#morpheus imagines

[writethrough]

Can I request a morpheus x reader where his s/o has curly/wavy hair? Or just reader being obsessed with touching his hair and he absolutely love it and he likes to do the same

Mid-Afternoon Dream

(Morpheus x Gender-Neutral Reader)

Synopsis: Morpheus enjoys his moment of peace with you.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 430

A/N: Thank you for being patient with me! I went with the second half of your idea since I like to try and keep Reader as up-to-interpretation as possible. I hope you enjoy!

You were lying on your couch, music playing softly from your record player. Spring was slowly shifting into summer, enough that you had opened your windows to feel the breeze drift through your home. 

The early afternoon rays filtered in, and everything seemed brighter and newer in that way only the warm weather brought. For this moment, everything was peaceful. 

Even Morpheus couldn’t find fault in it. Not when his head rested on your chest, and you were carding through his hair to the base of his neck. Your nails gently dragging down his scalp to the ends of his strands would’ve made him shiver if he were human. 

You’ve been like this for some time now, relaxing in each other's arms. It was a rare moment for the Dream King. He couldn’t recall the last time he had felt this content. Though, it’d been happening more frequently since he’d met you. 

When he’s working, his mind often wondered to you, what you were doing, when he would see you, it’d become ever the distraction—be it a welcomed one. 

He hummed as your nails traced his neck, and you giggled lightly. He squeezed your side in return. 

Never had he thought he’d let anyone see him like this, not after all those years in that cage. But there was something in you that called him. He could let his guard down around you. And it was easier than he thought. 

You opened your arms to him and all he had to do was step closer. 

You placed a kiss on the top of his head, pulling him from his thoughts. 

“Have I put the Sandman to sleep?” you teased. 

He answered with his eyes closed. “You are the only creature capable of such a feat.” 

“You deserve some rest.” He could hear your smile, but there was seriousness, too. It made him lift to his elbow to look at you. 

You stared at one another a few moments until you reached out a hand to cup his cheek. Your thumb grazed his skin reverently, seemingly amazed that he was before you now. 

The corner of your lips ticked up as you took him in. This otherworldly being that wasn’t really a being at all. He was too perfect. It only made sense that he was a concept, one that provided all with the ability to escape, to wrap themselves in imagination, to set themselves free. 

“My Dream,” you whispered, almost like you hadn’t meant to. 

His eyes softened. His own hand reached up to caress your hair. 

“My heart.” 

Tags: @sayumiht, @hatterripper31, @snowsatsu, @1950schick, @navs-bhat, @bookshelf-dust, @sapphireonline, @fictional-hooman, @steph-speaks, @ladyredstar1991, @secretdreamlandmentality, @ababycake, @morpheuss1mp, @boofy1998, @alice-the-nerd, @herfantasyworldd, @poemfreak306, @tronnily, @commanderfreethatdust

Let me know if you want to be added to the list!

[miladysproblems]

morpheus and his human lover<33

this is such a cute gif couplet-

[kpopgirlbtssvt]

Omggg Sandman peeps!! Imagine this-

Morpheus x Gadling!fem!human!reader where she is in her 20s and is Hob’s daughter (who was born years after 1989 when Morpheus “stood up” Hob when he was trapped), but Morpheus doesn’t know that she’s Hob’s daughter when they meet, and Y/n doesn’t know that her Dad knows Morpheus. And they end up starting to date and are in a serious relationship with each other. Hob doesn’t know that his close friend is dating his daughter either. They both find out when Y/n invites them to the New Inn to “meet” each other and they’re both like, “???”… Dream would be like, “You [Hob] are her father??” and Hob is like, “Really, my daughter???” Y/n is like, “You both know each other??”

@dragon-kazansky @gh0stsp1d3r @roguelov @missdreamofendless @honeybeezgobzzzzz

[unabashednightmarepizza]

My biggest celebrity crush Tom Sturridge looking fine in shootings of Sandman Season 2.

You know what this mean?

A continuation of "Home to You"!

[wanderingthroughsands]

VIII. If you don’t know where you are going…

Can you help me out, can you lend a hand? It’s safe to say that I’m stuck again Trapped between this life and the light I just can’t figure out how to make it right

– "Rain" by Creed

The first thing I saw upon opening my eyes was the face of Dreamlord, mere inches away from my own. My ears rang, and my entire body felt helpless, limp, stripped of any ability to move. Lord Morpheus gripped my shoulders firmly, kneeling before me on the marble floor, his endless gaze piercing through me. As my thoughts slowly began to return, and the palace surroundings sharpened, I noticed something in his face… fatigue. His brows were furrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line. I felt his slow, deep breaths on my cheeks, and his strong hold on my arms, as though he wouldn’t allow me to collapse.

“Dreamlord,” I spoke weakly, letting our eyes meet. “Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer, just continued to gaze at me unflinchingly. With each passing second, my strength and awareness of what had happened returned, but I didn’t dare move even a fraction while he was so close to me. His grip loosened slightly, yet the intensity of his stare remained. His presence, nearer than ever before, awakened something new in me—something that nearly displaced the fear and anticipation I had long known.

“For a moment, I thought… I was certain… But you let me live. What happened?” I asked, almost in a whisper, afraid that careless words might disturb the extraordinary energy surrounding us.

“Something went wrong,” Dreamlord replied just as softly. “You weren’t supposed to feel that pain. Your power…”

“You didn’t take it from me?”

“My lord!”

Lucienne found us kneeling across from one another in the middle of the throne room, speaking in hushed tones, our closeness almost making us appear as one. At the sound of her voice, Dreamlord finally tore his gaze from mine and, standing, extended his hand to help me rise.

"Is everything all right?" Lucienne asked, concern in her voice as she stood beside me, facing Lord Morpheus. "Something happened in the Dreaming, my lord—something like a tremor, but it felt as if the very foundations of the realm were shaking."

"I attempted to extract a fragment of my Nightmare from Rebecca Surrey's existence, but..." He turned to the woman, and in the colorful light streaming through the stained glass windows, the exhaustion on his face was even more evident. "Her power would not submit to me. It attacked me."

"Attacked you...?" Lucienne's words faltered, and she cast a surprised glance in my direction. "Are you... unharmed, my lord?"

"That power..." Dreamlord continued, as if he hadn’t heard her question. "I cannot comprehend it, Lucienne. Even the Corinthian, my most perfected Nightmare, couldn’t fight me like that. It wanted to repel me, to wound me, without regard for the life of its bearer."

"How is that possible?" Lucienne's expression was already one of astonishment, yet somehow her brows rose even higher. "If Rebecca was born from the Nightmare..."

"...then why did she not yield to her creator, to Dream of the Endless? What have you done to preserve your power, Rebecca Surrey?" he turned his attention back to me, and once again, that familiar dark shadow settled over his sharp features.

"I..." I stammered as fear suddenly surged back into me, crashing like a wave. "I really, truly don’t know, Lord Morpheus."

"Mind that you are addressing King of the Dreaming, the Ruler of this realm, the Endless, Master of Dreams and Nightmares, of hope and of torment..." With each word, his voice, which could shake the very pillars of the universe, echoed more menacingly through the palace chamber. "I expect you to answer my question truthfully."

"I swear on my life," I said, remaining rooted to the spot, though every fiber of my being wanted to flee from the overwhelming force of his energy. "That I did nothing to defend my power. You know I was willing to give it up to you, Dreamlord."

We fell silent, locked in a gaze like predator and prey before the final battle. I could see the anger in his eyes, and he must have seen my fear, but surely he also saw my resolve. Like him, I couldn't understand why the power I had already resigned myself to losing refused to leave me. The attack on him had happened as if without my will, manifesting as pain in the deepest recesses of my being.

And Lord Morpheus, instead of continuing the fight, had spared me. He had spared me yet again.

"We must find out why Rebecca's power resists yours, my lord," Lucienne said cautiously after the silence had stretched on. "There is no record of her second parent in the Book of her history. If the Corinthian is indeed the father, as the traces he left suggest, perhaps he can help us understand..."

"I will not restore the Corinthian to the Dreaming, Lucienne," Dreamlord interrupted coldly. "He caused too much damage here and in the waking world."

Lucienne lowered her gaze for a moment.

"Then perhaps the fault lies with the Vortex?"

"The Vortex appeared years after Rebecca Surrey was born. And, like no Vortex before in millennia, it would not have been able to instill such power in a human child." He turned his gaze back to me, as if analyzing me from head to toe. I remained silent, waiting for him to pass his divine judgment, unaware of what might be brewing behind the unreadable facade of his face. "In recent times, I have presented you with many choices," he said at last. "You chose to surrender your power to me, yet I am unable to take it from you. You are something I cannot explain. And until I learn why your power opposed mine, I will have to keep you in my realm."

"Dreamlord," I responded, a surge of defiance rising within me at the cold, hollow look in his eyes. "You seek the truth about the origin of my power, and so do I. I would gladly help you in the search for answers... but you just cannot imprison me here."

The calm aura that surrounded him almost perpetually suddenly vanished. He stepped toward me, and as I lifted my gaze to meet his, he seemed larger and more powerful than ever before. Darkness enveloped his eyes, swallowed his features, and instead of the pale man I had once seen in the park just before the accident, I saw an infinite, dangerous night, slowly wrapping its tendrils around me.

He was no longer the person I had first encountered. He was the Endless. The Lord of the Dreaming. A being of unimaginable power.

"I have endured your defiance time and again, Rebecca Surrey," he spoke, his voice so deep and filled with rage that I felt it reverberate through my fingertips. "You dare to make demands of Dream of the Endless, and instead of destroying you the moment I found you, I try to fulfill them to save your fragile human life. So now, you will heed my demand."

"I wanted to give you my life," I whispered, struggling to catch my breath as my racing heart constricted my chest. "I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me."

"By defying me? Hiding within my Nightmares? Failing the purpose for which you were created?" He leaned in closer, and I stopped breathing altogether, staring into the dangerous darkness of the night he had become. "I know you could wake now and return to your world. But you won't do this. Not until I allow it. I need to hear it from you, Rebecca Surrey. I need you to promise that you will not leave the Dreaming until I give you permission."

I swallowed hard, fighting against the rising tide of fear. He was right, I actually could close my eyes and open them back in the waking world. I could slip away from the snares of the night that Lord Morpheus wove around me. I could leave him here, once more, and condemn myself to endless flight through Nightmares.

And yet...

"I promise not to leave, Dreamlord," I said quietly, my facial muscles tightening with each word. "Not until you give me permission."

The darkness vanished, and with it, so did Lord Morpheus. The throne room felt smaller, quieter as I finally took a deep breath and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to compose myself. Slowly, second by second, the colorful light from the stained-glass windows crept back into my awareness, and the thunderous pulse of blood in my ears began to fade. Only then did I also realize Lucienne was standing not far from me, silent and as unsettled as I was. My hands were still trembling as I wrapped them around my arms, trying to shake off the lingering chill within.

"Rebecca," Lucienne’s voice was gentle as she extended her hand toward me. "You can’t stay here. Come with me."

Lucienne led me to one of the deep, soft chairs in her library and allowed me to sit in silence for several minutes, while she busied herself organizing books. I watched her, first absentmindedly, then with increasing focus as she carefully sorted through the volumes and arranged them in neat rows on the vast wooden shelves. Her movements were steady, full of certainty and calm, as though she knew her library as intimately as a mother knows her child. Watching her soothed me, slowly dissolving the fear that had taken root in my chest.

And though she seemed absorbed in her task, I knew she was waiting for me to be ready to speak.

"Lucienne..." I finally began, and she immediately turned from her books to offer me a warm, kind look. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"Each of us in the Dreaming has been where you are now," she smiled and sat down in the chair opposite mine, her voice gentle and soothing. "Lord Morpheus has been the great ruler of this realm since the dawn of time. But since that very same dawn, he has never taken well to defiance."

"Matthew told me the exact same thing," I muttered, sinking deeper into my seat.

"I’ve served Lord Morpheus longer than you could ever imagine," Lucienne continued with a soft chuckle. "And more than anyone, I know that everything he does is for the safety and well-being of the Dreaming. Don’t judge him too harshly, Rebecca. From your first encounter, he has been trying to protect the life you hold so dear."

"I know," I sighed, though I couldn’t quite shake the edge of stubbornness in my voice.

"You are a bit alike, you and Lord Morpheus," she said, sounding amused. "He’s just as stubborn and just as unwilling to let others decide his fate. But trust me, if he didn’t care about your safety, he wouldn’t ask you to stay in his palace, where nothing can harm you."

"I don’t think it’s my safety that concerns Dreamlord so much," I replied, rolling my eyes, though Lucienne’s smile only grew warmer.

"Then why didn’t he fight back against your power when it attacked him?" she asked, her tone probing but kind. "You don’t trust him, and I can’t entirely blame you for that... but Lord Morpheus rarely cares for human life as much as he does for yours. Those emotions you just witnessed—they weren’t a sign of indifference. They were the opposite of that."

The opposite?

"Lucienne," I leaned slightly towards her, clasping my hands on my knees. "I want to help him understand why he can’t take my power. But here, in the Dreaming, I feel helpless. I made him a promise, and if I were to break it..." He would hate me—that’s what I intended to say, but the words just wouldn’t pass my lips.

"He will eventually turn to you for help, I’m sure of it," Lucienne said, drifting off into thought, as if a distant memory had resurfaced. "He must, if he wishes to reclaim the power you now possess. But for now, you should stay here, let your emotions settle, give yourself and Lord Morpheus some time."

"Time..." As she said it, a question suddenly sprang into my mind, and I was surprised I hadn’t thought of it sooner. "Lucienne, what about my world, the time that’s passing there? If I don’t wake by morning, and my mom sees me lying lifeless in bed..."

"You needn’t worry about that, Rebecca," she replied soothingly. "Months might pass here before a single night in your world comes to an end."

"She has nightmares about me not waking up. It’s been that way ever since the accident, the one that left me unconscious and started these journeys into the Dreaming. It’s always been just the two of us, her and me, so when she thought she might lose me back then..."

And as soon as I said it aloud, another thought instantly filled my head.

"It’s always been just the two of us," I continued, feeling excitement rise within me with each word. "Lucienne, your books lack any mention of my father, but my mother—she actually met him! Perhaps she remembers something, knows something we can’t discover on our own. Maybe staying here, in the Dreaming, would be a mistake after all. Maybe I should return to the waking world... and simply talk to my mom."

[flightlessangelwings]

hi :) hope you're doing good! can I request a morpheus x gender neutral reader where reader is feeling overwhelmed/stressed, hasn't slept properly in a while , so they haven't seen morpheus in a while and he's worried. he decides to go visit them, reassuring and comforting them until they sleep in their arms. thank you!! <3

Back to You

Dream of the Endless x gn!reader (no use of y/n)

Word count- 727

Warnings- fluff, comfort, established relationship

Notes- Thank you for the request, anon! I hope you like this! 💖

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog to follow and turn on post notifications to stay up to date on when I post!

~

Morpheus was worried. It had been weeks since he’d seen you, and he knew it was unlike you.

It started as coincidence… or was it fate. You had made your way into the Dreaming… and Morpheus’ heart. Since the first night your paths crossed, he looked forward to seeing you every night, and what started as a companionship between two kindred souls soon blossomed into something more.

Every time Morpheus saw you was like the first time. His heart fluttered in his chest under the layers of black robes, and a hint of a smile lit up his face. He craved the warmth of holding you close, he craved the sight of your smile, he craved the way you hummed contently as he whispered soft sweet nothings in your ear until it was time for you to leave the Dreaming once more.

But it had been weeks since Morpheus saw your captivating eyes, your warm smile, your loving arms. And he was worried. So, he made the decision to leave the Dreaming and visit you in the real world… your world.

It was no trouble in finding your home. Being a supernatural being, Morpheus easily found you. But, it was also exactly the way you described it to him. From the doorway welcoming him into your world to the decor that you were so fond of, your home was just like that Morpheus pictured in his head. The only thing that did not fit the image was your slumped over form at your desk in the far corner of the room.

Morpheus breathed your name as he studied you with concern in his features. The light that illuminated your eyes and your aura was dimmed, and even from the distance Morpehus felt the weight that you carried in your heart. And when you jumped up with a gasp, he saw the puffiness under your eyes.

“Morpheus…” you sighed as you looked around the room in confusion, “Are… Are you really here? Or am I dreaming?”

He crossed the room and knelt so that he met your gaze as you sat in your chair, “I’m here my love,” his low voice brought a comfort as he cupped the side of your face with a feather-light touch, “I…” I was worried, “Are you alright?”

You lost yourself in Morpheus’ gaze for several moments before you looked over at the time. But the warmth of his touch soothed your restless mind, “I’m ok,” your voice was hushed, “I’ve just had a lot to deal with lately… I haven't been sleeping well.”

His brows furrowed, “Well we can’t have that now can we?” The quip in his voice was unexpected and it brought a genuine smile to your face, the first one in weeks, “Come, let me take care of you, my love.”

Fully trusting him, you let Morpheus take your hand and guide you to your feet and into your bedroom. Carefully, he stripped you of your outer layers of clothes to get you into bed, leaving the stresses of the day on the floor with your discarded clothing. Tenderly, Morpheus laid you onto your bed, and a wave of relief ran through him when you let out a contented sigh and fluttered your eyes shut.

He let out a mirroring breath as he chucked off his coat and laid down next to you. The whole world could wait; all Morpheus cared about was you. Besides, to him, you were his whole world. Morpheus wrapped his long arms around you and pulled you close so that you rested your head on his chest.

Morpheus held you close as he felt all the stress you held in your body melt away. It was as if by holding you tightly, he forced all the negativity out of you and all that was left was comfort and love. You were here, you were safe, you were ok. And you were his.

“Thank you, Morpheus,” you breathed as you nuzzled your head into him, “I lo…” you drifted off to sleep before you could finish your thought.

He smirked as he placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, “Sleep well, my love,” he whispered to your sleeping form, “I will see you in the Dreaming and you can tell me what you wanted to say,” Morpheus paused, “And I love you.”

[realmsdelght]

His everything; Dream of the Endless

Dream of the Endless x oc

Summary: The Lord of Dreams finally finds peace in monsters and the kitchen of his palace Note: The only physical description I wrote in is the silver hair because I’m fascinated with Velaryons/Targaryens. But anyone can have silver hair, and other than that there is no physical description, I tried to keep it pretty neutral, if I slipped up somewhere please let me know I thought about a lot of stories about this oc, I can write more and expand on her if you guys like the story. Also, I'm a little rusty so forgive me if this isn't that good Warning: none just fluff Word count: 1,4k

The universe is full of ironies, the world of gods and monsters even more so.

Echidna, the mother of monsters, had many children, but there was only one of those pregnancies where she was truly haunted. She cursed the Lord of Dreams and Nightmares as the latter plagued her every night, and in her mind that could only mean one thing. So she announced this would be the worst of her children, a monster so ruthless and grotesque that the Olympians themselves would fear the child. Her words traveled from her cave all the way to Olympus, where some of the gods secretly feared the unborn monster, and some mocked its mother, believing the cave had finally taken Echidna’s sanity.

Labor was harder than carrying the child, but once she was born Echidna was surprised. In her arms laid a baby, god-like shape and a head full of silver hair, she was the most beautiful child she had ever seen. Enya, she was named, and her mother hoped naming the child after Enyo would ensure her little monster would wreak havoc around men and gods alike.

As Enya grew up she proved to be completely different from what her mother’s expectations were. She was soft and charming, and the most beautiful creature Echidna had ever seen. Because of that, the mother was very reluctant to let her daughter go, afraid of what the cruel gods would do to her.

The gods were divided when it came to Echidna’s child. Surprisingly, Aphrodite was quite taken with the girl, a monster with a cloak so beautiful it could have come from herself. Zeus on the other hand, masked his fear with contempt, declaring that the girl was the most dangerous of Echidna’s offspring, with her beauty cloaking her monstrosity. With years of roaming the earth, Enya earned the name of Goddess of Monsters, as even the most aggressive of monsters were calmed by her presence.

Just as expected her beauty attracted hundreds of suitors and some lovers, but none were so special and lasting as the very same being that had haunted her mother when she was in the womb, Dream of the Endless.

The salty air calmed her, and she knew her presence calmed whatever resided in the waters in front of her. She heard steps on the sand beside her, and she knew exactly who was approaching. Whether it was his smell that was carried by the wind, or the ruby warmed up on her neck as he approached. The ruby that adorned her neck was the only piece that remained from Dream’s ruby, a gift given to her just before the sleepy sickness started.

“You have no shoes on,” he pointed out jokingly. She loved his voice, as deep as the ocean and just as calm.

“And you are wearing boots at the beach,” she finally opened her eyes and turned to him, moving closer. “Do you ever miss the simpler times?” Her hands went to his chest, “all we wore was silk tunics and dresses, and sandals, vivid colors embellished with gold and silver.”

“And the sheer violet dress you were wearing when we met,” he smiled at his beloved, he remembered that day like it was yesterday.

Her smile grew wider as she remembered their first encounter, “you did like that dress.”

“But I do not miss those times,” his statement made her laugh.

“Of course, the Lord of Nightmares would prefer boots to sandals,” Morpheus smiled, taking her hand into his.

“I do,” he kissed her forehead, “shall we go home?”

The couple walked down the beach, the Lord of Dreams knew there was no need to walk down the beach to reach the Dreaming, but he also knew how much she enjoyed the feeling of the sand on her feet.

The Dreaming was finally rebuilt, and its inhabitants were back to their homes, but even after it was done the Lord of Dreams still had a lot of work to do. He would spend his days working on dreams and nightmares, making sure everything was perfectly in balance. Morpheus enjoyed his duty, but some days he wished he could spend his days with Enya, doing nothing, or whatever she wished to do.

The sky in the Dreaming was dark, their duty was done and its residents could retire to their homes for the day, so their ruler decided to do the same. He quietly searched his palace for his lover, but the silver haired girl was nowhere to be found. Dream’s last stop was the library, he hoped that even if she was not there Lucienne would be able to tell him where she was. 

“Lucienne,” his deep voice echoed in the library.

“Sir,” the librarian emerged from in between the shelves.

“Have you seen Enya?” He asked, and he did not miss the small smile on Lucienne’s face.

“I believe she is in her kitchen, Sir,” she informed Morpheus.

Her kitchen, of course, the Lord thought, was the most obvious place, but since it had not been used since he was freed from his captor, the location slipped his mind.

 For most gods and immortal beings cooking was mundane, an unnecessary task that was beneath them. But his Enya took great pleasure in the simple act of cooking, so the Lord of Dreams turned one of the lower rooms of his palace into a kitchen, with a large balcony overlooking the waters that surrounded the palace, and a simple table so they could eat overlooking his kingdom.

Dream’s large steps quickly took him to the kitchen, and as soon as he reached the large doors the Endless could smell whatever she was cooking. Once the door was opened he found Enya bent down, taking something out of the oven, but what really caught his attention was the dress she was wearing, the sheer violet dress.

Enya felt the warmth coming from the ruby on her neck before the doors were opened, and a smile appeared on her face once she heard his steps.

“Torta della nonna,” she showed him the pastry on her hands before placing it on the counter.

As soon as the pastry was set down on the counter Dream’s hands found their way to her hips. “Is there a special occasion? You only cook Italian on special occasions,” he pointed out.

Enya was very good at hiding her emotions, but she rarely ever did so. Morpheus could see the love and admiration she held for him For a long time all that love and devotion scared him, but not anymore.

She shrugged her shoulders, “I missed you.” she said before pulling him into a kiss.

The Lord of Dreams melted into her lips, and as much as he could kiss her forever he was still curious. “And the dress? I did not know you still had it,” He asked and she giggled at his interest in the dress.

“It is a beautiful dress,” he laughed at her, “and it was the dress I wore when we first met.”

“At Artemis’ garden,” Dream said and she nodded.

“I wanted to do something special for you,” she explained. “You deserve it, especially after everything,” after Roderick Burgess, she thought but those words were left unspoken.

“Every day I spend with you is special,” The Lord of Dreams brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, his eyes never leaving hers.

Enya couldn’t look away, for in his eyes she saw her whole world, she saw a kind of love she had only heard in stories, and she knew she could never let this go.

“Yes,” she nodded, “but lasagna and dessert make this day more special,” Dream chuckled at this.

“And the dress,” he added, and this time Enya was the one to chuckle.

“And the dress, of course,” she finally got out of his embrace, turning towards the counters, she picked up the dessert and nodded to the lasagna on the counter, “ bring that, will you?” Morpheus simply nodded, picking up the hot dish and following his lover outside. The table was already set with plates, silverware, glasses, water, and wine. After all, every dinner with the Lord of Nightmares was a special occasion. Dream watched as she served them dinner, he now understood the beauty she saw in such small acts, but maybe it was not the act he found beautiful, maybe it was her, his everything.

[oneshots-heaven]

A Love That's Not Mine — Morpheus/Dream

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course, my lord.“

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

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

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

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

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

Just as there was no other to save it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[dumbfloweralive]

The salvation of humanity

Chapter 12: Hob Gaddling, you're stupid.

Morpheus x (f)reader

Warning: alcohol

Reminder of the last chapter:

“We’ll see.” he said, taking your sleeping form in his arms.

He should leave you, staying out of your life. That would be for the best. He would end up hurting you.

“Let’s get you home, my little human.” He said, holding you close while raising from the ground and leaving.

 Was he even capable of such thing.

10 December 2029

Eleven days had passed since Dream had found back his ruby. After what happened, he had brought you back to England, in the house he knew you loved with the fireplace, the one you two stopped on your way to Oxford. Once you were awake, the two of you had spoken. 

Dream explained to you what had happened to him exactly during the last century. You had learned about Jessamy, who died helping him on the hand of Alex Burgess. The things they expected from him. The entire seven years he had spent alone, with no soul around until you came.

Your presence had comforted him, letting him feel safe as he opened up to you.

Then, he had answered your question. Who he was, his family, the Endless. You had learned about the Creator, the one above all. Dream was more than a god, that’s what you had understood, and that was a lot to take in. 

The two of you went different way since he needed to return to his realm, and you, home, packing everything you needed to move North again to meet Edgar in “The new inn”.

But since then, you haven’t seen him nor heard of him. You weren’t worried much, though, he probably had many things to do. Yet, still, you had that sting in your heart, fearing you might never see him again. After all, you were just human. 

Why would he care?

Meanwhile, Dream had spent the last days working on his realm, fixing everything that needed to. Finding back the resident of the Dreaming. He did have noticed his missing creation. At some point, they should come back, or he will found them.

Yet, something remain missing. He was certain that, after he would have found all his tools, he will feel good again. Now, he was just disappointed, having no idea why he felt this way when he was stronger than ever.

So, there he was, sitting on a bench, feeding pigeons until his sister, Death, joined him. They had exchanged until she asked why he was so moody. And, Dream decided to share his thought with his sister. Sharing his desire of revenge remaining unfulfilled because Paul and Roderick Burgess were dead, the thought of the mutants out there, the way he felt, empty compared to the exciting journey he had to found his tools. The way he felt more powerful than ever. A new purpose he had, a quest he had loved every minute, in this changed world.

“I was so sure that, once i got everything back, i’d feel good. But in some way, i feel worse than when i started… I feel like… Nothing” Bored, he wanted to say. Empty, like something remain missing. 

“There, you asked” 

His sister looked at him, smiling gently, before putting her hand on his knee.

“You could have called me, you know.” Death said.

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“I don’t believe it” she sound bored, rolling her eyes and standing up.

“Let me tell you something Dream, and i’m only gonna say this once so, you better pay attention” She picked his bread out of his hand.

“You are utterly the stupidest, most self-centred, pathetic excuse for an anthropomorphic personification, on this, or, any other plane. Feeling sorry for yourself because your little game is over, and you haven’t got the balls to get out and find a new one. You're as bad as Desire, no, worse” She spit out, throwing the bread back in Dream chest.

Dream felt offended, especially by her last sentence. Worse than Desire? No way.

“Did it never occur to you that i would be worried about you.”

“I didn’t think…” He started, but was cut short by Death.

“Exactly, you didn’t think.”

The group of human next to them throw away the ball, which Death catches quickly, just like Dream a few minutes ago.

“Waou, you’re just as good as your friend” the man pointed out.

“He’s not my friend, he is my brother, and he’s an idiot.” She said, sending back the ball.

“I am just feeding the birds.” he answered back, looking at the ground will the human walked away.

“Is this about this human and her dog?” she finally asked.

“I don’t know who you're referring to.” Lies. How could she know about his dear human.

“Don’t play this game with me, Dream”

Dream looked at her, waiting for his big sister to kept going, knowing he didn’t have anything to say about you.

“You spend almost two weeks around her day and night after spending a century imprisoned. It’s normal that you miss adventures with her. Normal that you feel this way now that you are alone again.”

“I can’t, you know it. It’s for the best” he said, more bitter than he wanted.

He had walked out of your life for a reason, the best reason. He couldn’t miss you, the adventures with you, he mustn’t. You were just a mortal. Soon, you would be gone. Dream had learnt his lesson long ago.

But the more the days passed, the more he felt your absence pulling him down.

Death sighs, knowing he had closed himself about you. She won’t get anything out of him.

“Look, i can’t stay here all day, i’ve got work to do. You can come with me, or you can stay here and sulk.”

“I’ll come with you, i suppose”

Dream followed Death on her day. She mentioned Hob Gadling and Dream decided to pay him a visit later that day. Perhaps that’s what he would need. A friend. 

Death brought him with her, taking the souls she could. Ever since the outbreak and the apocalypse happened, her job had been more difficult. No human died easily, usually, they came back as mutant. She was unable to save any of them. And, even though she had grown fund of her work, she despised this aspect of humanity. They weren’t dying any more, not in the way they should. The souls to get back were rare. The souls were trapped into their monster mind. A terrifying thought.

"Are they conscious of their state?" He asked, suddenly afraid of the answer.

"I hope not. But i can never get their souls. Only when they are killed."

Dream mentioned this mutant again, explaining how he tried to fight them with his power. Death felt sad for her little brother. He wasn’t aware of what had happened when it all started, all they had learned about these zombies.

“Dream, our power doesn’t work on them.” 

Dream turned to her, confused. How could that even be possible. 

“We are vulnerable to them, just like them.” she continued, referring to the human they had in front of them.

“How ?”

“We don’t know.” She said, sadly.

None of the Endless, none of the deities, knew how it happened nor why it happened. But once thing was certain for all of them.

Humanity was damned.

And for Dream, it felt like shockwave. He couldn’t believe it to be true. 

During their walks, Death explained to him everything she had witnessed during his absence. Showing him faces of humanity he had never guessed possible. Saying that they were here for them and not otherwise. He learned of faces of humanity that reminded of you. It made him care about them, the same way he cared about you. 

And he would try to be better for Humanity. 

That’s how, Dream of the Endless found back is way to a new pub called “The New Inn”, near Oxford, in an old quarantine zone in search for Hob Gaddling, the immortal human. 

The café was a warm and cosy place, people were walking around, exchanging with one another. In the back, staircase were leading to rooms, probably. Different from the white horse tavern yet delightful.

Here, it felt like nothing had happened outside. People were careless and happy.

And he caught sight of him. Hob Gaddling.

Dream walked closer to him. He could feel a familiar presence near him. But then, he was facing Hob, smiling. This one raised his eyes, catching Dream sight.

And he smiled back. 

“You’re late” Hob said which caused Dream to laugh.

“It seems i owe you an apology, i’ve always heard it impolite to keep one’s friend waiting.” 

Dream sat in front of him and the two friends started exchanging. 

Time flew away as the two friends were catching the time missed. Dream explaining the reason of his absence and his sudden return. Hob listening to his story, heartbroken for his friend.

“If i had known, i would have found a way to help you, i am sorry.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for, you had no idea, especially giving the circumstances of our last meeting.”

And Hob nodded, remembering that famous night.  

“And that woman, she just randomly helped you? And helped you find back the things you were looking for?” Hob asked, referring to the woman who had freed Dream.

“She did”

“In time like this, she must be quite of a woman.” Hob commented, laughing.

“Let me be honest with you. I’ve fought in the two World War and others war, but these things outside… They are creeping the shit out of me.” Hob continued, taking a sip of his café.

“The people able to fight them like these have guts.” 

Dream observed around, still feeling this familiar presence but not recognizing it as Hob presence. Then a new one. He recognized Bérangère, who had walked in and was sitting at the bar.

“So, you wait for me here, every day?” he asked Hob. 

“Yes, though i must admit i was waiting for one of the traders to go out. I need her help with something.”

“And who is she?”

“I admit i do not know. I have never met her, and she's probably going to reject my demand anyway. She had better thing to do than helping me retrieve my books.”

In the upstairs of The New Inn, you were trading with Edgar. He was asking once more for one of the usual run out in the worst part of Oxford and in one of the hospital. It will be winter soon, and they needed supplies here. The dog was sitting next to you, keeping his eyes on the armed men of Edgar.

“What do i get in exchange?” You asked, taking a sip of the whiskey in front of you.

“The munition you need, and you can keep a car.” he offered. 

“Good. I want one more thing.” you continued, leaning forward.

“I need an echo graph machine and vitamin.” 

“What for?” 

“We are missing this machine in my place.”

Last week, you had finally found everything for pregnancy testing. Turned out, Elizabeth was indeed pregnant. She would need that along many other women.

Edger leaned on his chair, thinking before moving his hand to you.

“Deal?”

You grabbed his and shook his hand back.

“Deal”

“Great, when do you need the car to leave.”

“Tomorrow morning, the weather should be better”

He nodded as you rose from your chair.

“See you soon” he said as you leave the room, going downstairs.

“Ah, there she is.” Hob said, pointing out the girl with braided hair walking down the stairs. 

Dream turned, and he felt his heart missed a beat as he recognized you and the dog. 

He was right when he said everything was pushing him to you.

You had walked to Bérangère, sitting next to her at the bar.

“I know her.” Dream whispered, looking at you.

“You do?” Hob said, tapping Dream shoulder.

“She is the one who freed me.” Dream murmured to Hob.

“You must introduce me to her.” Hob said, all excited.

“No” Dream could hear you laughing with your friend. 

“Why not?”

“Because” was the only answer Dream gave to Hob. 

Hob felt his friend more than reluctant, though he had seen the way he looked at you. Dream cared a lot.

“She is your friend” he said, trying to convinced Dream.

“I decided to never see her again” Dream whispered to Hob.

“Why is that?”

“She is just human, mortal one.” Dream said, hiding the real reason.

And Hob could feel he was hiding it.

“I’ll do it myself then.” Hob said, standing up and walking in your direction.

Dream tried to hide the best he could until he felt something touching his legs. His eyes went to the floor and he saw the dog. 

“Hello you” he said, patting his head. The dog put his paw on his knee, waiting for something.

Yes, everything was pushing him to you.

Dream heard his friend.

“Hello ladies.” he said to them.

“Hello stranger” you said, observing the man in front of you, your glass of whiskey in your hand.

“I believe you know my friend over here” he said, pointing out Dream who were trying to hide even more. Hob had sold him.

You followed the place he was showing and you saw him. Dream. Your heart skipped a beat.

“I believe i do.” 

Dream decided to stood up and joined Hob. The dog following him close.

“Hey Dream, long time no see” you said, a soft smile taking your face. You felt Bérangère kicking your arm, a mischievous grin on her face.

Dream, again, you still called him Dream, he thought.

He would have love to felt nothing as he was standing here. But he didn’t. Actually, the emptiness he had felt for the past days had gone. 

That couldn’t happen. 

Just one last time, he heard himself think, hearing his heart begging. One last time and he would leave forever. Even when he would come back here, it would be in a hundred years to meet Hob, you would be dead and gone. And if he ever had to come to earth once more, it wouldn't be near you, it was unlikely. One last adventure.

“Good to see you” he said, locking his gaze on yours.

“So, your name his Dream?” Hob cut the moment, finally aware of Dream name.

“No, it’s Morpheus” corrected Bérangère and Hob stared at you confused. 

“It’s a private joke” Dream said, remembering the exact word you had told to Graham. And he smiled at you, a wide genuine smiled which you returned to him.

The evening went fine. Hob, Bérangère, Dream and you were sat at a table speaking of everything yet nothing, cracking jokes and pun. Dream was silent most of the time, sitting in front of you, facing you, catching your gaze from time to time.

“Can we have others?” Hob shoot to the barman out loud, and you shush him, pushing his hand.

“For Christ’s sake, be polite” You laughed at the man before Bérangère stood up from your side.

“Where are you going?” you asked as she moved away.

“It’s work time” She said, clapping her hand together.

“Might i say, thank you for this evening, with all this fun, i might have forgotten we actually were in the middle of the apocalypse.” She continued, bowing dramatically. 

“Yeah, like we could forget that.” You said, waving at her. The dog was sitting between your legs, shifting suddenly to stand by Dream side, his head asking for cuddle.

“Traitor” You whispered to him, taking a sip of your drink. 

Hob talked to you about his old flat, full of books and belonging, asking for your help to find them back. It was on your way, and you were pretty sure the car you will get tomorrow morning could be used for this task too.

Dream was silently listening to the two of you when he knocked on his napkin. He bent under the table to take it back and, while he raised back, his head knocks on something soft.  His eyes drifted to fall on your hand, covering the corner of the table, realizing he knocked his head on your hand, instead of the corner of the table. 

His heartfelt heavy on your action, of you taking care of him, making sure he didn’t get hurt. Without noticing, his gaze had stayed locked on you, observing every feature of your face. You felt his eyes on you for a while before turning to him and smiling. 

“Are you good?” You whispered to him, losing the thread of the conversation with Hob for a second.

“Yes” He nodded, offering you small smile. 

He should have thanked you, why couldn’t he say that. And honestly, he waited for you to say something about it. But he looked at you as you just smiled at him, turning back to Hob, returning to your previous conversation. The dog licked his hand, growling slowly. 

“Yes boy.” he murmured to him, petting his head.

A gesture that made you smile even more as you saw it from the corner of your eyes.

It was getting dark outside, more people were inside the bar, and the place felt crowded. Dream felt uncomfortable, overwhelmed. Something that didn’t escape you. 

“Hob, don’t you have a place nearby? Somewhere less crowded?” You asked him.

“Yeah, we could go to my flat. Are you coming, Morpheus?” He turned to his friend, hoping he would say yes.

Dream nodded, as the two of you were, soon, following Hob to his place. You had arrived quickly, and, as soon as Hob opened the door to his flat, you were amazed by all the books he had, adorning the walls and some organized in pile on the floor.

“Are these all yours?” you asked.

“Yeah, i was a historian teacher before… All of this. I took what i could but, i am missing my masterpiece. "

Your hands roamed over the pile of books as Dream entered the place, scanning it. 

“You can take one.” Hob said, cleaning his place, not expecting visitors.

“So cool. By the way, what you wanted to ask me?” Taking the books about World War I.

“It’s about books.”

“Oh, i am in.”

You landed on the couch, sitting roughly before moving again, letting some place for Dream. Hob sat in his armchair, taking a bottle from behind the table.

“I like you Hob Gaddling.” you whispered, making the man crack a smile.

Your eyes fell on the chessboard next to him.

“Do you play?” He asked.

“Yes, love it, i am a monster at this.” 

Hob took the chessboard, smiling at Dream.

“I am glad Morpheus took the initiative to introduce us.” Hob said, teasing Dream.

“I am too.” you said, laughing at the situation.

The dog came to sit between your legs as Hob put the pawn on the chessboard, letting you through the book you had borrowed, Dream reading over your shoulder. The place was warmer than the café, and he felt more comfortable as he felt your presence, happy to be around you. 

“I propose something.” Hob said.

You lean forward, brushing Dream leg with your arm in the way.

“We play, each time someone loses is pawn hat to take the drink.”

“Good for me.” You said, putting the book at your side, opening the party with a simple move.

Hob were sure to win, he had years and century of experience in the area. But you were good, too good, and he noticed how Dream leaned next to you every time you seemed to take too long. 

“Stop giving advice, it isn’t fair.” He complained after you took his horse.

“Why?” he asked, a smile adorning his face.

“Because you’re…” He almost let the information slipped because of the alcohol, stopping in his track as he looked at you.

“It’s fine, she knows.” Dream said, leaning back in the couch.

“She does?”

“Yes, i do” And Hob sights.

“I am your friend for what, like the past 5 hundred years and i just learn who you are. She knows you like, what? A month?” Hob continued, putting his hand over his heart, acting hurt.

“You know what i called that?” You said, acting like you were thinking.

"Oh yeah, i called that favouritism.” You whispered to Dream, and he gave you a small smile in return taking his king.

“You would’ve loose anyway.” Dream commented, looking at the chessboard.

“Yeah, i am too good at this.” Which earned you a grimace from Hob who lean back in his chair.

“I don’t want to play any more.”

The evening passed, rather quickly. You and Hob get along very well, and he even had proposed to come along with you in the mission.

“Y/N, how old were you when it happens?” Hob asked at some point of the night.

“Sixteen. I was in school when it happened, my school got invaded.” 

“That must have been horrific.”

“Yeah” You whispered, toying with the dog hairs. 

Dream remembered that nightmare you had, one when you were in school, running from the mutant. Killing one.

“I am gonna go to bed, you are free to stay here, obviously.” Hob said, raising from the couch.

“Do you have a cigarette, something like that?” you asked.

He threw you a pack of them, saying to keep it, leaving just Dream and you together. You walked outside, the cold air of the night making you shivers. Dream joined you, looking as you light up the cigarette, putting it between your lips.

“Who was the girl.” He asked. 

You didn’t need to look too far to understand what he meant. If he was the god of dreams and nightmare, maybe he had seen yours too.

“She was my best friend, she got bit.”

Dream nodded.

“I saw that nightmare.” he confessed.

“I know, guessed it”

The silence lingered as you remembered that day. 

“It didn’t happen, what you saw in that dream.” You confessed to him.

Dream turned to you, waiting for you to open up, not invading your space.

“I didn’t kill her. I couldn’t.” 

You turned to the dog, watching him asleep on the carpet, next to the fire place. 

“If it weren’t for Oscar, i would’ve died that day. He saved me, getting me out and the others out of the fucking school. She is probably still running around because of me.”

“You shouldn’t feel guilty, you were just a kid.” Dream tried to comfort you, his hands resting on your forearm.

“I know.” 

If you had died that day, no one would have saved him.

Another sign of destiny, perhaps.

The morning came quickly, as you packed your stuff in the car, Hob joined you and, to your surprised, Dream too. It made you happy. The dog jumped in the car next to you as you pat his head before he crawled next to Dream. 

“Let’s fight some zombies.”

Hello everyone, sorry i am very late to post this. I had a lot of issue in this beginning of 2023 but here i am back and i hope you will be glad to see the adventure, to keep following the story. Happy to return to you guys, hope you had a great reading time.

See you soon!

@angelicwolf98

@freedomsofdream

@octo-octopie

@boofy1998

@lexi-anastasia

@cupcake-de-abacaxi

@xicesam

@carrietrekkie

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[meiluu]

Dreamer Held Captive

Morpheus “the sandman” / Reader(female but can be read as gender neutral)

Summary: Being held captive for all your life, without freedom, without dreams. When you are able to dream one night by chance you meet a mysterious being who holds your freedom within his grasp.

Warnings: mentions of throwing up

Word count: 2,628 words

The rain pelted against the window, the dreary weather matching my current mood. Curled up in my bed using one of my many books to escape my poor reality. 

Long ago I had wished to leave and explore the world outside of the confines of my home, but that had been quickly snuffed out by my parents. They had told me that a dangerous demon was waiting for me to step outside of the protection of my home, ready to take my soul into hell. I believed them so fully when I was younger but now I questioned them, ‘Why was the demon only after me?’ ‘What had I done to deserve this?’. But every single time I asked, I got told off, told that I didn't need to know such things and that I should only worry for my safety. And the times in which I had tried to rebel against their orders I was shoved into my room, locked in, and told to think of what I had done wrong and told to understand that they were just trying to protect me.

Now nearing my 20th birthday, I am tired of being kept in a cage. This place was once a place of comfort but now it only brings me loneliness and a longing to be free. To add onto my misfortunes, I've never once had a dream. I have read books that described dreams as wonderful places that your mind goes to when you are asleep, though not all of them are good but even so this was something I've never once experienced. Early on I had craved it but now I had accepted that it would never happen, maybe it had something to do with this house and the demon that is after my soul but I would probably never find out. 

The sunlight that was hidden behind the clouds was starting to dim, darling the sky. Glancing up at my clock, it was nearing 8:00p.m. Usually around this time I would be having dinner but my parents had told me they would be out late running errands, this was after I had tried to ask them once again one of my many questions with which I was swifty shoved into my room and locked in. And now sleepiness and hunger gnaw at my body, the former winning. Giving into that feeling of weightlessness, I await the comforting darkness that I had been greeted with for nearly 20 years.

—

A warm light brushed against my skin, gently coaxing me to wake up, opening my eyes, my breath escapes me.

The sky is clear save for a few clouds, rolling hills filled with wildflowers and grass that seemed to be waving back at me, quickly rising to my feet taking a quick glance at myself. I was still clothed in my baggy sweatshirt with my pajama shorts, raising my head again. I took in everything.

A stream was flowing just before me, walking towards it I now see the beautifully colored fish  swimming with its currents. Trees are sporadically placed throughout this meadow, inhaling the enchanting scent, somewhere in the back of my mind I had begun to realize that I was dreaming.

An emotion I hadn't felt in so long began to bubble up inside of me, a smile stretched across my face and then I was running. A laugh had burst out of  my chest, the breeze seeming to encourage me to run faster pushing me forward. My hair whipped behind me, the sun keeping me warm as the grass gently caressed my feet. I couldn't put words to how I was feeling but I hope that this is what freedom felt like.

Running over a hill, reaching the top my eyes latch onto a magnificent castle, with new found vigor I continue my running pace, never once running out of breath. Slowing down as I get closer to the castle I take a moment to admire just how intricate the design of it was, but my thoughts are halted at a new presence. Quickly turning towards it, I see him.

He was ethereal looking, hair black as night, a messy crown atop his head, his eyes a piercing blue. And there he stood, regal with a long billowing obsidian colored coat that when the wind hit it just right you could almost see stars within it. He was much taller than me, having to slightly raise my head to fully take him in.

 “You're here.” His voice was something so irresistible and his tone was not harsh, it seemed as if he was shocked that I was here. “Hello,” my mouth worked faster than my mind. I greeted him with a gentle smile.

 His eyes roamed over me taking all of me in, my cheeks warmed, I felt a bit underdressed compared to him. “How can this be? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He’s been looking for me? My mind begins to race, is he the demon my parents had told me about or is this just something my mind has conjured up for myself. My mouth spilled out the words quickly, “Are you the demon after my soul?” The moment those words left my lips I regretted them, they seemed wrong. I had never met this man in my life and even if he wasn’t real it felt wrong to accuse him of all people of being a demon. His eyebrows shot up, he took a step forward closer to me. “Is that what they have told you I am? I am not a demon nor do I desire for your soul in such a way.” 

“How are you here now?”

“I don’t know…I just went to sleep and I ended up here.”  confusion contorts his face, he doesn’t say anything like his prompting me to try and elaborate the events before i got here. Taking a breath that had seemed to be trapped inside my chest I explained.

“Well I was locked in my room, and I was trying to stay awake so that when my parents got home I could eat. But I got tired and fell asleep… and now I'm here in my first dream talking to you.” The more I continued to talk the stranger this situation became, I had remembered reading stories about how dreams could be confusing or even terrifying but this had blown my expectation away. 

Yet my thoughts were interrupted by the look that came across His gorgeous face.

 His eyes held  a level of realization like he just solved the world's most difficult puzzle. “So that’s how they did it, they blocked your conscience from reaching the dreaming… from reaching me.” He seemed angry, no, enraged at this discovery but none of it was aimed towards me, then a moment later the world had started to become blurry.

“No! Where are you so that I can find you!” desperation so evident in his tone, he closed the distance between us in a heartbeat grabbing onto me in such distress. My body being consumed by his own emotions, I became frantic and hastily replied. “I'm in my house, that's all I know, I've never left my home nor do I know where I am exactly. I’m sorry”. Words quickly falling out of my mouth holding nothing but sincerity. Because I truly did feel upset that I couldn't tell him more, I felt like I was disappointing him and that I was losing a chance at something so important.

His face had started to blur along with the world around us, but I recognized his hand trying to reach inside of me. It felt as if he was trying to pull on a string attached to me, I couldn't tell whether he was trying to pull me towards him or trying to pull himself towards me. But it seemed to be in vain as I had awakened back in my bedroom.

My mother was shaking me awake with such ferocity. “Why did you fall asleep without eating!” having just been woken up and angered at the fact that I had just had my very first dream and it was interrupted so quickly. I snapped “I was locked in my room, how was I supposed to eat!” I pushed her hands off of me standing up out of my bed facing my mother straight on. In a flash my father stood between us, pushing me away from my mother, both of them sharing the same look upon their faces. “Do you understand how you could’ve gotten us killed!” my fathers voice booms around us, a whirlwind of anger and fear swirls within my gut. Part of me wants to lash out, the other part just wants to run away from here, never looking back.

—

After the ‘incident’ as I’ve now begun to call it, my parents have done nothing but breath down my neck. Making sure that I ate my food, continuously checking the windows and the doors around the house and to add on they haven’t been leaving the house as often as before. Part of me wants to believe they are just being like this to punish me but in the back of my mind is telling me otherwise. 

Watching them had become my newest pastime, I knew they were acting more weirdly than before. A feeling in my gut told me that they were truly doing something to me so that I couldn't dream. I didn’t want to admit it but the stranger in my dream had made me even more skeptical and weary of my parents now more than ever. And even if he wasn’t real and just something I had conjured up, my mind had created him for a reason, maybe to finally voice what I had known subconsciously. Either way I had now begun to suspect that it had to do with my food, they had stressed throughout my life how important it was to always eat my meals. And it seemed to make sense, because all of my meals had been cooked by them and if they had ever stuck something in the food I would not have been able to tell.

So I was going to do an experiment tonight, I wasn't going to eat my dinner and to see if not eating the food would make me dream or not. But this experiment wasn’t just about being able to dream, it was more so to see if my parents had been manipulating me. To test if they had or have been lying to me, and if they had then they could’ve been lying about this said ‘demon’ after my soul. And if my experiment proves this, then I have to leave this place as soon as possible.

Now I just had to figure out how to do my experiment without my parents noticing. The first thing that came to my mind was to eat my dinner then to throw it back up, that was quickly shot down. The only method I could think of was to just ‘fake eat’ and to just spit it out when I got the chance. And with no other options that I could think of, that's what I did. When dinner came around I would periodically get up to go to the bathroom, or just get up to go to the kitchen to grab something then with a moment away from my parents I would spit out the food into the trash or down the toilet. And though it felt like the minutes were moving at the pace of molasses, dinner was finally over with and I had ‘eaten’ enough food deemed reasonable, and I was sent off to my bedroom to go to bed.

With added nervousness of wondering if my experiment had worked, and the gnaw of hunger in my belly it had taken me longer than I had wanted to fall asleep.

—

I was right next to the castle when I awoke within my dream, and just as I had risen from laying down the ethereal stranger had appeared next to me. “You made it back,” his voice held so much happiness I couldn’t help but smile back at him. Then my smile falls at the realization of what my results of my little experiment meant. My parents had been feeding me something to block me from dreaming, opening up the possibilities of what else that could’ve been doing to me.

 “My parents have been keeping me from dreaming with my food, there's something in it that keeps me from coming here.” my thoughts tumble out of my mouth, my face going slack at this realization. anger mars his beautiful face, he steps closer to me. Close enough to where I can smell his scent, it's comforting, it reminds me of the smell of vanilla and books. With a pale hand extended towards me looking down into my eyes, “I am going to try to pull myself into the waking world, to where you are at now.” there's a hesitant pause, “Will you let me?”

“Let you come to me? Yes… but this isn’t real, you're just a dream, something that my mind created.” a charming smirk appears upon his face. “Do you wish to find out if I am real? Real enough to free you from an unjust imprisonment?” My heart tugs at the hope of freedom, letting out a shaky breath, I reach my hand forward latching onto his, it's warm and his hold is unwavering. A tugging sensation washes over my body, similar to last time. Just as I feel his presence tug around me, his soul reaches into mine. I jolt awake in my bed gasping for breath. 

And there he is, standing at the end of my bed, tall and magnificent in all of his glory. My mind is sent reeling and then the tears start to flow down my cheeks. “You're real, you're real!” springing out of the bed, into his open arms I feel a blanket of warmth engulf me. “I have you.” His voice reassuring, sobs escape my chest. I could now see a horizon in which I am free. I didn’t even care if this stranger was lying about not being a demon, I could finally see a future in which I am away from this prison. “Let me take you away from here, so that I can explain everything.” 

I am saying ‘yes’ the moment those words leave his lips, in a flurry of sand we are taken away.

—

We end up, what appears to be, inside of the castle I had been seeing in my dreams. We are in a magnificent foyer, dark wood flooring with a few couches and chairs scattered around a massive fireplace with a coffee table sat in the center between the couches and the fire. Bookshelves filled to the brim with a wide variety of novels. The stranger leads me towards a couch. Sitting down I sink into the cozy cushions, then He sits down next to me, facing me straight on. Raising my head to meet his gaze, his eyes hold a level of resolve that has me straightening my back. “This may be a long story, but it's all needed for you to understand what has happened.” his voice has a level of warning in, making sure that i’m prepared for what's to come.

But I have one thing I want to know before He begins, “What's your name?” I'm a little shocked with myself for not asking him earlier but at the time it hadn't been a top priority. A soft smile greets me as he introduces himself. “I am Morpheus, Dream of the Endless.”

[meiluu]

UGH the writing for this was divine, literally couldn’t look away while reading this. Thank you author for this blessed piece of literature <3

To Be Loved Is to Be Consumed

Summary: Because of a past refusal, the god who once fostered and protected your village has cursed the land and left it in constant darkness and bloodshed. But years after the island's condemnation he visits the priestess in her dreams, claiming that he is once again willing to take a sacrifice in exchange for the people's salvation.

You are left to grapple with your reality when that sacrifice is announced to be you.

Notes: 26k words, so . . . grab a snack? Also, this has not been proofread yet so sorry for any errors and misspellings. Banner is credited @saradika

Warnings: MDI - 18+ content! AFAB, Sacrifice AU, violence, horror elements, the reader is drugged physically for ritual purposes but it doesn't affect her in the Dreaming? illusions to death, an animal is harmed but does not die, a small teaspoon of stalker Dream (sorta), hints of possessive Dream but he's also soft. Oral (F!receiving), he's a switch, a bit of soft dom Morpheus I suppose, sex outside but there is no voyeurism involved, unprotected sex.

The memories of your mother are vague at best. Like gazing up at someone while being submerged under water. But what you could remember, quite vividly at that is the wild fables and stories of gods and heroes that she would tell you, sending you off to sleep with images of great serpents slicing through the waves of the seas or the behemoth hound snapping at the tormented souls of the underworld with its many heads. And she taught you of the nymphs of the ocean and the wood, and the great gods that cloak the skies with heavy storm clouds and bind the souls of lovers together. 

But perhaps one of the most important to your isolated village, the one who was vital to the people's survival was the deity Morpheus. Dream of the Endless, the King of Dreams and Ruler of Nightmares. The heavenly benefactor that assured you all prosperity and wealth. He was benevolent and caring, and to commemorate the god, murals were created in his image. Some portrayed him as both beast and man. With the lithe physique of a human, the textured, taloned feet of a bird and great wings pridefully expanding from his back, stretching high in a reaching arch and a head that you could not discern if it was intended to mimic a bird or insect. The protrusion from his face reminded you of the proboscis of a mosquito but it was jointed and colored like ivory like a bleached spine. 

But on occasion the paintings depict the god as a striking statuesque man, clutching a group of blood red blossoms in one hand and fragments of pale sand poured through the fingers of an opposing upturned palm. And he seems to have his wings in this form also. And they are always with feathers the color of the night sky. 

Your mother had told you that he was a kind ruler. But even kindness is not without its conditions. 

The people had spoken of an offering that must be made to the Endless to appease him, an exchange for his watchful eye and shelter. A sacrifice must be given. A human one. The thought had terrified you as a child. But the villagers - even your own parents seemed to accept the requirement without any qualms. No complaints were made from the people. It was taken as a fact of life. The same as how the sun rises in the east or how fire burns when touched. No one fought when the shrine guards came in the morning. When the dawn was but a smudge of lavender in the horizon, knocking on doors and collecting any woman who was of age regardless of it they were already wives with families and duties. 

Not even your father or mother had protested when they came to take her away to the temple. And you had latched yourself onto her hips, refusing to let go even when she assured you that this was a good thing. That it was a great compliment to be even considered for the choosing. And that if she was selected as the offering - to join the Dark God that it would bring honor not just to the village but to your house as well. But you had refused to listen, shaking your head while your tears dampened the fabric that covered her body. The hierodules had to tear you from her hips, and your father had to secure you in his arms as she left with the guards to the join the other women who had been collected from their homes. 

The next passing days for you had been melancholic and distressing to say the least but the village was a kaleidoscope of colors and festivities. And despite the joy that thrummed across the air, the world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting the day for the Choosing when the head Priestess would reveal the offered woman that Endless had deemed worthy enough to be his sacrifice. 

The ceremony had been held near dusk and a heavy quiet had fallen over the collective as you all look up to the priestess, desperate to hear which womans name she would utter. The anticipation was stifling as you all awaited who would become his bride, and your fingernails had dug into your father's hand so harshly that it must have stung, but he did not flinch or jerk away once, far too enamored with the event. And when the sister had revealed the Chosen the crowd had cheered and some gasped, but you had cried. Cried with relief and joy. 

But on that day the Priestess decided to deny the dark god of his sacrifice and that decision would mark the fall and despair of your village for years to come. 

And now you stand where your mother once did. But instead of the cover of a gentle twilight, the unforgiving heat of the sun wafts over you, engulfing you in a sweltering heat and pounds down on the crown of your skull. Voices clamor from down below, the frenzied cries of desperate people, and it has the women standing at your sides shivering like startled doe's. You could not blame them in the slightest. You too wanted to quiver and sob to expel your fear, but you could not bear to show any vulnerabilities. Not to the hungry crowd, too terrified in their own right to empathize with your distress.  

The ritual is only in a few days' time and the atmosphere that looms across the village with a heavy sort of anticipation is a conflicted sort of energy. There was an obvious air of excitement, prickling at your skin and nearly leaving you breathless but there was also the underlying thrum of . . . fear. It pained you to look out to the masses and see their jostling bodies, waiting with bated breath to hear the name of the Endless' intended. To hear if he would finally accept a sacrifice again after so many years of anguish and terror. 

They had decorated the thresholds of houses, and the columns of buildings with rich tapestries and fine wreaths just as had been done in the past. The people- your people frolic about in special fabrics- deep reds and blues to herald the Endless. Gorging themselves on the five-day long feast: the meat of boar and quail and an abundance of fruits. The flow of wine and spirits did not stop. It had only progressed if the slurred shouting and rumbunctious laughter that had reached you from behind the thick walls of the commune was any indication. Celebrating their lives. Celebrating your death. 

Despite your circumstances you had been nothing but pampered since your forced participation. Fed only the finest meals and bathed in expensive oils and perfumes.  You have been chosen by an ancient; a harsh voice hissed cruelly from the depths of your mind. The voice of the old sister. The woman who had sealed your awful fate. The one who claimed that the mind walker -the dark god himself had come to her in a dream and had spoken to her she had reiterated animatedly, sharp piercing eyes nearly rolling back in her skull from her mania. Her body had quivered from her passion and the other women that had been selected and forced into a reluctant row had nearly flinched back at the intensity of it. You all clung to each other, hands gripping the other for support. Something to tether yourselves to the ground. All of the eligible women had been wrangled up, torn from the arms of their families. Even women with husbands and children were taken away, no one was spared in the wishes of finally appeasing the god. 

You had scanned the clamoring crowd in the hopes of finding someone who would be willing to help. Someone who would disagree. Perhaps a stranger would show pity or sympathy, but you found no one. They were all hanging on to the demented rambling of the old priestess. Their silence was palatable. The crazed joyous eyes of people with hope. Hope of reprieve from the decade long curse that had tainted the village. And unfortunately, one of the maidens- one of you that stood in that horrid line was the answer to their prayers. And when you found no sympathy, you looked past the commotion and the roofs of houses to the sea in the distance and imagined yourself taking to the dark waves and escaping under the tide and froth. Emerging somewhere new and wonderful. 

Of course, there would be no freedom for you. Not when her horrid eyes strayed from the desperate crowd and pinned you in your place the air had been expelled from your lungs with a harsh gravity. The realization of your fate. 

And then as if to perpetuate her point further, to drive the knife in deeper and twist, she lifted her crooked finger up in the air and pointed. Right at you. And the other girls that were clinging to your body for support and comfort had jerked from you as if you were dirty and blemished, sobbing with cries of relief while they fled in search of their mothers and fathers in the crowd. But some of them had sank to the dust and clasped their hands together as if in prayer, kneeling at your feet like you were sanctified. 

"The Endless has found his Chosen." She crooned and the people had roared in a victorious cry.  

They took you kicking and screaming, ignoring your cries of protest while they carried you off to the Sisters commune to prepare you and the townspeople looked on, watching you feverously with a horrid sort of enthusiasm. Relief you recognized. 

You had been forced into decadent silks and decorated with jewelry that at one time you would have dreamed of wearing, but they might as well as have been hot iron with the way that they felt against your skin. Restricting, disgusting. 

They paraded you around for days, making you the pinnacle of the festival while you watched them all sink into their basest desires, influenced from alcohol and the intoxication of relief. You tried not to blame them. To see past your pain and hurt and summon some forgiveness. After all, they were only afraid. The same as you had been, the same as you are now. Fearful of the Night King and his spirits. The horrible kakodaimon hoard that serve at his command and wreak havoc should their emperor be denied of his sacrifice. Some are little more than mischievous deities, entertaining themselves with otherwise harmless pranks: Stealing shoes and tying the hair of women into knots while they sleep unaware. The stuff of tales and bedtime stories. But he has other creatures. Monstrous, evil things that steal infants from their cribs and drain bodies of their lifeblood and chew bone. 

The same horrid beings that have been tormenting the village for a decade now, arriving in the night to snatch up any poor soul who had been foolish enough to be caught outside during the dark. Many have died during the years since he's unleashed his army of terrors upon the village. The dark creatures snatching them up in their gnarled claws, as lethal as a sharpened daggers and carrying them off with the swift whisper of wings. All because he was refused. 

And now finally you sit underneath the stars again, after being forced behind barricaded doors and huddling underneath the table and hoping that the creatures wouldn't break through the door and tear themselves inside with gnashing teeth to feast upon your flesh. Clinging to the hope that you would survive until daybreak when the blessed sun would rise from the horizon and banish them away. If only for a little while. 

For the first time since you were a child you may embrace the dark and breath in the warm night air, feeling it sooth your lungs like a balm. You're as full of wonder as you are paranoia. Waiting for one of the nightmares to leap out of the shadows and steal you away. But even the weight of the silver and diamonds adorning your body and the deafening laughter of the feast couldn't tear your eyes away from the black expanse that loomed above. Stretching out like a horrible, beautiful black void that threatened to eat you alive. And you nearly felt crushed with how small - insignificant it made you feel. The unforgiving stretch of the cosmos looming above seemed to force your own mortality upon you with a harsh sort of grace. And it angered you that the dark god had stripped this sight from you for so many years. He had taken so much from you all and now they all once again chant his name as though he was a savior and not the reason for their strife and agony. Celebrating his image like he was a humble god that had not punished them and their children with beasts and terrible dreams. All because he was not given a woman who had been promised to him. 

You had never felt so bare in your life, having been forced on the plush velvet cushions of a palanquin to be carried around on the shoulders of the temple guards and displayed around the village. There was no shelter from the prying eyes of the townspeople who had watched you with the same sort of desperate hunger as a pack of starved dogs, shameless and pitiful. They had been pelting you with the vibrant blossoms of violets and dark seeds, and the abundance had begun to collect atop the cushions, and you had been tempted to sweep the offerings off the side of the vehicle but as if sensing your intentions one of the priestesses had swiftly swiveled her head to glare at you from her place beneath you. You had been tempted to defy her regardless, to hold eye contact with her as you did so, but despite your petty desire you held yourself back. 

They did eventually lower you from their shoulders and back down onto the earth, and a few women had emerged from the boisterous crowd -servants perhaps - to hand you food and drink. You had not wanted to accept it, too prideful to take what they had given you and make them believe that they had managed to placate you with a meal and wine, but eventually your stomach had won and you hesitantly abandoned your dignity. It had been too long since you had last had a decent meal, having survived off of measly scraps for too long. You had gorged yourself on the figs and fish and honey cakes, chasing it with the rich wine when you had become parched and soon your head had become light with the influence of the fermented liquid, and it allowed you to ignore the cajoling throng of people and the sisters' that observed you. 

The priestesses surrounded you like a group of statues, pillars of death. Silent and watching. Guarding. They observe when the villagers approach you, eyes glinting hauntingly like they're waiting for one of the people to lash out and attack you.  You hoped someone would and finally put you out of your misery. But instead, they all crouched down low at your feet, whispering their gratitude like you had asked for this purpose and placed bundles of red flowers on the earth to surround the palanquin. Even a child had approached you, thanking you for the salvation you offered. It had nearly broken you and tears had threatened to spill down your face. It almost disgusted you to look at them. Soft, delicate blossoms that were a harsh scarlet. Red like blood. Poppies you had realized. The flower associated with the Endless. It made you nauseous to be surrounded by his symbol. And suddenly they were not so pretty anymore and there were too many. Overflowing at your feet and pilling up so high that it felt like the people were trying to build a wall around you.  

"Why must I do this?" You gasp, feeling as though you were being crushed. The sister to your right is the one who speaks but she does not turn to look at you, instead focusing on the roaring pyre that the villagers dance around under the guide of the drums and flute. "Because it is your purpose." The answer is cold and matter of fact, sparing you no sympathy. It is a sentence that you have heard uttered one too many times in the passing days, almost as though they believed you would come to accept your circumstances if you heard it enough. You just could not understand why they would be so easily swayed to accept the god who had turned his backs on them so long ago. Abandoned them and tormented them because of his own hubris. Scorned because the head priestess before had not given him her own daughter. 

He had plagued your village for too long. Ravaging men and women and children with horrid dreams and dying crop. Except for now. Ever since the choosing ceremony, when you had been selected the gardens had blossomed seemingly overnight, overgrown with a prosperous harvest and the hunt had been successful after many moons of coming up with little more than measly rabbits. 

They would always return to his dark embrace after the horrors that you have all been forced to endure. It did not matter if he demanded one maiden or a thousand, they would spare as many women that he demanded. Even if it meant finding shelter under the punishing hand that caused all of their pain. 

But it still does not explain why he had accepted a sacrifice after so many years of silence and refusal. After turning his nose up at every attempt to reconcile and give an offering he makes his presence known now. But what had changed? Why you? Surely the god that presides over dreams and walks amongst the subconscious must know that you are no longer a chaste woman. A tainted old maid is what they would whisper about you. There was no sense to any of this. 

"But why me?" And the fragile strings of jewelry draped around your neck clink against each other, but it is an annoying sound that has your nails digging into the rich tapestried cushions. It is the one to your left that speaks now. Her voice is deceptively soft, bubbling like a gentle stream. "We do not question the Endless. " She responds. And although her voice is much more welcoming than her sister's her words are just as indifferent. " You will be our salvation. Our forgiveness. You will save us. " 

Any bit of protest had died in your throat before you could get them out. You focused on the festivities instead, watching the people chant and sing old songs. And dancers leapt around the fire, dressed in furs and leather and colorful fabrics to mimic figures from folklore and the very monsters that had massacred your village for years. Wearing masks fashioned from old hides and animal pelts, brandishing the horns taken from cattle and deer. They playfully leapt at the crowd that encircled the fire as though they were going to swipe. And some had constructed costumes to imitate the dark plumage of the raven, one of his coveted animals. 

This was twisted. A mockery of suffering and pain. Pissing on the memory of the people who had fallen victim to the dream god and his nightmares. 

How could they all forget so easily? 

You could feel the sting of anger simmering within your chest, prickling at your fingertips. It made it difficult to breath around the weight of it all. You continue to watch them all despite the rage and sorrow that it induces. The horrible way they galivant around and clap and cheer. It's disgusting and awful. Even the children. The poor children participate, lunging at the false monsters with wooden swords and some are dressed as the dark creatures themselves.  

To get some sort of reprieve you looked to the night sky, staring up at the full moon as though its goddess would hear your silent plea and save you from your fate. Whisking you from this starving mob and your doomed fate to her hidden island to frolic with the nymphs free from your crude duty.  But the glowing deity did not appear, and you were left to stare at the lonely dark void of the night while the stars winked and fluttered as though their light might dim and die. It was foolish to believe that the goddess of virtue would appear for a woman like you. 

But then you could feel it. A magnetic pull that tilted your head from its upturned position, and your eyes lower onto something gleaming with a pale light. Two shimmering pieces, shinning much like the moon hanging above.  It is a pair of eyes you come to quickly discern. Reflecting the bright glow of the pyre in a way that is decidedly not human. Those are the eyes of a beast: An owls may do that, or a wolf's or a cat. Not a human. But the face that they belong to is very much a man's. 

It is difficult to make out the features of his face past the way that the heat of the open flames warp the surrounding atmosphere and the smoke twists and coils into the open air like deadly serpents. But you can comprehend the sharp jut of high cheek bones and pale milky skin almost as though he was cut from a fine marble. His expression is not a joyous one or celebratory like the other villagers, instead it is stoic and serious. The intensity of his glare has you pinned in place. It is you; you realize. He's staring at you. 

The world suddenly feels weightless, like you're suspended in a vacuum. You had heard a story from an old hunter once. One who had miraculously survived a lightning strike and he had been shunned by many of the others for his scars. After all he must have done something to warrant the strike. He must have scorned the Lord of the Sky himself. But you had spoken to him regardless and he had told you that he had felt it before it had hit him, even though it was only for but a second. His hair had stood on end and his skin had tingled strangely before his body was flooded with a numbing white-hot heat. And you could feel that sensation prickling over you now, like the whisper of a thousand fingertips brushing you all over. It made you shiver, and you adjusted yourself in your seat in an attempt to banish the feeling, but it never faded. If anything, the steady pulses persisted and seemed to thrum with even more intensity nearly making you gasp aloud. You wanted to look away from the strange man, but you could not seem to will yourself to turn your gaze from him, and some strange part of you did not want to. He was gorgeous in a haunting sort of way, but you could not figure out why. There was an unearthly quality to his countenance, like he was he was not a man but wearing the face of one. 

It was then you noticed the color of his robes. Black. But that was not right. No one else was allowed to sport the Endless' color, no one else apart from the head priestess was allowed to wear his color, as a way to display her connection and loyalty. It was considered an extreme offence for any other person to bear a cloth in his shade. A punishable offence that would often result in public ridicule and the removal of the criminal's dominant hand. Some have even claimed that the accused may be haunted from night terrors for the crime until the passing of their natural human life. So who would be bold enough to flaunt around in public in such dark robes? 

He must be a foolish man. Or at least an arrogant one. And as though he could hear your thoughts the corner of his mouth quirks in just the faintest hint of a smile. So delicate that it could be mistaken for a trick of the light. But you could see it in his otherworldly eyes too. It looked as though that it did not suit him, but he also wore the expression beautifully. It was an odd juxtaposition, and you did not know what to make of it. He looks like no one you had never seen before but is also painfully familiar, like an old memory. 

Oddly enough no one else seems to notice his presence at all. A phenomenon that could be blamed on the alcohol and high spirits but what couldn't be wrote away by reason was the way that a drunk seemed to stumble through the strange man, causing him to vanish like a plume of smoke and the pale shimmer of his eyes was the last to fade, piercing some buried part of you before disappearing entirely and with it something clicks into place. 

The sensation that had spilled over you leaves with him, releasing you from its hold and allowing you take a deep breath that you had not known you needed. That awful wonderful stare. . . Could that have truly been the nightmare masquerading as a man? They have been known to do such a thing before. Using the guises of people and loved ones to lure vulnerable victims out for slaughter. Then another thought trickles down to the forefront and it has a cold shiver skipping down the notches of your spine. What if it had been the nightmare king himself? Come to see you, his intended bride? 

Surely you were hallucinating. It has never been mentioned before that the deity has ever made appearances before the ritual. None of the other past offerings have spoken of it. If it has happened, then none have ever cared to mention it. 

It had a troubled sinking feeling plummeting in your gut and it stayed with you throughout the night until the priestesses had collected you from your place and ushered you back to your temporary quarters where the servants prepared you for sleep. Insisting that you bathe, pouring luxuries oils into the steaming water and combing your hair before bed. They fret about like ghost. Silent and always moving so they are often little more than glimpses in your peripheral vision. They hardly speak. Only enough to offer commands that are loosely guised as suggestions or to whisper softly amongst themselves. 

They do not like you; you could easily tell. If the unabashed away that they gossip quietly while in your presence is any indication. But one of the women in particular does nothing to hide her distaste. Watching you with scorn in her eyes and a scowl on her lips. Neither of you had made any efforts to verbally communicate your hatred for the other, instead opting to passive aggressively telegraph the fact with petty gestures. Such as when she had decided to harshly pick through your hair while preparing you for the first feast. Clawing at your scalp with the teeth of the comb harshly enough to sting and throb for the entire night. The apology that she had given you was pathetically fake, contempt framed around a smile and feigned concern. She did not do it again when you had accidentally spilt hot tea across her hip when she was selecting your jewelry. 

But even now you could feel the heat of her glare against the crown of your skull and the grip that she had on your hair was harsher than necessary, but you simply did not have the energy to reprimand the action. Not after being paraded around the feast all night like a prized brood mare, sluggish under the weight of silks and pearls that decorated you. 

You feel her leaning over your shoulder before she speaks, the heat of her body irritates your skin and you find yourself tensing and trying to lean from her presence, but she is gripping your hair in a tight grip that keeps you from shifting. "You do not deserve to be touched by a god." She hisses, venom tainting her words. 

"Clearly you do not either," you snap just as harshly, gripping the sides of the basin so that you do not twist out of her hold and lash out. The other maids do not so much as glance over at the altercation, simply going on about their duties as though the both of you do not exist. "Or else you would be the one bathing in oils and dining on fruits and wine. " The hold on the back of your scalp goes slack somewhat, allowing you enough leeway to peer over your shoulder and meet the heated gray of her eyes. "How does it feel to know that your god has no desire for you?" 

She does not respond even though you can tell that she is actively biting her tongue to hold down her barbed words. It irritated you. The way they all acted as though they truly loved him. It was not affection they felt, but fear. You loathed the lying and the pretending all in the sake of appeasing the horrid god, and yet you could not find the courage to voice your opinions. It was a fruitless endeavor you knew to try and speak to these people. As tortured and hopeless as they were. And as much as you wanted to ridicule them their actions were not unfounded. You had seen firsthand what the Endless was capable of when he was denied of promises. You had watched you own mother be dragged away by venomous claws and terrible simpering fangs. There was no room for argument. At least not a sensical one. 

And so, you had remined silent for the remainder of your bath and until the servants had retired for the night, settling underneath the soft linens, but you were unable to relax. Not when you could still feel that man's eyes searing into your skin. Not from the fear of falling danger to the night terrors and horrible dreams, even though you have been quite fortunate, having not experience a single nightmare in quite some time. But that dark figures presence felt like a bad omen. An awful warning for the things to come. What if he sends his demons to come and haunt you and drag you away in the dark? What if he means to punish you? You wrack your brain to try and remember if you could have ever possibly scorned the dark god but come up empty. Granted you have never particularly harbored pleasant feelings towards the deity but not a single soul in the village has since the day that he chose to curse it, tainting it with beasts and painful dreams. Sometimes tormenting the people with dreams so intense and horrid that some have passed away in their sleep, suffering from weak hearts or fragile lungs. Other have been driven mad from the vividness and the persistence of the nightmares to the point that they have lost all sense of self and reality, some noy just taking their own lives but even the lives of others in the midst their distress and agony.

He was a dreadful god whose love was built with conditions and lies. Boasting the promise of prosperity and protection but the only thing you need protection from is him. 

An airy coo breaks you from your troubling thoughts, drawing your attention to the corner of the room where a familiar black shape trots out of the shadows, almost as though he had materialized from them. 

"What are you doing here you silly thing?" You could not hold in the short disbelieving laugh that escapes you in a huff, affection growing within your chest. You are not even sure how he could have possibly gotten inside the Sisters' commune and found your quarters, especially considering that the trek from your cottage to the village was a decent walk. He must have found an open window or slipped inside when no one was looking. You would not put the feat past him, he always seemed to be skulking about. 

You prop yourself up on your elbow to welcome the cat as he leaps onto your mattress, leaning into your hand with the tilt of his head. And you are thankful for the familiarity and the calm that washes over you at the feel of his long fur against your palm. It is a great comfort to have your companion back with again after being away from home for so long. But when your affection became too much, he slipped out from underneath your hold and retreated to the foot of your bed with a petulant flick of his tail, deciding to watch you with the piercing blue of his eyes instead. 

"Oh, my dearest apologies, " you jest, pulling your blanket up higher around your shoulder and try not to take it personally as he moves from you. "I did not mean to offend you." 

He blinks slowly, a very simple gesture but it always felt like it was done with an air of judgement. But then again, the animal always seemed to carry himself an imperious sort of way, even though he is but a cat, he manages to be rather expressive when he wants to be. 

"Have you been taking care of yourself?" You ask as though you would get an answer. You hate the thought of him being out so late with the possibility of those dreadful creatures roaming the ground and skies, ready to snatch and gouge with deadly claws. You know that he could fend for himself. He is a feral cat at best, coming and going as he pleases. Often vanishing for concerning periods of time before reappearing at your doorstep as though he had never left at all. But not even the beasts - the regular forest dwelling kind or the godly ones are the only threats that roam the dark. People could be just as awful. You honestly do not how he has managed to survive as long as he has with all the dangers lurking about. It was the same thing that you had wondered about on the first day that you saw him wandering around the tall grass that surrounded your home while you were out tending to your stubborn garden. But the second thought and the most startling was the realization that you were even looking at a cat at all. There had not been a single feline spotted on the village since the morning after the failed ritual all those years ago. All of the cats had but vanished from the island without a trace. Gone as though they had not been here at all, like they had all piled onto a boat and paddled to the mainland or a giant hand had descended from the sky and plucked them from their homes and alleyways. But now there was one there, slinking through the tall grass, a whisp of black against the dead golden reeds. 

It had you pausing from your task of searching for an unblemished vegetable that had not been tainted by worm bites or disease (which was proving to be a pointless endeavor) to watch the cat on its little journey. But despite your awe you had noticed the lethargy that seemed to slow its movements considerably. The usual feline grace that the animals typically carry themselves with was replaced by sluggish and jerky movements. The cat was all but stumbling between the tall stalks of grass. And in your worried study of the animal, you noticed a series of angry red slivers peeking through the thickness of his fur along its side. Four angry red wounds that would have been difficult for a human to endure, but for a cat you could not imagine the tole it was taking on its body to remain conscious. Especially through the pain no doubt. 

It had been entirely upon reflex to jerk up from your place on the ground, concern overshadowing your tact and making you forget that it may be a feral and undomesticated creature. And your worry did not prove to be unfounded when the cats head swung over in your direction, freezing in its walk to assess you. The both of you held a long exchange of stares and you had wondered if you should try to approach it, but then it had bolted. Lurching forward on wobbly feet and your heart had jumped in your throat, entirely frightened that he would flee to the cover of the forest and succumb to his wounds. But the cat had only made it a few paces before it was crumbling to the dirt and collapses on its side. 

You had barged through the gate of your garden leaving it to creak on its hinges while you approached the cat's body, hoping that he had not given into the trauma of the lacerations. But a glance over with your eyes confirmed that it was thankfully still breathing. You had whispered your apologies when you had noticed that he was watching you as well with a tired glassy stare, scooping him up as gently as you could and carrying him into your house to provide as much care as you could. 

The cat's body was already making efforts to build scabbing, the thick red having coagulated along the edges of its wounds. But the blood was still flowing too much for your liking, staining the linens that you had folded near the hearth for the animal to rest on. You were going to have to sew. Unfortunately, due to the infertility of the soil and the bad luck with yielding a healthy garden you had little herbs or flowers for medicine. And truthfully you did not know much of cats and which plants and medicines that should be avoided or would help him recover from his ailments, but with no one to confide in you did your best. Making sure to cleanse the slashes with fresh water before you began to stitch. Having no choice but to settle for the needle and thread that you used to make repairs on your clothing. 

"I'm afraid you aren't going to like me much after this, but I don't think we have much of a choice. " You had said, as you knelt down on the floor of your kitchen, settling in front of the animal with your thread in one hand and the needle in the other. It had peered at you from the corners of its eyes, too weak to move its head, but you had seen something flashed in its weary gaze that seemed a lot like irritation. 

You had tried to be as nimble and delicate as possible, doing to your best to focus past your anxiety to steady the mild quiver of your fingers, especially when they had become slick with blood. You tried to softly sooth the cat as gently as you could muster whenever he would jerk from pain. And thankfully you were finished before you realized, and you wrapped a strip of clean cloth around his middle to keep it clean from dirt and possible infection. 

He had laid there for several days, only moving when you had to change his dressings. And in the beginning, he had hardly eaten or drank, and you had feared for the worst. That despite your best-efforts illness had gotten ahold of him and stripped him of his appetite. But on the second day of you trying to persuade him to at least drink it seemed he had grown tired of you tapping your fingertips along the edge of the bowl or the way that you would defeatedly try to spoon-feed him water from the divot of a spoon and had lapped at the water from the edge of his linens before looking up you with a pointed glare. It took even longer to get him to eat, sharing with him pieces of rabbit that you had managed to trap. 

And since his presence in your home the beasts outside had been more active than usual, as though they could smell the blood of his wounds and had taken to clawing at your door. And on some nights, you could hear the muffled thump of footsteps skulking along your roof. They had never been so eager before. So persistent. Typically, the thing that mimics was the only one that stayed so close to your home, often screaming throughout the night like an animal. It even cried like a distressed woman or an anguished child. Sometimes it's true voice slips through the glamour.  The sound of thousands speaking in unison, of men, women and children. Stolen souls forced to speak through the maw that devoured them whole.

As terrible as it sounds a part of you has grown used to its presence. It had become routine almost, hearing the awful imitations pouring from its mouth from behind your front door. And you have spent many a night underneath the latch that you had made in the floor of your house, sleeping in burrow dug underneath the wooden planks with a dagger clutched to your chest. But when you had the cat in your home the activity seemed to increase, and you had spent every night spent underneath your floor with the cat delicately placed in the corner on his own bundle of blankets where he would lay without moving, too weak to shift or turn.

And they had returned the next night too with the number greater than the last, stalking around the perimeter of your house. Hissing and chortling in the night like a pack of demonic rabid wolves. It had been most cruel when a familiar voice had spoken from the other side of the front door, too distorted and inhuman to truly be your loved one, but similar enough to taunt you. A mockery of your father's voice begging you to let him inside. And even within your room underneath the floorboards you could still hear it. It talked for hours and spoke as both your mother and father until tears were prickling at your lash line and threatened to fall, and you had done what you could to distract yourself. Staring at the floor above you, finding shapes and faces in the patterns and shifting shades of the wood. 

It was the first time that the cat had even attempted to seek out any sort of contact. Weakly perking up from his corner and settling on the length of your legs from above your blanket and he had stared up at the floorboards above you with a startling air of intent. The voices crooned out and the rasp of talons scratched along the walls of your house. Then mercifully the voices had stopped. Seemingly all at once a peaceful hush had fallen over the atmosphere and you finally felt as though you could breathe again. The monsters had not returned that night. Or on any other night. It was as though they had vanished entirely which you knew could not be true because you could still find evidence of their existence in the forest while you hunted or washed your linens in the nearby stream. 

His health had steadily risen over the next few days. The wounds on his side had healed up nicely and he had quickly grown more restless. And he had taken to occupying himself by investigating you home and snooping around the rooms until one day he had slipped out from the front door when you were not paying attention and vanished into the tall grass. You did not heal him with the intent to keep him. A part of you assuming that he may have had a family eagerly awaiting his arrival somewhere on the island, but you could not lie to yourself that it had been nice to have company even if it was just a cat. 

You had not seen him for several weeks after that and a part of you had feared that he may have fallen to one of the beasts in the wood. And the more optimistic side of you had hoped and imagined that he had found his family. Life had returned to its monotony without him at your side and you were once again alone while attending your chores. But there had been some promise, such as the abrupt but not unwelcomed revival of your garden, which had now begun to sprout bits of life again. You had been shocked when you had seen a green hue returning to the withered remains of the mint and thyme and beginnings of a humble pods growing along your fig tree, promising the growth of fruit. And then one day he surprised you with his return, trotting from the golden meadow while you were beating a rug of the dust and grime that it had been collecting and you had smiled and greeted him like an old friend. And he would begin accompanying you as you went about your chores, always sticking by you closely and observing, even if you ventured all the way around the other side of the island to hunt for oysters and scallops, though the harvest you returned with was always slim. 

And you tried your best to name the creature, but he would not accept any of them. Not Akakikos or Thales or Arye. They were all promptly ignored when you had even tried to address him as such, and you were met with looks that could only be described as unimpressed. Of course, you could not find it in yourself to blame him. You did agree that none of them seemed to suit him all that much. But you could not call him nothing and so you had aptly christened him as 'Cat' which had been even less enthusiastically received as the others. But he would follow you everywhere despite the displeased looks that he would give you every time you addressed him as so, accompanying you when you washed your laundry in the nearby stream, and when you visit your parents' empty graves (you had never found their bodies) to tell them of your day. But he had especially surprised you whenever he would trot alongside you on your strolls down the shoreline of the ocean. It had shocked you to say the least, when Cat had wadded in the gentle waves after you, unaffected by the way that the water lapped at his paws.

A strange cat indeed. 

It struck you suddenly, the realization that you would never see your home again. As empty and cold as it could be. Forced to live on the outskirts as a pariah, assuming that you would fall to your death underneath the claws of a nightmare. Many had perished living so close to the wood, and they surely had no intention of you surviving the forest on your lonesome.  But you did and you made your vacant house your own, even with the bad blood-stained memories haunting the walls. You accepted your life alone rather early on and have even learned to love it in all of its solitude and freedoms. But they have once again bent you to their wills, selling you off like a lamb for slaughter to appease a selfish god. 

You cannot fight of the stinging lump that has risen and lodged itself in your throat. Not this time. And it burns and pushed up tears that spill down your cheeks and stain the bedding. You could not stop yourself from mourning everything. The loss of your life, the waning humanity of the townspeople, the bloody deaths of your loved ones. You tried to clamp your teeth shut to conceal your sobbing, worried that the guards posted outside of the door may hear you. And even more crippling was the sudden painful awareness that tomorrow was the night of the ritual. You had been ignoring the date, too distressed to acknowledge it. But it was coming. It was coming at there is nothing that you can do to stop it. 

There is the brush of something soft against your face, and it is not until your opening your eyes that you realize that you had even squeezed them shut. You look past the blur of your tears to see register two vivid blue irises watching you. 

Your heart ached at the sight. Torn between a flicker of affection and your unignorable grief. But you smiled regardless of your tears and stroked his chin with your fingertips. It always surprises you when he chooses to crouch down against your chest, snuggling into your body. He was not always one to seek out affection, often preferring to lie somewhere near by while watching you finish up your routine chores and tasks. His favorite spot was the window seal of your kitchen where he would perch and observe you while you would knead dough or slice the vegetables for stews. But whenever your sleep was fitful, and you would wake with a layer of cold sweat dampening your clammy skin and the anguished cries of your parents still echoing in your ears he would scurry into your bedroom if he was not already there and curl up with you as he is now until you were able to fall sleep once again. 

It troubled you to think of how he would fair for himself in your absence. You had been taking care of him for many moons now and you could only hope that in your effort to keep him from starvation that he had not grown to become too dependent of you. You could not bear the thought, that in your attempt to help and offer companionship that you had unwittingly ushered him closer to death. Would he go back to being alone after the Priestesses had sent your soul off to the nightmare god and all, but your lifeless body remained? 

Would he once again wonder aimlessly with no one to care for him? 

You could only hope that he would find someone else. 

"I'm sorry." You whispered into his soft fur and clutched him closer to you and you remained that way until your grip of time had slipped and the only thing that told you that it was still the same night was the darkness that encompassed the room, most of the candles having long since burnt out of their wicks apart from one that was little more than a pinprick of light. Even with the pull of sleep turning your limps into heavy, useless extensions and the weariness burning at your drooping eyes you could not allow yourself to fall unconscious. You were desperate to keep as much time between yourself at the ritual as possible, even though it was a fool's errand of course, as the moon was still drifting along its path in the sky and the sun was still on its way to rise over the horizon. Tomorrow would come regardless of your distress and fate. Time was cruel and it stopped for no one. But still you could not let yourself sleep even with Cat embraced in your arms, and his body thrummed with a rare bout of purring. . . It was loud. Oddly so and you opened your eyes that you were not aware that you had even shut. And when you looked down, Cat was absent from his place against your chest even though he had just been there a second ago. 

Worry broke through the exhaustion that sapped your bones and you were up in an instant, sitting up in the bed with the linens pooling around your waist while your gaze roves around the room and it does not pause until it finds a familiar shape in the darkness, watching you from a shaded corner. His eyes reflect the light from the dimming candle, and they bore into you with that pale shimmer. An unsettling chill trickles down your neck and raises the hair at your nape. The gleam of them disturbs some part of you, but you cannot place why. It is a look you recognize but it feels wrong and alien. 

Its eyes. There is something wrong with its eyes. 

"What are you doing over there?" You ask, and your voice is little more than a whisper, low from sleep and unease. But he does not so much as blink, continuing to stare steadily and the candlelight wobbles on its wick and the cats shadow flickers. It is a strange shadow, much too big for a creature so small.  

Then without any warning he shoots up from his place, trotting across the expanse of the floor and slipping from the door that had been left ajar.

Had it always been open? No

You hardly question it before you are scrambling from the bed to take after him, harshly whispering for him to come back as you pick up what little bit remains of the candle to light your way before hesitantly peek your head between the open gap of the threshold and door, scanning the hallway. But there is not a single guard in sight. The hierodules that had been stationed outside of your quarters were absent. Another peculiarity that is brushed aside when you catch the tip of Cat's tail vanishing amongst the heavy shadows that blot out the hallway and you chase after him regardless, shielding the tiny flame with your hand lest it blow out from the hasty speed of your walking. 

You are being watched you can tell, and your mind distantly supplies that it must be the murals observing you. The painted eyes of the old priestesses and spirits that adorn the walls in robes and vines made from strokes of scarlet and hunter and cerulean. But you could not let yourself look to their judgmental and buoyant faces. 

"Come here!" You hiss lowly through gritted teeth and cast a wary glance across your shoulder to briefly study the black void behind you, hoping that there is nothing lurking within it. 

And you walk for what felt like forever, chasing after the cats wavering tail that turns around twisting halls that do not seem to end, never catching up no matter how quickly you shift your pace. And it is not until you come across another bend in the corridor that the suffocating walls finally seem to open up into a massive room of dust and stones, and the light from the candle casts a glow across the space that was much too abundant considering the modest size of the flame. But he is nowhere to be seen, almost as though he has vanished from thin air. 

The air is damp here, clinging to your skin like the spray of the ocean's waves but much less pleasant. It is much more akin to the sweat that covers you when under the influence of a sickness, you decide. And the aged earthy aroma that permeates the air is even more troubling. Musty and cloying like rancid grapes. It has your nose wrinkling, and you suppress the urge to gag while you investigate the room. It takes a moment for you to make sense of what you are seeing, making out the details of the great room from underneath the oily yellow glow of the candlelight. 

There are large rectangular divots that had been crudely chiseled or dug into the stone near the base of the floor and the many burrows line above each other and descend up along the wall and towards the high tenebrous ceiling. But nestled delicately within each one is some sort of lump, gently wrapped in a rich red clothe. 

That nasty sense of unease washed over you again, prickling at your skin and your heart skips a beat at the sudden burst of fear. But there is curiosity too. It emerges from the recesses of your mind and seems to take a hold of your body, nudging you towards one of the burrows, and with each step you forget why you are even here. The search for your wayward cat completely discarded. Your focus is completely arrested one the form hidden underneath the vibrant silks, and that apprehensive part of you dislike how large the hidden shape seems. 

You mouth has gone dry and your tongue sticks uselessly to the roof of your mouth and a part of you wonders if you would be able scream should you need to. You feel helplessly trapped within your body, like a reluctant passenger, once again forced to be paraded around in a vessel that you did not want to sit upon. And all you could do was watch and feel as your shaky had rose over the red silhouette. You felt the silk underneath your fingertips, too soft and too smooth. Like water. Like blood.  And your mind ceaselessly chants no, no, no even as your body refuses to yield to its commands and your fingers pinch the cloth in a hold and pull it back from the shape. And the blood in your veins seems to freeze despite the way that it races, and the pit of your stomach drops like a stone. 

You want to look away, but your head is locked in place and every muscle has coiled inside of your body tightly. You are paralyzed and pinned where you stand, forced to stare down at the gaunt remains. The sunken eyes and withered, leathered skin pulled taught around its bones like the skeleton is trying to break free from its own body. And brittle hairs still collect around the skull, that once probably shimmered yellow like the rays of the sun but was no lackluster and dry, frayed in its braids. Pinned in place underneath the wring of a ceremonial crown. Vine leaves and olive branches that is embellished with the bright blossoms of poppies. The crown you would be forced to wear tomorrow to symbolize your union with the Endless.  

A shaky exhale rattles out, a dry rasping sound that you would have easily blamed on yourself and the fear squeezing your body in a harsh grip if not for the way that you see the mummified bride's chest quiver unsteadily. She is still alive with her body forced into some sort of permanent sleep. You cannot help but wonder how long she has been held captive here. A hostage in this awful, animated state. And all of these other shapes swaddled in red silks are other sacrifices. And they too are all still awake you realize once you hear the dry whispers of their breath echo across the chamber. 

You want to scream. You can feel it rising and clawing at your throat, but it never escapes, balling up harshly in your chest and just sitting there. But whatever spell had been casted over you finally slips and you stumble back from the burrow and the mummified bride, and your knees shake and give, and you fall onto the chilled floor, dropping the tiny candlestick on your decent. Your knees scrape the rough granite, erupting with streaks of red but you can't be bothered to care, too focused on crawling away from the looming walls, towards the center of the room while your eyes search from the entrance, but it is nowhere to be found. You spin on your knees ignoring the sting, expecting to find the threshold, but all you see are the cold painted walls, adorned with stars and poppy fields and strange beasts with wings and horns and some have the faces of men and the bodies of beasts. But even worse are the open tombs carved into the walls, and they suddenly seem like gapping, hungry mouths and the red silks that adorn the bodies seem more like lashing tongues. 

The candle flickers unsteadily, melted wax pouring around the weak flame, threatening to drown it and douse you in darkness. You make to crawl towards it before it before it can be snuffed out, but your stopped short by a pair of gleaming eyes watching you. The dark fur tells you who it is but your gut lurches at the sight of the cat. And some buried instinct tells you that something is not right. 

The eyes you realize, are tinged with a faint scarlet around the edges, staining the pale silver glow. And it was wrong. That was not the right color. This was not your cat. How did you not notice before?

It was an imposter. The face too narrow, its shadow too big. Too sharp. 

Your heart flutters like a startled bird and your breath seizes in your lungs when the red silks bound around the brides starts to drip and flow down from the stones like liquid. Blood. Their garb has shifted into blood and is pouring and merging into a massive pool around the edge of the wall and it steadily grows. 

The brides labored breathing whistles across the air, raising in volume until it hurts, harshly grating in your ears in a shrill pitch. And the sound mutates into a chorus of screams that you swear you can feel dragging over your skin like claws. You cover your ears with your hands to muffle the impact of the tortured shrieking, but it offers you no solace from the pain. And all the while the cat - the thing - stares at you from its place on the bloody floor, stained by the very red that is closing in on you from all corners, but you cannot find it in yourself to look past the agony to find strength and collect yourself from the cold granite. 

The red pours around the remaining bit of the candle and the small flame at the end of the wick hisses and sputters at the liquids touch. The light emitting from it dims considerably, threatening to enclose the catacomb in a void. And the cats shadow seems to expand underneath the waning fire, stretching in a jagged way that looks like arms trying to tear free from cloth or skin.

And the cat - a mere extension of the true monster - steps forward while its eyes burn brighter. And the blood is upon you, threatening to touch you. Nausea churns in your stomach and all of the muscles in your body draw taught. You are forced to watch as the creature grows closer, and all you can do is try your best to prepare to fight it, as pathetic as your odds no doubt are. And the brides screaming warbles and shifts into a painful mocking laughter as though they could sense your thoughts. And it makes you feel like an animal caught in a cage. A bird pinned between jagged teeth and the jaws are closing in. The walls and shadows move in closer and their joyous howling and giggling rises in a crescendo, celebrating your anticipated death. You brace as best as you can, balling your hands into fists so tightly that your nails break the skin, watching as the monstrous shadow builds up and prepares to lash out with obsidian talons. 

But the killing blow never comes. Instead, a pair of steady arms wrap around your body, encasing you against the comfort of a chest. And a rush of scents washed over you with its presence, and you struggle to place what it reminds you of. The musk of the soil after fresh rain, the salt of the sea, a calm breeze on a summer night; light and floral and earthy, but those descriptions also do no service to the fragrance that engulfs you. And with it something magnetic dances across your skin and it steals your breath away and your body threatens to melt against theirs. 

Your mind can hardly catch up with what you are seeing. The bloody floor of the burial chamber dematerializes from underneath you, but you do not fall but your body tenses in preparation regardless. The walls shake with a tremendous groan, splitting under the seize and giving under spills of sand and the murals bleed with the fractures. And the air is electric with something heavy and alive and angry, and it courses across your skin and siphons the air from your lungs from the gravity of it. Even the beast made from shadows lurches back as if it was struck and hisses underneath the heat of the rage permeating the atmosphere, clawing against the wall that was rapidly disintegrating and losing tangibility. And the beast screams along with the brides as they vanish from existence. One final baleful cry that rattles your bones and shudders over you before it drowns out completely and with it the catacomb all but vanishes and instead of the blood-soaked stones you are looking down at the expanse of the night sky with stars spread out underneath your feet. 

You brain fails to register that you appear to be hovering over a cluster of distant galaxies and you are left to stare down dumbly at the dark mass of the sky, taking in the stretch of the rich splashes of blues and stellar remnants and stardust gathered like clusters of diamonds and the scale of it nearly makes you forget about the press of someone's body along your back. Their arms around your waist in a tight hold, but there is also a sort of reluctance in their grip made known by the rigidity from the muscles of their arms and the narrow gap left between your bodies. But even between the space you can feel the low heat of them radiating against you. A part of you wanted to look over your shoulder, to discover the face of your savior but some pull in your gut warned you not. That you would not like what you would see. And so, you keep still underneath their embrace, staring off into the quiet breadth of the cosmos where comets drop across the darkness like crystalline tears. Seconds pass without either of you moving, as still as statues. As though if either of you so much as breathed the delicate emanation that cocooned the both of you would shatter. But despite your hesitation there was a prickle of curiosity tugging at you, and you could not deny the pull and you made to slowly turn your head in an attempt to sneak a glance over your shoulder. 

You barely manage to twitch a muscle of movement before they seem to shed their initial diffidence and nestle their face near the nape of your neck, and you can feel the tip of their nose brush against your ear like they mean to hide their identity from you. Their chest expands against the flat of your back, and it takes a moment for your overstimulated brain to realize that they are drawing in a breath, taking your scent into their lungs and holding it there like its oxygen. For some reason it sends of thrum of heat over your body, and combined with the steady, pulsating hum of otherworldly power that courses through the air, it makes you feel as though you may collapse. That you might come apart and burst into flames. There is no chill of fear and disgust does not rise in your stomach like nausea instead their presence feels welcomed. And despite the foreign sensation of their touch, there is also a sense of familiarity to it. Like finally falling into the arms of an old lover. 

They move their head from your by just a few scant inches, and a strange part of you mourns the loss. You wished that the hover of their lips would land on your skin, but they do not. The circle of their arms seems to press you in closer, like they cannot bear even the possibility of you parting.

For a moment the cosmos seems to halt, the intersperse collection of individual galaxies and stars pausing in their rotations and the night holds its breath and so do you. Then a sound purrs out, a heavy baritone that pours across the silence of the universe and fills you with honey and warmth. A deep, smoky cadence that you can feel curling inside the cavern of your chest and running deep across your bones and the nerves and sinew of your entire being. 

"This dream is over." 

You wake with a start. Sucking air into your lungs with a strained gasp while your hands reach around the bedding in a mindless scramble, struggling to orient yourself, but eventually you are able to at least prop your body up on shaky arms. Your eyes rove across your surroundings, no longer taking in the breathless view of stardust and nebulas but the dull clay walls of your vacant quarters and apart from yourself the bed is empty. A quick press of your hand against the stuffed mattress confirms that Cat - you're Cat had been there at some point in the night, the heat still trapped within the fabric from where he sat next to you. And you had shakily removed from yourself from the bed and searched the room for him. You had even approached the door, pressing your head against the wood and contemplated opening it but you could hear one of the guards shuffling behind it, trying to find some reprieve for their aching feet. And so, you returned to the bed with that dark voice still echoing in your ears. You could not sleep. Not even if you wanted. Not with that shadowed creature lurking and that familiar stranger invading your mind. The Nightmare Ruler, your brain supplied without forgiveness, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine. 

And you lay there for hours, now awaiting the sunrise despite the threat that it posed, clinging to your own body with shaking arms as you stare into the darkness, waiting to find something looking back. But soon the maids are pouring into your room and scattering around the foot of your bed, and they must have noticed the panic on your face as a hint of curiosity bleeds through their blase expressions, apart from that single one who always seems to be plotting your demise. 

"Is something the matter? You look troubled." And even in your tired haze you know that it is the voice of the one who openly dislikes you. The one with the sable hair and venomous words. Euthymia, you had learned her name to be. She makes no effort to hide the delight in her tone and in turn you do not even try to school the scowl that takes over your features, pinning her with an open glower, but it does nothing to extinguish the joyful gleam in her eyes. The other servants are ushering you out of bed, already cooing and gushing over the prospect of preparing you for the day ahead and you suddenly feel as though you have been tossed into a lake of ice. The five-day long celebration is coming to a close. The ritual is tonight. 

They ignore your distress, urging you to shed your slip and climb into the bath full of steaming water and oils to prepare you for the ritual. And they had patted you dry when you had gotten out of the tub so that they could dap at your skin with lotions and perfumes. Running marjoram in your hair and something faintly sweet but heady and spicy beneath your jaw. Even spreading fragrances across your inner thighs and palm oil around your breasts. It had an embarrassed heat prickling across your face, and you nearly scoffed at their presumptuousness. And then they were guiding you to kneel on the cushions placed before the large, polished bit of bronze propped along the wall, using the reflection so that you may observe the process as they worked. You were in a fog as they combed your hair and set it and pinned it in a way that they deemed worthy, but you cannot stop thinking of that velvet timber and the feeling of being watched by concealed eyes prickles along your body. And you try to ignore the sensation, telling yourself that it is just paranoia. 

But you could not dwell on your troubles for long before you had taken notice of the strip of fabric from the corner of your eye. And a better look had confirmed it was indeed that dreadful gown that had been laid out along the cushions. You stared from your peripheral vision and each time your head moved even the slightest degree out of their disliking one of the maids would jerk it back into place, scolding you underneath their breath, but your eyes did not stray from the pieces of clothing once. It would have been a gorgeous thing if not for the horror that is comes with it. A vibrant scarlet and intricate gold and black stitching and embroidery. But you could not marvel over its beauty, instead you eyed it warily as though it was poisonous. And perhaps it was.

It truly disturbed you. That horrid red thing that signaled the final chapter of your life, and you could hear the anguished cries and manic laughter of the brides from your nightmare echoing out from the depths of your mind. You could not suppress the way you shuddered. Was that meant to be your fate? A captive in her own body, suppressed underneath a spell of eternal slumber while her body wasted away in a forgotten tomb? You had heard rumors of what happened to the nightmare king's brides after the ritual. Presumptions truly, fabricated speculation that had no true foundation as the priestesses are very private about the affairs of the ceremony that do not require the presence of the villagers. And the townspeople are typically guided out of the temple after the connection between the Chosen and the Endless has been successfully tethered.

Most speculations were good natured enough. Painting the role of becoming one of the Dream King's brides in a lavish light. Something to be envious of, with many saying that to be one of his Chosen was to spend eternity of nights in endless pleasure, with the world at your fingertips. 

But there had been other more sinister whispers, idle gossip that the unconscious brides were taken to a subterranean set of tunnels built underneath the temple. Dug to house the women as they slept on, not killed so as not to sever the link between them and the dream god but kept animated and sleeping within the icy tombs of the catacombs. Kept that way so that the deity could torment them in the halls of kingdom for all eternity. Feasting on their souls and flesh. But many refuse to believe the rumor, even your own father had rebutted the very possibility, as he was a firm believer that the Chosen were simply killed off after the ritual and their bodies were burned so that the ashes could be released upon the winds and lifted to the gods along with the plume incents and smoldering herbs. 

But neither option fared well for you. 

"You had seemed quite distressed when we came in. Did you have a nightmare, my lady?" Euthymia asks, voice sickly sweet with false sincerity. "How strange that the Dream King would allow his Chosen to be harassed by his spirits." And she pats the juice of crushed mulberries onto the rise of your cheeks to add color to your skin, but the push of her fingertips was much too harsh. You were tempted to lunge at her but restrained yourself. 

"Not at all. In fact, I had a rather pleasant dream. " You reply cooly, not allowing her to see you shaken and you tilt your head, pretending to admire the way that they had dressed your hair and decorated it with flowers and pieces of jewels. " It was a rather pleasurable one." 

"Pleasurable?" Comes her nonplussed response and her hand pauses, simply hovering. 

"Oh, yes." You speak lowly, like you are sharing a scandalous story, and your tone is all smooth and honeyed. " It was not a nightmare that visited me, but the Dream King himself. " And you cannot help but internally gloat at the way that some part of her seems to waver, visibly deflating underneath your lie. " He had crawled between my thighs you see and ravished me with his tongue in ways that no mortal man ever could." Even the other ladies had halted in their routine, stopping to listen to your hastily spun fib. And you casted your gaze downward to your hands demurely, like you were shy or embarrassed that you had lost your manners. Scandalized, the other maids had bent towards each other and exchange giggling whispers, but Euthymia was less than enthused. And for the remainder of your time together she had been tightlipped and scowling, and you were surprised that a storm cloud had not been following her every move with how bothered she seemed to be. 

But you could not deny that she made a good point. Why had you suffered from a nightmare at all? It had been sometime since you had. You could hardly recall when it had been last. Perhaps you truly had done something to anger the god. But that had been him, had it not? The one who had come to your aid and taken you in his arms and spoke to you with that smoky cadence. It must have been if the way that he had ended your dream so easily was any indication. And that primordial vibration that had surrounded you both; it was the same that you had felt at the pyre when that strange man was watching. 

And perhaps tonight you would get the answers that you seek, but then you might not want them. 

The rest of the day pours in a distorted stream, and you hardly register slipping into you into that disturbing red garb and you barely notice when the priestesses and temple guards arrive to collect you from the maids and guide you to the dinning haul of the commune where you are assisted down to the sunken floor in the center of the room as some sort of center piece, once again forcing you to sit underneath the eyes of hundreds. You feel exposed, as though you were not wearing clothes at all. Stripped for them to criticize and leer at. You were sure that every person in the village was here to enjoy the banquet. Even the servants were allotted freedom from their duties for the final night of the ritual and were free do dine alongside their masters as equals. 

And once again they had provided you with the best meats and fruits and wine available. The finest of the bounty collected over the farms and orchards for you to gorge yourself on like a swine before its slaughter and because of that you could not bring yourself to eat despite the hollow pit in your gut that begged you to do so.  And you could feel the Priestesses dozen eyes boring into from their place from above, no doubt taking your refusal to eat as not just an insult to themselves but to their god as well. Good. 

But the townspeople did not seem to care, laughing freely and enjoying the festivities without pause and you had been forced to sit as time waned and the sun drifted closer and closer towards the edge of the earth, no matter how much you wished and willed for it not to. And once the townspeople had finished indulging on mead and wine and satiated their hunger, the shrine had collected you once more to climb upon the palanquin that awaited outside, surrounded by servants who prepared to march you across the town from the strength of their shoulders to the Temple of Morpheus where death awaited you. You had tried to struggle against the shackles of the hierodules hands that had seized your arms and shoulders like bands of steel. But you could not shake yourself from their grip and they were mercilessly placing you upon the extravagant cushions of the human-powered vehicle to be suspended high in the air. 

And the townspeople congregated around you as you were carried from the walls of the commune and into the streets, lighting the way with burning torches. And many people had once again adorned themselves in the beastly costumes and danced and cavorted around the palanquin and through the crowd. The Sisters' lead the collective. And you had noticed in the head priestesses' hands, she cradled an obsidian bowl covered by a lid decorated by strokes of gold. A harmless item that on its own would have done nothing to inspire fear in you, but you had heard hushed conversation of its contents before. Some sort of vapor that smoldered from the extract of the poppy flower, and it would serve to tether you to the gods. Or in this occasion one god in particular. 

And once again blossoms and seeds were being tossed over the procession in a celebratory display. In the hands of men and women and children alike people carried votive offerings for the Endless, such as figurines of animals and carvings of a humanoid figure.  And in the cavalcade, musicians were present, playing from a kithara and an aulos, and a lyra. But even over the cheering and commotion and music you could hear a soft repetitive ruffle along the low breeze. You had jerked your head up to search the sky, nearly straining a muscle in the process but the pain had faded into the background at the sight of a dark bird coasting along the current. And a faint iridescent sheen had gleamed on its feathers from underneath the dimming sunlight and the Priestesses - and in turn the crowd had all rejoiced at the bird's appearance, as it no doubt heralded good fortune. 

But you did not share their positive reactions. You heard all the stories, that the ravens were the dark god's familiars, serving as his eyes and ears when he himself could not be present. Your anxiety had not time to settle no matter how much you tried to swallow it down and the presence of the circling bird did nothing to quell the bubbling fear in your gut and bones. 

And soon the procession ventured from the village and the pale marble of the temple seemed to rise from the hill behind the security of its protective wall. It was the only building that had been spared in the initial siege from the Oneiroi when the Nightmare King had abandoned the village in his scorn. It is just the same as when you had last saw it as a child. The ghostly white columns that reminded you of the remains of a skeleton, and the sculpted pediment that depicted beastly creatures in various poses; lashing out and snarling while some seemed to be frozen in the motion of dance. But in the center was a more human figure. No doubt the Endless himself. And the scene was painted in blues and black, with hints of red and gold embellishments.  

And the closer you got to the temple the more your anxiety climbed, until you trembled where you sat, staring into the vacant eyes of the god's sculptured image. And even those they were not real they seemed to bore into you and flay you open until all of your emotions and shaky breaths poured out. Even the sheer fabric of your veil did little to lessen the feeling. 

It was not until you felt hands circling the shape of your arms that you came to and were able to discern that you had been lowered to the ground of the courtyard and were being pulled from your knees, and you were wordlessly guided up the temple. But you did not feel the stairs underneath your feet and the music and laughter sounded as though it were coming from miles away, carried in on a foreign wind. And even when you stepped upon the landing and two of the sisters spun you around to face the crowd down below that had not felt real either. It was like looking at a tapestry of faded figures and blurred colors. 

Then the head priestess stepped in front of you in a flash of black, blotting out your vision of the crowd like the moon obstructing the sun in an eclipse, but you were thankful for it. Then her voice broke out in a shrill bellow, the passion expelling from her cracking it around the edges. " Tonight marks the emergence of our return to grace and glory from underneath the compassion of our god! " She cried and the crowd cried along with her, waving their torches animatedly to show their elation. " No longer will we be shunned by His Sovereignty for we have been given a chance to correct a wrong that should never have happened! To bow our heads in humble plea and return to him which was stolen all those years ago!" 

It made you nauseous the way they spoke of you. As though you were some frivolous token to be bartered. How they did not see you or any of the women before you as human beings with lives and wants and futures but as a cow to be slaughtered. A coin to be exchanged for lavish fabrics and abundant crops. And you could feel the stinging heat of anger filling your chest and pushing out heavy breaths from your lungs. But when the Head Priestess had shifted and moved from out of your vision it left you to make eye contact with the cheering masses; her voice had faded into a low, distant drone. And inside their crazed sort of jubilation, you could see every other emotion that you had felt since the Endless had descended his hoard upon the village in incessant torment: Loss, pain, fear, hunger, sorrow, confusion. 

Many lives have been lost since the day that he had seemed you all unworthy of his gratitude and sanctuary. He had turned the land barren and dry and the animals that had once flourished here have all been culled by his nightmares and their numbers have suffered and dwindled greatly. But as much as you sympathized with these people, understood their plight, you did not owe them anything. Certainly not your life. Especially since they had casted you from your home without so much as a backward glance, forcing you live along the forest all because you were not a kept woman. 

And in five years' time there would be another there would be another girl here, standing just as you do now, willing or unwilling to bear the collectives sins, to pacify the Endless for the good fortune. It would be a ceaseless loop. History repeating itself one poor soul at a time. 

A part of you considered fighting free from the sisters' hold. Of running down the steps and out of the temple grounds without looking back. But even if you happened to make it past the massive crowd of desperate villagers and to the sea, there were no ships, no small rowboats left for fishing. All of the seafaring vessels had been all but demolished by his spirits to keep all of the locals who wronged him trapped on the island to endure the full brunt of his punishment. And even those who have managed to hide the construction boats - avoiding the Ruler of Nightmares many scrutinizing eyes and pushed their watercraft into the dark waves while underneath the shine of the sun, when his influence was claimed to be at its weakest had all disappeared into the heavy wall of fog that surrounds the coast. Only the remains of their boats would float back to shore, sometimes with blood staining the waves.

You truly were left to the fate that these people and their god spared you to. 

Then the head priestess was spinning around in a flurry of robes, and you could not evade the fervor of her gaze, could not flee from, still immobilized by her sisters and their rigid hold of their hands. The gleam in her eyes was detached and wild; the darkness of her pupils swelling, eating up the colored rings around their borders until they were nearly gone. It was the expression of someone who could not be reasoned with. Poisoned by power and hope. But you did not waver underneath the weight of her fixed stare. 

Then one of the sisters was gripping you by the nape of your neck, the movement unexpected enough to pull a startled cry from your lips. It did not give you time to register the obsidian bowl being lifted to your face, the lid being removed to release plumes of smoke. Even through the veil you could feel the warmth of the vapors caressing the skin of your cheeks. It is all so abrupt that you inhale a large lungful in the midst of your struggle, and the scent of it overwhelms you. Stuffing your mouth and nostrils full of something sweet and floral, tinged with the musk of the earth. It reminds you of flowers, of incents but also not at all. And your lungs are too busy heaving around the unexpected rush of smoke and your mind too confused and scrambled to feel or focus on the world around you, and the Priestesses voice was the last coherent thing to break through the fog: "Do not fight this, my dear. " Her voice crooned. Too sweet, to gentle for her cruelty. "To you we give thanks for your sacrifice for our prosperity." 

And in your distress, you tried to think of anything to keep yourself grounded and present. Anything to keep you here in your body, terrified of crossing over and falling into the Nightmare King's gnashing teeth. So you think of your list of chores awaiting you at home; tending to the garden now that life was coming back to the soil, setting more traps in the forest, plucking wild strawberries from the small cluster that you had discovered growing in a small grove, seeing Cat again - the little beast refuses to eat unless you prompt him to (there is no one else to take care of him) - and walking along the beach during the sunrise. Feeling the sand and water underneath your toes and watching the sunlight reflect and dapple the surface. But soon the thoughts were drowning out underneath the impression of the fuzz and haze that blanked your mind. You felt as though your soul was rising from the casing of your body and floating up to the sky above the temple, but you could still feel your knees making contact with the cold marble floors, though the feeling was far off and dull. But there was still anger simmering through your veins. Hurt and betrayal. What were you mad about? 

And the world around you is a rush of colors and blurred shapes and muffled sounds. But you do not want to focus on it regardless. You can't when the weightlessness is pulling at your fingertips and threatening to take you away with it (but you can't leave, what about him?) and deposit you among the stars, and the only thing that gives you even a scrap of connection to your own body is the repetitive pulse of your heartbeat coursing in your ears. The floral sugar and salt of the smoke still coats your tongue, and you can feel it in your lungs, heavy and syrupy. And the drag of your relaxed limbs seems to pull you down now instead of up, with the thrum of your heart doing little to center you anymore. But its less of a pulse now and more of pound -an angry crash. That's not right, is it? 

You try to blink. To get some scope of reality, but it's difficult to keep your eyes past the blurred sting. Are you crying? No, that is not right either. It is no longer a steady beat, but a deafening layered rumble, muffled but also painfully loud. You can faintly see past the red sheer of your veil glimpses of black and blue streak across your vision, with peeks of flashes of tiny pale dots.

It is all to distorted and airy. Too muddled for your mind to make something tangible but then your body is being tossed by some unforeseen force. A sharp, unrelenting pull that moves your entire being like it weighs nothing and the air is snatched from your lungs, and you choke on something. Some deeply imbedded survival instinct awakens and your body flails, limbs dragging and reaching through the thick atmosphere in attempt to grab ahold of something. Anything to orient yourself and make sense of what is happening to you, but your hands come up empty. Your lungs twitch, trying to draw in a breath but instead they burn, and the sting is so potent that it licks a trail up your throat and the pungent taste of salt blankets you tongue.

Water, some faint thought breaches the cotton that stuffs your skull. You're in water. 

And your body moves on its own, arms and legs kicking to propel in what you hope is the direction of the surface. In a glance upward you notice the distorted expanse of what must be the waves, and through the commotion above you see that glimpse of those burning pinpricks of light again and with no other alternative, fueled by an animalistic sort of fear you swim towards it. You can only hope that you make it up in time, with your lungs aching and burning like smoldering embers within your chest. You can already feel your limbs growing sluggish from the lack of oxygen and the heavy tow of your ceremonial robes, but you try your best to keep moving, dragging yourself forward with weak arms and legs. But death still hangs heavy in the back of your mind. And for the second time tonight you're terrified that this may be your final moments, with your legs flailing uselessly and the darkness clouding at the base of your senses like a layer of winter ice. It makes it difficult, but it is sheer instinct and panic and hope that burns at your muscles, reviving them of their vigor and pressing you onwards. 

It is your hands that break through the surf first, quickly followed by your head and you could have sobbed with relief if you were not busy trying not to remain afloat and actively choking on the water in your throat. And you push yourself forward, even as the waves toss you in their angry roll against the shore. But blessedly under the current that threatens to drag you under and drown you it also serves to propel you forward towards the beach, jostling your body with their great power and you feel like a child's toy that had been lost over the side of a boat. It is on the pale crest of an angry wave that you meet the shore, being carelessly discarded on the sand and the rush of water pelts across your back, soaking you one final time before retreating back into the ocean behind you. 

You gather as much as strength as you have left to prop yourself up on your hands and knees, carrying yourself across the beach with wobbling limbs while your abdomen and chest shiver and heave in a violent fit. The muscles of your body squeezing you tightly to expel the sea water from your lungs in a shaky grip that has you gasping and wheezing. And even though your lungs sting like a raw wound as you suck in a ragged inhale, the dim feel of oxygen filling your lungs is wonderful, like a healing ointment smoothed over a fresh burn. You allow yourself to collapse onto your stomach once you escape the reach of the sea, but it is difficult to see, to hear and even still hard to breathe with the thin fabric of your veil clinging to the shape of your face from the weight of the water pulling the material down, pressing it against the divots of your nostrils nearly waterboarding you with each breath. 

You blindly yank at the veil, tearing it and your Stefana from your head with an angry huff, carelessly tossing it. You do not see where it falls but you can hear it land with an unattractive wet plap. You blink freely now able to take in your surroundings now that, that cursed thing is no longer tainting your vision. You deduce quickly that you are on a beach. Obviously. But it does not appear to be the one that you often find yourself strolling down on your free time, fantasizing about distant lands or the Isles of the Blessed, or the islands where the sirens live and lure sailors to their deaths. The sand was far too pale. Too soft. And when you moved it seemed to glitter like snow underneath sunlight. But it was a glance upward that confirmed your awful reality. The sky above was not yours. The scattering of stars not sparing enough and the expanse of it was not simply a dark backdrop but splashed with vibrant rich nebulas of azure and silver and pale golds against the black velvet of space. The stardust seemed to shift as though the heavens were a living breathing thing. And the constellations above you are unrecognizable. There is no Orion, lunging forward to strike or brace against the blow of a foe, and the scattered knot of the Pleiades is absent from the sky.  

Your heart sinks to the base of your gut and a heated rock seems to lodge itself in your throat, rising with the threat of tears all from the bruising reality that you are no longer home. Not just the island, or your house, but the entire plain of your existence. Plucked from everything you have ever known by the hands of your people to appease a monster. Heartlessly thrown into the deity's domain. Forgotten and used. 

You remembered the tales told by your mother and the words that had been passed down from priestess to priestess across the centuries that spoke of the Nightmare Ruler's world: The Dreaming, it was called. The place that served as the cradle of the universe's collective unconsciousness, housing the minds a mortal, beast and god alike while they slept. An extension of the Endless himself. The entire realm was a dream in its own right. That means that you must be able to wake from it. Perhaps you could will yourself awake if you concentrated enough. You have been never much of a lucid dreamer. Only able to do small feats of altering landscapes or changing the color of your dress. You had never been aware enough to wake yourself. But maybe here in the Dreaming you would be able to conjuror some sort of exit. 

You centered your attention down to a single thought: Waking up. Of feeling the drag of consciousness slipping back into your physical body and opening your eyes. And you pushed that thought until your body responded with the ferocity of it, your muscles tensing under the strain of it, and you are left gasping, the same as you had when you crawled ashore. You think of your body, still and induced in that horrific stasis, being purified underneath the smoke of incense and wrapped in the red silk and voile fabric by the Priestesses to be carried and stuffed down in the catacombs like a forgotten relic. You thought of waking suddenly. Of tearing yourself from the cloth and fleeing home and dropping to your knees to burry your fingers in the soil there and crying with the relief that would swell within your chest and blossom with the joy of being home. 

And you had found that in your desperation you had actually crumbled to your knees, but you did not feel the gentle earth beneath your hands but sand.

You take to pinching at your arm in a pathetic attempt to try and escape the Dreaming, twisting the flesh between your fingertips until it stung but to no avail. 

And a low, heavy wind rumbled across the beach, howling over the waves and the field of crimson blossoms and golden wheat, punctuating the silence and the loneliness that hung over you like the aftermath of a tempest. Defeat weighed down your shoulders as you watched the thrashing ocean with a sense of detachedness. Then something in the air seemed to shift, pulsing with something alive. That distantly familiar alien thrum and you could feel it against your skin; a magnetic pressure that reminded you of a brief night in the cosmos, held in a tight embrace. You did not have to turn to confirm who the presence was. You did not know if you had the strength to. The fear and gravity of the beings pull nearly seized your lungs, and you clenched your hands into fist to bear the feeling of it. And then that velveteen rasp speaks out, moving down your body like a flow of water and smoke and you can feel the hum of it in your bones.  

"I had no intention of your arrival being so distressful. Had you not struggled your coming would not have been so violent. " His tone is a placid timbre, but you swear you can detect sympathy - perhaps a sort of regret - tinged into the edges of his words. But it does little to placate you. His detached surprise at your anguish only serves to mutate your sorrow and defeat and it gives way into anger, searing at you like a burning fire that needs something to burn, and chars any remaining pieces of your self-preservation and wit, making you forget that you were in front of deity that has seen eons come and go in its lifetime and was currently holding your mind and possibly your soul hostage. But you did not care. Not now, with your entire life in an upheaval. And even then, you still can't bring yourself to look at it - the source of that primordial electric pulse. To confirm all of your fears, that home was truly out of reach, that you were entirely out of depth and in a plain that you did not belong in. There was a safety in your delusions, your self-imposed ignorance. And so you stared at the angry, rolling waves and pretended that they were your own, not daring to turn yet. "What was your intention? " You inquired, not even bothering to hide the scorn in your broken voice. Not caring of the consequences. " That you'd just steal me away from everything I've ever known, and I'd be content with it?" 

"Look at me. " 

It is a simple set of words, but the conviction of it beats across the very fabric that binds and creates the Dreaming, rippling over the sand, shifting stars and stirring the already tumulus waves to threatening heights and the power of it runs through your unconsciousness as well, tingling across your body and it commands you to move. An unwelcome reminder of your mortality and the scope of the deity and his domain. You turn slowly, helpless to ignore the order even while you dread looking upon him. Wondering if he would wear the skin of a monster to punish you for your ire. Perhaps contorted limbs and bloody jagged teeth or stretched flesh and the lifeless abysmal gaze of that otherworldly helm.

There is none of that. No cloak made of nightmares or terror. Just a man. But that is not right either. 

Regardless of the glamour he had casted this was no man. Ignoring the information as told by the naked eye all of the minute tells became glaringly obvious, such as the way his skin was too soft and free from blemish or flaw, like the statues crafted in his commemoration; the messy tresses of his hair that appeared as though they were spun from the night sky itself and the impossible blue of his eyes that mimicked the shade of a crystalline sea, or perhaps they were a reflection of the very nebulas above you now. He is so beautiful that it is almost cruel. You have to wonder why he chose you specifically. That he has been watching over you since the night at the pyre. Long before that even. That, that same voice had spoken to you during your sleep and commanded you to wake, and once again you are unable to ignore it, standing from your place on the sand. 

The brunt of his gaze is too much- scrutinizing. You felt like you were stripped bare. Every nerve, every want or worry or promise that you had ever made was laid out across the shore for him examine. You quailed underneath the breadth of it, the sheer intensity was maddening - that there seemed to be no secret that you could hide from him. The entirety of your mind held within the webbing of his domain for him study and toy with.  

"Why do you fear me?" He asked, and you could laugh or cry at the question but neither would do proper service to express the severity of your emotions. The turmoil and confusion. He sounded so sincere. Just as perplexed as you even though his stance was devoid of any body language. Rigid and exact, with an almost clinical posture. But you could see it in his eyes. A small, fleeting glimpse of his own confusion, a slight furrow of an eyebrow, but it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, erased and blotted out by that aloof expression. 

You were not even sure how to respond, and for a moment your mouth hangs open silently while you collect yourself and find your voice: " I - just - all of the death. " You finally answer lamely, trying to swallow around the dryness of your throat. " The slaughter and starvation. The disease. The suffering." 

"They broke their promise. " It was said so simply. As though it was enough to justify the atrocities and it made nausea bubble in your gut, and hatred too. 

"All because of a woman." You cannot contain the way you scoff, shifting on your feet like you do not know whether to approach him or step away and create more space, your body prickling underneath weight of his aura and his unwavering observation. "You had hundreds slaughtered because you were not given one woman." 

"That is the price for bargaining with an Endless and taking back your word." He replied easily. A simple matter of fact for him, like it was a natural law, a part of his nature that should be expected and understood without consequence, that all failures to comply could not be faulted on him. It was just another tough reminder that this was no mortal that you stood before and that he could not be expected to obey or sympathize with the jurisdictions of your human morality.  

And there was a shift in his expression, something steely and resolute, and the distance between your bodies seemed to close in even though neither of you had placed a single step until there was only a scant space left between you. " I will do the same for you. " 

There was no past tense used. And perhaps under different circumstances you could have seen it as an intimate declaration of love, but it was uttered with a conviction that you could feel and the threat - the promise was hauntingly clear. That he would lay waste to the remaining people of your village if you refused. And although his body remained unmoved, the pressure of his influence hummed and molded against you and robbed you of your breath. It felt like you were standing within the deluge of a summer storm, caught within spires of stardust and the heat of a nova. 

"Their crime is no longer yours to bear. " He said calmly - soothingly like he was trying to placate you. " You will not be harmed. " 

"Is that really true? " You ask, still full of disbelief and contempt and this time you do venture to take a step back and blessedly he allows you, and you cannot help but be thankful that he does not shift the sands to draw you in closer.  "They tell stories of what you do to your tributes once you have them, I'm sure you've heard. That you mold yourself into the likeness of a beast and hunt them, chasing them down the halls of your palace and tearing them limb from limb for eternity: A cycle of death and pain." 

And that pale animal gleam from the bonfire burns alight in his eyes and it does little to quell your steady stream of anxiety, but his indignation does not seem to be aimed at you specifically. " Is that truly what you believe?" And there is a gentleness to him, the annoyance receding as though he was more perturbed than angry, and a part of you nearly regrets having told him, but you squash that scrap of emotion before anything can come of it. "That I am some heartless monster than means to torture you for my entertainment."  

"Well, what else am I supposed to be led to think?" Surely a being of his scope, of his age and power must realize the severity of his actions. The violence and heartache that has bleed across the island and tainted the soil at his command. The senseless slaughter and starvation, forced to helplessly watch as your loved ones succumbed to it. The horrid, twisted sleepless nights and soiled dreams, and then you can hear it again, that twisted vacant laughter, rushing blood and mutilated shadows. " Especially after you sent your nightmares out to trouble me." 

"I promise that I have done no such thing" He assured, but it did little to soothe your frazzled state. " I gave them all specific instruction not to harm you, but they are not without their own free will, and I have delt with it accordingly." He spoke of his creatures as though they were misbehaving children. Simply spoiled and wayward, and not cruel, sadistic beasts. And perhaps he truly did not mean for one of his Oneiroi to haunt you in the night. After all, he did arrive to banish the spirit from your unconsciousness, to wrap his arms around your body in a secure embrace before ending the dream. But regardless of the fact, you could not forgive him.  

"I don't care. I want to go home." 

"Is that truly what you are clinging to? Those empty cold walls, vacant of family or companionship?  Or is it them? The very people that so freely discarded you. Abandoned and out casted you as though you were a leper." 

He was right of course. You were already well aware of the fact, but it did not make it sting any less to hear, and the old memories that rose up were less than welcome. A painful reminder that even your own father and mother had rejected you, not physically but the emotional disconnect had been there. A rift had torn between your dynamic like a gaping, festering wound that had never truly healed.  They had never looked at you the same, the both of them loathing you for marring the family name and social standing. And the other villagers would all murmur and stare in disdain whenever you had ventured into town to collect fruits or fresh meats at the local market, all because you had slept with a man as an unmarried woman. And your alienation was palpable. But you did not want to give him the satisfaction of admitting it and caving in. 

"No- they didn't-" 

"But they did, didn't they?" You could not stand his confidence. How he held his head high with that resolute air of certitude and kingly ego, how the air pulsed over you and tingled at your flesh like a balm. "Leaving you all in alone in that quiet little house, hoping that you'd fall prey to one of my nightmares." 

He steps forward crowding into your space with that pale wicked gleam in his eyes and the stars hanging in the sky behind him seem to warp towards his person, as though they were trying to leave their heavenly cradle to follow him. You heart speeds from apprehension surely, but you don't find yourself leaning away from his body or trying to flee. You are stock still, hardly able to spare any pieces of your attention on anything other than him. And then he is lifting a hand to brush against your cheek, featherlight but somehow still reverent in its glide and you can feel the life radiating from it. Ice and heat simultaneously, cosmos and earth. 

"I can give you everything you crave. The life you've always dreamed of having." His voice that dark velvet purr, draping around you temptingly.  "You will want for nothing." But you are hardly hearing his words anymore too preoccupied with the tender trail of his curled fingers; his knuckles tracing a blaze of warmth down your throat, slipping down dangerously close to the bit of your chest exposed by the low hang of the garment. But his hand pauses in its descent, stopping just a few inches from the valley between your breasts, and you cannot hide the way that your body shivers at the contact, a heat stirring within you. "But it is a decision that must be made of your own accord." 

And then he is backing away from you, allowing the atmosphere to clear of its electrical charge and for oxygen fill your lungs, but your body mourns the loss of his touch regardless of your returned breath. And it is then that you are able to realize what he had said, and some bit of hope blossoms, and now it is you who makes after him, following his path as he glides through the field of red and gold. 

"Wait? I can go home if choose to?" 

"No." 

"But you just sai-"

He turns to you so quickly that it is surprising, whipping around in a stream of darkness, and in the distant stars held within the fabric of his chlamys adjust with the movement. "You are a part of the Dreaming now. There is no place for you in the mortal realm - not anymore." 

The revelation has the same effect as a pail of ice water being doused over you. Unforgiving, paralyzing. And this time you do not have the ability to respond, far too busy grappling all of the emotions that are clamoring for the forefront.  

"Your home is here now. " He insists, lips pursed in a petulant sort of way. " Regardless of if you decide to take your place alongside me, this is where you must stay. Even if you were to leave this instant, time within the Dreaming does not abide by the same laws of your world. You would return to a point not of your own. Lost in a time entirely unfamiliar." 

And the chasm that has been threatening to break seems to grow deeper, fissures and cracks breaking at the foundations. And you vehemently want to deny him. To call him out for lying. Surely, he must be, how good can the Nightmare Ruler's word truly be? Is he a being that can possibly be trusted? But if he is correct, telling the complete truth and you were able to return to your realm would you be able to survive it? The sight of your home now years, if not decades old crumpled and dilapidated from the unforgiving pressure of time might break you. He must notice that vulnerability wearing down on you, because something in his gaze softens and you wished that he didn't look like he cared because some horrid part of you - the same one that had preened underneath his touch - is comforted by his attention, left wanting for it even and you are finding it difficult to be revolted or angry anymore. You would like to blame it on remnants of that perfumed smoke being still in your system, but truthfully you have not felt its influence since you had been dunked into the ocean. The brackish water and chaotic waves seeming to have strained it from your system. Or perhaps it had been the Dreaming itself that had done so, assisted with the fact that you may not even be tethered to your body at all anymore, the effects of the smoke too distant to reach your spirit that has drifted too far from its body. Maybe you truly do belong to his realm now. And you wait for that coal of anger to burn again, but it never comes, leaving you feeling hollow and broken. Exhausted even while you stand in a world fashioned from dreams. "I'm just tired . . . " You mourn weakly, watching the reeds and blossoms sway in the soft wind. 

"Then let me ease your burden. " His voice is much closer than it had been before, and when you jerk your head up, startled from the proximity of it, the point of your nose nearly brushed against his. You are immediately drawn into the all-consuming center of his gaze, and it feels like you are being held within it, called to the edge of something yawning and consuming, beckoning you to jump and you do not think that you have the strength to pull back from it. And you found that you did not want to. 

He has not made any means to move, leaving it to you to close the distance and you do, the hesitation thawing. He tracts you as you draw near, seeming to hold a breath that he did not need, and he appears tense, rigid like he was physically restraining himself with a practiced sort of patience. And it might have frightened you earlier, but the fervor in them does nothing to dissuade you now if anything it only serves to motivate you. Inside those pale irises you see cyan and indigo and sapphire flaring like nebulas drawing you in like a flower leaning towards the sun, and for a moment you swear you caught a glimpse of something else lurking inside of them, a glimmer of his true self perhaps; something vast and entirely beyond you. It felt ancient and ever-expanding, ignited and twisting and looming. And you felt like you were on the horizon of making sense of it and both entirely too far, slipping through your muddled understanding like sand and smoke, scorching like a harsh ice. 

It is the whisper of his nose brushing against yours that draws you from your fixation, a delicate sensation but it was blessedly enough to bring you back to the present, assisted by the rich rumble of his voice. "Come back to me. " 

"I nearly fell in, " you murmur back. And it was not a lie, you had nearly lost yourself in the paradox and cosmos that created him but it was also said in an attempt to jest. And you succeeded it seemed if the light, barely there rise at the corner of his mouth way any indication. It all feels fragile, unsure but not unwelcome. Like life returning to the earth after a harsh winter, blossoms breaking through sheets of snow, guided by the tender thaw of sunlight. 

"May I touch you?" He asks, tilting his head to just barely skim the fulness of his lips against yours, not kissing you but just enough to leave your skin tingling in their wake. It is a simple question, but it is enough to have that burning ache coming alive again, taking root deep in the base of your abdomen and you find yourself nodding. Frustratingly enough he does not move, ever a pillar of restraint and he leans his head back when you tilt to close the distance between you. And you catch the smug air that surround him, and you would have snapped at him if you had the gall to, if you did not want him to just kiss you already.

"Use your words. " That dark honeyed resonance tramples any semblance of a barb that you had even fleetingly entertained. The Dreaming has long since gone quiet, seeming to betray its creator's appearance of undisturbed control with the febrile energy that tangled around the both of you, fueling your own growing need with its charge. And you were unable to withhold the plead that leaves you, a floaty sigh: "Please touch me." 

You do not compute him nearing, eliminating the remaining space that divided you to press his lips against your own, suddenly they just are. It is soft, explorative but not without longing. And the sheer need behind it has your knees going weak, and if not for the appearance of an arm around your waist you feared that you might have actually fallen. Your body thrums with a sort of unsuppressed elation, a syrupy heat spreading across your limbs and dripping down your spine, settling between the cradle of your hips from the swipe of his tongue against your bottom lip, silently asking for your permission. You thread your finger through the silken tresses of his hair and lightly scratch across his scalp. You can only feel the groan rumbling against your lips when you allow him to lick into your mouth and you immediately decide that you need to actually hear it. You are sure that the sound of that husky timbre breathing out in a rapturous moan will haunt you for the rest of eternity, and you could not wait to hear it. 

He cups your face in a single hand, securing your head with the curl of his fingers, allowing him to slant the plush of his mouth against you in an angle that let him to pull you in closer, enfolding you into the warmth of his chest. And the remaining doubt and restraint that had seemed to hold you two back was quickly beginning to melt, giving way to carnal sort of urgency. And already you are left panting, sweeping your hands across any part of him that you can, gripping the watery flow of his robes to center yourself through it all. 

You had not felt yourself tipping but your back is now pressed against the textured terrain of the Dreaming, the crushed stalks of reeds and flowers lightly digging at your skin, though it does little to take precedence over your current focus. And he is pulling away from your mouth to duck his head neath your chin, nipping and sucking at the skin there until its tender and you can tell by the way that he tucks your flesh between his teeth and licks that he is leaving marks in his wake, staking his claim upon your body and the mere idea of it has you lowly keening into the night; your body going lax underneath his. All things considered; he has not done much but your brain is already clouding with want, eyes glazing over. And then the heat of his mouth is sealing over your breast, the silk texture of your robe only adding to the pleasure as his tongue circles around your taut nipple. You can't help the way that you arch into it, seeking out more mindlessly but it is not enough. It is does little more than tease you, even with the way that he has draped himself over you he has himself suspended in a way that keeps you from being able to achieve the friction that you desire, stoking that heat inside you with eat nip and suck from his teeth and mouth. 

You can hear him chuckling from above you, the vibrations of his low smug amusement tingling across your chest, adding to your pleasure. If you were not so preoccupied with thoughtlessly trying to grind against his abdomen like a whore, you might have snapped at him for it, but instead you are removing your hands from the rich earth to sweep through his unruly hair, holding him against you instead, melting underneath the feel of his tongue. 

He does not let you have that for long either, releasing the swell of your breast and ducking from your grip, nuzzling a path down the plain of your abdomen and taking your thighs into the smooth glide of his hands, ignoring your protesting cry as he licks at your stomach from over the barrier of the silk. And once again you find yourself cursing that dreadful fabric, swearing into the night while you squirm in his hands. 

"Easy, sweet thing. " He coos, the image of patience. And if not for the wild, glow twinkling in both of his eyes like a beast you would not even think he was affected in the way that you are. That burning light serves as a reminder that he is not normal man, that you are rabbit ensnared within the jaws of a wolf, a mortal lying with a god. But it does not frighten you anymore. Instead, it douses fuel over an already steady flame. And you find yourself hoping to be consumed, taken between the teeth of this dark, cosmic deity and eaten alive. 

His descent does not stop, the point of his nose dragging down until it stops over your mons pubis and your whole body tenses in anticipation, waiting for him to move just a bit lower, to bundle your skirts in his hands and take you into his mouth. But he does not do any of that. He simply hovers there. His clutch on your thighs tightens, threatening to turn your flesh tender and you swear that you can feel the points of talons pricking at you, but it is too dark from the cover of the moonless night to see if he truly has grown claws in his passion - if they have drawn blood. Not that you would have minded if they had. You wanted it. Wanted his claim visible on your body, open to be seen by anyone who may gaze upon you. A trickle of concern does make it through the honeyed smoke of your want, as fleeting as it is, and it is quickly forgotten. Casted aside at the sound of a soft repetitive panting filling the silence. It does not take you long to realize that it is coming from him. He is breathing in your scent, hovering over the heat of you to take lungful's of your arousal. 

It is completely debased. Dirty. But the sight of a this primordial being kneeling between your legs and drawing in the scent of you in this perverted display that you would expect from man and not a god has you moaning into the air. Your cunt throbs, clenching around nothing while you rock your hips near his mouth. His grip tightens once again, smarting your skin while he tries to pin your body even while he chases the shift of your hips. And for one moment you think that he may finally ease both of your discomfort, feed the hunger ravaging your bodies but then horribly, he is pulling from you, leaving you to pant into the open air in a confused daze. "Why did you stop? "

"Let me taste you. " He said thickly, and his eyes shimmer again like the stars suspended in the heavens behind him. "Let me drink from you- worship you." 

His words have your mouth going dry and that aching heat pooling between your thighs. Never in your life have you ever known a man so desperate to pleasure you. To practically beg for it with a barely concealed avidity. That an Endless would ask for your permission. But he is no man after all. And you are nodding once again, but he does not move until the echo of that old sentence chimes in your head, use your words, you remember, and you manage to utter a rushed, "please" out from a shaky huff.  

He rumbles in a pleased way, the Dreaming trembling lightly with the resonance of his satisfaction. You hardly have time to blink before your ceremonial garb all but vanishes, baring you to the soft breeze and then a soft warmth enveloping your wet cunt, leaving you to jerk in surprise and scramble to grab something, anything to tether you. You claw at the field, the soil, before combing them into his hair while you gasp. All the while he is completely immovable, fixed to you throughout your writhing, lapping at your slit to collect the taste of you on his tongue and drink it down with a content purr, before licking up so that he can suckle your clit into the clutch of his mouth. Prompting that heady warmth to drizzle up on top of itself within the base of your abdomen. 

He alternates between that for a few moments, completely unhurried as he switches between lapping at your slit and sucking at your engorged bundles of nerves. And then his tongue is slipping inside of you, working along the walls of your cunt in a way that has your eyes rolling and your back bowing in a taut seize. But it does not stop. Extending into an inhuman length. It is thick and textured near its base, working so deep inside that you have to cry out. The repetitive drag and pull of it ushering you to roll your hips to match its delicious rhythm, building up a rising tide, dangling you over the precipice of something debilitating. 

"Oh gods - I - " 

But he is jerking away from you leaving your cunt to squeeze around the absence of his tongue, biting into the meat of your thigh like he has to preoccupy himself or else he will bury his face back into your heat like you so desperately want him to. You clumsily prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him and the intensity of his gaze would have been intimidating if you were not in your current position. 

"Why did you stop?!" 

"When you come in will be with��my name on your lips, " and something possessive layers the rich rumble of his tone. It is heavy and bears no room for argument, but you have no wish to do so. "Say it." 

"My Lor- " But his pointed glare is enough to cut you off, but you find yourself yelping from the reprimanding nip at your sensitive skin. It did not hurt but it took you by surprise regardless. 

"My name." He repeats carefully, and laves his tongue over the dull sting to soothe it, all without breaking eye contact, keeping you within the scope of his watch. And it takes you a moment to sift through his abundance of monikers and titles, trying to think past the sensation of his teeth and lips on you, but you finally manage to settle the same one that the Priestesses would often whisper with reverence. 

"Morpheus. " 

A pleased hum greats you and then blessedly he is spreading you open with his thumbs to subject you to the calculated, blissful lashing of his tongue. And you allow yourself to fall back onto the ground in a boneless heap, easily falling back underneath the sway of that fuzzy Elysian pleasure. Unrestrained moans now freely spilling from you, but you cannot find it in yourself to be the least bit embarrassed by the way you openly keen and whine in bliss. You head tips as you toss in reckless abandon, staring up almost sightlessly at the star cluttered sky. And in your drunken haze your mind oddly remarks that the twinkling stars remind you of peering eyes. But before the thought can take flight a strange sensation is enveloping you, like the brush of water rushing over you. Rolling textured waves, feathered touches and the brush of fingers. 

Hands, a distant thought supplies weakly. It does feel like hands. Thousands of them all scattered about your body. Running over your hips, your stomach, your chest, your throat. And then it feels as though a pair of mouths are taking your breasts into them, and you just barely manage to jerk your head up to confirm that Morpheus is still nestled between your thighs, slurping at your messy cunt even while those phantom hands and mouths stroke over your body, sucking at your nipples in a way that has a gutted moan tearing out of you. 

He is watching you from his place between your legs and the gleam of his eyes are nothing short of smug, taking absolute pride in the way that he is unraveling you at the seams. 

Your body moves as though it is possessed. Writhing like it can't decide which sensation it wants to arch into; the ghostly grasp of a thousand hands or the needy, warmth of his mouth. 

And the squelch of his tongue is sinful, noisily plunging into you. Its passage completely frictionless with the combination of his saliva and the way your cunt drips around the intrusion. He takes the meat of your ass into his physical hands, guiding the jerky rock of your hips into something deeper while he drinks you down, swallowing the obscene slick of your coupling down his throat. And you are babbling now, unable to recognize or understand the scattered way that you beg and cry. Lost to drift in the ceaseless ecstasy, a willing prisoner forced to take it. It feels as though your mind is breaking around the edges, fraying from the sheer scope of your pleasure, leaving you a weightless passenger, no longer held within the restraints of your own body. You soul is alight, burning and drowning in a rapture so sweet that you have no choice but to sob from it all. 

"Morpheus - " You choke around the raged heaving of your chest. And the hands on your body are joined by the phantom lapping of tongues, invisible teeth nipping at your skin and the mouths on your breasts pull and tweak at your nipples. The pleasure is too much, too great for you to fully comprehend and that wave is climbing once again, hurtling you towards that cliff. And now you are begging - pleading that he does not stop and leave you wanting. His name falls freely from you now, and endless mantra pleading for him to guide you into the sweep of fire and bliss. 

You barely feel it approaching. Suddenly your body is tensing, going rigid underneath the curl of his tongue and your thighs clamp around his head while you sob through the convulsions wracking through you. Completely swept up in a tide of heat and electricity. But he has not pulled away from your cunt, still nuzzled between the clutch of your thighs while he drinks your come with a satisfied sigh. The vibrations of it combined with the idle way that he continues to lap at you despite the sensitivity and it has your muscles twitching in response. 

"Morpheus, please. " You gasp underneath him, and he finally pulls back from you, albeit reluctantly before he is crawling over you, leaving gentle pecks across your body as he moves. And you can still feel those phantom touches across you, but they are feather light now, melting into the background as his lips meet yours in a hungry kiss. It has you moaning into his mouth, and even with your recent orgasm you can already feel a syrupy heat building up within you coaxing the gentle rock of your hips. You can taste yourself on his lips, earthy and somewhat sweet. The weight of his arousal presses against you from underneath his robes, heavy and hot and the Dreaming thrums with his want, the soil trembling beneath you both. 

You reach a hand down to paw at him through the dark fabric of his chlamys and the smoky, ragged groan that escapes him is a reward all in its own. And you were right. The sound of his breathless, rumbling satisfaction is something that you will never tire of hearing, and you are already desperate to drag more from him. But what truly has your attention is the length of him. You are unable to see it from the cover of his robes, but you can feel it, the thickness of it, the length. And you drag your thumb around its head, the cloth clinging to the shape of his cock from the precum leaking from the tip. He jerks in your hand, breaking your kiss to duck his face into the crook of your neck, sucking at the skin, prompting you to moan breathlessly. 

"I need you inside of me. " You whisper unsteadily. 

"Take what you need. " Comes his response as he mouths along your neck, taking your ear lobe into his mouth and pulling it between his teeth. Just as yours had, his robes vanish from his body, baring himself for you admire. And admire you do. Gazing upon the milky hue of his skin. The lithe muscle that ripple and flex and the added detail of blue vessels spidering underneath his flesh. Your eyes drop lower, settling on his cock, and the tip has flushed red from his arousal, and you briefly entertain the idea of taking him into your mouth, tasting him on your tongue as he had done to you. But the throbbing heat that has settled between your thighs is the only thing that keeps you from doing so. You need finally feel him and so you are gently pushing at his chest, guiding him to remove his head from your neck and to lie on his back. And he allows you to so - a god obeying your wishes. 

His gaze does not stray from you, even as he settles against the ground and allows you to climb astride his lap. Now that you are here atop him you find yourself wavering under the intimidation of your self-imposed task. It is a stupid thing to be fearful of. You have done this before. But those was a man, not an immortal deity that has seen centuries come and go, watched curiously as humanity's ancestors evolved and give way to empires the ultimately rose and fell. You are sure that he has lain with deities beyond your comprehension. Gods and goddesses, nymphs and spirits, pure divine beings from the heavens. How could you compare? How could you possibly please him? Would he want you even as a tainted woman? 

And as though he can sense your discomfort, he sweeps his hands along your hips, the action breaking through your internal struggle, and he is once sitting himself up enough to plant a kiss between the valley of your breasts. And then he is guiding you to look down on him with the gentle brush of his fingers, fixing your attention solely on him. 

"Take what you need. " He reiterates. But it is not said in a scathing or annoyed way, it is gentle, loving you want to believe, and you nearly melt against him. Those ghostly touches are back, no doubt an attempt to draw you out of your head. And it is working to stoke the fire, the fervor returning to your bones, but your mind still struggles to return you, still tangled within the confines of your insecurities. You could not manage to pin them down no matter how hard you tried to. 

"Speak to me, " he murmurs against your skin. "What troubles you?" 

"I - " you choke around the shakiness in your chest. You want to speak but it is difficult to do so around the rock in your throat, the disconnect between your head and your tongue stalling the words before they can even truly form. He begins to circle his thumbs against your hips. It is no longer sexual but completely tender, meant to coax your feelings from you rather than your desire and it does serve to ground you somewhat, offering you some clarity to articulate yourself. " I - you do know that I'm not . . . " You trail off and you attempt to meet his curious gaze, but you find your own quickly darting away, scanning the kaleidoscope fields that surrounds you like it might help you find your courage.  " . . . What if I'm not good enough?" 

His expression becomes stormy.  Something menacing and severe and it is a stark reminder of the darker side of his nature. He had been so gentle and giving with you that it had been easy to forget the depths of his anger, and for a moment you had feared that you somehow managed to offend him personally. His lips have pursed in that cross way, his eyebrows pinched, and you would have anticipated him molding himself into wicked shadows and talons, if not for the flash of something soft showing through the cosmic blue of his eyes. 

"Have I not worshiped you thoroughly enough?" He asks, but he does not necessarily sound affronted out of concern of his own pride but rather disappointed that he did not please you. The mere notion of that could make you scoff; you were certain that he ruined you for anyone else. No man would be able to touch you in the way that he had. And now you were opening your mouth to reassure him, but he is responding before you can utter a single word. " Then allow me to rectify my transgressions." 

And you whole heartedly expect him to once again knock you on your back and take you, but he does not. He keeps you secured on his lap, grip firm but not controlling and fixes you with a stare that seems to hold you open and reach inside, melting at your frayed vulnerabilities. "Now. Take what you need."  His voice has dipped into something deep and orotund, clearly enunciating to make sure that his intent is clearly broadcasted. And the intensity that he projects is enough to pull you back into the moment, his power coursing over the Dreaming and rippling at its seams. But it is more than that too. He has been nothing but gentle with you this entire night. Patient. Without judgement. And it is as though he has been plucking you apart piece by broken piece, stuffing you full of sunlight and helping you mend your shattered edges. Not fixed or magically repaired, but it is the closest you have felt to peace and adoration in a long time. And you feel like you are choking on the affection that he openly displays. The want and the need. 

You become startlingly aware of the way that your cunt drips, come smearing the insides of your thighs while that warm honeyed ache steadily thrums within your abdomen. And it is difficult to ignore it now. The sheer scope of your desire could smother you, threatening to take you under and drown you. Everything else after that is instinctual -needy. You take his face in your hands, smashing your lips to his in a bruising kiss trying your best to project your emotions into the exchange of tongue and teeth, stroking the sharp edges of his cheek bones with the same reverence that he had shown you. And you blindly reach down to take the rigid heat of him in your grip, throbbing and wet with a steady flow of precum, and he rewards you with a heady groan when you circle your thumb around the leaking slit of his cock. 

You are quick to line him up with your entrance, and without little fanfare sink down onto him. The relief that comes with the fulness of his girth tears ragged sighs from the both of you.  And you give yourself little time to adjust before your already working yourself down his length, toes curling when the blunt head of his cock brushes against that devastating spot inside of you that has you jerking from him to gasp into the night. And unable to ignore the all-consuming passion that takes you over, the pulsing, electrifying power that permeates around Morpheus you draw yourself up with the strength of your thighs, using the push you can achieve from planting your feet on the ground to bounce on his cock in a hedonistic display. 

It is debased and vulgar, fucking out in an open field, in the soil like animals. Completely lewd, but so right. 

Morpheus lies back against the ground on his own accord, reclining like spoiled royalty and allowing you to plant your hands on his chest to assist you to deepen each thrust, letting you take from him. And already his name is spilling from your lips like a hymn while you watch the Dream King with rapt attention, enthralled by every minute expression that flickers across his schooled features. The way that his eyebrows pinch together, how dim but eager pants puff past his open mouth, the dazed sort of pleasure that shows in his eyes while he gazes upon you like you're a deity that has descended down from Mount Olympus, a nymph fashioned from Aphrodite herself to encapsulate his every wish. 

And those delicious, invisible hands have returned to roam about your body in their sweet exploration, plucking at your body like it is an instrument that they have played for years. The sound of your coupling rings across the Dreaming, the smack skin against skin, your unrestrained moans. It all has that thick, deep-rooted ache spreading further throughout your body, reaching from your core and all the way to your fingertips and toes. But there is something missing, a nudge needed to push you over the edge. "Morpheus, " you cry weakly, thighs already beginning to sting from exertion, but you refuse to stop, continuing to drop yourself on his cock, working tight circles with your hips with each descent. 

You can see something smug bleeding into his features, your neediness nurturing his hubris, and his lips quirk in just the faintest hints of a barely there smile. 

"What is it, my love?" He asks, feigning ignorance and it irritates you how put together he sounds, voice having dropped into a low, rumbling cadence, but apart from that he sounds seemingly unaffected despite the glazed over quality to his gaze. You whimper around a particularly harsh thrust from him that has your back bowing, pushing your breasts into the palms of ghostly hands. Your eyes nearly go cross at the drag of his cock, but you manage to keep your concentration around the sweeping torrents of smoke and ecstasy. 

"Please!" you keen drunkenly. "Please, I need you! " 

A satisfied purr resonates underneath your palms and his pupils flash in that pale tantalizing, dangerous way and you cannot believe that the look of it had frightened you at some point. Now it only serves to pool more liquid heat down the base of your spine. A heaving mewl is all but punched out of you when he takes you by surprise, using his place along the ground to thrust up into you with wicked rolls from his hips. Fucking up into you with a ferocity that has you struggling to meet his pace, and you are hardly more than a passenger at this point. All coherence is stripped from you and your entire body feels like it has been doused in honey and fire, and the timbre of his raspy voice speaking out only serves to nudge you closer to your undoing. 

"You'll stay here with me, won't you?" 

"Yes!" You agreed in a slurred whine. 

"And you'll give yourself to me?"

"Yes!" You are near sobbing now, body jerking and writhing atop him while the phantom touches roll your nipples between soft fingertips, and his cock pumps into you with depraved, filthy squelches of your combined arousal. And that primordial energy is pulsating around the Dreaming. The same power that creates the ground you both lay upon, that fashions the field and the sky above you too, permeating from the deity that is currently fucking every shred of a possible thought from your brain. And the power feels charged now, like it is growing and expanding into something great, seeping into your skin and soaking your bones. Then a transparent grip is taking your jaw between its fingers, directing your gaze to the god underneath you, and another slips down your stomach, reaching down to drag tight circles around your neglected clit. 

"Then come." It is a command that your body cannot ignore, seizing up tight, trapping the strangled wail deep inside your lungs while your mouth hangs open in a silent scream. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull, stars exploding against the darkness there and you lose all sense of tangibility.  Your sense of time, place and self slip from perception like water pouring through spread fingers, and now you are just floating. Caught in bursting cosmos, pinned before the scalding light of the sun, caught in a torrent of arresting, unyielding rapture. And your cunt clamps down his cock like it means to milk him for all he is worth, your orgasm ushering him into his own and thankfully your coherence begins to return to you in time for you to admire him while he is subjected to the throes of his pleasure. And you are still gasping and moaning while his thrusts become sloppy and uncoordinated, observing as his eyelashes flutter and his mouth opens for a long husky moan to escape him as the warmth of his release pools inside of you. 

You all but collapse on top of him in a boneless heap and your cunt spasming weakly around his spent length but neither of you make any effort to move. Simply basking in the afterglow of your highs. It is your sense of touch and hearing that serve to orient you. The distant crash of waves rushing over the surf, the whisper of the breeze dancing across the grass and blossoms. And you can feel him underneath you. His chest is moving with a breath that you are certain is simulated for your own comfort, an attempt to appear more human. But he feels too heated and simultaneously too cold to be a person, like he has no idea which temperature to project. But you decide that it is not at all unpleasant, instead it feels good against your feverish skin. 

But you still wait for the sting of disappointment to strike you - for disgust to bleed and taint the satisfaction now that the lust has died, but it never rises to meet you. And so, you rest, satiated upon your god. Pliant like melted wax. But there is the insistent nudge of something burrowing at you. Concern, you quickly identify. And it has your sluggish mind wandering back to the root of the thought, trailing after it until it finds the conclusion which takes that shape of a memory. The memory of perhaps the only companion you have ever known, and it is bitter and sour reminder that they may not even be alive anymore. That centuries may have passed during your brief stay in the Dreaming, and that they may have succumbed to the passage of time. 

"What ails you now?" 

You want to say that it is nothing, sweep it aside and ignore it while it festers and grows. But you know now that he will not accept nothing as an answer, not when he can possibly feel your distress across the threads of the Dreaming. You feel foolish in your answer, but it is the only one that you can manage. " My cat. " 

"Your . . . cat. " He echoes slowly, and you are certain that amusement is lacing his tone. You bristle a bit preparing to defend yourself, your right for being worried, but he is nudging you from his chest so that you may see each other as you speak. 

"I can assure you that your companion is safe. He's quite content." He says. His gentle mirth still very much alive, but you do not return his light-hearted attitude, waiting with bated breath for him to answer the question that hangs heavy in the air. And a part of you fears that he may have somehow managed to converse with Death of the Endless, or that he was still connected to the passage of time that operates outside of the Dreaming and was able to deduce that the feline had long since passed, joining Teleute in the Sunless Lands. But then he is brushing a hand along his side, drawing your attention to his ribs where the skin there ripples like the surface of a disturbed lake, and a set of angry jagged scars emerge from the mirage, appearing across his pale skin, spanning from his armpit down to the notch of his hipbone. It is hauntingly familiar. The placement, the number of claw mark left in stretched healed tissue. One, two, three . . . four, you count. 

You understand what it is that he is implying. And betrayal sinks its enamel into your heart, but the bite is shockingly dull and not the unforgiving split that you were expecting. And you can tell that he is calculating something, surely waiting for you to lash out. To scream at him and demand that he take you home. Perhaps that is what you should do. But you do not. "How? Why did you- a cat?" Is all you manage, more perplexed than irate. 

"I had been injured by an old foe of mine, " he explains, allowing you to curl into his side, curiously running your fingertips over the marred flesh. And you have suppress a shudder, wondering what sort of being could be strong enough to injure an Endless. A god. "As for why I assumed that particular form, I needed to conserve energy. It was small. Familiar. It served to save much needed strength. " 

There has always been something strange about that cat and his watchful stare. Admittedly you had always swallowed down the suspicion that prickled at you whenever he had curled up within your house, but you had been too desperate for some sort of friendship to truly question anything. The barrage of emotions flooding you, making you a muddled unsure mess, but one thing that you do know for certain is that you are completely and undeniably relieved. And truthfully you are still far too tired, simply uncaring to have been tricked by the god. You are happy- actually well and truly happy to embrace the joy and serenity. 

"And then there was you, " he murmurs in your ear, devout and soft. 

The both of you remain there for an insurmountable length of time. Lounging in each other's embrace, delighting in your shared presence. Listening to the peaceful noise of the Dreaming and the warmth of your lover. And for the first time that icy gapping pit of loneliness no longer gnaws and tears at you. You finally feel at home, and the desire to flee and leave eludes you. Perhaps because you have finally found a place to belong.  

Here with him. 

[writethrough]

Can I request a Morpheus and reader where the reader is krypton like supergirl and he doesn’t know until I show him and we are dating and I risk my life to save him from people who wants to kill him

Thank you 😊

With Power Comes Misunderstandings

(Morpheus x Female Reader)

Synopsis: When Morpheus is late for your date, the only explanation is that someone's tried to harm him because of you—Supergirl's and Lena Luthor's daughter. After all, why else would they want your completely normal, powerless boyfriend?

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1623

A/N: Thanks you so much for sending this request in! And thank you for being so patient with me! This one kind of stumped me for a long time, but I think I figured out a way to write it that, hopefully, does your idea justice. It's slightly different, maybe a little lighter than the original idea, but I really played on the "doesn't know you have powers" bit. I hope you enjoy!

He had your full attention, he always did. 

For all the sounds you could hear and how far you could see, everything in you focused on Morpheus. 

He had this calmness that soothed your soul. He held himself with such confidence and clarity, and you desperately needed that. 

Your life was hectic to say the least. 

Being the child of Kara Danvers and Lena Luthor was one thing. But having powers like both of your mothers was something else entirely. You were born with Supergirl’s speed and senses, and the Walsh affinity for magic. 

However, they both wished for you to grow up as human-like as you could. You went to school, college, got a job, and when you were old enough, they started training you. 

You were disappointed when you discovered heat vision and freeze breath weren’t in your arsenal of powers. But, it turned out, they translated into your magic. 

Fire and water were at your disposal. Two sides of the same coin—the light and the dark. Much like your parents’ families. 

They told you stories, you watched and read the news—you knew their history. But one of the things they always taught you was that your story was your own. They embodied it in everything they did. Even in their names: Kara Danvers-Walsh and Lena Walsh-Danvers. 

It was why you never felt the need to keep secrets from them. You also never forgot that if anyone could sus them out, it was your mothers.  

When you initially told them you were seeing someone, you asked them to respect your privacy and to not go digging. Though, you doubted that they would find anything. It’s not like Morpheus had an Instagram—any social media for that matter. You didn’t mind that, though. He wasn’t attached to this modern-day vanity. He didn’t live his life for an audience, he did it for himself. 

Glancing at your watch, you wondered just where your other half was. 

Today, you were finally going to introduce your parents to Morpheus. You could already hear Kara asking how you two met, itching to get confirmation of the meet-cute she had already imagined. 

It was kind of cliché. 

You were walking your dog, she caught a whiff of a hot dog cart and bolted, and Morpheus grabbed her leash just before she could snatch one from the cart owner’s fingers. 

You had thanked him profusely, that twinge of irritation ringing because you couldn’t use your speed in public. 

Morpheus was gorgeous. And you may or may not have given your pup extra treats for inadvertedly introducing you two. 

Again, you checked your watch, tugging on the simple stud in your ear. Your magic thrummed within them, the spell to conceal said magic always on you. Your parents recommended the idea early on, a protective measure. It kept you hidden from anyone who could sense your power. 

You sighed. It wasn’t like Morpheus to be late. If anything, he was always perfectly on time, appearing the second the clock turned. 

Your stomach churned, and there was a prickling underneath your skin. 

Something was wrong. 

You clutched the necklace Morpheus had given you a few weeks ago. It had been a true surprise—not a birthday gift or a silly monthaversary token. He’d given it to you out of the blue, and said when he saw it, he thought of you. 

A ruby, no bigger than your pinky fingernail, hung from a delicate gold chain. It was the most recent possession you had of his at the moment, but thankfully, it should hold enough meaning between the two of you to lead you to him. 

You muttered a few words, imbuing it with your magic, and instantly, it cooled against your chest. 

Too far. 

The chain warmed along your left side, pulling you in that direction. 

You ran when you could, slowing when too many people were around. 

The necklace lost its warmth in front of a rundown barn five miles south of the city. Everything about it screamed “Do Not Enter.” Smashed-in windows, chipped paint, overgrown foliage—trees creating a shroud, its very own darkness. 

You exhaled shakily. Morpheus was inside. And the only reason you could come up with was that someone found out about you. Someone needed to get you away from your family with enough leverage to make you come alone. And they chose Morpheus. The man your parents knew of, but not who he was. You weren’t sure if it was sheer luck or pure coincidence. 

You kept him hidden too long, and now look what’s happened. 

You should’ve been more careful. People were always trying to hurt your parents, hurt you, but you were all strong. Morpheus was innocent in all of this, and you were going to make sure whatever asshole took him would be sent straight to prison. 

It was that thought that made you kick in the door, charging into something you never expected. 

“Morpheus?” 

He stood as he always did, calm and collected—unbothered even—with five men unconscious at his feet. 

His head tilted almost imperceptively. “Darling?” 

“What happened?” you asked, spotting the chalk-drawn runes. 

Walking along the circle, you recognized most of them. Entrapment, weakening, barriers, and one that you’d never seen. You were so wrapped up in deciphering it that you hadn’t realized he never answered you. 

“Morpheus?” You furrowed your brow, and he avoided your gaze. 

“I must confess an error.” He spoke softly, almost...ashamed? 

You slowly stepped closer. “What are you talking about? Are you alright?” 

That seemed to make his shoulders drop more. 

“I am unharmed, but I fear my misjudgement will...effect us.” 

“You can tell me anything,” you urged, fingers brushing his forearm. 

“I—” He stopped himself, eyes pleading with you. “I have not been truthful, and it has endangered you.” He glanced to the men. “They wanted to use you to manipulate me.” 

Your features pinched. Why on Earth would they want to control Morpheus? And why did he think these people were after him and not you? 

You shook your head. “This isn’t your fault. They wanted me.” 

You moved to the runes again, missing the confusion passing over his face. 

“These are symbols meant to draw in magic. They wanted to trap someone here.” You stopped at the one you couldn’t place. “I’m not sure what they were doing with this one, though.” 

“They made a mistake. It means nothing.” 

You scanned it. 

He was right. It was almost like the men smashed two runes together. It was completely useless. 

...But how did Morpheus know that? 

The question was on the tip of your tongue when he interupted. 

“I am Morpheus, Dream of the Endless.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

He stepped toward you, slowly, as if afraid you’d run from him. 

“I am not human...am I to think the same for you?” His eyes lit trails over your body even in his investigation. 

You nodded, everything piecing its way together. 

“So, wait. You’re saying that you were the target, and that they wanted me as bait?” you asked. It wasn’t anything completely new. Your mothers had security all over you until you came into your power. “How did you get to them before they got to me?” 

“Their dreams. One fell asleep here and showed me what they wished to do,” he said, head down. 

His fingers slipped into your hand, a point of connection he seemed to need. 

“My deepest apologies, dear one.” 

Your brow furrowed. “Why are you apologizing?” 

His thumb grazed over the back of your hand. “I was late for our meeting.” 

Your smile started small, then grew until you were giggling. His eyebrows twitched, but the uptick of his lips was all you saw before you threw your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. 

His hands settled at your waist as he returned it. 

“That’s what you’re worried about,” you mumbled into his lips. “I think—” kiss “—I can—” kiss “—forgive you.” 

He cupped your cheeks, gliding his nose against yours. 

“How very generous.” 

The last bit of your giggling escaped, gripping his coat. 

“You have not told me who you are,” he said, eyes locked. 

You hummed, then gave him one last kiss. “I think it’s best if you get everything all at once.” 

Gripping his hand, you were about to walk out of the barn when his firm hold stopped you. 

“I believe I have a faster way.” 

--- 

“Wait. So, you thought he was the bait for you, and he thought you were the bait for him?” Aunt Alex asked, waving her fork between you and Morpheus. 

You nodded. “I think he was more surprised than me.” 

He gazed at you fondly. “I have never been more pleased to learn a secret that had been kept from me.” 

“Oh?” Lena asked. “Why’s that?” 

“She is protected even if I can not come to her aid.” 

Kare “awwed” as she brought in two pans of food with Aunt Kelly carrying a large bowl. 

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. 

“Trust me,” Kelly started. “Even if she wasn’t powered, she has an entire legion behind her.” 

Morpheus gripped your hand beneath the table. You glanced to him, then caught Kara’s eyes, a knowing look as she turned to your boyfriend. Your cheeks warmed when you realized she wasn’t wearing her glasses. 

“We’ll have to introduce you to everyone one day,” Kara said. “Since we’ll be seeing more of you.” 

Your jaw relaxed as you caught it just before it opened. She wasn’t wrong, but you didn’t think she’d be so bold. 

Morpheus gave your hand a light squeeze. “It would be an honor.” 

Taglist: @sayumiht, @hatterripper31, @snowsatsu, @1950schick, @navs-bhat, @bookshelf-dust, @sapphireonline, @fictional-hooman, @steph-speaks, @ladyredstar1991, @secretdreamlandmentality, @ababycake, @morpheuss1mp, @boofy1998, @alice-the-nerd, @herfantasyworldd, @poemfreak306, @tronnily, @commanderfreethatdust

If you’d like to be added to any taglists, please comment or message me with the character you’d like updates on. 

[cloudsofcondensation]

Amongst the crowds. He's two seconds away from a breakdown if you're interested.

[kpopgirlbtssvt]

WAIT!!

Morpheus peeps, imagine this!!!! 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

A Platonic!Dad!Morpheus x 2 year old daughter fic!!

Imagine like in Monsters inc, a 2 year old little girl somehow makes it into the Dreaming, like Boo made it into the monster world. Remember how Boo wasn’t scared of Sulley and ended up following him back? Imagine the little girl not being scared of the nightmare that is there when she’s asleep, just giggling and ends up following the nightmare back to the Dreaming, and then suddenly there is a little 2 year old human girl that is running amuck in the Dreaming? The Nightmare is panicking and can’t find her, the rest of the Nightmares and Dreams are panicking because there is a tiny human child lost in the Dreaming, and because Morpheus will not be happy.😅 Anyways, Morpheus finds her first, him having gone to search for the human presence he felt appear, and hearing giggling, he finds her happily surrounded by the cats of the Dreaming. He goes to her in cat form at first, as to not startle her, but then turns into his human body form, and the little girl excitedly starts to refer to him as “Kitty”. And he gently picks her up to bring her inside to discuss with Lucienne what they should do (and he has a conversation with the Nightmare that accidentally brought her there😅). Anyways, they find out she’s all alone, doesn’t have parents, and feels safest in her dreams, even nightmares, so Morpheus adopts the little girl as his own daughter, who has become very attached to him🥹🥹

@roguelov @gh0stsp1d3r @honeybeezgobzzzzz @missdreamofendless @dragon-kazansky @thoughtsfromlayla

[unabashednightmarepizza]

i was wondering if you were going to continue the sandman series?

Hello anon! Yes, I will continue it but not right now! Sandman fandom is almost dead right now, now that the season stopped airing, but as soon as the second season starts, I will continue to write!

Have a lovely day😘

[wanderingthroughsands]

VI. Don’t believe your dreams

And then I can tell myself What the hell I'm supposed to do And then I can tell myself Not to ride along with you

"The night we met" by Lord Huron

"You did mislead me after all, Dreamlord," I nearly shouted, stepping away from him in a surge of sudden fear and anger that overtook me. "You said you would find a way to take my power back, not that you would imprison me here and use me to control it!"

"I said I would show you how dangerous your power is for both your world and mine if not controlled properly." The sense of shared purpose I had so naively seen on Dreamlord's face just moments ago gave way to a familiar darkness that immediately sharpened his features. "I also said I would reveal this to you so that you could choose the solution you would accept. So, I give you two solutions now, Rebecca Surrey. The first is to surrender your life and the power given to you by my Nightmare. The second is to remain here and serve the Dreaming in the way you were created to."

"Serve as a Nightmare? And you truly thought that after years of awakening people from Nightmares, I would now want to become one?"

Lucienne watched us with a look of concern on her face, but she didn’t utter a word, pressing her body tightly against the wooden desk.

"How is this any better for me than an eternal flight from you?" I asked, feeling my brows draw together in an unwanted pleading expression.

"You have seen how your existence disrupts the harmony of both worlds," Dreamlord spoke in a tone I had heard before, when we first met in Fiddler’s Green. In this whirlwind of various emotions, I couldn’t understand why, but the sudden disappearance of understanding from his eyes made me feel… hurt. "If you flee, the damage will not cease. If you return to the waking world with your power, the threat will continue to loom over the Dreaming, and you will also continue to harm your loved ones. You are a reasonable person, Rebecca Surrey. I can allow you to live, but only here, in my realm. And only if your power is controlled."

"This is no solution," the air around us thickened, and I knew there were only seconds left before either he or I made the next move. And I was so determined not to be late with mine. "You are just the Master of Dreams, not the master of life and death."

"Uh, Rebecca..." Lucienne tried to interrupt, but I didn't allow her, still addressing Lord Morpheus directly:

"Here’s how I see it, and I suggest you listen to me carefully this time. You can find me in the waking world, you can chase me through Dreams and Nightmares, you can even kill me, but you should know this: whatever you decide to do to me, it’ll make you nothing more than a liar and a murderer. And murderers, Dreamlord, never find peace. Not even those who exist eternally."

I clenched my eyes shut the moment he abruptly reached out towards me. In that brief instant, the thought flashed through my mind that I was too late, and upon waking, I might find myself in a place that would be an eternal nightmare for me.

Yet, I woke up in my own bed, my heart still pounding with fear. The electric clock on my nightstand showed a few minutes before five in the morning. The room was silent, interrupted only by the sounds and lights of passing cars outside the window. I rubbed my eyes, feeling as if they were filled with sand, then dragged myself out of bed.

Every hour of that day stretched on like years. My mom returned from her night shift just as I was getting ready for work. I must have looked off because she asked me at least ten times if I was sure I wasn't sick and if I wouldn't rather stay home today. The commotion in the office over the promotion of the new book allowed me to hide behind my screen, only occasionally joining the conversation when someone addressed me directly. Veronica was complaining about another rough night, but this time Sophie joined in too, with a story about her nightmare full of bear caves and a storm during camping. I listened to it all, but my mind was elsewhere—back in the beautiful library of the Palace of Dreams, with a man whose deep gaze offered me a glimpse of a life I just could not accept.

Lost in thought, I stared at an illustration for Rose Walker’s book, depicting Lord Morpheus and his raven. In the image, Dreamlord had no face, and I completely understood why Rose and her graphis designer chose to depict him that way. No one could capture those eyes that held the entire universe. No one could convey those expressionless lips that passed judgments based on divine laws, way beyond human life.

No one could paint that smile that lacked any emotion.

Before leaving work, I canceled a meeting with two friends, fearing that my presence might bring Nightmares upon tchem, too. I used the excuse of feeling unwell, and since that rarely happened, they weren’t upset with me, just concerned. Robert texted that if I needed anything, he could come over to my place, to which Tanya immediately replied, "Becca is too smart to pull such an old trick, buddy." I smiled at my phone screen, regretting that I couldn’t talk to anyone close about what I had experienced over the past week and the person I had met in the Dreaming.

Not wanting to go home, I wandered aimlessly for a while through the nearly empty park where I had first seen Dreamlord. Who knows, maybe if not for that day, I would have never started my journeys through Nightmares. Aside from the fact that as a child I never once had a bad dream, nothing extraordinary had ever happened in my life until then. I lived each day as it came, searching for the moment when I would finally feel at peace and in my rightful place, whether through meeting new people or achieving the next milestones leading to adulthood. I just wanted to stop feeling like something was wrong with me.

And when I thought I had found that place, it turned out that there really was something wrong with me. And that "wrong" touched not only my loved ones but also the world that had brought me solace for the past five years.

I prolonged my evening reading by the faint light of a lamp for as long as possible, just to avoid having to go to bed. I could hear my mother bustling about before leaving for work, and then she peeked in for a moment to wish me a good night. "Good night" really felt like a grim joke at that moment. Around ten in the evening, I decided to put on a movie, something exciting enough to keep me in the waking world for at least another two hours.

But before I could start my laptop, I heard a short, sharp tapping on the other side of my window.

Matthew was perched on the windowsill, shaking his wings to rid them of raindrops. After a moment of inner conflict, I decided to let him in and then watched as he settled on the back of my chair, while I sat on the bed, studying him intently.

"Sorry for the late hour," he said, shaking off more water, this time right onto the navy blanket draped over the chair. "I had to wait until your mother left for work."

"What are you doing here?" I asked, tugging at my pajama sleeve.

"I heard what happened in the Dreaming. Boss wasn’t exactly pleased with your departure, you know?"

"Lord Morpheus would only be pleased if I agreed to do everything he demands," I scoffed.

"That’s usually how things work for us," Matthew’s voice held a hint of amusement, or so I thought. "But maybe you’ll be happy to hear," he added conspiratorially, "that ever since you disappeared from the library, he and Lucienne have been searching for a way to strip you of your power without actually taking your life."

My eyebrows shot up, and my curiosity suddenly intensified.

"Really?"

"The last time something interested him this much was probably when the Vortex appeared. When I first met him, human life didn’t matter as much to him."

"And when exactly did you meet him?" I asked, leaning in slightly. "Before or after he was imprisoned?"

A flash of surprise glimmered in the raven’s yellow eyes.

"He told you about Roderick Burgess?"

"Not quite. He only mentioned that the Nightmares escaped the Dreaming while he was in captivity."

"Some magician trapped him in his basement over a hundred years ago. Imprisoned in a magical circle, he was unable to return to his realm for a long time. And when he finally escaped, he found the Dreaming in complete ruin. You probably remember the news reports about the sleeping sickness that affected people because of his disappearance. I met Lord Morpheus when he was trying to rebuild the Dreaming and recover the artifacts that had been stolen from him."

A pang of guilt surfaced somewhere near my heart, and I couldn’t suppress the nervous clenching of my lips.

"He probably doesn’t have a very high opinion of humans after that, does he?"

"He didn’t," Matthew admitted. "But recently, something’s changed in him. We all see it. He seems to care more about your kind."

"Oh, and that’s why he tried to kill me yesterday, huh?" I asked skeptically, staring down at my clasped hands.

The raven flapped his wings vigorously, then hopped onto the bed next to me. He moved close enough that I had to look at him, and when I did, I saw something in his eyes that reminded me of a man.

"Look," he began, shaking himself once again. "I was once just like you. I had a life here, a job, a family. That was my only purpose. I think I even loved this world, and I loved taking from it as much as I could—sometimes even too much. And then, I ended up in Lord Morpheus's service. And you know what?" He paused, waiting for a sign that I was listening intently. "That's also quite a good purpose to exist. Boss gives people hope, without which this earthly life would be meaningless. Serving him, whether as a messenger or as a Nightmare, isn't as terrifying as you might think. Had you asked me about this a month ago, I probably would never have admitted it, but now I believe you should accept the offer he made to you."

"You don't understand, Matthew," I sighed, trying to sort through the racing thoughts in my head. "I just cannot agree to become a Nightmare."

"Why not?"

"Because my whole life, I've done everything just to avoid becoming one," I said, standing up from the bed and taking a few long strides across the room. Throughout this, the raven never took his eyes off me. "I know there's a darkness inside me left behind by the Nightmare known as the Corinthian. I try so hard to ignore it but the truth is, I feel it every day, not finding joy where others would instantly see it. I don't want to, and I’ve never wanted to be what Corinthian made me. Everyday I keep trying to suppress that darkness, to learn how to truly enjoy life, to help others, not torment them... to fulfill dreams, not to destroy them."

"Is that why you wake people from Nightmares?" Matthew asked, tilting his head.

"And that's why I won't accept Dreamlord’s offer," I said, defeated, as I sat back down on the bed, my gaze drifting to a spot on the wall above my desk. "If he takes this power from me, maybe he'll also take the darkness that comes with it. And there's nothing I want more than to finally stop fighting with myself and get rid of it forever."

We both fell silent for a few moments, lost in our own thoughts. Letting out what had been buried inside me for years brought unexpected relief, and for a brief moment, I felt that I might finally be free of the Nightmare's burden. To be honest, the conversation with Matthew had helped me more than anything else that had happened in the past few days.

"I don’t know what your next encounter with Boss will be like," Matthew said, almost as if he were thinking out loud. "But I do know that he no longer intends to kill you. He’s genuinely trying to find a way to help you. If you stop running, he might just succeed."

"Thank you, Matthew," I smiled, gently brushing my fingers along his wing. " It may not seem like it, but I truly appreciate you coming to see me tonight."

"You weren’t particularly nice the first time we met…" he quipped with a hint of sarcasm. "But it turns out you’re not that bad after all. Even with the part of Nightmare living within you."

As the raven flew off into the night sky, I closed the window, turned off the lamp, and with a heavy sigh, lay down on my bed. I didn’t want to escape into Nightmares if it meant causing more harm in the Dreaming. I couldn’t say I wasn’t scared, but something in Matthew’s voice convinced me to face Dreamlord that night, with the inner conviction that after all, we both wanted the same thing. To give hope. To create, not to destroy.

To help, not to annihilate.