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auroraborealyss · 2 years

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: you're missing, and morpheus nearly goes insane in longing and desperation in his search for you

⊹ tags: angst, morpheus copes (he doesn't) with you gone, established relationship

⊹ warnings: spoilers for 1.06, 1.07, & 1.08

⊹ word count: 3039

⊹ previous part: prologue/teaser

⊹ up next: part ii

⊹ now playing: everything i wanted by billie eilish

𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚒 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙, 𝚒 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎

The first person Morpheus swallows his pride and asks for helping regarding your whereabouts, is his sister.

After enduring an earful from her not of not trusting her and being too prideful to ask for help when you were concerned, Death reassures him that she did not reap you in the years you were gone.

"I kept my word to you, brother. I did not touch Y/N. But I have reaped many who came across her," Death says.

"Y/N killed them?" Morpheus asks, surprised. Though the laws that keep an Endless from hurting mortals does not apply to you, you tried not to take their lives anyway.

"No. At least, not directly." Death drops her voice to a whisper. "The humans call her the Lady of the Whispers. She's a notorious serial killer, Dream!"

"Have you talked to her?"

Death shakes her head. "She hasn't allowed me to get close to her. I sometimes see her when I reap the humans she leaves behind, but she never says anything to me. She just runs away."

They are silent for a while. Morpheus aggressively throws a chunk of bread at a pigeon, hitting it on the head, while Death makes small conversation with a man playing soccer.

"I think she's using her powers," she says finally.

"She would never abuse it," he says immediately. He might not know what you were doing or why you were doing it, but his trust in your remains unwavering. There was a reason you possessed the power you did.

"You need to find her, brother," Death says. "Before someone finds her first."

She faces the street as a car collides with the man playing soccer. Unbeknownst to the man in question, he jogs over with the ball, whistling at how the car had missed him. Death gives him a warm smile and links their arms as she proceeds to explain while they walk away.

Morpheus' gaze darkens at her back, and for a moment, his eyes look like hot, twin white stars. "I know," he says quietly.

Hob Gadling is the second person he swallows his pride for you for.

"I haven't seen her since the last time I saw the two of you together a few centuries back," Hob says.

'A few centuries back' was when he and Hob had a fight after Hob accused him of being in need of companionship. In Morpheus' defence, he was more prideful then. More than that, to suggest he was lonely despite having you, his wife, was an insult to you that he would not stand for. It had been you who demanded he apologize, but by the time he followed you to the pub (his punishment had been your refusal to hold his arm) Hob was gone.

"You better show up here in a hundred years," you told him firmly.

"For you, my love, I will. Now give me your hand before someone mistakes you for not being taken for."

You lightly hit his arm. "Not for me, Morpheus! For Hob! He's your friend, whether you like it or not. And you need someone apart from me. Who will you have if something happens to me and we are apart?"

He hadn't glorified that question with an answer. He simply grabbed your hand himself and refused to let go.

His capture led him to missing his and Hob's next appointment and being late to fulfilling his promise to you. But here he was, fulfilling it, and you weren't here to see it or to finally offer your hand.

Morpheus sighs heavily as he straightens in his seat.

"Just because I haven't seen Y/N, doesn't mean I haven't heard about her," Hob says. Though the New Inn is boisterously loud, Hob drops his voice to a hush and leans forward. "I hear there's a bounty on her head."

Morpheus looks at him warningly. "Have you tried to claim it?"

"What? No! Of course not! The opposite. She's more my friend than you are. I tried to offer her refuge, but she never replied to my attempts at contacting her. I did manage to see her once by pure coincidence."

Morpheus doesn't bother trying to contain his eagerness. "How did she look? Did she say anything about me?"

"She looked terrible," Hob admits. "Exhausted and always looking over her shoulder. And no, she didn't say anything about you. She didn't say anything at all, actually. It was quite odd. Maybe her tongue got cut off—"

"I'll cut your tongue off, Hob Gadling, if you dare voice such insolent thoughts again about my wife."

Hob chugs the rest of his drink in apology. But Hob's words aren't the first time Morpheus heard you refusing to talk to anyone. The few dreams and nightmares who also caught a fleeting glimpse at you also reported that although you recognized them, you didn't utter a single word to them. A normal person would have taken this as confirmation that you had turned your back on your duties as his wife and Lady of the Dreaming. But Morpheus knew you. He had loved you for more years than you were official his. That, plus the murders associated in your wake, causes the suspicions in Morpheus to grow.

He needs to find you.

Sooner rather than later, if not for his sanity, then for the good of the waking world.

Morpheus enters his throne room, exhaustion and longing for you nearly bringing him to his knees.

He doesn't have the strength to walk all the way up his staircase, so he settles for sitting on the fourth step—your step—and drapes his coat around him.

His throne room is large and barren—a sign that your touch was missing. When you were by his side, you had conjured ivies to scale the walls and flowers to drip from the ceiling. The multi-coloured lights from the stained glass windows would blend nicely with the streaks of gold from the candlelights and chandeliers you had placed throughout. The mere presence of you brought him warmth.

Morpheus doesn't think he'd ever felt as cold as he does now.

Outside, he hears hushed whispers between Mervyn, Matthew, and Lucienne. They are debating whether not is the right time or not to ask him about you, or if that'll earn them a front row seat to being unmade.

Truthfully, Morpheus doesn't know what he'll do either. All he knows is that he's so tired and misses you, like a starving man longs for food or a drowning man desperate for air. The pain of missing you makes it hard to move, but it's the thoughts of you that threatens to drive him insane—neither is a good state to be in for the Endless responsible for everyone's dreams.

If they were drawing sticks, Lucienne must have pulled the short end.

She sticks her head past the door, not daring to take another step. "May I disturb you, lord?" she says, attempting to hide the fear in her voice by sounding cool and formal as she normally does.

Though he barely had two seconds to rest, he pushes himself up. "Speak, Lucienne."

She takes a deep breath before crossing the room to him. She talks about menial things first, like how Cain and Abel seem to have accepted his apology with Goldie and how the dream folk are planning to throw a celebration for his return, which they have invited him to come.

He says no. It was always you who dragged him to these things, and you are not there.

"What is it you really want to ask, Lucienne?"

"It's not only from me," she says slowly, "but your other subjects as well."

Morpheus already knows what she's going to say, and at the thought of your name, his exhaustion grows heavier against his limbs, threatening to send him to the floor.

"Now that your tools have been returned to you, and many of your subjects are back in the Dreaming, the dream folk are wondering where Lady Y/N is and why you have not come for her yet."

"I do hope that question is not from lack of faith that I have abandoned my wife," Morpheus says sourly, although he knows that is not the case. Lucienne had already been by his side when he met you. She witnessed the years he pined after you, counselled him into acting on his emotions and courting you, and it was she who officiated your wedding and watched the blissful years after. While he appreciated Lucienne's loyalty to him as his librarian, he also knows Lucienne and you had become close enough to be friends, to the point that she would sometimes let go of formalities and call you by her name. If anyone was to know how much you meant to him, it would be her.

"Of course not, lord," Lucienne says, as expected, "but it has been days since you have returned to full strength. How can you bear to be away from her any more than you have to?"

"I cannot."

Lucienne pauses. "My lord?"

"I cannot bear being from her for so long," Morpheus admits, and he lets his tiredness show by taking his seat on your step once more. He sighs heavily as he looks up at her. "She is my wife, Lucienne."

"Perhaps you can ask your siblings—"

"No." Morpheus scowls at the idea. He had already done enough by asking Death and a human. If any of his other siblings found out he was incapable of finding you—Desire, especially—then there would be real cause to fear for your safety.

"I can still feel her," Morpheus murmurs. "She is somewhere out there, alive. I will find her, Lucienne. You can tell my subjects that their lady will be back."

"You know," Lucienne says after a pause. "That was the last thing Y/N said about you."

Morpheus tries not to recoil from what her words imply. According to Lucienne, you had not entered the Dreaming since your last attempt at rescuing him, which was also the day Jessamy died. As heartbroken as he was witnessing the death of his beloved raven, he was even more terrified at what could have happened to you that prevented you from protecting Jessamy. You never would have let her go down to that basement unguarded and unprotected. You cared for the bird more than Morpheus did. Whatever happened that day, whatever stopped you from going downstairs, must be linked to whatever you were running from.

But what? What could you possibly be running from?

Was it him? Had the century of being apart taught you that you didn't love him as much as you thought you did, and like his other dreams and nightmares, you took your shot at freedom and left? Was he the threat you were running from?

"I will find her," Morpheus repeats. "But wherever she is, she must be safe." Lucienne frowns but he continues. "No one knows who she truly is to me, and she would not have told others. She has to be safe—"

"She is not safe, lord Morpheus."

He looks up at her immediately. Suddenly, he's standing before her and Lucienne takes a step back in surprise.

"What did you say?" he asks lowly, the words scratching his throat.

"Forgive me, lord. I thought you were aware."

He shoots her a look, as if to remind her where he had been the past century. "Aware of what, Lucienne?"

"There is a bounty on lady Y/N's head."

Morpheus struggles not to stagger back. Was this another one of Desire's games? Perhaps Desire had looped Despair into one of their ploys? Though Desire had not been invited to the wedding, Delirium had been, and he had no doubt Desire's had intimidated their youngest sibling into telling them everything.

"For what?" he manages. "Because she's my wife?"

"For being your wife," Lucienne answers, "and for being one of your tools."

For a few seconds, he is unable to speak. He simply stares at Lucienne, waiting for her to say she was joking or mistaken, but she does neither. The secrecy of you being one of his tools was the only thing Morpheus had to reassure himself that you were safe. But if that was out, then...

Lucienne meets his gaze, reaffirming the truth behind her words.

"That's not possible," he finally says. "Few people knew of that ceremony. Fewer still attended and can confirm it happened."

"It was the Corinthian, sir."

The Corinthian. His pride and joy. His greatest masterpiece and the first nightmare you helped him with.

His rogue nightmare left a bitter taste in Morpheus' mouth. The Corinthian had been at the power transference ceremony—a sign that Morpheus truly loved his nightmare the most. His defiance was already heartbreaking enough, but now this? You? This was unforgivable.

Morpheus didn’t even want to imagine what sort of prize could be promised for the wife of an Endless, let alone for being one of his tools. Was that what he left you? Loneliness and enemies? Did you resent him for that? Was that why you had not returned or called to him for help? He had no reason for falling out of love with you in the century you were apart, but it seems that you had plenty of reasons to fall out of love with him.

"My theory is that something happened between him and her the day she ran away. What, I do not know. But Matthew reported the same thing: he heard whispers of a bounty placed on the wife of the Dream King by the Corinthian."

Rage simmered in Morpheus, and the Dreaming responded as such. Across his realm, the land trembled. Volcanoes bloomed and exploded, lava rapidly surging forth as a message to the Dreaming’s inhabitants that all was at the mercy of their king and his rapidly declining patience at his missing wife.

But in the library, Morpheus remains eerily still. "You may go conduct that census now, Lucienne," he says.

She stands there for a few more moments, as if wondering whether she should press the problem that was you. Thankfully, her years of servitude has taught her of his limits, and she departs with a dip of the head.

Morpheus waves his hand, locking the doors behind her. Only then does he released a long, exhausted breath as he sinks to his back on your step. A hot tear spills over his cheek as he touches the step, remember the days you and him have spent on it. Talking sometimes, kissing on others. He can feel your lips on him still, but it's starting to fade like a dream.

He is drowning in his grief for you. If missing you had not been enough, now he is plagued with fear that perhaps you did not want to be found. Did you blame him for your predicament? Did you hate him? Morpheus doesn't think he'd be able to handle not seeing love in your eyes if you look at him? And if he sees resentment, he thinks that might just break him.

How painful it is, he thinks, to grieve for the living. How unbearably painful it is.

It takes Lucienne a few days to conduct the census.

When she finishes, Morpheus is in a slightly better mood. She talks about the census first, then the three major missing arcana: Gault, the Corinthian, and Fiddler's Green. One was unsurprising, the second expected, but Fiddler's Green was hurtful. It was in Fiddler's Green he had married you, after all. Now he had lost another part of you.

When Lucienne brings up the vortex, Morpheus is smiling as he corrects her on the vortex not being an 'it' but a 'she'.

Lucienne eyes him suspiciously. "You don't seem worried."

"Rose Walker will be my answer and solution," Morpheus declares.

"But she is a vortex. She is not a solution. She is one of our problems!"

"You said it yourself, Lucienne. She is a vortex. Sooner or later, she will bring them all to her: Gault, the Corinthian, Fiddler's Green. My wife."

Lucienne is struck silent for a few moments, and he can see that is she is torn between listening to her duty as the Dreaming’s librarian and her loyalty to you as her friend. In the end, she picks duty, and Morpheus does not blame her for that. Neither would you, if you heard her. After all, you would have said the same thing.

"But she could destroy the realm first," Lucienne says nervously.

"I will take that risk if it means finding her. I've built my realm once and rebuilt it another time. With my wife back at my wise, both will be easier to accomplish."

"But sir—"

"I will hear none of this any longer. You may go tell my subjects that the Lady of the Dreaming will be returning son." Morpheus smiles towards the ceiling at his conjured image of Rose Walker. "I will ensure it."

When Rose Walker dreams her way to his throne room, uninvited but welcomed, Morpheus' worry about the vortex' growing powers is superseded by the hope that you will find your way to her soon enough.

"She shouldn't be here," Lucienne says agitatedly.

"No," Morpheus says, eyeing his solution with fascination, "but I should like her to stay."

As he explains to her what and where she is, he thinks of you. "I need you to look for someone for me, Rose Walker," Morpheus says as he finishes circling her. "Y/N. She is neither a dream or a nightmare. She is my wife. When you find her, you must tell me. But first, I need you to tell her something."

Morpheus bends close and Rose and whispers the words into her ear. he waits for her to nod in understanding before straightening.

"But how will I know who she is?" Rose asks. "Do you have a picture?"

Morpheus turns towards the painting on the wall of you. He points to the marble statue in the midst of the water fountain that is of your body, which he had carved with his own bare hands from memory. Then he summons a flower to spiral down from the ceiling and land in Rose's palm. All mementos of you.

"Believe me," Morpheus says with a smile. "You'll know it's her. My wife is...unmistakeable."

"Can I have her name, at least?"

"Y/N," Morpheus says tenderly. He always says your name that way. Borderline a reverent whisper like you are the goddess he's praying to. "Her name is Y/N."

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ…

Your throat is throbbing. You touch your throat gingerly, and you don't need a mirror to know that the handprints of that man are visible against your skin. But even as you cough, the motion raw against your raw throat, you don't stop running.

You catch sight of a hotel, and you feel relief as you turn away from the road and bolt up the hill to the building. It'll be easier to hide in one of the many rooms, but the guarantee of people in the hotel was cause for concern. But as long as you keep your mouth shut, all should be fine.

You slow into a walk as you pass a trio of people in the parking lot. Name tags dangle from their chest, one of who is named, The Music Teacher. In the centuries you've been alive, you've never heard such an in-depth and seriously spoken topic about their favourite methods of cooking barbecue and collecting grills.

As you hurry inside, you pass by a sign that reads: CEREAL CONVENTION.

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ…

09/03/22 𝗲𝗱��𝘁: 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 24 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝗒𝗑 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗃𝖺𝗒. 𝗂'𝗆 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌!

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝖿𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝖼𝖾? 𝖺𝗆 𝗂 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍? 𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝗇𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗒 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾?

𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀? 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗎𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗂𝖽𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝗋, 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽!

𝖿𝗒𝗂 𝗂 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗍 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗉 𝗎𝗉 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝖾𝗀 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂 𝗉𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇. 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗎𝗀𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋. 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗁𝗈𝗍 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒. 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗒𝖾𝗋𝗌.

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

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#the sandman imagine #morpheus imagine #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless fanfiction #sandman imagine #the sandman x reader #sandman x reader #dream x reader #the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #the fourth tool

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certifiedskywalker · 1 year

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O' Sweet Simplicity - Dream of The Endless

Lord Morpheus does not often indulge, but, when he does, he does with you.

“Coffee? Tea?” You paused, teasingly. “Me?”

A chuckle rumbled up his throat before he recognized the sound as such. How long had it been since he last let his joy be heard? How long had it been since he last felt a joy so potent to stir up such a sound? The Lord of Dreams could not recall.

“It is not often that I have to choose between varying degrees of goodness,” he said his low voice breaking through the lingering chuckle caught in his otherwise chronically mirthless throat. “It is not often that I have to choose.”

“Well,” you said, titling on your toes to turn towards him, eyes brightened by your smile. “I’ll make things a little easier for you. Come over here a choose a flavor of tea.”

With the faintest hints of a smile playing on his lips, Morpheus started over towards you. His tread was quiet, bare feet padding against the malleable floor of your Dream. This time, it appeared as an apartment. Sleek and modern save for the scattered trinkets that were you. Morpheus merely filled in the empty spaces.

Like around your waist. There, Morpheus put his arms.

“That is not what I would have chosen.”

You hummed and Morpheus felt the sound bloom as he pulled your back flush to his chest. “Well, then next time, I imagine there will be a little less lip and more choosing.”

Next time. It sounded like a promise. One unmoored and unable to be truly kept, unable to be truly broken. You said it each time he visited you. So, he knew what was coming next.

Lucidity.

Morpheus pressed his face into the crook of your neck. Soft lips pressed into soft flesh, and you careened into the touch. Your head rested atop his with his hair tickling your skin whenever he moved to kiss an untraced spot. Another hum sounded up your throat and Morpheus let the tip of his nose brush against your jaw as he pulled away.

Chasing after him, his touch, you turned in Morpheus’ arms. A pair of glittering, blue eyes were fixed on you, seeing through you, the veil of a Dream. He wondered then, how he appeared to you. Did he look like his chosen form or someone from your past?

Soon, his wondering would matter not.

“You know, I don’t mind this lip,” you murmured, leaning up towards him. Your breath danced along his skin and your hands rested on his bare shoulders for support as you drew in closer. When at last your mouth met his in a perfect seal, Morpheus savored the feeling. His being bled into yours in the truest sense of Endless. It made it so that, when your eyes fluttered closed in time with his, you both saw the cosmos.

His hands felt cool as he rested them on the sides of your warm face. Slender fingers cupped your cheeks with such a tender reverence. He held you like glass as your Dream slipped from his grasp and fully into yours. There it was. He felt it in how your lips moved against his like there was no longer space for him to fill.

Slowly, you pulled away from Morpheus, and so were the last bits of Dream pulled away too. Your hands moved up from his shoulders and skirted about his pronounced collarbone. A swift breath fell from Morpheus’ lips when your palm pressed against his throat.

“You’re awake.”

“Am I?” You asked, tone sharp and fingers tracing the peaks of his pale face as you did each time you broke free. “You only visit when I’m dreaming and you’re still here. Tell me, do you prefer me docile in my Dream or when I’m aware like this?”

Morpheus bit his tongue before his old ways of bitterness fell from the tip of it. At his silence, your hands fell from his face and to your sides, empty. A scowl had replaced the smile you wore before, but it carried a similar heat. With lucidity came the shedding of pretense.

“Well? Which is it?”

“It is not often that I have to choose.”

You let out a huff at his echoed words. “At least tell me why you come back. Why?”

Morpheus glanced around the apartment. Despite your lucidity, the original setting of your Dream remained intact. Even the pieces he curated stayed situated between your trinkets and bobbles. How easily you could erase each trace of him from your Dream, your home; but you chose not to, you chose to keep him around.

“Your Dreams are of such simplicity. A late morning or early night, but always shared.”

“Shared with whatever face you wear before I wake up.”

“But you’re not awake, as you pointed out,” Morpheus mused, craning his neck down towards you. “You chose to stay here, even after you become aware.”

“I like it here,” you countered.

Morpheus leaned in closer until he felt your breath dance along his skin again in a waltz. “You chose me. You keep me here until you truly wake.”

“I like you. I think.”

He loomed now, arms snaking about your waist once more. No space for him made he had no choice but to invade yours. “You think?”

“I do.”

“You are the Master of your Dream now,” Morpheus pressed. “You should know.”“And you, the Master of every other Dream, know?”

He did, but he bit his tongue again. It was you who had to choose. Morpheus had already made his choice. He had made it the first time he indulged in your lucid dreaming. Power was out of his hands, and, for the first time, he found himself enjoying it.

“Well, then let’s not wait until next time.”

Soft lips met soft flesh again, and the Dream changed. The apartment kitchen melted into a bedroom full of space for just the two of you.

#dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless fanfiction #lord morpheus #lord morpheus imagine #lord morpheus x reader #lord morpheus fanfiction #morpheus imagine #morpheus imagines #morpheus x reader #morpheus fanfiction #the sandman #the sandman imagine #the sandman imagines #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman x reader

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bi-bard · 2 years

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Rogue Nightmares - Dream of the Endless Imagine (The Sandman)

Title: Rogue Nightmares

Pairing: Dream of the Endless X Reader

Word Count: 1,068 words

Warning(s): nightmare

Summary: (Y/n) had been stuck in a loop of the same nightmare for weeks. When someone finally comes to save them, everything begins to change.

Author's Note: Guys. I love this.

PART TWO HERE!

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I never understood how real a dream could feel.

That was until I had the same dream every day for two weeks (or longer, I wasn't sure of the exact starting date). Well, less a dream and more a nightmare.

It was always the same. Down to the last detail.

I would find myself outside in a forest. It would be dark, and I wouldn't be able to see past the trees closest to me. Then, there would be some kind of roar through the woods. From there, I would start running. Through the forest and the darkness, trying to not trip on roots and plants.

I would eventually make it to some kind of house. I would manage to close and lock the door, but the creatures would start slamming into the door and clawing at the windows. Just as the door gives way and the windows break, I would wake up.

That's how things usually went.

However, on another endless run of the same nightmare, I didn't wake up when the creatures broke in. I let out a yell and went to run away, but one of them caught me by the ankle. I was about to fight back when I saw someone else standing in the building.

On the other side of the room was a man. He was wearing all-black, and he was alarmingly calm. I furrowed my eyebrows. I wasn't concerned about anything other than this man's presence now.

"Who are you," I asked.

The room was suddenly empty. Like that small ounce of awareness was all it took to end it all. I pushed myself off the floor.

The man seemed shocked that I noticed him. His posture straightened a little bit and his eyebrows furrowed. I tried to not seem scared, but a mysterious man suddenly pops up in your nightmares and just watches it happen... it just doesn't give an impression of comfort.

"Who are you," I repeated, taking a few steps forward and trying to appear tough.

"I have many names."

"Wow, how mystical," I replied sarcastically. "What can I call you?"

"Morpheus."

"And why are you in my dreams," I asked.

"I was coming to protect you," he explained. "You shouldn't be able to notice me. Not truly. How did you?"

"You're a guy standing in a long black coat with the haircut of an emo band from the 2000s," I shrugged. "You're hard to miss. Even in my nightmares."

His eyes scanned over me with very little shame. He was trying to find answers about me without just asking me. I shifted a little bit and crossed my arms over my chest.

"What were you protecting me from?"

"A rogue nightmare."

I scoffed. "You make that sound like nightmares are living creatures."

He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Oh my God," I muttered. "So, umm, how does a nightmare go rogue?"

"This one seems to be feeding on you," Morpheus started walking around me, studying the room. "Your fear and panic. For its own entertainment. It left as soon as you pointed me out."

"Why," I turned to watch him move. I let my eyes scan him now. "Why was it so scared of you?"

"Because this is my realm."

"Realm?"

He turned back to me. "The realm of dreams. It's mine."

"Oh," I nodded. "Sure, okay, that makes sense."

He offered a small grin. I felt myself grin back. I had no real reason to trust this guy. I just did because it felt right. Like it was the smart thing to do.

"Will it come back," I asked. "The... The nightmare. Will it come back?"

"Yes."

I felt my shoulders tense at the definite answer. "How are you going to stop it?"

"You have no reason to worry-"

"You said that you were going to protect me," I stepped up to him. Probably too close but he didn't seem to mind. "I want to know how you're going to protect me."

"I have to catch it."

"How do you do that?"

He sighed. "You have to go through the nightmare again."

"I was worried you were going to say that."

The next night, I found myself running through the trees again.

But this time, instead of running into the house, I took a very sudden turn to the right, rounding the corner of the house and leaving the creatures to storm in.

I slowly moved to look back around the building's corner. They were disappearing. All of them. Just vanishing. And then, everything was silent.

I waited a minute to see if anything else was going to happen.

Nothing. No noise or lights or anything. It was over.

I let out a shocked laugh when I realized that the plan had worked. I took off running into the house, finding Morpheus standing in the middle of the room. I only stopped for a moment in the doorway as we looked at each other. Then, I sprinted forward and almost tackled him in a hug.

He slowly hugged me back.

"Thank you," I muttered.

"It's my responsibility."

"Doesn't matter," I stepped back to look at him. "You probably saved my life. Let me thank you, dammit."

He smiled a little bit. "You're welcome."

The two of us fell silent. We were both just looking at each other. I could think of so many situations where this would've made me so uncomfortable. But with him, it wasn't like that. It almost felt natural.

"You should be able to sleep without constant nightmares now," he explained. "However, the chance of you having a nightmare is not gone. I cannot promise something like that."

I nodded.

I stepped forward again. His eyebrows furrowed at me. I leaned in hesitantly and kissed his cheek. It was only a peck. Probably less than a second.

His eyes went a little wide as I leaned back. I had to hold back a chuckle at the confused look that was clearly on his face.

"I hope to see you again, Morpheus."

He seemed to ignore what I said. "This dream is over."

"What-"

"This dream is over," he waved his hand in front of my face.

I woke up back in my bed. I blinked the sleep from my eyes before sitting up.

I chuckled to myself and laid back down.

I knew somehow that I was going to see Morpheus again. Somehow.

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Author's Note: I have a part two planned for this if anyone wants to read that.

-------------------------

Masterlist (Includes links to All Writing Challenges)

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

#the sandman x reader #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman imagine #sandman imagine #sandman fanfiction #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless fanfiction #dream of the endless imagine #x reader #fanfiction #imagine #morpheus x reader #morpheus fanfiction #morpheus imagine

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lis-likes-fics · 1 year

Text

Apple of My Eye

Pairings: Dream of the Endless x Reader Word Count: 12.2k Warnings: Angst, torture, injuries... A/N: I really love this idea and this character, she’s just so fcking sarcastic and dramatic while literally being tortured, and I think that’s beautiful. Enjoy!

"I give you the sweetest apple blessed with Asmodeus' curse."

Roderick Burgess stood before a summoning circle as his cult of worshippers surrounded him in dark cloaks and darker magic. The room was silent, other than the silent chants of his followers underneath his demanding voice.

"I give you the rare black lily of the calla."

Eight years after his failure to capture Death, and now Burgess has decided to take a new approach. If he couldn't summon Death, he would try for a different type of being. One who would have no choice but to give him what he wants. Someone bound to him.

"I give you a feather plucked from the wing of a sacred dove."

A muse.

As he discarded the pure, white feather, he felt the force of his magic under his palms. He reached off to the side where Alex slowly stepped forward to offer a small knife to his father, who all but snatched the blade from his hand with the urgency of a bitter old man.

"I give you the blood from out of my veins." He watched the thick, red liquid seep from the cut made in his wrist and into the concoction of offerings.

A follower presented him with a silver platter, which lay a still organ fresh from an animal's chest. "And I give you the heart of the sacrificial goat, for you to feast upon the darkest desires which reside within it."

He felt the air swirl around him, frantically grasping onto whatever stillness it could as magic disrupted it with the stench of greed.

"I summon you with love." A bright light shone from above their heads. "I summon you with agony. I open the threshold, I open the gates. I summon you in the names of the lords of desire. Himeros, Pothos, Eros, Asmodeus."

The circle began to glow, a bright light shining from its boundaries in white light. "We summon you together. Come!"

Burgess' demand resounded along the large room. A bright flash blinded them all, and they covered their eyes to protect themselves from its glow.

Then the light disappeared and the room stilled at an abnormal speed, drenching it in shadows once again. Each person slowly peaked out of their shielded stances to see what had changed. Their breaths were held as they saw a woman, a beautiful woman in a gown lying on the cold floor with weak eyes and a limp body.

"Get the chains, go," he demanded Alex, who quickly moved to grab the freezing metal to pass over.

Roderick bent down to fasten them to the woman's hands, the thick shackles binding her as she lay still on the floor. He watched her eyes blink slowly, so hooded and nearly shut from the exhaustion of his spell.

His lips pulled into a small smirk, cockiness flooding his gaze as he stared at her. "You belong to me."

She didn't respond, she simply stared back at him until her eyes slowly fell shut and she was consumed by darkness.

A breath suddenly filled your lungs as you opened your eyes. Consciousness slipped into your skin, soaking into you as you awoke. You felt the ice cold pinch of the ground against your face, your bare arms burning with the sensation. You let out the breath, shifting to sit up in a more comfortable position as you willed your body to wake before you did something rash and got yourself killed.

Your eyes flicked to the shackles on your wrists and the summoning circle around you. The cold metal chaining you here was attached to the ground, embedded so deeply that, with all your strength, you could not move it. No matter how hard you tried, you could not get out. They were unordinary, they magical bound you in a way that made escape impossible.

You were trapped.

You heard footsteps, along the rhythmic tap of a cane against the stone floor. You turned your gaze to the man advancing toward you, your gaze hard and dangerous.

"You're awake," the older man spoke. He was the one you saw before you succumbed to the darkness, your captor. "So good of you to join us."

Your lips formed a hard line as you watched him. Your gaze raked over his form. His suit was highly expensive, his cane even more so, and his hair was golden with strands of grey and white in its mix. He was a tired, old man whose eyes gleamed with greed.

You licked your lips and let out another sigh. "Where am I?"

"Oh, good," he breathed, glancing away as if looking at something before turning his cold gaze back to you. "You aren't silent."

Your gazes never wandered from one another, not when a boy behind him shifted uncomfortably, not when men flanking the door that was her escape shuffled on their feet as they stood at the ready.

"I am Roderick Burgess," he said, "and you are, as I gather, one of the nine muses." You tilted your head to the side as his evaluation. He raised a brow, "Am I correct?" You mirrored his expression, head tilted and brow raised. He was getting impatient. "Well, which are you? Clio? Melpomene? Calliope?"

You rolled your eyes but relented, almost humorously at his terrible assumptions. "I am not a muse."

Burgess hummed, "Oh? Then what are you?"

You didn't respond. You did, however, allow the smallest hint of a smirk to grace your features as you looked up at him.

He took your silence with an exasperated sigh. "Now you are speaking, are you? Just like him?" His voice raised slightly, paranoia sinking in. "Are you with him?"

He pointed his cane toward something. You turned your head in the direction he gestured to.

You nearly gasped at the sight, eyes widened slightly as you took in a man. No, he was no man. He was Endless.

You looked at him, the Endless you knew could only be known as Dream. The Dream, Ruler of Dreams and Nightmares, kin to Desire—your ruler.

You watched him stare at the both of you, watching your interaction with silent lips and guarded eyes. His pale skin seemed to glow, his dark eyes sparked with the galaxies that were held within them.

You turned away before you couldn't. You shook your head at Burgess, steeling your face once more as you returned to stubbornness. "No."

"Hm," is all he said in return. He contemplated for a moment, taking in the sight of you with calculating eyes.

You sighed, "Why am I here?"

He considered before telling you. "I want something. Give it to me, and I shall set you free."

You glanced over your shoulder, but did not look at the Endless behind you. "And him, too?"

Burgess furrowed his brow. "What is he to you?"

You didn't respond, offering your silent alternative to your cooperation as you gave him a look to let him know.

He rolled his eyes and huffed. "If you can give me what I want," he looked at you, "you will both walk free."

You smiled, leaning onto your side with a sudden lax. If all you had to do was your job, then you would.

"What do you desire, Roderick Burgess?"

He was quiet before he spoke. "My son was stolen from me by Death, lost during the Gallipoli Campaign." Your smile faltered a moment. "If you can return him to me, alive and well, you both may leave."

You sighed, your smile falling from your lips as you looked down at his shoes. You sat up again, "Your desire is beyond me."

He tilted his head, not as upset as you thought he'd be. He must be used to the rejection then, "You won't give him to me?"

"I can't give him to you. I can only grant certain desires, not fabrications like," you had to contain your laugh at the prospect, "life after death." You shook your head, locking your bottom lip before facing him again.

His exasperation was sinking in as he huffed angrily. "Can no one give me what I want?"

You shrugged, "What you ask to is improbable, impossible."

He focused his hard gaze on you once more. "What can you give me?"

"What do you desire that would set me free?"

"I want my son back."

You sighed, granting him a look full of pity, taunting and teasing. "Then I will say no more."

You did just that, sitting back and showing the end of your cooperation as you stared at him.

"Very well, then," he said. "I will take what I can." Then he turned his back and began to depart from the cellar you were trapped in. The sound of his footfalls were soon accompanied by those of the boy who trailed quickly behind him.

"I will get what I want."

You rolled your eyes as the doors shut, your shielded face falling slightly as you turned away. You looked straight at Dream, his prison of glass and gold binding rendering him just as imprisoned as you as you stared.

He shared your gaze with a look of sympathy and knowledge.

For a couple of times, Burgess ignored you entirely. He came in once a day to go to Dream, to demand from him gifts he did not deserve and or could not, only to be met with more silence from the dream lord that would not speak.

But something changed when he came in and made his way directly to you. The determination in his eyes was near elation as the smile on his face gave you a paranoid look. He knew.

He stopped in front of you, looking down on you like you were a creature meant to be crushed under his boot. He spoke after a long silence as you simply stared back at him.

"Since you will not give me what I want, I will simply have to take it from you." The words lingered in the air as you remained silent.

His hands, which were clasped behind him, moved to reveal a book he had hidden behind his back. He showed it to you, a grimoire filled with old magic and you would rather not have laid eyes on.

"It is amazing," he started, "what information you can find in a book." He opened it up, flipping to a page with a self-satisfied grin. "And it appears to me that the Malum are creatures that come from the Endless called Desire."

Your eyes widened slightly at his revelation, a confirmation of what you suspected he'd figured. He knew. He knew who you were, what you were.

He knew the Malum were beings made from Desire, beings who granted desires to those who asked. He knew how to summon you, he knew how you granted desires, and he knew how to force you to give it.

"So I am right?" he chuckled, closing the book loudly. You clenched your jaw. He shook his head, no sign of annoyance in his face as he smiled triumphantly, confidence oozing from him.

"That's alright. I don't need your words." He pulled a pocket knife, small and ornate with small details made with golden design. He set the book down, out of your reach. "I only need your pain," he said as he knelt. He took your right arm in his, forcing the chains up to reveal the inside of your wrist. He just needed the confirmation as he revealed to him the dark little marking of an apple's silhouette.

You tried to scoot away, but he was stronger with your chains on. He grasped your arm tighter, pulling you toward him.

For a moment, for a reason you could not explain, your eyes found Dream. And, in that moment, your eyes pleaded for aid you both knew he could not give. He raised his hand against the glass, wanting to reach you, to help you. But he just watched, lips parted in regret as Burgess' blade sliced a small incision in your skin. A few droplets of blood seeped from the wound, pooling there but hardly dripping in a more merciful wound than you knew he was capable of.

You winced at the slight pain that bloomed there. "Let's start small, shall we?" he wondered, sliding his knife back into his pocket. He held your arm in a vice grip, squeezing it in a way that allowed more blood to bubble from the wound. He looked at you, his icy gaze sending a tremor through your spine.

"Give me the riches that I asked from him when he wouldn't give it." A sickening smile spread over his lips. "This is my desire."

You felt as he forced the magic out of you. He saw the flash of crimson in your eyes, a signal that his desires were being granted to him. He let go of you, dropping your arm carelessly with a force that shoved you to the ground.

"That's more like it."

You glared at him, holding your arm to cover the wound. You brought your hand up to see the flood staining your fingers before covering the wound and looking at him. "I cannot bring back your son. I don't have the power."

"I know," he promised. "But I have use of you yet."

With that, he left you behind to sit on the cold floor. You looked at your arm again, watching the blood smear.

Your eyes met Dream again, his gaze softer than you expected as a bubbling anger lay beneath them. You looked back down to the ground, shrinking under his gaze.

You let out a long breath and laid down on the cold floor, your mind racing with everything that has just happened in merely a few minutes.

And what might continue to happen to you for what felt like a long time to come.

You recognized you were caught in the remnants of a dream as soon as you saw it. You recognized Dream even quicker, the way he stood among the meadow uncharacteristically placed within your sleeping mind. You moved to stand next to him, sighing gently. You breathed in the scent of open freedom, you could almost smell it.

He stood silently next to you, his cloak flowing in the imaginary breeze, hands stuffed in his pockets. You both stayed like that, standing next to each other in silence as you enjoyed with him what you believed to be the first dream he has entered since his capture.

The guards never slept for fear of his escape, but you could never escape, so you had that freedom at least. Sweet, sweet dream.

"Will they come for you?"

His words were deep and bellowing in a voice smooth as sweet vermouth. But you shook your head, looking out onto the horizon you longed to see again in person.

"No one will come for me."

"Not even Desire?"

A gentle chuckle rose from your chest, and you shook your head. "They either do not care or have too many Malum to notice that I'm gone." You ignored the sinking feeling in your chest at the reality of your words. "I am alone."

He hummed deeply. "Perhaps not entirely."

You looked over at him, and he finally looked at you. A slow smile spread over your lips before you turned away again. Both your gazes fixed on the setting sun in your dream, the time you had left.

"What is your name?" he asked.

You thought for a moment before you told him, granting him another glance. Dream repeated it, staring across the landscape to compare it to the sunset.

"I am truly sorry for the life to come," he said. If you hadn't been listening, you would have missed how deeply his sincerity reached.

You hummed in response, nodding gently before turning your body to look at him. He tilted his chin toward you, but continued to face the horizon.

You tilted your head and smiled. "What is it you desire?" you questioned, examining each detail of his face with a new appreciation to his beauty.

"Our freedom." He put it simply, inclining his head away from you and toward the sky. You hummed and examined the splotches of pink on his pale cheek.

He spoke again, a new edge to his voice as his steely gaze hardened on the sun. "And to rain vengeance on those who would dare to take it."

You smiled, mischievous and satisfied as you turned back toward the sunset, which had almost disappeared from view. You took a leap, hooking your arm through the crook of his still left open and taking a step closer into his side. You didn't look at him as you did so, opting to avoid any unwanted looks that may be waiting for you if you did (although, there were none to be found).

"One day," you promised.

Two years later, your promise had still been unfulfilled. But Burgess' was.

Burgess had desire after desire, each more selfish than the last as he granted himself riches and wealth and power and fame. Soon, he opened the offer to those appointed at your guards. Some of them were more than happy to exploit that offer, to take from you their own selfish desires and expose them to be the cruel beasts you had always known them to be.

One day hope came, and it seemed as though men were all too eager to prove their evil.

All you heard was the frantic flapping of feathers, loud and beating as you slowly sat up from the icy ground. A bird flew into the cellar, a white bellied raven who beat and tapped against Dream's cage. His eyes glittered, sparking with a sense of joy you had yet to see on him until then. And, for the first time in years, he smiled. He watched her, watched her struggle to free her master—her friend—from his containment.

But you saw Alex. You saw him and Burgess and the guards at the door as he held a shotgun tight within his grin. You moved without thinking, reaching toward the bird to grab her attention before the unspeakable could happen. But your chains ripped your hands back down to the ground as you tried to move, willing your body to get closer and protect her.

You let out a shout, drowned in the sound of a thunderous gunshot. The blood spattered along the glass, red dotted your face and skin. You stared wide eyed at the animal shot dead on the cold, hard ground. The chains shuffled as you tried to reach out to take her after coming from your statue-like state.

The movement and the sound startled Alex, too sudden and too much for his adrenaline packed mind as he suddenly pointed and shot at the first moving target he saw. A shout clawed its way out of your throat, falling back against the ground from the force of only a few of the bullets lodging into your flesh. He'd mostly missed.

You lay on the ground, breathing thickly as your head swarmed with signals that shouted Pain! Pain! Pain! Blood pumped loudly in your ears, your heart thumping heavily to try to focus on what to do in response without the use of your hands.

You couldn't hear anything of what was going on. Your pulse was too loud, your heart thunderous. It took your mind a long time to clear before you could gather enough thought process to shift enough to be able to bring your hands to your right shoulder, where the most pain was coming from.

You looked down, watching the blood stain your dress. Moments later, a woman came toward you with a case at her side. She was dressed in white from head to toe as she set down the white case in front of you. The Burgess' were gone, only Dream and the guards were left. You had not noticed them leave, or the guards sit, or the nurse even come in.

She knelt beside you and began working to fix your wounds. You were too useful to Burgess for you to die, weren't you? No, he would be keeping you. A gunshot wound from his sun was just an inconvenience. You would be spared for the use of more torture later on.

Your hazy gaze met Dream's teary eyes after a moment, your brain too slow to process too long a look as you stared at him, committing him to memory like you had done so many times before.

Night had taken over. You were sitting in your poorly cleaned spot, staring at the chains shackled to your wrists as you tried not to move too much. Your shoulder was plagued by sharp pain, stitched and patched to let it heal. You were trying to fall asleep, to rest so that you could at least spend a short dream with your fellow captive, but the pain was too great.

The guards had stepped out of the room, something about a smoke break. It was late enough that they would not be caught neglecting their duties if they stepped outside for a few moments.

When you heard the door open, you suspected the guards. You were wrong as the soft, slow footsteps of Alex Burgess resounded along the room. Both your gazes dragged up to him, darkened and dangerous, daring him to come closer.

He was holding a plate in his hand. You can smell the fragrance of the fruit on the plate as he takes slow, hesitant steps forward. His face is drenched in sorrow and regret, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

"I thought you might like something to eat," he mumbled when he had enough courage to speak.

You tilted your head and said nothing. His eyes shifted between you and Dream before he finally took slow steps to get to you. He sat just outside of your reach to set the plate down, scooting it over for you to take.

You looked down at the plate, sliced honeycrisp apples.

"I don't know if," he trailed off, looking between you and the fruit and adding another regret to the mix, "if you like apples..."

Your gaze finds him again.

He sighed hopelessly, thinking through his next words. "I'm sorry...for what I did." His gaze lifted to Dream for only a moment, his glare far too intense for Alex to withstand. "To both of you."

He was met with no cooperation, only silent stares.

He swallowed thickly. "What can I do?" He winced at that question, realizing his mistake as soon as it left his mouth. "Nothing, I suppose."

You sighed, licking your lips as you thought about how to put your thoughts into words. You leaned forward, unblinking as you watched a flash of hope cross his face at the prospect of you answering him.

"You fucking shot me."

He winced at your words, and that satisfied you enough. You leaned back, sighing as you felt the request from his desire seething beneath the surface. You tilted your head, scowling at him as you whispered like you were telling a secret. "That hurt."

He thought for a moment before surmising, "You want me to claim my desire..."

"That's all men care about: their own selfish desires," you looked him up and down with a huff. "Claim it and leave me, I have nothing to say to you."

He shook his head, staring at his lap to avoid your harsh eyes. "I don't want to claim it."

"You have to," you snapped.

There was silence as he contemplated an idea before speaking it aloud. "Could I...Could I wish for your freedom?"

Your eyes widened slightly at the idea, but you nodded anyway. "You could," you put it simply.

He scooted forward, looking down at your chains to pick them up in his palms. "I want to," he breathed.

"Then say the words."

"I will," his voice was urgent. Then a sobering thought crossed his mind, and you knew you had lost him. He looked up from the chains and at you once more, apprehension heavy in his eyes.

"But how do I know you won't come after me?"

"..." You stared blankly at him.

"I want you to promise," he nearly whispered. "Promise you won't hurt me—or m-my father."

You opened your mouth slightly, but no words came out. You stared.

"Please," he begged. "I don't want to trap you here, but I can't have you taking revenge to hurt us. Me."

You shook your head, his words sour on your tongue as you leaned a little more away from him. You looked down at your shackles, over to Dream's prison.

You huffed out a breath, eyes darkening. "You will get what's coming to you," you promised. "That is my desire."

He shook his head, blinking, "I'm sorry. I can't."

You hummed, leaning forward until you were invading his personal space. Your lips curled in disgust as you looked his face up and down.

"Selfish."

He refuted meekly, "I'm trying to protect my family."

"You're trying to save yourself," you disagreed, sitting up straight again.

He was frantic, desperate to prove he wasn't selfish and greedy like his father as he shook his head. He leaned forward, perching atop his hand and reaching out to you, hoping to change your mind about him. "No. No, that's not true."

The door opened, the two guards returning. Alex turned away from you quickly at the shock of being caught.

"Alex, what are you doing here?"

Was it necessary? Probably not. Could it have gone better? ... Probably not. But you did it anyway.

You leaned forward while he was distracted and clamped your teeth down on the hand extended to you. It was more rage-filled than it was plan-filled.

Alex startled, trying to remove you from him, but your grip was too tight. You only let go when your ears rang and a horrible pain bloomed from your arm. You stumbled back, stifling your shout into a pained moan as you closed your eyes shut. Alex stumbled to his feet.

The guard who shot you just sighed and rolled his eyes. "A fucking holiday," he spat. "That's my fucking desire. God, I hate this job." He mumbled the last part to himself, shaking his head as he moved to sit. He threw his feet on the desk and tossed his gun, which clattered metal on metal.

Alex watched you grasp at your arm, eyes shut tight and mouth filled with air to keep the sounds in. The bullet missed, just grazing your arm, which was now leaking blood that stained your hands and your clothes once more. The other guard sighed, exhausted, "Go get the nurse, Alex. Shit."

Alex's eyes lingered on you a while longer before looking back up to Dream. Their eyes locked for merely a second before he was rushing away from eyes filled with angry blackholes that bore into his soul.

You tried not to cry, you tried to keep it all in. You should not—you could not—appear weak in front of these people. But you had been shot twice in one day, and you were well-beyond your limit.

You hid your face in your knees, your body dissolving into shuddered breaths and a few escaped whines as the tears fell without your consent.

Dream's heart squeezed in his chest, his throat tight as he watched you. He didn't have to watch, he could have just looked away and ignored you. But how could he? How could he leave you to suffer alone? He simply could not, he would not.

And for a moment, your red-rimmed eyes locked across the room and you saw the promise in his gaze. He raised his hand to the glass, setting his palm against the cold prison. You set your chin on your knees and stared back.

Your witty comments had become far more scarce in the years to come. After your assault against Alex and, quite frankly, mostly for your sarcastic remarks and the exasperation they brought Burgess, he had further reduced himself to fitting you with a muzzle. The leather of the constricting piece of wear was constantly covering your mouth, keeping you from speaking your mind with more than eye rolls, sighs, and muffled mumbles.

For seventeen years, you wore that muzzle. It was humiliating, dehumanizing, and just downright uncomfortable. Some old scars healed, more took their places, but your gunshot wounds were embedded too deeply within your skin to be removed. You had to live with them now. They were a part of you. They always would be.

The days have begun to drone together, long and tiring periods of time from sunup to sundown. A day for an immortal was hardly even a blink of time, sure, but a day of suffocating monotony, filled with pain and torture and more boredom was a lifetime of its own.

Sleep was far and few as time passed, and you missed finding what felt like just a few minutes talking to Dream and listening to the rich honey of his voice. Mostly, you just sat there and waited for the end of another continuous day. Sometimes, you spent hours staring at Dream, mapping him out in your mind. Other times, he stared at you, mapping you out in his mind (and sorrowing in the many scars you have gathered over the years). Sometimes, you watched each other and got lost in the many stories hiding behind the eyes of the other immortal.

As Burgess' steps sounded down the halls before he even reached the door, you noticed the difference in urgence as he thrust his presence into the room with his overbearing stature. He ignored you as he had done for years, except for the days when he actually decided that he wanted your forced service, and made a beeline for Dream's cage.

He was quiet for a while, examining him and disregarding you like a grain of sand on his boot or speck of lint on his expensive coat. "The woman who lives with me has gone and robbed me of my fortune," he finally admitted, leaning on Dream's dome with one hand as he supported his weight on his cane. You snorted, but he ignored you with the roll of his jaw in favor of continuing to speak to a very unyielding Dream. "She's also robbed you. She's taken your helm, your sand, and your ruby."

"Now, I can unlock this, you can go after her...if you give me what I've been asking for. Wealth, youth, immortality." You rolled your eyes at his tedium, but found a sense of pleasantness rising in your chest as his frustration creeped into his voice. "Oh, you're a god. These things are nothing to you."

There was a long pause as he continued to bore into Dream's face. "Don't you want your weapons and your freedom?" Dream tilted his head but gave no other response.

Burgess' anger got the better of him, and he lost his composure. Impatient, angry. "Speak to me! Speak to me! Speak to me!" He punctuated each word with a sharp strike at the glass with his cane, making his rage quite evident. "Come on! Speak to me!"

You began to laugh, unable to contain your elation at his complete lack of control. The bubbling sound was muffled by the muzzle, but your joy was obvious and his frustration ran deeper. He turned to you quickly, finally paying you mind after so long barely sparing you a sidewards glance. "What's so funny?"

You just raise your brow at him, your smirk covered as you gave him an answer that only hastened his impatience and rage. He walked over to you, ripping the muzzle from over your head. You flexed your jaw, stretching it out and getting used to the feeling of being able to use it again. It wasn't often he was annoyed enough to allow you to trick him into letting you speak and worsen his personal experience with celestials.

You tilted your head, smiling at him slyly. "I enjoy watching you squirm," you admitted.

He wasn't in the mood for your sharp comments and contemptuous attitude. But, to be fair, he was never in the mood. It only added to your fun. He leaned forward, invading your personal space as he curled his fist into the neckline of your dress and pulled you forcefully to him. "Then you must love a bullet in your pretty little skull, too. I will put one there."

You tilted your head, unphased by his constant harshness as you gave him a tearful smile. "Aww, you think I'm pretty." His face screwed up in half-disgust, half-vexation. You shrugged a shoulder, "Either way, you won't."

He stared at you long and hard before letting you go in favor of towering over you from your spot on the ground. "What makes you so sure?"

You gave him a smile, a shit-eating grin, before answering his question. "You already found use of me. You won't give me up so quickly." if you could have tapped his nose, you would have as you scrunch your nose up to feign awe. "You like me."

His disdain was clear. "I wouldn't be so sure. I can just as easily replace you. There are hundreds of you." He gestured toward you with his cane, pressing it to your chest and shoving you down. You sat back on your elbows and raised a brow.

You hummed, shrugging a shoulder, "Thousands, actually."

He was fed up, his voice raising in his irritation. "Do you want to die? Because I can certainly help with that very easily, pesky demon."

You laid down on your back, closing your eyes shut as you feign hurt and sorrow, bringing the back of a chained hand up to your face and over your forehead. "Oh, ouch. Owie!" you cried. "You called me a demon. Whatever shall I do?"

Dream's lips nearly curled at your show of dramatics. You smirked and rolled your eyes and flailed your arms as much as you could, having a field day in making this man's life a living hell in return for all the hell he'd brought down upon you.

But Burgess had had enough, and Dream's entertainment was gone just as quick as the old man raised the cane above his head, ready to put you back in your place for however long the beating lasted (it would likely only be a few seconds of silence before another regrettable remark fell from your lips). You raised your hand to protect yourself, turning toward the ground to shield your face from his upcoming blow and nearly cowering with panic.

Alex, ironically, came to your rescue, snatching the cane and stopping its descent as he caught Burgess' attention. "It's alright, father!"

"Get away from me," Burgess insisted, twisting out of his grip. "If you were any kind of son to me–" He swung his cane at the boy, but he simply dodged it. They fought for a moment as Alex scrambled not to get hid with the hard stick before he caught it again with another firm grip. "If Randall were alive today–"

"If Randall were alive, he would hate you as much as I do."

Burgess huffed curtly, forced Alex away from him and not anticipating his refute. He stumbled back, losing balance as he was pushed away suddenly. His head smacked against the glass quite loudly, causing you to flinch slightly at the sound, and he grunted. He brought a hand back to see the blood smeared on his fingers. He slumped to the ground barely a distance from you.

You stared down at him, solemn and unfeeling as your cold gaze glared into his fading one. His eyes were wavering between the two of you, immortal beings watching a miserable mortal life come to an end. He shook his head, wasting his last remnants of life on resentment and contempt. "You're never getting out of there," he said, eyes drifting. "Never."

His gaze stuck on you as you watched him fade, watched the life drain from his eyes and become a void of death and emptiness. You leaned forward, your lips curled in a scowl as you stared at his face that has more feeling in death than it ever did in life. Under your breath, leaking venom and bitter toxins, you spoke to his corpse.

"This is my desire."

You spared him one last glance before disregarding him forever. Alex backed away from his father's body, disoriented and dazed as the shock sunk in and muddled his mind. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it and looked around with confused eyes. Alex's gaze found Dream's, and something happened.

Dream stood in his glass dome. His lean body stretched tall as he reached out toward the glass. The boy's eyes focused on him, beholding his power with a special kind of reverence. He reached out for him.

The guards, who had flocked to Burgess, were nervous as they watched the scene play out. "Don't do it, sir," he begged, ignoring the glare you shot at his interference. "He'll kill us." Alex didn't listen, lost in Dream's will as he continued to allow himself to be drawn by his glory.

"What would your father say?"

And, just like that, Alex stopped. Reality came crashing down on him all in one moment as he returned his hand to his side. He backed away from the glass with a deep frown embedded into his face. "I need to think."

Alex swiftly turned and left. You dropped your head in a sigh, but felt a weight lift from your shoulders at the realization that this tyrant of a man was gone. But you would have to suffer with the remnants he left behind in a son conditioned to obey, one conditioned to fear.

You shared a long glance with Dream before monotony returned to you once more.

"Oh, my God."

The voices roused you from your shallow rest as you slowly sat up to see who had just entered the cellar. You rubbed at your eyes and blinked a couple of times as you took a breath in, watching as Alex and a boy walk in, his guests looking between you and Dream with wide eyes and a face a mix of terror and wonder. "Alex?" he muttered, unbelieving as his eyes saw.

"Hello," Alex greeted the both of you instead. "This is my friend, Paul." You looked him up and down, taking in the sight of him and deciding whether or not you would waste your breath. Alex turned. "Paul, these are our unwilling guests."

He stared, unbelieving as he took in the sight of you. You tilted your head at him when his gaze fell on you, furrowing your brows as you looked him up and down. When Alex spoke again, it was to you and Dream again with another plea for peace.

"Look, we've been talking, Paul and I, and if I let you out, will you promise not to harm us?" he asked. His insistence had faded slightly, past attempts returning to his mind as he knew that you still would not budge on your position. "If you could just speak to us," he urged.

You both stared blankly at him, not giving even the slightest hint of aid. The last sparks of Alex's hope flickered behind his eyes as he shook his head. "You see, I told you."

Paul refused to give up so easily. "I'm telling you, you have to keep trying." He drew straws in his attempt to persuade Alex to persuade you. He motioned toward you, "Or claim your desire to set them free."

You raised a brow, turning your head at his suggestion. Alex was quick to shake his head, "No, they'll hurt us."

Paul kept trying. "Show them that they can trust you. Show them that you mean it."

Alex's eyes turned back to the both of you once more. That same gleam of hopefulness fills his gaze again as he steps forward. "I do mean it," he promised. "Just promise that you won't harm me or Paul, and I will let you out."

And even as his plea rang through the air with a special kind of desperation, you didn't give him what he wanted. You did not give him what he desired. So Alex gave up, head hung low and defeated as he muttered his sad response to Paul. He finally accepts it, turning to leave with Alex.

You licked your bottom lip. "Paul." He turned around quickly at the sound of your voice, eyes wide as he heard you for the first time. You gave him a smile, small and gentle. "I want to ask you a question."

He glanced between you and Alex before clearing his throat and responding with the nod of his head. "Um...yes?"

You leaned forward, lowering your voice just above a whisper. "What is it you desire most in this world?"

He was caught off guard by your question, raising a hand to the back of his neck. He scratched it before shrugging limply. "I... I don't know."

"Come now," you chuckled. "There must be something?" When he didn't answer you, you began listing off suggestions. "Wealth? Fame?" You noticed his eyes shift between you and Alex again. "Love?" You put special emphasis on the word. "You only need to wish it, and I will give it...as an exchange for our freedom, of course."

Paul sighed, stepping back again with the shake of his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I can't."

Paul turned his back on you. Your gaze found Alex again, a knowing look piercing his gaze as the word formed in your mouth but did not articulate into the space between you. "Selfish."

Alex looked down at the ground, shuffling his feet before he shook the word off his shoulders. "Come on, Paul," he breathed. "Let's go. This was useless."

And they both left you alone to swap out one captor for another.

"I miss this place." You looked around the little apartment, dark tones and paintings depicting scenes of passion or agony. Deep reds accented the rooms of the small home, rugs and curtains and trims on furniture. You sat on the plush couch in the tiny living room, reaching for the mug on the coffee table with an apple painted on it. You turned it in your hands, smiling at it as you showed it to Dream. "I love symbolism," you confessed, like it was some naughty secret you were telling him to keep quiet.

"Your home?" he wondered, glancing around the overall tidy apartment and ignoring the bra hanging from a lamp shade. You noticed it and threw it under the couch with an off-handed request for him to forget he saw it—not out of embarrassment, but more out of consideration for his comfort level.

You shrugged a shoulder at his question, "Away from home." You pat the spot beside you to offer him a seat, giving him a teasing smile. "Don't worry, everything's clean." You shoot him a playful look, "For now." And then you winked.

He knew it was a joke, it was just in your nature, but he didn't laugh. You didn't seem very phased by his lack of amusement. You had been trapped with him long enough to separate his stoic amusement from his stoic boredom or disappointment.

He sat next to you, his hands still stuffed in the pockets of his coat. He was quiet, as usual, looking around the room with curiosity to see what it was you used to live like.

You watched him look around, examining the slight shifts in his face at the information he was taking in with each little detail your brain managed to rebuild in your little illusion. "Do you miss the Dreaming?" you asked after a while, tilting your head.

He glances at you, but his gaze did not stick. "Constantly," he responded after a long break of silence. He removed his hands from his pockets to fidget with his long, slender fingers. His brows furrowed in deep concentration. "This is the closest I get."

You fell silent, rubbing your hands together before sinking further into the couch and turning your body to see him clearer. "What was it like?"

You saw the slightest tilt of his lip into a smile. "The stars were everywhere, countless," his eyes gleamed with remembrance. "So many planets and moons. The most precious of flowers, the tallest of trees. The rivers sang, and the oceans were mighty. Life was everywhere." His words were so poetic, distant liberation shining in his gaze as he remembered the feeling of the Dreaming's sun on his skin, the sound of the wind whistling through the trees, the joy of the dreams that resided in his realm.

You sighed, sitting back and staring at the lamp casting a golden glow over the room. "It sounds perfect," you muttered, imagining the paradise he'd explained to you.

You looked at him again, your gazes lingering for too long before you took in the room again. You shook your head quickly and slid off of the couch so you were sitting on the floor, your arms propped up on your knees and your face in your hands. "This is dangerous."

Dream looked around, watching the warmth and intimacy of the room disappear into the cold, sterile echo of the cellar they had spent decades trapped in. You were chained again, wearing the same shabby dress and covered in your scars once more. Dream's prison is gone, leaving the room empty of everything but you and your shackles.

You sat on the cold floor, tugging at the metal bolted into the floor. "All this reminiscing," you shook your head and faced Dream again, "we can't keep doing it."

Dream walked over to you, his steps slow. He knelt in front of you, reaching for your hands. He took them, tracing his thumbs over the back of your palms. He reached down, his fingertips brushing the searing chains. They clattered to the floor, and he took your hands to slowly stand with you again.

He held your eye contact until you were turning away from him again. "I keep wasting my dreams with this illusion of freedom, instead of just accepting the reality of things."

Your eyes found the wall, and Dream quickly realized that the door that served as the only exit was gone. Come to think of it, Dream hadn't seen a door in the wall or windows behind the curtains of your apartment living room before.

"We're never getting out of here."

Dream's frown deepened. "There is always hope," he tried.

"Not now there isn't," you shook your head. "It's just you and me. Alone and powerless."

Dream stood in front of you, invading your space as he towered over you, his chest nearly touching you. His eyes stared at you. From so close, you can see how magnificent they really are in the light of dreams. A thousand galaxies, infinite stars glittering with the hope he tried to give to you.

"We are not alone," he said. He was so close, you could feel his words on your cheeks.

You watched him closely, taking in his endless beauty. Your lips parted, and you held your breath. You stepped forward, raising a hand to his chest.

Dream stepped back, ducking his head almost bashfully, like a scolded child. He was soft when he spoke again, you thought he might stutter. "I only meant that–"

You stepped forward again, throwing your arms around his neck and just staying there. Your face buried in the crook of his neck as you relaxed against him, sighing gently and holding him tight.

Dream stood there, arms awkwardly at his sides and eyes wide with shock. It took him a long time to catch up, to get over his surprise and realize what this was. A hug. You were hugging him, seeking comfort in an embrace meant only for him. "I know what you meant."

Slowly, but surely, he raised his arms to hug you back, holding you close and leaning into your comfort. He sighed, pulling away after too long and risking a curled finger under your chin. "We will get out," he promised, putting his hand back down by his side. "Have hope, little apple."

You smiled slyly at him, your teasing remarks returning a little with a gentle laugh. "You got a nickname for me now, dreamer?"

He hummed, and you could see the traces of a smile on his lips. You felt your heart swell in your chest. You could have sworn you saw Dream's eyes flicker to your lips. You could have sworn you saw his hand raise to your cheek. You could have sworn you saw him lean in close...

Alex chose to remain ignorant. Every day, he and Paul came down to bargain their safety for your freedom. Every day, they were rejected and sent away until the day came where your revenge would rain down on them all.

The guards were not kind. Hardened by unethical work, they ignored Alex's orders not to hurt you. When he wasn't looking, when he turned his back and closed his eyes, they would be there with a new desire of their own to pull from your skin.

The years passed and the torture continued with you being scarred by greedy men and Dream having to watch, powerless to help. Years turned to decades and decades turned to a century.

Alex got older, and as time passed, he still had not sired an heir to ensure you stayed locked up. With no Burgess to stay in charge, the guards would likely discuss amongst themselves who would take on the role. Who would continue to torture in the name of fame and wealth and power. That made you restless, worried for what was to come when ignorance was returned to cruelty.

You feared how much the future could become.

"I could have asked you for wealth, like my father did."

Your attention was caught again by the voice of Alex Burgess, elderly and confined to a wheelchair. He looked tired, exhausted by life's hardships. Most of which consisted of a silent god and a snarky demon (although, you were not technically a demon) trapped in his basement.

"But all I wanted was to be free of you," he said, the dejection clear in his tired voice. "Surely, you want that, too."

Paul placed a hand on his shoulder, the golden ring on his finger flashing slightly. His worry translated through his words as he shook his head. "Alex, darling, please."

There was a silence as Alex acknowledged his husband's words with a gentle nod. "Take me upstairs, Paul." He sighed and turned toward you and Dream again, "I won't be coming down here again."

It was a farewell, your last chance to claim his offer before you never saw him again and were stuck to be tossed over to your next captor. Paul wheeled Alex's chair away, turning it as it creaked slightly. Then he paused in the middle of a step as he turned to look at the floor. You followed his gaze to where the golden seal surrounding Dream's cage was now broken.

Your lips parted as the sight brings a swell of hope to you. It was happening. It was really happening. You would be free as Paul's gaze lifted again to meet Dream's.

It was purely an accident, breaking the seal. But upon that accident, Paul figured that it was one last deed in service to something much more powerful than him. Laying an issue to rest instead of letting it fester into something terrible that the world could never imagine.

He walked away, leaving the two of you alone for the last time. You looked at Dream, your eyes meeting as a promise he made to you decades ago echoed in your mind.

"What is it you desire?"

"Our freedom. And to rain vengeance on those who would dare to take it."

Dream nodded to you in acknowledgement of your new opportunity for freedom. It was so close, you could taste it as the doors were closed with a loud clunking noise. You could hear the guards beginning to chatter about something, little remarks about "draculas" and "demons". You almost rolled your eyes. Why did everyone assume you were a demon?

But you were preoccupied with Dream. He shifted his body, adjusting himself so that he was leaning against the glass, crouched down like he was hunting something. His eyes dangerously trained on the guards, who remained entirely unaware of the threat that had begun to stalk them. You watched as one of the guards yawned, being taken by sleep under the dark influence of Dream's power while the other droned on about a vacation.

Trapped in vivid hallucination, the guard stood to his feet with his gun in his hands and approached swiftly. He aimed it at the glass and shot, a look of complete terror grasping his features as the other rushed toward him. You turned and shielded yourself uselessly from the fire, though you were never touched by the bullets.

As soon as the glass shattered, Dream was free and a blinding light burst into the air. Wind raged and whistled as Dream's power dominated the space between them. He ignored the shouts of the guards as he climbed out of his prison, tall and stalking.

Dream, without breaking the gazes of the guards, knelt down and took your shackles in his hands. They simply clattered to the floor, as though they were nothing, and he set you free. You could have cried! Finally being able to rub away the cold bite of the metal that had been searing into your skin for a century. Your wrists were bruised, the nastiest of colors left behind due to years of captivity. You almost could not see the apple on your wrist, discolored and discernible.

But you were free. Your power had returned. You could claim your own desires.

Dream dealt with the guards, knocking them unconscious with a fistful of sand. With wind still whistling in the air, Dream turned to you, his face fallen in solemnity. "The boy is mine," he demanded, and you were in no position to disagree.

You smiled at him and gave him a simple nod. "All yours."

Dream's gaze lingered on you for a moment too long before he allowed himself to be taken by the blinding power source that had been a portal. The blaring lights dismissed and left you in the cold cellar once again. But instead of being chained to the floor, you were the one chaining them up, confining every guard in the manor to this room and rendering them useless to stop you with the whisper of a command and a kiss to your wrist.

As you looked over them all, you could not help the sense of pride swelling in your chest. It felt good to be the most powerful being in the room again (or at least having power enough to be able to say so). Most of them looked around, dazed and confused to figure out where they were and how they got there. You walked toward the two sleeping guards, the ones knocked out by Dream, and slapped each of their cheeks to wake them.

They shook their heads, coming to before they finally saw you standing in front of them. "What the...?" the man asked, brows furrowed in confusion before a look of fear flashed behind his face. You smiled at the influence you were seeing in his eyes.

You backed away from him, looking over everyone staring nervously at you. "What are you going to do?" one brave soul finally asked you, voice trembling.

You thought about what you were going to say carefully before the words left your mouth. "Desires are dangerous things, you know," you began. "It's so interesting how men forget that your greatest desires are just reflections of your greatest fears."

"So?" She was the current guard's partner, the one who'd tried to stop him from freeing Morpheus. Your talk of "men" and their desires made her question whether or not she was even supposed to be there, you supposed.

"So," you exaggerated, "I know the deepest, darkest desires that lay in your hearts, and the hearts of all those that pierced my skin to obtain their selfish wants." You smacked your hand against your forearm to accentuate your point. You sighed, "You see, I personally believe in an eye for an eye policy, but that would take far too long, and I'd rather be anywhere but here. So instead..." Your expression shifted, turning into something much darker and much more dangerous than anywhere could have ever imagined seeing on you. They were used to your snark and sarcasm, not this looming threat that could turn their lives into waking nightmares. That was what they feared of the trapped dream in the basement. But you could be just as worse, it seemed.

Your voice was low, your face fallen in malice and ill-contempt. "To every person who forcefully claimed a wish from me, I lay upon you the curse of a plague made of the very things you fear worse above all else in this world...for as long as Death has planned of the rest of your miserable lives."

One of the staff shook his head and stuttered out the words he tried to say to you, frantic and terrified of your wrath, which was very clear to him as you cursed them. "You can't do this," he pleaded meekly.

You turned to him quickly, your eyes wild and your lips curled in a crazed smile. "But, you see, I can." You brought your wrist to your face and pressed your lips to the bruised apple on your skin. It flared with warmth, its color seeping into a dark red. "Because this is my desire."

Nearly everyone in the room slipped into unconsciousness as your power took its first hold of them. There were only a few of the staff left awake, those who had not committed a crime against you and you had deemed innocent enough to leave be. They stared at you in frantic worry as you simply flashed them a smile and let them go unharmed and uncursed, disappearing like a flickering flame.

It was late. The night had taken hold of this part of the Earth, and there was a small commotion upstairs. Upon finding yourself in the doorway of a room, you leaned against the frame and peered into the room. Alex lay in a bed, twitching and flinching as visions flashed behind his eyes, terrible nightmares cursed to him by Dream as punishment for all the crimes he'd committed during your captivity.

Paul's head was ducked as he clutched Alex's hand, sorrow filled him at the state of his husband. You merely watched, face fallen this time in the same solemnity that Dream had casted to you before he left. Paul stood after a moment, turning around to leave the room for something before stopping short at the sight of you.

Then he stepped forward with a pleading face. "Can you help him, please?"

You turned your gaze toward Alex, still struggling in his sleep, and then back at Paul, unphased and uncaring. Your cold expression pierced his soul and made him shiver. "I probably could," you said, filling him with a false hope that you quickly crush beneath your heel. "But I won't."

He fell to his knees as you pushed yourself off the door frame to stand up straight. He clasped his hands together, shaking his head as his eyes continued to pour tears down his cheeks. "After what I did for you?" he shook his head, unbelieving. "I set you free."

You let silence linger for a moment. "But not soon enough."

"How could you...?"

"Paul," you silenced him, your voice raised a little louder as you spoke. A shudder rushed through him at your tone, and he shrunk into himself. "I was trapped there. For decades, for a century. I was chained in that cellar with no one but a silent cellmate and guards who hurt me to get what they wanted. You were innocent, until you weren't. So, Paul, freer or not, I must have my revenge on the ones who hurt me. I will not interfere with Dream's punishment, but I can take my vengeance through you. And that is exactly what I'm going to do."

He trembled as a silent cry shuddered through him. "What are you going to do? Are you going to hurt me?"

You shook your head, stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder. "I won't beat you. I won't cut you the way they cut me. I won't shoot you the way they shot me," you told him, tucking your finger under his chin to make him look at you. "But I will claim the desire that is rightfully mine without Alex to claim it for himself."

You dropped your hand from his face and sighed. "For a century, Dream of the Endless was trapped in that cellar with me. For years, he had to watch me bleed without being able to lift a finger to help me." You shook your head, "I won't make you bleed, but I will make you watch as Alex suffers in his slumber for the rest of his life, and there will be nothing you can do about it. You cannot leave this room, you cannot calm his mind. You're helpless, he's hopeless. And it will be like that until Death comes to take whoever is first to perish."

Paul shook his head, wiping at his face to be rid of the tears falling from his eyes and onto his cheeks. "Please. I didn't do anything."

You shook your head gently. "No, you didn't. But he did, and he will know." You raised your wrist once more, whispering your words into the space between you as you sealed your promise with a kiss to your apple. "Because this. Is. My...Desire."

And when Paul blinked, you were gone.

It felt like forever since you laid eyes on Dream again. After you parted ways in the cellar, you suspected he had been quite busy repairing his realm and fixing the patches that have risen within humanity. His absence was felt.

But it seemed like yours was not.

You returned to the Threshold after you were freed. Nothing had changed, the sameness was unnerving. A century gone, and a few of the Malum welcomed you back warmly, some were indifferent, and others just could not have given less of a shit that you were gone. When you went to Desire, they greeted you with a smile and good wishes before you were off again. You thought they wanted to show more affection, to prove they cared about what happened to their Malum, but they just didn't want to risk losing their edge.

You understood, it was how all the Malum were. One of the most basic desires in the hearts of humans was love, and the closest most of them ever got to it was sex. You were all born of those desires, and your Endless was a reflection of them, so it was natural for affection to be...minimal in cases of care and concern for the type of relationship between your ruler and their servants.

So you left. You left the Threshold, and you returned to the human world to explore a century of development. It did not take long for you to settle in, despite how different everything had become, more difficult. But you were free. Out of that cellar and out of that life, ready to take on what else the world had to offer you, and that seemed to be a lot.

With your power back, your scars had begun to fade a little more. Some small ones disappeared, but most were whispers of cuts and healed wounds that were hardly discernible from normal flesh. You were back to granting desires, more wary and cautious of every person you granted them to.

It was nice to be back.

After a long day, you were back in your new home. Dark tones and red accents decorated this just as much as the last, but the intimacy was of a different nature. Stepping into the living room with a hot mug in your hands, you let the cool air of night seep into the room through your slightly ajar windows.

You felt the shift in the air and smiled, turning around to see your visitor in the night. "Dreamer," you smiled, sighing gently at the sight of the Endless standing in your living room. His coat was longer, a dark cloak which hung off his shoulder and cast stars in the underside of its trim. You only saw them for a moment before they disappeared. You raised a brow at him, smirking as you spoke into your mug, "Been busy?"

"Quite," he responded, almost amused. His face was not as stern as you had grown used to, much more at ease as he cast his gaze upon you. "How have you been keeping, little apple."

You smiled at the nickname, shrugging your shoulders and moving to sit on the couch in the living room. "I'm wonderful," you told him. "There's fresh air and strong drinks and the smell of sweet, sweet freedom in every day."

He looked around your home as he listened, taking in the comfort and feeling it seep into his body. "I saw how you punished the guards," he said. "Clever. Even in their dreams, they are plagued by nightmares."

You smirked at his subtle praise, chuckling gently. "Thank you. I took a page out of your book."

The corner of his lip turned up in a small smile, so slight, you would miss it if you weren't paying attention. You couldn't help your happy grin at the way he smiled at you. "Now, isn't that a sight?" you muttered.

Dream moved to sit beside you, a little too close as your thighs touched just a bit. "Have you returned to the Threshold since you got out?"

You paused for a moment at the mention of Desire's realm before nodding gently, taking another sip from your cup. "Once. Right after," you hesitated as you thought about it. "It didn't feel the same."

He did not verbally respond, merely nodding his head in a silent agreement as he turned his gaze away. He sighed gently, the sound was almost inaudible. You turned to him with another teasing smirk, "Quite the talker, aren't you?"

There it was again, that little smile that curled the end of his lips. You sighed gently, letting the quiet linger for a while as you both stared again for too long. "Would you like some tea?"

He shook his head, "No, thank you."

"A snack? Perhaps, an apple?" You wiggled your brows at the suggestion, laughing gently when he refused your offer with a chuckle of his own.

"Perhaps not."

You set your mug down on the coffee table and make your way to the kitchen, grabbing an apple from a small bowl on the counter and beginning to slice it up after taking a long sniff of its skin. Your knife cut through the apple with ease as you spoke up again. "So why have you come, Morpheus?"

He breathed out a silent chuckle. He didn't think you knew that name, you had always referred to him as "Dream". But you were just being you, he supposed. He stood from the couch and made his way to join you in the kitchen. "I wanted to see you," he stated blatantly.

You looked up at him and shook your head, laughing gently. "You watched me for a hundred years. You want to see more?" Dream didn't laugh. In fact, his face fell slightly as he looked away from your face. You mentally scolded yourself for your attempt at humor. "Bad joke," you muttered, a silent apology.

He turned his gaze to you again, watching you slice your apple as his eyes caught sight of the scars you thought were mostly unnoticeable. There were plenty of slits, but most of them had gone by now. The tank top you wore offered a perfect view of the bullet scar on your right shoulder and the graze on your left. They were more obvious than the mostly-healed cuts. The bruises around your wrists were mostly gone, too. They were slightly discolored, but you would not notice them unless you were paying far too much time and attention to them.

You looked down to where his gaze had traveled, realizing what he was staring at. "They've healed well," you said. "Some of the scars have gone away without my chains."

Dream reached out, grabbing your hand gently and holding onto it as he stared regretfully, punishing himself all over again for something out of his control. "I'm sorry for what they did to you." His voice was so soft, full of a special kind of sorrow.

You turned to him, "You have no reason to apologize. There was nothing you could do."

He didn't argue with you. He just inspected your scars a little more before bringing his gaze back up to yours. "I could take the scars away," he said after a moment, offering a way to help even after all of this time.

You looked down at them, your eyes glazing over the bullet scars with the shake of your head. "No. I think I'll keep them," you said, looking up at him again with the shrug of your shoulders. "The ones that heal with heal, but..."

"But?" He raised a brow.

You sighed. "I got these scars with you. They mean something to me. I don't want to let it all go."

He fell silent, processing your answer before looking back down at your arms. He let go of your hands, and spoke slowly. "You gave Paul my curse."

You nodded once. "I did."

"Why?"

You stared at Dream, bringing your hand up to his cheek to brush his skin for a moment before pulling away. "You watched them abuse me. You didn't have to look, but you did every time so I never felt alone...but I know that it hurt you, too. I didn't want you to be alone," you confessed. "Alex will share my pain while he endures your punishment. He will have to continue on knowing that the one he cares about most will have to watch him suffer every minute of every day, and there's nothing he can do to change it."

Dream blinked, thinking about your response. "The one he cares about most..." he echoed, making your cheeks heat under the revelation of his words but discarding it.

"I do care about you, Dream," you said. "With all that time, how could I not?" Silence lingered between you, heavy in the air but in a way that was comfortable, rather than unnerving as you did that thing where you both just stared at each other for far too long. You licked your lips, "I've never cared about anything the way I care about you. You were there when I was alone. Whether you wanted to be or not, you were there."

He reached out and grabbed your arm, supporting the back of your elbow to just feel your skin. "I'm glad I was there with you."

Your lips twitched in a small smile. You found yourself confessing these words without meaning to, "I lied a little earlier. I'm not wonderful." He tilted his head. "Truth is, freedom is lonely without someone to share it with."

Dream raised his hand from your elbow to your cheek, cupping your face in his hand and bringing you closer to him as he put aside all of his inhibitions in favor of just doing what he wanted to. He kissed you, his lips brushing your and inviting you in a gentle embrace that filled your soul and made your chest swell with affection for him.

You leaned into him, breathing a sigh against his lips as you stepped closer into his space. His hand shifted down to your waist, holding you close to him as you brought your hands to cup the sides of his neck. He pulled away from your lips to lean into your touch, his eyes still closed for a moment before he opened them to take in the sight of you, so close and so entirely beautiful.

He whispered to you, his breath fanning gently over your face. "I want to be your freedom," he confessed, taking your hand and raising your wrist to his lips before setting a gentle kiss to the apple. He stroked your skin, "This is my desire."

You smiled at him, bringing your own wrist to mirror his actions. "Then let it be so." You leaned forward and kissed his lips again as he breathed freedom into your soul.

Dreamers taglist: @poetic-fiasco @the-nerdy-goddess @life-on-needs @meg-the-second-greatest @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @gortycs @octo-octopie @sarahbullet235 @damianodavidhands @majestyjade @fanreader @jamiethenerdymonster @alexxavicry @melinoe-the-rat @katsukis1wife Tag yourself here...

#dream of the endless #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless x you #dream x you #the sandman #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman fanfic #the sandman x reader #the sandman x you #reader insert #female reader #dream of the endless fanfic #dream of the endless fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #morpheus #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you

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madwomansapologist · 9 months

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hello everything is fine ?,

I saw your requests are open could you make an imagine with morpheus x reader where s/o want a baby "I want a baby, Morpheu." you whisper: "Your baby if you want it".

wandering to Her (or: expending the family with morpheus)

synopsis: You fear death. I mean, you love Death, but you fear dying. But after spendind a day with her, seeing her taking those who fallen and talking to those who were just born, you understood more about life than you could ever imagine. You understood why you love to dream, and then you realized something that you have never thought about before. You understood that you wanted immortality. The true one. [1K]

warnings: talking about death with Death. i've cried writing this so be aware.

ps: thanks for your request! i don't really know if he can have kids, didn't read the comics yet, so this is all speculation. it was supposed to be a headcanons, but i got emotional. i'm warning everyone: i'm one neil gaiman's post away from rewatching the whole show. hope you enjoy it!

It all start with Death. As usual.

With her, time didn't seem to work. It always went by too fast, while at the same time everything took too long to happen. She has this singular orbit. A gravity of her own.

Death is so different from what you expected. She's kind. She's patient. She's loving. She cares. Death isn't fighting to conquer more souls or anything you could've imagine she would want. She's not fighting, because they'll eventually be hers. It's easy to be aware of your own mortality when she's around.

And maybe that's why you invited yourself to spend a day with Death. You wanted to see how it was that last moment. What Death said, if she said anything at all. How people reacted. You were curious. What is death if not time acting on beings? It was a morbid curiosity, but a valid one.

"You already knew I talked to humans when they're born," Death caresses the baby's little fingers. So tiny, so soft, so singular. A being that don't know pain, wickedness, suffering. A being that need to be protected. "I've told you."

You approached the crib. Your hand pushed against the wood, swaying slightly. It was instinctual. You rocked him without even realizing it. You sniffled. "You remember what you said to me?"

At moments like this you remember how old she is. No matter how young she looks, no matter how good she is to talk to, Death is older than you will ever be able to comprehend. And she will be the last of her siblings to leave. Endless, until she's no more.

"After I breath live into you," Death whispered to not awake the babies on the maternity. If your time with Morpheys taugh you something it's that time isn't that different for the Endless. They feel it just like a human would. But you knew Death would remember. You really did. "I've told you to not fear me. I've told you to embrace me. I've told you, my dear friend, that life's destiny is death. And I warned that if you wanted to live, you would need to be willing to die. That every step you made takes you closer to me. That every book you read, every tear you cry, every friend you lost, every car you scratch, every password you forgot: you're making your way to me."

And so you realized why Dream and Death are so close. Dying is terrifying. Ceasing to exist one day without really understanding the reason for it. But to dream... The will to accomplish the things we dream of is greater than the fear of the end. It is Dream that makes us accept Death. And suddenly it's no longer about ceasing to exist one frightening day, but about existing until a fateful one.

Someone, in a past so far away that you can't even understand, decided that it was worth going on. Someone decided that a long hug was worth more than a downpour. Someone decided that talking to a lover was worth more than an earthquake. Someone decided that every disease, every evil, every pain, every tomb, every fear, every fate: everything was worth less when compared to what life has to offer.

Because someone made that choice, and then it's child, and it's child, and it's child, your grandma was born. And because she made the same decision, because she made the choice of dealing with the tumultuous in hope of something better, your mom war born. And because she made the same decision all the ancestors you remember and all the ancestors you can't even imagine did, you were born.

And isn't it what you're doing since the beginning? Choosing the hope of something better instead of the certainty of the end? Since you were eight you knew everyone dies. It took you more time to understand that it was really true. And then, since that moment, you knew what it was to be human: to be always sad because you're always aware of the end, but to choose to ignore this feeling so you can go on.

The baby sighed. He slept. He looked happy. He looked peaceful. He looked ready to be taken care of, loved and embraced. Ready to see his parents, his grandparents, his uncles. Ready to understand that he has a body, that he has a mind, and that the two are not so different from what it seems. Ready to walk, cry, love, lose, freak out, dance, sing, live. He looked ready. And so you understood that you were ready too.

"Go," Death took your hands into hers and kissed your knuckles. "Be brave."

You don't know how she knew, but you felt welcomed. You felt seen and understood. So you let Death finish her job, and went back to his realm.

To the realm of dreams and nightmares. The realm of joys and sorrows. Of fears and desires. The realm that once glowed and then decayed with the passing of its lord. For the realm that survived, proving once again that it would always survive.

You found him in the library. It must be a good day. A day without great tasks. You approached trying not to make any noise. Before you could startle him, Morpheus scared you.

"You little shit," you carressed your chest. "You want to kill me?"

Morpheus chuckled. When his velvet voice came to your ears, the fear had already dissipated. "Accept it," his tone was mischievous, but Morpheus' hold you so gently. He stroked your skin. "You lost the ability to surprise me."

You closed your eyes when he kissed your forehead, leaning towards him. Morpheus is so warm. His voice is so tender. His love is so palpable. "I want a baby, Morpheus."

"I take it back," Morpheus kissed your forehead again. He didn't pull his lips away. When Morpheus opened them again, it was as if he spoke with your mind. "As you wish."

And that, the choice to ignore certainty and dream with possibilities, is true immortality.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

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writing-fanics · 2 years

Text

[ somwhere to go home to] Morpheus x Reader

[warning: angst: fluff future part]

[terms used sleigh beggy someone whos blood attracts those that of magical creatures term from Ancient Magus Bride]

[y/n] followed the man as they walked towards the auctioning room. staring at the plethora of caged and chained magic creatures, that only a child would imagine or believe in. the cold chain wrapped around their neck, and wrapped around their wrists into handcuffs.

they wanted to be here. they had no choice they had no life outside anymore. no family, no friends, nothing to call home. they wanted somewhere to go home to. they hated themselves for being such a burden for others to bear, to deal with them being a sleigh beggy.

not with the constant amalgamations appearing around them, freaking her relatives out. to the point that they were cast out, [y/n] left alone to fend for themselves.

they stood on the stage for the others attending the auction, their faces covered in masks and robes covering their bodies. a spotlight shined above them, "this is the product you've all been waiting for." the auctioneer announced.

"a rare item, even among our current offerings." he continued, the crowd gasped in awe looking at them. "starting at 500,000."

"1,100,000!"

"1,500,000!"

"1,800,000!"

"2,000,000!"

"2,250,000!"

people shouted in the audience shouting out their bids. as [y/n] stood on the stage unfazed not even batting an eye. they just stood there as people shouted out how much they'd pay to buy them. suddenly a caw was heard from the door, and a man entered the audience hall. in all black as if revealing himself from the shadows.

the auctioneers turned towards him as he walked towards the stage. a raven flew towards the stage and landed, beside [y/n] on the ground. they looked at the black raven curiously until the man, stood before them looking down at them. towering over them. [y/n] gaze turned towards him as they looked into his eyes, they could see the cosmos.

"5,000,000." he says, and the auctioneers gasp in shock hearing his bid. and they look up at him, "It's decided," he says, looking down at [y/n].

"you shall be an apprentice," he says, looking down at them.

#x reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus x y/n #morpheus x you #ancient magus bride #romance #fluff #angst #fanfic #the sandman x you #the sandman x reader #the sandman x y/n #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagines #dream of the endless x you #dream of the endless x y/n #dream of the endless fanfiction

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dyns33 · 10 months

Text

Feeling rainy

Another Dream x female reader

“Honey, you look cloudy today. No, rainy."

"I confirm, he is very rainy at the moment."

"Matthew. Leave us."

"Right away, boss. But I'm sick of being wet all the time when I fly in the Dreaming, thank you very much."

It had taken a little time, but during their relationship, Y/N had acquired several certainties about Morpheus, especially about his mood.

The master of nightmares was not very good at expressing his feelings. Mainly because he didn't always know them himself. Partly because he was stupid and not very good with people.

His emotions were like a storm inside him. And therefore, a storm inside the Dreaming, especially when he was nervous, angry or sad.

Happy or neutral sentiments were preferable, with the sky remaining blue, the sun lighting up the whole realm, and the wind seeming to sing melodies.

Sometimes it was a little too hot, when he was in love and excited, but that was no big deal. Also, it never lasted very long.

Like the weather, Morpheus' mood was changing very quickly, and very easily.

And even though he was doing his best to hide his feelings behind a straight face, the Dreaming never left any doubt that something was bothering him.

"Is it because of last night ?" Y/N asked calmly.

"I don't wish to talk about it, love."

"Not even to please me ? I don't like it when you rain, especially because of me."

"... It's not because of you. I probably overreacted."

"Kind of like always, darling, but that doesn't mean your feelings aren't valid. Do you want a hug ?"

"... Maybe."

The tall, terrible prince of the stories certainly didn't like being seeing as weak, but when Dream was in Y/N's arms, he looked like a cat desperately trying not to purr with pleasure, totally at her mercy.

It wasn't a problem since they were alone, but dreams and nightmares guessed what was going on, as the clouds disappeared and a rainbow formed over their heads.

"She has to cuddle him all the time."

"Hush."

"Merv is right. I may be his more or less emotional raven, but he clearly needs her as an emotional human."

"Get out of my library."

All of this could have gone quite well, since Y/N had managed to decode the functioning of the Dreaming, and therefore of Dream, but sometimes he was visibly lost and upset by her emotions, not knowing how to help her, and beginning to feel them with her.

Which was not a good thing, for him, nor for his kingdom.

Y/N therefore asked for advice around her, knowing that it was useless to ask Morpheus directly. Morpheus never really answered questions. That being said, his subjects weren't necessarily better for it.

Lucienne, loyal intelligent Lucienne advised her to speak to the Lord, as communication was important, although she had to be careful how she wanted to express what she wanted to say, as the Lord could misunderstand things.

Merv and Matthew thought that they should say nothing and just cover him with kisses and compliments so that he would always be happy. Because everyone wanted him to be happy, and everyone loved rainbows.

The Corinthian had a different opinion.

"You have to do exactly like him." he declared with three huge smiles.

"What do you mean, like him ?"

"You want to help him by doing anything so that he doesn't get overwhelmed by emotions ? So don't show any emotion yourself. Keep them inside, act neutral, use a monotonous voice, express your love with ridiculously complicated little sentences, and it will be perfect."

Normally, it would have been strongly discouraged to listen to a nightmare. But despite their bickering, the Corinthian was arguably one of the creations that knew Morpheus best, so Y/N thought it wasn't a bad idea.

After all, Dream was a bit like a sponge. Absorbing all the dreamers' hopes, fears, desires, emotions, and though he was a separate being who felt distinctly, he couldn't completely cut himself off from the rest of the world.

So it seemed logical that he was sometimes troubled by others, and therefore by Y/N, with whom he spent the most time.

It didn't cost much to imitate him. It wasn't necessarily easy, but she could do it, for him, so it wouldn't be rainy or stormy too often.

So she trained in front of a mirror, doing her best to remain impassive as she thought about a joke, her deceased grandfather, an adorable kitten, her boss whom she wanted to strangle, and lots of things that never left her indifferent.

Part of her had thought Morpheus wouldn't notice. Another hoped he would see it, that he would be happy, and that she could smile to herself.

While they were watching her favorite movie together, a funny scene played out and she didn't react. Then another, and another, until Y/N felt that Dream's attention was no longer on the screen, but on her.

"My love, you seem distant."

"Not at all. I'm enjoying a pleasant evening, with you." she said with a neutral tone.

"... You didn't laugh. Would you like to see another movie ?"

"No, I like this movie. You weren't laughing either, do you want to change ?"

"I never laugh."

"Because you're too melancholic to find aything funny ?"

"... No. My laughter... I was informed that my laughter could be frightening."

Y/N then turned to him, and at that moment, she almost smiled, finding the revelation ridiculous and adorable, wanting to hear that laughter that her lover was so ashamed of, out of curiosity, but above all to reassure him.

Except that for that, she would have to show emotions, and make him feel emotions, and the goal was to remain as neutral as possible, so Y/N forced herself to remain neutral, looking at him straight in the eyes so that he knew that she was serious, while looking for the right wording.

"I'm sure your laugh is sweet." was the best thing that came to her, patting Morpheus' hand, before watching the movie again.

There were many other moments like this, at the New Inn, at the park, in the Dreaming, and Y/N really thought that everything was fine, that she was doing a good job. The weather seemed calm, with a few distant clouds, but no storms in sight.

Still, there was something in Morpheus' eyes when he looked at her. Curiosity mixed with fear. She didn't dare tell him about it, thinking it was nothing, and he didn't tell her either.

Until Matthew came to visit her as she was getting ready to go to sleep.

"I don't know if I should ask you to go to bed quickly, or advise you to stay awake."

"Why ? What's going on ? Morpheus is in trouble ?!"

"Uh... That depends. Is everything okay between you two ?"

"Yes, perfectly fine. Why ?" she asked, suddenly worried.

"I don't know. It's foggy at the moment. We've had a few rains, a few tornadoes, but Lucienne managed to calm it down. Except that... Hmm... I don't know if I should say it."

"Matthew."

"He thinks you don't love him anymore." sighed the raven, lowering his head.

The news hit Y/N straight to the heart. For a moment, she wondered how Dream could have come to such a conclusion. Then she remembered how Dream was, his difficulties in understanding people, emotions, and even if he himself didn't often show what he felt, he clearly needed others to show him.

For a month, Y/N thought to make him happy. For a month, Morpheus thought she wanted to leave him.

"... This is a terrible misunderstanding."

"Glad to hear that. Can you tell him, please ?"

Falling asleep when stressed might take a while, but Y/N needed to see Morpheus quickly, so she closed her eyes thinking hard about him, and she arrived on the balcony of his palace.

It was raining.

Obviously, Matthew had come to see her before Lucienne went to speak to her master.

Dream stood in the rain, motionless, watching his realm. He didn't move when she came close to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I love you, you know that ?" she asked shyly.

"I hope so."

"In wanting to please you, I made a mistake. Your mood changes so easily, you can be so fragile, so sensitive."

"I'm not fragile." he muttered, continuing to stare into the distance.

"You are, but that's neither an insult nor the question. I thought... The Corinthian told me that if I don't show my emotions, I won't upset you with them and that you I would be happy. I wanted to help, really. Since you know that I love you, I imagined that it wouldn't change anything. It would be inside, like for you. Sorry."

Finally, Dream turned to her, looking surprised and solemn. He stared at her for a long time, before taking a deep breath.

"I see. So you made several mistakes, indeed."

"Dream..."

"You listened to the Corinthian, a nightmare."

"I know."

"You thought it would be good for you to keep your emotions inside, like me. Knowing that my emotions are never really inside, but entirely outside, in the Dreaming, while you should keep your storms in your little heart."

"I get it, I..."

"And you believed that I would like you to deprive me of your smile. Of your laughter. That you hide your sadness from me, which I could erase with kisses. Your anger, which I could appease with poems. Your love, which I carry in my chest. All this to make me happy ?"

So Morpheus did something that Y/N hadn't imagined.

He laughed.

And like he said, his laugh was a little scary. Inhuman. A sound that mortals weren't supposed to hear, that no one was supposed to hear. But he was laughing, and he was smiling, and he came over to kiss her, and Y/N thought she liked that sound a lot.

"My love, your emotions, all your emotions, are my joy. Do not hide them from me."

"Okay. But promise me you'll tell me when it's rainy, and why."

"Very well."

"And I was right, your laugh is very sweet."

"Yeah, I guess love makes you blind and deaf."

"Matthew. Leave us."

"Yes, boss. Glad it's not raining anymore."

Indeed, the sun had returned as he spoke, a bright sun, and even if the weather could never be perfect, like their relationship, Y/N would do everything to make Morpheus as bright as possible.

#The Sandman #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless fanfiction #morpheus #morpheus x reader #morpheus fanfiction

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daddyjackfrost · 2 years

Text

Chapter 1: A Fated Meet

╰┈➤ ❝ [Stay With Me ; Morpheus] ❞

morpheus x fem!reader

warnings: third person pov, 5k+ words, i have not read the comics

read chapter 2 here

stay with me ; masterlist

The air was warm and husk as the full moon illuminated the small village, livelier than it ever was during the day. Peasants swarmed around, singing and drinking. That was the power of the dark, it brought upon such comfort. Hidden, yet not concealed, had been humanity’s favourable way of living.

Death, the maternal eldest sister of her siblings, quite enjoyed small towns. The first act of life and the final act of death felt intimate among villages, and perhaps it was her yearning to understand humanity, but a mourning village was humanity’s greatest display of love.

Walking beside Death, was her younger brother: Dream. Both of the siblings, The Endless, were out in the Waking World for different reasons.

Death, while doing her job, wanted to walk amongst humans with her brother. She wanted him to connect to the living, awake humans that visited his realm. It had been an old conversation that had carried on for thousands of years.

Dream, in all his ancient and sullen glory, had left his realm to appease his sister.

Death smiled at Dream, motioning her head towards the lively tavern to their right. “Let’s go inside, Dream.” Death began walking towards the tavern, her dress following behind her.

Dream held back a sigh. When it came to Death, there was not a single place he would not follow. As much as he disliked leaving his realm, he had yet to decline an offer from Death. For her, Dream would do anything.

Dream’s original impression of the tavern did not do it justice. The inside of the wooden pub was filled with village folk, men and women alike. Loud, overlapping conversations and lit torches welcomed the siblings. In the midst of the chaos, Death and Dream walked slowly through the tavern.

“Must we spend time here, dear sister? I assumed we would visit those who called to you.”

Although the tavern was loud, overwhelmingly so, Dream’s voice wrapped around Death.

“Patience, Dream.” Grabbing two jugs of alcohol, Death handed one to Dream, who looked at her unimpressed. “Look around you. This… this is humanity. This is what they live for.”

Dream scanned the tavern, taking in the scene before him. His eyes trailed their clothes, their hair, and their mannerisms. Dream did not know how his sister could see beyond what mortals were, temporary. Humans were nothing special, not to Dream. They had simply been created to give his siblings and himself a purpose. A job.

“I do not know how one could want to live this life. They are miserable. Why else do they sleep as much as they do? Spend much of their life in my realm?”

Death rolled her eyes, and took a sip of her drink. As she did, Dream placed his drink on an empty table, abandoning it.

“Humans are so much more than you give them credit for, Dream.”

“Doubtful,” Dream said, slightly amused. Death’s relentless pursuit was admirable. “A human could not love this life. This is why they kill and return to you so quickly.”

Death raised an eyebrow, a challenging glint in her eyes. “Is that so?”

Dream nodded, once. He controlled the realm of dreams and nightmares. He was the King of The Dreaming, he knew what humans yearned for, dreamed for, and it was not this. Nightmares for humans consisted of happenings from the Waking World; debt, illness, loss, and fear.

Mortals feared their own creations, as well as his.

Death began walking. “I want to introduce you to someone, Dream. Someone I believe may change your stubborn mind.”

Curious, Dream followed his sister. The Endless were not supposed to mingle with mortals, not unless absolutely necessary. And his sister was not one to break the rules.

Death stopped in her tracks, staring at a table of women. Dream paused next to her, his eyes landing on a woman half standing in her seat, her voice passionately carrying through the tavern.

“I will never die, Karisa. I recommend you do not as well. Look around you,” the woman spread her arms, motioning to the tavern, “there is so much to live for. Why would death take me from a world I was born to love?”

Dream’s eyes darkened. There was something in the woman’s voice that called to him, cut through the noise of the tavern and reached his ears. Intrigued, Dream shifted closer to the woman.

At the slight movement next to her, Death’s lip twitched. She leaned into Dream, speaking quietly.

“This, Dream, is Y/n L/n. A mortal not afraid of death, but afraid of not loving enough.”

Dream stood straighter. “You once asked me if a human could love their life enough to live it forever, and I believe we may have just found our answer.”

Dream hummed in response. With the slight tilt of his head, he considered this human. At first glance, she appeared to look like any other woman that visited his realm. Dream’s eyes travelled the length of the woman. Her hair seemed to shine, her eyes twinkled, and something magical seemed to run in her blood.

It was with distraught as Dream of The Endless realized he found this human to be beautiful.

From the corner of her eyes, Death tried to decipher the look on her brother’s face. Yet, Dream remained stoic and unmoved.

“We all die, Y/n. There is no escaping it.” Karisa, the blonde woman sitting across Y/n, stated.

Y/n shook her head, tucking her escaped hair behind her ear. “No,” she disagreed. “If this life was a gift, Death shall not take it back. Surely it cannot be that hateful.”

Death grinned, and Dream’s soft pink lips twitched.

“Are you hateful, sister?”

Death let out a small laugh. “Not even close,” she whispered back.

“What do you propose, then? How will you live your life to escape death?” Karisa asked, amused.

Death, Dream, and the other women around the table leaned closer, intrigued by Y/n’s answer.

“Simple,” Y/n sat back on her stool. “I will simply live my life, promising to love openly. There is such a wide sea I have yet to explore, land I have yet to see. I know I shall live my life to the fullest. And my love for living will save me.”

Dream let out the softest of sighs. He had never heard a human speak in such a way. The very reason he existed was because when the Waking World left humans wanting and weary, they would enter his realm.

If humans began to love their waking life, would there be a need for The Dreaming?

Dream planned to ask Lucienne about Y/n. What she dreamed of. What scared her. Why did he not recognize her from his realm?

Karisa, seemingly familiar with Y/n’s passion, laughed. “Love is not that strong, my naive dove. It cannot save you.”

Y/n’s eyes seemed to glow brighter, determined. “On the contrary, my dear Karisa, I believe love to be very strong. And I have much to love, much to give my heart to.” With a smile that only a friend could decipher, Y/n said, “you know how much love I have to give.”

Karisa let out a small smile, shaking her head. “Yes, darling. You and your overly large heart.”

Y/n brought her jug to her lips, smiling at her friend.

Death shared a look with Dream. Many, many, eons ago, Death and Dream laid their opinions about humans on the table. Dream, confined to the human unconscious, believed that mortals could never love their lives, hence his very purpose.

Death, closer to humanity than any of her siblings, argued that a human’s capacity to live their life had little to do with eternity, and more with their ability to love.

With a nod, Death straightened and laid her hand upon Dream’s shoulder. “I grant Y/n L/n immortality. For as long as she loves her life and yearns to live, she shall live.” Turning to look at Dream, Death continued. “I, Death of The Endless, grant Dream of The Endless to take her life, if the chance arises.”

Dream tensed under Death’s touch, his lips parting for the slightest of moments at Death’s change of tone. Dream had taken lives before, but Death’s permission seemed intimate, like a ribbon of fate had been tied to his name.

Death released her grip on Dream’s shoulder and smiled at him.

“Learn from Y/n, Dream. Let her guide you to the meaning of humanity. And more importantly,” Death’s voice turned breathy, ancient, “she is yours.”

Dream’s lips twitched down. The air around him grew heavy and darkness crept into the tavern.

“Explain the meaning behind your last sentence, sister.”

Dream’s voice was huskier, taunting. It prickled the nape of Death’s neck. Although Death was older and wiser, she had seemingly forgotten that Death also ruled Nightmares, and his company was not all pleasant.

Stepping away from her brother, Death smiled. “I’m but a messenger of fate, Dream.”

Dream stared at the space Death occupied before she vanished. Flexing his fingers behind his back, Dream slipped into the shadows. He would wait to speak with Y/n, once they were alone.

Positioned at her highest, brightest point, the moon stood proud as the tavern emptied and the village-folk found their way back to straw mattresses and the cold floor.

Y/n, the last of her friends to remain, walked out of the tavern with the energy of a child. Hours within the crowded bar did little to hinder her appearance. Among the dirty, poorly mannered villagers, Y/n appeared to be a dream.

Dark calculating eyes watch the mortal from the shadows. Dream emerges into the moonlight with grace, his black robes dragging against the dirt road. Hand clasped behind his back, he stands tall as Y/n walks away from him.

“Are you the one who speaks of defying death?”

Dream’s voice is low and he speaks his words slowly, drawing her in. Y/n halts, her back instantly straightening. With caution, she turns and a small gasp escapes her.

Standing before her is a tall, lean man with snow-white skin, and long black hair. She recognizes the embroidery on his black robes as those of the wealthy. Shadows hide his features, but Y/n does not miss his sharp jaw or the downward curve of his lips.

Strange, she thinks, everything about him is dark, except his lips.

“Love, was it?” The stranger’s voice vibrates against Y/n’s spine. “Your love for life will be your saving grace?”

Y/n turned completely, coming face-to-face with a being that resembled a man, yet felt anything but.

“Are you mocking me, sir?” Y/n raised an eyebrow at the man. She had not seen him in the tavern, and the man before her was not dismissable.

“Anything but, human. I find your love for living intriguing.” Dream took one step closer, his voice ticking Y/n’s cheek. “You must tell me how far love gets you.”

Dream’s lips curve upwards briefly, and Y/n pinches her hand. “Let us meet every hundred years, Y/n L/n, and you shall tell me if you truly love this life.”

Before Dream can slip back into his realm, Y/n asks him: “How will you find me?”

Dream had forgotten how conscious humans can be. As Dream prepared to respond, he noticed a glint in Y/n’s eyes, one that seemed to already know his answer, but yearned for the words to be spoken aloud.

“I will find you, Y/n. Even if you may not want me to.”

With that, Dream slipped back into the shadows and into his realm, The Dreaming. Before the gateway closed, Dream caught Y/n’s brief smile and turned his head. He had experienced enough of humanity to last him a thousand years.

Waiting in Dream’s throne room, Lucienne, the chief librarian, stood patiently. She had received word from her Lord to find everything they had on a Y/n L/n, and to Lucienne’s frustration, there was very little.

“Lucienne.”

Lucienne bowed as Dream walked by her and sat on the steps of his throne. Raising her head, Lucienne faced her Lord, smiling. “How was your trip in the Waking World, my Lord?”

Dream paid little attention to the librarian.“Interesting,” he answered, shortly.

His eyes landed on Lucienne’s empty hands and Dream frowned. “I asked for records, Lucienne. Where are they?” Dream’s voice remained as soft and emotionless as it always did, but Lucienne did not miss the flex of his fingers.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I checked very thoroughly and there is no record of Y/n L/n in The Dreaming. The only information I could find was that she is an only child, and her parents died when she was a mere babe.”

Dream rose to his feet, his long black coat following him down the steps until he reached Lucienne.

“How is that possible, Lucienne? Every mortal dreams. We have records of every single human.”

The weight of Dream’s words pressed down on the librarian and she winced. “I know, my Lord. However, Y/n simply does not exist within The Dreaming.”

Dream stared at Lucienne’s earnest expression and let out a small hum. It seemed that Death’s chosen human would be more interesting than Dream thought.

Lucienne cleared her throat and Dream’s eyes shifted to her, attentive. “Perhaps, my Lord…” Lucienne chose her words carefully, “Y/n may not be completely human.”

Dream lightly exhaled through his nose, releasing the tension that had gathered between his shoulder blades. He let himself breathe in the scent of The Dreaming, knowing it cleared his mind/

“A God?” Morpheus questioned, mused.

Lucienne shook her head. “Not quite, sir. I checked the Book of Gods, and did not find her in it.”

Dream walked back to the steps, sitting down. His coat spread out around him dramatically and he rested an arm on his knee, rubbing the skin under his chin.

“If not a God…”

“I am not sure, my Lord. But as you said, mortals dream, yet Y/n does not. She is an enigma.”

“Yes, Lucienne.” Dream thought back to the woman with a profound interest in living. “She is.”

“What will you do, my Lord?” Lucienne tried to keep her curiosity to herself, but she wished to know what her Lord would do. Y/n L/n was unknown to The Dreaming, and therefore, a possible threat.

“Nothing,” Dream answered. “I am not to worry myself with her, Lucienne. I will meet her in a hundred years time, and have my questions answered then.”

Holding her tongue, Lucienne nodded and bowed.

“As you wish, sir.”

As Lucienne walked back to her library, Dream ran his thumb over his lips. There was something about Y/n that irked Morpheus. He was unsure whether it had to do with her overwhelming love for life, or because he did not know her.

“Jessamy,” Dream whispered.

As a master calls upon a servant, a black and white raven landed before Morpheus. The raven bowed at her master, waiting for instructions.

“The mortal, Y/n. I need you to keep an eye on her. You must tell me if she has any relationships with any Gods, or…” Dream paused, “my siblings.”

Jessamy, ever the faithful servant, bowed her head and flew off.

Morpheus stood and dusted off his coat. He would not think about Y/n anymore. He was an Endless, he had a job to do. Responsibilities to adhere to.

Transporting out of his palace and into Fiddler’s Green, Dream clasped his hands behind his back and began walking. He would travel through The Dreaming, visiting each resident and balancing dreams and nightmares, imagination and reality.

As a kingdom does for its King, grass parts for Morpheus and trees loom over him, protective of their King.

100 Years Later…

Y/n brushed her fingers through her hair, tucking the loose pieces behind her ear. She smoothed out her dress and sat down, pressing her back against the large tree. Although she brought a book to read, the tied pages lay untouched next to her.

A hundred years had passed since Y/n had met that strange man and made an unspoken deal with him. She thought about the man often. His eyes, voice, and most of all, the presence he carried.

Y/n breathed in the fresh air. Her eyes danced across the field, filled with children and their families. A wave of loss washed over Y/n. The man she had loved had died long ago, and her children had grown old.

“I see you are well, Y/n.”

A raspy, lowly pitched voice invades Y/n’s mind, vibrating against her skull. Blinking, she looked up at the figure standing to the left of her.

Y/n’s eyes took in the being clad in black robes. In the sun, Y/n got her first proper look at Dream. His dark raven hair was shorter than she remembered, his eyes held indifference, and his skin looked bone-white. His face was sculpted to perfection, straight nose, sharp jaw, and soft pink lips.

He was beautiful.

“I am, yes.” Y/n smiled at him. “You really did find me.”

“Had you any doubt?” Morpheus asked, curious.

“No,” Y/n answered. “I hope it was not easy, though.”

“Why? Is this a game?” Morpheus’s head tilted to the right slightly.

“Is it not?”

Straightening his form, Dream motioned toward the park. “Will you accompany me on a walk?”

Y/n did not know this man—being—but his voice, soft and raspy, was not asking a question. It was a hidden command, and Y/n was to obey.

Y/n answered by extending her hand to Morpheus, an invitation to appease her curiosity about him. After living longer than anyone she knew, Y/n cared less about etiquette and more about enjoying and loving her life.

Dream’s eyes narrowed at her outstretched hand but his expression remained stoic. With a gentleman’s grace, Morpheus stepped towards Y/n and slipped his curved hand under hers, his thumb resting on her fingers.

Y/n tightened her hold on Morpheus’s hand as he pulled her up. Their hands, locked and pressed together, resembled a sign Y/n had seen once in a book.

Yin and Yang.

Standing, Y/n and Morpheus stood close, their hands no longer connected. Y/n held her breath as she saw a glimpse of stars in his blue eyes, and Morpheus stood still as he recalled Death’s words: “she is yours.”

Morpheus stepped back, turned, and began walking. Y/n let out a breath before running after him. Standing close to him felt uncomfortable, like he knew the secrets kept hidden deep within.

Walking side by side yet with considerable farness, Y/n and Morpheus walked through the forest clearing. Y/n cleared her throat and Dream looked at her from the corner of his eyes.

“Will you ask me?”

Morpheus looked straight ahead. “How has life been for you, Y/n? Do you still love it?”

Y/n laughed, surprising Morpheus. “Life has been hard. My husband, family, and friends have died. Many from famine and the plague. Do you know how hard it is to explain why you are not aging? I think I may have caused mental anguish to some.”

Dream listened attentively. Her words held painful stories, and yet her tone was light, happy. Before making his presence known, Dream had watched Y/n for a moment. She looked content, uncomfortably so.

“Do you wish to die?”

With furrowed eyebrows and a smile, Y/n looked at Dream like he had asked an absurd question.

“Wish to die? Absolutely not, my goodness. The pain of loss dulls over the years, but I love my life. The feeling of falling in love is so enamouring, I wish to feel it again, and again.”

Dream stopped walking, turning towards the strange woman with the same passive expression.

“You love your life?”

“Yes.”

Morpheus nodded, once. “I see.” His tone remained soft, yet rumbling. “I shall meet you in one hundred years, Y/n.”

Before he could slip away from her, Y/n took a step toward him on instinct. Dark blue eyes glanced at her feet before flickering to her face.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Dream considered her words for a moment, before nodding. “If I may ask you one.”

Y/n shrugged, nodding. “What can I call you?”

Morpheus stared into Y/n’s eyes, looking for any ulterior motives. Names were powerful, and Morpheus had many.

Morpheus parted his lips, and changed his mind.

“You may call me Oneiros.”

Y/n tilted her head, her eyes wide with curiosity as she let his words sink in. “Oneiros”, she repeated slowly.

The sound of his name, old, unused, awakened something in Morpheus. He had chosen to give Y/n that name because it existed before her time.

“What does it mean?”

“You have asked your question.”

Y/n’s face dropped before she laughed. “Yes, I suppose I have. What is your question, Oneiros?”

“Do you dream, Y/n?”

For the first time since Morpheus learned about Y/n, she tensed and her lips twitched downward.

“Pardon me?”

Morpheus took a step closer to Y/n, tilting his head to match eye-levels.

“Do you dream, Y/n?” Morpheus’s voice was soft, but his question—and it was a question—felt taunting.

Y/n considered lying, but when Morpheus’s blue eyes caught hers, she knew that lying would be unorthodox. Such eyes, as ancient as they were, would see through her.

“No,” Y/n answered. Surprising herself, and The Dream Lord. “I do not dream when I sleep.”

Oneiros stepped closer to Y/n, until they breathed the same air.

“Why?”

For the first time since Y/n had met Morpheus, she heard the slightest hint of curiosity.

Stretching her lips into an uneasy smile, Y/n took a step back. Needing to breathe her own air.

“You have asked your question, Oneiros.”

Dream blinked, slowly. His lips twitched upwards.

“Yes. I suppose I have.”

Without a word, he slipped back into the shadows. Hidden from mortal view, Morpheus watched as Y/n stared at her hands before clenching them into fists.

When she turned and began walking, Morpheus slipped into The Dreaming.

200 Years Later…

“Are you on your way to visit the mortal, sir?”

Morpheus nodded at Lucienne. He stood on his palace balcony, taking in the sight of The Dreaming. His affection for his realm was beyond words, and his tenderness towards his creations often rendered him speechless.

“I have been checking the library for any new information on her, but nothing new has appeared.”

Morpheus turned his back to The Dreaming and stood upright as Lucienne spoke.

“Y/n told me she does not dream. She seemed… upset about the fact.”

Lucienne raised an eyebrow. “Did she?”

“Yes. That was all I asked.”

Hiding her frustration, Lucienne smiled. “Right. Well, perhaps you shall find out more today.”

Morpheus slipped into the Waking World. When his eyes opened, Morpheus stood in what he assumed was a library.

Scanning the old, abandoned library, Dream’s eyes landed on Y/n. She sat on her knees, facing an elderly man. The man’s hair was white and his eyes had grown old. Morpheus recognized the man.

Adam Khan.

Using the shadows to get close, Morpheus decided he would remain hidden until Y/n was alone.

“I do not understand,” Y/n said, quietly. “You have many children, why me?”

Adam Khan smiled, and the room brightened. He laid his brown wrinkled hand on top of Y/n’s.

“Because, my dear, you are my child as well. You love these books, this space, more than any of my other children. I will die, but you will not. Let my love for knowledge live through you.”

Dark eyes watched Y/n’s lips tremble. Her emotions were written over her face, empathy had never been painted clearer.

“Thank you, Khan. I will love and protect this library for as long as I live.”

Adam Khan laughed, standing. “I imagine that to be a long time.” He tipped his head and walked away, leaving Y/n alone.

“You can show yourself, Oneiros.”

Morpheus stepped out of the shadows, arms hanging beside him. “How did you know?”

Y/n pushed herself up, standing. She turned to look at him briefly before smoothing out her gown and walking down an aisle. Morpheus followed her, silently.

“The air chilled, and I felt your eyes on me.”

Morpheus hummed. His fingers skimmed the books on either side of him, thinking of Lucienne and her library.

Y/n tried to keep a stable pace as she walked. Dream’s presence behind her had her body on edge, like she needed to outrun a nightmare.

Reaching the end of the aisle, Y/n motioned at the seat facing hers. “Can I get you anything?” After a pause, she tilted her head to the side, eyes calculating. “Do you eat? Human food, I mean.”

Morpheus sat down, smoothing out his coat. “No,” he answered her first question. “And, yes.”

Y/n nodded, realizing that was the second thing she knew about him. “Are you human?” Intrigue coated her voice.

Morpheus took a moment to contemplate his answer. “Would you like to play a game?”

Y/n smiled, leaning forward. “I love games.”

“I will answer two questions, if you answer two of mine.” Morpheus decided to withhold any rules. Why set them if they are not needed.

Y/n kept her calculating eyes on Morpheus. She leaned away from him and crossed her legs.

“What could a being like you want to know about me?”

Morpheus lifted his chin to meet her gaze. “Quite a bit, actually.”

Y/n’s head dipped as she tried to hide her fleeting smile. “Fascinating.” She looked up, meeting Morpheus’s penetrating stare. “What are you?”

Dream’s expression remained impassive. “Have you any guesses?” His voice was honey, soft yet raspy, like a summer storm.

Y/n tilted her head and bit her bottom lip. She had her theories, but Dream’s stare made her feel exposed, hesitant. “You cannot be human. And defining you as a God… feels inadequate.”

Morpheus’s head tipped to the side, his blue eyes studying Y/n in a way a sculptor studies his muse. “I am not a God. I am more. Endless.” His tongue caressing the syllables of the last word as one would a sonnet, or the name of a lover.

“That is not an answer.”

For the very first time since meeting Oneiros, Y/n felt the slightest inkling of fear. Two hundred years ago, Y/n guessed she may have made a deal with the Devil, but she realized that the Devil was a subsidiary among beings like Oneiros, more than a God.

“That is my answer.”

Y/n smiled, uneasily. “Very well. My second question is,” Y/n spared a glance at the wide window, “why does your raven, Jessamy, follow me wherever I go?”

Y/n watched his expression very carefully, looking for any signs of surprise. Morpheus remained still, his eyebrows furrowed and his stare bold, but not withering. Y/n watched hesitancy dance on his lips and awaited his answer.

“To watch you.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped Y/n and she slapped her hand over her mouth. Dream’s eyes narrowed, slightly.

“I know that much, Oneiros. But why?”

Morpheus’s eyes twinkled. “You have asked your questions.”

Y/n looked at him, bewildered. “You barely answered them. You are not a conversationalist, are you?”

Ignoring her words, Morpheus leaned forward in his seat. “Why do you not dream?”

Gone was Y/n’s teasing smile. Her lips fell into a frown and she threaded her fingers together, leaning back into her seat, seeking comfort. “I do not know. My slumber has always been dreamless.”

“That is not possible. You are human. Human’s dream.” Morpheus’s voice was gentle, flowing with thinned curiosity. “Do you lie?”

“Is that your second question?”

Morpheus’s lips curve upwards. He had forgotten what a good conversation felt like. “No.” Dream wanted to ask more about who she is, what she is, but at the last second, he changed his mind. “How has your life been this last century?”

Y/n failed to hide her surprise. She was sure he was going to ask something else, but she accepted the change of conversation.

“With honesty?”

Morpheus nodded, once. “I invite honesty. You shall do well to remember it.”

“The last sixty years have been hard. I was called a witch and taken as a slave for a very ruthless man. I escaped, along with Adam Khan’s children. My time as a captor was filled with hardship. Hunger is a feeling I wish upon no man.”

Morpheus leaned back, his hands folded. “Do you wish for death?”

Y/n laughed, and Morpheus’s eyes remained on her.

“Not in the slightest. I had a few hard years, but that does not mean I do not love my life. I escaped, made friends, learned a great deal about humanity and the power of knowledge.” Y/n turned her head to look at the old, withering building. “I have been given this learning center. I have so much to live for.”

Morpheus looked away from Y/n. Her passion and empathy prickled his skin until he had to look away. A small, hidden part of Morpheus was glad she had not asked for Death. He found her company interesting.

A universe studying the atoms it is made of.

Morpheus stood, tipping his head. “Until next time, Y/n.”

“In a hundred years time, Dream.”

Morpheus’s head lifted and his burning gaze fell on Y/n’s smiling face. “Greek is a very beautiful language, agreed?”

Morpheus closed his eyes and slipped back into The Dreaming, a small smile on his face.

That night, in over two hundred years, Y/n dreamed for the first time.

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

Note

Hello, can I request a Morpheus x reader where she's wearing Morpheus’ coat, and he's absolutely amazed and attracted by that? Thank you ☺️

A/N: thought of writing something like this for Corinthian also? Lemme know if you'd like that!🌺

[MASTERLIST] | [Sandman-inspired playlist]

Breathe in.

A scent of lush, exotic fruits and a slight mustiness of old books. The material is heavy and slightly coarse but the lining feels like satin, delicately brushing against your skin. Something rustles in the pockets. For a second, you consider fishing out those strange treasures but the thought is quickly dismissed - it's impolite to snoop. Besides, whatever Morpheus carries in his coat is something he considers he might need at any given moment, so, perhaps, it was best for you to not play with them.

The garment is a little too big for you, so Morpheus takes a moment to roll up the sleeves. He does so silently, in swift motion as though he had done it countless times - like it was something obvious. His aloofness flusters you and you wonder if he thinks that a certain level of charity is expected of him or if he's simply following his heart's desires without letting reason interrupt this quiet confession of affection. One of his hands lingers around yours, threading your fingers together, and only then does he continue the stroll.

Your lungs are full - you breathe out.

Breathes in.

Morpheus keeps looking at you, indulging in some strange urge he has only just discovered. The coat is slightly big on you (Could he drown in you the way you're drowning in this black material?), virtually hiding your physique as though you are a secret he keeps away from the world. He ponders that thought - can he? Can he actually keep you all to himself, a treasure he never shares with anyone like a well of serenity that never dries?

It's as if he's seeing you for the first time but that doesn't make sense, right? Morpheus has already spent countless hours admiring the miraculous whim of the universe that made you reciprocate his infatuation. Perhaps it wasn't as much seeing you as seeing what the two of you might be one day as though giving you his coat granted Morpheus a glimpse into the future - into days where there is no longer 'him' and 'you' but a third entity, an inextricable union or a tide that mixes the ever-changing seas of what each of you is. His heart flutters at the possibilities and could-bees; seeing you, Morpheus is staring into his future and it is filled with gentle touches, quiet giggles and this overpowering sense of safety.

When you take his coat off, a sad parting that has to happen, will your smell linger on the black material and keep him calm whenever he puts the garment on? Or maybe when he leans in to kiss you, he'll smell pomegranate and antique books on your neck? Will he belong to you or will you belong to him? Truthfully, Morpheus doesn't care - either way, you're bound to each other.

His lungs are full - he breathes out.

Between exhales and inhales, those short seconds when creatures tread the line between death and life, most think about their desire for oxygen, a dull pain in their chest reminds them that they are not yet deceased, but lovers so often get things confused and think about each other instead.

#the sandman fanfic #the sandman imagine #the sandman netflix #the sandman #the sandman fanfiction #morpheus sandman #sandman x reader #sandman x you #sandman fanfiction #sandman imagine #morpheus imagine #morpheus x you #morpheus #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless fanfiction #dream of the endless x you #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless

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auroraborealyss · 2 years

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 | 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞/𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: how the past hundred years have been for the wife, the king of dreams, and the nightmare

⊹ warnings: cursing, description of graphic violence

⊹ word count: 788

⊹ up next: prologue/teaser

a wife is on the run, and has been for the last hundred years.

she stopped briefly in boston, and now she pays the price. she looks on at the scene as two women and one man recreate the painting she stopped for to admire. 𝘫𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴**, was the name of the painting. 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳, **will be the name of the crime when news of it breaks out.

she can’t take her eyes away. even when she whispers at them to stop, they continue. the man still lies there, lifeless eyes boring into the wife’s for help she can no longer give. the woman is still hacking away at the man’s neck, and she won’t stop until the head is completely severed. the third woman is still holding the man down, as if he’s still resisting and not dead.

“i’m sorry,” the wife whispers. her words have no effect on any of them. not anymore. she hears voices start to shout. alarms begin to blare.

she takes a step back, trying not to throw up as she steps right into a puddle of the man’s blood. as she flees, her right foot leaves behind bloody prints on the floor.

this all happened because of her, of course. all because she thought she could rest for two seconds and stop running. she won’t make that mistake again.

she’ll keep running and won’t stop, as that’s what he last asked of her.

the king of dreams is trapped, and has been for the last hundred years.

in a basement in london, trapped in a glass bubble built by an amateur magician that was rodrick burgess, and confined by his pathetic son, alex burgess, who’s only act of freedom from his father had been to follow into his father’s footsteps, the king of dreams is breaking free.

he has more pressing matters to attend to, but his wounded pride, his ego, and his anger at being kept away from his wife, brings him to bestow a gift upon alex burgess so he may feel a fraction of the despair he had been forced to endure. only when he is done, then he returns home.

the black sand is cold and hard underneath him. this is the first touch of comfort he’s felt in a hundred years. lucienne, his ever so faithful librarian, rushes to his side and breathes in relief at the sight of him. he won’t admit it, but seeing there brings relief to him.

but it is _her _name he whispers first. he doesn’t need lucienne’s verbal answer to know. he is the dreaming, and the dreaming is him. he can feel the ghost of her touch over his kingdom, just as he can feel that she is not there. the mere thought that someone has taken her is enough for him to swallow an inch of his pride and accept lucienne’s help in standing. he is too weak now, but he won’t be for long.

he is coming for her, as that’s what he last promised her.

a nightmare is free, and has been for the last hundred years.

he sits in the apartment of his current lover. rain drips down the window, but the view of the new york skyline at night is just as visible as ever. the city is big and crowded, perfect for him.

“he’s free,” he says, slightly disappointed. has a hundred years passed that quickly? “he’s out of his cage.”

he wipes away a drop of blood trailing down from his eyes before standing. in the corner of his apartment, the news is on. tonight’s headline: insane women murders stranger. like all the past victims of this serial killer, they were driven insane, causing them to harm themselves and others. the nightmare smirks at the only mark the killer left behind: a trail of one right footprint in the same shoe size as he sent her last christmas.

“so, i’m afraid i’m gonna have to go,” he tells his lover. he moves to the mirror and buttons up his shirt. he needs to look his best for what was to come. for _him _and her. “and i’m not gonna stop until i’ve reshaped this world to look just like me.”

a flash of lightning outside illuminates his reflection. this nightmare, rather than possessing eyeballs, have mouths in their place instead. the nightmare slips his shades on before brushing his lover’s cheek as he walks past. his lover stares ahead without moving, his eyes missing from his sockets.

he will do whatever it takes to be free, as that’s what they made him to be.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗂𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗋, 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗍 788 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌? 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌??? (𝗂’𝗆 𝖺 𝖼𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖼 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌.)

𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗋𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌. 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗈𝗏 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝖿𝖾'𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌.

𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

#the sandman imagine #morpheus imagine #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless fanfiction #sandman imagine #the sandman x reader #sandman x reader

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megthemewlingquim · 1 year

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wasteland, baby! | prologue: concerning a few important moments in your life

Summary: You are much older than you look. For hundreds of years, you have seached for answers.

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x Reader (but not yet!)

Warnings: death, grieving

A/N: And here it is! The prologue of Wasteland, Baby! I assure you, Dream will show up, but I wanted to establish your place in this world first. I was inspired by the "older" people in the Brief Lives volume, and thought that it would be cool to have you be the same.

I will reitorate that there are MAJOR SPOILERS for The Sandman graphic novel series here. If you have not read "Fables and Reflections", "Brief Lives", "The Kindly Ones", and "The Wake", I would recommend you wait to read this until you have done so.

wasteland, baby! masterlist

1693. Salem, Massachusetts.

You sob into your open palms, crying out noises of unimaginable pain and grief. You feel like you’re drowning… stones are tied to your ankles and dragging you down into the depths.

Your mother lays motionless on the bed. Her hand has just left yours to fall onto the bed, limp and cold. Her breath has gone, a final prayer ending in an “Amen” just fading from her lips.

Sobbing, crying, shaking, you lift the bedsheets and cover your mother’s body. Your hand lifts and you perform a Sign of the Cross. You take a shaky breath. “Saints of God, come to her aid! Come to meet her, Angels of the Lord! Receive her soul and present her to God the Most High.” Your voice is delicate, heavy with grief and hoarse from your sobs.

A week passes before you hear a knock on the door. Your mother’s funeral has come and gone. You are alone in your house - your siblings and your father all went their separate ways a very long time ago. They were too scared to stay with you.

The reason for this fear is precisely the reason why you have received visitors on this dreary Monday afternoon. You open the door and you are greeted with the stoic faces of your fellow Puritans. Some hold crosses and some hold torches and pitchforks.

One man, an elderly and shrunken skeleton, looks fiercely into your eyes. He spits your name out as if it's blasphemy. “We have received reports from the elders of our community. You have not aged a day since your 28th birthday. You were born in the year of our Lord 1641, were you not? It is the year 1693.” The man scans your features, your face that’s devoid of wrinkles, your eyes that are not baggy, your figure that has not even started to be weighed down by time. “Your own mother, God rest her soul, has just gone on to her final resting place, and yet here you are, fifty two years of age, appearing as you were thirty years ago! What trickery is this?”

Even you don’t know the answer to that question. You wished you did.

1794. Paris, France.

The door you face is wooden, dark and polished. A sign above this door hangs on a pole, swinging and creaking in the wind. The sound grates on your ears. Rain plummets down on you, soaking you to the bone. You shiver and reach out a hand, knocking three times on the door.

After a little while, someone opens the door. Dark, straight hair and brown eyes that look almost black. An expression that looks bored, or annoyed; you can’t tell. She looks… tired, too. But you have not visited her at a bad time, it’s only around quarter after seven at night.

“Lady Johanna Constantine?” you ask, hesitantly.

“It is,” she says blankly. “What is it?”

“I’ve not come to ask for any service,” you start, “but instead I ask for advice, for knowledge.”

“Knowledge on what, might I ask? I’d like to know if this would be worth my time.”

You swallow. “Your knowledge on those souls who look younger than their age.”

She raises one eyebrow.

“Much younger,” you whisper.

She furrows her eyebrows, studying you intently. “Get in.”

“I was born in 1641. Salem, Massachusetts.”

“I was going to say, you sound very American.”

“The year does not surprise you?”

“No. I assumed you were talking about yourself when you asked me for advice.”

The room is dimly lit by candles and lanterns. Extremely cold, and stuffed with books and papers and holy symbols. You and Johanna sit at opposite ends of a small wooden table.

“Do you have experience with matters such as these?”

Johanna nods. “I do. Have you heard the tales around these parts? The Devil and the Wandering Jew meet in a tavern every hundred years.”

“I have heard those tales.” And it’s true. You don’t live for a hundred years without hearing any urban legends. “Which is exactly why I came to you. I have heard that you encountered both the Devil and the Wandering Jew in that very same tavern in the year 1789. Is it true?”

She shrugs. “Some people believe so.”

“Do you?”

She looks at you, unblinking. “No. Not anymore.”

You lean forward. “What changed your mind?”

“At first, I believed that at least one of them was the Devil. Only the Devil would show me…” Johanna stops suddenly, looking down at her hands. “Ghosts,” she mutters. “He showed me ghosts. Personal ghosts.”

She is silent for a moment, but then looks back up again. “But, five years later… I saw him again. In my dreams. He’s not… he’s not the Devil. But he’s not an angel, either. He wanted me to perform a task. It was important and personal to him. I almost lost my head with that one.”

“Five years later…” you say to yourself. “That’s… that’s this year, isn’t it?”

Johanna nods again. “A few months ago, I received a message from him. He is Dream of the Endless, King of Dreams and Lord of Nightmares. He had me undergo a task for him and I succeeded.”

“Dream of… what?”

“The Endless. I don’t know what they are, exactly, but they are more powerful than we mortals could ever imagine. They control so much that we do not notice. Dream, for example, is lord over our dreams. He creates them.”

You swallow your confusion. “What did you do for him?”

“I rescued his son,” Johanna says. “He has been sought after for centuries, and I rescued him from his captors. He helped me when I needed it, too.”

It takes you a moment for it to register in your mind. “Did you say, ‘centuries’?” you ask, incredulously.

She grins. “I was needed for this task for two reasons; one, Dream needed a mortal agent; two, he specifically needed a mortal agent who would not have been easily frightened or unbelieving of the supernatural. Yes, his son has been sought after for centuries. Dream himself has been alive for eons. Perhaps for all of existence, I do not know. He does have a friend, Robert Gadling, who is much like you — seemingly immortal. He’s been rumored to have been alive since the 1300s.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No. I’m sorry. I can’t help you with that. I haven’t seen Robert Gadling since that day at the tavern.”

“Can you tell me why I am this way?”

Johanna shakes her head. “Unfortunately, no. I know about demons and ghosts and things of that sort. Your predicament is one I rarely come upon, and even when I do, I do not have an explanation for it.”

You stare at your hands, which are balled up in your lap. “I’ve gone to so many people, so many priests and exorcists and demon-hunters like yourself. No one has been able to tell me why I’ve lived for this long. And now I’m here, with you, and even you cannot answer my question.”

Lady Johanna Constantine sits for a moment, quietly thinking to herself. “Perhaps…” she muses, “I can show you someone that may be able to help. But you must promise me that, in your lifetime, you will not tell anyone about him.” Her voice, though quiet, is grave. She leans forward, her hands on the desk. “No one on this earth must know of his existence. Do you understand?”

“No one on this earth will know,” you repeat just as gravely. “Yes. I understand.”

Johanna unlocks a huge wooden door with a golden key. It is the basement to her home, and she guides you down a few flights of stairs into a room that is once again filled with ancient artifacts and letters and many different books. It is even colder and darker down here. Johanna goes to the furthest corner of the room and lifts a heavy blanket off of something on a table.

You cover your mouth to stifle a scream.

There is a severed head on the counter. The face, though youthful and handsome, is drained of all color. His hair is light brown and surprisingly well kept. There is a gold hoop earring in his left earlobe. His eyes are closed; it almost looks like he’s sleeping. The head has been seemingly ripped, brutally, from the rest of the body, but there is no gore or blood present.

“What — ” you gasp. “Who — who was that?”

“That,” Johanna says, “is Orpheus, son of Dream of the Endless.”

“Orpheus? You mean… the Orpheus of Greek mythology? ”

“I told you. I have experience with the supernatural.” Constantine’s voice is calm. “Do you remember what happened to Orpheus after he failed to bring his wife back from the Underworld?”

“He — ” You blink, trying to go through your racing mind for anything you’d remember. “I don’t think I remember this part. The myth usually ended with that — him looking back.”

Johanna sighs. “Then you were a child when you heard about it. Perhaps your family omitted the last part so you wouldn’t be frightened. Orpheus was torn apart by the Bacchante, the wild druids and spirits of Bacchus, god of wine and insanity. They approached him, wanting him to partake in their ecstatic frenzy, and he refused. They ripped his body to pieces, and threw what was left of him into the Hebrus River.”

You feel sick. Your hands shake.

“His head washed up on the island of Lesbos, and there he stayed.” Johanna walks up to the head. “This was centuries ago. His head has stayed perfectly safe from decomposition.” She takes a moment, and then she speaks to the head. “Orpheus,” she says, “we have a visitor.”

Orpheus’s eyes open.

You scream.

“Hullo,” Orpheus says. His voice is soft and gentle. He says your name with the utmost certainty. “I knew you’d be here.”

“Aren’t you going to say hello?” Johanna says.

“I…” you whisper. “H-hello.”

“I greet you,” Orpheus says, not at all seeming concerned with his current state. He is a living severed head that rests on a table, and yet he talks as if he’s not. There is always a lingering blanket of sadness resting on his words.

“You’re… Orpheus?” you ask hesitantly. “The one who looked back and saw Eurydice?”

Orpheus looks down at the table. “Yes. I’d rather not talk about it.”

Understandable. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter. What brings you here?”

“I am… like you.”

Orpheus looks up again, interested. “You are? Did you make a deal with Teleute? What did she say to you?”

You stare at him, confused.

“No,” Orpheus says. “You did not. What is your ailment, then?”

“I have lived for one hundred and fifty years. I have not made a deal with death. I have done nothing to be this way. I do not know who else can help me understand it. You, and Joanna, are my final resort. Would you know why I am this way?”

“No,” says Orpheus. “You are the first I have seen.”

The disappointment in the air is almost tangible. You and Orpheus do not say much after that. He is lost in his own grief, and you are still and silent.

Johanna busies herself with gathering up various supplies and rations. “I have to transport him,” she says. “I just recently rescued him from the French aristocrats here - that was the task that Dream had charged me with. I’m going to travel and return him to his original place: the island of Naxos, in Greece.”

“May I come with you?” you ask. “I’d hate to invite myself, but… I don’t really have anywhere to go. I like you, and I like Orpheus.”

Johanna looks at Orpheus. A silent conversation is held.

“I suppose,” Johanna says, “but when we get to the island, you must let me and Orpheus go on alone. No one can know of his location. No one except me, and I will take the secret to my grave.”

“Very well,” you say, “thank you.”

The journey to Naxos is long. You and Johanna have to go by horseback and Orpheus has to be kept in a satchel. He does not need to eat or drink, but he does like to come out sometimes to look at the sunrises, but only when there are no people around. You and Johanna wear common dresses and skirts - Johanna does not want to be recognized. The colors of the sky remind you of old paintings, and the countryside is vast and flat and green.

You all start to see rocky cliffs and a long stretch of water on the horizon. The air begins to smell of salt and gets colder.

“Orpheus?” you ask, hesitantly, opening the satchel’s flap. The satchel itself is attached to Johanna’s horse. You are currently walking your horse beside her own, in between the two. “Can I ask you something?”

He looks up at you. He still looks beautiful and young, but his eyes do not show any mirth - if anything, they are polluted with unspoken grief. His speech is muffled from the fabric and the constant motion of the satchel on a moving horse, but you can hear him alright. “Yes,” he says. “You don’t have to ask. What could I do if I didn’t want you to? I can’t run away or cover my ears.” This little bit of humor does not do much, and he laughs, uneasily. “Go on, dear.”

“What is your father like?”

Orpheus’s eyes widen. You swear you can see him stiffen, even in his bodiless state, within the satchel. “My father?” he asks. “I… I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him since…” He trails off. “I haven’t seen him in two thousand years.”

“What?”

“Our last meeting was… it was quite terrible. I had renounced him as my father when he would not help me return my love, Eurydice, from the Underworld. Then, I encountered him once more, when I washed up on the island of Lesbos. He told me this: ‘Your life is your own, Orpheus. Your death, likewise. Always, and forever, your own. Fare well. We shall not meet again.’ I was wrong to renounce him, but even now he will not help me. He will not give me the death I have craved since… Well, since Eurydice died, I suppose. True to his word, he has not sought me out. We have not spoken since then.”

You don’t know what to say. “I’m sorry, Orpheus.”

If you’re being honest with yourself, you wish you or Orpheus or Johanna could crack a joke here or there. It would bring up the depressing mood, ease the tension. But there are no jokes to be told, and there is no happiness to be felt here.

“What is your father? Who is he?”

Orpheus thinks for a moment, trying to piece his words together. “My father is one of the Endless. My mother and I knew him as Oneiros. He has siblings, my aunts and uncles and an uncle-aunt. Potmos, Teleute, Oneiros, Olethros, Epithumia and Aponoia, and Mania. They have other names, maybe ones that you would be familiar with, but this is how I knew them. Oneiros is ruler over the Dreaming, which is where you go when you sleep. He both is, and creates, your dreams. He has power over all that is unconscious. Gods are born and die in his realm. Stay in his good graces, if you can.”

“What’s he like?”

“He… quite honestly, he’s a conundrum. He has responsibilities that are too many to mention. I… I do not know the extent of his work, but I do think it’s a wonder that he even had time for me or my mother at all. But… despite his work, he loves. He loved my mother unconditionally, as he loved me. He was oftentimes stoic and seemingly cold, but when he was not those things, we saw little fragments of warmth in his eyes, tiny moments of humanity within him. It was nice.” You can see Orpheus smiling with remembrance within the bag. It’s bittersweet. “He loved showing us his creations and his treasures. He was gentle. When I was a child, he played with me and told me stories, stories from the unconscious thoughts of dreamers and from his own mind… which are, in some way, the same thing… He would make instruments for me to play. He gave me my lyre.”

“Do you wish you could see him?”

Orpheus doesn’t answer for a while. Then he says, grimly, “I do not know. Perhaps. But he does not forget easily; I am no longer his son. He does not care. He is not the man he once was.”

You sigh. “I’m sorry,” you say again. “I wish things were different.”

“Yes,” says Orpheus. “So do I.”

Soon, you reach the bottom of a high cliffside that stands across a small part of the sea. There is a boat that rests on the shore, as if waiting for you. It is here that Johanna and Orpheus prepare to leave you. Johanna takes Orpheus’s head out of the satchel, carrying it over to you. “I wish you luck in your quest for answers. It was a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you. I did have one more question, Johanna. What's the name of the tavern that the devil and the Wandering Jew meet up in?" you ask with a small smile.

"It is called The White Horse." Johanna answers with her own witty little smile. "Now. You may hold him,” she says. “Say goodbye.” She places Orpheus in your hands. He's heavy, but that is all that bothers you. His skin is cold.

“I am sorry I could not help you,” Orpheus murmurs. His dark hair is tousled by the sea wind. “I also wish you luck, dear. May you find the answers that you seek. Fare thee well.”

“Thank you, Orpheus,” you say with a sad smile. “It was a pleasure. If it's not inappropriate, I hope you and your father will make amends one day.”

He hums — it may have been a scoff. “I do, too.”

And with that, Johanna and Orpheus get into the little boat and disappear. You see a tiny dot emerge on the other side of the small patch of sea and make its way up the cliffside. Then it is gone.

You never see either of them again.

June 7th, 1889. London, England.

It's another rainy day outside. You walk the streets of London, eyeing the signs above the building doors. One of them — The White Horse — catches your eye and you walk towards it. Your chest is tight with anticipation, with longing, at perhaps being able to talk to them: the so-called "devil", Dream of the Endless, and the so-called ‘Wandering Jew’.

Through the rain and wind, you hear shouting in front of you. You can see faint silhouettes — two people, both facing away from you. One of them walks away without turning his back. The one closest to you shouts at the one walking away, and as he does, you feel both immense happiness and immense pain.

"I'll tell you what: I'll be here in a hundred years' time. If you're here then too, it'll be because we're friends! No other reason, then… right?” He sounds angry and sad and bewildered all at once. As you approach, you hear him mutter a soft, but still agitated, “Fuck.”

“Did… did you say a hundred years?” you ask hesitantly as you stop a few feet behind him. He turns and looks at you, hurt and anger still present in his eyes. You see panic there, too. He has nicely cut black hair and is sharply dressed.

“Nah, you must've heard different, love, I'm sorry,” he says quickly. He turns to leave.

“Wait.”

He doesn't answer. He keeps walking.

“Lady Johanna Constantine said you'd be here. You and the devil meet here every hundred years.”

The man stops and turns back to you. “Constantine?” he asks incredulously. “She hasn't been alive since the 1700s. You must be thinking of one of her great grandchildren or something.”

You give him a knowing look. “No, it was absolutely Lady Johanna. She met you here exactly one hundred years ago. She told me that you'd be here. It's June 7th, isn't it?”

He blinks. “Who're you?”

You introduce yourself. “I've been alive for two hundred and forty eight years. You've been alive for five hundred years. I've traveled on foot, on boat and by train to get here, and I hope to find some answers about my… our… existence.”

“You’re joshing me.”

“No.”

“You’ve heard the tales, miss. I’m not the Wandering Jew. Robert Gadling was an ancestor of mine.”

“I never said the name ‘Robert Gadling’.”

You find it remarkably easy to talk to him. Your heart races, excitement coursing through you.

The man sighs. “Miss, I cannot help you,” he says quietly. “I don’t know how this happened. I told my friends that I would never die… all the way back in 1389. And I haven’t died. That’s all. Maybe my friend —” He stops. “That man that I saw. He must have done something. I don’t know what. He would know more than me.”

You look past him and look for the man who was walking away from Robert Gadling, but he is gone, nowhere to be seen.

“Where did he go?” you ask, panicking. Your answers are gone. You should’ve gone straight to the other man: Dream.

“I don’t know, love. I’m sorry.” Hob’s voice rises with anger. “He knows I’m right, about him being lonely. But he can’t stand to admit that he’s wrong. He’s a coward. A lonely, stuck-up, callous coward!”

You sink to your knees, defeated.

November 17th, 1915. Salem, Massachusetts

You hear the rumors.

Sleepy sickness… spreading first from Wych Cross, England… reaching the United States…

It’s a calm and cozy night in Salem when you, warm and tired and alone in your house, eventually fall asleep against your wishes. You’ve been afraid of sleep for the past few months. And sleep takes you then; if you had been conscious of it, it would’ve had to take you by the ankles, kicking and screaming.

You do not wake up again.

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