not included), and then built the concept of it around the character and the two fandoms I had chosen (Familiar of Zero and Swtor). After the concept came the plot and from the plot came an endless stream of rewrites.

Finally, there is my current WIP, Divine Intervention or: What Comes After Immortality. For this, the characters and general plot had already been crafted way before I decided to write anything. Babette is my oldest character, someone who has been with me before I even started writing. Her love interest, Josephine, is a new addition but still at least a year or so old. I never really planned to write these characters. I was just going to day dream and add to the characters that way. Then a friend of mine and I began talking and talking and he was very interested in these characters. Eventually, we reached a point where I decided to throw out some small snips of their meeting about how much of an utter dork Babette was, and ding-ding, I started writing the story itself not too long after.

I tag: @fluffynexu, @inquisitorhotpants, @jenniferrpovey, @rose-writes-and-drinks-tea, @cometworks, @ariellaskylark, @focusdumbass. If you want to answer the questions, go ahead and consider yourself tagged.

My questions are:

What character has proven difficult to write?

Is there are story in your head that you’ve always wanted to write but never felt skilled enough to write? If yes, tell us about it! If no, tell me about your current WIP, if you’re willing.

Is there any theme or genre you find yourself unable to write?

Is there any theme or genre you find easy/fun to write?

What do you feel as if you’ve got to work on the most in your writing?

Which works have inspired you over the years?

Has there ever been something you’ve written where you’ve just stopped and marvelled at its existence?

How often is writing on your mind? Are you constantly daydreaming about characters/worldbuilding/plots or something else?

What is the one thing you want your readers to take away from your writing? It could be a feeling or a message or anything, whether it be from a single work or something overarching a collection of things you’ve written.

Why do you write?

Please tag if you’re going to answer, I’ll love to hear your replies! Good luck.

[thestrangestinthisstrangeland]

As We Lay Dreaming - chapter 15

warnings: 18+ only (minors DNI) no triggers, just love, non explicit, heavily implied male receiving oral— from a goddess no less.

summary: Dream and Glory/Oshun are eager to confront Desire, but not before a proper detour through the dreamscape that is New York in the 70’s, and one another in this glam version of the waking world. First stop— the Chelsea Hotel.

AO3

masterlist

*

It is a reckless thing to involve humans in the affairs of the Endless; even immortals fare poorly in their presence. But two against one and the odds shift, typically towards favoring the wronged.

That is how Dream of the Endless and the Goddess Oshun came to find Desire.

After Glory kissed her children goodbye for the weekend and thanked Loretta for taking them in, she left the house behind and took to the skies.

It was her first flight and her first trip to a city she'd never dared to imagine before this.

From the moment she stepped outside the airport to the wild yellow cab ride over and under water, this place was all sights, sounds, and smells that overwhelmed both her true and godly selves.

She watched in awe as skyscrapers grew up from the horizon, peaking over the bridges she'd dreamt of the night before.

Dropped off on Eighth avenue, Glory gawked like a wide-eyed southern daisy at the women pushing strollers through the concrete maze. She smiled at the old men playing chess and how they ignored the chaotic laughter of a few boys throwing a basketball across the busy street.

Until today she'd only known the lazy heat of moss-covered trees, damp bayous, and dirt roads. These rivers of asphalt were sprinkled with grime, and no one seemed to care. It confused her to no end, but she could not stop smiling.

Reality was harsh in this place, but the energy of the people who made it home revealed its true beauty to her before she could make it to the next block.

There was no other place on earth like it, and with a few friendly directions from the locals, she reached the red and white awning of her hotel before she could manage to get lost.

"Hi there." A young man said on his way out. He took a long drag from his cigarette, smoke swirling from his nostrils as he held the door open. If someone asked what a poet in the wild might look like, she would have guessed him, with his tousled brown curls, a black sweater in defiance of the heat, old jeans and canvas shoes.

Glory flashed a reflexive smile-nod, and their eyes met.

He blinked a few times, sort of like she did after her first glimpse of the Empire State Building from the cab. "You're from the south!" He declared.

Glory paused, listening to the warning bells that went off, signaling her to stay away from strangers, especially curious white men in hotels "Yes?"

"Ha! I knew it!" He seemed so damned excited to have gotten it right. "I can tell. You're… not affected. That is to say, you haven't let the city grind you down yet."

"Excuse me?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. It's not often I see Someone so green but so confident. It's rare— admirable? You're not going to fade away like the rest of us, kid. Plus, you might be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he sighed. "My wife would agree. Don't look too horrified. That's purely observational. I'm a writer. You think that's wild; just wait until you get inside."

"You harassing women again, Tom?"

Glory looked over to find a woman walking up, chic, cool— like the city had been designed around her.

"The wife I was just speaking of." He said with a flourish of the smoking hand.

"Greta." She said, reaching. They shook hands, and the tall blonde woman's cheeks flushed. "My my, you are unique." She said, looking Glory up and down like she couldn't decide if she was afraid or in love "well, you couldn't have picked a better place. Welcome to the Chelsea."

"Let us know if you need anything! Room 401!" Tom said as they turned to rush off.

Glory watched them go and wondered if everyone here would be as wonderfully strange.

Whether or not the people were, she could not say, but it was clear she was far from home.

This place was like a waking dream. She had to blink and shake her head to be sure she hadn't slipped under, what with this wild sometimes bizarre art of every form covering the walls, the female figure swinging from the ceiling and a wave of controlled chaos flooding her senses at every turn...

If Desire's earthly realm was out there, could Dream have made this place his?

Surely he had a few doors that opened directly to his chambers, she thought with a grin as she watched two young creatives arguing in the lobby. Over what, she couldn't say, but they had rocks glasses full of amber liquid and a passion for their project.

Once she’d gotten her key in hand, Glory headed for the elevator and eventually, someone was kind enough to get the damned thing to work.

Her room was small, simple— perfect.She'd never left her hometown and yet the young woman was discerning enough to know that there was somehting about these plain plaster walls that made them better than most.

Glory ran her fingers over the little desk under the window and thought of the stories she told her children every night. If she were to ever write them down and make a book, she could do it here in just a few days.

But not today.

Tossing the suitcase on the bed, she grabbed her little camera and headed back out, determined to see the things that could only be seen in daylight.

Letting herself be carried upstream with the rest of the city fish, she only broke free of the swell to walk through the parks and watch the pigeons and businessmen with briefcases.

When she accidentally found herself standing at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge, she took a deep breath and kept going. Nothing like this had existed in her waking world until now and it was terrifying in such a fun way.

She stared at those thick cables arranged to hold her and the other tourist so many feet in the air as she walked. Yes, it was engineering and math and science, but there was magic in this city too. It was then that she decided, no matter what happened, she would find her way back to this island one day.

This visit was just a taste— she would have the full bite.

But first things first.

Back at the hotel, musicians and writers drank and smoked with the artists who inspired them. Everyone was interesting and interested in one another.

Glory fit right in, flitting about like a sliver of refracted light free of the wall. She radiated with the energy of Oshun all the way to her little room on the sixth floor.

Dinner was indulgently eaten in bed and finished with a small glass of red wine, where her old silk robe from home kept slipping from her shoulders. She felt like a true bohemian-- whatever that was.

Content but missing him horribly, she pushed plates and tray to the foot of the bed and curled up under the heavy quilt where her head shared a wall with rock stars and soul queens.

Aided by the food and wine, she calmed into sleep and rested easy in spite of the day's excitement. Her soft breathing giving no indication of what went on in her mind, where she formed a dream path for her man to the waking world.

Glory opened a doorway and stood at the edge of darkness carving her thoughts into steps of backlit ivory, calling out to him, "Come! This city is magic!"

Amused, the Shaper walked the halls of her black dreams that beat with the pulse of the island.

He stalked through rooms full of dream folk who reached for him with smiling faces. Their little bellhop hats were cocked to the side. Their taxi cab-scented Wall Street suits ill-fitting, though their offerings of birdseed and directions were heartfelt.

Her dreams moved to a rhythm that pushed him forward, past Broadway's dancing girls with pigeon wings and the kids chasing balloons, straight towards the glowing steps in the dark that led to the waiting door.

The sign above read EXIT, its letters flashing hot pink over and over again.

Morpheus smiled. Her mind was electric tonight.

If she were awake in this, Glory whose name was also Oshun would have made nightmares the likes of which he’d never seen.

Standing on her top stair, Dream tugged the collar of his leather jacket up and raked the thick waves of black hair from his eyes like he’d been born to this time.

Hands to the smoked glass of her gateway, he pushed the doors open and walked into the very real lobby of the Chelsea hotel.

An eruption of reality greeted him and woke her.

In the comfortable quiet of her hotel room, Dream stood back, watching as Glory closed her eyes, tipped her head back just a bit, and let her arms open to the sides.

If he were a mortal man, he might have asked many questions, but he was not, so he just waited and watched, admiring how the old ways worked their magic, and slowly, without leaving completely, Glory quietly stepped aside and let Oshun rise.

He was not one for showing emotion, but it was impossible not to be moved by the sight of her transformation. It was very much like seeing the one he loves curl down into sleep while the one he would have loved since the dawn of her time walk up and out of water, naked as the day Yemaja made her.

Smoothing her hands over her tight curls, she opened her eyes and looked at him, curious for a moment until recognition flushed across her brown cheeks. She smiled at the lord of Dreams, as sweet as raw honey before stumbling back.

"No, no." Oshun held up a hand as she found her footing, "I'm alright."

"What do you feel?" He asked, still ready to spring into action.

She rubbed her head a little, moaning with an ache. "I feel the room spinning. I feel the world spinning." She pressed her fingers to her temples. "I have been sharing my thoughts and my emotions with myself, and I have so many of them," Oshun said with a pained laugh, shrugging it off anyway.

He settled and even allowed himself to raise the corner of his mouth with a smile. Country girl or goddess, she still had the same sense of humor.

"Well Morpheus, where exactly are we going? It's still a little…." She waved her hand in the air, eyes shut tight.

"Into the heart of Desire." He answered, watching her closely.

Oshun opened one eye and then the other. "Here? Among humanity?"

"There is no better place."

She smiled understanding his meaning well, but noted that for one so reserved, poor Morpheus was not so good at hiding his own wants and needs. This was not new. She was still herself, but seeing him through the gaze of Oshun gave her a different perspective.

Glory often thought her naked curves were a distraction. Oshun confidently drew his attention down over her peaks and valleys with a coy laugh taunting him like she found her ability to reduce the Endless to something resembling a man, endearing.

Dream could not care less; he was transfixed.

Stepping close, he grazed the back of his fingers up her belly and between her breast. "We go to my sibling's earthly realm." His voice was light enough to make her shiver. She watched his lips when he spoke, "A place called Studio 54." Pale like the rest of him but as full and soft as they were a small taste of his dominance and virility. Dream stroked up along her neck and tickled her jaw with his thumb drawing her in, "Did they touch you?" He asked.

She looked into the stars. "Desire?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Not even like this?" He asked and just barely brushed her lips with his finger. Oshun closed her eyes and shook her head no. She leaned in, wanting very badly to kiss him, but the deep somewhat condescending laugh that rumbled in his chest— like the sound one makes when catching a petty thief red handed— made her stop.

Oshun pulled back, guessing his game. She clicked her tongue to show her playful distaste, "You're testing me to see if I can resist, but I passed this test already." She told him poking her finger to his chest.

Bested easily by a woman he had no wish to press or upset, Dream bowed his head and looked over his shoulder towards the window. "Do not remind me."

Oshun sighed long and slow.

Men.

Her hand, gentle and warm, cradled his chin, turning his head back around to face her. "Dream Lord," she said his title and name with such affection he could hardly tell that she was scolding him. "The only one who will be reminded is your little sibling.”

"Reminded of what exactly?" He asked, still scowling.

"That the only thing they should do in the presence of royalty, is kneel."

He stared down at her for a few seconds which was all it took for Dream to lose interest in discussing his annoying kin. Even knowing that Desire would love to see him give into these base needs could not keep him focused.

Dream reached to feel the soft warmth of Oshun’s stomach. Smooth and familiar, he liked most how her belly rounded beneath her navel. Softer still was the velvet skin the further his hand went. He liked this most of all."Is that why you are still naked?"

She gasped, melting down onto his hand.

Forcing herself to keep her eyes open, she raised her brow, "It does make it easier." She smiled, biting her lip in reply to his touch and implication, "And, I like you on your knees as much as I like the idea of being your Queen. But, I think it's you who needs to be reminded King of nightmares," she sighed, her own hands gripping his arms under the leather jacket, "and dreams."

"And you wish to remind me?"

"I do." She told him, licking her lips a little.

She didn't need to say more. He just slowly took his hand away, and watched as Oshun turned the tides but paused before going to her knees. "Studio 54? Glory, she— we— looked at this place in a magazine. I wonder, Should I even bother putting anything on?" She teased and laughed, trailing her fingers over his forearms, letting him catch her hands to help her down.

Dream watched the woman goddess move in her deliberate way. Her actions were slow enough to distract him from what would happen once they left this room, but not so much as to torture him.

His human form tensed at her delicate touch as quickly as he relaxed into the feel of her playful smile wrapping tight around him.

Should I even bother to put something on… Dream held in one of many possible responses to what she'd said. The short answer was, who cares. Oshun could cover herself in the black void of space and nothing could hide what the stars had given her.

He let his head drop back just a little as he exhaled her name, his long fingers finding the soft coils of her hair. With his hand on the back of her head, he held her firm but ever-respectful, and she clung to his cool thighs that flexed hard as marble while she hummed sweet, deep approval.

For a little while, he did just that. He stopped caring why he'd climbed the steps and opened the door.

For a little while, when Dream closed his eyes and the neon exit flashed hot pink behind them, it wasn't a score to settle or threats to be made that brought him here. It was her.

He drew a sharp breath and dropped his chin to watch.

He was ancient. Born of mother Night.

Alive since the first being dreamed.

And still this— he smoothed his hand over her curls— The wet heat, the sound, the vulgar intimacy that made him forget he does not like to smile was all it took to calm him.

He heard his own voice moaning pleasure as a call and response, a back and forth between them.

Her gentle encouragement spurred his increasing need to give and take in reply to her quiet answer vibrating to his core. On and on, a cycle that would unfortunately end, but not yet…

Dream stared down at Oshun, the stars neither growing bright nor dim; they simply fixed on their point, unable to deny his true reason for coming to the waking world. Everything he did was for the woman on her knees who called him king. He would drape planets around her neck on silken cords that would shame sapphires. He would place strands of sunlight in the black coils of her hair and crush any who dared to threaten her. They came into his house. Into her room!

How dare they. How Dare they…

Oshun's groan turned to laughter as she pulled away, "Hush. I can hear you thinking. I can… feel you thinking." She said, sitting back on her heels."

Dream looked down—every muscle flexed tight. "No?" He frowned, breathing heavily.

"No” she grinned “But I do not need to be Endless to hear that mind of yours— on and on." She said, rolling her eyes that sparkled with love. "Confronting family? That is for thinking. Enjoying this, "she smiled and shrugged, "that is for a silent, happy mind to make room for pleasure. Now—"she went up onto her knees. "Quiet, and be thankful for me. Today was good. This moment is better. But we do not know what the night will bring"

Mortal, immortal, it makes no difference. When the one you love tells you to shut your mouth so that she can open hers, you'd be a fool not to listen.

Morpheus, the Prince of Stories and King of the Dreaming, did as he was told.