A Small Act Of Kindness

A Small Act of Kindness

A DARK one-shot

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x you, afab reader

Warnings: dark!Morpheus, obsessive behaviour, dark!Dream won't take 'no' for an answer, disturbing themes like kidnapping, imprisonment, isolation, etc, 18+ only!!

Inspired by this ask for @roguelov See: https://www.tumblr.com/roguelov/721739134130143232/this-isnt-smut-but-dream-has-strong-miette?source=share

Summary: You were at the cusp of making a life for yourself when you bought a loaf of bread for a stranger, who seemed a little bit too taken with such a nice gesture.

When you were a kid, everybody around you seemed to think you got a great life ahead of you. You kept hearing them comment how bright you were, how talented, how lucky your parents were to have such a behaved, wonderful child - and for a time, it got to your head.

Until life proved you weren't really any of those things.

It started creeping in when you went away to college. You had a taste of freedom, of zero expectations, and a glimpse of a world suddenly leagues beyond yourself. It was one class at first, then another, until you started dropping out of every class and left college altogether.

Many therapy sessions, and a couple of therapists later, you found out what it was called: burnout. It just so happened it plagued you a little early in life.

In retrospect, perhaps you could've tried harder - if you had just snoozed your alarm off a little less; if you had just grit your teeth and stomached your way through a few more algebra periods instead of sitting alone in that little corner of the library, reading whatever, hidden from a world you barely knew - perhaps it all would've been different.

Perhaps, you wouldn't be stuck in this small, glass cage floating in a vast chasm, in a place you hadn't thought existed even in your wildest dreams.

It was a day like any other, you supposed: the day you met him. You had to go to work, to a desk job that you actually liked, writing for a local food magazine. You were quite good at it too - it's a skill you had when you were quite young and had not had a chance to cultivate until late. Sure, you were barely making ends meet and had very little time to spare, what with taking a certificate course at a nearby university and recently moving out of your parents' house to rent your own little apartment, but you were feeling optimistic for the first time in a long while. Your boss just let it slip the other day that you were due for a well-deserved promotion soon. It was a slow process, but you were finally on your way to getting your life back together. You had a future you looked forward to.

Having already established your morning routine, you were on your way early to the office and decided to stop for coffee at this corner bakeshop you had once featured in one of your articles. The smell of freshly baked bread distracted you from a mental draft you were making for an article due tonight, so on impulse, you asked the cashier for a plain butter croissant at the counter. You looked to your right where the pastries were to see whether you wanted something else (the danishes looked scrumptious). You opened your mouth to ask the other lady behind the bread counter for a cherry danish, but her attention was already on the man beside you, clad in a thick, woollen black coat, collar upturned, his chiselled jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly at the question the lady posed for him.

"Uh, sir? I asked what you'd like to have?"

He tilted his head imperceptibly and for a moment, you thought he couldn't speak, until he opened those pursed lips, and finally, came out the most velvety, alluring voice you've ever heard: "I'd like some bread, please."

"Well, we've got quite a lot of them," the lady replied slowly as if she was trying her best not to be snarky at the stranger. "Might I recommend the baguette? It's fresh out of the oven."

The man nodded curtly as the lady picked the steaming bread from the basket display using a pair of tongs and placed it inside a brown paper bag.

"That'll be one twenty-five, sir."

The man made no move to shuffle in his pockets for money. In fact, he stayed still, stiff as a board, staring at the lady behind the counter who was getting rather irritated at his dawdling, probably keeping her from attending to the growing line of other customers waiting to get their breakfast. Perhaps, he didn't have money? Perhaps, just like your first few weeks out of your parents' house, he was struggling and he had no one else to depend on?

"I-I'll pay for it."

You didn't know what it really was that compelled you to say it - maybe it was that draft you were itching to get to, maybe you found empathy in his situation, whatever it was - at that time, you had no regrets. Seemingly surprised by the gesture, the man in the black coat, with his dishevelled hair and his pale countenance, stared at you intensely through those long eyelashes of his, and for a few moments, you held his gaze.

His eyes. They were a nice shade of ocean blue. They were the most beautiful pair of eyes you had ever seen.

You would later discover they could bleed to depthless black - ruthless, vindictive, inhuman.

The cashier handed you your change and your croissant, effectively breaking the spell the stranger beside you had on you. The cherry danish all but ignored, you flashed the man a small smile and headed out of the bakeshop, going about your merry way to the office with nothing but that article in mind.

And for the next two weeks, you had already put the rather bizarre incident (man) behind you, having been assigned to another place to visit and write about.

The man, however, never forgot.

The place you had been assigned to, called the New Inn, actually belonged to a professor in your university. You've had quite a lot of fun in his classes, so this was a gig you were pretty excited about.

It was a little over five in the afternoon when you stepped inside Professor Gadling's pub. He was already there in the corner booth, grading several essays. He put them aside as you arrived and asked a waiter to bring you both coffee. You were in the process of bringing out your digital recorder for the interview when you heard a voice so familiar it sent shivers down your spine.

"Hob."

Completely taken by surprise, you dropped the recorder to the floor, and it landed just a few inches from a pair of black boots. You tried to reach for it, but a pale, bony hand picked it up and wordlessly handed it to you. You looked up, only to get lost in a pair of ocean-blue eyes focused entirely on you.

It was the stranger from the bakeshop.

You took the recorder, muttering a flustered 'thank you,' before Professor Gadling greeted him like an old friend. He then introduced you to the stranger, who oddly enough just stared at you the entire time.

"She's interviewing me for the pub. I'll be featured in a magazine, can you believe it?" Professor Gadling said to the stranger who stepped inside the booth, intending to take the empty seat directly across from you. Turning to you, he stated, "This is my friend -"

"You may call me Morpheus." The man interrupted, a ghost of a smile visible on his usually blank features. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

It was unnerving the way he held your gaze without blinking, but perhaps it was just your imagination - after all, you hadn't had anything to eat since that leftover Chinese noodles this morning.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” was all you could come up with.

You were grateful when the waiter arrived with two cups of coffee and a dessert platter, and the interview with the professor went well and without interruptions. You both had so much fun, you ended up having dinner and drinks at the pub, and while it struck you odd that your third, silent companion did not partake in any single morsel of the food, by the time the evening ended at half-past ten, you had enough material for your article and were in great spirits. You thanked him for being such a gracious host and politely bid your farewell, as you were anxious to get a headstart on the draft.

The three of you simultaneously got to your feet - Professor Gadling to walk you outside, and the odd man named Morpheus trailing behind.

"Do come by again, my dear, and good luck with the article. I know you'd do a fantastic job." The professor said as he waved farewell outside the pub. He turned to Morpheus, who stood just a few feet away, watching the interaction, and gestured to him inside - presumably for them to continue their conversation - but as soon as you waved goodbye, he made a beeline for you, stopping just a few inches away and towering over you.

Too close, you thought. Wait, were his eyes twinkling? It must’ve been the streetlamp, the lights outside were pretty dim.

"I would like to accompany you on your walk home."

His words threw you off because they were so unexpected. He had no reason to do so, after all. Shyly, you beamed at him and replied, "I'd appreciate it, Morpheus, but I wouldn't like to impose...weren't you meeting with the professor?"

Professor Gadling, who apparently was in earshot of your conversation, waved you away.

"No, it's fine, dear. Besides, a young lady such as yourself shouldn't be walking alone at night. I'll see you some other time, my friend," he added, winking at Morpheus, who just tilted his chin in reply.

The professor had a point. You lived nearby, that was true, but the streets weren't safe on a Friday night, especially at this hour. You chewed on the insides of your cheek, nervous at the fact that you have not had anyone walk you home in a long while.

It's just a walk home. It couldn't be that bad, could it?

"Okay."

You would come to regret your response.

***

Inwardly, Morpheus rejoiced at the thought of you lowering your guard with him. He motioned with a hand to let you lead the way, not that he needed it - in two weeks after your fateful encounter at the bakeshop he had gotten to know every little detail he needed to know about you, including where you lived, of course. He had seen the little apartment himself when you were out at work, and while it irked him that you had to live in such a humble abode, he knew through your dreams that you had filled the apartment with love and considered it your sanctuary. It wouldn't matter once he took you home to his kingdom as his lover - for you, he'd craft an entire palace carved in precious stones in the blink of an eye, and it would be your sanctuary, just as much as this tiny home.

He did a fine job, too, of luring you into the place his centuries-old friend now owned. It took him only one dream, planted during your boss’s deepest slumber, for you to get sent right where Morpheus wanted you to be. All this planning and you were right there, with him, just as the fates would have it.

He had to ask you tonight. He has waited long enough.

***

You were just a few blocks away from your apartment building when you finally gained the courage to break the awkward silence between you two.

"Thank you for walking me home," you said quietly as you eyed him sideways. Your eyes widened at the sight that greeted you: he had a genuine, warm smile on his face you'd never seen on him before, and if his demeanour is anything to go by, you knew this was a rarity.

He looked like a prince, even with his hair sticking out in all directions.

"It is I who should be thanking you for your kindness to me at that establishment," he spoke with conviction. "I have not forgotten."

Surprised, but overall glad that he remembered, you matched his expression as best you can and replied, "You're welcome."

Nothing was ever exchanged until you reached your apartment door, but he seemed to draw closer to you, your shoulders almost touching.

Your hand was already at the keys to the doorknob when you asked him if he wanted to come in.

"For tea, perhaps?" You added. "I couldn't help but notice you didn’t eat at dinner, so…”

It was a last-minute decision, seeing as he was kind enough to ensure you got home safely. He could do with a few biscuits, too, in your opinion, judging by his pallor and his refusal to eat anything at the pub.

There it was again - that captivating smile, but behind it, you see a flash of something else entirely. It was gone even before you could fully take it in, so you shrugged inwardly. The hallway’s lighting has always been too dark to see a damn thing.

“You need not concern yourself over me, I am much stronger than I look,” he said in a light, teasing tone. “However, your effort would be appreciated.”

“Oh, it’s no problem!” You waved him off and pushed the door open to your home. “I just hope you don’t mind tea without milk, I haven’t done any grocery shopping yet…”

Morpheus followed you inside, closing the door behind him, as you went off to your room to drop your bag on the bed and set up your laptop on your work desk. As soon as you got out of your room, you found him with his back to you, rummaging through the copies of the magazine you wrote for.

“Nothing interesting in those, I’m afraid. Still, not bad for a would-be writer, don’t you think?”

Chuckling to yourself, you made your way to the tiny kitchen to put the electric kettle to boil, then rummaged through the cupboards for a mug you were saving for when you had guests over. Not that you’ve ever had any - so far, he was the first you’ve had since you moved in.

“‘A would-be writer?’”

The proximity of his voice startled you, seeing as you thought he had still been reading back in the living room. It’s admittedly only a few steps away, but you hadn’t heard him approach. He was at the kitchen doorway, casting a long shadow in the dimly lit space. You had forgotten to turn the lights on, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

“You give yourself very little credit for such riveting work,” he said as he closed the distance between you. The kettle had just turned off by itself, so you concentrated on pouring the boiling water on the mug and dropping a Ceylon tea bag inside. Leaning on the tiled counter, you watched the tea leaves bleed into the water, turning it to a lovely amber colour.

“I don’t know about that -”

Your sentence was cut short as you felt his fingertips subtly stroke your elbow, giving you goosebumps all over your arm.

He’d gotten so close…

Scooping up the mug with both hands, you turn around to hand him the mug, only to find yourself inches away from him you almost spill the hot liquid on his woollen coat.

“Your writing has soul. I should know: I have read every word you have ever written.”

Blinking up at him, you saw him dip his head closer to yours as his pale, warm hands enclosed around yours, still holding the tea.

You were trembling, it seemed, but he stilled it.

“Th-thank you," you whispered, unable to avert your gaze from those piercing blue eyes that seemed to pin you to place, as was his tall, imposing form enclosing you between him and the kitchen counter. He was so close you could feel the heat emanating from him. "That means so much to me.”

Or was it the heat from your cheeks you felt?

Seemingly oblivious to your increasingly flustered state, Morpheus made a deliberate move to extricate the cup of tea from your grasp so he could set it back down behind you (it was probably already over-brewed, you thought), while you try to compose yourself and ignore his fingers softly grazing your knuckles. You didn't have much time, however, because the next thing you knew was those same hands cupping your cheeks and his soft lips brushing over yours in a chaste kiss that stole your breath completely.

You felt him release his hold on you, perhaps to observe your reaction. Perhaps, you could’ve pushed him away right there and then; screamed at him for touching you and thrown him out of your home; but you couldn’t summon your limbs to respond. He took your momentary lapse of judgement to crash his lips on yours once more - it was a more heated, more insistent kiss, and as if to seal you to him, his hands travelled to your back to encase you in an embrace and pushed you further into the counter.

This was wrong.

It was all your instincts could tell you. So you heeded them and pushed against the lapel of his coat with all your strength. It was like pushing against a wall, but you managed to wriggle free from his grasp, so you made an effort to put as much distance between you and him as your tiny kitchen would allow. You glanced immediately at his face to gauge his expression, and to your utter shock, his eyes had gone entirely black. One blink, and it was blue once more, maybe even a tad regretful.

It’s the lighting in this damn kitchen, you assured yourself.

“I understand I may have been too forward,” he began, “But I assure you, my intentions are pure. I have waited for this since our fateful meeting.” He took slow steps towards you, and unconsciously you backed away until your back hit the fridge. There was nowhere else to back into. He halted as soon as he sensed your guard up.

“Morpheus, it was just a loaf of bread, really…”

Morpheus’s eyes softened visibly at your words and simply continued, “And by that selfless act, you have saved me in more ways than you could ever understand. I have held you in my heart since, my precious little saviour.”

“I-I'm sure it's nothing...” you stammered.

“Allow me the honour of courting you, and in turn, you shall know of my gratitude, and my love, until the end of my days.”

Your heart sank at his declaration. Somehow, you knew in your heart he meant every word he said. You couldn’t have this, not when everything in your life was just starting to fall into place. You put on the kindest smile you could muster and spoke slowly as you chose the right words, hoping he wouldn’t be too downcast with what you were about to say to him.

“I'm sure you're a wonderful man, Morpheus. I just…I don't think I can make that commitment right now. I mean, I just met you, and all I know about you is that you’re Professor Gadling’s friend.”

“That can be rectified.”

You let out a sigh. This was going to be difficult, but you really didn’t like the idea of egging him on. “I know that, but…I don’t think I have time for that, you know?”

“How so?” he asked in a low voice, tilting his head slightly.

“It's been a struggle just to get to where I am today… I have my work, which I love, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm doing something right and…one wrong move could make me lose my footing. I’m sorry.”

Morpheus seemed unconvinced, taking a few steps forward to close that gap between you. “You need not worry yourself over such trivial matters. I know what you dream of. I can give you the recognition you deserve, the stability you crave and more… Come with me and I can show you.”

He offered an outstretched hand, urging you to take it. But if you were being honest, you just wanted to crawl into bed, the draft be damned. Exhaustion was starting to creep up on you.

“‘Come with you…?’ I'm sorry, please don't take this the wrong way, I'm sure you mean well…but-but-th-this isn't really a good time for this…” you stammered as you crossed your arms to make a point, which you hoped he’d finally take. “I think I'd like to be alone now, please. I-I have that…thing I want to finish, and it's getting late…I’m sorry, Morpheus. I really am.”

Morpheus’s hand lowered steadily, but all the softness he had in his expression was gone without a trace, replaced with cold, hard eyes and furrowed brows. The warmth you have loved your apartment for all but disappeared, replaced with a clammy air that seemed to come from…from him.

“You have no idea what you've just turned away…nor who I am, and what I can do,” came Morpheus’s voice, lowered to an unrecognisable timbre. “I will give you this final chance to amend your answer, my little saviour.”

“E-excuse me?” you said, fighting the urge to run away from him and hide. This was your home, you had no reason to. Who the hell was he to threaten you in your own home? “I'd like you to leave, please, or I'm calling the police…”

He was only a few feet away from you now, and the wind somehow grew stronger, you could feel its rough caress on your skin.

Sand.

The light in your kitchen turned on without a warning, and your eyes widened at the sight of the man you had so carelessly allowed into your home:

A dangerous man - now a being transforming right before you - with chilling black eyes, a heavy flurry of sand circling him, and waves of black smoke emanating from his growing form…

Paralyzed in utter fear, your heart pounding in your ears, all you could do was hold on to the fridge as you watched him approach your cowering form on the floor. Gone was that princely face you shared a gentle kiss with, replaced by a bony, skeletal mask with hollow cheekbones, his mouth contorted in a snarl that revealed razor-sharp fangs.

His voice echoed as he spoke, raspy and deafening:

“I am quite disappointed in you, my precious saviour. No matter: I am not unmerciful.” A pale hand, now with blackened, sharpened nails, made an appearance before you. “Take my hand, my beloved, and I shall forgive your error.”

In your terrified state, all you could muster was an adamant shake of your head.

This can’t be real. It couldn’t be.

“I’m dreaming, I'm-I’m dreaming this, this can’t be real, you’re no-not real…” hunched on the floor, hugging your legs, you muttered to yourself.

“Very well,” he thundered. “You have made your choice. ”

You would later discover just how real dreams could be, and that they weren’t that much different from the nightmares.

***

Morpheus released a small sigh as he watched you in your spherical compartment, deep in troubled slumber. He had not meant to frighten you that much with his nightmarish form. Admittedly, he could’ve done a much better job with reeling himself in, but the pain of your rejection felt to him like a thousand daggers being plunged into his heart. All he wanted was for you to be happy with him. He could’ve given you everything he had seen you dream of - he still could, but not before he heard from your sweet lips an admittance of your guilt, and a vow never to spurn him again.

He held the tiny sphere that contained your form in his palm and drew it closer to his face to get a better look at you. He had fashioned you a dress that brought out the colour of your eyes and soul: you looked ravishing, even in imprisonment. In his mind, he had played the memory of the kiss you had shared with him in your home a thousand times over. You were intoxicating, and the thought of kissing you again and finally marking your skin cemented his decision of keeping you in this space he crafted in his kingdom. You needed time to consider his proposal, that was to be expected. He would allow you the time you needed. All he had to do was assure you of your safety and well-being, seeing as scaring you even further might prolong his wait.

He knew you would wake soon, and he would explain his actions when you do. You would have no reason to refuse him, then.

***

You woke with a start, rubbing the sleep off your eyes, just to sit up and think.

You had lost count of the number of days you had spent in your glass enclosure, and there was nothing much to do except to observe your surroundings - nothing but a vast space, where distant stars glittered in the black tapestry that was space, with a single source of light in sight, like the sun, only that it offered no warmth. That, and to ruminate on the events that led you to this situation.

You remembered when you first came to, locked in this glorified cage. You still thought you were dreaming then, so you did everything you could to try waking yourself up, only none of it worked. That was when he appeared.

Dream of the Endless, he had called himself. The King of Dreams and Ruler of the Nightmare Realm.

He claimed to rule the place he had taken you to, which he called the Dreaming. He had then explained that everything humanity (‘your kind,’ you recalled him saying) had ever dreamed of in its sleep was as real as everything it sees, hears, and feels in its waking hours and that he presided over them since the first living creature dreamed, and will do so until the end of all life.

He had revealed that he had watched over you, your dreams and your waking hours, since your first meeting, and that he had not meant to scare you, only that he wished for you to accept his advances.

That was the first of his many attempts to get you to say ‘yes.’

He would ask in many ways: a long walk in this garden he called the Fiddler’s Green; a sumptuous dinner in one of his many grand halls; an adventurous tryst in one of the humans’ dreams. He had promised that if you agreed to be courted by him and be with him, he would take you out of your enclosure and release you, allow you to roam his kingdom as his lover, forever wanting nothing and lavishing in all the riches and trinkets he could offer.

From then, you knew you would never be allowed back into the life you had worked so hard to build, humble as it may have been.

At first, your response to his attempts of coaxing you into a relationship with him was a string of incoherent curses and screaming. After a while, they were plain ignored - his face would remain blank every time, if not a tad disappointed, or hurt.

You didn’t care.

But you were also lying if you said it hadn’t worn out your resolve. This day was one of them.

You missed food. Not that you were ever hungry - he had removed hunger from you in your imprisonment. He had given you the gift of dreamless sleep as well, but in your time alone with nothing to do except wake and sleep, you’d give almost anything to have dreams again. You had no other company except him and the vast, endless space beyond your cage that he had conjured for you. You being sealed away from everything was driving you closer to insanity every day, and that was his design: to make you desperate enough to submit to his will.

Without warning, your hair stood at the back of your neck, your senses on high alert.

Dream of the Endless had arrived.

“My precious little saviour,” he greeted in that deep, velvety voice you had grown to hate and find comfort in at the same time. “I have come for you.”

Your captor had a warm smile on his regal features, one that didn’t match his true intentions. You stared at him with a blank expression and let his greeting go unanswered.

“Will you join me for a walk in my garden?”

He kept his eye contact with you as he waited for your response. It unnerved you to no end, the way he held your gaze with those ocean-blue eyes of his, knowing a single ‘no’ from you would instantly turn it to the black ones you have known to fear. When you opened your mouth to speak, it actually hurt your throat - you hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“Will you be locking me up again, after?”

He grinned at you and tilted his head slightly. “If you behave and do as I say, I will not.”

Only a single tear that escaped from your eye betrayed that gnawing feeling of defeat in your gut. Finally swallowing whatever pride you had left, you made a decision.

“Yes.”

You should never have bought him that damned loaf of bread.

***

Just a little one-shot I wanted to write to get myself out of a writing rut I've been stuck with wanting Comatose to be perfect it stressed me out too much :// I will still work on it, I promise! I just need to get this out the way to get my writing mojo back :D

Also, what do you think of making this a two-shot with SMUTTY goodness?? hmmm the thots, they plague meeeee

Thank you for reading!!!! Please engage and all that it's really appreciate iiiit

***

Tags

the sandman dark!dream x reader absolute yes yes yes to the part 2

"I hate you" as...

A guilty confession. I don't want to, I didn't mean to, but now I do.

An angry shout. Fists clenched, fury bubbling up inside until it finally bursts out.

A surrender. Exhausted, inflectionless. This is what you wanted, and you finally got it.

A joke; I'm giggling and so are you, and the words are so soft no one takes them seriously.

A warning; I'd never say that to you, and you know it, and now you know that something is very, very wrong.

A way of snarking back and forth with you. You've done something annoying, and I say I hate you, but we both know I don't mean it.

Defiance; you've won and we both know it, and I cannot stop you, but I will look you straight in the eyes, even to the end.

Tags

creative writing writing prompts

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xlili-lyraterx

9 months ago

If you see this on your dashboard, reblog this, NO MATTER WHAT and all your dreams and wishes will come true.

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xlili-lyraterx

9 months ago

𓅨 Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: Chapter Seven

Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: You've got narcolepsy and have been visiting the Dreaming daily for years. Then its Lord and King finally return and he doesn't know quite what to think of you.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Narcoleptic!Reader, for you dear @aralezinspace.

Word Count: ~2.9k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

As you stand at the edge of the lake, Morpheus' words echo in your mind. The peacefulness of the scene is interrupted by a gentle tug at your consciousness. The next moment, you find yourself back in the palace, surrounded by bustling staff.

They flutter around you, their excitement palpable. You catch snippets of their conversation as they work, their voices light and musical. A celebration. Dressing up. Well if they were so excited you’d go along with them!

"The celebration day in the market! It's always such a grand event."

"And we finally have someone to prepare for it!"

You can’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. One of them—a young woman with bright eyes and quick hands—gently guides you to a chair. She gestures for you to sit, her face alight with joy.

"We have something special for you," she says, her tone full of anticipation.

Another staff member brings out a dress unlike any you've ever seen. It's woven from stars and galaxies, the fabric shimmering and shifting as if alive. You reach out to touch it, feeling the cool, silky texture under your fingers.

"It's beautiful," you whisper, awe-struck.

The young woman beams at you. "It was crafted especially for this occasion. We thought it fitting for someone so unique."

They help you into the dress with practiced ease, each movement precise and gentle. As they fasten the last clasp, you catch a glimpse of yourself in a nearby mirror. The dress hugs your form perfectly, the celestial patterns swirling around you in an enchanting dance.

"How do I look?" you ask, turning to face them.

The staff step back to admire their work, their faces lighting up with pride.

"Like a dream," one of them says softly.

Another staff member approaches with a delicate tiara adorned with tiny stars that twinkle softly. You wanted to tell them that it was a little overboard, but they were so excited to tend to you, you didn't have the heart to say no. They place it gently on your head, adjusting it until it's just right.

"There," they say, stepping back once more. "Now you're ready."

The palace staff usher you outside, their excitement bubbling over. The bridge connecting the palace to the town is lined with lanterns that glow like captured fireflies, casting a warm, inviting light. You hurry across, eager to experience your first festival in the Dreaming. As you step into the market square, the air buzzes with life. Stalls stretch as far as you can see, each more fantastical than the last.

To your left, a vendor sells bottles filled with dreams. The glass containers shimmer with colors that shift and swirl, reflecting scenes of soaring through clouds or swimming with bioluminescent creatures in deep oceans. You watch as a child selects a bottle, her eyes wide with wonder. She uncorks it and is instantly enveloped in a soft, radiant glow.

"Best dreams in the land," the vendor boasts, his grin as wide as the sky.

Next to him, another stall offers nightmares. Unlike the dreams, these bottles are dark and opaque, their contents hidden from view. A hooded figure examines one carefully before nodding and exchanging coins for it.

"Why would anyone want a nightmare?" you wonder aloud.

The vendor catches your eye and smiles knowingly. "Not all nightmares are bad. Some teach us valuable lessons."

You continue down the row, drawn by the rich scent of exotic spices from a nearby stall. The vendor there waves you over enthusiastically.

"Try this," he urges, handing you a small pouch filled with vibrant red powder. "It's made from the dreams of ancient warriors."

You take a pinch and sprinkle it on your tongue. A rush of heat floods your senses, followed by visions of epic battles and heroic feats. Your heart races with adrenaline and you hand itches to snatch a blade from your waist and toy with it. A blade which you do not have.

"Impressive," you manage to say, breathless, looking down to double check that you indeed, do not have a sword or dagger hanging from the skirt of your dress.

Further along, a group of musicians plays instruments crafted from moonbeams and stardust. Their melodies weave through the air, enchanting everyone who hears them. You pause to listen, feeling the music resonate deep within your soul.

A little further down the path, an artist paints canvases with scenes from people’s dreams. Each brushstroke seems to bring the image to life—trees that sway in an unseen breeze, rivers that shimmer like liquid silver. You watch in awe as she transforms a blank canvas into a vivid dreamscape.

"Would you like me to paint yours?" she asks without looking up from her work.

You consider it for a moment before shaking your head gently. You didn't quite feel like yourself and didn't want a portrait to reflect that. "Not today."

She nods in understanding and continues painting.

As you wander through the market, you realize that every vendor offers not just goods but experiences—each one unique and deeply personal. You are so glad you decided to come. To think you might have missed this! The air hums with magic and possibility, making it clear why this celebration is so beloved by all who attend.

As you stroll through the bustling market, you catch a whiff of something sweet and buttery. Your stomach rumbles in response, reminding you that you haven't eaten since arriving in the Dreaming. Following the tantalizing aroma, you find a stall adorned with golden pastries. Each one sparkles as if dusted with tiny flecks of sunlight.

"Care to try one?" a gravelly voice asks.

You turn to see Mervyn standing behind the counter. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, a rare sight for someone usually so stern.

"Don't mind if I do," you reply, reaching for a pastry.

Mervyn chuckles and hands it to you with a flourish. "Golden flour, harvested from the fields of dawn. Best you'll ever taste."

You take a bite and your taste buds sing in delight. The pastry is warm and flaky, with a hint of honey that lingers on your tongue. Mervyn watches you with amusement as you savor each bite.

"Good, huh?" he asks, leaning against the counter.

"Better than good," you say between mouthfuls. Did golden flour actually have gold in it? The glimmering flecks were suspicious enough but the treat tasted so good! "Heavenly."

He grabs another pastry and breaks it in half, offering you one piece. You accept it gratefully, and proceed to gobble it down. As you finish the last crumb, something catches your eye. Across the square, half-hidden in shadow, stands Morpheus. His dark jacket billows slightly in the breeze, and his piercing eyes scan the crowd with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

Mervyn follows your gaze and grunts. "Always watching, never joining."

You nod absently, unable to tear your eyes away from Morpheus. He moves with an almost ethereal grace, slipping through the throng without drawing attention. For a moment, his gaze locks onto yours, and a shiver runs down your spine.

"He's got his reasons," Mervyn continues, pulling your attention back to him. "Always does." But is that not lonely?

You decide to go over to Morpheus and say hello so he isn't alone. Leaving the warmth of Mervyn's side, you weave through the crowd, each step bringing you closer to the Dream Lord that has occupied your thoughts since you have met him.

As you approach, Morpheus turns his head slightly, acknowledging your presence with a subtle nod. His eyes, dark as the night sky, hold a depth that makes you feel both seen and understood in ways words could never capture.

"Enjoying the festival?" he asks, his voice smooth and velvety, resonating with an otherworldly quality. His eyes drink in your figure, lingering on the dress you wear for the evening—a flowing, ethereal gown that seems to shimmer with the light of a thousand stars. His stars look so beautiful wrapped around your body.

You smile, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through you under his gaze. "I am. It’s beautiful, Morpheus. You’ve truly outdone yourself."

He steps closer, the space between you shrinking, his presence both magnetic and overwhelming. "Not as beautiful as you," he replies softly, his eyes tracing the lines of your dress. "The gown suits you exquisitely."

A rush of heat rises to your cheeks, the compliment making your heart flutter. "Thank you," you say, your voice a bit breathless. "It’s an honor to be here, to see the Dreaming like this. And this dress, I've never worn anything like it before, it's incredible," you reply, feeling a flutter in your chest. "But I noticed you standing here alone. Thought I'd keep you company."

A small smile tugs at the corner of the corner of his lips. "Your presence is appreciated."

You feel a flutter in your chest as his gaze lingers on yours, the intensity of his eyes making you feel like you're the only person in the crowded market square. His smile, though subtle, holds a hint of warmth that draws you in.

"Tell me more about this festival," you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. "What's its significance in the Dreaming?"

Morpheus' eyes light up, and he leans in, his voice taking on a narrative quality. "The Festival of Dreams is a celebration of the Dreaming's power. It's a time when the veil between reality and the Dreaming is at its thinnest, allowing us to tap into the deepest desires of those who sleep."

As he speaks, his words paint vivid pictures in your mind. You can almost see the threads of the Dreaming weaving together, connecting the sleepers to the world of the awake. A shame they won't remember when they will wake.

"The festival has been celebrated for eons," Morpheus continues, his voice weaving a spell around you. "When my realm is at it's most powerful and dynamic."

You are captivated as Morpheus shares stories of the festivals that came before, at least when he was present. His fervor for his realm is contagious, and you feel yourself caught up in his excitement. A ruler that truly cared about his people, his realm.

As the night wears on, Morpheus glances up at the sky, his eyes locking onto something beyond the lanterns. "Come," he says, his voice low and husky. "I want to show you something."

He offer's you his hand, and that makes your stomach flutter. It wasn't like you were anything special, just a narcoleptic dream walker.

Morpheus leads you away from the bustling festival, weaving through the crowd with a graceful confidence that only an Endless could possess. You follow closely, your heart racing with excitement and anticipation as you venture further into the realm.

The further you travel from the market square, the more the noise of the festival fades away, replaced by a silence that feels almost reverent. The only sound is the soft swish of your dress and Morpheus's footsteps as he guides you to an open field, where the stars above are reflected in the dewdrops on the grass. You are more than surprised that your heels have yet to cause you pain or discomfort.

"This way," he whispers, gesturing up at the sky.

Your eyes follow, and you gasp in awe as you take in the breathtaking sight before you. The sky above is ablaze with cosmic forces, nebulae and planets breaking apart and reforming in a dance as old as time itself. Well, almost, Father Time predated the cosmos, only just. The colors are unlike anything you've ever seen, shades of indigo and violet mingling with the warm hues of red and gold, casting an ethereal glow over the field.

Morpheus steps closer, his presence both magnetic and overwhelming. A true dichotomy. “This is the true power of the my realm," he murmurs, his voice barely audible above the rustling of the leaves in the wind. "The forces that shape our world, and the worlds of those who sleep. Ever changing and remolding itself to the whims of humanity, much like sand.

You find yourself lost in the beauty of the cosmos, your heart pounding in your chest as you take it all in. Morpheus stands beside you, his gaze fixed on the sky. You can feel his warmth against your side, and the air between you seems to crackle with tension.

"You have a unique perspective," he says softly, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "Most never get to see this world as it truly is."

His words hang heavy in the air, and you can't help but wonder what he means by "unique perspective." Is it because of your ability to walk between dreams? Or that you are mortal? Or is there something else?

Morpheus turns to face you, his eyes locking onto yours. "I am eternally grateful for what you did," he says, his voice low and husky. "When I could not help my people, you stepped in and saved them."

Your heart races at his words, and you feel a flush creeping up your neck. You had only been trying to help them; you never expected him to be so grateful. But there's something else in his eyes—something that makes your stomach flutter and your pulse quicken. Is it admiration? Or something more?

"Thank you," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to help."

Morpheus takes a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "There's more to it than that," he says softly. "You have a connection to this realm—a connection that goes beyond mere dreams."

Your heart skips a beat as he speaks, and you can't help but wonder what he means by that. Do you truly belong here—in the Dreaming—more than in the waking world? And if so, what does that mean for your future?

Morpheus reaches out and gently cups your cheek in his hand, his thumb tracing the line of your jawline. You feel a jolt of electricity pass between you as his fingers brush against your skin, and for a moment, everything else fades away except for the two of you standing beneath the stars above.

"You are special," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. "And I want to show you just how special you are."

His words makes your stomach flip as he leans closer—so close that your lips are almost touching—and for a moment, everything else fades away except for the two of you beneath the cosmic dance above. Soft stardust shimmering down like a drizzle of rain. But before your lips can meet, Morpheus pulls back suddenly, leaving you breathless and confused. What the hell just happened? Had you really been about to kiss an Endless??

You wake up in bed for once.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you sit up, gasping for breath. The room around you is dimly lit, the only light coming from the soft glow of the moon through your window. Your fingers tremble as you reach up to touch your cheek, half-expecting to feel Morpheus' lingering touch.

But you're alone, in your bed, back in the waking world.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. The dream felt so real, so vivid. You can still feel the electric charge of Morpheus' presence, the warmth of his hand on your cheek. The memory sends a shiver down your spine.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand up, needing to shake off the remnants of the dream. Your room feels strangely empty, as if a piece of it is missing now that you're awake. You walk to the window and look out at the quiet street below, your mind still buzzing with the images of the festival and the cosmic dance in the sky.

As you gaze out at the night, you hear a soft rustling behind you. You turn quickly, half-expecting to see Morpheus standing there. But there's no one. Just your room, filled with shadows and moonlight.

You let out a sigh and run a hand through your hair. "Get a grip," you mutter to yourself. "you're narcoleptic not a hopeless romantic, it was just a dream."

Okay maybe you are a hopeless romantic….

But deep down, you know it was more than that. You've always had a connection to the Dreaming—a connection that feels stronger now than ever before. And Morpheus' words linger in your mind: "You are special."

You close your eyes and take another deep breath, trying to center yourself. When you open them again, you notice something on your nightstand—a small vial filled with shimmering dust. You pick it up carefully, turning it over in your hand.

"Stardust," you whisper, recognizing it from the festival.

How did it get here? Did Morpheus leave it for you? Or is this another trick of the Dreaming?

Your fingers tighten around the vial as a sense of determination fills you. If there's one thing you've learned from your journeys through dreams, it's that nothing happens by chance. Everything has meaning. Always.

You place the vial back on your nightstand and climb back into bed, pulling the covers up around you. As you close your eyes, you make a silent promise to yourself: you'll chase after whatever this is, regardless of your narcolepsy. Sleep comes quickly this time, pulling you back into its embrace like an old friend. And it is. The stars above twinkle softly as if whispering secrets just for you.

Date Published: 8/21/24

Last Edit: 8/21/24

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xlili-lyraterx

9 months ago

What Is Showing vs. Telling Anyway?

When I decided to get serious about writing, I wrote short stories that meant something to me. Then I let people read them, but not just anyone. I picked people who knew a thing or two about craft. English teachers, the adults in my life who recommended books to me, and a lady who became a beloved writing tutor.

Those people challenged things like my sentence structure and word choices, but my writing tutor told me to show my stories, not to tell them.

I bristled. I was already showing them! That’s creative writing! If I wanted to tell my stories, I’d just say them out loud.

She clarified—in words that flew right over my head. My brain fuzzed out and I couldn’t grasp what she was saying, but I was embarrassed, so I nodded like I understood. It took me a while longer to get the hang of things by writing more (some terrible, some good) stories where I played around with my descriptions, narration, word choices, and themes.

Finally, years later, I understood.

Showing is describing the sensory details of your story. It’s diving into the emotional depth of your characters. It’s making the reader feel like they’re watching a movie while they’re reading your work.

Telling is more like narration. There’s no flowery language or sensory descriptions. It’s straightforward, clean, and nearly professional in nature.

Why Is “Telling” Normally a Bad Thing?

Clean-cut narration isn’t always terrible. Sometimes it works well for stories told by a narrator with dry humor or books about an intensely serious subject.

Most of the time though, “telling” keeps readers at arms-length. Picture yourself reading a history book. Each page gives you the facts. It might also describe a historical figure or the gory details of a war, but making those people or moments come to life in your mind isn’t the point of the text. It’s to convey information.

That’s what makes stories that rely on “telling” so different from stories that “show” everything.

Examples of Telling

If you’re like me, you’re probably thinking that it would be easier to picture the difference between these two concepts if there were examples. Lucky for you, I’ve already thought of that.

Example 1: I’m happy to see my best friend at school.

The narrator conveys their emotion, but not what that emotion makes them feel. There’s nothing to paint a picture of the school or even the friend.

Example 2: Henry didn’t like his dinner.

Cool, the character didn’t enjoy their food. Why? What was the taste or texture like? What did he experience that made him recognize the feeling of not enjoying the meal?

Example 3: Sofia made her bed in a hurry.

Why she was in a hurry might come in the next sentence or paragraph, but what did she feel while making that bed? What was her thought process? What’s her room like?

Examples of Showing

Let’s turn those same examples into sentences that “show.”

Example 1: I walk through the clustered school hallways with the rest of the student body, smelling their pre-exam nervous sweat and too much men’s body spray. This school would be miserable, except for my best friend. When I spot her by my dented locker, the smile on her face makes the cold bus ride to school worth it.

This is obviously more than a sentence, but notice how you get a better experience from it. The school hallways are crowded and smell bad. The protagonist doesn’t enjoy where they attend class. However, their best friend is a source of happiness. She waits by a dented metal locker, possibly with some good news, encouragement or an exciting update to something happening in the protagonist’s life. It makes you want to know what she’s going to say, especially because you can relate to what the main character is feeling.

Example 2: Henry’s nose scrunched up at the taste of his dinner. The chicken was in a desperate need for salt. This never would have happened if he had been allowed to make it.

We’ve all had a similar reaction to eating bad food. Your nose scrunches up, your mouth tightens, your tongue freezes. This example shows that in a way that you can feel yourself going through the same physical motions. It also explains why the food is bad using one of the five senses—it’s not salted enough.

Example 3: Sofia pulled her purple comforter tight against her headboard and threw her pillow at it as she ran out the door, late for the bus again.

More scenery details—the bed has a headboard and the comforter is purple. The protagonist is in a rush so her pillow is likely lopsided on the bed, which means the rest of her room is probably a bit messy too. The visual details make this a vivid scene and introduce the reader to a few of Sofia’s relatable character attributes.

How to Spot the Difference

I began to tell the difference by imagining myself reading a single sentence out loud. If I read any of the examples above before the “showing” edits, you’d have questions for me. See if a sentence, paragraph, or page makes you ask yourself:

What emotions does the protagonist feel right now?

How does the main character look through their body language?

What can the protagonist smell, taste, or feel?

What does the environment look like and is it necessary to describe it at this moment?

Does this scene need dialogue?

Do the characters feel flat?

Where’s the story’s hook?

The last question is tricky. The hook will be at the start of a short story or shortly within it, much like how a hook is within or at the end of the first chapter in a novel. If your writing doesn’t compel you to keep reading, it’s likely lacking the emotional depth that showing provides.

When Showing Goes Overboard

It’s always possible to have too much showing. It leads to the discussion English teachers always have about how Victor Hugo wrote for numerous pages about a single room in a chapter.

You could also fall into the trap of inserting flowery language into your work that you wouldn’t normally use, all for the sake of “painting a picture.” Your writing is your voice! It’s unique to you—how you speak, how you think, how you express yourself through stories. Write what comes naturally to you while keeping scenery, emotional depth, and sensory details in mind. If your words seem boring, that’s what editing is for (after you finish and step back from your work for a bit!).

Lose Yourself in Your Stories

“Showing” gets easier when you can lose yourself in whatever story you’re currently writing. If you’re struggling to do that, you might want to write in a quieter environment or put more details into your story or character outlines.

Have fun practicing this art form and you’ll watch your writing skills grow.

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xlili-lyraterx

1 year ago

Top-Tier Villain Motivations

They will be safe. It doesn't matter who else or what else burns as long as They will be safe.

I will be safe. The hunger and the cold will never touch me again.

Fuck any bitch who's prettier(/cooler/better-liked/better at making dumplings) than me.

Yes, Master

Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. LOVE ME!

I know the terrible things these so-called "heroes" will do if I don't stop them (<- is absolutely wrong)

I don't want a better future, I want a better past!

No other way to get performance art funded these days

79K notes View Post

xlili-lyraterx

1 year ago

Tags

nature☁️ flowers forest photography sunlight

15K notes View Post

xlili-lyraterx

1 year ago

Tags

relatable defo with a sister and brother 😂 equality is a must for siblings

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xlili-lyraterx

1 year ago

Summoned Part Three

Discretion Advised 18 ++

Warning smut of minor characters.

In total, eight golden apples had been given, including your own. None of your fellow beings hung around, either insulted by their lack of an apple or not wanting to outstay their welcome. Lord Morpheus had not always been known as the most hospitable of Gods. For most it was the first time that they had be graced with a visit to the dreaming.

Without the crowds, the palace was empty, isolated. In the distance, the vivid prairies of the Dreaming seemed almost magical, like the time before the first war and every so often, the winds would carry to sounds of the visitors, the pureness of humanity as it had once been. Yet it gave you no comfort. You were trapped out on the edge of billions of dreams, trapped by wolves, vipers and vultures, ready to attack in one swift movement.

After all, that is what you would do. You had been a Goddess long enough to know how it worked. The King wanted that; of course, he did; how better to discover his new consort than in a thinly veil battle between his chosen candidates. Why you, though? You prided yourself on your skill and knowledge but were humble enough to know you could not compare to the others. So why was it that you received one?

The apple still tasted sweet in your mouth; even after a few bites, the taste lingered, swelling magic within you. Yet, trapped here, the apple seemed so insignificant. What use of magic against an Endless being? Before you might have used your cauldron to poison the whole court or to bring about the humiliation of some of the snobby upper-ranked Gods or Goddesses but being stuck here with the icons of war and nature was concerning. You had always prided yourself on surviving; it is why you were still here after all. For how much longer, though, was not certain.

For the most part, you could cling to the outside of the group. It was not too difficult, the others had a way of demanding attention, and when the King graced the assembly with his presence, it was partially easy. Though he never spoke without good need, he seemed content to simply listen to the gushing's of the other deities. And they sort constant attention from the King.

Tired eyes scanned the current assembly, all dressed in finery.

Kratos was a figure you had only known by name before this; he was seven feet of God, his face a stoney canvas of cruelty, which certainly lived up to the rumours. Tonight, his outfit covered very little, it was a low toga, which left little to the imagination, but it dominated the room with his bulging muscles. Much to Indra’s chagrin. The King of Davas, Indra, whose dark skin glistened with the rain that followed him; his physical was not as impressive; yet his power made the skies shiver as he sent lightning bolt after lightning bolt into the air. Much to the dismay of the God of Sparta.

Aphrodite was Aphrodite; even in her previous demised state, she still retained that air of beauty that allowed her a degree of trespass that no ordinary creature might take the liberty of. Olive skin shinning out against the baby pink of her gown, wrapped in a gold lifted crown, but now she had consumed the apple, she gave off a blinding shine, as was the shell she had been draped over. Which was dangerously close to the throne. You did have to give it to her, though; she had to position her just so that it gave her a rather wonderful outline.

Next to Aphrodite’s shell Bastet, sat tall, will all the regal bearing which one would expect from a cat, slender and aloof, just as you would expect from a God of the Old Kingdom. Unlike their Greek and Roman counterpart. Bastet exuded royalty, much like the Spring Goddess Ostara.

Ostara was the most well-known to you; after all, she had many guises, like most deities. She had been known as Eostre and often sorted the knowledge of the cauldron from you or your mother. That was after she had been Persephone, of course. She had finally become sick of Hades and his many nymph lovers, Leice, Minthe and, of course, Theophile, the stupid girl who claimed that Hades loved her better than Persephone, which was the finally straw before she completely abandoning the underworld for life as her own goddess, as the Spring Equinox.

To see all five of the supreme gods together made the remaining choice all the more questionable. They at least had carved a mark on humanity; they had prestige, power and a pedigree. The rest of you did not.

Spriggan was the strangest choice, stranger than you; they had spent their entire life in the remote lands of the British Isles. It preferred to peak out from one of the pews, and closets to the King, never talking, just watching. A tree spirit that was neither man nor woman or at least gave the impression of it. Moss covered its skin, making it impossible to tell its age; wizened like an old man or woman, but what skin you could see was smooth like a child.

Like you, Puck lingered at the side, or as many knew him, Robin Goodfellow. His dark, mischievous eyes darted from side to side as he strummed lazily at his lute, occasionally stopping to tune the strings. You had been travelling through the pit of desire that had become London when you stumbled upon the sprite teasing Shakespeare. You had been friends; you even helped him make his name with a simple one of your potions. After all, how better to immortalise yourself by putting yourself in a play by the bard himself and becoming the epitome of fairy kind. That had been before he betrayed you.

You really wished Puck had kept his mouth shut. Perhaps he wished to deliver you some favour with the King, or perhaps he saw this as an opportunity to direct the other god's attention away from himself and onto you so he could make his move. Either way, it would bring you no end of trouble. You did not like how the burning eyes of Lord Morpheus fell on you so intently they seemed to pierce right into you, more so the way the others glared at you.

"... it's true...little witchy, tell them it's true," Puck giggled as he twirled around, the material of his ridiculous costume fluttering in the air around him.

You bristled at the nickname. Narrowing your eyes at this little fiend as he twirled around you.

"...did the fae really trick this John Dee to allow another man to bed his wife and father her children?" Bastet's voice purred, whiskers twitching in the air.

"He was only meant to pretend to let the pompous old fool believe he was talking to the angels... but like always, Puck took it too far." You hissed as the fairy pirouetted away.

"And the meany witch put a stop to it...but I got you back! Did I! I got you back good." You hated the child like glee that filled his voice.

"If having me hanged as a witch class at that." you snapped.

"Hung by humans...how quaint." Bastet perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched, amused.

"That's not the best bit, Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble..." he cackled "I made her and her silly cauldron the centre of Shakespeare's best plays."

"And in doing so spread the propaganda that condemns many.' You snapped.

'So, a few little humans died. They breed like rabbits, kill one, and seven more take their place."

‘’A few....’’ You growled. 50,000 people, men, women and children burned, drowned or hung. 50,103 to be exact.

‘’This is boring,’’ Aphrodite pouted, ‘’can't we have music? I adore dancing; Fae plays something! I wish to dance for My King."

The eyes shifted and you were forgot once again as the music filled the air and Aphrodite began to sway. Enticed b the way her hips shimmed. All eyes except Ostara’s, who abandoned her seat to stand next to you.

"Nicely played, but don’t think this aloof fair maid act will get you somewhere. But it will not work. Watch yourself; those here will not hesitate to get rid of a little thing like you. Watch your back, little one."

The gathering had long since broken up. Ostara's warning, or threat twirled over in your mind. Puck has put you in a stupid position. A dangerous one. One that made walking the halls alone a night dangerous. If they are though you a threat, one that could be easiest gotten rid off, your life would be in peril. But you had grown tired of staring at the four walls of your rooms. You did not want the companionship of the others, not that there was any to take, especially with Ostara and Puck seemingly disserting you. Puck, you could understand, but not Ostara; she had been once your surrogate mother.

"Good evening, My Lady." the familiar pleasant tone cut through the silence.

The dark skin elf from the gather stood at the side of the hallway dressed in the same immaculate dress suit. Buttons polished to a soft gleam. The flower still pinned in their buttonhole.

"What are you still doing here? Will not the King be annoyed that you have not departed with the others?"

You were aware that some of the Gods had disappeared into the Dreaming to revel in the pleasure of the place a bit longer, but if the King found an unwanted being still lingering in the castle, there might not be a pleasant outcome.

"I fear he will be even more annoyed if I leave, My Lady; I am Lucienne, the chief librarian and guardian of the Dream realm. Forgive me; I should have introduced myself earlier but did not wish to trespass on the gathering." She smiled.

Now that was something unexpected. Many creations graced the place, attending to the gods that currently had taken up residence. But not one that was trusted enough to be a Guardian. Now that might be useful information.

You returned the smile. "You still wear my flower. Has it bloomed yet?"

"Yes, my lady, it is rather beautiful, and I cannot bear to take it off."

Pride blossomed within you; you had made it yourself nurtured, tended it, till it was just right before picking it. It was appreciated.

'Well, with such praise, I hope it inspired you."

"Indeed, My Lady...it inspired me to start my own account of the King."

Information that was defiantly intriguing and could be helpful. Any information on the King could make the difference between making it back home or being scavenged for a bit from the vultures that circled above.

"I am glad; perhaps you can tell me about it again. I do so enjoy seeing the fruit of my inspiration." Even more, if they get me out of here.

"While you're here, My Lady, could I tempt you to a book? The library is just down the hall, and it has been years since I have had a visitor."

"I would be honoured."

xxxxxx

When you returned to your room sometime later with a book. The missing Shakespeare plays seemed worthy of your reading and apt.

The leather creaked as you opened the page, your eyes finding the formed ink before a moan halted you. It was not the haunting noise of the wind. Instead, it was gruntal, deep and masculine. Waiting, you heard it again, this time longer, louder, tilting you heard as you listened intently, other noises now filling the air. You knew those sounds, the deep moaning, the rhythmic thud of skin, the groan of furniture bending to the force of thrust.

Staring out of the balcony, it was dark, as it often was at the palace; even with the shining white stone it was made of, it was hard to decipher where one body ended, and the others started. Your view from your room was obscured by the thicket of ivy clinging to the balcony column, but you could see enough, the giant frame of the Greek god, face twisted in pain and pleasure as he was being pounded from behind. The dark locks of the King Morpheus were just visible in the light. There was another, maybe, it was so hard to tell, thin arms of women, maybe even a sprite, dipping between the two male bodies, roaming and squeezing, and from the shuddering roars that filled the space, they seemed to know what they were doing. As in jerked the God of Strength back and wrapped slender fingers around the thick cock that swayed in the air, jolting with every thrust of the slender but powerful hips of the Dream Lord himself.

You knew something like this was going to happen. This was very bad. Very. Very. Bad. Gods were jealous beings and power hungry. If the others found out, there would be bloodshed, or God forbid Kratos, and this other being saw you. It didn't even bare thinking about.

The slick sound of flesh slapping against flesh jolted you directly into the eyes of the Dream King himself; how long the King had his eyes set on you didn't know; his eyes had this strange ability to not be on you but see right through you. His eyes stared across the balcony to where you stood behind the pillar. They were bright but different.... paler somehow than usual.

His thin lips curved up at the side as his moonlight fingers curled around the thick hips of the Greek God, jolting his back against him, allowing the King to push him down, shoving the war-beat face down and renewing his thrusts with an almost punishing vigour. The muffled cries of the Kratos were all you could hear, and the simpering sighs of the other who wrapped tight around the King’s shoulder as it sucked on his neck.

You gasped at the sight. Gulping as the eyes shone across at you, you waited for a second for something to happen. You are to be smitted or thrown into the waking world for trespassing on something so intimate. Yet, nothing happened. Instead, the smirk grew to near wolfish proportions.

Cowering back, you fled down the hall and did not stop till you were safely away from your rooms, but not from those glowing eyes that followed you.

So what do you think? Got to love dark Morpheus playing games :P I know not everyone is into MxM but I only wanted to use it in this one chapter so to showcase the ambiguous nature of the Gods. Hopeful it was okay. More smut next chapter to come for the reader... maybe ;)

As always please let me know, your comments make my day.

Also- Claiming his Queen fans keep your eyes peels for an epilogue update....

@crispyduckpirate @musemaniac42 @aralezinspace @boofy1998 @cipher-needs-2-sleep @avatar4eva (couldn't tag) @sassenach-the-pie-maker @ella33 @suszanne @ladyredstar1991 @alexander-arcturus-black @maripositanoctruna @xushisuxi @imaginovator @dotieeee @honeybeezgobzzzzz @cryban6 @lonelyladyghost @isitstilldarkout

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morpheus x reader dream the endless x reader darkmorpheus netflix sandman cant wait for next chap :D

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xlili-lyraterx

11 months ago