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thebigsl33p · 2 years

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Treat Me Right, I'm Still A Good Man's Daughter

Long haired Dream looks like Noel Fielding.

A/N: So...my dad let me read The Sandman comics when I was way too young. He had his copy from when they were first released and he gave them to me when I was like...nine. So we've been sitting here, watching this show, and all our nerd dreams are coming true. And when I tell you that the frame by frame, panel by panel, shots make our day, I'm not even kidding.

part two!! part two will be under editing bcs i just re read it and it's horseshit but it's there if you want it.

Before he disappeared, eons ago now, Morpheus, Dream of The Endless, had a friend.

She was beautiful, smart, funny. She completely contrasted Morpheus, and while the Mortals called her Aiode, Song of the Three Muses (Melete, Aiode, and Mneme. Practise, Song, Memory), She much preferred to go by Y/N around friends and people she trusted.

And Morpheus was pleased to be one of those people.

They made a great duo in their time, Dream and Song. They were inseparable and while it looked like Y/N was following around Morpheus, he was just as happy to have her by his side.

Even Death was a little shocked at the pair.

But, as Death was a constant reminder of, all good things have to come to an end.

Eventually...the mortals stopped believing in Gods like Y/N. Whereas Morpheus didn't need to be believed in to exist, Y/N did, and so did her sisters.

And slowly...ever so slowly she began to fade away.

She spent her last moments by Morpheus' side, giggling away on the steps of the Pantheon. They both knew what was coming, they could see her going translucent, her fingers slowly fading, her shoulders hunching and her eyes sinking.

Once their laughter was finished, and she wasn't much left she turned to Dream, "I love you, y'know."

"I love you too." He whispered, hardly audible.

And then...she was gone. And for the first time Morpheus felt grief. True, unashamed, unyielding grief.

He felt as if his neck and heart had been torn out and he'd never know how to replace them.

***

Centuries had passed and there wasn't a day he didn't think about her. The way she would never stop humming or singing, how she swayed to imaginary music constantly or how she would raise her eyebrows at him before falling into his side.

Dreams had come and gone, faced trials and tribulations, let his kingdom fall and re-built it from nothing in the time that she was gone. And still, he thought about Y/N non-stop.

And it was a warm summer evening when Matthew came squawking into his throne room, landing on the top of the chair and began to fidget. He was in the middle of a conversation with Lucienne and sighed before asking what was wrong.

Matthew let out a cry, "There's a woman...she just randomly appeared on the beaches of The Dreaming. She asked to see you, but she wouldn't stop walking so I don't know where she is at the moment."

"What did she look like?" He asked, not feeling all too interested.

"She had E/C eyes...uh...h/c hair which probably isn't much use to you, but she wouldn't stop humming or singing." Matthew began to furrow at his feathers before he was slightly jumped by Morpheus' abrupt standing up.

"I have to go. Matthew, find me that girl. I'm going to check the Beaches." His cloak appeared out of nowhere and he whipped it around his shoulders before he disappeared into grains of sand.

It took him mere seconds before he appeared on the beaches of The Dreaming. His eyes frantically searched for someone, a person from long ago...or traces of her. Footsteps, whispers of song on the wind.

And then eventually, he found her.

She was sitting atop of one of the dunes, her hair blowing in the wind, a smile on her face and her fingers in the sand. He could hear her singing a song from long ago.

A love song.

#the sandman X reader #morpheus X reader #the sandman greek gods #the sandman netflix #Lord morpheus #lord morpheus X reader #Dream of the endless X reader #dream X reader #Dream X you #morpheus #sandman #the sandman

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ginjones · 1 year

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“What did Apollo dream of?” Asks Hob, his voice a questing note which brushes the curve of Dream’s ear. He lies in naked warmth across the corded thew of his back, breathing life into marble. Breathing for them both. They had stayed this way for hours. Swathed together in the casual rituals of Sunday. An indulgent afternoon spent riding the blissful peaks of orgasm. Fragments of time dissolving into the peony blush of an August sunset.

Muscles tense beneath him and for a moment, Hob wants to swallow his words. The question has come too early. He should have waited. Let another century pass in quiet restraint for answers to fall unbidden. Then Dream moves under him with tectonic force, and every muscle rolls to bear his weight with ease. Impassive eyes stare blankly up.

“Music,” Dream states simply and then, after a pause “how the notes of a Lyre might soar and scatter their seed in the wheat fields of Crete. He dreamed the way God’s dream. With intent.”

“Oh.” Hob replies, “…alright.” He is not sure how to take this or for what answer he had hoped.

When Dream had returned to him in the bright glory of a June afternoon, had called him friend and sat in alignment on the seat of a twin chair, he had felt himself exalted. Then came the gifts of a name, several in fact, and the first offering of answers. That he had lain at the base of a glass sphere for 133 years. That he had missed the sound of birds taking flight. That blood will turn a dark sepia if left to stain a cold stone floor. Hob had felt the brush of fingers to his palm then. He had felt each subtle contact point of hands, of wrists, of legs. He had said nothing. Dream, he had told him, is in the process of rebuilding.

Hob gives himself freely to this process. By July the casual touches had transformed into weekly rituals where, in the summer heat of his flat upstairs, they had venerated each other in the arching of bodies, in the twisting of limbs. In warmth. In wetness. In light.

Dream looks up at him now, the light of ancient stars reflecting in his eyes. He smiles faintly. “I have had many lovers, Hob”. And he knows this. He knows. But he wants to know more. He wants to unwind the tangled eons of his being and find the subtle frays of conquest. To trace the heart line of his relations with the gods of another age. To wonder perhaps, what they felt like to this impossible creature who, after making himself a willing body, became the vessel for their dreams.

And his traitorous mind will not stop its reckless imaginings. Of perfect bodies mounting each other with graceful fluidity. Rutting for hours, decadent in the gleam of their own transcendent splendour. He regards his own body then and finds it lacking. And yet, to trace the distant lands of Dream’s past is to know him, fondly, completely. He holds the envious blade to his heart and smiles.

“I want to show you something,” Hob says, “Wait here.”

He rises from the alter of the bed to gather the offerings of books. Stories told by others to share. Hutton’s Queens of the Wild, a battered copy of Lexicon Iconographicum Mythologiae Classiciae he had bought second-hand in Cambridge. Human tales to dying gods who wait, in the tomb of the earth, for idolatrous rebirth. He places them down kindly and wraps himself again in the comfort of the bed.

Seraphic black eyes glance over the pages for the briefest of seconds before one is turned, then another and Hob realises this is how Dream processes information. So that entire books could be read in minutes; knowledge subsumed, taken inwards, and swallowed whole. Each story catalogued and reformed as a star in the nightscape consciousness of the collective unconscious.

“And what about Brigid?” Hob asks again, brushing a finger over the image of a woodcut in Hutton’s book. Dream’s body curves towards him; the pale crescent of a waning moon.

“Protection to those who would adorn her with the pearls of their words. Love given at a price. She was triple natured and dreamt of sacraments in milk and blood.”

He imagines the proud swell of her breasts and the lustrous warmth of her sex. How Dream might have laid her down among the richness of the living earth, her legs parting in mimicry of the unfurling of shivering leaves. How he might have bent to kiss the curve of her fruiting form and then, with the surge of yellow iris and bloodied poppies their consummation would sing in the arrival of spring.

Dream watches him closely with the subtle glimpse of a frown. His features correct themselves back to unspoilt marble. He glances back at the book.

Hours pass, or maybe days, and Dream is feeding him grapes. He watches with fascination at the ripe burst between his teeth. He places one perfect finger to the corner of his mouth and Hob takes him in. They make love again. Dream edging inside gently; a curtesy that belies the sheer strength of him. His shoulders are the roll of Atlantic waters, his corded muscles the terrain of mountains. Every quiet command to sit or bend down or open for me is the distant promise of a rainstorm. A body made for the pleasure of the divine. In the drop after the rising heat of release, he is reformed in bliss and made anew.

“And Saturn?” He asks, once more.

It is midnight now. Time hangs suspended from one day till the next. His throat is the frayed edge of a salt slicked rope. Language has come back to him slowly and with it, the recollection that he wants to learn more. He has been placed under soft, dark sheets and held in the willowy bough of cool arms. His world has shrunk to hold nothing but the senses; the smell of his own body, juniper and vetiver. The glow of orange lamplight casting shadows on the wall. The delicate ache of muscles. The sound of distant voices rises thorough the stone of buildings, the wood of floorboard.

Dream is under the blankets with him too. He opens his eyes; sapphire bright.

“Unwavering devotion despite the hardships of capricious seasons. To be fed the rich loam of toil. Saturnalia was a decedent celebration, but his worshippers did not sleep. They turned away from my realm to follow the ghost of his words.”

“And you’re okay with me not being…Like; you don’t mind if I’m not someone one who could…” Be a god for you, He thinks. Be better than I am. Be good enough to keep you.

Dream graces him with the rarity of a true smile and moves to close the distance. He is pulled to rest his head in the cove of a moonlit scapula. He is held there in silence; Dream placing a hand to the soft warmth of his stomach then tracing the thick trail of chestnut hair that leads down towards his pubis. He nuzzles into the crook of his neck and Hob can feel the subtle sensation of air. Dream is breathing him in. In this sanctuary they have created for themselves he is reminded of several moments. Where Dream, bathed in morning light, has watched him butter bread, or rinse dishes, or change tracks on a playlist to find a favourite song. He has watched him water plants, watched him eat. Has asked, several times in fact, to place a hand to the bob of his throat when he swallows. Sometimes, when he has woken from the swell of sleep, he finds Dream’s attentions on the aura- space around him. His eyes lit from the inside, tracing the phantom movements of some unseen, imperceptible thing. Half asleep still, he has seen Dream move a hand through the gloaming air in a dextrous swirl of intent. Capturing something, examining it, then looking back at him. You dream such wonderful things.

And here, resting together, Dream’s voice brushes the curve of his ear.

“You are more than a god, Hob. You are human.”

@softest-punk

#dreamling fic #dreamling #dream x hob #dream of the endless #hob galding #hobert hob gadling #the sandman fic #the sandman #greek gods #pagan deities #what it means to be human

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dream--interrupted · 1 month

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Morpheus, a.k.a. the Sandman, the God of dreams and the eldest of Hypnos' children. Also the de facto leader of the Oneiroi (dream gods) who are all his younger siblings. He is in charge of prophecy and messages sent through dreams and specializes in creating and mimicking human forms. He is blind (he doesn't have eyes).

#my art #greek mythology #character design #greek myth art #greek gods #morpheus #his siblings like to sing “Mr. Sandman” everytime he appears and he hates it #He prefers “Enter Sandman” by Metallica

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fauxraven · 17 days

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The Time Paradigm [VI]

pairing: Dream of the Endless x fem!reader

summary: the death of a Dream, the anguish of another

warnings: gore, Dream’s endless (but hot af) anger, character death

word count: 2.9k+

Enter the Dream, weary traveller

Chapter VI: Mutually assured salvation

GaiaPrime-57, Londinium, Half the Lifetime of the Universe,

A window snaps shut.

A droplet drops.

A zipper zips shut.

Zips open.

Chipping nail polish cracks further with every slide of the zip. Zip up; zip down. Zip up; zip down.

The suitcase slams on the floorboards. A frustrated groan leaves the chipping nail polish.

‘’Yes. Yes, I understand that too, Mr. Harris.’’ Up and down and up and down again until it jams. The phone gives a groan under cheap nail polish and exhausted fingers. ‘’Pedro, come—hop on my suitcase.’’

The curly head of a child pops around a corner; small, for his age, smallest of his class, in every aspect. He holds a soft toy that’s half bunny half elephant and about 5% extinct species. He hops on the suitcase silently.

‘’No, obviously, I don’t expect you to hop on my suitcase, Mr. Harris.’’ The zipper draws back, jams again. ‘’Pedro? Remember the Chuck E. Cheese ball pit?’’

The child throws himself onto the suitcase. The zipper is still stuck.

‘’Yes, I know. But the lease said—just one really. Yes, the other intends to stay. I don’t know, a few months. Yes, just me. She’ll stay. Yes—yes! Perfect, thank you, so much!’’ The phone drops on a red faux suede beanbag. ‘’Kid, this isn’t working.’’

‘’It was zipping a bit funny when Aunty Anna tried it too.’’

‘’Anna was within a file-mile radius of my suitcase?’’

The half-elephant half-unicorn dips a head of a cotton into a nod. She pulls him up and throws the suitcase open.

‘’You have got to be kidding me!’’

A pink garment falls to the floor. Followed by a white veil and a cable knit stitch the colour of ebony. Footfalls draw closer with every piece she plucks from the intestines of the suitcase.

‘’Pizza’s ordered. What? You said healthy; veg—what the bloody hell are you doing?’’

‘’You tell me. What part of ‘going there for work’ do you not understand?’’

‘’I understood perfectly! Blimey, I even packed you nice professional clothes.’’

‘’Lingerie? That’s what you call professional?’’

‘’Pleasure and business. Precisely in that order,’’ a lacy thong drops, adding to the growing pile forming on the floor. The child has gone away, thankfully. ‘’What if you meet a hot and loaded British bugger? What then? You’ll be glad I packed the essentials, that’s what.’’

‘’It’s a job in a quiet countryside house; the closest village is eight miles. The only guy I’ll see is pushing ninety and I’ll spend my days wheeling him around—passionately.’’

‘’Just loaded then?’’

‘’Business. I’m going there for business. I’m not like you, Jo. Hell, how many did you—okay, who needs this many thongs?’’

‘’That one’s a stray, actually.’’

On cue, the top layer of the unholy pile shifts into a ginger Tabby cat.

‘’Tell me you did not keep that thing.’’ Johanna snags in a beanbag, hissing at the cat when it tries snuggling up against her leg. She plucks a magazine from the coffee table and starts thumbing through gibberish. She isn’t really paying attention to the words; she isn’t paying attention to anything.

‘’I let you keep the kid!’’ The woman fires back, sitting on her haunches.

‘’Kids aren’t strays, love. Besides, this one’s just using ya for food and free snuggles, hope you know that.’’

‘’Since you’re missing the point, I’ll just cut to the chase—where did you find a whole kid? Where are his parents?’’

Johanna spares her a coy look over the magazine. ‘’Don’t you mean when are his parents?’’

‘’No, I really just mean where are his parents, the people who are supposed to care for him and report him missing should you decide to keep him any longer than you already have.’’

Johanna opens her mouth, tongue fit with a quick retort, but a zipper zips shut and a bell tolls; and life goes on. Without her. Always without her. She ought to move on too.

A sharp snap! rescues her from grim thoughts. A luggage handle is drawn and a decision is made.

‘’Looks like I’m all set. Walk me to the door?’’

‘’Promise to visit for Bommy Night?’’

‘’Sure. Why not Christmas or Easter or any other normal holidays?’’

‘’I want you on Bommy Night.’’

A suitcase is wheeled over the threshold of a small London flat. A dream leaves through the door.

‘’Hun, it happened four hundred years ago, think you can let it go, eventually?’’

‘’Bommy Night?’’

‘’Bommy Night.’’ She sighs. ‘’And do clean up while I’m gone. This place is a mess.’’

A door shuts behind an idyllic picture, a semblance of normalcy, a modicum of love.

In all her lives, Johanna Constantine has never particularly enjoyed loneliness. But loneliness far outweighs death, grief, sorrow, work. So she lets it go. She lets love overflow. She lets her only friend forge her own path through the world. A world cleansed of any demons, ghouls or whatnots that come bump into the night.

Still, she hangs onto the knob. Still, she pauses before the door. Still, she glances at the quiet flat.

A piece of paper and a mess of clothes strewn about a dust-covered couch.

All that’s left of her.

There’s a child in there somewhere, but she doesn’t bother finding him. She knows it won’t last. She knows nothing ever lasts.

An orange cat pushes its head against her calf, purring lightly through her bones.

She might take that gig at Saint-Anne’s. She might blow up the Houses of Parliament. She might phone Rachel.

Endless possibilities.

⌛︎ ⌛︎ ⌛︎

GaiaPrime-57, Edge of the Worlds, Mytikas Peak, Two Millennia Before the End,

He isn’t sure she is breathing.

Granted, his kind do not need to breathe, but nearly all living things do.

In the beginning, breathing was surviving.

Breathing was new, invented by some higher power, meant to be the latest trend in a series of many; holy gifts bestowed upon humanity before it even became humanity.

But in humanity breathing has found meaning.

One’s breathing tells a tale of life—of life and of love and of sorrow and of pain.

In times forgotten but not forgiven, he’d relish in the steady breath of sleepers.

He’d watch the ephemeral rise and fall of a passing chest with great fascination, overcome with a strange mixture of relief and indifference when the fleeting moment inevitably ended.

He’d listen to the soft thrumming of a laboured breath fanning across his own lips, bodies tangled, hearts mingled, minds miles apart. He’d pour his heart into everything that he was and everything that he wanted and he’d breathe them all into his arms… and they would always end up drowning. He’d choke the breath right out of them.

His sorrow was great; but his love was suffocating.

To add insult to injury, evolution has made breathing mandatory; essential.

But she has defied every rule, every law, every principle and sacred promise from day one.

So he is almost certain she is not breathing at all.

And he needs her to breathe.

He isn’t sure why—perhaps because she’s got a kind smile and she’s happy and she’s wounded and she’s saved his life.

A debt he can never repay, to his dismay.

He cannot stand between a flying sword and her lovely face. He cannot mend her wounds with a flick of his wrist. He cannot call out her name so sweetly and stir something buried within the depths of a blazing nova.

But he can save her life.

The hopeful thought digs, and soft golden grains of sand guide him to Chiron’s bedchambers.

He finds the Centaur reading. He calls to him, nearly falls to his knees.

Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, Oneiros, the Shaper of Form and everything he has ever been and ever will be—is utterly devastated.

Strangely enough, nothing gives the King away.

Nothing on the hard face, the wild hair nor deep eyes, nothing in the dark billowing robes and the shining ruby; it’s a feeling in the air, a rapture through time itself that tells Chiron something dreadful has happened.

That, and the dying girl in his arms.

For his usual aloofness, Oneiros proves to be very cooperative.

He lowers her to the cushioned table, per Chiron’s orders and stands aside to let him work.

He watches, powerless, as the doctor tears through fabric and blood-marred skin and frowns.

‘’What is it?’’ His voice is cutting, demanding, that of a sovereign hanging onto his crown with one hand. In the other, lie his wants and desires. Duty warring against something barely blossoming. Something deadly. Something very nearly dead.

‘’The stitches hold still.’’

‘’Is that not a good thing?’’

‘‘Terrible. Very terrible, Milord.’’

Gilded scissors cut deeper, digging into raw flesh and crusted meat alike, dragging unintelligible pained murmurs from the victim’s throat.

‘’She’s coming to, my lord.’’

‘’Not quite. Faster.’’

Scissors chop away, blood bursts everywhere, screams rip free, golden liquid bearing the smell of spoilt milk leaks through veins.

‘’By Zeus—’’ The Centaur curses; the Dream Lord hears it—neither moves an inch.

‘’What is that?’’ Oneiros rasps, anger lacing his even tone as he stares deeper into the leaking wound.

‘’Adiona—‘’ Chiron stammers, wide eyes burning a hole into a gaping canyon. ‘’Go, find Adiona, and any servants and willing gods.’’

Oneiros does not move. His star-filled gaze has darkened; the stars are slowly dying as they gawk at the trickling drops of blood and the large puddle of liquid gold pouring from the wound.

‘’Oneiros, go!’’ Chiron calls to him, they share a glance over the woman and then his eyes sweep over her fevered form again. A pale hand he hadn’t noticed falls from a limp grasp. He is gone in a swirl of sand.

What happens in the split second of his absence is a secret kept between the doctor and the universe.

But for clarity’s sake, the scene is as follows; this tale is not for the faint of heart.

Blood pours.

As a doctor, surgeon, centaur, son of a ruthless beast, he has seen blood. Some might say he is used to the sight of it. Blood and pus and bodily fluids, all fascinating in their diversity. After its inevitable loss, the human body can produce nearly one liter per day. That's two gallons full of pungent blood. He fears she might fill up five pitchers of wine with her blood alone.

But the blood doesn't bother him. It is terrifying.

Blood pours, pours.

Vicious droplets gushing from a gaping wound—a Sunday to him.

He'd operated during the Dhorian Invasion and all that followed humanity's first brush with extraterrestrial forces. He'd served as a soldier for a time, a nurse, a brother, a friend, a gravestone. He thought he'd seen all the world had to give and take.

He hadn't.

He probably still hasn't.

Blood pours pours pours.

Red splotches dot his skin—her skin, the difference is hard to tell anymore.

He reacts mechanically, his body switching to auto-pilot. His arm lifts, a hand reaches and nibble fingers dig through shining flesh and golden remnants of bone. He knows what this is, this gilded ambrosia spreading through her veins. He knows what it is and he knows what it does, so he carries on, hands digging through her entrails as her screams overpower the wet squelching of his crass ministrations.

He digs and he digs until the voice that comes from her throat is nothing but a distant echo carried by a Roman breeze, a flutter of a butterfly's wings.

By the time the doors to his antechamber burst open, he's elbow deep into the angry flesh of her.

A flurry of gods and goddesses and servants stand arrayed about him, gawking eyes narrowing at the sight of the carnage.

''Chiron,'' a voice calls to him, and then two, and then three and a thousand and one. They pierce through the silent spell in the room and noise comes back to him at once, a moist, most disturbing noise.

He carries on; acutely aware that somewhere along his ministrations, she had stopped screaming.

''Chiron, there's too much blood.''

''Is this all from the... inside?''

‘’I could not find Adiona.’’

‘’No matter. Hold her hand.’’

Wordlessly, he gives commands. A world of gods and servants obey, gathering tools and knowledge, changing bandages and spoiling cloth after cloth with dried pungent blood. It just never stops, the flow keeps pouring, rushing over all of Mount Olympus. The rivers of blood spread like gossip on Haloa, splitting into narrow paths, designing warped veins on the pristine floors. The irony.

The servants still the traveller. It is useless. The violent writhing has subsided, only slight tremors remain, faint whimpers and an assembly of gods.

Hephaestus beats her chest repeatedly with brawny arms.

A Cherub's small rounded fingers are pressed against her pulse. With every passing second, they press harder still.

Calliope, ninth daughter of the Hecatae, is sponging up blood and gilded pus from a corpse.

A painting that will never make it to a museum.

Oneiros knows she is no longer breathing. Her hand lays slack in his palm.

Chiron perseveres. Delicate fingers pry him off the body carefully.

The stranger-traveller-lover-of-dreams is... dead?

''It's alright, Chiron. You did your best.''

''You were very admirable. As was she; she shall be remembered as such.''

''Really nothing you could do.''

''Try again.''

A death knell drops. A pipe organ is playing somewhere deep within the bowels of the palace. The eerie melody cannot reach them. Nothing can save for sorrow and grief and the Dreamlord's quiet anger.

''My Lord?''

''Try. Again.''

Chiron holds his haunted gaze. The ninth daughter of the Hecatae raises a graceful hand to the side of his face. ''Oneiros—''

''Save her.'' he repeats, rasping voice never changing in tone. ''You owe her that much.''

''Do I?'' The doctor's eyes sweep over her form again. Just a moment ago she'd been laughing, mocking his customs and reminiscing gibberish. Just a moment ago, she'd been carried in by the prince of stories for whom she obviously harbored a strong inclination. ''Do you?''

Just a moment ago, she'd been more than a cold lump of meat on a decorative table.

''I know when to admit defeat, Dreamlord. Please, forgive me.''

''No.''

''Oneiros, he did all he could.''

Cold, starless eyes barely brush against some ninth daughter. Under his stare, she feels smaller than a grain of sand.

''No,'' Chiron says before the Dream Lord can retort. ''No, I did not.''

''Chiron—‘’

His shoulders deflate, turning away from Calliope's comforting touch. ''She came to see me this morning. After the feast.''

''Well, what did she want?'' a rough, gravelly voice asks. The Cherub hops on a corner of the table, bare legs brushing over the tip of her dead sandaled feet. She is a corpse now, everything about her is dead, expect, perhaps, her heart. It shall live endlessly.

''She asked me to check the wound. I had to remove the bandage and cut her up, I'm afraid.''

The temperature drops, the air turns crisp, burning the doctor's lungs when he draws a deep breath and looks into Morpheus' eyes.

''Tell me, is this your doing?''

''I wish,'' he surrenders, summoning all the strength left in him. His hands are covered in blood, his arms reek of death and his scalp is as damp as that of the victim. The blood has gilded vein-like streaks stretching across his arms. ''This—this is something else. Something impossible.''

He orders the blood-covered servants to leave. As they fill out wordlessly, he watches, scrutinizing them one by one. The doors close on blood and fabric and a forbidden glance.

To the remaining world, he whispers one word.

''Δηλητήριο.''

''Poison?'' Calliope echoes, frowning. ''It cannot be. Zeus had all the hemlock shrubs removed after the Phaedra incident.''

''Only this isn't hemlock, Calliope. This is something else. Something new.''

''Could it be lethal to us?''

''Of course not, dimwit! Why would you even think that?''

''Look what it's done to her, Anteros! A powerful beauty, was she? I mean no disrespect my lord.''

Hephaestus considers himself a man of bravery and honor.

He isn't anywhere near as obnoxious as Plutus, or inconsiderate as Aergia, and twice the man Anteros pretends to be. But he must admit that the tendrils of pure darkness sprouting from the Master of Dreams’ shadow make him a tee tiny bit frightened.

They expand, licking across the polished floors, continuing their creeping journey toward the foot of the table, snuffing out all light and life from the closest particles of this plane. The shadows grow, shape, de-shape and reshape in a senseless and endless twirl.

Calliope has always been braver than him.

She turns and in one graceful twirl places herself between the tendrils of darkness and her half-brother. Between the god and the Endless. She stares him down. He stares right back.

The tendrils tremble around the edges.

Chiron pinches the bridge of his nose wearily. A cherub sucks a thumb into his mouth, watching the game with bright amused eyes.

A shadow stills, the air turns sour.

A gasp is breathed, a heart is released.

A stranger-traveller springs from a table, cheered on by a collective shriek. A toddler tumbles from her table. A palm is pressed to her cheek, lovely brown eyes coming into view. Shadows retreat into the darkest parts of an ancient soul.

She breathes. She lives. She cries.

''Please, please, don't send me off on a burning boat.''

A/N: yes I am alive, no, I’m not sorry (a tiny bit still).

Also… finally introducing the premise, how do we feel about that ;)

Gotta sort the rest of my drafts before I update again, but I’m currently working on a Sandman x DBD crossover so updates on this series might take a while. And since the algorithm seems to be against me, I'd recommend a follow to be sure not to miss them!

#morpheus #dream of the endless #the sandman #lord morpheus #morpheus x reader #let me know if I forgot any tags #netflix the sandman #sandman netflix #the sandman x reader #dream x fem!reader #dream x reader #the sandman au #sandman fic #the sandman netflix #the sandman comics #sandman comics #greek mythology #greek gods

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stalkerofthegods · 3 months

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Lord Morpheus/Somnina deep dive info

Herbs • Poppy, Poppy trees, poppy seeds, ivory, Dandelion seed, Chamomile, mugwort, lavender, jasmine, passionflower, basil

Animals• Bats, Nocturnal animals, Cats, Fireflies, Moths, Butterfly, Racoons, Wolves, Crows, Halcyon birds, sheep “counting sheep” (my personal thinking)

Zodiac • None, I couldn't find any evidence, perhaps Sagittarius, Capricorn, Aquarius, or Pisces because they were born in the winter.

Colors • Black, Blue, Gold, Purple, Silver, Red, some folks like associating neon colors and grey. I also think white.

Crystal• Amethyst, Herkimer Diamond, Scolecite, Hematite, Lapis Lazuli, and gemstones associated with dream magick

Symbols• Horns (he passes through a horn gate each night), Portals, gates, feathers, wings, skeleton keys, stars, night, ivory, tea, baths, sweet coffee

wear in their honor • sleep masks, PJs, slippers.

Diety of• of dreams, of sleep

Patron of• from/shape (his name translates to that, and shapeshifts in dreams.), messages to the unconscious, prophecies to the unconscious, influencing people unconsciously, hypnotizing, dreaming about the future, daydreaming, dream jobs, human shapes, hallucinations of humans, meditation, desire, hope, insomnia, opium-based medication, lucid dreaming, imagination, schizophrenia or schizophrenia-like disorders or illnesses, creativity, astral travel, encouragement, communication, divination

Element• Water, air

Offerings• Honey, honey cake, wine, fish and incense, Melatonin, Sleep-related gemstones and crystals, Skulls, Dream Catchers (ethnically obtained), Any type of stress reliever, and sleep indulgent tea, Ivory and/or Horn items, Sleep-related spells,

The imagery of his associated animals, Feathers, demon imagery(?), imagery of his animals, offerings of things like moths, butterflies, skulls, and feathers (ethically sourced), melatonin gummies, skeleton keys, Dream Pillows (herbal satchels filled with lavender to place under your pillow for better sleep)

Devotional• Track your dreams on a calendar, Keep a dream journal, Get enough sleep, Turn off your electronics 1 hour before bed (gets you in deeper sleep faster), Perform a night ritual, Learn about lucid dreaming and practice it, Write a letter to Morpheus before going to bed, Prayers related to Morpheus, Prophetic inducing herbs, Creating a playlist for him with songs that help you sleep, drink mugwort or chamomile tea before bed, set and try to stick to a night routine, write letters or jokes to him, write stories/a book, wear or dress your bed in his associated color, keep crystals for him on your bed or bedside table, have a bath or shower before bed, speak to him before you sleep, go to a sleepover to his honor, washing your bed sheets, cleaning up ur bed, try making your own melatonin, practice divination, try controlling ur dreams

Ephithets• Μορφευς, Morpheus, Shaper of Dreams, Sandman, Mildest of the Gods, Balm of the Soul, Oneiros, Kai’Ckul, Lord L’Zoril, Shaper of Forms, Lord Shaper, Prince of Stories (The Sandman, Neil Gaiman), Dream Giver, Sleep’s Guest, Lord Shaper, Father of Dreams, Lord of the Night, He Who Tells Mortals Stories, Formshaper, Shadowmaker

Equivalents• Niorun (Norse), Angus (Celtic), Caer (Celtic), Bes (Egypt), Tutu (Egypt), Morpheus (Greek), Somnina (Norse).

Signs their reaching out• Sudden floating in dreams, better dreams, sleeping better, seeing him in dreams.

Vows/omans• Perhaps wedding vows.

Number• 1, 6, 7

Morals• Morally lawfully neutral follows the gods' bidding.

Courting• no one, but is seen as Iris's husband in some literature,

Past lovers/crushes• I couldn't find any, I think he is Ace? But that is not anyone's business. He is ‘said’ to date Iris because of always being togetherer

Personality• Morpheus is a very chill and comprehensive God. He’s understanding and he’s happy to help out if he can. He doesn’t ask for much when you worship him, as long as you’re making an effort he’s fine.

Home• Erebus, in the Underworld

Mortal or immortal • Immortal

Fact• Some say they were able to “heal”,

Curses• Insomnia, your dream of the ‘good future’ being wrong, your hopes and dreams crashing down, no dreams (If u like your dreams), feeling anger towards you in dreams and just in general. Your baby wakes up with a nightmare. The back/neck problems you wake up with.

Blessings• Good sleep, having good dreams, and your children going to sleep.

Roots• Ancient Greece, born probably in Tarturas

Friends• Iris, Zeus, Hermes, Hera, messengers in general.

Parentage• Pasithea and Hypnos, some say he came from Hypnos asexually, some say from Nyx asexually, I think Nyx.

Siblings• Oneiroi, Icelus, Phobetor, Phantasus

Pet• None.

Children • None

Appearance in astral or gen• often depicted with wings, he changes into whatever shape is needed at a given moment, decided as a young man in art, and has one ear with wing and one to hear with. He looks like he has short hair.

Festivals • I couldn't find any, I would say hibernation month, and just celebrate being able to sleep when animals are hibernating.

Season • winter

Day • I would say Saturday because I get the most sleep on Saturday, no school, and no worries, I couldn't find a historic one, or just make a day for him, many people do that for minor gods.

Status• Greek Minor god/personification, a part of the Oneiroi, and the leader of the Oneiroi. plays a major role in day-to-day life. He is a Cthonic deity

What angers them • Insulting them,

Music they like• I would think Sleep Music, Sleep Asmr

What they like • sleep.

What they dislike• I would say physical touch since he disappears all the sudden when he is almost being touched, I think he only touches those he ‘is okay with’ as a sign of trust or adornment because I heard a person back then say they use to get tapped by them

Planet• Moon (phase new)

Tarot cards• The Four of Swords and the Tower, message card (based on sleep and messages, each their own.)

Reminds me of• sleep, the good resting kind of sleep

In my opinion • they are pretty rad, and strangely I've been having shit sleep, ain't he just a sweetheart.

Scents/Inscene • Opium, Lavender, Jasmine, Chamomile, Sandalwood, and any other calming scents

Prayers•

Ever-shifting Morpheus, lord of the Oneiroi who bring us our dreams, true or false. Morpheus, swift-soaring courier, twilight messenger of the gods, kind one, dweller in the shadowed land of dreams, dark-winged god who shapes the visions of the night, who tells the tales that must be told, who strips us bare of secrets, who clothes hard truths in subtle raiment, child of the black night, child of the shrouded dark, in the realm of illusion you are king. Morpheus, harbinger of change, concealer of clues, you bury bits of truth among our wishes and fancies; with your aid can we see into the mist of the unknown, with your aid can we find the hidden pieces of the self. Morpheus, I praise and honor you.

With a whisper I call you, o Morpheus, lord of dreams, greatest amongst the Oneiroi. I call to you as Hypnos draws near.

Phantasos, ancient messenger who crafts wonder into form who conjures in our minds a tapestry otherworldly. Greatest molder and master of lights, many-shaped, you cross the night and take on any face or voice any hue or sound you so desire. I ask you, my lord: shield me from pain and fear in my dreams, let no anguish burden my heart as I sleep. This only I request: that within your great creations I may rest and through your hand I may find safe haven. That my words may reach you, o Morpheus whispered though they may be as Hypnos draws near.

Links/websites/sources •https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morpheus

https://www.thecollector.com/morpheus-greek-god/https://www.britannica.com/topic/Morpheus-Greek-mythology https://www.britannica.com/topic/Hypnos https://despena.gr/morpheus-the-ancient-greek-god-of-dreams/https://kreweofmorpheus.clubexpress.com/content.aspx?page_id=22&club_id=174762&module_id=305302 https://www.ancient-origins.net/myths-legends-europe/morpheus-greek-god-dreams-who-delivered-messages-gods-mortal-world-002318#google_vignette How Ancient Egyptians Interpreted Dreams - UnEarthed Penn Dream Angus: The Celtic God of Dreams (The Myths) - Amazon.comAmazon.com Caer Ibormeith - Thoughts on PapyrusThoughts on Papyrus Who is Niorun? - Northern Tradition Paganismhttps://greekpagan.com/tag/morpheus/

HUGE HELP FROM

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aphroditelovesu · 2 years

Note

Hi honey, I hope you don't mind, but can I ask what you're working on right now?

Yes, of course you can. This list that shows in general, without including HOTD (because I already made a list of them, if you want to read, just click here). For now, these are the pending ones:

Yandere Percy Jackson Headcanons (General) (Percy Jackson) (POSTED)

Yandere Elijah Mikaelson with a reader with a sire bond | Imagine (Romantic) (The Originals)

Yandere Nico/Hazel with a Shy!Child of Pluto (Headcanons) (Platonic) (Percy Jackson)

Yandere Apollo with a Child of Ares Headcanons (Romantic) (Percy Jackson)

Yandere Zeus/Poseidon Headcanons (Poly!Romantic) (Greek Mythology) (POSTED)

Yandere Athena vs Aphrodite | Imagine (Romantic) (Greek Mythology)

Yandere Artemis/Athena Headcanons (Poly!Romantic) (Greek Mythology) (POSTED)

Yandere Jake Peralta | Imagine Angst (Brooklyn Nine-Nine) (POSTED)

Yandere Ares w/Pregnant Reader | Imagine (Greek Mythology)

Yandere Apollo w/Forced Marriage | Imagine (Greek Mythology)

Yandere!CEO Taehyung w/Married S/O | Imagine (BTS)

Yandere Icarus Headcanons (General) (Greek Mythology) (POSTED)

Yandere Leo Valdez Headcanons (General) (Percy Jackson)

Yandere Artemis/Apollo Headcanons (Romantic) (Greek Mythology) (POSTED)

Yandere Ladybug/Cat Noir Headcanons (Romantic) (Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug & Cat Noir) (POSTED)

Yandere Percy Jackson w/Another Child of Poseidon Headcanons (Platonic) (Percy Jackson)

Yandere Jennie w/Unwilling Male!Reader | Imagine (BLACKPINK)

Yandere Grover Underwood w/A Careless!Child | Imagine (Percy Jackson)

Yandere Julius Caesar Headcanons (General) (Historical Characters) (POSTED)

Yandere Wednesday Addams Headcanons (General) (Wednesday)

Yandere Tyler Galpin Headcanons (General) (Wednesday)

Yandere Rosé Headcanons (General) (BLACKPINK)

Yandere Xavier Thorpe w/Innocent!Reader Headcanons (General) (Wednesday) (POSTED)

Yandere Greek Heroes (Male) - Profile (Greek Mythology)

Yandere Thanatos Headcanons (General) (Greek Mythology)

Yan!Mom Hera w/Yandere Apollo Headcanons (Romantic) (Greek Mythology)

Yandere Damon Salvatore Headcanons (Romantic + NSFW) (The Vampire Diaries) (POSTED)

Yandere Artemis Headcanons (Romantic) (Greek Mythology)

Yandere Egyptian Gods - Profile (Egyptian Mythology)

Yandere Lucifer Morningstar Headcanons (General) (Lucifer)

Yandere Morpheus/Sandman Headcanons (General) (The Sandman) (POSTED)

Yandere Helen of Troy Headcanons (General) (Greek Mythology)

Yandere Lucifer Morningstar Headcanons (The Sandman)

Yandere Maze Runner Boy's Headcanons (Romantic) (Maze Runner)

Yandere Winchester Family Headcanons (Platonic) (Supernatural)

Yandere Jamie Fraser Headcanons (General) (Outlander) (POSTED)

Yandere House Lannister Headcanons (Platonic) (Game of Thrones) (POSTED)

Yandere Hades/Persephone Headcanons (Poly!Romantic) (Greek Mythology)

Yandere Athena Headcanons (Romantic) (Greek Mythology)

Yandere Hermes Headcanons (General) (Greek Mythology)

~ Lady L

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tomhockstetter7-111 · 6 months

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My Spotify Playlist Series

Song recommendations for addition or removal encouraged

The Archetypes

The Viber

The Dying (Depressed)

The Artist

The Fuck Up (Heartbrak)

The Psycho (Laughing Jack vibes)

The Recluse (Sally Face and Ticci Toby vibes)

The Stalker (Yandere vibes)

The Dreamer

The Mermaid

The Early Bird

The Nightcruisers

The Lovers

The Wolf (Jacob Black, Peter Rumancek, etc.)

The Hypomaniac (Cruella vibes)

Comfort Characters

Hades (Greek Mythology)

Death (Sandman)

Link (Legend of Zelda)

The Twins (Harry Potter) This one is surprisingly tricky

Other

Ballet Class

Contemporary Ballet Barre (Inspired by music my teacher played)

The Endless (Sandman)

Luci’s Playlist (Tom Ellis Lucifer)

Salem’s Mix (shit my brother recommended)

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melancholypancakes · 2 years

Text

Star vs the forces of evil reference

*If y/n was a goddess and lived on mount Olympus*

*Y/n on trial*

*Exhibit B*

Judge: is it true that you abandoned you’re husband Zeus *Y/n looks away in disgust of Zeus* and you’re kingdom to Elope with an endless!

Y/n: *looks at Morpheus and smiles*

Y/n: yes, I did ran off with an endless but could you really blame me? How could I resist such a handsome face 🥰

*Morpheus blushing*

*court writing*

The Sandman fandom:

#y/n #morpheus x reader #morpheus headcanons #lord morpheus #morpheus fluff #morpheus x y/n #goddess #the sandman morpheus x reader #the sandman dream x reader #fandom #comic fandom #the sandman netflix #zeus god #greek myth au #star vs the forces of evil #reference

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liar-or-lawyer · 2 years

Text

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symphonyofsilence · 2 years

Text

I was thinking about the reason why the gods and goddesses of love or in the case of Desire of the Endless...well, the endless of Desire, are always trouble. and cruel.

(like, Aphrodite kind of starts the trojan war by promising Helen to Paris, in some myths, Hathor eventually becomes Sekhmet, and Desire is always...you know, Desire.)

I mean love sometimes is indeed trouble but other than that, they’re the gods (or the endless) of love! you’d expect them to be loving and kind. but they’re cruel.

and that, too, could be because of the nature of love and desire. there is this beautiful line about Desire of the endless that says:

“For love is no part of the dreamworld. Love belongs to Desire, and Desire is always cruel.”

but other than that, I think one possible reason is that. they’re the very personification of love and beauty and desire, they’re desire itself. everyone else desires them. they’re the very end of whatever anyone could want. who could they love and desire?

well, I think, themselves.

so, they’re narcissists. (I mean. Desire literally has a statue of themself as their realm!) and thereby they lack empathy, treat others poorly, exploit others, do whatever they want without consideration for others, etc...

Desire says that their problem with Dream is that “he thinks his realm is superior to ours.” and since narcissists feel insecure inside, maybe they do think that Morpheus’ land is superior to theirs. maybe deep inside they think that dreaming leads to desire while consciously they want to believe that it’s the other way around,

now what would cause the insecurity?

I think the answer can be found in this very beautiful, amazingly written description of Desire of the Endless:

"Let us pause for a moment, as they descend the grey steps toward Destiny's banqueting hall, to consider the Endless.

Desire is of medium height. It is unlikely that any portrait will ever do Desire justice, since to see her (or him) is to love him (or her), -- passionately, painfully, to the exclusion of all else.

[...]

Desire is everything you have ever wanted. Whoever you are. Whatever you are.

Everything."

I think for all the love they receive, they feel a lack of genuine love and they’re very lonely.

if everyone desires them it’s like no one does. everyone who sees them immediately falls in love with them for “what” they are, not for “who” they are. nobody loves them because of their personalities or who they are inside, but because they’re the essence of desire. they’re created to be loved. destined to be desired.

it’s not like normal situations when people don’t know them or like them so they can get the chance to show their personality and who they are to be loved, people already fall in love with them as soon as they lay eyes on them but they don’t know them. and even if some come to eventually love them truly for who they are inside, how can one differentiate? and even if they, as the gods of love can, I don’t think after thousands of years they care enough to spend that much time with someone and analyze their feelings.

so, when you want people to like you, you act on your best behavior. in their case, when it doesn’t matter how they act, people, not just family, and friends but everyone, will still love them, giving the impression that they don’t really care about their personality and who they are as a person, and their love isn’t true but just a cosmic compulsion, the deities act on their worst behavior to prove that point.

I might be wrong.

but it made me think, does that mean that being the personification of love and beauty and desire would always mean that they’re inevitably destined to fall in love with themself? does falling in love with themself always result in not loving anyone else and narcissism? would that always result in them being cruel and causing trouble? am I making any sense at all?

so many questions...

#the sandman #neil gaiman #desire of the endless #sandman desire #desire sandman #sandman meta #meta analysis #greek myhtology #egyptian mythology #ennead #aphrodite #hathor #greek gods #egyptian gods #the sanamdn netflix #my two cents #desire character analysis

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