REAPER MAN! ⌛ SANDMAN!

"And what would humans be without love?" RARE, said Death.

[harvestshopearchive]

death has moved to @harvestshope.

[harvestshopearchive]

re: the accusations against gaiman, all i want to say is that deciding what to do with this blog is taking a far backseat to... everything else. thanks for your understanding.

[thecollectibles]

Art by Reza Afshar

[micahulrichdraws]

Time's up. 20 New Limited Edition prints of this fellow are now available at the link in my bio.

[henstomper]

ohhh fuck off. someone learned my summoning ritual again. ill be right back

[seekesotsibteadmist]

"I mean.. I've seen the proof of that way too many times. Have to agree with the poet there more often than not."

[harvestshopearchive]

"Their lives are brief as it is. Would you wish them more reality for less life?"

[harvestshopearchive]

if my replies from morpheus don't make sense i can always rely on the excuse that dreams aren't supposed to make sense

[asteritm]

❛ i know. ❜ that he does not hound her for his own amusement, that she will not do well if she does not rest, and that he is only looking out for her — she knows. soundlessly he turns his head to look at her, and after a moment she does the same, watching him with curious eyes. always curious, it's what brought her here, it's how she found him.

❛ do you miss me? ❜ one hand still in his, carefully anassa reaches up to brush a few strands of his hair away from his face, fingers lingering a second or two longer than they should. who knows when she will get a chance to rest again? to see him again? ❛ i say it so often to you, perhaps i should stop for fear that it will begin to sound disingenuous. ❜ lightly, she squeezes his hand before sinking down on to the bench beside him, staring out over the Dreaming with a small smile. ❛ i hope you know that i do not say what i do not mean, least of all to you, never to you. ❜ but she did not promise never to lie to him, did she? a finger from each hand presses against her temples, as if to rub away a headache that she has even while sleeping.

❛ it is suffocating me morpheus, this war, i feel like a prisoner who built her own cage and now i cannot get out. ❜ the admittance feels heavy on her tongue but it is just like the rest of her feels, heavy and tired. ❛ maybe i should have stayed where i was, maybe i never should've come here in the first place. ❜ and she knows these are rhetorical questions, no one will have definitive answers for her — but still, it would be nice if they did. ❛ i suppose i will never know. ❜

[harvestshopearchive]

"I know that you know."

he does not mean to remind her of inevitabilities. she is not his subject to command, nor his sister to nag — his sisters are no strangers to interfering in his affairs and offering unsolicited advice. but it is in his nature. to be aware of duty and absence. her eyes, when she meets his, are not annoyed, and that ought to be a measure of ease. yet they unsettle him.

"I believe that you should be here more often than you are." this is not a direct answer to her question, but something of the same substance. "And I believe that you mean what you say every time you say it."

his hair falls back into disarray the moment she is done with it. his hand stays where it rests on the cushioned bench. he knows she means the words, but what does it mean to be missed? no one is ever happy to see him, if they remember him at all. only anassa.

strange to hear her frame her queendom as a kind of imprisonment. morpheus was caged by his enemies once, aeons ago, in his own kingdom. as a memory he does not care to revisit, it is banished immediately.

"That in itself is a dream," he says, deadly serious. "A wild dream, one I cannot say if you would be glad of. But you could know it."

the king of dreams gives an appearance of stillness, of a slow-moving immortal thing like a tortoise or a redwood tree. sometimes this is appearance is thrown off, for he is not really like one of those things at all. now, in the blink of an eye, he is in midair, and the window before anassa has grown so that there is nothing framing them inside the palace at all, and he is holding out his hand. all she has to do is take it once more.

[stygicniron]

harvestshope​:

“Until then, Nico.”

in a rush of golden glory, the sun behind half-blood hill sets and becomes night. morpheus’ eyes glow brighter and bigger until they are inseparable from the stars and his robe the sky, or else the sky becomes smaller, contained entirely inside him. and then, at last, nico is alone in his dream.

*

the next time nico dreams, he returns not to tartarus, but to camp half-blood. the comforting, convivial atmosphere of the campfire has been snuffed out for the night, but the windows are lit in certain cabins. the light is clearer than clear, almost watery, and the blacks of the shadows of the empty places between are deeper than deep. it feels slightly wrong, and it should feel wrong. dreams are for making the familiar strange. dreamers seek home in their dreams, but they rarely start there. they start from the beginning.

a figure emerges from a cabin, or maybe was always there, or maybe appeared out of nothing when he wasn’t looking. it raises its hand to nico and waves. beckoning.

Well, at least he didn’t dream of Tartarus this time, that was a small improvement, but when Nico sees the surrounding fields of camp, he knows exactly what’s coming. Something like anxiety swirls in the back of his mind, but it’s disjointed, not linked to anything particular he’s seeing, just the vague sense of unease. He’s not alone.

Coming out of the cabin door is a bit of a stretch, Nico decides, or at least, that’s what he thinks Morpheus does, it’s hard to tell. But either way, Nico stands as soon as he sees him, pulling himself up from the dying coals of the campfire. A flitting memory of meeting a small girl at the campfire when he first arrived to camp circles his heels, but he pushes the thought away, taking a step towards Dream.

And the anxiety shifts, changing from something like unease to something like preparation. He’s reminded of the moments before a battle or the one time the other campers convinced him to sing at the talent show, and Nico nods formally to Morpheus as he draws closer. “Good evening, sir.”

[harvestshopearchive]

"Welcome, son of Hades."

the figure resolves as nico comes closer. morpheus appears as others perceive him. perhaps now he looks like one of the greek gods, among whom he once spent much of his time: a black robe hanging off one white shoulder, a silvery laurel in his hair.

"To find the heart of the Dreaming, one can travel in any direction, but never, for any two dreamers, is the way alike. This is the way of all stories. That each story is a new definition of a story. Are you ready to choose your way?"

[whinedarksea]

which of these characters did i NOT, at one point, have a roleplay blog for?

the master's tardis (doctor who)

korra (the legend of korra)

matt murdock (marvel)

coran (voltron legendary defender)

clara oswald (doctor who)

caleb widogast and nott the brave (critical role)

Voting ended onJun 27, 2024

[thoodleoo]

girls will say they know a spot and then bring you to the gates of sleep- one of which is said to be of horn, through which an easy passage is given to true shades, the other gleams with the whiteness of polished ivory, but through it the gods of the dead send false dreams to the world above- and send you through the gate of ivory

[harvestshopearchive]

dream sucks so much 🥰

[harvestshopearchive]

[harvestshopearchive]

dream sucks so much 🥰

[harvestshopearchive]

@glacierfront from here.

"You had no right to interfere."

morpheus wonders why he has allowed this state of affairs to continue. why does he treat this dream-walking mortal differently from a vortex? every night she spirals out of herself into the unconscious minds of others, and scoops up their revelations and fantasies like djinn into bottles. the result will not be the destruction of the dreaming. she is not a danger to him. but what of herself?

she knows that she is the one pinning this dream in place, even after the dreamer is gone. she does not seem to know that she is the one making it feel real.

he does not stand beside her, but hovers in the air. the wind doesn't touch him. his cloak hangs beneath him like the long tail of a magpie on a wire.

"You and all humanity come to this place night after night. Can you possibly imagine all the reasons why? Do you mean to serve my function? When you understand so little about it?"

his pale hands open. they may appear empty, but like pandora's box, he contains every curse and every hope.

"I am a king, not a judge. When you come to face your darkest fears — and desires — I bear witness. I look away from nothing. I call nothing right or wrong, but hold all of it. Together.

"And you had no right to interfere."

[designtheendless]

For the love of everything PLEASE draw Meowpheus booping! BOOP

[harvestshopearchive]

reminds me that i do need to write an updated post on death's domain. the layout has gotten more complex and i love that for him.

[delirim]

@harvestshope  /  Death.

There  is  no  singular  boundary  that  can  contain  Madness.  Infinite,  buoyant,  it  traverses  between  through  and  across  realms  simultaneously.  The  fragments  of  what  will  be,  what  has  been  and,  more  acutely,  what  will  never  fall  within  the  bounds  of  reality.  Like  a  wave  it  carries  her.  Is  her.  Madness  herself.

Delirium's  travels  are...  not  so  outwardly  poetic.  She  stumbles  like  a  newborn  fawn  through  domains,  aware  and  unaware,  searching  and  perfectly,  complicity  floating.  From  the  opulence  of  Mount  Olympus  to  nameless,  echoless  purgatories.  '  Hello?  '  Her  voice,  an  omnipotent  cadence.  Unsure  of  who  will  hear.  She  searches  for  something.  A  thing—  approximately  sized,  vague  in  color  and  shape.  A  something  she  cannot  remember,  but  that  she  knows  exists—  somewhere,  somewhere—  in  her  mind.

An  aloof  sister  perhaps?

A  sister  someplace  sisters  ought  to  be.

A  place  is  as  good  a  place  to  start  as  any.

And  so,  in  a  furl  of  other-light  and  color—  a  swirling,  gaseous  mass;  like  strokes  coming  to  life  on  an  empty  canvas—  Delirium  of  the  Endless  takes  shape.  Her  multicolored  mane  sticks  up  in  all  directions,  disheveled  from  her  traversing  between  realms,  and  she  staggers  once  her  feet  touch  cold  ground.

This  place  doesn't  look  at  all  like  she  remembers...  No,  too  Victorian.  Too  macabre,  straight  from  the  pages  of...  Oh,  what's  his  name?  Edward?  Something-something  Poe?

"Death?"  She  calls,  approaching  the  domicile.  Runs  her  hands  across  bushes  of  black  roses,  letting  their  thorns  prick  her  skin.  "Sister?  You  changed  things... Looks  very...  Cheery."

[harvestshopearchive]

THANK YOU FOR NOTICING.

Death appears as a long skeleton in an even longer robe. Silk, tied at the hipbone, because he's having a nice day off. Well, not really off, since he is Everywhere. But he is also here, and he did not prepare to receive a caller; Susan has made it clear that he schedule is full until Soul Cake Tuesday dinner.

Behind them is the Wood of Silence, where he has been walking amongst the primroses, which he prefers no more and no less to the roses in the garden. Nor is he quite sure why only one belongs in a garden, except that the primroses are 'wild,' as they say. But his Wood was mapped by an immortal eye, who knows exactly where strange little wild pathways and flowers should appear. So too the cottage, the orchards and his granddaughter's swing, the fish pond and the lily beds, the wheat fields, and the mountains that never appear closer.

That same keen eye, bright blue in its deep socket, notices that velvety black of the roses distorts under the touch of his guest. Where a purple sheen was hidden in the folds, the color begins to resemble, perhaps, morose clown paint.

AS FOR YOUR SISTER, DELIRIUM OF THE ENDLESS... I AM NOT SHE. BUT I AM DEATH.

He looms. Leaning in.

I SUPPOSE YOU LIKE WHAT I'VE DONE WITH THE LANDSCAPING? he asks expectantly.