#Dream of the Endless x fem!Reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lis-likes-fics · 1 year

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At Long Last (Revised)

Pairings: Dream of the Endless x goddess!Reader Word Count: 13.8k words Warnings: Captivity, murder, torture, slight maiming, swearing… A/N: This used to be 9.8k words but...here we are now. I posted this a year ago and decided I didn't do it enough justice. You can still find the first post here if you wanted to compare it. I hope you enjoy this, happy reading!

"Must you leave for so much time?"

You smiled gently at your Dream, taking his hands and stepping closer. You kiss the spot between his brows, "I will be back before you know it. The humans need me right now, and I must aid them. That is our purpose, isn't it?"

The world had been thrust into a war. The humans were struggling, and, as the Goddess of Hope and Transformation, it was your job to aid them in their struggles. Dream knew this well, it was one of the reasons he loved you so.

He merely breathed a sigh and nodded as he looked down at you, "Very well, then. Be safe."

"I always am," you smiled, pressing your hand to his cheek. "Don't go anywhere while I'm gone." It was a joke, gentle teasing as you tried to pull a smile from his lips. You managed a ghost of one and nothing more. You sighed and leaned forward, kissing his lips gently as you savored the taste of him before you were off. You didn't know how long you would be gone. "I love you, Morpheus."

"And I, you," he said.

The war lasted four long years. Four years full of grueling work; taking care of the injured and the dead, healing the sick… You stayed behind another two years to help those of the mortal plane to begin to settle and recover after the chaos and bloodshed came to an end.

You spent most days and nights as a medic for injured soldiers, some days you were doing charity work for the families at home. Work was busy—answering prayers, granting hope to those without, helping in any way that you could to ease the troubles of war.

By the time you returned to the Dreaming, all you wished to do was hold your husband in your arms and dream with him for a little while. But as you crossed the threshold of dream and slumber, felt yourself returning home for the first time in six years, you knew something was wrong. Things had changed. You would not return to the Dreaming the way you left it.

You stood at the gates for a very long time, staring at the carvings and the art of the entrance, lost in the careful contemplation of what you would be returning to. Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest. You were afraid to move any closer. You chewed on your lip and tapped your foot, shaking your head as the worry ate at you.

Just go, you thought to yourself. He'll be waiting on the other side for you. Surely, he will.

You took in a slow, deep breath…and then took a step.

"My lady?"

You turned your head and found your loyal librarian approaching you. You smiled and held your arms out to your dear friend. "Lucienne," you breathed as you took her in your arms. "It's been so long."

She smiled, a type of relief in your eyes you knew like the back of your hand. Hope. She held tight.

You sighed, "Where's Morpheus?"

You felt her muscles tense as she pulled back with a frown. "I was hoping…" her relief turned to dread, "he'd gone to you while you were away."

Your smile fell and a concern slipped over your face that Lucienne briefly mistook as anger. "What does that mean?" you asked.

She took a slight step back, holding a journal in her arms as she looked down at her feet for just a moment. She peaked up at you over the top of her glasses as she frowned. "I'm afraid…Lord Morpheus has been gone for four years. He went to the Waking World two years after you left in search of the Corinthian, and…he hasn't been seen since."

Your heart sparked with pain at the news of your dear husband's disappearance. Everything was fine when you left, and now he was gone? How could this happen?

"Show me the kingdom," you said.

Lucienne nodded hesitantly as you both made your way to the grand entrance of the Dreaming. They opened for their queen without hesitation, your long white robes flowing behind.

The realm seemed…okay. Most of the same magic, just lacking in a bit of luster. But it was just okay. The Dreaming was grand, magnificent, the reflection of the fantasies and hopes and fears and loves of all of humanity and inhumanity. If Morpheus didn't return soon, it would begin to crumble. You would not see his realm turn to ash, not if you could help it.

You went to the castle with Lucienne at your side, waving to the residents who smiled and waved their greetings to their returning queen, delighted and enchanted that you were home again. Happy as you were to see them again, you had more pressing matters on your mind.

The inside of the castle—the heart of the realm—was stronger as you ventured within, but there were cracks in the walls that carved themselves into your heart. Morpheus lack of presence in the realm was breaking, even you could only feel so much of him here…

You pressed your hand against one of the cracks, so shallow they could be passed on as marble-like design. You frowned, peeling your hand away into somewhat of a fist.

"I have to go find my husband."

"My lady," Lucienne gave a gentle interjection as a voice of reason. "If I may… I think it would be best if you stayed. Without Dream, the realm will begin to fade. Your presence might be the only thing keeping this place from ruin."

"But if he's missing and he doesn't return, my presence won't do a thing," you told her. You could see her sigh at your response, not unreasonable but certainly not her favorite. "I need to find him and bring him back. Do you know where he went?"

She shook her head regrettably, "No, I don't. But perhaps you could ask one of his siblings?"

You hesitated at the idea. "Perhaps if it comes to that, but… you know how the Endless are." She sighed and nodded.

You softened at the sight of her despondency, walking over to her as you set your hands on her shoulders. She looked up at you again, and you offered a smile. "I will return soon."

She tilted her head. "He said the same thing."

Your reassuring smile faltered and you let out a breath. "I promise. Have hope, dear friend."

She smiled sentimentally. She set a hand over yours. "I did miss you, my lady," she said.

"And I, you." You blinked a couple of times. They were the last words Morpheus had said to you before you left. "I will be back, and I'll be back with Dream."

It was more to reassure yourself than her. You let out a long breath and stepped away. "Stay safe," Lucienne bid softly.

You smiled. "I always am."

You grasped the edges of your white robes, feeling them between your fingers before sweeping them over your form like billowing sheets in the wind. They enveloped you in magic as you took flight in a blur of feathers of white.

He was somewhere in the Waking World. That was what you knew. You would find him one way or another.

You searched the world, wings and magic carrying you across the vast realm. You searched over land and sea and mountain and countryside. You searched the sky and you searched the caves. The more you searched, the more you wondered, the more you doubted. You couldn't find him, not in the trees, not in the sand. He was being kept from you, a deliberate shield of your senses. When you finished, you swept the Earth again for the ethereal being you could not find.

And then again over.

It was about a month before you finally returned to the Dreaming. You collapsed on the throne, barren of the king it belonged to, exhausted and dismayed.

As if on cue, Lucienne was standing there again. Her face was full of worry and concern as she looked upon you for the first time in a while.

"I can't find him, Lucienne," you lamented. "I searched over the Earth five times, and he was nowhere. I'm worried."

She took a step, "We will find him, my queen."

You nodded gently, looking around as if the answer would present itself. It seemed like it did when your eyes found a depiction of his mask on a carving in the wall. You stood and began descending the steps. "I will ask his siblings. Surely one of them will have an answer—Death, Destiny, even possibly Desire."

As you took the first few steps, you faltered for a moment, your legs weak and your tired arms sore as you caught yourself. Your robe splayed over the floor, dark skies inside of your cloak filled with clouds of grey. Lucienne rushed to your side, helping you stay steady on your feet as she caught of glimpse of the gloomy weather hidden within your cloak. Her brows creased in worry. "You need to rest, my lady. You cannot go out there like this."

You shook your head in protest, dusting yourself off. "I need to find my husband."

"Ma'am, please," she begged. She adjusted the glasses on the tip of her nose, furrowed brows pulled tight with her worry. "You put yourself at risk by leaving as you are. You can't help him if you, yourself, are hurt."

You pressed the meat of your palm to your temple, staving off a headache forming there. You couldn't sleep, without Dream, it was far and few and unpleasantly empty. You sighed, thinking for a moment before resigning with the nod of your head. "Alright," you said, choosing to ease your dear friend's worry. "I'll rest, but then I go straight to them."

She licked her lips, looking down at the ground for a moment. "My lady—if I may," she trailed off, thinking before she spoke again, "the realm needs you."

"The realm has you." You trusted Lucienne to take your place while you were away. She was more than capable of holding the realm together, as far as the residents go.

"I'm just a dream," she shook her head, adjusting her glasses and placing her arms behind her back again, still gripping her journal. "You're his wife. Lord Morpheus is the heart of the Dreaming, you are the heart of Lord Morpheus. The realm needs you." She tilted her head, looking away to organize her thoughts again, careful of her words as though she were speaking to a tempered Dream.

"Some of the dreams are beginning to doubt Lord Morpheus will return," she began slowly. "Some believe that, if you find him…you will abandon them, too."

Your lips parted as you listened to the news. "They think we will leave them behind?" you wondered. "Have they no faith in us?"

"It's not a matter of faith as much as it is a matter of uncertainty. One of the Endless has abandoned their duties before,” her words were guarded. She did not look at you as easily as she said it, uncertain of what your response would be.

Instead you merely sighed and clenched your jaw, looking down as you took her words into consideration. You straightened your back again, “What will you have me do, Lucienne? Leave him?” The thought of it made your blood run cold.

Lucienne sighed. “The walls are cracking. The residents are wavering. I think he would want you to keep the realm safe first.” There was a long pause before she continued, “Perhaps you should assure everyone, mend the damage, then search for him when you have any idea as to where he actually is.” It did not come out as an insult, more as a plea for your ear.

You thought in silence for a while, trying to see if there was another way. Another way to restore the realm’s calm without the expense of leaving your husband to fend for himself, wherever he was. He could be in danger for all you knew. But if he was not in the realm, it would suffer. If you were not in the realm, it would suffer. Lucienne was right, you were the only one who could keep the Dreaming intact, even if only for a little while, until you were certain you knew where Morpheus was. Until you were certain you could find him again.

You looked down at your feet and sighed, defeated by Lucienne's better judgment to your love-rotten mind. You nodded your head and agreed. “Very well. I will,” you swallowed hard before looking up again. “But as soon as I have anything, I find Morpheus.”

She did not argue. “Of course, my lady.”

Without Morpheus' magic, it took three years for your presence alone to heal the cracks in the foundation. When you returned, the residents of the Dreaming eased their worries and allowed you liberty not to be too concerned about their loyalty.

It was tiring—lonesome—to have no clue as to where your husband could've been. Lucienne passed on any information she could, but she had her own responsibilities to the library.

You'd hoped to find him in sleep, as all people did—but even there, your wishes were not answered. Nevertheless, you resigned to bed for the first time in over a week. You, admittedly, did not require much sleep, but without Dream, sleep was much harder to acquire anyway.

Your hand brushed against the empty spot beside you. His pillow was cold, his sheets colder. You laid back gently against your own with a heavy sigh and felt the tears before they were even a thought in your mind. The sobs shook more gently from you, having grown used to the feeling over the past few years. Part of you feels guilty for grieving so much. It's one of the reasons it took so long, your heart was hurting and hope was always wavering because of it. Sleep did not ease you for a long time that night, when you slept and dreamt the first dream in a long time.

A dream through the vision of another's eyes.

High over the expanse of trees. The sounds of other birds, flapping wings. Blue skies, green fields. Then a house, a mansion.

A strange air. A dark presence.

You woke up with a start, breath heavy and loud as your pulse roared in your ears. Raising a hand to ease your thumping heart, you calmed yourself enough to recount the dream that had whispered in your ear.

Jessamy, that beautiful bird.

In the next second, you were dressed in your robes and off to the library. Upon turning the corner to see her stocking shelves, you rushed toward her with a quiet exclamation. "Lucienne!"

She turned to you in a heartbeat, attentive and alert, "What is it?"

You smiled, one of the first genuine smiles she'd seen on you in years. "Jessamy. She showed me where he is. I didn't see him, but I saw a house."

"Are you going there?" she wondered, immediately concerned for your welfare.

"I have to," you take Lucienne's hands. "If there's any chance she's right, I have to take it. You're in charge until I return, and I will be back soon."

Lucienne nodded dutifully, though you could see her hesitance to let her go. But you are the queen, and she is your humble servant. "Be safe, my queen."

"I always am."

And then you were flying into the Waking World, a white crow's wings carrying you across the skies. You searched for her, which was a lot easier than searching for your husband's mysterious location.

You found her perched under a tree, and you shifted upon arrival to greet her. Her wings spread wide in greeting and you smiled. "Jessamy! I've missed you," you held out a hand for her and she stood on your wrist as you brought her up to your level. "Where is he?"

She turned her head in the direction of the large manor she'd shown you in your dreams. Flying away again, Jessamy bid you to take her lead. You transformed in a lunge, chasing after her on nimble paws.

You came up on the manor, watched as she perched on a tree. She turned her head to you, giving a slight bow. You continued on, slowing as you came up on a stray entrance to the house, a tiny hole in the foundation at the side just big enough for you to slip in.

As you squeezed through, you looked around at the grand place. It was an old manor, very traditional and belonging to a family of high standing. You padded along the halls, looking at the architecture and furniture, the vases and paintings.

The sound of voices down the hall had you rushing to find a corner to hide in. You crouched under a chair in the hall just as a tall man dressed in expensive clothes and white hair combed from his face. He had a beard of white, a cane to help him walk. As he passed by you, you followed after, staying low to the ground as you traveled along the wall to remain hidden.

His swift steps resounded along the halls as you followed. He stopped. You stilled. As he turned around, you hid behind a vase on the floor. The fur along your back stood on end, and you crouched low to the ground. His eyes swept the corridor, he hesitated, and then he continued walking once more.

You came up to a door. Turning the handles, he opened it and walked into a room. It was dark, a cellar guarded by two men armed with guns and bored-looking faces—two men who quickly stood to their feet upon his arrival.

So he was the boss. You slipped in just before the door closed, staying close to the wall as you ducked underneath the table both the guards had been sitting. You turned.

And you saw him.

You stared and gawked and gazed at Morpheus, trapped in a globe of glass without a strip of clothing to protect himself. Anger flared within you as the older man stood in front of the glass. He had a stern look on his face as he stood there, hands clasped behind his back as he balanced the cane between his fingers.

He stood there for a while, staring at your dream lord like an ant under his boot. "We've been here before," he sighed, already exhausted of the conversation. "I've asked a thousand times, and I'll ask a thousand more," he said. "Can you return my son to me?"

Morpheus said nothing as he stared with a gaze that would penetrate souls and turn men to boys. The coldness in his eyes, the chill of the silent rage in them made the room freeze.

"No?" he jabbed. "Money? Power? Anything?"

No response.

He hummed, tapping the cane behind his back. He knew the drill. "Very well then."

He left without another word.

As he walked away, you began moving again. You crawled forward, coming from underneath the table in a slow crawl to keep from being so conspicuous, your white fur making you obvious in the darkness.

As Dream stared down at his lap, his brows furrowed. He looked around slowly, sensing the presence of something nonhuman and searching for it. His eyes lifted and found you immediately. No matter who or what you were, he would sense you anywhere.

His eyes found yours, deep and sorrowful and filled with the depths of his love for you. His empty face slowly shifted, lifting in a tiny little smile as he found light in the sight of you.

Your heart cried out for him. He looked so ethereal. To others, he would be a strange creature with strange powers to behold.

But to you, he was your husband. And you loved your husband.

You took a few steps forward, quick and light on your feet. His face shifted again, and he shook his head, the movement miniscule but enough.

You stopped and tilted your head at him. Why?

You tried to step forward again. Another protest.

His eyes pleaded for your heed, teary and regretful. He opened his mouth just a crack and mouthed a simple "no".

You huffed and ignored his words. There was no way you would come this far after spending so much time searching for him, only to leave him behind once you have him in your sights again.

You bounded toward the glass. His lips parted and his eyes filled with regret. You ran across the expanse of the room, jumping over the water that lined the cage as you grew closer to the man who had been trapped here for the last five years.

As you jumped toward the glass, you hit a barrier surrounding the dome. You bounded off of it and landed on your feet, crouched still as you stared frustratedly at the glass. Shit.

The guards looked up as they caught sight of you out of the corner of their eyes. "Oi!" He turned to his friend, patting him roughly on the chest. "Where'd a fucking cat come from?"

"I don't know. Get it!"

You looked at Morpheus again, staring anxiously. He shook his head and looked toward the exit again. You mewled weakly, hesitating as you kept watching him. It had been so long…

You felt fingers brush your backside as you slipped out of the man's grip, skidding away before starting off for the door. He cursed under his breath.

You sprinted toward the closest exit you could find. You slipped through with ease, leaving the complaining man behind as you broke out into the corridor. You kept running and running, stopping only once to glance behind you to see if the halfwits were still after you.

"Hey!"

Your ears perked and you turned quickly as you stared at the man who had imprisoned your husband. He glared at you, bringing his cane up with every intention of smacking you with it.

You hissed violently, arching your back as you backed away with the swat of your paw. He swung at you, just narrowly missing. You bounded in the other direction. He walked after you quickly, just as you broke out through the front door, taking off like a bullet toward the trees.

You heard his exclamation behind you. A loud "fuck!" in the distance as you continued on into the woods surrounding the manor. He watched Jessamy fly down from the trees to fly after you. And then he watched you jump into flight with her. You heard him curse again.

Out into the woods, you stopped to catch your breath. Leaning against a tree on your own two legs now, eyes full of tears and heart full of rage, you cried. Jessamy perched in front of you, hanging her head mournfully.

"He's been in there for five years?"

She bobbed her head in confirmation. You huffed. "We have to save him," you sighed. "But they have a shield against me, I can't get to him myself."

She stared thoughtfully.

You stood straight, dusting off your robes and letting out a heavy breath. You closed your eyes for a moment, steadying yourself and wiping at your face to be rid of your tears. Jessamy flew up to a tree limb, watching and waiting for an order.

You turned toward her, running a hand through your hair to think. "Keep watch, be safe. I will return soon."

She bowed her head again, and you smiled at her as you pet her feathers. She nestled her head into your palm. She'd missed you. Wishing her farewell, you flew off again to the Dreaming.

Roderick Burgess stormed back down to the cellar, clutching his cane tightly in his grip. The last thing he needed to deal with was some bloody bird and a magical cat.

He approached the prison and stood there silently as Dream glared at him with more rage than he'd seen in him since he arrived, even more rage than they'd held when he was first captured.

Voice tight, Burgess watched Dream intently. He grit his teeth. "Who was the cat that came to visit you today?"

As expected, Dream said nothing. What surprised Burgess, however, was the clench of his jaw as he glared at the old man with a burning rage.

"Oh, is it someone important?" he asked, raising a brow. He thought briefly over who it could be that would pull a reaction from this stubborn god after five years of silence. He recalled the warnings he received after first capturing the Endless.

"Well, you'll have to deal with that one." They watched a raven fly off, disgruntled after being struck from a tree. The strange man who'd appeared in Burgess' house turned to him, passing caution. "Her name is Jessamy. She belongs to him."

Burgess' eyes flicked in the direction the bird had escaped. The man turned to leave before stopping abruptly, looking over his shoulder.

"Ah, how could I forget?" he spoke. "There's someone else you'll have to watch for. Much more powerful than a pesky bird."

Roderick tilted his chin, "Who?"

"His wife," he smiled, snapping the word. "The divine Y/N."

Burgess noted the sense of reverence in his voice as he spoke, such high respect for this mystery girl. He furrowed his brow, "Why would I care about his little wife?"

He almost looked offended at the phrasing as he licked his teeth, nearly scowling at the bitter old man. "Because she's the queen. The Goddess of Hope and Transformation, beloved in his realm and this one alike. She'd gone to war for your kind a few years ago." He said it with a hint of distaste.

Burgess stared thoughtfully. The man smiled a little, "Let's just say…she's not one known for letting things go." He tipped his hat, "Best of luck…to the both of us."

"Will I see you again?"

"You should hope not."

Dream's hard eyes were harder still. Roderick's lips turned into a malicious smirk that only curled Dream's anger. "Is it, perhaps…someone special?" He raised a brow. "Your goddess wife?"

Dream tilted his chin slightly, declining his gaze until his dangerous gaze looked deadly. Burgess could have sworn he saw his lip twitch. Progress.

"Perhaps I should catch her next," he suggested, treading dangerous waters. "Maybe she can give me what I want. Or motivate you."

His fists clenched until his pale knuckles were white as pearls. "Oh," he raised his brow, amused. "Have I angered you?" he asked. "Does my suggestion make you upset?"

He tapped his cane sharply against the hard, thinking to himself. "I don't think imprisonment would work on her or you. A broken heart bleeds more than a wounded one."

He didn't break his gaze away from Morpheus as he called the guards' attention. They sat up quickly as he addressed them. "If you see the cat again…"

Dream's glare challenged Roderick as his chest heaved with heavy, rageful breaths. He didn't seem to care. He turned away and started walking.

"Kill it."

You and Lucienne tore through the library in search of any spell that could break the one keeping Morpheus in and you out. You searched public archives, private archives, you searched books even you had only just discovered existed. You found nothing.

You continued back and forth between the Dreaming and the Waking World. Jessamy reported anything new that she could with each visit. Sometimes you snuck in yourself to make sure he was not hurt. Every time he laid eyes on you, you could see the sorrow in the depths of his soul.

Soon, my love.

Over the course of the next five years, even your own rule in the Dreaming was beginning to waver. The cracks were returning, the residents were doubting your search.

You needed Morpheus back. Jessamy seemed to feel the same.

One day, you went to visit her and your husband again. She flew back to the manor with you in tow. You walked after her silently as she made her way into the house. You followed closely, hiding when you needed.

You heard Burgess' steps as he came down the hall, bolting quickly as you hid underneath a chair. Jessamy posed on a lion taxidermy, still as the thing itself as she watched the man. You kept track of his footsteps, heard the sound of a match lighting into a flame, and then saw his shoes leave the room again after a du thump on the seat from something being thrown onto it. You came out of hiding as he left. Jessamy grabbed a match, lighting it flying away and returning with it lit as she dropped it onto a newspaper on the chair. Clever bird.

She returned to your side moments later as the fire caught and flew with you away. Two men, more guards, burst from a room to see what was happening. You saw your chance and took it, entering the cellar with Jessamy about you.

She went straight for him, and you followed as you allowed your magic to grant her more strength to break through the glass when you couldn't. She tapped her beak against the glass, a rapid peck in an attempt to get through. Morpheus watched the both of you and smiled, his eyes full of pride for his girls. It made your heart soar. You were so close to freedom, to him.

You leaned up against the barrier. Jessamy's wings and beak continued to beat against the glass. Dream reached out for the both of you, enthralled in his saviors.

Your ears rang as a loud crack sounded through the air.

You stilled as you felt warm, crimson blood against your snowy fur.

You flinched when Jessamy's mangled and bloodied body landed next to you.

There was another cock of the gun. You turned to see Burgess with it. You bent to take Jessamy in your maw, but Dream's hand tapping insistently against the glass stopped you. His tearful eyes pleaded for you, for you to leave, to flee, to save yourself and never return. He would not see you dead, too.

You faltered and looked back at Burgess, who was aiming the gun at you with a greedy scowl. You moved away just in time for the bullet to pass you. You ran toward them, heading for the open entrance as you tried to get through.

He cocked the gun and shot again, narrowly missing your fleeing body. The guards blocked your way as you tried to weave through. Burgess bent down and picked you up in a steel grip by the nape of your neck, pinching painfully as you hissed and clawed and squirmed.

He glared as he brought you up to his face, ignoring the way you scratched and bit at his wrist. Dream leaned against the glass, hands pressing against the cold material as he watched you struggle to break free.

He brought you up to his face, which proved to be a mistake as you clawed at him. As he granted you a smile, one full of malice and taunting, your ears peeled back as you hissed. Your sharp claws dug into his brow and raked down his face, scraping against his eye as he groaned loudly. He dropped you to the ground as he turned away to cover his eye. You landed on your feet and rushed away as the other guards chased after you.

"Get the damn thing!" You heard Roderick yell from the cellar.

Your heart pounded in your chest, imprinting its shape into your ribcage. As you glanced behind to see if you were being pursued, you missed the person walking around the corner. You screamed again when you were being picked up once more, squirming as a man's hands clamped around your body to keep you still as he held your arms tightly.

You yowled and hissed and screamed, trying to break free but finding it impossible to. Burgess and the guards approached, murderous intent in his eyes and frustrated exhaustion in theirs. "Bring her here."

The man holding you still, some other guard you recognized. You hissed as Burgess came to stand before you. He sneered and looked at you like a pest. You hissed again.

"Come." He turned and made his way back to the cellar, the guard holding you still as he followed. Upon re-entering the cellar, you saw Morpheus again as he sighed deeply and leaned away from the glass. You could see the fear in his eyes.

It was silent as you all just stared, watching one another with a variety of emotions. Burgess spoke.

"Now I have you and your little pet." He seemed to be proud of his achievement. He reached over and grabbed you roughly by your neck and you hissed at the pain. He turned you to face him, scoffing again before dropping you down and kicking you away from him with his expensive leather shoes. The painful sound you let out as you landed roughly on your side pained Dream as he watched you.

You looked at him, whining and trying to stand again. Burgess took quite a bit of joy in kicking you again, striking you roughly and sending you flying again.

"Father!" Alex, Burgess' son, exclaimed.

Burgess turned quickly toward him, raising his cane in his direction in a sharp warning. "Do you want to be next?"

Alex stepped back and bowed his head, staring at the floor regretfully and wincing as he heard his father strike you once more.

You didn't try to stand again. If you did, you would only hurt Morpheus by making him suffer through seeing you hit again. You stayed down.

Burgess huffed and turned to Dream. "Let's see how much you love your little wife."

There were no words to describe the look in your husband's eyes as he glared at Burgess. It was like watching an entire universe fill with blackness, a darkness that consumes galaxies, devours supernovas, destroys black holes from the inside, out. His jaw clenched, his breath heaved, vengeful tears rolled down the tip of his nose and dropped down from his chin.

Burgess huffed. "Keep her here. We shall teach them both a lesson."

He began to leave before turning toward Alex, "And clean that damn thing up." He stormed out of the cellar, leaving you, Alex, and the guards behind.

Slowly, Alex took Jessamy into his hands and stood back to his feet, staring sorrowfully at you and Morpheus before turning and taking his leave.

You sighed and laid on the cold floor, defeated for the moment as the weakness and exhaustion in your muscles crept in. Maybe just a little bit of sleep would do you good. Just a few minutes…

"Oi!"

Your eyes opened again, heavy as you looked at the guards again. "Don't let it sleep," he said to one of the guards. Give it a tablet or something."

Another guard pulled a bottle from his pocket as he rolled his eyes, walking over to you and bending down to grab you. You mewled as he grabbed your sore neck and forces your mouth open to shove a pill inside. You tried to force it out, but he was very thorough in ensuring it went down.

And once the pillow was swallowed, he groaned as he walked away. "Have to go wash my fucking hands now. That's disgusting," he mumbled. "Watch 'em."

"Yeah, yeah." He kicked his feet up as he sat at the desk and sighed. "Hate this fucking job."

You laid there, weak eyes watching Morpheus. He was so beautiful. You could stare at him for hours…

You didn't know how long you spent trapped in that cellar—at least a month, if you were thinking correctly with the passing of time. Burgess kept you weak and awake, a metal collar chained around your neck tight enough so you couldn't slip out. It was bolted to the floor, you wouldn't be escaping anytime soon as you were too hurt to shift out of them.

Burgess would come to the cellar every day and ask things of Dream that he could and would not give. When he gave silence to the man's pesky questions, he would turn to you and have the guards kick you around to encourage Morpheus. You hated it, being the center of his torment.

And what of Lucienne? You hadn't returned when you said and now you were trapped too. How were you to help if you couldn't even get out of your own chains?

You didn't know how long you spent down there with your husband, you held on for the sole purpose of ensuring him that you would both make it out okay. You were his hope, you would not break.

Burgess was angry when he came to the cellar one day. You sighed as you adjusted yourself to sit, ignoring the ache in your bone and muscle as you stared at him. Your fur was grimy, still stained with the blood of dear Jessamy and darkened by dirt and blood of your own.

Your ear flicked as you just stared at Burgess, who didn't regard you as he made his way to Dream. He came up and leaned on the glass, watching him through one eye as the other scarred shut after your defilement. It was a great look on him.

He was silent for a while, he liked to relish in the power of his own silence but despised the silence of others after he'd demanded a reply.

He finally spoke, stressed and annoyed as ever. "The woman who lives with me has gone and robbed me of my fortune," he said.

You remembered this woman. She was kind to you, at least—Ethel Cripps. She used to keep out food for you. On the occasion that she could, she'd even allow you a moment of comfort and a scratch behind the ears. You hadn't seen her since you were captured.

"She's also robbed you," he continued. You tilted your head. "She's taken your helm, your sand, and your ruby." As if you needed another problem to solve…

"Now, I can unlock this, you can go after her, I can let your little thing go…if you give me what I've been asking for. Wealth, youth, immortality." There was a long pause, frustration at Morpheus' silence. "Oh, you're a god. These things are nothing to you."

Another pause. "Don't you want your weapons and your freedom? To see your wife as something other than a bloody cat being thrown around like a ragdoll?"

Dream tilted his head but gave no other response. Burgess' anger got the better of him as he grew impatient, frustrated.

"Speak to me! Speak to me! Speak to me!" He punctuated each word with a sharp strike at the glass with his cane. You watched silently, intently. Your ear twitched and the movement caught his eye as he turned toward you. As he stepped forward, you stood to start backing away, stopped by the chain as you pulled on it to move away some more.

Dream practically jumped to the glass, the rage flaring.

Burgess raised his cane high. "Speak!"

You crouched in anticipation of the strike.

Alex's hand took hold of the cane just before it came down on you. You stared, frozen with fear as your wide eyes went unblinking.

"It's all right, Father."

He turned quickly, dropping his pursuits to glare offended at his son. "Get away from me! If you were any kind of son to me…" He swung his cane at the boy.

Alex struggled not to be hit, moving out of the way as the cane swung and he flailed his arms to catch it. Your heart pounded in your chest, recovering still from such a close encounter.

"If Randall were alive today–"

Alex grabbed it once more, firmly halting his father's attempts to strike him once more. "If Randall were alive, he would hate you as much as I do!"

Burgess stopped and huffed, forcing Alex away and not anticipating him to push back. The force was too harsh for the both of them as Burgess stumbled back, losing grip of his cane after being knocked off balance.

With a sickening smack and a surprised grunt, Burgess fell back against and hit his head against the glass. He brought a hand back to see the blood smeared on his fingers, slumping to the ground as you just watched.

Alex and the guards rushed to him. He wheezed as his blood leaked out over the cold, hard floors. He turned weakly to Morpheus as his eyes fluttered and his breath became labored with the loom of death. "You're never getting out of there," he said, eyes drifting. "Never."

His eyes found you, hooded and fading. You stared at him, your own eyes wide as you watched him. A heavy, cold hand reached out toward you, wanting so desperately to feel one last shred of hope before he left his mortal coil forever.

You stood and turned your back to him.

You heard his hand fall to the floor, a dull thump. You sighed, relief flooding you now that the source of the cruelty was gone…

Alex backed away from his father's body, disoriented and dazed as he stared. He shook his head and looked around with a face etched in confusion and fear.

As you turned around, standing to your feet, Alex's gaze found your thoughtful eyes. You blinked and turned your head to your husband.

Morpheus stood in his cage, his lean body stretching tall as he reached out toward the glass. Your tail and ears twitched, wide eyes watching Alex's gaze hold strong to Morpheus in all his power. He looked hypnotized by your husband's glory as he held his hand out. Just a little more, and you could leave this place forever.

"Don't do it, sir." You hissed at the guard, who ignored you as he continued to plead with Alex. "He'll kill us."

Alex didn't listen, a dopey grin spreading over his lips as he brought Morpheus closer to freedom.

"What would your father say?"

Alex stopped, returning his hand to his side as he returned to his sullen manner. He backed away from the glass, gripping onto reality once more. He tore his gaze from Dream, finding yours shortly after. "I need to think."

He began to walk away, headed toward the door to leave it all behind. A tiny huff left you as you sat, bowing your head in defeat.

It was late that night when Alex returned. You hardly realized it was him, laying limply on the ground as you mourned sleep. You didn't remember the last time you shut your eyes and dreamt.

Quiet, slow footsteps approached you, and you perked your ears slightly at the sound. When you felt cold fingers on your fur, you jumped to your feet and backed away, hissing and arching your back violently. Alex sat before you and frowned, his constant sorrow clear on his face as you swatted.

He knelt in front of you, his hands turned up in his lap to show surrender. "I won't hurt you…"

You stayed away but he watched your stance change as you watched him carefully. He moved slowly, his hands reaching toward you. You backed up as far as you could, once again tugging on the chains around your neck as you looked between him and Morpheus rapidly. "I'm not going to hurt you," Alex bid gently as he finally took the chain in his hand.

"Alex," one of the guards tried.

He just shook his head. "Please." The guard went quiet.

You froze and closed your eyes shut, your breath huffing out of your lungs in a fast, thick rhythm.

You heard the click of a lock.

You felt the weight around your neck lessen until it was no more.

Opening your eyes again, you looked over at Alex to see him holding the heavy metal collar in his hands.

You stayed there, still frozen in place as you stared, wide-eyed.

Alex took in the sight of you, grimy with dirt and blood, the fur around your neck thinner and slightly discolored with the rust of the chains. Snow white fur was now mud brown and copper red and mold green. Alex sighed.

He held his hand out again, and you flinched away from him as he tried to set his hands on your head. He dropped it back into his lap.

"I'm sorry…" he breathed. "For all of this. You don't deserve this—neither of you deserves this."

Still, you stayed. Alex could mistake you for a statue if he didn't know better.

"You can go."

"Alex–"

"Please," he said sternly. He turned to you again, "You're free to leave… I'm sorry."

You looked toward Dream, who watched closely. As you stood up straighter, testing the waters with movements slow and measured, you took a small step away. Then another. And then another.

When Alex made no move to stop you, you moved, to the best of your ability, away and toward your dear husband once more. You stared at him, mewing meekly.

You turned to Alex, who gave a regretful frown. You set a paw on the barrier. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry…" he said. "I'm sorry, I can't… I can't let him free, he'll kill us."

You propped up against the barrier, more insistent that time as flares of gold and white kept you from your beloved. You mewled.

Alex took a dragging step backward, shaking his head reluctantly. "No, I… I can't. I can't do it." He swallowed thickly as you got off the barrier and looked at him, meowing again in an attempt to persuade him again. To no avail.

"I'm sorry, I can't," he breathed. He looked down at his feet, avoiding Morpheus' dangerous gaze. "You should leave." Stepping back again, he turned around and left briskly with the shake of his head.

You huffed silently, turning to face your husband again with a sorrowful gaze. He leaned toward you, resting his forehead to the glass as he sighed. His eyes darted to the door and then back at you. You folded your ears back. He did it again, more insistent this time.

Leave, before you get hurt again.

You mewled, sitting to stare at him.

You heard the guards shift behind you, standing from their chairs as they groaned. One of the men spoke, muttering under his breath as though you could not hear him. "Fuck this. He's going to get us all killed." Then, in a lower voice, he whispered, "The Magus said kill it, so I'm going to kill it."

You heard him step forward, and then a protest from the other man. "It's a goddess."

"It's a cat." He scoffed, "Man up."

Dream gave the approaching man a hard glare, hoping to deter him and merely receiving a pause before he was walking again, trying to sneak up on you. Dream gave you a pleading look as you stayed there, staring at him remorsefully.

His lips cracked open and formed a single, silent word coming from deep within his soul as his eyes welled with tears.

Go.

Just as the guard came up behind you, lunging forward in an attempt to bring you into his clutches, you darted away. You ran and you ran and you ran, both men in pursuit as you escaped them with as much speed and strength as your weak body could muster, running on nothing but pain and adrenaline.

As you broke out into the world for the first time in a month, you had no time to smell the fresh air or feel the night sky on your fur. You ran and ran and kept running until you found yourself crossing the threshold of the Waking World and the Dreaming.

"My lady…"

A mumble sounded in your ears, a far away feeling fluttering over you as if your soul and your mind were not attached to your body.

"My lady."

Your awakening was violent, like being awoken by a gunshot or a million trumpets blaring in your ears. You shot up and tried to find steady ground in a world without. You kept slipping, not quite finding a grip on the plane you found yourself in.

"Calm, my lady," a voice beckoned. "Calm."

You looked over to see Lucienne, kneeling beside you with a face deep with worry. You hadn't seen her smile in some time.

You caught your breath, which you only just now realized was aching your lungs. A warm hand grabbed yours and you held on tight as you looked around yourself. Upon setting your sights on a world of black sand and sea, you sighed. Home. You were home.

"My lady," Lucienne's voice called your attention again. You turned toward her again, moving to stand, to brush the sand from your robes.

"What happened to you?"

You followed her gaze to your robes where you met the source of much of her concern. You were covered in dried blood and grime, your skin was discolored from the bruising…

You met her eyes again. "I…"

She sighed and offered a kind smile. "We should get you back to the castle. You've been missed…"

You nodded and walked with her toward the grand entrance of the kingdom. The doors opened, and you stepped through to see the kingdom far darker and far more desolate than you last left it.

You swallowed thickly as you walked with Lucienne, immediately noticing how much the population had dwindled. There were still plenty of Dreams and Nightmares running around, but there were also plenty you were missing.

Upon seeing you, faces lit up all around, deterred only when they soon noticed the tarnishing of your white robes. You kept waking, holding Lucienne's hand as you went.

Once in the shelter of the throne room, you collapsed at the foot of the stairs. You were still recovering, the wound was so fresh…

"My lady!" Lucienne exclaimed, coming to your side once more to sit next to you.

"I'm okay," you assured her, holding out a steady hand.

"What happened?" she asked again, more desperate this time for her queen.

"I…" You sighed to gather your thoughts, closing your eyes for a moment before finally replying. You were not used to talking much.

"I went to the manor again with… with Jessamy." You swallowed thickly. "We had come so close to freeing him but… but they killed her." Your fists clenched as the memory invaded your mind. She watched your face as you recalled it, far off and angry, your fingers brushing blood on your cheek. "They slaughtered her."

Lucienne looked away, the wheels turning in her head as she processed what you'd just told her. Jessamy was gone. She was dead. Lucienne would never see her again…

"I tried to run but they caught me…locked me in the cellar with him and," your eyes shut and you shook your head gently to be rid of the memory, "and abused me to hurt him."

"I'm sorry, my queen," Lucienne spoke gently, bowing her head.

"Burgess is dead."

She looked at you again, her gaze snapping toward you. "Is Lord Morpheus–"

"No." You cleared your throat. "His son let me go but is too afraid of Dream to set him free. I only barely got out before the guards were after me again."

Lucienne looked away thoughtfully, shaking her head in an attempt to take everything in. "My lady…" she sighed. "You should rest. You've been through…a lot."

You cleared your throat, looking at yourself again as you nodded. "Yes, you're right. I should." Again you nodded. "Alright."

You stood to your feet, peeling your robe off of you and standing in your gown. You turned to leave, stopping just at the beginning of a hall before turning toward her again. "Thank you, Lucienne… I missed you deeply."

"Of course, my lady," she smiled gently. You bowed your head in a gentle nod. She softened some more. "I missed you, too, Y/N."

A soft smile widened your lips just a smudge and you nodded again before turning to leave. You locked yourself in your bedroom and prepared your bath, sinking into the hot water and letting it remove the filth from your skin.

It wasn't until you were washed clean that you began to cry again.

It amazed you how quickly war could befall the world of man. How quickly human squabbles could grow into something so devastating.

You would have to leave again. Humanity could not survive without hope; and in a war, you were detrimental to that spark of life.

After taking time to recover—attempting and failing to mend some of the cracks in the Dreaming—you began to go back to the manor again to persuade Alex to set your husband free, to no avail. The guards still tried to hurt you and Morpheus still tried to get you to stop coming back for him.

You wept alone in the woods for a long time as you considered your choice, your duty. You would have to leave him, and you don't know when you'd be back.

You just wanted to see him before you left, to look upon his face without the danger of being shot while you were in a vulnerable form.

As you walked into the house, dodging the residents who walked the halls for work or leisure, your steps were quick and silent as they always had been.

You found him in his study, the door cracked open as if beckoning you. You nudged the door with your body and ventured inside. His back was turned, hunched over his work.

You called his attention with a gentle mewl, looking up with more narrowed eyes. Alex turned and laid eyes on you. For a moment, you could see the flash of fear as he saw you, afraid you were going to hurt him.

But you just stared at him, unblinking and still.

"Hello," he said tentatively. "Um… if this is about him, I… Look, I don't want him here anymore than you do. But if I let him go… he could come after us. He could hurt me or-or Paul. I can't let him." He swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry."

You did nothing in response. Alex watched you stare at him. He sighed, "I don't know how to help you."

You turned your attention to a newspaper discarded somewhere in the room. The headline read "SECOND WORLD WAR BREAKS" in big, bold lettering.

His brows furrowed and he set down the pen he'd been holding in his hand. "What?" he asked. "I don't understand."

He heard a tiny huff come from you, frustrated that he hadn't put it together yet. You walked over to the paper, dragged it over to where you were sitting, and tapped on it repeatedly.

"Oh," he mumbled. "Oh."

Now he'd gotten it.

"I…I can't enlist. I wouldn't know the first thing."

You huffed louder this time. You shoved the paper closer and sat on it. You tilted your head expectantly, the closest you could get to a brow raise in this form.

"Oh, you have to go?" You curled your tail. "Of course… It's your job." You laid down, practically sighing your relief.

"Well," he mumbled, "you can go… I'm certainly not keeping you."

You yowled at him, losing your patience with his thick-headedness. You stood and circled your spot, pacing the entirety of the room with senseless noise before stopping at the door and sitting next to it. He felt like a toddler being scolded by a cross mother with the way you "spoke" to him.

He seemed to put it together, at least. "Oh… you want to see him."

You answered his question by walking out of the door. He stood and followed you, walking behind as you led the way to the cellar where your husband was being kept. He opened the creaking door to let you in.

The guards stood quickly at the sight of you, pointing their guns. You paid them no mind as you continued walking. Alex was quick to stop them. "No, don't shoot!" he exclaimed. "It's alright. Let her through."

They were confused by the order, but obeyed nonetheless. They sat back down, half-heartedly continuing their games and light chatter as Alex closed the door and sat by it, watching.

You locked eyes with Morpheus, continuing closer until you were forced to stop by the boundary spell set against you. You sat down and looked up at your husband, taking in the sight of him with sad eyes.

He looked back, seeming to read every single intent in your eyes as you watched one another. After a while, you saw a stray tear slipping down the apple of his cheek as his wet gaze bore into yours.

Your own fur was damp now as a tear slipped from your own eye, a mirror of him. You hated to leave him here, to go to aid in humanity's problems when it was humanity who stole your husband from you. But you knew you couldn't look at it that way. You were hope, and if you lost that in yourself, they would all be doomed.

So for hours you sat and stared at one another silently. For hours you memorized every little detail in Dream's face and imprinted it in your mind.

And all those hours would never be enough as you walked out of that room for the last time in the next ten years of war and recovery.

"How many are there?"

Lucienne walked at your side as you ventured slowly down the bridge leading to the palace. The realm's various colors and lusters had dulled. The stoney bridge was dark and desolate, cracking at the edges with patches of eroded rock. The fingers which curled around the bridge were deformed, a couple have fallen off and descended into the waters below.

You ran your hand over one with a sigh and the shake of your head. "Nearly half the residents have left since last you were here, ma'am," Lucienne reported.

"Half?" You turned to her with wide eyes, "Half the residents are gone?"

She nodded, "They feared you weren't returning either. If the Queen Mother leaves and the King isn't here to rule, there's no reason to stay. They felt as though the Dreaming was…an abandoned kingdom."

"They know about the war," you argued feebly. "They know it is my duty to tend to the humans in their times of need."

"And some went looking for you to aid so that they might bring you back when the job is done," she said. She blinked a few times and turned her gaze to the floor. "But…"

"But?" you urged.

"Others weren't so sure."

You shook your head and sighed, continuing to walk faster down the bridge to get to the palace. The closer to the palace you got, the more Dreams and Nightmares you spotted. They must have been fleeing the outskirts of the crumbling realm where it was most dangerous. Upon your entry, you saw how much had been destroyed by their king and queen's absence.

"And what of the realm?" You said, going to some of the residents who approached you, relief in their faces. You gave a kind smile and cradled their grasps.

"The palace is the most intact thing there is. But the cracks are larger and many of the rooms have been closed off or have completely disappeared. Half the books in the library are either empty or their words are dissolving off the pages. Towns and villages have been abandoned. It's hardly safe for anyone anymore."

You set your hand against the castle doors, bowing your head and sighing before turning back to your faithful librarian. "Move the Dreams who have lost their homes into the palace. Those remaining may come as well at their leisure."

"Of course, my lady. Shall I gather the remaining books and search for any spells to free–"

"Magic won't work," you said, pushing open the doors to get to the throne room. You sat on the steps leading up to Dream's throne, your robe splaying out over the stairs. Lucienne could see the blue skies replaced with grey clouds darker than she last saw them.

"I've tried a hundred times and then another hundred times over." You set your face in your hands, "I have no power in that house, much less that cellar, while he's locked up as he is. He's trapped in, and I'm trapped out."

Lucienne thought for a moment, reaching a hand out in offering. "Well, hope–"

"Hope took three years last time. It will take longer this time. I can't do another gods-knows-how-long away from him," you said. You swallowed hard, wiping your face in your hand and urging the frustration out of you. "I haven't even seen him yet. I came straight here."

Lucienne tried to say something to help, but she had nothing. She shook her head, taking a step back. "I don't know what to do, my lady."

"Neither do I."

There was a long silence between the both of you as you thought about your next course of action. Your mind was slow, hazy from a decade of nonstop work. You could hardly think straight with ten years of no real sleep… well, longer than that without your Dream.

You sighed and stood to your feet. "I will rest for now. I need my strength. Tomorrow… I will call forth the Fates."

Lucienne's eyes widened in protest as she heard your plan. She stepped forward again, "The Fates? Are you sure that is a wise decision?"

"It's my last hope, Lucienne."

She paused at the desperation in her voice, bowing her head again as she let a sigh pass through her lips. She straightened her back and nodded once, her worry clear across her face. "Very well."

You walked through a meadow of flowers and fields, looking over the rising sun as the golden light gleamed against your skin. You stood there for another moment, taking in a deep breath of the fresh dew-filled air.

You shed your robe and began to shake it, wishing away the grey skies and dark clouds to bag the rising sun in your cloak with one grand sweep across the sky. As you set the robe back over your shoulders, you examined the symphony of pinks and yellows and blues with a gentle smile.

Sunrises and sets were promises of rebirth and new beginnings for every day and for every night, a promise of new hope. It was what the Fates required.

You swept your robes again and took to the skies, appearing upon a little cottage where wind chimes rang peacefully in the gusts of morning air. Since one could call upon the Fates with the coming of the wind, you could pluck the chimes from the porch to offer to them. It was what the Fates required.

With two of three items collected, you could move on to the final prize.

You stood in another meadow, one erupting with more colorful growth than the last as a cacophony of flowers fluttered with the kisses of butterfly wings. You looked over the creatures with smiles before opening your robes. They swarmed around you in moments, disappearing in flocks of color into the sunrise in your cloak. Butterflies were symbols of transformation and hope throughout time. It was what the Fates required.

You let your robes fall over your form again, turning toward one of the trees. There are chrysalises hanging onto a branch, cocooned in their catalysts. You wrapped your fingers around it, filling it with a piece of your magic before breaking it off the tree. You brushed your finger over one of the leaves and set the branch back in your coat.

And again, you were gone. As you set your feet over the growth of a field of black grass, you looked around for a moment.

"I, Lady Y/N, Goddess of Hope and Transformation, summon The Fates...the Three-Who-Are-One, the One-Who-Is-Three. The Hecate."

A rumble of thunder rolled in the sky as you directed your gaze. A strike of lightning flashed before you saw them. You could still hear the faint melody of the wood chimes as you laid eyes upon the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone.

They descended their gazes upon you as they took you in for the first time in many, many years.

"Y/N…" the Mother began, "How have you been, luvvy?"

The Maiden added, "How're the humans treating you?"

"How's the husband treating you?" the Crone asked.

"Now, sister-self," the Mother scolded with a smile on her face. "You know the answer to that."

The Crone chuckled lightly, turning back to you as she tilted her head, "I suppose you've come for your husband?"

You smiled, despite the annoyance you felt for her jest. "Surprise," you said. "Ever the wisest."

"What is it, dear?" the Maiden kindly inquiried.

You nodded gently. "I do hope you can offer the help I require."

"Well, what are we here for?" The Mother grinned, holding her hands out between her sister-selves.

"We do, it seems," the Maiden began, "hold a debt…"

"But you brought us gifts anyway." The Crone's smile seemed always shifty to you as she pointed her eyes toward your cloak.

You directed your smile toward her, opening your robes and allowing your gifts to jump out, offering them up to the Fates. The butterflies swarmed chaotically around the women, curling around the forms, until they settled in the Maiden's skin with their butterfly kisses.

The sunrise slipped from your robes and seeped into the sky like a great painting. The last butterfly landed against the Maiden's nose, fluttering its wings before laying them flat against her face. It seeped into her cheeks, the patterns of its wings turning into freckles against her skin.

The Mother smiled, "You may ask us three questions, and you shall have one answer from each of us."

"Thank you, ladies," you smiled. "My first question. My husband has been trapped for 33 years, will he be free?"

A vision of Dream in his captivity flashed before you as the Maiden's voice filled your ears.

"Lord Morpheus will walk freely again upon the Dreaming and the Earth." You watched Dream's eyes open, his intense gaze glinting back at you. "You will see your husband free again, his captivity is not an eternal one."

You turned back to her, desperation filling you all-too suddenly. "When?"

"Come now, dear," she chuckled. "One question. You know this."

"Of course," you sighed, offering a smile. "My apologies. For my second question, I need to know: is there a spell that I could use to set him free?"

You saw visions of the gold bindings trapping your husband, the spell you analyzed over and over again to try and come up with a counter-spell, all in vain.

The Mother spoke, "The magic set against you is strong. Unfortunately, it's strong enough to thwart your temperament, even with how powerful you are."

You sighed and shook your head. "Of course," you mumbled. You straightened your back again, "For my last question… The Dreaming is crumbling, how can I save it without my husband's power?"

The meadow you had just come from combined with the sunrise you collected in your robe. Butterflies flew around you as they perched on the flowers in the field.

"You are a symbol of hope and change," the Crone said. "To maintain the Dreaming's powers, hearts must have hope and minds must be changed."

Straight to the point, as always.

You offered a smile, nodding gently. "Thank you, dear Fates."

They tilted their heads, chuckling lightly. "Until next time, lady goddess."

They left you to a sunset, a couple of butterflies flitting around the space as you pulled the branch from your robes. "That was helpful," you muttered, cradling the branch.

"Well," Lucienne walked forward, her hands behind her back, "the Fates have never been the most helpful beings." You sighed, handing the cocoons to Lucienne. "What about these?" she questioned as she held them in a tender grip.

"Those were not for the Fates." You walked with her by your side. "These are for the Dreaming. The people need hope." You looked at her, "If they survive as the Dreaming falls, we shall have it."

Too many years had passed since your husband was captured. Alex still refused to let him go until he promised not to do them harm. You could not do anything to help. You just stalled around the house in hopes of stumbling upon an answer. It was the only thing that seemed to be worth it.

Nearly all the residents of the Dreaming were gone. As the world crumbled, so did their last hope that you or Dream would come through.

The cocoons never hatched. They sat idly by in the castle. You were clinging to the words the Fates had told you as a century without Morpheus passed.

"You will see your husband free again…"

It was the last hope you had left. You couldn't give up.

You sat under the crumbling ceiling of the castle, your head resting against your arms as you pulled your legs to your chest.

It had been a particularly hard day for you. You walked along the Dreaming, taking in the new damage and found that your decaying garden had disappeared completely. It was one of the only things that had remained mostly intact, something you and Morpheus had built together after you were married. Now it was gone.

You were fading, your last ounce of hope shriveling up like your garden. Your tears stained your sleeves as you wiped your face, sniffling quietly.

But then you felt a strange shift in the air that made you feel… something. A feeling akin to pure elation.

You flew back to the Waking World with a speed you hadn't breached in a very long time. You nearly stumbled onto your feet when you shifted again, taking off running toward the manor as you felt the pull growing quickly.

The humans who spotted you in the hall weren't paid nearly as much to care, it seemed, as they let you pass without more protest than a little call of annoyance.

You rushed into the cellar, hissing at the guns pointed at you. Their attention was stolen as glass shattered, a bright shine blinding the guards as they shielded their hands, shouting over the howling of the wind.

Morpheus climbed out of the remains of the dome, lean body maneuvering easily. "Oi! Show me your hand!" One of the guards yelled as Dream balled his fist.

He raised his hand to his face and took a deep breath. A gust of sand flew out from his hand, surrounding the guards in his magic. They fell to the ground as sleep overtook them.

You stood there, eyes wide, chest rising and falling out of breath as you gazed at him. You shifted, a soft glow emanating from your body as your white robes settled over your body once more.

"Morpheus," you whispered, eyes glistening with tears full of rejoice.

The smile that took his face was utterly breathtaking. He held a hand to you, beckoning you closer with his own tear-filled eyes.

"My love."

You rushed into his arms. As soon as your bodies collided, his own dark robes materialized over his. He held you closely, practically crushing you to his chest as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. His hand cradled the back of your head as you huffed out a long, shuddering breath at the feeling of finally holding your husband again.

He pulled you closer still, swaying gently as you enveloped him in all your warmth and love. "At long last," he breathed, nestling deeper into your neck.

"My husband," you sighed as you allowed your tears to freely spill. "I missed you so much. I'm sorry I could not set you free. I tried so hard, it never worked."

"Shh," he whispered. He pulled you back to look at you. "Do not fret anymore, my darling wife." His voice washed over you like honey, soothing you as you finally heard it for the first time in over a century. You melted against him.

"I have something I must do before we return," he breathed, cradling your head still before leaning in and pressing his lips to your forehead, his eyes closed shut and his heart full. "Wait for me?"

You nodded, pulling away from him and cradling his face in your hands. You brushed your thumbs over his cheeks, under his bottom lashes. How wonderful it felt to have him in your hands again. You brought him back down to your forehead and nodded a second time. "Always."

His tangible form slipped in your hands, and you turned to look at the cellar you would soon be abandoning forever. You knelt down next to the two guards lying on the floor, lost in a terrible dream, you assumed. Laying your fingers against their foreheads, you pressed against their temples as you exercised your will, a will you would soon place upon the rest of the house.

You would not kill those who worked under Burgess, but you could not let them roam free for what they did to you, to your husband. They'd stripped you of so much over the last century, the very fiber of your being brought into question with the creeping slivers of doubt that you would never see Morpheus free again.

That was what you would do. Replicate the hurt, the lost, the pain and suffering. As you let the heartbreak of the last century consume you, it embedded itself in the house like a plague, seeping into every corner and taking over every life that they would be cursed to be without hope for as long as they lived.

And when Morpheus returned to his last deal of business with Alexander Burgess, he took your hand and returned with you to the Dreaming.

"Morpheus," you whispered, cradling his head in your lap as he lay in the black sand. "My love, wake up."

You heard shuffling in the sand and looked up as you saw Lucienne rushing over. "Sir!" She exclaimed. "Sir!"

You beamed as you beckoned her closer. She knelt down in the sand beside him. She offered her hand as he took in a breath, his eyes slowly cracking open to reveal the both of you.

"Sir, it's me," she smiled. "It's Lucienne."

He smiled, slow and soft as he saw her, his faithful librarian. "Lucienne."

"You're home," she beamed, looking between the two of you as you lay there, finally reunited.

"I am." He grabbed her hand as the both of you helped him to his feet. He looked toward the doors which lead to his kingdom, his realm of dreams. He raised his hand, willing them to open and reveal what lay beyond them.

You could feel a pit in your stomach rising at the idea of him seeing what his realm had become. You took his hand, squeezing it gently and looking at him with pleading eyes. "Dream…"

He tilted his head, turning to you as he placed his free hand against your cheek. "What is it?" he asked gently.

Before you could reply, Lucienne was speaking for you. "Forgive me, sir, but… the realm, the palace," she said, "...they are not as you left them."

He turned his head and looked upon his desolate realm as the gates finally opened to reveal it to him, a kingdom turned to ash and rubble. Silence and despair stuck to every corner, every dark shadow cast over the land.

"What happened here?" he breathed sorrowfully. "Who did this?"

You sighed heavily, shaking your head as you stared at the perishing castle. "We tried. I tried to stop it, but I wasn't strong enough…"

Lucienne spoke up again, "My lord, you are the Dreaming, the Dreaming is you. With you gone as long as you were, the realm began to… decay and crumble."

"When I first returned two years after you'd been taken, there were only a few cracks in the foundation. It took three years to mend myself," you began, kneeling down beside a few stray blades of grass that drooped low with scarce life. "When I left for the second time… nearly half the realm had been destroyed."

He took in this information with a frown, his eyes pricking with tears at what he learned. "And the residents? The palace staff?"

Lucienne sighed, "I'm afraid most have gone."

"Gone?"

"Some went looking for you, sir. Some looked for your lady while she was away at war, and then off again when she was caught by Burgess."

"And the others?"

"They thought, perhaps," she tread lightly with her words, "you'd grown weary of your duties and–"

"What?" Morpheus questioned, unbelieving of such an idea. "Abandoned them? Had they so little faith in me, even with my wife here to uphold it? Do my own subjects not know me?"

Lucienne jumped in, adjusting the glasses on the tip of her nose to sit further on the bridge. "If I may, sir. It wouldn't be the first time one of the Endless had just–"

"Enough."

"Morpheus," you whispered, taking his hand again.

"I will not have Dreams and Nightmares preying on the Waking World," he declared. "I will bring them all back. I made this realm once, Lucienne. I will make it again."

He began his trek through the realm as the both of you lingered at the door. You shared a look with your librarian, taking her offered arm and walking with her behind him.

During the walk, you watched as Morpheus' hand flexed at his side, like it was hurting him. He glanced over his shoulder at you, a gleam in his eyes that made your heart jump in your chest. You stepped forward again and took his hand, pressing yourself into his side. Oh, how good it felt to be within his embrace.

You finally managed to steal him away for a moment to have him to yourself. You pulled him into the hall, holding his hand tightly. Despite the grimness of his surroundings, your presence alone seemed to put a smile on his face—a sad smile, but a smile nevertheless.

You looked back at him over your shoulder, seeing his lovestruck grin as he watched you. You paused in front of a door, hand on the handle, and chuckled lightly. The kingdom was crumbling, but you would always be as radiant as the sun.

"What?" you wondered aloud.

He stepped forward and into your personal space—not that it ever existed with him. He took your face in his hands and stroked his thumbs over your cheeks. You grabbed his wrists, returning the favor over his pulse. You smiled longingly at him.

"I've missed you dearly," he breathed against your lips.

You sighed, "And I, you." Your smile fell slightly as you stared into his star-filled eyes. "I'm sorry for not taking better care of the Dreaming. I could have avoided this."

He shook his head to silence you, leaning in even closer without yet pressing his lips to yours. "You did not disappoint me. You had nothing to do with any of this. I know you did everything within your power with Lucienne to fix this. Do not place blame where none is due. You are alright, my Y/N."

How you've missed his voice as he spoke to you in his low, velvety tones. His eyes glistened like magical waters, as if they were ponds swimming with stars.

"Will you kiss me, Dream?" you asked, gaze glued to his own.

He smiled, his eyes shifting between yours and your parted lips. "I thought you'd never ask."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your own, cradling the back of your head as he pulled you close. His lips molded against yours and consumed you with love and care and hope. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you tasted his kiss for the first time in over a century.

The both of you pulled away, lingering so close that all it would take was a little nudge, and you'd be kissing him again. Your lips tingled as you slowly allowed your eyes to open. He stared at you longingly.

"I love you," he spoke breathlessly, as if it was taking his entire soul to say those words to you, and even that wasn't enough.

You beamed, and it was like an arrow to the heart as he watched your beauty unfold. "I love you, too," you told him. "More than you truly know."

He leaned in to kiss you once again, only giving pause when you both heard the sound of the door clicking open. You turned your head toward the door next to you, setting your hand on the knob. While he would normally stop you, afraid of you being hurt, this was his realm. Broken or not, nothing here would harm you.

You pushed it open slowly, only to yelp when a strange swarm burst from the door. You looked around you at the kaleidoscope of butterflies surrounding the two of you as he held you close. You both stared in awe as the beautiful creatures flapped their gorgeous wings about you.

"They hatched," you gasped. "They've been dormant for nearly eighty years, and they hatched." You sighed, watching them. "They're beautiful." You stared at the butterflies, eyes wide with wonder. Morpheus' gaze turned back to you, gluing onto the star-struck smile on your face.

Never, throughout all his lives, had he ever seen anything with more beauty than his darling wife. Sometimes he felt like a thief when he thought of you, like he'd stolen you all for himself so he would never have to share with the rest of the world. Never once did he ever feel ashamed by it. Because you were his, and he was yours, and he loved you more than anything in every world.

His face softened, and his eyes glittered with gentle tears. "Yes," he breathed. "Beautiful."

The Sandman taglist: @poetic-fiasco @the-nerdy-goddess @life-on-needs @fanreader @jamiethenerdymonster @sarahbullet235 @majestyjade @melinoe-the-rat @katsukis1wife @sugakookieswithacupoftae16 @hatterripper31 @kplatzman Dreamers taglist: @meg-the-second-greatest @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @gortycs @octo-octopie @damianodavidhands @alexxavicry @rosaren2498 @sayumiht @jaritzaflores94 @evabalexeeva @cl-0-vr

#morpheus #morpheus x reader #morpheus x fem!reader #morpheus fanfic #morpheus fanfiction #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless x fem!reader #dream of the endless fanfic #dream of the endless fanficiton #the sandman #the sandman x reader #the sandman fanfic #the sandman fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #female reader #reader insert

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lilpunkrock · 2 years

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where you go (i will go) — part xii

Summary: When new events transpire in both your unconscious and the Waking World, you’re forced to confront that which you’ve been running from.

Words: 7.1k+

AN: I can honestly say this was my favorite part to write yet. I hope that feeling translates to all of you. Enjoy. x . . .

“Meet me where the lines blur together, it’s 4 AM and I can’t sleep…

I’m love sick, love sober; you left the light on when I had a broken heart.

I was free in the fall, now I’m lost in the moment;

I can breathe through the night even when it is hopeless;

You make me feel homesick."

Homesick, Dayseeker

. . . The honey-gold sand of the beach feels soft and fine between your toes. As a new wave of tide pulls toward you, you stretch your sun-kissed feet toward it, eager to dip them in the clear blue water.

Though your thick copy of Le Morte d’Arthur lays open in your hands, your attention is directed elsewhere. Mere feet away, Fake Dream sits on the beach, one long leg extended in front of him, the other drawn close to his chest. It provides the perfect perch for his arm and the well-worn copy of Eugene Onegin he holds in one hand. His sharp chin is dipped in concentration, his pink lips pursed as if to read the words aloud. His ocean eyes devote each word rapt attention, lingering thoughtfully on some pages before pulling slowly to others.

With each page his nimble fingers turn, a fuzzy warmth settles in your chest, swaddling your heart like cashmere. You suspect you could sit here like this forever. Given that none of this is real, you suppose you could.

As your eyes pull from his studious face, you can’t help but smile at the way his black cloak spills around him, rippling over the sand. A tiny sand crab scuttles over it, stopping to tug at his hem with one minuscule claw. You laugh through your nose at the sight, trying to be quiet, but the sound does not escape Fake Dream. His eyes are upon you instantly, wide and alert. “You are judging me,” he says, brow quirked and voice underlaid with mirth.

You shake your head at him, biting back your grin. “No, no, I’m not. It’s just nice to see you reading something other than a record of dreams, that’s all.” Your eyes settle on the slight curl at the corners of Eugene Onegin’s cover, the faded color of its well-worn paperback spine. “You know, if anyone had asked me before today, I definitely would have pegged you as an old Russian literature kind of guy. I know they say not to judge a book by its cover, but yours is pretty worn. I assume this isn’t your first time reading it?”

Dream cocks his head slightly, considering your words. “I appreciate literature from all cultures, though this piece is one I often come back to.” He pauses, blue eyes studying you thoughtfully. “Have you read it?”

“I haven’t.” You look down at the hefty copy of Le Morte d’Arthur in your hands, the cover faded slightly from the ghost of your own past readings. “Have you read mine?” you ask.

“I have.”

You roll your eyes at him with a chuckle. Of course he has. He probably planted the idea in Sir Thomas Malory’s mind himself. “What makes you keep coming back to that one?” you inquire, curious.

Fake Dream pauses, lowering his pale gaze to the novel in his hands. His thumb traces the edge of one page slowly, almost caringly. Reverent. A shiver trails down your spine in spite of the warm sun above. “I suppose I have never fully grasped the theme at the heart of it, though I suspect I am starting to.” His eyes rise to meet yours. “Regardless of how many times I read it, there is always more to learn.”

Your fingertips press into the hardback in your hands a little tighter. “Yes, yes there is.” . . . The crisp chill of winter nips at your cheeks affectionately as you emerge from Cliff’s coffee shop. The coffee in your hand is warm against your skin, the heat of the liquid seeping easily through the thin paper to-go cup. It reminds you of the searing of Desire’s thread against your palm, a memory that burns bright and fresh in your brain.

The thread of desire you’d encountered in the diner by the sea had only been the beginning. In the couple of weeks since you’d attempted to break it, you’d spent a portion of each morning finding another thread of Desire’s to attempt to destroy. It was painful work, a pursuit that demanded patience and persistence. Though you’d been unsuccessful in breaking one so far, you’d noticed a shift in the power within you. With each attempt, you found yourself capable of holding on to the threads for longer and longer.

Unfortunately, as your power seemed to intensify, so too did the bond’s resistance to you. The last thread you’d tried to break had resulted in a lash of pain through your abdomen so jarring that you’d dropped to your knees. A couple hours-worth of rest in bed were required before you’d been able to travel to the Dreaming that day. Convincing yourself that injury was a figment of your imagination had been harder than the rest.

As you weave through the weekday morning throng, making your way back to your townhome, a familiar head of blonde hair approaches you through the crowd. Speak of the devil. Your heartbeat quickens as Desire of the Endless falls into step beside you effortlessly. Besides for Death, you imagine that Desire spends the greatest amount of time walking amongst mortals. Their experience allows them to blend into the crowd seamlessly. Only you are aware of the predator that lurks in their midst.

Purposefully avoiding Desire’s golden gaze, you rack your brain for reasons why the Endless would approach you today. A jolt of fear spikes through you at the thought that they might know about your attempts to destroy their handiwork. Determined to hold your ground, you focus on the memory of the pain in your hand. Harnessing your anger, crowding out the fear. “Hello, Desire,” you say, your voice firm and monotone.

“Ah, she speaks. I was wondering when you’d stop giving me the cold shoulder.”

Your fingers tighten around your coffee cup at Desire’s exaggerated, saccharine tone. When they lean forward, trying to capture your attention, you keep your eyes trained forward. “It’s only been a couple of weeks since I was last in your insufferable presence. My apologies if I don’t have much to say.”

“Ooo, touchy, touchy,” Desire sings, their voice pitching with glee. “I must say, I like this new ‘bad bitch’ look on you, darling. Tail-tucked, woe-is-me Love was growing so boring.”

You grind your teeth as anger and embarrassment flare through you in equal measure. The familiar green door of your townhome is within sight now. Your feet move quickly beneath you. “What do you want, Desire?”

“Oh, you know, darling. Just wanted to check in on my dear old friend.” Sensing your haste, Desire quickens their pace, spinning flamboyantly to walk backwards in front of you. When your stride falters, a wide grin splits their face, all sharp teeth and sweet malice. “I sense a shift in you, little goddess. Perhaps there is something I can help you with. Something you desire?”

Their words send every muscle in your body tensing, instantly on edge. Could they know about the thread between you and Dream? Surely not. Desire had no reason to assume such a thing might be possible and no cause for investigating it. Even you still didn’t know whether the philia attachment between yourself and the Dream Lord was platonic or romantic. The thought of checking was a constant presence in the back of your mind, a curiosity that made you equally excited and nauseous. You’d refused to indulge it thus far.

A master of deception, determining whether Desire was lying or not was nearly impossible. Biting the inside or your cheek, you quicken your pace and slip around them. “Perhaps you should take a page from your brother’s book and cease meddling in the affairs of other deities,” you retort, calling their bluff.

Desire slips into step beside you once again, their eyes wide pools of molten gold. Your townhome door draws closer by the second. Just a little farther. You’re almost there. “Ah, yes, Dream. You two have been spending a lot of time together lately, have you not?” Desire presses toward you, demanding your attention. “How’s that going for you?”

You fish into your pocket for your keys with haste, taking the final steps to your front door in a rush. “Goodbye, Desire,” you call with feigned nonchalance. Heart in your throat, you unlock the door and slip through the crack, slamming it in the Endless’s face before they have the chance to protest.

The silence that greets you on the other side of the door feels heaven-sent. You draw in a deep breath, allowing the stillness of the air to fill your lungs, holding it there. Hoping to clear Desire’s words from your frantic mind.

Perhaps there is something I can help you with. Something you desire?

You give a rough shake of your head, as if doing so might dispel the thought once and for all. As you step into the living room, a flash of red from the kitchen catches your attention. The voicemail light on your landline blinks quickly, indicating a new message awaits you.

Your eyebrows furrow as you walk to the kitchen. The landline was more of a formality than anything. It wasn’t as if you gave the number out to many people, mostly just mortal companies that promised you ten-percent-off coupons if you registered with a phone number. You rarely got calls that weren’t spam. You certainly never got messages.

As you lift the phone from its holder and navigate to the voicemail section, your eyes settle on a familiar-looking number. Deja vu washes over you as you stare at it. Some distant part of your brain recognizes the number as significant, yet you can’t remember where you’ve seen it before.

It’s not until you click ‘play’ and hear a familiar female voice that realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Your heart drops to your stomach like a stone. . . . Today, there are no mix-ups, no accidental appearing in one part of the Dreaming when you meant to travel to another. When the Dream Lord’s sand pours from your hand, it’s as if it reads your very heart, as if it knows exactly where to go. It carries you to the throne room in a flurry of pale grains, depositing you mere yards away from Dream himself. He stands at the foot of the throne room staircase, speaking quietly with Abel of the House of Secrets.

A soft sniffle escapes you as your sneakers pad across the throne room floor, carrying you toward them. In your arms, Theo nuzzles his nose against the underside of your chin, licking a stray tear from your skin.

“Dream.” The call comes out more like a croak, your throat tight with emotion. When the Dream Lord’s star-lit gaze snaps to you, his pale eyes wide and expression taken aback, you feel you can’t breathe for an entirely different reason. You stop in your tracks instantly, holding Theo close to your chest. “Come with me. Please.” . . . Small flecks of snow drift from the gray sky above, clinging delicately to your hair and cheeks. You draw Theo’s warm body into the folds of your winter coat, seeking to shield him from the cold. His favorite toy, a stuffing-less fox, is gripped tightly in your free hand. A lifeline.

As your eyes settle on the familiar sign of the animal shelter in front of you, a dizzying concoction of anxiety, sorrow, and excitement rolls through you. You swallow thickly, fighting back the nausea that comes along with it. “Thank you for coming with me,” your voice comes out as a whisper.

Beside you, Dream of the Endless stands with his hands in his coat pockets, still as the winter air. When he inclines his head toward you, there are snowflakes nesting in his wild hair, clinging to his dark eyelashes. When you draw in another breath, it comes a little easier than the last. “You need not thank me,” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly soft.

“I want to.” Your eyes fall to where you hold Theo with one arm, pressed against your chest like a toddler. He gazes up at you with childlike wonder, all rose-colored glasses and curiosity. You press a warm kiss to the tip of his cold, leathery nose, a feeling you’d recognize anywhere. As another wave of nausea rolls through you, you bury your swollen eyes in his fur. “I don’t know, Dream. I don’t know if I can do this.”

For a moment, all is still. And then, the soft jingle of a bell pierces the air. When you lift your face from Theo’s neck, the Dream Lord stands at the shelter’s entrance, holding the door open with one pale hand. Though he speaks no words, his blue eyes hold yours steadily. Staring at him, a small voice whispers from the back of your mind, Yes, you can.

Warmth floods your cheeks as you step over the threshold and into the familiar lobby of the shelter. The dark-skinned woman working the front desk is instantly recognizable to you–she was the one who helped you fill out your paperwork the day you chose to foster Theo. No amount of time could ever erase the memory of his dark eyes meeting yours for the first time, of the warmth that had flooded your heart when his furry head slipped into your palm. It had fit like a glove, and still did. In spite of the fact that his leash is looped over your shoulder, you hold tightly to him, eager to keep him in your arms as long as you can.

As you and Dream approach the front desk, the receptionist raises her head, appraising Dream’s lithe, dark form with curious eyes. You wonder if she can sense an otherworldliness about him, some aura that you have grown accustomed to. You draw a step closer to him instinctively.

“Hello,” you greet the woman quietly. At the appearance of this new friend, Theo begins to wag his tail. You adjust your hold to keep him comfortable. “I’m here with Theo. I got a call that he’s ready to be adopted?”

The dark-skinned woman’s eyes pull from Dream to you, lighting up at your words. “Ah, yes! Love. It’s great to see you again. It looks as if sweet Theo has been very well cared for.” She rises from her chair with a smile. “The family is in the back getting his records and starter kit now. I’ll go grab them.”

Your throat spasms, wanting to protest. You bite back the urge as she slips through a door behind her desk. For a moment, you’re ashamed at your selfish heart, ashamed of the fact that you are so hesitant to let him go. When you had returned the voicemail, the worker at the shelter had told you about Theo’s new family. A husband and wife with two young boys and another dog similar in age to Theo. The wife even worked from home. He would have multiple playmates and receive endless love and attention. More than you could ever offer him, especially now that you spent time in both your Realm and the Dreaming. It was a perfect match.

And yet, as you tilt your chin to gaze down at your beloved friend, your heart still aches. Would they accept his mouth kisses with glee like you have? Would they trace that precious dip between his eyes, stroke loving fingers over his furry cheeks like you have? Would they kiss his paws every morning, hold him close until he falls asleep at night, give him their whole heart, just like you have? You could only hope and pray.

Pressing your nose into his fur once again, you inhale his familiar scent deeply–the perfect concoction of puppy musk and freshly laundered cotton. You can still remember the first time you’d found him burrowed into your bed sheets, not even a week after you’d first brought him home. Closing your eyes, you commit the scent to memory. Though you feel Dream’s eyes on you, you sense no judgment from him. You’re grateful he’s here, his familiar presence comforting.

When the door to the back of the shelter opens, your head lifts immediately. You’re greeted by two dark-haired young boys and a middle-aged woman whom they are a clear spitting image of. The boys come toward you in a rush, their grins wide and eager, proudly displaying several missing teeth. You wonder if they’re still young enough to believe in the tooth fairy.

When one of the boys reaches out to pet Theo’s head, you crouch down to his level. As his small hand finds the sweet spot behind Theo’s ear, Theo’s tail begins to swish against the front of your coat. Your heart swells with delight and breaks into a million pieces all at once.

“Mom, he’s perfect,” the little boy petting Theo’s head says. His smile is as radiant as the sun, warming the whole room. “Milo’s gonna get along so great with him.”

You smile at him kindly, then shift your gaze to the young boy who has yet to pet Theo. With a reluctant heart, you take a crouched step closer to him, asking, “Would you like to hold him?”

Wide-eyed and grinning, the child nods eagerly. You instruct him on how to hold Theo just so, looping your furry friend’s front paws around the boy’s neck, showing him how to slip one arm under Theo’s tail. When Theo gazes adoringly at the child, placing a tentative, exploratory lick to the underside of his chin, a wave of relief and bittersweetness washes through you.

When you rise to your feet, your eyes turn to the mother. Her emerald eyes regard you kindly. “Thank you for caring for this sweet pup all this time. I’m sure today isn’t easy,” she says, offering you a warm smile.

Something about her words, the thoughtful empathy that underlays them, forms a pit at the base of your throat. A familiar prickling begins to surface behind your eyes. You blink quickly, trying to clear it away. “He loves Cheez-Its.” The words escape you in a rush, impassioned. “And licking the cream cheese from your fingers when you make your morning bagel. He loves to eat dead leaves, but don’t let him eat too many, because he has a really sensitive stomach. If he throws up on your carpet, and he definitely will, a little all-purpose cleaner and Shout will clean it right up. He makes this adorable squeaking sound when he yawns, like an old door hinge, and he loves morning cuddles. He’ll let you hold him just like a baby.” You swallow thickly, fighting to keep your mouth from contorting, to keep the tears from falling. “He’ll be your best friend.”

The woman’s smile turns wistful as she studies you, soaking in your words. When she takes her children into her arms, the four of them look like a picture-perfect family. Your saddened heart lifts at the sight. “I promise you we will take the very best care of him. He won’t want for anything,” she assures you.

You nod once, stiffly. When your gaze falls to Theo, you find him already looking up at you, doe-eyes wide and gleaming. You drop to your knees in front of him. The child holding him turns slightly, affording you a better look at his sweet, furry face.

“Well, I guess this is it, little love,” you whisper, your voice warbled and tight. Leaning forward, you press a trembling kiss to the tip of his leathery nose. Theo quickly returns the gesture, licking you full on the lips. You couldn’t hold back the peal of laughter that springs from you if you tried. “I love you so much, buddy. Please don’t forget me. I promise I won’t forget you.” You give him a final loving scratch behind his ears, then bury your mouth against his cheek, whispering, “I’ll see you again. I promise.”

When you walk out of the shelter’s doors minutes later, the cold that pricks at your face is a welcome feeling. It nips at your tear-rimmed eyes, soothing them, calming you. Your thoughts are already on the future, on your intention to travel to the Realm of Attachment later today. You’ll pluck the threads of storge between Theo and his new family until they light their entire home.

The Dream Lord follows behind you like a shadow. He hasn’t said a word since you first arrived at the shelter. When you pause on the sidewalk outside, he stops beside you. Finally, he breaks his silence, his low voice gently inquiring, “If you care for him so deeply, why not keep him? Why did you choose to let him go?”

The corners of your lips lift ever so slightly at his question. It was one you’d asked yourself countless times in the months you’d fostered Theo, knowing full well that this day would one day come. Hell, you’d even pondered it earlier when you’d received that voicemail. Should I adopt him myself, or should I let him go? In the end, the answer, bittersweet as it was, had come quickly to you. “As much as I love Theo, I couldn’t give him all he deserved. I’ve been away a lot, especially in these last few months. This family…they’ll be able to give him more than I can. The utmost happiness is all I want for him. I want it more than I want happiness for myself.”

When you turn your head, you find Dream watching you quietly, eyes bright and keen. Despite the weight his gaze carries, you force yourself to hold it, to give him a small, wistful smile. “Sometimes, if you love something, Dream, the best thing you can do is let it go.” . . . As you slip into the soft embrace of unconsciousness, the familiar whisper of waves is not the only sensation that greets you. A gentle, repetitive pressure coaxes you into alertness, a bizarre sensation that feels like soft, wet sandpaper. Familiar. You know this feeling…

In an instant, your eyes snap open. “Theo?”

Theo’s furry face is bent over where you lie in the sand, all sloppy, wet tongue and dark, gleaming eyes. You sit up with a start, eagerly taking him in your arms, running your hands over his warm, squirmy body. You know this can’t be real. You gave him to his new family just earlier today. And you’re sitting on that honey-gold beach by the Tiffany blue sea, which tells you you’re steeped deep in your unconsciousness.

And yet, Theo’s form feels so real beneath your hands. His ears are as floppy as ever, his curls as soft as silk under your palms. Once again, your unconscious ability to commit physical characteristics to memory has astounded you.

But there’s one familiar figure you haven’t seen yet. As Theo buries himself in your arms, eagerly lapping at your chin, your eyes sweep across the beach. And there he is, standing only a few feet away. The radiant sun frames Fake Dream’s tall, slender form in white gold. As you stare at him, something seems off to you. It takes a moment to register the difference, but when you do, the realization steals the breath straight from your lungs. Because Fake Dream’s lips are not downturned in a scowl, or flattened in indifference. No, one corner of those rosebud lips is ever so slightly upturned into the faintest ghost of a smile.

It’s a gesture that carries significance, a deviation from his normal stoicism that you’ve only seen directed toward Hob, Matthew, or Lucienne. That gesture, so sparingly given, has never been directed at you before. Heart caught in the base of your throat, the realization that you would do anything to hold it there, to see it again and again, hits you like a ton of bricks. To see it in real life. Because that’s how you know this is fake. Real Dream has never offered you such a display.

But in this moment, it doesn’t matter that any of this is fake. All that matters is Theo’s kisses on your face, his furry body in your arms, and Fake Dream’s quirked lips. All that matters is that it feels real, even if it’s not.

Once, you had dreaded slipping into unconsciousness at night. Now, you feel yourself hesitating to leave it with the dawn. . . . When you step out of the vortex of sand and into the open grove of Fiddler’s Green, the lush flora and fauna seem to reach to greet you. Blades of grass sprout beneath your feet with each step, framing your sneakers in brilliant green. Dandelions crane their necks to graze your ankles, while golden Russell lupine incline to brush against your knuckles.

You caress them in kind, a soft smile gracing your lips. I missed you, too, you think fondly, bending to enjoy the sweet scent emanating from the delicate petals. And it was true. Ever since Theo had gone to his new family a few days prior, you’d been spending more and more of your hours in the Dreaming. The silence of your townhome felt too quiet, the stillness too empty. While you’d been slipping away to perform your duties and snag a few hours of rest, even a short period away from Dream Country left you eager to return as of late.

That familiar pull takes up in your chest as you walk through the grove, coaxing you toward the palace, toward the Dream Lord. With a smile, you pull the pouch of Dream’s sand from your pocket. A fresh handful spirits you from the open fields of Fiddler’s Green to the familiar warmth and clutter of the Library of Dreams. You spot Lucienne immediately, her regal, coat-tailed silhouette pacing in front of the colossal doors to the throne room.

“Lucienne!” you call as you approach her. She swivels instantly at your exclamation, pausing in her incessant pacing to look at you. You immediately catch the furrow in her brow, the tight clasp of her hands behind her back. Your lips mirror her frown as you come to a slow stop before her. “Is something wrong?”

Lucienne’s full lips part and close several times, as if seeking the right words to say. Her hesitation makes your heart stutter in your chest. Finally, she bows her head apologetically at you. “Forgive me, Miss Love, for my frazzled state. All is well in the Dreaming. It is just that Lord Morpheus has welcomed a rather…unexpected guest to the palace today.”

Your eyebrows shoot up at her words, your interest thoroughly piqued. What kind of guest would leave Lucienne frazzled? “A guest? Who?”

Lucienne lowers her gaze to the floor. You get the impression that she’s mulling over whether to divulge the identity of this mysterious guest. Perhaps it’s someone Dream wishes to keep a secret. Just as you’re about to reassure her that she doesn’t have to tell you, she lifts her gaze to yours. “It is Lord Morpheus’s former spouse. The Muse, Calliope.”

There is a distinctly bottomless sensation as the floor of the library is ripped out from underneath you, sending you plummeting down, down, down.

Oh.

“Oh.” The word is out of your mouth without contemplation. It hangs in the air between you, awkward and plain, making the heavy silence heavier. Clearing your throat, you scramble for some kind of coherent thought to add on to it. “And that is concerning…why?”

“After their…separation, Lord Morpheus became bitter and angry. Their parting was steeped in loss, and it darkened him.” She pauses, turning to glance at the closed doors behind her. The pull in your chest thrums as she does, urging you to walk through them, to go where Dream lies on the other side. “His countenance seems much improved today, I must say. Still, I’m a little nervous. It has been a long time since the Lady Calliope has been in the Dreaming.”

His countenance is much improved. The Lady Calliope. A tight knot tangles itself at the base of your throat, making it difficult to breathe. Your mind turns to the red eros and green storge attachments that had linked Dream and Calliope’s names in his book in your library. The book could not tell you what was current and what was not. It was a record, and nothing more. Still, Lucienne’s description of Dream’s ‘improved countenance’ leaves a strange feeling in your stomach. “Any idea what they’re talking about?” you ask, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

“I haven't a clue.”

Your lips tighten into a hard line as your stomach turns. You suspect you know exactly what they’re talking about. In spite of the unease pooling in your gut, you smile at Lucienne. “Okay. Well, I, uh…I guess I’ll just wait, then. Read some books until they’re done. Will you come find me when they’re finished?”

“I will, Miss Love.”

You turn on your heel without a farewell, acutely aware of the fact that you’re acting totally out of character. Acutely aware of the fact that this deviation will not slip past Lucienne, as astute as she is. You dive into the aisles of bookshelves swiftly, eyes ignoring the signposts displaying years and letters above you, instead trained only on what is in front of you. Adrenaline propels you forward, away from others and their prying eyes, eager to be alone with your thoughts.

After several minutes of twisting and turning, you find yourself among the first-century ‘Z’s.’ A relatively sparse collection in the grand scheme of the universe, and a spot you feel others are unlikely to journey to. It’s here that you press your back against the bookshelves and sink to the floor with a bone-deep sigh. Only here do you allow the mask to slip aside and the dam to break as the full weight of your emotions washes through you.

First comes the disbelief, hollow and cold. One of the Dream Lord’s former lovers–no, his ex-wife, the mother of his child–was here in the Dreaming. The mere thought sends your head spinning so wildly that you cradle it in your hands. Though you had heard the stories and seen the names in his book with your very own eyes, the Dream Lord’s past lovers had always felt like distant figments to you, almost more like myths than reality. You had never suspected that a day like this might come.

Anger comes next, taking you off-guard. It boils up from a place deep within you, coiling tightly in your stomach, simmering in your veins. Anger at what, you’re not sure. Perhaps at yourself for acting a fool, for not being able to control your emotions? You had no right to be angry with anyone else. Fingernails drag across your scalp as you comb anxious fingers through your hair. In spite of the deep breaths you try to calm yourself with, the relentless hammering of your heart doesn’t stop.

It’s from that hammering heart that the next emotion swells, clouding your thoughts, making you dizzy. Panic. Panic over what the two of them could be talking about. Though Lucienne claimed to have no clue, the answer seemed obvious in your mind. Dream’s sentiments from that night on the dock, his apparent dismay at not understanding why his past relationships had ended in ruin, burns in your memory like a brand. ‘Love is as much about sacrifice as it is about reward.’ That’s what you’d told him. He must have found his answer within that sentence. Must have learned his lesson.

And now, he was reuniting with his former wife, the mother of his lost child, with the intention of getting things right.

As you curl your knees to your chest, resting your forehead against them, a new sensation sweeps through you. Or rather, the absence of sensation. As the heat of your anger and the turmoil of your panic drain away, a numbness takes their place. It’s familiar, this bone-deep emptiness, this feeling of being carved out and left unfilled. You fold into yourself tightly, making yourself as small as possible. As if doing so might grant reprieve from this feeling that has plagued you so many times in your long, long existence. Sorrow.

What reason do you have to be sad? that incessant voice of logic hisses in the back of your mind. You should be happy for him.

Shame rides on the coattails of the voice’s words, thick and nauseating. Still, it’s a welcome relief from the sorrow, and you hold tightly to it. Indeed, why were you sad? Dream was reuniting with his lost love. They were getting a second chance at happiness. He deserved to be happy. Plus, with Dream and Calliope’s relationship rekindled, you wouldn’t have to worry about the philia attachment between you anymore. It was as good as platonic.

You draw in slow, deep breaths, waiting for the emptiness in your bones to fade. Waiting for it to be replaced with that overwhelming feeling of radiant rightness that filled your soul every time you fulfilled an attachment, every time a love match found its way.

Still, the sorrow remains.

Hoping to outwait the feeling, you remain where you are, tightly folded in on yourself amid the aisles of the Library of Dreams. When you hear quiet footsteps approaching you, you’re unsure of how long you’ve been sitting here. The only thing you’re sure of is that you haven’t outwaited anything.

“Miss Love.” The soft tone of Lucienne’s voice coaxes your head upwards, unfurling you from within yourself. She stands a few feet away at the edge of the aisle. You can spot the concern in her dark eyes from here. “Are you alright?”

You offer her a small, crooked smile. Rising to your feet, you lie, “Yes, I’m fine, Lucienne. Just tired, is all. Is he ready for me?”

Lucienne draws in a breath to speak, then hesitates. She clearly doesn’t believe you. Indecision wages war in her brown eyes. You can practically see her weighing the scales, contemplating whether to cling to formality and proceed forward, or potentially overstep a boundary by prying further. You’re not sure which option terrifies you more.

After a long moment of silence, Lucienne gives a brief nod. She speaks no words as she beckons you to follow, and you trail after her in silence. As you weave through the labyrinth of bookshelves, a part of you wonders what made her choose silence over inquiry. Perhaps a lifetime of trying to provide emotional support to Dream, only to often be rebuffed, has made her believe that some individuals simply do not want to be helped. The thought makes your heart ache.

When you walk into the main corridor of the library, you find that the towering throne room doors are now wide open. Two forms stand on the other side of the doorway, their silhouettes outlined in emerald, ruby, and sapphire from the stained glass windows behind them.

Though Lucienne stops at the edge of the bookshelves, your feet carry you forward, unbidden. Dream’s dark, lithe form is leaned over, whispering something in the ear of the dark-haired woman facing him. Your cheeks flush as you come to a stop outside the throne room doors. Calliope.

When the Muse turns away from Dream, toward you, you go still as a stone. It’s instantly evident why Dream fell for her. Her ethereal form seems almost weightless as she glides toward the library, her sandaled feet barely touching the floor. Her brilliant white peplos floats about her like foam on the sea. Ringlets of dark-brown hair spill over her shoulders, framing the soft features of her kind face. There is a grace and freedom in her movements that you’ve never seen in another being, an effervescence that she carries effortlessly.

The King of Dreams and Nightmares and a Muse of divine inspiration. The perfect pair. You swallow thickly.

As Calliope exits the throne room, you expect her to dissipate into feathers, or at least bypass you entirely. When her warm brown eyes settle on you, you hold your breath. Or, rather, your breath holds you.

Calliope approaches you silently, coming to a stop within arm’s reach. You’re certain she must hear the pounding of your heart in your chest. If she does, she doesn’t show it. Slowly, she reaches out, taking your hands in both of her own. Frozen in place, you allow her to do so, halfway convinced that you must have spontaneously developed the ability to dream. Halfway certain that none of this is real.

When Calliope gives your hands a gentle squeeze, however, you’re assured that this is no dream.

“Watch over him. Please,” she says softly, her voice as sweet as wine and honey.

Your lips part in awe. Your mind tailspins, caught between wanting to run and wanting to stay, wanting to ask her questions and wanting to question nothing.

“Yeah,” you breathe. It’s the only coherent thought you’re able to articulate.

Calliope’s plush lips draw into a warm, pleased smile. She gives your fingers one last squeeze. And then she slips away, gone like a petal in the wind.

You find that you can’t watch as she drifts away to exit the Dreaming. As weightless as she seemed, the weight of this moment feels all too heavy. Your gaze remains affixed on your hands, still extended from where she held them. Your mind struggles to wrestle with her simple words, the complex implication behind them.

The quiet clearing of a throat snaps you out of your thoughts. When your eyes dart upward, you find that Dream has crossed the throne room to stand before you in Calliope’s place. The proximity of his body to yours makes your skin hum. The way his ocean eyes regard you with a palpable gentleness makes your stomach flip.

“Are you ready?” Dream asks, his rosebud lips caressing each word with care.

At first, you’re not sure what he means. Then, the realization dawns on you. Work. Of course. You offer him a small, tentative smile, shoving down the tempest of emotions storming within you.

But only temporarily. You know now what you have to do. “Yes.” . . . Hours later, after all your work with Dream is done, you slip into the Dreaming under cover of night with a palmful of sand. Unlike normal, you don’t immediately go in search of Matthew, Lucienne, or even Dream.

No, your first stop is Mervyn Pumpkinhead’s personal quarters within the palace. You slip through the door in silence, like a dream in the night. A featherlight touch to his quietly snoring chest is all it takes to step into the Realm of Attachment from there.

The transition to the radiance of your Realm from the nighttime shadows of the Dreaming is jarring. The only thing that doesn’t catch you off-guard is the brilliant white thread you find unfurling from your chest. Philia.

Though its presence comes as no surprise to you, the sight of it still takes your breath away. It’s the first time you’ve ever laid eyes on it, the first time you’ve ever seen any attachment originate from within yourself. Its white glow brightens and dims in time with your heartbeat, a pattern that quickens the longer you stare at it. You exit Mervyn’s room swiftly, before you can change your mind.

The white thread guides you out of the living quarters, through the palace’s long, wide halls and winding staircases, into the Library of Dreams. The attachment leads straight across the main corridor, stretching over the reading tables before disappearing into the colossal doors at the opposite end. With a deep, calming breath, you slip through the throne room doors like a ghost.

Dream of the Endless stands on the other side, his solitary form a dark run of ink in the center of the throne room. Hands clasped behind his back, his black cloak spills around him, pooling at his feet. You approach his still form with slow, careful steps, in spite of the fact that you know he can’t see you. With each step you take, the thread between you grows shorter and shorter. With each inch you lose, your heart flutters faster.

You step in front of him, seeking his face, only to find it turned toward the open ceiling above. While you know he is staring at the star-speckled cosmos that lie above the palace’s trusses, the Realm of Attachment affords you no cosmos. Instead, a kaleidoscope of colors is reflected in his pale blue eyes, a mirror image of the rainbow threads above.

A soft smile pulls at your lips at the sight of him here, pondering the night sky after a long day of work. You suddenly realize that you’ve never asked him if he has his own resting hours to retreat into. While other deities remain dreamless, does the Dream Lord himself ever dream?

In any other realm, you’d be wary of staring too long, worried that his keen gaze might take notice. The knowledge that he can’t see you now is…comforting. Allowing yourself the simple pleasure of studying his features, unhurried and unabashed, feels like a gift. Your eyes trace the perpetual disarray of his raven hair, the stray strands that fall over his forehead. They brush against the lush, dark lashes that frame his ocean eyes–ever bright, ever pondering. The light of the rainbow sky above casts his alabaster skin in an array of colors, accentuating the proud bridge of his nose, the faint dimple at its tip. Tilted upwards in thought, that sharp jaw could cut your heart out. The faint ghost of a shadow along it, creeping down to the top of this throat, sends a delicious warmth spreading from the top of your scalp to the tips of your toes.

And his lips. Maker, his lips. Pink as a rosebud, they part softly as he ponders the heavens above, as if searching for answers. Answers to what, you don’t know. Standing this close, you notice for the first time that his bottom lip is slightly fuller than the top. The urge to draw the pad of your thumb over it, to test its softness, its fullness, is sudden and overwhelming. Not a curiosity, or a want, but a need.

He’s beautiful, you admit to yourself for the very first time. Warmth blooms inside your chest, caressing your heart in gentle hands. The philia attachment between you beams in kind, illuminating both of your faces in its radiant glow.

You swallow, nerves stealing the grin from your lips, turning your mouth to sandpaper. It’s time. Time to do it now, before you lose whatever courage you have left.

The hammer of your heart is all you know as you wrap your hand around the thread with conviction.

Show me. . . . AN: Sneak peek content for anyone who sends me theories about Eugene Onegin and Le Morte d’Arthur. x

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ohraicodoll · 2 years

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Interwoven | Chapter 5

Chapters: 5/6 Fandom: The Sandman (Comics & TV 2022) Rating: Mature/Explicit Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Original Female Character, Dream/Reader Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Original Female Character, Hob Gadling, Original Characters, Matthew the Raven, Lucienne, Calliope, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Calliope, The Endless, Eve, Delirium, Death, Desire Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Sexual Content, Past Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Possessive Behavior, Domestic Abuse, Domestic Violence, Jealousy, Trauma Responses Tags: Character Development, Established Relationships, General complicated feelings, meeting the family, meeting the friends, talk about fantasies, domestic life, fluff, past Relationships, ANGST, OFC: Dahlia, Named Reader, 1st POV

Summary: She had very few people in her life and while he denied it, Dream had so many. People that cared for him, people that warned her. Or in other terms, Dream and Dahlia’s casual relationship is turning not so casual. Chapter Summary: The past and present collide. CHAPTER WARNING: References to Domestic Abuse, Violence, Assault, Graphic Descriptions, Trauma Depictions

As I often did when faced with having to have a hard conversation, I pushed it under the rug and moved on, content to let the unease stay under the surface. Fear and uncertainty won out and it wouldn’t change anything, bringing it all up. Going back to the Waking World was surprisingly difficult but life called. I had work and bills and it’s not like there was cellphone service in the Dreaming so I had to make sure Anissa or Hob weren’t blowing up my phone or freaking out that I’d disappeared. Morpheus eventually fixed that issue through…magic? I wasn’t sure, but he was able to contact people with glowing orbs so it wasn’t too much of a stretch. The orb system wouldn’t quite work for Anissa unless I wanted to spill the news of who he was or give her a heart attack so we went with making my phone reachable in the Dreaming. But life went on. Morpheus didn’t open up about his sisters though I knew something was bothering him and I didn’t bring up Alianora. It was easier to face the insecurity eating me away than the potential argument that would ensue. He was on edge, simultaneously aloof and more protective and I wasn’t sure how to approach him. The holiday months came and passed, one after the other, and time marched ever on. When most people gathered with their families, I stayed in the Dreaming with Morpheus or we’d go to Hob’s flat above the New Inn. Two family-less mortals and an Endless who didn’t seem to care for his. Dream didn’t particularly care if it was a certain holiday, I think using it as an excuse to get away and be with us. Celebrating mostly involved listening to the immortal talk, us bickering, and too much drinking, but for once the holidays didn’t feel as lonely as previous years. Anissa tried to drag me to her family gathering but I declined, not quite feeling like being an outsider and watching what I had lost. It turns out the Dreaming did seem to celebrate certain holidays, or at least some areas of it did. Abel was the main facilitator, going around and decorating furiously and getting the staff involved. Lucienne even wrote out holiday cards for the Dreaming residents. Most of them visited the Houses of Mystery and Secrets for Christmas and ice skating, the large lake nearby frozen over and the area covered in snow. Watching Merv and his Guano Gang of bats try to help hang up lights and decorate trees was particularly entertaining and even if Morpheus didn’t fully participate in all the activity, choosing to work instead, he’d joined for parts of it and stood at my side or watched Lucienne attempt to teach me to ice skate. I knew that even if he seemed disinterested, there was no way the weather in the realm magically became a winter wonderland without his help. It was a small thing, but I noticed it. And as the new year came and went, as I spent time where I could in the Dreaming and Morpheus became a more solid presence in my life, this thing between us felt like an expanding bubble. It was getting harder to ignore, harder to swallow and say we were nothing because we didn’t feel like nothing. We felt like too much. The Dreaming was feeling like home. He was feeling like home. I’d gone from being hollow and going from one empty relationship to another, desperately seeking some sort of affection after Aiden, empty and craving something to make the world less gray. Now life was magic and stories and immortals and people who genuinely cared for me. Anissa, though not his biggest fan, stopped ribbing me about Morpheus and seemed to accept him in a passive aggressive way. Though she didn’t stop giving him shit when the few times she was around him. Hob was quickly becoming a close friend and confidant, someone that understood having a secret and being tied to magic. He’d seen and experienced so much but was still full of light and kindness. Lucienne and Matthew and all of the Dreaming accepted me and seemed happy enough for me to be around. And Dream, he cared. Cared so much that it felt like I would be swallowed whole by the endless stars and sky that burned in his eyes. He hated me being away, I could tell. Each time I left the Dreaming, he seemed to cling tighter and when he would leave, he’d linger longer. I knew he was aware of the bubble growing as well, this building thing between us and I wasn’t sure how he felt. Morpheus was simultaneously desperate to have me at his side and mysteriously distant at times, doing work that he wouldn’t share or expand upon when asked. It felt like he was hiding something and I wasn’t sure how to feel. Complicated. Attached. Mine and his. Words I’d used to describe us seemed too simple now. They didn’t fit. But different words, words that lingered on my tongue when I smiled at him wide with utter abandon or felt his lips on my skin in worship, felt too big. Like I would choke on them if they left my lips. Like he’d vanish if he attempted to utter them. Thus, we stayed in limbo, too big and too small, but knowing something would change soon for better or for worse. A car crash waiting to happen. I chewed my lip as I left my office building, the air outside warmer in the evening now. Spring had come slowly but a few tendrils of Winter still clung, the slight bite in the morning hanging in the air by lunch and now gone entirely by evening. The day had been slow, boring, and I’d spent a dumb amount of time at work arguing about an old collection of fairy tales over text with Hob in between his lectures. I had no doubt it would continue when he came over for dinner with Dream, who would no doubt settle it between us, but I was determined to be right. I had even called the local bookshop I frequented close to my apartment to see if they carried the book I was thinking of. He was stubborn but so was I. Anissa was out on vacation for a week, leaving the office stuffy and boring so I was eager to leave as soon as the clock turned. I sighed and checked my phone before entering into the small bookshop down the street, the bell ringing overhead. I had a bit of time before both immortals came over. Hob was going to be doing the cooking so he had plans to come over earlier to start, Morpheus showing up whenever he deemed he could get away. He didn’t eat with us but usually drank wine while we did, choosing to enjoy the company instead. We’d learned better after making him try the food once, overly excited to see him change his mind and only getting a bland reaction in return. Unless it was on my skin, he wasn’t a fan of human foods. There weren't a lot of people inside, most customers already headed home for the night rather than stopping in to shop. I twiddled with the black stone on my necklace and went to the isle where the book would likely be, skimming over the titles and slightly smiling at myself while thinking of the two men that simultaneously annoyed me and kept me on my toes in different ways. But I was determined to be able to throw this book in Hob’s face if only to see his reaction. I chewed my lip and then made a small noise of satisfaction as the title fell under my fingertips, the book obviously second hand and well loved but the golden foil of the words holding up. I flipped through the pages anxiously, grinning when it found the one I knew had been in this collection. He had been so determined to say it wasn’t included, it was going to be so satisfying to prove him wrong. “I take it you found what you were looking for?” a soft feminine voice spoke behind me and I jumped, hugging the book to my chest and knocking into the shelf. I winced as my elbow connected to the wood and some of the books jostled together. The woman standing behind me was beautiful, dark hair falling around her shoulders and some pinned back in intricate braids. Her brown eyes were warm as she looked on with a slight smile, a white sundress falling to her feet. There was a grace and light that emanated from her, ease and comfort surrounding her like a well loved blanket. I smiled, laughing nervously, and clung to the book in my hands. “Uh, yeah, I was hoping they had this copy. I was needing it for a friend,” I replied, tongue explaining without even thinking. She smiled and nodded, hands clasped in front of her and looking at the title I held, “That is an old one, but a beautiful collection.” I wasn’t sure why I was nervous. Words tumbled from my lips unbidden and I couldn’t help smiling, a little bashful, “I read it a long time ago when I was trying to get a story sorted out, but I think I just ended up devouring the stories instead. I love old folk tales.” In truth, I’d read it all over and over again until Aiden had tossed it in the trash. I had become distracted from him and like most things I loved, he got rid of it. Her brown eyes lit up and a tinge of amusement danced along her lips, “Oh you’re a writer?” I chewed on my lip, shrugging, “Sort of. Nothing published or really finished, more like I write in my past time.” My past time which had been dwindling over the past year, now relegated to when I would spend time in the library with Lucienne or the few times I was alone at home, “I work at the book publisher a few blocks away! It was the closest I could get to working with stories outside of writing and reading them.” That amusement on her face grew but there was a hint of bitterness at its edge. I wasn’t sure why I was telling her this, almost as if it were unbidden. One of my hands went to fiddle with the black stone necklace, the obsidian cool under my fingers. I watched her eyes follow the movement and fixate, her brow furrowing. “A writer and a lover of stories,” she sighed almost sadly even while slightly smiling, warm brown eyes flickering up to meet mine once more, “I could see why Oneiros would take an interest in you.” The name clanged through me, harsh and sharp, severing the connection between us. Almost as if the temperature had dropped, it was instantly colder and I could feel the slight tingling of Dream’s power emanating from the stone necklace. Oneiros, another of Morpheus’ names. My fingers tightened around the book. I was on guard immediately and shut myself off, face becoming stony, “It was nice talking to you but I have somewhere I need to be.” Before she could reply, I took the book and almost walked out of the store, stopping briefly to remember where I was. The cashier didn’t comment on the fact I was shaking, quickly ringing me up and completing my purchase, and then I was pushing the door open to leave the small bookshop with the book shoved into my bag. I was alert, flight or fight running through me. Normal people didn’t know about Morpheus. She couldn’t be human, could be any manner of thing. And I wasn’t about to stick around to find out if she meant to hurt me, maybe even use me against him. Morpheus’ paranoia was rubbing off on me. Dream’s necklace was clutched in my fingers and I wondered if he could feel the sharp tick in my anxiety, glancing up to see if I could spot Matthew anywhere. I wasn’t sure exactly how his connection to the jewel worked, only that it would lead him to me in case of emergencies. Another of his precautions. The door chimed behind me and footsteps raced before a gentle hand grabbed my arm. I whirled and backed up, breaking contact and instantly defensive. The woman held her hands up, face apologetic and beseeching, “I mean you no harm! I did not wish to frighten you at all, I had simply wished to speak with you.” Her voice was gentle, pleading, and there was a calming effect to it that I tried to shake off. It could be natural but could also be magic. I didn’t relax, eyes wide. Even in the brightness of the dying sun with other people around, I was fully on my guard, “You mentioned Dream, you know him.” She let out a huff, half a laugh and half a sigh, while slightly lowering her hands, “Yes, I do know him. I would have said rather well, but I’m afraid not quite so much anymore. My name is Calliope. Do you know who I am?” The world tilted. My breath caught and eyes widened, heart thumping rapidly in my chest. Did I know who she was? Yes, I did. Her name had rattled in my brain for an entire night while I sat in Morpheus’ empty chambers, waiting for him. Wondering what he was doing, running off to his ex-wife, leaving me without even a word. His former lover and wife. The mother of his child. A muse, a goddess. It all fit now that I was looking at her with fresh eyes. She was beautiful, a hint of etherealness underneath her rich tanned skin, with an elegant face and regal-ness. Even in more modern clothing, it fit her and didn’t hide the classic look of her. The calming nature of her made sense. I could only whisper out a reply, eyes quickly cataloging everything about her all the while finding myself lacking, “Yes, I know of you.” Morpheus had loved her once, loved her long enough to marry her and then father a child with her. We had never broached the topic again after our last blow out concerning her, when he’d disappeared to help her, so I wasn’t sure how they had fallen apart, how their marriage had crumbled. I knew it had to deal with their son but that was a dangerous topic and I never brought it up again. But looking at her, I could see why he had been with her. There was tenderness, compassion alongside her beauty, but confidence and a hint of defiance in her eyes. A muse and the Prince of Stories. It was fitting. More fitting than a human and King of Dreams. Her lips pressed together and she tried to smile at me but it was a bit sad and sympathetic, “This is a bit of a mess, is it not? I am sorry. I had heard of you- of both of you and…was curious as to who had attracted his attention. I truly only wished to talk.” She was pleading, hands open as if to show she truly meant no harm. I chewed on my lip, feeling small and awkward in front of her, as I processed her words. She had heard of us which meant word had spread beyond the Dreaming and the Endless. Otherworldly beings turned out to be huge gossips and I was finding myself at the center of that. I knew that would upset Morpheus, either because people were intruding on his personal business or because it meant people knew he was with a human. I wasn’t sure and didn’t know if I wanted to find out which. In all honesty, I didn’t know what to do or how to feel. This woman did nothing to me beyond spark jealousy and insecurity but that wasn’t her fault. I knew she had been in trouble, imprisoned against her will for years until Morpheus had at last saved her. Sympathy and jealousy warred until all that was less was awkwardness. “I’m Dahlia. I…don’t really know what to say to you. This isn’t exactly a normal occurrence for me,” I mumbled and almost hugged myself if only to feel some semblance of grounding. “Meeting a former lover of Dream’s?” Calliope offered with a slight smile. I shrugged, “More like meeting a goddess but that too.” We both sort of laughed under our breaths, the tension easing a bit. Sighing, I looked up at her from under my lashes and chewed on my already raw lip, “He didn’t tell me exactly what you went through but…I’m sorry, either way. I’m glad he helped free you.” A shadow passed behind her eyes and she briefly looked down, swallowing visibly, before offering a solemn smile, “It is unnecessary but thank you. I did not believe he would come, that he would help. But he has changed. I can see that now.” “How so?” I asked. I kept hearing over and over that he had changed, but this was the only version of him I ever knew. Everything I’d been told so far had been so different from the man I’d come to be with. She looked me over then looked around us, people walking past on their way home along the sidewalks, “May I walk with you?” In the back of my mind, I reminded myself Hob and Dream would both be at my apartment soon so maybe heading that way wasn’t a bad idea. I could only hope he wasn’t near and didn’t see Calliope. If he was mad at Delirium and Death for being around me, I wasn’t sure how he’d react to his ex wife talking to me. I nodded and she stepped forward, falling into step at my side as we started to walk down the street. “He is no longer the man I once married,” the goddess began, eyes distant, “When he pursues you, he is fire and overwhelming. Almost suffocating with how much he loves, but once that fades, once it all settles, he could be so cold, so strict. It’s a miracle we stayed together as long as we did. Now there is almost a…gentleness to him. Oneiros is not as hard as he used to be. Maybe not as cruel.” Cruel. This wasn’t the first time I had heard that description of him. It’d been said about Alianora. He was fire, bright and burning and all consuming. While I’d been told in the past he would hardly touch anyone, didn’t seem to like it himself and wouldn’t permit it, he almost seemed desperate for contact now. He was always touching me in some form or fashion, even if it was only a simple brush against my side. I couldn’t see this Morpheus she was describing, but then again she was speaking of love. We weren’t like that. Either way, this was probably my only chance to learn more about their relationship. I was learning a lot about Dream’s previous lovers, most likely learning more than I should, and a part of me said that sometimes knowing too much would only hurt. Another part though couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help the comparisons or learning how he may one day leave or hurt me, learning the differences. Maybe it was the broken, leftover parts of my previous relationship that made me want to prepare for the worst instead of enjoying what I had. Like I was bracing for impact. But I couldn’t stop it. Fear had a hold of me and said to prepare because he would leave one day like he did with all the rest. Each step felt like it weighed a ton, but I kept walking, glancing at her from the side of my eyes, “But you did stay together for quite a while. I’m sorry if this is intrusive. He just never talks about…anything.” Calliope smiled, almost knowing, letting me guide the direction we walked, “No, he doesn’t. Sharing parts of himself was never something he did. But it’s fine, I understand wanting to know and I don’t mind.” She took a deep breath, breathing in the cooling air of dusk, “We did once love each other, but I wished to keep my life even while we were together. It made each meeting more special in my mind and I did not wish to live in the Dreaming. I lived in the Waking world with my sisters and he stayed in his realm. But once the passion faded, I think the distance became a wedge.” “Oneiros traps himself in his rules and routines and work, desperately clinging to them while also desperate to break from them. I think in the beginning I was a distraction from that work, a distraction from the Dreaming. I tried to be considerate of his responsibilities, was obedient and caring as a good wife is, but it was not enough. I think he became bored of it all, of our domestic life. He slowly stopped visiting and I had to go to him if I wished to see him.” “Wait, weren’t you Queen? Of the Dreaming?” I asked tentatively. I wasn’t sure if that was even a thing, but the fact she stayed outside of the Dream even while married was odd to me. I couldn’t imagine not being a part of the realm while with him. The place was magic and I knew Morpheus loved sharing it. But I wasn’t a goddess and I was sure she had things to do besides being his wife. Calliope shook her head and lifted her head, taking in the dying sun, “No, I was merely his consort. I had my own responsibilities as a muse and let him handle the Dreaming but back then he was less willing to share. Whether it was the realm or himself. It was his burden to bear and only his. Maybe it was partially my fault for not becoming more a part of his life, the distance, not pushing. It wasn’t our way back then to push, even as his wife. I was there to help and serve him.” The thought rankled me, bitter in my mouth. I knew how that was. More a maid and less a partner, there to help and be a decoration. I didn’t see her as being obedient but times change. Even the person I was a few years ago was so different from who I was now. She looked at me as if she knew the comment had annoyed me and smiled. The streets were clearing out as dusk fully settled in. We were walking slowly, taking our time while still headed for my home. One by one, street lamps turned on and we savored the low lights and warmth of the breeze. Sighing, the muse fiddled with her fingers, brown hair cascading over her shoulders, “I had thought perhaps a baby could repair the strain. It was my wifely duty but I wanted something that was both of ours. And for a time, it did. He was a wonderful father, but the distance only grew until it became a chasm.” “I-” the words stuck in my throat, choking, but I pushed on, “He doesn’t talk about your child and I’d prefer if when he does tell me about him, it’s on his terms. If that’s okay?” Calliope paused and the sadness was apparent even in the dim lighting. There was pain there, bright and sparkling as if whatever had happened was fresh. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was. If their son had died or something worse had happened. Morpheus didn’t speak of him at all and I could see in her face that whatever had befallen the boy, it hadn’t been good. I didn’t want to learn second-hand. It was too big, too important. I’d wait for him to tell it when he was ready, if he’d ever be ready. And so she nodded, “Of course. It is…difficult for both of us. But it should be something he tells you himself.” We were getting closer to the area of my apartment, but I wasn’t feeling as anxious anymore. Her presence was nice, reassuring even if an air of sadness hung around her, “I must not quite be what you expected. I’m so very human.” She smiled, eyes brightening, “You say that as if it’s a bad thing. Being human is wonderful, but yes I am a bit surprised. I wasn’t expecting him to be with a mortal given-” The muse seemed to cut herself off, looking unsure and hesitant. I raised a brow, confusion coloring my eyes, and she ducked her face away before shaking off the look, “Given who he is. But he has changed so much, even if he doesn’t believe so. Even if I didn’t believe he could. Have you met his family yet?” The change in topic was obvious. There was something there she had wanted to say but stopped herself. It kicked up my anxiety but I didn’t know her well enough to push and let it slide, going along with it, “I met Delirium and Death very briefly, but that’s been it. It was more accidental so nothing formal, but they were nice.” She smiled tightly at the older Endless’ name, nodding, “I was never very close to them. They kept their distance for the most part but were a part of my son’s life. They are…strange. For a long time I blamed them, and maybe Oneiros as well, for the things that went wrong. Their involvement in our lives and the way they acted. Even their help can hurt. But it is their nature to be as they are and they can never truly change from their function. I would keep that in mind for the future.” The warning was clear and my brow furrowed, not sure exactly what had happened with her and the family. I knew some things about how they were. Desire and Dream seemed to butt heads the most, bad blood flowing between them, Despair usually getting dragged into it being Desire’s twin. Death was his favorite and who he was closest to. Delirium was spoken less of as well as Destiny and then Destruction…he had only been mentioned once and bitterness had coated his name. I wasn’t sure what had been done, but they were a dysfunctional bunch. But weren’t all families?

I wasn’t sure. It’d been so long since I had one. The sky was dark as we came closer to the apartment, the air cool on my skin. I was probably late and even if Hob knew where the spare key was, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was blowing up my phone. But it was in my bag, tucked away while we walked. Sighing, I looked at Calliope at my side and the way the light illuminated her features. The insecurity was at an all time high, and had increased since learning of her because standing next to the goddess I couldn’t help but feel lesser. I opened my mouth and asked softly, “Do you still-” “Lia?” The name is a stab, sharp and quick, and my body almost jerked as the sound reached me. I whirled around quickly, looking at the dark street behind me and seeing nothing. Lia, no one called me that. No one was allowed to call me that, not in the years since I’d gotten free. My breathing was quick and shallow as I combed through the area with my eyes, Calliope’s questioning voice muffled under the high pitched whirring in my head. I couldn’t see anything but knew I had heard it. Maybe it was a stranger talking to another, the name bouncing to hit me unintentionally. A hallucination. My therapist had once said that could happen. Swallowing hard, I turned back to Calliope and could see the concern bright on her face, “Are you okay-” The question had just finished when a hand gripped my arm and I was jerked back roughly, another going around my waist and pulling. My brain went into a scrambled panic, her fearful eyes burned into it as I was dragged back and back into the darkness. I could only register her yelling my name, the painful grip of my arm and the sound of my shoes scraping against concrete as I was pulled roughly into a side alley not far from where we stood. The hands shifted and then I was pushed backward, my back hitting brick and head roughly bouncing off the wall with a sharp crack. Pain flared, hot and bright, and white flashed over my vision for a second. It all was happening so fast and I couldn’t get my bearings, couldn’t breathe or process. But then he was there, standing before me like a nightmare made real. Aiden. He was pressed up close, arms barricading me to the wall, but I could still see him clearly. This wasn’t a dream or nightmare or memory. No, those were images frozen in time from years past. He’d changed. His hair was longer, a mess of stringy dark hair falling around his ears and he had a thick coating of hair along his jaw. Dark circles lined his green eyes, puffy and worn, the skin of his face chapped and like leather. While he had been thin with a bit of muscle, now he was bigger, more filled out but strong. His shirt was ragged and torn along the collar, stains along the fabric. No, this was him in flesh. Older and rougher and so angry as he pressed down against me. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see clearly, eyes locked onto his and the darkness there, “Aiden?” Calliope was calling my name from a distance but I couldn’t process it, could only see the hatred and malice in my ex’s face, “Do you know how long it took me to find you, Lia? Did you really think you could ruin my life and leave like you did?” His voice cut through me like an echo through time. So familiar, stripping the years of my freedom down and away from me. Tangible, he was tangible and in front of me and his presence hurt so much more than the nightmare of him had. Fear pulsed through my body like ice sliding along my bones. “I didn’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stuttered, pain still radiating from the back of my skull, “Let me go.” I was twenty four again, standing in that dirty apartment and begging him not to hurt me. I was twenty, clinging to him and pleading to stop being angry. I was seventeen and alone, thinking he was the only person I had left even as he screamed in my face. This wasn’t a nightmare I could pull myself out of or Morpheus could save me from. He was here, standing before me, and I was stupid to think I’d ever be free. “You didn’t tell anyone about what happened, right?,” Aiden mocked and hissed in my face, spit raining onto me, “You fucking liar. Someone sure as hell reported it. I got arrested for attempted murder because they said I stabbed you and even if you didn’t show up, they had evidence connecting me to some other bullshit. Five years, Lia. They locked me up for five years because of you.” A small part of my brain said five years wasn’t enough. Morpheus had been locked away for over a century for doing nothing wrong. Aiden got off easy. But I was shaking, trying to make myself small and sink into the bricks at my back and he was so close and his breath stank of alcohol and rancid meat and I wanted to disappear, “I didn’t, I swear -” “Shut the fuck up,” he yelled into my face and tears unwittingly slid down my cheeks, my body seizing in fear. The urge to beg, to apologize, to try and coax him down was there inside like an old cat crawling from the darkness and I pushed it away. That wasn’t me but I wasn’t even sure who I was. “You left and suddenly I got put away and you think that’s what? A coincidence? And you think you can simply move on and have a happy little life?” The words were mocking and my nails scraped against the brick as I tried to keep myself from sinking into a ball. There was some strength left in me, some part of who I was now after leaving that reared its head forward and forced myself to plant my feet in the ground. I tried to get me to breathe, to swallow the fear and set it aside, to remember all I had accomplished while pushing out the words, “I left because you were hurting me. I didn’t report anything.” His face twisted in anger but he didn’t have the chance to do anything. With a sharp cry Calliope shoved into him, trying to force him off me. Her shoulder rammed into his and he stumbled back a few steps from the effort. But he was so much bigger than us, stronger now. She managed to put distance between us, pushing and clawing while screaming for me to run. There was no time though and he grabbed her shoulder and easily tossed her across the alley, body skittering over the disgusting floor. I watched her roll across the ground, that beautiful white dress now covered in dirt and felt bile in my throat. He had most likely forgotten about her or hadn’t cared if she was there, but she wasn’t nearly as scared as I was. Her face twisted in fury even from the floor, brown eyes dark with anger, as she shouted at him, “Leave her be!” Aiden smirked and advanced on her, all menace and cruelty in his eyes, “She’s mine, I can do what I want.” I could see it then, in his steps as he walked closer to the goddess, that he’d hurt her. There was no hitting him and getting away with it. There was always punishment but Calliope had already been through so much. She’d been caged and tormented and then thought to seek me out, not out of jealousy but some sort of common thread. I couldn’t let more happen to her, couldn’t let her be dragged into my mess. My head screamed at me but I launched myself forward at Aiden. There was no plan, no reason, only one thought pulsed through my head and that was to get his attention off Calliope. He could direct his anger at me, I could take it. I’d taken it before for years and years, knew the brutality of it. But she didn’t deserve to be hurt, especially not because of me. I tried to leap onto his back, arms wrapping around his neck and nails sinking in. It was a clumsy attempt but I managed, putting all my strength into pulling him backwards. Back and back and away from her, scratching and clawing and trying to bring him down. I think I screamed at Calliope to run, to leave, but couldn’t remember doing so. Skin tore under my nails and Aiden hissed. He growled and tried to grip my wrists, stumbling and turning as I dangled from his back. In one quick move he rammed us both against the wall, my breath leaving me in a single exhale as my back impacted with all his weight against me. My lungs were on fire, desperately trying to refill as all the air left me and I dropped to the ground hard and wheezed. I wasn’t a fighter, had never been strong, but I had tried. He kneeled and then his hands were on my neck, squeezing and squeezing while I kicked and flailed. The darkness encased us, the lamps not reaching where we were in the alley and hiding him thoroughly. I would die by his hand in the end, like I had always believed. For so long I thought he couldn’t do worse but he’d always proved me wrong. This was always going to be end game. Maybe there really was no escape. My hands clawed at his wrists while pain blossomed from my throat, air unable to choke through his grip. I kicked and bucked but he was so heavy on me, unmovable. One of my fingers had hooked into my necklace and it tangled in my fingers while I scratched at Aiden’s arms. I couldn’t leave like this, on a dirty alley floor so close to home while Dream and Hob waited for me. Would Dream know when I died? Would Death come to me first or would she tell her brother? Would I even get to say goodbye? Tears leaked down my cheeks while my lungs burned. Stars and colors danced in my vision and in the haze…I thought I could see a door. Almost like in the Dreaming, it stood in the middle of the alley, plain but luring. Waiting. It was fuzzy along the edges, flickering slightly with the pain and colors, but it was there. I gasped whatever little air I had, whispering out a single word like a plea. “Morpheus.” The word was strained, broken, lost in Calliope’s cries as she tried to get up and to me. But it left my lips, painted my tongue. My dreamlord. The door vanished as darkness began to creep in. Then there was lightning along my skin. It crackled and split the air even while the darkness pulsed and writhed like a living thing. The hands were gone from my throat, air rushing back in as the body above me was jerked away. Aiden was thrown brutally to the ground a few feet away and his body audibly bounced off the floor from the force of the impact. I gasped in the air desperately and touched the tender skin of my throat, coughing through the burn.

Hands -different hands, fingers long and thin, touched the skin of my neck and I blinked up into Dream’s starlit eyes as he softly urged me to breathe. His power coasted along my skin, gentle and soothing, and I knew he was holding it back from me. He was angry, furious, but kept that away from me. He cupped a hand against my check, forehead pressed to mine, and slowly helped me sit up, his skin cool against my heated skin. It was like trying to swallow nails, my throat painful and raw. I was crying, clinging to him, as he righted me against the wall. “You- you’re….here,” I stuttered out with a wince, the words dragging from my lips like sharp edged glass. “I am,” Dream whispered, sorrow and pain and rage lining his voice. He brushed the hair back from my face, from my neck, and seemed to be inspecting the damage. His rage grew. Aiden shifted not far from us, orienting himself on the ground, clumsily trying to sit up. Like an angry storm cloud made of nightmares and power, Morpheus stood and moved before him with a look so furious I couldn’t believe the man was alive. There was no solid edge to him, his cloak merging and shifting with the shadows around his, eyes pure black and stars red. His skin glowed in the darkness and he was purely Dream of the Endless, Ruler of the Nightmare Realms in that moment. Aiden groaned and blinked, trying to scramble to his feet in front of the dreamlord. The impact had hurt but he wasn’t fragile, could no doubt take the blow. But I could see the fear in his eyes, creasing in his brow as he took in the being before him. The Nightmare King slowly advanced and the air was thick with his power building, each step a warning bell. He was fear made flesh, darkness and the things hiding under your bed made real. And his eyes were solely on Aiden now, fingers clenching at his side. Calliope’s voice rang out, closer now, slightly pained, “Oneiros, stop! You cannot kill him!” His head quirked ever so slightly as he registered her voice, making him pause. The shadows slid along the ground and twisted in the air like a cat’s tail angrily flicking in distaste. Aiden took the opportunity to get to his feet, eyes glued to the Endless being in front, but some semblance of self coming back. He was evaluating the situation, taking in the distance to the end of the alley, to me, to Morpheus. I wheezed and attempted to climb to my feet, stumbling forward, knees pressed into the dirty concrete. I was so weak. I couldn’t do anything. Dream started to advance again and stopped almost like he was fighting with himself. Calliope was close now and the dim light reflected off her white gown enough that I could make out her form. She was taking him in, taking in the rage and Aiden before him, and yelled out, “He is not a threat to your realm, you cannot take his life! You cannot break the rule!” Aiden’s confidence was building at the words, his eyes swiveling to find mine briefly. Even when faced with something like the Dream King he still thought he had a chance and could win out in the end. I could see it, the confidence growing in his stance. “There are worse things than Death,” Morpheus growled and looked back at the goddess. The move was a mistake maybe. I could see it in Aiden’s stance like a memory. I could always read his body language, had committed it to memory to know when he’d strike, when he was buying time, when he was lingering in the hopes to draw out the anticipation. Maybe he’d run. Morpheus wouldn’t abandon me to chase after him, wouldn’t leave me. In the few seconds I had my eyes flicked to the ground and I could almost feel time pause. Not far from my scraped knees within grabbing distance were a stray plank of wood and a chipped, broken brick. Even in the scramble of the moment Delirium’s words echoed back clearly. “Oh we can ask if bricks or planks would be better!” It couldn’t be a coincidence. It had been a small offhand comment in her ramblings, but what were the odds? Yet everything clicked into place as I watched the turn of Morpheus’ head, the shifting in Aiden’s feet, the slight lifting of his lips into a smirk. He’d get away and would forever haunt me, would continue to lurk in the darkness. Escaping hadn’t been enough to be free of him. The world was an echo chamber. Silent. We were frozen in place as if time had fallen still and then in a blink everything was moving so fast. And like watching a movie, disassociated from the action, I watched as I picked up the brick and threw myself forward. I swung, it connected. Aiden’s head jerked and I could hear a crunch. I watched separately from my body almost as momentum carried me forward and I was stumbling, but not fully down. The man was bleeding, disoriented, and I swung again though the blow had less power. I swung again and again and a body hit the ground. I wasn’t sure if it was his or mine but then the brick was wrenched away and arms wrapped around me even as I kicked and screamed and cried. I was a wild animal, howling and snarling and pleading to let me finish it. It wasn’t happening to me, it was happening to her. The broken girl who thought she had survived her abuser. I watched as the dreamlord solidified and wrapped the shadows around her, muffling her sobs as he set her down on the floor against the wall. Tears and blood poured down her face and her neck was ringed in purple and red, breath coming out in gasping pants. Hyperventilating. Calliope was rushing over, crawling along the ground under she was at the broken girl’s side calmly urging the girl to breathe. She was having a panic attack and couldn’t be soothed. I was having a panic attack? I thought I could feel my lungs constrict and air try to push in and out but it was all muffled and numb. I was in my body and not, feeling everything and feeling nothing. Existing but watching from the outside. It couldn’t be me, couldn’t be me crumpled on the ground like a broken doll. But even so, she looked like me, had Morpheus’ attention as he combed back her hair and whispered that he was there and it was okay and I needed to breathe. In the distance, I thought I heard a raven’s cry. I could hear their words like they were in my ear. Dream hissed angrily at the goddess, “What are you doing here with her?” and I tried to force my hands to move, to grasp onto him and get his attention. I didn’t want him to be angry at her, I couldn't allow it.

Sobs poured from my lips, hindering the air trying to get in, and with a scratchy voice I attempted to beg him not to be angry. I watched myself do it and felt it too. She had tried to save me. Perhaps had saved me if I had been alone. None of it was her fault. “I promise, we were only speaking. I did not know this would happen,” Calliope tried to explain, her hand clenching mine tightly to ground me, “Is your sister coming?” He turned from her and focused solely on me, black pits having slid back to human icy blue. He didn’t answer. The tight fist in my chest was starting to ease, whether it be time or the soothing touch of Morpheus’ fingers in my hair or Calliope gripping my hand. Breathing became easier if not still painful and I slid back into my own skin. Everything hurt and my brain felt like jello, sloshing around my skull. I think there was blood soaking the back of my head. I tightened my fingers around Calliope and she forced a soft smile at me, “You are okay. He won’t hurt you any longer. You are safe.” She turned to the Endless at her side, both of them hovering over me and smiled sadly, “Take care of her, Oneiros. She needs you now.” His lips turned down and he nodded, but he didn’t meet her gaze. The anger aimed at her lessened, disappearing from the furrow of his brow. The muse moved to stand up but I gripped her hand, swallowing through my pain and tears, “Calliope.” She froze, eyes soft, and I continued, “Thank you.” I don’t remember her reply. The world shifted and turned, darkness blanketing me. I felt like a gravity sinkhole, weightless while also being too heavy. I think I passed out but at the same time, I remembered bits and pieces of what was happening around me. Arms lifting me up, tucking me close, as we climbed a set of stairs. The chest against my cheek emanated warm power, my necklace echoing it back. Hob’s panicked voice as fingers poked at a painful spot on my head. Him shushing and consoling, “darling” and “sweetheart” whispered into my ear and coated in pain and heartbreak. Water, cool and shocking, running through my hair as calloused fingers tried to untangle the matted blood. Morpheus’ own hands brushing the water or tears from my cheeks as he did so. I was held between them, cradled almost. Dream and Hob’s voices going back and forth, tense but resolute. Words like “done it before” and “take care of it” and “for her” stuck in my head before the door shut with a loud bang. Lips pressed against my forehead. The immortal man urging me to focus on him and stay awake, arms wrapped around my small frame and holding me to his chest as he sprawled us out on the couch. Morpheus wasn’t there, his absence noticeable. He talked and talked, voice wavering underneath the false cheer. Hob was gone and I was wrapped in shadows, warm and protective while long fingers skimmed over the bruises on my neck. I think we were on the bed, my cheek pressed against Dream’s chest and his cloak spilling around us like ink. Or blood. Any attempts at holding a normal form in the Waking were gone and I was wrapped in the King of Dream’s arms. His lips were against my temple and I could feel how he wished to hold me tight but was afraid it would hurt me. Could feel him holding back but was unable to stop touching, assuring both of us that we were safe and whole. In the twilight, he whispered that I was okay. That he was sorry for not being there sooner. His words were soft promises in the shadows of the room, pledges, and he told me how important I was, how he would never leave me, and that no one would ever touch me again. I’m not sure if he knew I was conscious, if the words were for my ears or for himself. But they lingered in the air nonetheless. Then I fell into darkness.

#dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless x oc #dream of the endless x ofc #dream of the endless x fem!reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus x fem!reader #morpheus x oc #dream of the endless #morpheus #sandman fanfic #the sandman fanfic #sandman fic #the sandman fic #Series: Fragments #fic: Interwoven #OFC: Dahlia

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eviesaurusrex · 2 years

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ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀɴᴅᴍᴀɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ʟᴏʀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴘʜᴇᴜꜱ

ɢʀɪᴇꜰ

In the wake of his own capture, his queen was imprisoned too (angst)

“ɪ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ.”

After being killed by Roderick Burgess during her attempts to free her husband, YN returns to Morpheus shortly after he himself reincarnated (fluff) Pt. 2 to Grief, but can be read on its own!

headers by the amazing @theronina

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hunny-beann · 10 months

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I am literally having the worst day ever, do you think you could write some insanely fluffy Dream for me? I'm talking tooth rotting levels of fluff here.

Rest Now, Wife, Mine

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Note: Hi anon! Thanks a ton for the adorable request, I had a lot of fun with it and really hope it helps make your day feel a bit better <3

Synopsis: Morpheus' wife finds their bed far too lonely without him in it, and seeks out his presence to remedy this so she may finally succumb to slumber for the evening.

Thankfully, he is all too happy to oblige.

Warnings: None! Just pure and unbridled fluff :)

Word Count: 1,298

Her steps are silent and her pace slow as she approaches the familiar throne room, sensing even from outside of its walls that it is as close to empty as it is going to get for the evening.

That said, as close to empty as possible for the throne room of an Endless such as Dream was not nearly as empty as one might think, with it being a rarity that he not be found there.

She fights back a shiver as she steps across the threshold, her bare feet suddenly far colder than before, and her majority uncovered shoulders beginning to undergo horripilation at the seemingly inexplicable shift in temperature.

That said, being easy to explain was not a rule that the Dreaming followed, so this was nothing new, and certainly nothing unexpected.

Though, the sudden voice that split the once heavy silence in twain on the other hand, was.

"And what could possibly have you awake at such an hour, dear wife?"

The voice asked quietly, laced with both amusement and even a twinge of concern that had the wife in question smiling softly in spite of her best efforts to not appear excited at the mere sound of her love's voice.

Oh, but she had never been that strong, had she?

He had her wrapped around his finger just as he did the entire realm that he ruled, though he notably reserved the one with the ring for her and her alone.

She padded up toward his throne quietly, not willing to answer his question until she was close enough that her voice might not reverberate so loudly off of the palace walls.

Some words, she had decided long ago, were for her husband and her husband alone.

Upon her eager approach, the Lord of Dreams could not help but raise one of the corners of his mouth at the mere sight of her, holding his hand out at her nearness to guide her to stand before his crossed legs as he reached gently to take her other in his own as well, making a mental note of how chilled her extremities felt due to the cool night air of his throne room.

He watched as she slackened slightly at his familiar touch, her body always so happy to find him near in a way never ceased to have his heart all but melting at her feet.

What a disastrous little thing she was, truly.

He could never love another.

As her form relaxed at the feeling of his hands on hers, so loving in spite of the power that they held, she could not help but yawn softly, eyes growing teary as her ease allowed the weight of the day to truly set in.

Her dearest Dream Lord smirked up at her, his brow raised knowingly and his eyes twinkling as he watched her fight off the eternally tempting wiles of sleep.

What a sweet little thing, so helpless in her battles against her own biology that it was entirely too amusing to ignore, and always far too entertaining to neglect to bear witness to.

"You are tired, my dear."

The Lord of Dreams stated matter of factly, tugging his beloved closer using his soft grip on her hands so he could properly brush some of her hair behind her ear, a gesture which caused her eyelids to flutter closed briefly before they snapped open once more, her fight against herself not yet over in her eyes (though Dream could see clearly in the way that she swayed on her own two feet that there was already an obvious victor).

He chuckled quietly, shaking his head,

"You need to rest, sweet stardust. Let me bring you back to the bedroom."

He spoke gently, rising to guide her back to their soft and familiar bed only to halt when he heard her reply.

"No, I don't want to go back, you're just going to leave once you think I'm tired enough not to follow."

The Dream Lord faltered upon hearing this, raising a questioning brow in response before lowering himself down upon his throne once more, though this time he pulled his wife right along with him, sitting her on his lap in order to get a better look at her exhausted expression.

He frowned.

"Have you been staying awake on purpose, my love? Lying in wait for me as you promised you would not do?"

She shook her head, but he could see the way that the blood rushed into her cheeks as she tried to explain, embarrassed to admit the things that she had to in order to quell his worries of any intentional harm having been done.

"No, of course not, I just..."

The Lord of Dreams hummed and brought one hand to her back, rubbing up and down along her spine and feeling her lean against him unintentionally in response, her bones heavy and all too prepared to sink into whatever comfort they could find.

"You just what, dearest?"

He urged, causing his lover to nod blearily in response, slowly coming back to reality again.

"I just find that sometimes I cannot bear to sleep alone, that the bed feels far too wide and empty without you in it."

Dream fought back a slight smile upon hearing this, feeling more than a little bit proud to know that his wife could rely upon him enough to truly need him so (though he was notably unhappy to hear that this was causing her any amount of unnecessary strife).

"And is tonight one of those nights, beloved?"

He asked, watching as she nodded, her head lolling slightly upon her neck as her overworked muscles struggled to remain in control over her all too tired body and mind.

"Poor thing,"

Dream all but purred in response, adjusting his love upon his lap until she was leaning against him, breaths warm on his neck and body seeming to grow heavier by the second as the feeling of his familiar closeness drove her into a type of ease that was felt only at a lover's closeness.

"That will certainly have to be remedied, won't it?"

He murmured against her ear, feeling her shiver in response, nuzzling closer with a nod as he gathered his coat that had been hanging on the back of the dais behind him with just one hand, draping it over her body and pressing a soft kiss against her head as he felt her begin to drift off into a much needed and far too well deserved slumber.

"Rest now, wife, mine."

He said softly, feeling his dearest love smile gently against his skin at his familiar words and the use of his favorite (and almost sickeningly sweet) nickname for her,

"I will see to it that no one interrupts you as you do."

If she had been more awake, perhaps the woman would have rolled her eyes or even offered a sarcastic retort in response to her husband's dramatics, but instead she simply nudged herself closer, pressing a gentle kiss against the pale flesh of his neck before she drifted off for the very first time that night, feeling truly safe in the arms of her most adoring love.

And when morning arrived, and the throne room became far less uninhabited, the two of them made for quite a sight, indeed.

After all, who would have thought that the Lord of Dreams might choose to sleep simply to live life as his dear wife did, his cheek pressed gently against her head and his arms wrapped around her as slumber found them both, pulling them closer together, ever still, in the very same way that they belonged now, and always would for the remainder of eternity, and perhaps even beyond that.

ao3 link

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roguelov · 5 months

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and what about a reader who has very big breasts and who likes to highlight them with corsets and one day during a discussion Morpheus's gaze drops towards this area without him being able to help it

You just discovered one of Dream’s few weakness (although he’s general weak for you and anything you do 🤭)

The first time Dream saw you in a corset he tried not to stare. He almost actively avoided you, or kept his eyes busy elsewhere: nose in a book, or always on the move so his eyes purposefully trained ahead. But with time, he slowly gotten used to your outfits. He made sure his eyes didn’t trail any farther than your eyes.

That is until you were talking with Dream one day, and you leaned forward over a table to point at the map of the Dreaming. Then and there he had front row seats to your chest.

Instantly, Dream was memorized. They looked so - so nice. They looked lovely, they looked soft, they looked delectable. Before he could stop himself, he imagined tearing apart your corset and running his lips over them. He wanted wrap his mouth around your nipple, teasing them with his tongue. He wanted to hear you breathe out his name, he wanted to feel your body arch towards him always desperate for more. He wanted to use his hands, grabbing them and squeezing them. He wanted to pinch and twist and play with them to hear all your lovely sounds.

He only snapped himself out of his trance when you spoke up again repeating your question. Thankfully your eyes locked with his, you hadn’t noticed where his eyes truly were. Dream cleared his throat and answered your question. You seemed satisfied then looked away. The discussion went on as normal without raising any of your suspicions. And when Dream leaves, he might have to run to his room. He might have to relieve the tight sensation in his pants, and he might be panting while having thoughts of your lovely breasts

#🤭🤭🤭#the sandman #morpheus #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #x reader #afab!reader #fem!reader #anon #ask #smut

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mentality-project · 8 months

Text

Carry Me Home - Part 2

Morpheus x fem!reader

While being tucked into bed by the King of the Nightmare Realm was lovely, waking up with a hangover from Hell was not.

A pitiful groan works its way up your throat as you roll over to the cool side of your bed, trying to find relief for your overheated skin. You kick off the blanket as you snuggle into the cold, trying to will your body back to sleep as you chase after the last scene of your dream.

After a few more moments of tossing and turning, you admit defeat and blink open weary eyes. Once the waking world comes into focus, the sight of painkillers and a tall glass of water on your beside table greet you.

It could only be Morpheus’ doing. You weren’t capable of such forethought last night. With a grimace on your face, you drag yourself upright enough to pop the pills in your mouth and chase them down with a gulp of water. Its at the temperature of ice water despite the lack of condensation and you could cry from the relief it brings your parched throat.

“Fuckkk…I love you, Morph.” you mumble against the rim of your glass as you lean back against the headboard.

“He loves it when you say that.”

The speed at which you turn your head towards the raven perched at the end of your bed nearly gives you whiplash.

“How the fuck did you get in?”

“The bathroom window was open.”

“Oh.”

You and Matthew sit in comfortable silence as you continue to sip your glass of heavenly water.

“What did you mean by that?”

“What?”

You shoot Matthew a death stare over the rim of your glass.

“Oh, the boss loves it every time you say you love him. Makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

You nearly snort water out of your nose. “Dream? Warm and fuzzy? Seriously?”

“I am being serious!” Matthew’s feathers puff up with indignation, "Every time you say those words, Dream becomes a much more lenient boss. He takes whatever opportunity he can get to be close to you." "That's..." you clear you throat, wishing there was some water left in your glass, "That's a lot of information before breakfast."

"Sorry, kid. Rough night?"

"Fun night, rough hangover." you manage a grin as you set the empty glass back down, "Wanna stick around for a cuppa tea, Matthew?"

"I'd love to."

"Cool. Be a dear and boil the kettle for me, would you? There should be enough water in it. I'm gonna have a quick shower first, feel free to help yourself to whatever's in the kitchen."

"Don't have to tell me twice."

Matthew swoops out the door as you drag yourself off to the bathroom.

--- You hear the sound of the kettle switch flicking off and the rumble of boiling water as you round the corner, drying your hair off with the towel draped around your shoulders.

"Feeling better?" Matthew asks from his spot on the kitchen counter.

"Definitely," you sigh as you hang the damp towel over the back of one of the chairs, "What kind of tea do you fancy today, Matthew?"

"Earl Grey, please." "Milk, sugar?"

"Yes to both." You take two mugs out of the cupboard, pausing as you notice the small parcel by the kettle. It has your name on it.

"What's this?" you ask as you tug at the string to unwrap it.

"Hangover cure from the Boss."

"Dream was here?" you blink over your shoulder at Matthew.

"Nah, he had me send it over. Under strict instructions to make sure that you drink it. Not allowed to come back until you do."

No wonder Matthew agreed to stick around for breakfast. You almost snort with laughter as you unfold the wrapping, which turns out to also be a handwritten note from Dream. Upon seeing the size of the cloth teabag, you swap your mug for a tea bowl and begin to read as you pour the hot water into it.

Your Grace,

The corners of your mouth creep up into a smile. Could it be? Do you share an inside joke with the Dream Lord now?

According to the dreams of the best apothecaries in the Waking World over the last millennia, this tea contains the best herbs to help alleviate the aftermath of overindulging in alcohol. I hope it is of use to you. - Morpheus

You are practically glowing as you lift the note to your lips and press a kiss to the parchment.

"I love you." your whisper, watching in amazement as the note dissipates into sand and stardust.

You lift the bowl to your lips, taking care to blow a couple of times before taking a careful sip, eyes widening in surprise.

"Huh...not bad."

"Where's mine?" Matthew squawks in an accusatory tone.

"Sorry, sorry."

You get to work brewing Matthew his cuppa, changing your mind about the kind of mug you originally picked and deciding on a wide teacup to make drinking more convenient for him. You ratio the water and milk out so the tea is at the perfect drinking temperature before placing the drink in front of him and heading over to the toaster.

"Would you like some toast, Matthew?"

"Sure, I'll have a slice."

"What do you want on it?"

"Got any butter?"

You retrieve the tub of butter from the fridge, along with some avocado and smoked salmon for yourself - that combo with a sprinkle of black pepper has you in a chokehold lately. After you butter Matthew's toast accordingly, you rip it up into bite-sized pieces before sliding the plate towards him. Matthew murmurs his thanks before digging in with gusto. You lean your head against your palm as your elbow presses into the countertop, watching Matthew as you chew your own mouthful of toast, contemplating. Eventually, you're brave enough to break the silence.

"Why'd you tell me all that stuff?"

"Hmm?" Matthew buries his beak in his tea, the hum being the only indication that he heard you.

"About Morph, and how...how he feels about me...?" "Honestly?" Matthew stares you down and you stare back at him, "there's only so much one can take of watching the slowest slow-burn ever." You gulp down on your tea so fast you start to choke on it.

"C'mon kid, between you and me, you know you've gotta be the one to say something. The Boss has all the time in the world. He's Endless. By the time he works up the courage to make first move, you'll be dead and buried. No offence."

"None taken." you mumble around a mouthful of toast. There's not much conversation after that and you're quite content to eat the rest of your breakfast in silence. Matthew's given you a lot to think about. -- "Hey Boss, how's it going? (Y/N) drank that tea you sent her, all of it. And...Boss? Hey, you okay? Boss?"

Matthew tilts his head at the sight of Morpheus on his throne, but for all his trying, Morpheus doesn't appear to hear the loyal raven.

No, he's far too occupied with the lingering feeling of your kiss pressed into his cheek from his stardust, fingertips still on his cheekbone as if he's trying to keep the feeling there. In his other hand, the parchment materialises, your words scrawled in the smallest print as if it is a secret:

'I love you.'

#not my gifs #the sandman #netflix the sandman #morpheus x fem!reader #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless #lord morpheus

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attackurheart88 · 7 months

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Ooo if it’s okay, can I please request a Soft Yandere Morpheus x fem!innocent!human!reader where she somehow accidentally ends up in The Dreaming and Morpheus is fully ready to let out his wrath at her intrusion, but after talking to her spending time with her, he decides he doesn’t want her to leave, ever, and intends to make her his Queen

You weren't supposed to be here.

Morpheus watched in the shadows as the woman hummed peacefully to herself weaving flowers unaware of the danger lurking behind her. As soon as Mathew alerted him to your presence, Morpheus teleported over in anger. It was only a few months since his capture and his dislike of humans had increased greatly. The dreaming was the only place where he could live peacefully without any worries or fears he would not let a human ruin it.

The birds flew away and the deer and squirrels were quick to scurry. Once Morpheus made himself known the happiness in the air dissipated. He watched as you tensed finally feeling his presence and turned.

“Who are you?” his voice wasn't raised yet it carried such force you were quick to back up. “You're not supposed to be here.” he snarled.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn't know I just sorta appeared.” Your voice was so soft and sweet. It suited you. “I didn't mean to trespass, my name is Y/n.” Morpheus stared blankly at your outstretched hand. You were being kind? Why? You were clearly afraid so why go through the trouble? Was it a trick? A way to get into his head?

A small peep drew his attention behind you. There was a bird wounded by your feet. Morpheus anger sparked up again. “You dare come into this forest and harm its inhabitants.” A sudden force flings you back into a tree.

“Ow.” you slid down painfully watching in horror as he made his way closer. “Wait, please! I didn't hurt it. It fell from a tree I was trying to rebuild its nest.” your small hands were held up as you explained. Morpheus took notice of the small scratches and cuts on your fingers.

As quickly as that anger came it lessened.

One look at your doe eyes and tender expression had Morpheus’s head running. It contained glimpses of fear but no hint of lies. You were telling the truth.

Releasing you, Morpheus took a step back and waved his hand.

The bird flew in circles now fully healed and the scars that once littered your hand vanished.

“Incredible,” you whispered. “Thank….you.” But he was gone.

Morpheus made his way back to his palace. Scouring through the books of his library for information on you. He should have banished you, threatened you, captured you. But he didn't. He couldn't. Despite the way he acted he couldn't find any fault with you. Nor did you harbor any sort of anger, hatred, or evil in you. You were too kind. The animals of Fiddler’s Green were not welcoming to strangers and would have attacked if you held bad intentions. Instead, they danced and sang to entertain you, to please you.

Why? Why were you here? Why was the dreaming so welcoming to you? Why was it he found it difficult to hurt you? Why did he feel the urge to touch you, kiss you, devour you.

Morpheus wasn’t new to the feeling of love. But the emotions inside his chest were different. They weren’t pure or sweet or gentle. They were fierce dangerous addicting. It was only a few hours since he saw you. But his mind was flooding with images of you and impure thoughts. Thought to take you to own you to take your innocence and corrupt it. Your sweet voice will be for him to hear, your soft eyes his to gaze at, and your body? His to ravage.

You were a virgin he was sure of it. He could smell it on you, innocence and purity radiating in waves just begging to be taken away.

“Lucienne.” The woman walked over. “My lord. Have you taken care of the intruder?” “Just about to.” Morpheus smiled to himself. Lucienne furrowed her brows confused.

“Prepare a room. I want it fit for a queen.”

For the next few days, Morpheus waits anxiously for your return. He's made all the proper preparations for you transitioning as his queen. A large bed, mountains of presents, and in case there are any resisting, some lovely chains to keep you still. But he's sure he won't need them for long. Soon enough you’ll learn your place and accept your new role happily. Unlike his former lovers, there will be no mistakes as you’ll never be allowed to leave his side.

Your sniffles and sobs could be heard echoing throughout the room. Morpheus is there with his arms around you. Gentle rubs on your hair as he whispers in your ear to console you.

“I-I want to go home,” you repeated for the hundredth time. Morpheus only smiled and shook his head. “This is your home, now love.” he cooed. “There is nowhere else for you to be.”

You will soon love him and depend on him for everything. Morpheus would become you're only priority as you his. Anyone who gets in the way of that, friend or foe will suffer the consequences.

As his darling, be sure to be obedient and never escape or look in another person’s direction. The consequences will be severe. You could be starved for a couple of days or perhaps be delivered the bloody head of the man who dared to talk to you.

Morpheus is passionate about his love but is equally cruel. Slowly he’ll break you down with love and punishments until you're his perfect wife where he’ll be able to love you and cherish you to his heart's content.

#morpheus #morpheus x reader #my posst #yandere morpheus x reader #the sandman x reader #obsessive love #yandere x darling #dream of the endless #yandere dream of the endless #innocent reader #fem reader #dream of the endless x reader #@attackurheart

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saraicus · 2 months

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Pastries, With Love | Morpheus x F! Reader

Warning: Pregnancy mention

Requested by: None

Notes: Sorry for the long hiatus. This was a cut scene from the “So, Mote It Be” series that I recently found. You don’t have to read the series to understand this part!

If you'd like to be a part of “The Sandman” tag list, just ask me. Requests are Closed.

Word count: 1.8K

Masterlist

You could see the familiar pathway to the doors until your nose picked up something. Sweet berries with sweet bread filled your nose, and you looked to your right to see a bakery. A baker had placed a dozen blueberry muffins inside the display case; you quickly let go of Morpheus’ hand and rushed inside the bakery. Morpheus called your name, but you ignored it and entered the bakery. The store smelled of sweet, ripe berries and baked goods, with a faint smell of chocolate and coffee. The frontman smiled at you and asked, “Hello, what can I get for you?” Your mouth began to drool as you looked around the bakery to take everything in. There were muffins, bagels, loaves of fresh bread, cinnamon rolls, pies of every fruit, and cakes filing every display case. You looked around and asked, “Can I have half a dozen blueberry muffins, a slice of blueberry pie, two cinnamon rolls, and a cup of coffee?” The man’s eyes widened, and he whispered okay before getting a box to fill with what you requested.

The doorbell rang when Morpheus came inside; he walked next to you and said, “Don’t run away like that again; you scared me.” You smiled sheepishly and giggled at his face; he sighed and looked at the baked goods. “What did you order?” he asked while walking around the bakery. “An order of half a dozen blueberry muffins, a slice of blueberry pie, two cinnamon rolls, and a warm cup of coffee for the lady,” announced the man as he set it down by the table, “That should be 20 silvers.” Morpheus’ eyes widened, and he looked at you; you didn’t look at him and smiled at the man. Morpheus sighed and pulled out his pouch to give the man the money; the man smiled as Morpheus grabbed the two boxes, and you grabbed the coffee. You gave the man an energized wave goodbye and smiled while sipping your coffee.

“Are you sure you’re going to eat this all?” Morpheus asked while walking back to the doors, “Isn’t this unhealthy for the child?” You looked at him with your cold eyes and narrowed them. Sipping the coffee, you shook your head; no, he sighed and opened the doors for you. Morpheus walked to the kitchen with you trailing behind and placed them on the kitchen island. You heard the familiar wings flapping and saw Matthew land on the island. “Oh, I thought I smelled something,” he said while swaying his tail, “What did you get?” Morpheus opened the boxes to show off the baked goods you got, and Matthew’s beak dropped. You took the blueberry muffins out of the box and the blueberry pie slice while Morpheus took out the cinnamon rolls.

You grabbed a muffin and slid it in Matthew’s direction; before he took a bite, you said, “Choke on it, and I won’t save you.” Matthew nodded and slowly ate the muffin while you took a bite out of the blueberry pie. Your eyes closed, and you smiled as the blueberry pie melted on your tongue; you could tell you would throw up afterward from the excess baked goods, but it was worth it. Morpheus decided to take a small bite out of a blueberry muffin and shrugged. Your eyes shifted to him, and you asked, “What? It’s good.”

“An Endless doesn’t need to eat. It’s a good muffin, I think.” Morpheus replied while placing the muffin back in the box. You rolled your eyes, ate the pie slice, and then ate two muffins while sipping your coffee. Matthew slowly pecked on his muffin and looked up to see your eyes glaring at him. After finishing the muffins, you were about to reach for a cinnamon roll until Morpheus pushed them away. “(Y/N), you should eat your vegetables,” Morpheus said with a sigh. “How about you mind your business?” you said in a sassy tone, “I’m pregnant, and this baby wants a cinnamon roll.” Matthew laughed and almost choked on his muffin until he spat it out. Morpheus gave him a side-eye, which made Matthew stop laughing. “I want to make sure the baby is healthy,” he explained, “I don’t want anything happening to the baby.”

You looked at him and patted his cheek while slowly reaching for the roll. Morpheus’ eyes narrowed when he saw you take a bite of the roll in front of him. “I’ve been eating healthy for the past couple of months. The only baked goods I’ve eaten were blueberry muffins. I wanted more than that,” you said, “Besides, a pregnant woman should always get her cravings.”

Morpheus huffed and said, “Make sure to eat slowly, then. I will be in the library with Lucienne if you need anything.” You nodded and began to eat the second cinnamon roll while Matthew was still on his first muffin. It took you two hours to finish the baked goods with Matthew; he was lying on his back with his wings spread out. You were sitting in a chair while rubbing your stomach. ‘Damn it, Morpheus was right.’ You thought to yourself. You scold yourself for eating all the baked goods, but it was worth it because you could feel your baby kicking. “Looks like the baby is happy,” you gushed, with Matthew groaning in response. You hear footsteps coming into the kitchen and see Morpheus enter it. He looked around, and his face cringed when he saw Matthew lying down. “Matthew,” asked Morpheus, “How do you feel?”

“I feel great.” Matthew managed to groan. Morpheus hummed and looked at you; he saw you were drinking milk and rubbing your stomach. “How do you feel?” He asked while kneeling in front of you; he placed his hand on top of your stomach and then gave it a soft kiss. “I feel fine; the baby kicked earlier. I assume they liked the baked goods,” you said while patting your stomach. Morpheus hummed and moved his hand around your stomach, hoping to feel the baby kick. After a few minutes, Morpheus placed his hand on the left side of your stomach and gasped. Morpheus looked up at you and said, “They kicked.” You nodded and said, “I felt it, Morpheus.” Morpheus softly smiled and helped you get up from the chair; he rubbed your lower back and led you back to his chambers. You looked behind you to see Matthew still hadn’t moved, but you could hear faint snoring. You were tired when you reached the chamber, so Morpheus took you to bed and removed your lace shawl to place it on the nightstand. You went under the covers and asked him to lay next to you. Morpheus climbed on the bed, and you laid your head against his chest. Morpheus looked at you with pure love. That was the best way to describe it. “Thank you for helping me find my real self,” Morpheus whispered in your ear.

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alexander-arcturus-black-lupin · 1 month

Text

Dew

It's been a while since I've written about my Morpheus.

______________________________________________________________

Morpheus appeared in your bedroom ready to meet your awake figure, he noticed your absence from the dreaming world and was concerned. You and him had just begun a romantic relationship and he was abysmally scared that he might ruin the little you both had built up. You had told him time and time again that he need not bother himself with your ‘courting’ rituals as he was a busy deity but then he’d appear with a bouquet of mixed flowers, each flower one that you liked. Or when he had watched a series with you through and through and was as much invested as you were. Or when he would walk you home every single day without fail even when it’s raining but then what could stop him?

Morpheus made his way to your backyard, he desperately wanted to hide you away in his realm far from all the bad and evil but you wouldn’t allow it. He knew you wouldn’t, you were a free bird and he’d be essentially cutting off your wings, your beautiful wings that he fell in love with. You were crouched down by the grass looking at something. He could feel no living creature in the surrounding flora, he found it slightly strange but came closer towards you.

“Darling?” his voice shook you to your very core causing you to stumble back into him. He caught you and raised you up onto your feet. You always seem to forget just how limitless an Endless could be. You turned and took in your lover in full, your eyes lit up at the man in front of you.

“Morpheus!” you jumped into his arms and he chuckled at your energised greeting. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too my darling.” You set you down and lowered his head, grinning, you messed up his hair. When he raised his head, his hair was sticking out all over the place but he did not care. You were enjoying yourself and so was he. “You were not dreaming so I assumed something was bothering you and you could not sleep.” He set you down and you pointed at the grass.

“Take a look.”

Morpheus crouched down with you to look at where you were pointing. The grass was covered in a light shower of dew, the dirt beneath was a nice shade between brown and black and the green of the leaves was bright in the darkness. ”It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Morpheus turned to look at you, you were smiling so brightly as your eyes danced with myrrh in all honesty you lit up the entire scene, you added to the beauty of the scene, he was certain you taught the stars your trade where else did they learn it other than from you.

“Beautiful indeed.”

You turned to him, your smile still wide and happy. A yawn made its way through glossing up your eyes. He smiled at you and stood tall, in one swift motion he lifted you off your feet.

“Morpheus!” you gasped, you should have been used to this. He almost always either insists on carrying you when you’re sick or sad. You try to pretend to be annoyed but Morpheus always knows and manages to get you giggling and grinning.

“It’s time for bed, my love.” Morpheus looked down at you in his arms, your arms which had grabbed onto him were now relaxed in your lap, your head was rested against his shoulder, your eyelids were drooping.

“Come now my dear, you cannot fool the god of sleep and yes drowsiness falls under my domain.” Morpheus placed you on your bed and drew up your blanket. You gripped his arm, a silent plea for him to stay. He chuckled, a melodious sound. “Sleep, my starlight, I shall be here when you wake.”

To prove his point, he slid onto the bed beside you holding you in his arms.

“Goodnight, Morpheus, i shall-” you yawned, eyes drooping even more. “See…you.”

“Goodnight, my lovely starlight. I’ll meet you there.”

#morpheus fanfic #morpheus x reader #lord morpheus #morpheus sandman #morpheus #morpheus x y/n #morpheus x you #morpheus imagine #the sandman #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless #the sandman netflix #sandman fanart #morpheus x female reader #morpheus x black reader #morpheus x fem!reader #morpheus x oc #dewy grass

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writethrough · 1 year

Note

feel free to imagine a sexy interpretation. Also, I'm going to add a loss of virginity here just for fun. In this scenario, Dream is finally willing to admit to himself that he loves the reader, but he's still not willing to confess (and he's also still a possessive/obsessive jerk), so instead he chases after the woman's dreams, especially until even your wet dreams. And 2 possible catalysts here, either Dream sees that the reader is dreaming about having sex with someone else and becomes insanely jealous or he sees someone flirting with the reader in the waking world and becomes insanely jealous XD. This is so Dream, like a king, he feels entitled to the reader and his time, and while he's trying to work up the courage to confess, he makes sure the reader can't hook up with anyone else.

I Am Yours, But Are You Mine

(Morpheus x Female Reader)

Warnings: Minor language, suggestive situations, kinda possessive Morpheus

Word Count: 1651

A/N: Oh my goodness, thank you so much for being so patient! Unfortunately, Morpheus has been one of those characters that I haven't been as motivated to write. And I hate forcing myself to write when I'm uninspired. Thankfully, I found sparks of it here and there.

I tried to follow your request as truly as I could (the lost of virginity didn't quite make it), but I ran with your possible catalyst options! I do think I need to work on my jealous/entitled Morpheus, though. I think he could've turned out better.

Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it! And thank you for requesting it!

Images of you and that human haunted him. It was all he could think about as he sat on the staircase to his throne. How that man approached you. How he smiled, and you returned it. How he made you laugh, soft and delicate.

Morpheus’ jaw tightened, and he snapped his book shut.

Was it too late?

Had he lost you before he could have you?

He closed his eyes, trying to fight those thoughts with the ones of you and him.

How, when Morpheus appeared, you greeted him with warmth and tenderness. How you touched his arm in reassurance or when you were startled. You knew he would protect you. It was instinctual how you moved closer and tucked yourself behind him.

He had never felt more vital.

And yet, earlier, you had that same kindness for that man.

How long had you known him? When did you meet him? What was he to you?

You would have told Morpheus about any romantic partners.

His fist clenched as his arm hung off his knee.

To think, mere days ago, he had realized that he loved you. He would have been content to dedicate himself to you silently. An ever-present confidant for his heart’s deepest desire. How quickly things could change.

He had to do something.

—

Morpheus had grown more agitated throughout the day. The more he thought about you and that man, the darker his mind became.

He had finished crafting new nightmares when he sensed you had entered the Dreaming.

He had to go to you. He needed to know what that man wanted from you—and if you wanted anything from him.

You didn’t need anything from that human.

He was quick to find you within your dream.

A replica of your home, which he found strange. Rarely did your dreams play out here. You were usually conscious within the Dreaming. And his heart went out to you, knowing your day must have been stressful.

He peered into your room and nearly unleashed every nightmare in his realm.

You were laid bare with that man hovering over you.

Morpheus’ knuckles whitened. And before he could think better—before he could calm himself. He swiped the dream away and sent you into the Waking World.

—

You woke with a frustrated groan.

Of course. Of course, you had to wake up when things were getting good.

You scrunched your nose when you recalled who had been in your dream.

You sighed. At least your subconscious knew not to dream about Morpheus in his kingdom. You might actually die if that happened.

Though, the replacement for him wasn’t all bad. You had noticed the similarities when you met him right away. Tall, black hair, lithe, but his eyes were brown and not the blue you had come to love. And where Morpheus’ presence held authority and power, the stranger’s had a shyness, a quiet confidence that you may have been attracted to in a different time. However, you only wanted one being.

You stretched before climbing out of bed.

You weren’t sure when you realized you loved Morpheus, but after you internalized it, you promised to never act on it.

There had to be hundreds, if not thousands, of creatures who had fallen for the Dream King. And yet, you had only heard of two that captured his attention. Who were you to think you stood a chance of being his? He was one of the most important beings in existence. You were a measly human—here and gone before he could blink.

You shook your head.

You were grateful for Morpheus’ friendship. He listened and held an interest in you that you couldn’t understand. You would gladly take whatever relationship you could have with him.

You slowly got ready for your day. You had more time with your early waking and decided to do more with your makeup. It had been years since you applied makeup for someone else’s benefit. But you wondered if Morpheus would notice anything different.

Scrunching your nose again, you rid that thought from your mind. Morpheus didn’t care about how you looked. He’d told you appearances meant little to him, that it was dreaming that held someone’s true soul.

You wished you could know his.

—

Morpheus would’ve broken his teeth if he were human—and perhaps his wrist, too, if he squeezed any tighter.

He stood with his hands behind his back, staring out the stained glass windows in his throne room.

He had stopped your dream from continuing, but the reality was different.

His entire arsenal of power was at his disposal. Morpheus could do whatever he wished to that human, but that would only end in you being upset with him—or furious if extreme enough.

No, Morpheus had to prove himself. He had to make you see that he was the only one for you—that only he could provide for and protect you—stand by you in the way you deserved.

And he’d do so tonight.

—

Morpheus appeared in your kitchen doorway, mind racing. Anger and fear and uncertainty beneath a stony exterior.

And then he saw you. As stunning as ever.

And it all vanished.

All except his desire to tell you.

Your kindness and strength had lured him to you the moment you met. He’d come to know how closely you held those you cared about, and somehow, he was one of them.

And the thought of letting you go, of you choosing someone else…he couldn’t fathom that.

You brought him so much peace.

You spun from your refrigerator to your island, produce in hand, and finally saw him.

“Shit, Morpheus!” You held a hand to your heart. “Give me a warning next time.”

His face remained as still as ever, but you swore you saw a passing gleam in his eyes.

“My sincerest apologies,” he said, stepping toward you.

You waved it away, half believing him.

“Want anything to drink?” you asked, chopping the first ingredient.

He scanned the food, but you weren’t entirely sure he was seeing it.

“I must ask something of you,” he said.

“Okay.” You placed the knife down. “What is it?”

“Have you found someone?”

You tilted your head, brow pinched. “Found someone?”

Morpheus never hesitated when speaking—and you weren’t sure that was the word for it now—but something made him consider his next question carefully.

“Are you spoken for?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, slowly connecting the dots.

“Are you asking if I’m dating anyone?” Your heart picked up. He had never asked something so intimate before.

“Yes.”

“No.” You licked your lips. “No. What brought this on?”

The faintest pink graced his cheeks. His eyes shifted to the side, then back.

“...You dreamt of him.” He breathed like something terrible would happen if he spoke louder.

Your heart clenched at his look of betrayal, trying to recall what he meant. Then, your eyes widened. He must have seen what happened at the coffee shop.

“Are you talking about that guy who came up to me?” you asked.

Morpheus shifted his chin downward, the most movement he used for a nod, and didn’t break eye contact.

“Morpheus…I don’t even remember his name,” you said, being as gentle with him as possible.

The space between his brows twitched. “You dreamt of him.”

Your head dropped in embarrassment.

You shrugged. “It’s been a while.”

It wasn’t much of an explanation. Although the guy had been attractive, you weren’t interested in him when he spoke—something unnecessary in dreams. All he had to do was get the job done, but with Morpheus' attitude, you could guess why that dream ended before anything could happen.

“Are you…jealous?” you asked.

“I am a king. I do not experience jealousy.” His head lifted ever so slightly.

“Historically, you do,” you said pointedly, trying to hide your smirk.

He hummed as if annoyed, but you knew better. You had stumped him.

“You are fortunate I hold you dear,” he said. “Not many can speak to me as such.”

You laughed breathily and stepped forward, grateful your answer pacified him.

You regarded him carefully. The smooth plains of his face, the sharp lines of his jaw and nose, his blue eyes. His lips. Your feelings for Morpheus were bubbling to the surface in a way you couldn’t ignore, and to think he possibly returned them? It nearly sent your head spinning.

“You know…I wouldn’t mind if you were a little jealous,” you said.

“And why is that?” He arched a brow, trying to remain composed.

“Because then it would mean you share my feelings,” you whispered. “It would mean I could kiss y—”

Lips were on yours—warm and powerful, a surge of pent-up passion. He’d waited far too long to taste you, to know the curves of your hips and the dip in your spine.

Your body melded into his as if he was the lock and you were the key. You opened him up to things he never thought he’d want to experience again. And you kept his secrets. You protected him. Made him feel safe. He was desperate to do the same for you.

You pulled away, but Morpheus followed, giving you quick kisses until you put a hand on his chest, laughing.

“Just…give me a second.” You inhaled. “One of us needs to breathe.”

The faintest pink graced his cheeks, and you grinned.

“I apologize. It slipped my mind,” Morpheus said.

You shook your head. “Don’t. Never apologize for doing that.”

You pecked his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and lingered just beyond his lips.

“Guess I have someone else to dream about,” you whispered, each word brushing your lips against his.

He let out a low rumble. “There is no need to dream.”

His hands grasped the back of your neck and pulled you into him. You moaned when his sand whirled around you, knowing exactly where you were headed.

Taglist: @sayumiht, @hatterripper31, @snowsatsu, @1950schick, @navs-bhat, @bookshelf-dust, @sapphireonline

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

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the-darklings · 2 years

Text

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐗𝐈.]

summary: "We begin... with a spin."

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 16.2k+

warnings: gonna break your heart one last time, Dream is still Dream (reluctantly affectionate)

notes: all good things come to an end : )

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ: Rule the World (Odyssey Version) by Take That

1:32 ───|────── 4:55

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART ELEVEN: BEYOND.

“Who are you?”

“I am Destiny of the Endless.”

“And who am I?”

“You are the one who wanders. You will do so until the universe ceases.”

“Why?”

“Because you have been cursed to do so. Because you chose no shackles, no roots. You wished, instead, to roam free. And now you shall.”

“Why?”

“Because all is as it is meant to be, Wanderer.”

“Why?”

“Because you wished to break your destiny. And so you did.”

“I knew a lad called Jack Constantine once.”

Book in hand, you step around Hob, licking the dryness from your lips. Copper lingers on your tongue. “Same family.”

He perks up at your subdued comment, arms unfolding from where they rested over his chest.

“Nah, really?” He mulls it over for a moment. “Wait, that actually makes a lot of sense. He was a bit of a twat.”

Johanna sniffs. “Piss off.”

Late evening sun streams through the blinds, bathing the dark wood office in syrupy, golden-brown light. Books and notes lay scattered everywhere you look, each inch utilised fully. Johanna leans her hands on the table, squinting at the grimoire laid open. She’s been chewing on her lip for the last five minutes. That doesn’t bode well.

“No can do,” Hob replies, hitching his shoulders with a proud smile. “I’m here on strict business.”

Dropping the grimoire Johanna requested on the table, you shoot them both a look, “Are you two done?” Your attention swivels towards the necromancer despite your trembling hands, finding her delicate features pinched. “Can you find Jed Walker?”

She huffs, her brows folding inwards. “You’re asking me to find a needle in a haystack of seven billion, give or take. I’m not a bloody witch. I don’t just cook up locator spells. I deal with demons and the dead.”

Bracing your hand on the table to mirror her, you soften your voice, “I understand what I’m asking for.”

“I’ll need time to figure this out,” she admits tightly.

Private displeasure colours Johanna’s voice, and you nod in defeat. It’s hard to admit any shortcoming, much less one rooted in one’s power. While Johanna may be more powerful than most mortals can comprehend, it’s not power without gaps. She’s still so young. But, as with all Constantines you’ve known, there now sparks that fiery, stubborn drive, seemingly blazing from within. This is a challenge and one she’s set to overcome.

“What about the other?” she poses abruptly, turning several pages in the grimoire. Her index finger trails over the yellowed pages, glued to another spell. “Do you have anything of theirs? You said this one has magical protection?”

“It’s conjecture,” you clarify. “But he’s been able to skirt me for over a century, so I’m left with one conclusion.”

Hob whistles under his breath. “A century? Bloody hell, you must be eager to find him.”

Memories flutter to life, birds caught in flight. A tall man with blonde hair, a dangerous smirk, and your blurred reflection dancing across his shaded glasses. Nothing more than a twisted memory that’s all fangs and blood. To file this want under ‘eager’ would be insulting. This specific longing comes with both elation and dread. Horror at what you might discover. This ignorance is no more than a flimsy illusion. You’ve spent the last century following Corinthian’s every crime, experiencing it as if he executed them on you instead.

“I can’t promise this will work,” Johanna continues, oblivious to your internal struggle. Your attention snags on Hob, who is watching you with deep creases denting his forehead. There’s old, shrewd awareness in how he examines your rumpled appearance. “At best, I might be able to cloak you. Again, locator spells are not my speciality. At all.”

You clear your mind, pushing away from the wooden fixture. “ What if I gave up an object? It’s old, full of history. Would I be able to form a tether?

You’ve seen such spells performed—you know they’re possible and incredibly advantageous when done right.

Johanna glares down at the grimoire for a beat, silent. Her chin lifts suddenly, her narrow-eyed stare harsh and biting. There’s digging intensity to how she inspects your appearance from head to toe, and you bristle at the probing check.

“You look like shit,” she says bluntly. “I don’t think you should be doing any tethering to anything.”

Your teeth gnash. “Can it be done, Constantine?”

Tension barbs through the room. Hob sighs, making you even more defensive because you can instinctively tell it’s about to become two against one. “We’re not daft, you know,” he says quietly. “It’s clear you’re unwell.”

Your eyes flutter shut. Forcing your jaw to relax, you mull over the most palatable way you can deliver this information to them. It’s clear from their wonderfully human determination that they’re not going to let this drop until they have more context.

“Fine.” Filling your lungs with oxygen, you hold your breath, gathering yourself. How difficult it is to draw oxygen should probably concern you. “Remember how I told you I’ve been experimenting? Well, I’ve exercised a degree of control over the curse. The travelling part, at least. I can force it to take me places I want, but it… costs me. Physically.”

Johanna folds her arms over her chest, humming in consideration. “Cost, eh? How steep?”

These damn Constantines.

The setting sun warms your cool cheek, and some invisible restraint in you loosens your invisible cast dropping. “Internal injuries. Bleeding, tissue tears, organ failure, haemorrhaging. It heals, but slowly. Excruciatingly so. If I abuse controlled travel too often, I can pass out. Slip into a temporary coma until internal damage heals. Vomiting, mobility issues, dizziness, hallucinations—take your pick.”

You’re avoiding direct eye contact, but utter silence encompasses the office when your words sink in.

Hob gathers himself first. “Jesus Christ.”

Shrugging, you say, “It’s fine. I’m getting better at controlling it.”

“Which part of that is fine?” Hob’s voice is barbed with horror. “None of that is fine.”

You wish neither of them were looking at you like this. Rattled, aghast, alight with shades of sadness. It's so much easier to handle this when no one is standing there reminding you of the ugly aspects of this curse.

“Can it be done?” you bite out.

Johanna wipes emotion from her face, stretching out her hand, palm up. “Show me this item.”

Without a preamble, you hand her the roughened wooden figurine. Your stomach roils at the sight. Desperately your fingers clench and unclench in the folds of your coat, blunt nails biting into your palms. The urge to snatch back the figurine is bone-breaking.

Johanna rolls the item in her hand, scanning it with eyes that see far beyond its material form. She’s digging deeper into what history—power—the object contains. “It might work,” she muses pensively. “I’ll cloak you, but the spell will have a time limit. The further away you are from me, the shorter the timer will be. Whoever it is won’t see you coming, but I can’t promise you the exact location.”

The grim determination bubbling in your gut answers: “Just get me as close as you can.”

Swirls of colours and shapes; loud, jarring noises, spinning, spinning, nails raking through the skin—

“Make it stop, make it stop—”

It doesn’t stop. There’s only colour—sound—sound—breaking—madness. And it doesn’t stop for a very long time.

A thousand reflections stare back at you.

“Coward.”

“Traitor.”

“Murderer.”

“I’m not,” you gasp. “I’m not.”

Do it, do it, do it—

A rat scurries past your arm, disappearing into the hoary mist, and you flinch.

No matter how loudly you plead for forgiveness, for relief, there’s only endless despair and glass cutting into your palms.

Flower fields. Sunshine. Peace.

A tall, pale, looming man with twin stars for eyes stands over you.

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

No reply.

But for the first time since you’ve woken up as you: hope.

A beautiful dream.

“Who did you say you were again?”

Mighty, leathery wings block out whatever light there once was, the newcomer’s pale hair shining like a halo around their fair face.

“I am an angel, here to save you,” a benign, soothing voice coos, followed by fingers tracing over your bloodied jawline. “If only you help me.”

“By doing what?” you slur, blood and sweat trickling down your split brow. “By spying on the Endless? On Dream?”

“Do not fear. I alone can protect you. Your purpose is to merely… observe.”

Demons hiss and growl around you, and you flex your newly healed jaw. They broke it four times in succession. So much for talking back. Scorched dirt beneath your feet stains with your congealing blood, and you chuckle. The croaking sound grows in volume until your throat bleeds.

It’s answer enough.

Your bones quiver under the sheer power of Morningstar’s displeasure. “Take this one away. Make sure there’s nothing left.”

The demons make good on that order.

Johanna pierces the world map with a letter opener, every inch cutting in with deliberate slowness. Candles flicker, settling after the spell, and you taste the magick at the back of your throat.

“Georgia, U-S of A,” the necromancer announces, loosening a breath.

“Great,” Hob chirps, his arm brushing against yours. “That’s just brilliant. It’s across the bloody ocean, that is.”

Johnna shoots him a venomous look. “Oh, sorry. Were you hoping for a nice trip down Brighton?”

Hob stares at her blankly in the shadowed office. He turns your way slowly as if mutely asking do you believe her?

You do. You’ve dealt with enough Constantines in your lifetime to ensure their sarcastic, surly nature is no longer a shock.

“You’re a highly unpleasant woman,” Hob concludes, though no real malice lingers in his tone or bearing.

“Thank you, Constantine,” you cut in before they can break into another bickering session. “There’s one more thing.”

The brunette rolls her eyes. “Is there now?”

“Magdalene’s Grimoire,” you begin deliberately. Johanna freezes. “I want you to locate it and retrieve it for me.”

Your companions speak simultaneously:

“Why?”

“You believe it has something to do with your curse, don’t you?”

Ignoring Hob’s incredulous outcry, you nod towards Johanna. Pain twinges suddenly in your core, and your breaths slow until you get a grip on yourself. But it’s slow. Numbing pain laps at your senses for a debilitating minute until it clears once more. The curse wants to drag you in a thousand directions, but you don’t permit it.

You right yourself again, swallowing over your dry tongue. Your temples throb insistently.

“I think it’s old—older than people assume and has spells that no mortal should have access to.” You lean towards the map, examining the range letter opener has offered. You’ve been to Georgia several times previously, but long ago. “Roderick Burgess might have gotten lucky, but the mere fact there’s a spell there that can help capture an Endless… I find that curious. Unlike what your records indicate, he was not the first Magus, but he was the last. This means the grimoire has to be with his family—likely his son—or someone relating to them. I’ll pay you.”

Somehow.

“Are you joking?” Johanna scoffs immediately. “One of the most powerful grimoires known to humanity? I’ll find it for free. Imagine what I could learn from it.”

Your stare glides to her unhurriedly, fixing on her fair complexion. She visibly falters at whatever she spies in your cool regard. “Within reason… and for the good of humanity. Scout's honour.”

Hob squints at her. “You’re not even American.”

“Shut… up,” she mutters, shooting him another nasty look.

You tug your coat free when it catches on a chair, slotting your hands in your pockets. “Thank you, both of you. Is the spell active?”

“Yes, but it won’t hold long at this distance,” Johanna warns.

Your attention latches on the wooden figurine on her desk. It’s wrong—it feels so wrong to have it out of your grasp, to feel nothing more than Dream’s pebble warming your hand. You try not to think about him now or your last conversation together. Instead, you focus on the thread woven around your heart, tugging you away and over the ocean.

“I won’t be back for at least two weeks, but see what you can discover in that time,” you tell them.

Hob balances on his heels, presenting Johanna with a charming grin. “Well, I guess I ought to help you.”

The sorceress scowls. “I don’t need your help.”

“Everyone needs help,” Hob counters.

Levelling them with a fond look, you wordlessly head towards the door while they verbally spar. Your hand briefly braces your chest, feeling the unsteady thud beneath your palm. You’ve been jumping too often, too far, and too rapidly for your body to recover. But just a bit more. Then you can rest.

You’re almost at the end of a darkened hallway before an urgent voice sounds behind you, accompanied by brisk strides in your direction.

“Wait, wait…”

You’re not even slightly surprised to hear Hob behind you or feel his fingers wrap around your bicep. Street light filtering through the window paints over his taut features, creating a pronounced tale of two sides. Light and dark. Young and older than anyone can comprehend. Quite fitting for both of you.

“Take me with you,” Hob says, imploring edge laced beneath his lighthearted manner. It pinches your heart. “You know what they say: two immortals are better than one, eh?”

If things were less dangerous, less volatile, if it were anyone but Corinthian, you would take him up on his offer. You would love nothing more—two immortals going on an adventure. Hob has known the same horrors, similar hardships, countless failures and highs. Together you’re as effortless as breathing, as familiar as old friends meeting after years apart. You’ve felt that kinship with him from the first moment you locked eyes in that overcrowded pub, sitting there soaked and miserable.

But this is the Corinthian. Even if Hob is the one human with nothing to fear from the nightmare, this goes much deeper. Soul deep. Perhaps deeper still. This conflict is between you, Corinthian, and Dream. It’s always been a tale of three parts, interwoven into a single, unbreakable thread.

“Hob Gadling, you are a gem,” you say softly, placing your hand on his warm cheek. An unsure smile forms across his mouth. “And maybe one day I will. But this… this is something I must do alone.”

“You don’t, though. You realise that, right?” Hob argues softly, fiercely. “There are people who care about you.”

You think about the Dreaming and its occupants, all the mortals and other beings you’ve encountered in your many travels. Friends and companions who have told you to visit, stay, there is always a place for you here even when they knew you could do no such thing without putting them at risk. You think about the Endless—your becoming and undoing.

Your hand slips away from him, your faint smile hollow. “I do. Two weeks.”

The Endless are formidable individually. The raw power holding this universe together, given form and reason. Their realms are kingdoms that put others to shame. You’ve visited plenty by now to draw the unsurprising conclusion. Dealing with each sibling is an exercise in patience, tact, and subtle respect in differing shades.

Sitting in the same room as seven of them makes you want to crawl out of your skin and run for the hills. You’ve met them individually in the past. There’ve been a handful of occasions where you encountered several simultaneously. But never all together in the same room like this.

They’re terrible and wonderful and so suffocating in their casual existence that every instinct in your mortal body warns you of one indisputable truth:

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Death shakes her head promptly, giving you a stern glance. “Nonsense, sweetheart,” she asserts. “You’re right where you belong. Isn’t that right, Destiny?”

Destiny of the Endless sits unmoving, only his mouth visible behind his flowing, beige hood. His hand rests on the Book of Destiny, pale but relaxed. Whenever Destiny does move, the chain connecting him to the book rattles through your bones.

He hosts these family gatherings, though all Endless have equal prominence in this universe and its continuous function. Despite it, from your angle, it appears as if he’s the one at the head of the table. Oldest and certainly the most overwhelming in his sheer aura. It took him a simple swipe of his hand for an additional chair to materialise at the table for you. For his fluttering, eerily silent attendants to lay a plate and glass on either side of you.

“All is as it should be, sister,” Destiny replies, his voice whistling wind through dry leaves.

Your pulse beats against the curve of your throat. If your stomach weren’t already empty, you would likely be throwing up right now.

Death grins brightly, pleased. Her smile is no doubt meant to be reassuring when she angles back towards you. “See, that’s a yes.”

Your words form clumsily on your tongue, “I didn’t mean to impose—”

Sitting on your left, Delirium tightens her grip on you, cutting your words short. Her chair had been dragged towards yours, your arms linked despite the uncomfortable angle. The scent of leather, sweat, and burnt sugar bites into your nostrils. Today, her hair keeps flickering between bright orange, yellow, and neon green.

“Uhm… impose?” she mutters. Her words flow so swiftly that it’s an effort to keep up. “No, no, imposing to be imposed on, and, um, imposing is impolite. What is impolite?”

“To impose would be impolite, yes.” Your words come out measured. “Like that man. You went into his home.”

“Well, he, well, he wasn’t a very good man.” Delirium’s voice thins, frustration biting into each syllable. On your other side, you sense Destruction turning in your direction. Tension blinks out from Delirium’s lovely features, her different-coloured eyes shining in the dimly lit room. “I made him see colours. Really pretty, pretty colours.”

Yes, she certainly did. You’re hopeful the man received a swift death via villagers, others having no doubt concluded him mad or consorting with devils and demons. As if to illustrate her point, Delirium lightly positions her thumb and index fingers together, forming an O. She giggles, blowing air, and much to your unspoken wonder, multicoloured bubbles float through the air. Some remain bubbles, bloated and bobbing. Others shape into animals and birds.

“I am not an Endless,” you remind, feeling foolish for doing so. As if anyone could mistake you for one of them. Your eyes briefly skim over each sibling, shifting in your seat for the dozenth time. “I don’t think it’s right for me to be here.”

Despair, sitting opposite to you beside her twin, hoods her eyes. The metal hook on her finger digs into her chin. Blood bubbles beneath the honed metal. “Yes. Mortal.”

Her whispering, thin voice blankets you, and your insides ball up.

Destruction chuckles on your right, deep and echoing in the dining hall, smoothing over your suddenly chilled, clammy skin. “Sister, do you meet many mortals who live over three hundred years? I see no harm in you being here, dear Wanderer.”

Desire stretches indolently in their seat, candlelight washing over their indescribable features. Scoff ripples from their chest, their chin dropping in their open palm.

“Right, is anyone else opposed to Wanderer being here?” Desire voices, sweeping a challenging look around the table. When no one speaks, Desire shrugs, arms open at their sides. “See, sweet thing, relax. Have some fruit.”

They pointedly push the fruit basket closer towards you. The fruit does look tasty, and you hadn’t eaten in two days, but don't think you can stomach it right now.

Dream casts an inpatient glance Destiny’s way. In extravagant robes, Dream Lord appears the most disgruntled with being summoned. “Why are we here, Destiny? You do not call upon the family without a cause.”

Destiny’s answer comes predictably vague: “You are here, brother Dream. That is all.”

Despite your unease to be dropped into their family meeting, annoyance pinpricks you at his words. Always the same ambiguity, always what the book dictates, and never what someone might feel. Destiny is not human. It would be unfair for you to hold any of the Endless to mortal standards. For you to expect them to comprehend sentiments that are so far out of their reach.

It doesn’t take away from the sting, though. At least this time, the curse was mindful enough to drop you inside Destiny’s stronghold inside the Garden of Forking Ways. Last time, you found yourself helplessly lost inside the boundless maze for weeks. Destiny did nothing to aid you—it was as it was meant to be. You associate him most closely with that wild animal fear and sheer helplessness. You can’t help it.

“Why the rush?” Desire calls out, interrupting your thoughts. “Eager to get back to another failed relationship, sweet Dream?”

Shadows coil around Dream Lord’s feet, seated between Delirium and Death. You silently question if it’s a purposeful partition.

“That’s enough from you, sibling,” Dream warns.

Desire’s lovely mouth spreads into a quick, beaming smile; all teeth bared and tawny eyes aglow with sadistic amusement. A predator having scented blood. “Oh, come on now,” they coo. “We all come here to talk as a family; even lovely Wanderer is present. Yet you think yourself above everything. Your realm, your rules—we’ve heard it all before! You’re oh so dull.”

Despair slumps beside her twin, face downcast. “Dull. Yes, rather dull indeed.”

“And are you perhaps bored, my sibling?” Dream returns, a slight pinch to his imperious features. His voice remains perfectly aloof. From this outsider’s perspective, it’s easy to see why Desire views Dream as supercilious. “Did you run out of adequate ways to amuse yourself?”

Momentarily swallowing down your fear, you slant your head over to one side, “Dream.”

Dream pauses at your drawn, anxious expression. The ignited stars dim, draining away, but the hard slant of his broad shoulders doesn’t drop.

“Oh, don’t run to his defence.” Desire’s voice is just edging on goading. Their nails tap on the wooden table when they cross their legs, leaning towards you. “This is quite characteristic. Surely you find him just as insufferable as the rest of us?”

Death’s retort is whip-sharp. “Desire. Shut up.”

Others around the table appear calmly accepting. They’ve seen this fight play out in the past a thousand times. While you’ve never demanded reasons for the bad blood between the two Endless, it’s clear it runs deep, a problem stemming from innumerable centuries long since past. And very clearly not a situation for you to get involved in. You’re not naive or arrogant enough to assume you can fix their problems for them. Neither Desire nor Dream seems particularly invested in settling anything, either.

But inciting like this is dangerous. Desire has never attempted to spark arguments involving you in the past, no matter how spiteful the mood.

As if mentally arriving at the same conclusion, Destruction’s rumbling words vocalise your unspoken plea: “Do not involve Wanderer in your quarrel, sibling.”

Delirium curls into herself, her legs raised on the chair and pressing into her chest. Her hold on your arm turns near painful. “Arguing, fights, it's not nice, but it… um… that’s not where Desire is supposed to be. It’s um… it’s somewhere else. It’s in Dreams.”

You’re not sure how to decode Delirium’s words. You once believed them to be mindless babbles. Then some phrases would come back to haunt you months or even years later. Whatever caused the turn in Delirium from Delight gave her foresight no other Endless seemed to possess. Save, perhaps, Destiny.

Desire’s fingers curl beneath their pointed chin. Desire surveys you, then his older brother, with a feline's slowness. “Well, well. Aren’t you two sweet on each other?”

This time, the darkness curling beneath Dream’s chair becomes physical. Visible even to your mortal eye.

“Cease your poisonous stipulations,” Dream says icily.

Desire scoffs, dropping back in their seat with a graceful, seductive stretch. Heat encompasses your being, pouring in the crevices of your skin. Desire’s effect is all but impossible to escape this close.

“Is it not my function, oh dear brother of mine, to sow desire in the hearts of all living things, mortal and otherwise? What are they without their desires?” The Endless straightens just as swiftly, their elbows digging back into the table while they eye you, chin back in their hands. Something cruel and fragmented, endlessly amused, slides through those golden irises—an intent you’ve never seen Desire direct your way until now. “Come, my sweet, doesn’t it get dreary? All those mortals set on your suffering? Surely you have missed the sweet, loving embrace of Desire? I could make you desire anything… even a kiss.”

And then…

The world melts away, and everything once making up your being bows and folds under the power pressing into you. You’re but a child. You are atoms. And you’ve forgotten how terrible their power could be once unleashed.

There’s only cocoon and darkness and golden, glowing eyes beckoning you, warming you, bewitching you. Your limbs are too far away to control, your will dulled into thin, worn paper—brittle to the touch. Your skin is too hot, and the air in your lungs is insufficient. It feels so good. So good, so good—

Even a kiss, even a kiss, even a kiss—

Your limbs are on strings, tugged in one direction, then another. Distantly, horror chokes you, and you scratch at the walls inside your mind, clawing for some semblance of control, but there’s only a sultry embrace of desire.

“Desire, no—”

“Stop—”

“Enough.” Something inside your chest trembles at that single word’s sheer, unbridled power. Your numbed senses are clear but not enough to free you. You're trapped, caught on the verge of awareness. “You dare.”

“Now, now, dear Dream. Did I get under your skin? It’s but jest. Lighten up.”

Few stars emerge in your blackened vision, guiding you closer. They urge you forward to safety, but you’re unable to move. It feels good to be here, so good and hot. There’s no pain, only desire and pleasure—

“We do not control mortals, sister-brother. Their will is their own. Release Wanderer.”

Destiny’s tepid command shreds through the heated, desire-filled veil. You return to yourself with a choked gasp, snapping into your tiny mortal body with a painful lurch. It’s overwhelming. Every sense was smothered to such a degree, it’s as if everything is twice as heightened now.

“Are you insane?” Death snaps. You’ve never heard her this angry until now. There’s always a smile on her face and a playful gleam in her eyes. But you’re too busy shaking to be afraid. “What was that, huh?”

Your hands convulse. Bloody indents line your palms. Your nails must have cut into your skin hard enough to draw blood. You fought. But what can a mortal do when faced with an Endless? You were erased, folded down to nothing. You are nothing.

Voices melt into one. You’re too shaken to separate them. When some semblance of awareness settles in, you realise how awful these… seconds, minutes, or hours have truly been.

You’re half straddling Destruction, arms half wrapped around his broad shoulders, your mouth near his neck. Horror liquefies your limbs, rooting you in your spot. Too much—it’s too much. Humiliation leaves you immobile, but Destruction rests his hand between your shoulder blades, his gaze kind and concerned beneath his bunched eyebrows.

“Are you well?” he asks quietly over the clamour behind you.

Your chin wobbles. Shame lashes your skin. You’ve been used as no more than a puppet to be thrown at him. On him. Like some mindless whore. A witless worshipper, begging for their chosen god’s favour, not understanding what they’re inviting. How the gods are never kind. How they only use and break for their amusement.

Even though Destruction doesn’t appear angry, you can’t stop yourself from croaking out, “I… I… I’m sorry.”

His sympathetic frown is visible even beneath his thick beard. He cradles you to him but with gentleness indicating how fragile he believes you to be at this moment. “Do not fret. It is quite alright, my friend.”

“Can you…?”

Your words splinter. The burn behind your eyes turns painfully prickly. Destruction’s handsome face creases further. He nods mutely, carefully manoeuvring your body to a standing position. His large hand presses between your shoulder blades, steading and hot through your thin robes. His fingers fold slightly, protectively. Your gratitude for his unprompted support is immeasurable. An anchor while your knees shake.

“It was a joke,” Desire calls out over his siblings. “Desire is who I am. It’s all in good fun. Isn’t that right, sweet thing?”

Your shoulders spasm, your back still to them. Your insides churn at the prompt, and you’re unsure if you’re about to be sick, cry, or some horrific mix of both.

You thought… you were foolish enough to assume…

How many times have you landed in the Threshold, thrilled to see Desire? How often have you shared jokes, laughs, and peaceful evenings and mornings in the twilight land? What other touch or embrace have you known over three centuries that didn’t end in agony but Desire’s? You’ve told them numerous times you have no preference for any sibling in their family—that you cherish Desire’s company as much as others, perhaps even more so. Because with Desire, you could remember what it’s like to be human—to want and need.

You had foolishly believed you were friends.

Now you see the truth. You feel the horrible, numbing heat licking across your flesh—the aftermath of this ultimate betrayal. Desire’s power shimmers on the outskirts of your mind, ready to devour you anew. Rob you of reason and choice.

“I—you… I trusted you.” Everyone falls silent at your frayed words, scraping through the eerily quiet dining hall. When you rotate clumsily towards them, you look only at Desire. You avoid others. Your humiliation burns too brightly for anything else. “You… just made me feel like nothing. You degraded me. I’m no more than a thing for you to play with.”

Some foreign emotion spasms briefly through Desire’s face—gone in a blink. Their answering smile is so patronising a deeper crack splinters your chest. “Wanderer. Be a good sport. It was simply a bit of fun.”

A bit of fun.

Desire can be fickle, and it can be cruel. But you’ve forgotten just how cruel they could be. To Desire, this is no more than a practical joke. You’re only a silly mortal. No wonder you don’t get the joke. You’ll get over yourself soon enough. But no one else is laughing or smiling, either. Even Despair in your peripheral remains hunched and mute, typically first to her twin’s defence.

“Fun.”

The word shatters something between you the second you voice it. You can see it on Desire’s face. The realisation settling in. There is no regret, no apology. Nor will there ever be. It’s clear from the dismissive curl of Desire’s mouth. They don’t see anything wrong with what just transpired.

It makes it worse. So much worse.

“Wanderer, brother Destruction. Sit.”

Destiny’s perfectly poised voice shreds whatever little composure you’ve been clinging onto.

“You knew, didn’t you?” The accusation rips through the room like wildfire. You shake off Destructions comforting touch, your lungs filling with air and spilling out fire. “You knew Desire was going to do that. That’s the only reason why you permitted me to stay. Do I not suffer every day? Or do you enjoy making me into your little plaything? Have I not been humiliated enough for your amusement?”

Destiny says nothing.

You shove away from the table with disgust. Your feet tangle before you command your sluggish limbs. Death rise after you immediately.

“Wanderer—”

You flinch away from her extended hand, from all of them. You don’t care what invisible line you may be overstepping. “Don’t touch me,” you spit out. “I never should have stayed.”

Your feet carry you several paces until another, more resounding voice calls, “Wanderer.”

A part of you doesn’t understand why you pause or look back. Dream’s gaze sears into you. Yet you can’t untangle a single thing you see burrowed there. He’s standing as well, his hand flat on the table. Foolishly, you hope he will come after you, say something in defence of you. But Dream is Dream. He’s likely just as clueless about why you took this so badly as others. Perhaps the fury you see glimmering in those starlit eyes is but your imagination. Another pretty lie your sentimental, human heart would be all too happy to convince yourself of.

He doesn’t move. You pivot away, your shoulders hunching.

Desire’s chuckle licks at your back, silky and smooth. “So tense, that one. It was only a bit of fun.”

No one laughs. No one responds.

Only a bit of fun.

“Take me away, take me away from here,” you sob, stumbling into a shadowed hallway.

For once, the curse listens.

Rivulets of sweat drip down your back. The puddle of blood at your feet is starting to go dark. These observations float from somewhere beyond the dense fog shrouding your mind. It’s so difficult to focus. Wiping across your sweaty forehead, you lean on your arm, breathing deeply. You’ve forgotten how suffocating the humidity could be here in Georgia.

Mercifully only heat-blurred fields surround you. The vast, open stretch of highway is all you see on either side.

Lights dance in your vision, your ears ringing. Maybe it’s the curse and not the heat. Your limbs obey no command, barely held together by sheer stubborn will to follow the tether pulsing in your chest. The spell’s power is already dimming. You have no choice but to jump. This is your only chance to get to Corinthian first.

“Come on… come on… I don’t obey you.” Your nails scrape on the heated metal, your head hanging low. “You obey me.”

Your tongue rolls the words clumsily. No matter how much you swallow, more saliva floods your mouth, causing your stomach to cramp. Your knees beg to fold beneath you. Lay down in this tall grass and wait for the inevitable that will never arrive. It’s foolish. Death is far from the worst thing that can befall an individual. It was the very first lesson you learned.

Digging deeper, you claw and yank on the curse’s power, squeezing it until the bleed becomes physical. Until your limbs rip from one place to another.

When you settle back into your body, skin stinging, your knees hit the ground immediately. Blood dribbles past your lips, your sweat-covered forehead pressing into the soft dirt. You pant loudly, blood trickling past your cracked lips. Pain is coming from everywhere. Sounds mangle into each other when you attempt to raise your head. Your stomach protests viciously, leaving you dry heaving. Nothing but more blood escapes your body.

A hotel sign. It’s the first thing you register. You’ve landed near one, practically on it. Your fingernails dig into the dirt as you stumble into a standing position. The tether Johanna’s spell has threaded pulses harder and faster in your chest. There. Corinthian has to be there.

Cradling your sore midsection, you painstakingly make your way towards the hotel. Relentless heat melts your already nonexistent strength reserves down to nothing.

Several people glance in your direction when you push through the reception door. In this climate, your attire certainly raises eyebrows, but you remind yourself there’s no way Corinthian can know you’re here this time.

“Can I help you?”

You stumble to a stop, breathing heavily. A man with a tiny hat and a nametag reading Fun Land sits behind a table, his annoyance palpable while he stares at you expectedly. It takes considerable effort to gather the strength required to speak.

“No.”

You turn to go.

“Hey, woah! This is a convention-only area. Can’t you read?”

Following the direction the man is gesturing wildly towards, you find a board reading Cereal Convention printed in large, bold letters. The rest blurs, sweat stinging your eyes. You work your jaw.

“No,” you repeat.

The man’s petulant glare would be comical if you were in a better mood.

“You can’t go here,” he declares stiffly.

Your fingers curl weakly, convulsing at your sides. You didn’t come this far to be precluded from finding Corinthian by a goddamn sign. By a cereal convention. Cereal convention. Cereal. At the back of your foggy mind, something nags at you.

Your brows dip inwards, your gaze slipping towards the man. His bravado stutters, washing away from him. He shrinks backwards the longer you stare at him, his throat working on a gulp. Your lips compress into a stiffer line. Someone brushes behind you, stepping up to the table. Fun Land exhales in audible relief, serving them, pretending he’s too busy to pay you further notice.

Fine. You’ll find another way.

Stalking outside, you keep to the shade, leaning into the wall for support. It doesn’t take long to track down the delivery entrance. Every hotel has one, and depending on the time of day, they’re not the best protected. Like right now, in the afternoon, after housekeeping has gone home, leaving only a handful of staff on standby.

He’s in here somewhere. The hotel corridors melt together. Beige walls and stale, humid air. They warp, smearing together into nothing but sensation. You’re a rat caught inside yet another maze. Sickness churns inside your stomach.

And then, impossibly, you see him.

A pale head of golden hair illuminated by washed-out light, his back to you while he strolls ahead and away from you.

“Corinthian.”

The raspy exhale ricochets. The nightmare stops dead in his tracks. Until this precise second, he wasn’t there, wasn’t real, but with his name, the nightmare becomes a reality. Corridor may separate you, but the spell winks out, confirming your suspicion.

Aircon buzzes through the long, otherwise vacant corridor. Your heart thunders in your ears.

Then, Corinthian speaks: “You shouldn’t be here.”

A sob wells in your chest at his drawling, smooth words. Nearly two hundred years you haven’t seen him. Over a century seeking him out, having to live with the ramifications of atrocities he’s been inflicting. And now, here, it’s just you and him. You’re not sure which sensation pulses in you stronger: anger or relief.

Your mouth quivers, your tongue dragging across your dry, cracked lips. “I searched for you.”

“I know you did,” he replies listlessly, his back still facing you. It hurts, because you were right. He’s been knowingly avoiding you. As if reading your mind, Corinthian raises his hand, and your stomach shrivels when you spot your ring firm on his finger. “I have this to thank you for, but it would seem you found me out anyway. Shame.”

The ring. Of course.

A small piece of humanity for you to hold. I told you, they’re not all bad. I hope this can help you experience it.

And experience it he did. An essential part of yourself put away in that ring must have given him a sense of your presence nearby. He used your own present against you.

The Corinthian finally turns to face you, all but unchanged except for his modern hairstyle and refined round shades. You want to say so many things to him that your tongue refuses to work altogether. A great chasm yawns between you, and you have no idea how to bridge it.

“What are you doing?” you ask at last.

There’s no smirk or sly grin in sight. He’s as closed off as you. Despite his seeming indifference, you read the subtle tension lining Corinthian’s broad shoulders. He can hide from others, trick and lie to them if he pleases, but never you.

“What I was made to do,” he replies tightly.

“No. You’re hurting them.”

Corinthian’s jaw locks. “He made me in your image, Wanderer. Now I’m making the world in mine. I thought you’d be proud.”

A disbelieving scoff rips from your chest, burning your windpipe as if acid washed down it. “Proud?” you parrot. “You’re killing them.”

Your harsh condemnation dissolves whatever neutrality remains in the space between you. Prior uncertainty dashes beneath a strain of a century dripping in the blood of innocents.

“Did they do less to you?” Corinthian’s voice is all nightmare; honeyed, cruel, and seductive. His head tilts playfully to one side. “How often did they torture you? Shun you? Sought to eradicate you? Still you defend them as you did him.”

Your sight muddies, and it takes a shake of your head to clear it. “You can’t punish all for crimes of a few.”

A snarl twists Corinthian’s mouth, his feet carrying him towards you in a measured, prowling stalk.

“A few? They’re all the same: greedy, selfish, and cruel. The curse reveals. I reflect. They don’t change; they only learn how to hide better.” He pauses, licking his lips as he considers you. Something seems to occur to him, a faint laugh vibrating from his chest. “Do you have any idea how many times I stopped them? Punished them for hurting you? New Orleans in ‘31. Berlin in ‘43. Vienna in ‘55. Seoul in ‘62. Moscow in ‘71. Bangkok in ‘89. New York in ‘00. Why those were all me and then some. I was there. I’ve always been there.”

Each date punctures through you like a stray bullet. Honed and whetted for the single purpose of hurting you in a different sense. A fragmented nightmare. You’ve chased a mirage while the nightmare has spent a century mirroring your steps, keeping you safe from the shadows whenever your paths crossed unbeknownst to you.

There’ve been times—

You thought you’d caught glimpses of him in decades-long since lost. But unfailingly, you’ve only ever found empty alleyways when you pursued these figments. Eventually, you stopped chasing these mirages. The pain was too great. But it’s never been just your overreactive imagination, has it? He was real. He was there.

He’s spent a century killing indiscriminately while also keeping you safe. You want to scream at him for the evil he’s committed and cry from sheer relief he hasn’t forgotten you.

“Then why hide?” you croak, stumbling closer. “Why not speak with me?”

“Oh, come now.” Corinthian clicks his tongue. He turns away, nostrils flaring, then turns to face you again. “You know why. You would have asked me to come back, and for you, I would have.”

His features blur, your words barely audible, “And would that have been so terrible?”

“Come back to what? Dream’s ball and chain?” Acidic words, despite their softness. His rage deflates instantly, a huffing laugh escaping him as if he’s surprised himself with the lapse. “You think he gives a fuck about either of us? He threw you out. You left.”

Indignation flares in your chest. “Not by choice.”

“Then you should have taken me with you. But you left me. All you ever do is play by Dream’s rules. I figured out how to leave the Dreaming back during Dreamfall, but I stayed. Wonder why.”

You have no response to that. You’re left standing there, gaping. For you. Who else? He had no one else there; no other reason to stay other than your presence.

“So that’s it,” you begin shakily, your words rasping, sniffling. “All this because you believe I chose Dream and his rules over you?”

“What did you do to yourself?”

Corinthian’s voice has gone dreadfully quiet. Fiercely unhappy. Too late, you realise you’re sniffling because blood is dripping from your nose. Clumsily, you swipe the back of your hand over your chin. Crevices in your skin crack with dried blood.

“It was never a choice, don’t you get it?” you whisper, your words pouring out thick and wet with emotion. “It’s always been you. Always. I was terrified the journey would destroy you. Had I known, I would have taken you with me in a heartbeat.”

Corinthian closes the remaining distance between you, grasping you by the forearms. It’s such a relief to have him near again. You sag into him, trembling. You try to raise your hand to wipe beneath your nose, but your limbs are too stiff to obey.

“What did you do, Wanderer?” He sounds furious while he examines you, as if only now realising the extent of your deterioration. “What did you do yourself?”

“I had to get to you first,” you tell him. Blood smudges the lapels of his jacket where you grasp it. “Please, you have to stop. They don’t deserve this, Cori.”

He looks disgusted at your words, but your legs fail you before he responds. Corinthian catches you before your knees hit the carpeted ground.

“It hurts.” His words come out hissing, sharp with incredulity. “Why does it hurt?”

Your chin jolts upwards, your bloodstained smile trembling around the edges. “You know why. I’m inside of you. You can’t escape that.”

Neither of you can. You’ll carry him in you until your bitter end, as he will carry you until his.

“Shh. I got you.” Corinthian tucks you into him when a whimper of pain escapes you. His hand cradles the back of your head. ��I’m going to set us both free.”

And then, through horror, darkness closes in.

Motion.

“Who is that?”

A woman’s voice. Unfamiliar.

“Oh, yes. This one is with me. Won’t you be a good girl and share that tidbit with others, so we don’t have any… complications. I appreciate it.”

“But I thought—”

Arms tighten around you possessively—the air coils, suffused with thick tension.

“Good Doctor. No one touches this one. Or they'll have to deal with me. Personally.”

Footsteps retreat near instantly, the atmosphere lightening in the absence. You’re resting on something velvety. You have no idea where you are, but you know you’re safe.

“Cori…”

“Shh, I’ll be back before you know it.” Cold glass touches your lips. When your lips part, soothing water slips into your awaiting mouth. After several mouthfuls, the glass disappears. A cool hand traces your face. “Things will be different real soon, you’ll see.”

You reach blindly, seeking. “Don’t go.”

“Oh, don’t worry. After I’m done, we’ll have a Dreaming of our own.”

Then nothing.

Anchor around your ankle. Plunging, bitter cold water, pressure, pressure, a hand reaching uselessly towards the shrinking light above, then nothing—

Ropes bite into your wrists, the pyre is tall, and the crowd jeers with open delight. They throw things at you; some hit, some miss. You don’t know if you hate them or pity them. Both, neither. Sahsin’s face is disgusted, filled with hate. She has positioned herself in front of the throbbing mob. When the fire comes, Sahsin enjoys it. When the fire comes, the agony devours all else—

Blank page.

And beneath, a faint, pulsing power of Endless Destruction.

“My lord.”

Urgent footsteps head in his direction. Morpheus raises his head, his grip on the tome in his hands white-knuckled.

Loyal Lucienne and a rather familiar figure a step behind her.

“I apologise for leaving, Lord,” Fiddler’s Green begins, flustered but entreating. “But you must help. He’s killing them.”

You awake with a pained gasp. Your head swims, your fingers clumsily seeking purchase.

An eerily silent hotel room greets you when your hiccuping gasps assuage into a steadier rhythm. Corinthian is nowhere in sight. You wrench yourself from beneath the comfortable covers, stumbling. You grab your carelessly thrown coat on your way out, shrugging on the familiar weight. At least your vision is clearer than earlier. Pain remains undiminished by your fretful rest.

The hotel is unnaturally quiet—your nerves prickle. Nothing good ever comes from places where there should be life, being devoid of it. Unease pools in your stomach while you stumble through winding corridors. Where did everyone go?

Outside, twilight has settled over the landscape. Your pace increases, your palms dragging across the walls to keep moving.

You find the reception empty, the convention table barren. Except…

“—a black mirror, made to reflect everything about itself that humanity will not confront. But look at you—”

Your body turns to stone mid-step. There’s no confusing that voice with anyone—the absolute power infused into every deliberate, low syllable.

With a start, you realise your knees have bent, your coat pooling around your ankles. You’re scared. Dream wasn’t supposed to be here. Not when you’re not there to mediate. Clawing at the walls, you force your legs forward. Your bones quake in protest with each step.

Shoving into the conference room, you find the room full. Hotel patrons sit in neat rows, their heads bowed and eyes closed.

Dream of the Endless and the nightmare make for a lonely, contrasting sight on the stage: dark and light.

Corinthian’s small smile is scornful. “I’m not the problem, Dream.”

“You’re right,” Dream Lord concurs quietly. “This is my fault, not yours. I had so much hope for you, but I created you poorly then. So I must uncreate you now.”

Dream’s arm lifts in the air between them. You lurch forward, stumbling up the stairs.

“No!”

You let out a dry sob, pushing past Dream to get to the nightmare. The contours of Corinthian’s face have begun dissolving, singed red at the edges, disappearing back into the sand he was fashioned from.

Corinthian chokes out a breath, grinning widely, grasping your hand. “Hey, trouble—”

His hand in yours crumbles. A wounded, animalistic sound rips from you. There’s a futile, blind attempt to grasp onto his body as it slips between your fingers. Through your arms, and then out of your life.

“No! No, no.”

Your knees hit the stage so hard the sound is a thunderclap through the hushed room. Sand lays in a golden pile at your feet. A tiny skull containing teeth for eyes is all that remains and—

Your ring. Corinthian’s faint warmth still lingers on the metal. Wet dots fall into the sand. Only then do you register the tears dripping down your face. Followed by speckles of blood. It seems appropriate that, in the end, he should have your blood also.

Featherlight touch on your shoulder only registers after Dream’s voice floats through your agony: “Wanderer. I am sorry.”

Perhaps under different circumstances, you would have examined this moment closer—Dream Lord, an Endless, on his knees beside you, his voice impossibly soft. Instead, you want to disappear.

“I know,” you sob, shaking, half leaning towards the ground. If it weren’t for Dream’s grip on you, there’s no doubt in your mind you would collapse right where Corinthian has. Something mangles inside you, far beyond physical. “I know you had to stop him. I… to me… he… to me he’s…”

Everything.

Dragging your hands desperately through the slippery grains, you gather them in a smaller circle.

“What are you doing?”

Dream’s question is uncharacteristically gentle. There’s deeper awareness that a wrong question could shatter you completely.

Past your raw vocal cords, you only manage: “I—I can’t leave him. I can’t leave him again.”

You’re not sure if you’re coherent enough for him to understand. Each word borders on a pained howl. Black is rapidly devouring your fading vision. Too much. It’s too much. You’re about to explode. Collapse like the nightmare did, utterly undone.

Several scarlet drops drip into the sand, and Dream sucks in a deep breath beside you, his grip on you tightening.

“You’re bleeding.”

He doesn’t get a response. Blackness devours you whole.

Recovery takes three weeks. You’re unconscious for the first two. Another week crawls by until you can move again.

The simple fact that it takes you so long to become functional only confirms that Dream brought back a broken soul into the Dreaming. You’ve survived limbs being severed. Past incidents where your skin was peeled off. But this goes beyond skin deep.

You haven’t travelled since the incident. The mere thought induces a fresh dose of cramping terror through your system. The curse, wounded and worn, has retreated. Dormant. For now.

“You mourn him.”

You jump in your spot. Your fingers close protectively over the ring in your hand. Dream steps into your line of sight, his coat fluttering around his lithe figure. His face is slanted away from you, observing the waterfront. You try to hide your surprise at seeing him.

He’s been… distant these last three weeks. Not cold, but…

Sad.

There’s no other way to delineate the forlorn stares that seem to follow you.

“I’m not an idiot. What Corinthian was doing was horrific,” you say dully, tugging on stray blades of grass.

Fiddler’s Green has returned, taking his post once more. It should make you happy. He apologised personally for his departure, but you understood his reasonings for leaving. Without his creator, Fiddler’s Green wanted to experience what it was like to be human. What right do you have to judge him for such a wish? Yet memory is a cruel mistress—the recollections of the one whose absence is so torturously felt are everywhere.

“He took lives that were never his to take,” you continue. Anger bites into controlled syllables. “Not to mention his plan to have Rose become the new heart of the Dreaming. Did he realise the universe would have collapsed in on itself? He had to be stopped.”

It was what had awoken you back at the hotel. It’s only later that you learned the extent of Corinthian’s plan. Rose Walker was the vortex. Given enough time, she would have become the centre of the Dreaming, drawing dreams and nightmares to her. And collapsed this universe as a result. Dream would have killed her—it’s the only time the Endless are permitted to take mortal life, if they’re an active threat—but Rose’s grandmother had stepped in last second. A woman who should have been the vortex if it hadn’t been for Dream’s capture. If the sleeping sickness that swept through the waking world had not robbed her of life.

“But you mourn him still.”

Unequivocal insistence. Your composed mask cracks around the edges. Lying would be pointless.

“Of course I do,” you exhale, pained.

Dream’s fingers curl at his side, but he doesn’t look your way. “This was my oversight, Wanderer. Do not bear the guilt for those lost.”

Trees ripple and shiver in the faint breeze. Waterfall roars to your left, while to your right, the dark shores of the Dreaming reflect sunshine like the darkest obsidian. You consider the Dream Lord while he watches the beach with a stony expression. Utterly closed off—same old Dream.

Deflating, you struggle back onto your feet.

“Their blood is on my hands, too,” you say, turning to go.

Guilt will follow you no matter what he maintains.

“Are you departing once more?” he calls out, halting you in your tracks. He’s scrutinising you when you peek his way. “You are not fit for travel.”

Offering a throwaway smile, you shrug. “I’m a rubber ball. I bounce back quickly.”

“Stay until Dreamfall if the curse permits it.” Dream pauses after his brisk request, catching himself with a swallow. Awkwardness permeates the air. “It would mean a great deal to others if you celebrated with them.”

You loosen a reluctant breath, squinting at him. “Do you want me to stay?”

Something shifts between you at the forthright prompt; tightening, warming. Surprise collects in your chest at the fact you dared to ask. But you’re tired of feigning, acting as if you’re both not caught in some bizarre impasse.

Dream’s lips part softly, his answer a mere exhale, “I would.”

Light, tingling sensation webs through your chest. You hadn’t expected that. “Under one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Answer me something, Morpheus. Truthfully.” With deliberate slowness, you step into his bubble, so close Dream’s lashes flutter as he peers at you. There’s such unbearable weight to his gaze. There’s always been a raging storm brewing there, but this is more. Heavier. “Corinthian was convinced that you made him in my image. Is it true?”

Your jaw sets stubbornly, the nightmare’s name stinging your tongue. Dream’s eyes roam over your features, seeking some unknown truth. You’re not asking about physical similarities, but you permit him this moment. Because he digs deeper, because your heart is in your throat when Dream finally settles on his truth:

“While I did not recognise it as such at the time, I believe I did.”

You’ve known, been aware of this fact for centuries. Since Corinthian shared his hypothesis, you’ve been unable to scrub it from your mind. But to have confirmation from Dream himself paints many past events in a different light.

“I made you poorly then… a black mirror made to reflect everything humanity will not confront.” Recalling Dream Lord’s words, you stagger backwards, your mind whirling with thoughts. A startled gasp pushes from your lungs, your attention snapping back to the Endless. Suddenly all the puzzle pieces slot perfectly into place. “I had it all wrong. Corinthian was a manifestation of your anger for what humanity was doing to me. He was to be your mirror, your teacher, so humanity may choose to be better. So they may learn to overcome their darkest impulses.”

Staggering backwards, words escape you in a torrent, “But it went wrong, didn’t it? You gave him too much of that anger—the fury of an Endless and reckless, unshakable defiance of a cursed mortal. You created a masterpiece by giving him too much. By making something that is so much more than just a nightmare. A perfect hybrid between an Endless and a mortal.”

Dream says nothing in response. It’s the only confirmation you need.

In the end, you stay. But this time, you’re the one who avoids the Dream Lord.

“You’re always welcome in my chambers, sweet Dream. It’s lovely to see you. Can I get you anything you desire?”

Morpheus strolls through the glossy scarlet chambers of his younger sibling’s stronghold. Desire of the Endless curls with each word spoken, stretching indolently across their seat. Loving malice lines planes of Desire’s face, enigmatic and magnetic as their name suggests.

Dream moves closer. “I desire nothing from you, save some answers.”

Desire pouts, sitting up, their hands in their lap. “Oh? Do tell. I love a test.”

He’s never understood Desire’s love for games. Petulant slights or wish to inflict harm. To manipulate and use. Once…

He supposes it no longer matters what their relationship might have been once—too many years arc between them: too much history and bad blood. Morpheus prowls through the gallery, briefly flicking his attention towards his family’s sigils.

“Unity Kincaid should have been the vortex of this age. But someone saw fit to take advantage of my imprisonment and fathered a child with her, knowing full well that it would become the vortex and I would be left with no choice but to kill it.”

A mock gasp escapes Desire’s ruby-painted lips. Their golden eyes blow wide open, startled and innocent, while they monitor Dream.

“Are you implying I meddled with affairs of another Endless domain, dear brother?” Desire’s pout wobbles when Dream doesn't respond. The faux innocence melts away in a blink, leaving behind nothing but conniving malice, peering back through a hooded stare. “Oh, fine, was I really that obvious?”

A brief, cool smile touches Dream’s lips, his words coming out frosty, “No. You covered your tracks remarkably well.”

“High praise, coming from you,” Desire tuts, grinning sharply.

“What did you intend?” Dream heads towards the other Endless unhurriedly. “That I should spill family blood? With all that would entail?”

“This time, it almost worked.” Desire’s grin stretches wider, pleased. “I haven’t seen you this worked up since my little wrangle with lovely Wanderer. How is she, by the way? Still coughing up blood?”

His younger sibling adjusts their position once again, sitting up straighter. Bracing for a fight, Morpheus realises belatedly. This is a sore spot that always elicits a reaction. But this time, Morpheus will not be giving his sibling the satisfaction. He’s observed Desire’s and Wanderer’s relationship—or what little of it remains—long enough to draw his own conclusions.

“You do not fool me,” Morpheus begins deliberately. The corners of Desire’s mouth tilt downwards slightly. “I know your fickle heart, my sibling, and you resent the fact Wanderer forgives others but not you. But you fail to understand why that same forgiveness has not been extended your way. We of the Endless are the servants of the living, not their masters. We exist only because they know deep in their hearts that we exist. We do not manipulate them. If anything, they manipulate us.”

“Then perhaps I shall pay Wanderer a visit in person.” Desire drags their thumbs over the edge of their lips, sly in their wily deliberation. “I do, after all, wear your face now. But unlike you, I will endeavour to be a far more… devoted lover.”

Wrath kindles in his chest. Morpheus knows. He’s read about your and Desire’s encounter at the shores of the Dreaming while he was locked away.

He shakes his head. “Still, you fail to see. We are their dolls, Desire. You and Despair, and even poor Delirium, will do well to remember that.”

Desire presents him with a dismissive shrug, their nose wrinkling. “Maybe I don’t understand.”

“No, perhaps you do not,” Morpheus agrees softly. Circling, he slips behind his younger sibling. Desire’s head wrenches backwards, their gulping gasp nearly lost when Morpheus twists the other Endless’ head back, peering down at the blonde coldly. “Then let me tell you something you will understand: mess with me or mine again, and I shall forget you are family. You lay a finger on Wanderer, and I will make every circle of Hell feel like kindness by comparison. Do you believe yourself to be strong enough to stand against me? Against Death? Against Destiny?”

Desire forces down a gulp, their breath stuttering at the creeping wrath, “No.”

“No, indeed.” Dropping his hold, Morpheus straightens, his jaw rigid as he stalks away, adding, “Remember this next time you’re inspired to interfere in my affairs.”

And then he’s gone.

Translucent light kisses your shoulders as you stroll towards the looming stronghold, your hands buried deep in your pockets. Your fingers have turned numb from how tightly you’re clenching them. The impressive, stone-carved statues depicting the seven Endless guide your way. Well, six. You pause by Destruction, the only one facing away, unlike his siblings.

You don’t dare to stray from the path. The likelihood of finding your way out if you get lost in the maze again is non-existent.

The ruler of this sprawling, eerily silent domain greets you at the foot of the marble staircase.

“I welcome thee, Wanderer, Roamer of Realms, into my stronghold.”

Even at this distance, Destiny looms so impossibly tall, some forgotten human instinct sparks in a warning.

Undeterred, you halt before the imposing figure, bowing your head. “I greet and thank you for your welcome, Destiny of the Endless.”

Only Destiny’s lower face is visible behind his billowing hood when he speaks in a crackling rasp, “You have arrived here for a single purpose.”

No ifs or buts about it—he knows better than that, the book slotted neatly under his arm.

“And here I was, ready to ask if you’re surprised to see me,” you shoot back jokingly. Destiny does not smile or construe entertainment from your words. You sober, your attempt at levity now abandoned. “Guess we both know the answer to that. I’m here to share some theories if you have time to spare.”

To your surprise, Destiny slips past you, heading in the direction you came from, deeper into his garden. His footsteps make no sound. His cloak whispers behind him, shimmering in the dim, muted light. On equal footing, you have to crane your head to see him. The devouring dark pooling around the contours of his pallid face reveals nothing beneath the hood, even at your angle.

“You seek to ask questions for which there are scarce few answers, Wanderer,” Destiny says resolutely. “You are far older than most mortals can comprehend, yet your heart remains stubbornly mortal.”

You set out after him at once, your invisible hackles rising. “In what way? My defiance?”

Destiny does not falter, his pace remaining as steady as lapping waves. “That is not for me to judge.”

The garden is vast and a marvel to behold, but the temperature lingers on that unnatural lukewarmness that gives away how unorthodox this place is. The light is perpetually unfading, gauzy in the corners of your eyes. It’s a confusing, strangely profound place. It’s as if Destiny’s realm contains everything all at once but also nothing. A place of futures to come, lives unlived, and wilted pasts. There’s no point in attempting to unravel it. There’s only uncanny strangeness you’ve come to accept.

“You will spend time in the realm of each sibling—you will dream, despair, desire, destroy, delight and otherwise, and, eventually, die—but you were his from the very first page, and only he will read how your story comes out, a long time from now.”

Destiny doesn’t pause at your reiteration. There’s no indication he even heard you, but you’re a step behind him. A thousand years of trying to get answers have taught you he would not be entertaining you if this wasn’t heading somewhere. The thought of another scrap of information sets your heart thudding. Haven’t you spent the last two centuries piecing things together? Attempting to confirm your speculations before you came here to confront him with them. Your past attempts may have ended in uniform failure, but today is different. You can feel it.

“You told me that when we first met,” you continue, keeping your nonchalance. You’re no more than a child to him despite your millennia of existence—this is the only way to get him to take you seriously. “When I awoke in your garden, alone and terrified, with no clue as to who I was or what had happened to me. I’ve been thinking about those words ever since.”

Destiny slows, then stops altogether. Your heart climbs to your throat. You've paused by his statue, standing at the foot of polished, pale stone. Destiny’s cloak whispers when he hinges in your direction, anticipatory. He already knows what you will say.

“It was you. You’re the one who did this to me.”

The clarity that clangs through you with those words shakes your knees. Sucking down more oxygen, you add, “Not directly, maybe. I was cursed by mortal power. This much I know for certain. But you made it possible. You led me to this by the hand. Why?”

And like a dozen times you’ve tried in the past, you expect dismissal, or worse, silence with which he’s punished you often. Destiny would disappear from your sight altogether. His patience and unwillingness to give you clear answers are unmatched.

But not this time.

“Because you broke your destiny. Tore it to shreds. Painted it red.” Destiny readjusts the heavy book under his arm. “So you were allocated a new path. One of hardship and pain, but one that may lead you to salvation. Should you tread it mindfully.”

The roar in your head is so loud you barely understand Destiny’s low, equable words.

“You could have told me this a thousand years ago,” you choke out.

He remains a perfectly barren canvas, but in the tension pulsing between you, there now whispers a hint of displeasure. Sweat trickles down your nape.

“I did,” he replies flatly. “But you did not listen. You instead raged and ran, and what came of it?”

Madness and despair.

Stumbling forward, you bite out, “Why? What did I do? What could prompt eternity of this.”

All this pain for crimes you couldn’t so much as recall. Whatever it was, have you not paid back your dues? Have you not suffered enough to make up for your past?

“Forgetting is the only kindness you’ve ever been spared. Or ever will be. Treat it as such.” Cold needles your spine, and a terrible urge to fold yourself into a ball gnaws on your bones. Destiny’s pitch does not change, nor does his bearing, but it doesn’t need to. “In your quest to break, you reformed into something else.”

Your force down saliva, near choking. “Into what?”

“Challenger of the Unknown.”

Silence envelopes the garden. There’s little to no sound in the Garden of the Forking Ways to begin with, but those words blanket everything. Not even the wind seems to stir. No blade of grass moves. This means something; it means something crucial, but you have no idea what.

“What does that mean?” you beseech. Destiny doesn’t move, nor does he answer. Your voice cracks. “Please just tell me.”

But you already know it’s a lost battle. This is all too familiar—the cold, pitiless silence, utterly unmoved. He’s given you all he’s intended to.

“I used to think you hated me.” You’re not sure why you’re telling him this. Destiny won’t care. Your feet carry you past him. Briefly, you pause by Dream’s statue, then keep going. “More than anyone else in this universe. It wasn’t until Destruction left that I finally understood your position more. It is a burden to know what others don’t but be unable to speak that knowledge.”

There’s no doubt in your mind that Destiny knows where Destruction is.

The Prodigal’s statue pierces your vision, making you squint into the hazy skies above. Your following words slip out, each lilting with breezy ease: “But it doesn’t mean I’ll ever forgive you for letting Dream rot in a cage for a hundred years when you knew it was coming, when you could have warned him somehow. I know you have a duty, but he’s your brother. However, indirectly you let Dreaming decay—my home. You let humanity suffer. I figured it out, by the way, why it’s a loophole. Why my book exists in the library, but nothing in other dimensions does. Why I can sleep in the Dreaming but not anywhere else.”

Destiny stands stock still, his bony arms close to his chest, clutching his book. He displays no outward reaction as per usual. It’s a relief to voice your thoughts. You’re utterly terrified of him, but he’s right—your heart is still stubbornly human, as brazen as the Fates accused you of being.

“Because if my curse was the will of the Endless, if my path—whatever it is—is so tightly bound to your family, then it only makes sense, right?” You’re not looking for a response because Destiny will offer none. “The Dreaming is the only place where aspects of each Endless manifest. It’s a loophole. The curse goes dormant when I’m in the Dreaming because the only thing more powerful than the curse is the combined power of the seven Endless.”

You’ve waited to voice your conclusions for so long, it’s surreal to have spoken them aloud. You might fear Destiny, but not enough to continue as a coward. He can deny it, but you’re confident that’s the reason. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

“My siblings have gained much from their companionship with you, Wanderer,” Destiny admits. You quell a flinch despite Destiny’s voice retaining its monotonous quality. “But you and I are antitheses of one another. My brother would not be who he is now had he not tasted that helplessness and sorrow. You are the ink and the quilt with which Dream will write his story.”

His words make little to no sense. Dream is… Dream. What could ever influence him? Much less you. He’s changed since his imprisonment, it’s true, but doubt still nestles in your heart. Had the situation with Gault not proven how those attempts to change come undone in a blink? Despite it, Dream is trying, and it’s more than enough. Change doesn’t happen overnight; not any profound version, anyway.

You wipe across your face, schooling yourself. “I won’t stop trying to save them even if I’m punished further,” you assert. “I’ll always fight for humanity.”

Even over his hood, you feel your gazes clash, burning into one another.

“I would expect no less,” Destiny assures.

Squaring your shoulders, you’re halfway between dimensions before a thought occurs to you. “Just one more thing before I go.”

Destiny is as grave as usual, entirely inhuman in his foreboding silence while he waits.

“It can be broken, can’t it?” you say, scrutinising him closely. “The curse. There are weak spots in its design.”

“That is for you to discover,” he replies, much to your surprise. It’s closer to a yes than a no. “But pay heed. This path will not be forgiving should you wish to pursue it.”

Icy trepidation creeps its claws down your spine. You don’t permit it to show.

“Nothing in my life has been forgiving,” you say curtly. “I bid you good fortune, Destiny.”

“And I you, Roamer of Realms.”

“Happy Dreamfall.”

Slanting your head, you let your chin dig into your shoulder, smiling. You hadn’t seen the Dream Lord since you snuck back into the Dreaming, seemingly no one having noticed your momentary departure. Normally, there are someone’s eyes on you. But only Dream can sense your appearance and disappearance inside the Dreaming itself. So you’ve taken advantage of his absence. You’ve had too much on your mind since your return from visiting Destiny to seek him out yet.

“Happy Dreamfall,” you say to the Endless, who comes to a halt beside you. “May Fates smile upon you, Dream Lord. And may your realm of dreams be aplenty.”

Behind you, the castle grounds buzz with activity. At long last, things were returning to normal. This is the first cause of celebration these dreams and nightmares had in over a century. Back home, safe and in a place where they belong. You hugged and drank sweet nectars with plenty, smiling and touching hands. Or claws. But it didn’t take long to slip away and settle out here.

Perched on the castle staircase, you must make for an odd sight, but Gatekeepers straighten back into their patrol positions with Dream’s arrival. You had left the castle to enjoy the darkening skies, the dreams swelling and blinking in the pitch-black canvas, ready for their journey. The Gatekeepers had clustered close, and you had spent a while simply chatting. You’ve missed them. It had been harrowing to witness them turn to stone while Dream was missing.

“Would you walk with me?” Dream asks.

Wetting your lips, you stand. “Sure.”

Without a preamble, Dream sets out. His gait hovers on ponderous this evening. You’ve gotten used to more hurried, curt interactions between you. Invisible tension stretched tautly. Will-o'-the-wisps dance and sway through the humming evening air. Flowers in your path bloom in different colours, fairy dust sprinkled through the air. You continue on the faintly lit path cutting through the heart of the Dreaming without a word.

“Are you well?”

Dream’s sudden question shakes you from your peaceful stupor.

“Busy, but good,” you answer. “And you?”

Dream halts abruptly. You pass him, then do the same, gazing back at him, confused.

Dream Lord’s pale eyes dig into you. They steal from you, and they give more than words ever could. But this once, Dream also uses his words: “I wish for us to talk as we once did.”

Anxiety pangs through your belly. You hadn’t expected him to point it out. Your lips compress into a stiff, bloodless line. It would be a bald-faced lie to insist something hasn’t broken between you. Corinthian’s unmaking has driven a wedge between you that neither can overcome. The nightmare had to be stopped, but it doesn’t take away from the grief festering in your chest. Most believe grief is an absence, but you’ve found the exact opposite is true.

Grief is a presence that should be there but isn’t. It’s a weight of memories, of possibilities, of life unlived. Corinthian has become your phantom limb, his absence invisible to all but you as is the bleed.

“We’re getting there,” you say lastly.

His wild hair covers his eyes when his head lowers. Subconsciously, you find yourself stepping towards him, folding your hand around his. Cool and silky to the touch. A breath, and then you feel Dream’s hand curl around yours. He doesn’t move otherwise, muscles sitting in rigid mass beneath his pale skin.

“Dream,” you call his name gently. “You’re trying. I see that. We’re finding new ways. Now tell me why we’re here.”

Because this path is familiar to you as your own hands. Just over the dark treeline lays the beach. The docks you’ve visited every night in his absence. This path had been your pilgrimage once, and now he’s returned. The fingers folded around yours tighten. Dream wordlessly tugs you with him until soft sand cushions the soles of your shoes.

“It is a night where anything is possible,” he says knowingly.

Your heartbeat jumps when he leads you towards the pier, wood creaking under your combined weight. “What are you doing?”

Dream draws you both to a stop halfway across the pier, something close to mischief sparking in his gaze. It’s so bizarrely unwonted you do a doubletake.

“Giving you my present.”

With that, he strides closer. Your mouth dries when he gently curls his arm around your waist. He raises your joint hands, spinning you to the side slowly. Clumsily, your legs obey, your breaths escaping uneven gulps.

“Are we dancing, Dream Lord?”

Dream bows his head closer to yours, his voice velvet, “We are dancing in starlight, you and I.”

It’s then you feel the tingling, reverent whisper of his power over your body. Your eyes widen when you see faint light needling the sturdy fabric, as if your coat has become no more than a window into the raw cosmos. Galaxies swirl in raging spirals across the once-dark material. Your head snaps to the side while Dream continues spinning you unhurriedly. Your coat is shrinking, reshaping to fit your body even better than it did up to this point.

“Dream this is…”

The coat settles into actuality. Sparkling dust spills from the material when you shift. Your overcoat has shrunk to kiss just above your knees. More fitted but no less comfortable. And then there’s the way it glimmers like a precious jewel whenever moonlight hits it.

“I had hoped to give you something more… fitting,” Dream murmurs. You look up at him, your noses almost touching. “It is only right for the one who roams the stars to wear a coat of pure starlight.”

“Thank you,” you whisper shakily. “It’s beautiful.”

Beautiful doesn’t do it justice. The midnight material shimmers with your movement, liquid starlight captured into tangible fabric, and your throat closes up as you examine it further. Dream slips his arm from your waist. He lifts your joint hands, comfortable in his own, and lays a light kiss on your hand.

“It becomes you,” he compliments quietly, releasing you. “Now… it’s time.”

Your brows crease. “Time for what?”

Was this not it? Thick emotions still coat your tongue, lodged deep in your windpipe. But Dream only devours you with quiet intensity.

Above your head, dreams start raining down in shining beams of light.

“We begin… with a spin.”

Your heart stutters to a stop. Water roars behind Dream, wild spray flying through the air. The faint drizzle beats against your face, leaving you gaping.

“Dream. I…”

He extends his hand your way. “There is no Dreaming without Wanderer Island. Should you wish it, I would like us to create another.”

Your features crumble, the ball in your throat robbing you of your voice. Indecision holds you captive—on the one hand, you want nothing more, but on another, you’re too afraid. What if it all ends up in the same place? You watching yet another part of you sink into those inky depths.

But there’s something cautious, near vulnerable, to be found in Dream’s guarded features. It’s an effort for him to open up, but you can see the unsure way his hand hangs in offering between you. He’s bracing himself for rejection, for you to leave him alone on this pier.

You grasp his proffered hand, fingers winding cautiously around his. Dream’s shoulders slump slightly from their rigid slant, relaxing at the contact.

He guides you to an all too familiar position. You standing at the edge of the pier, him behind you, a hand on your shoulder. A disconcerting sensation of deja vu falls over you.

“Describe it to me,” he prompts.

Black, foreboding waters of the Dreaming spin in ferocious whirlpools. Dream’s elegant hand pierces your line of sight, primed for creation.

“There’s a small island.” Your voice trembles. You haven’t forgotten anything, down to the exact words used. You conjure the Wanderer Island in your mind’s eye as it once stood; brilliant and shining. The visual blooms bold and alive in your mind. “The grass that grows there is the greenest there’s ever been. And it tastes like sour apples.”

Dream’s hand on your shoulder squeezes lightly. Same amusement, even centuries later. You’re both changed, but a familiar outline of an island starts taking shape on the horizon.

“The sun that shines on the island is never too hot. The air is sweet and light. The flowers never wilt, and trees never shed leaves.” It’s pouring from your mouth now, an avalanche of memory. You’ve missed the island so dearly, and details from five centuries ago come readily. “The sky is an endless periwinkle shade. There’s always food and drinks. Books and games. And…”

Your heart bleeds, fresh wounds gushing. But you push on because it’s not about you.

“And an old friend waits at the beach to greet you with a patient smile whenever you arrive. Because not everyone has a family, and not everyone needs a lover, but everyone should have a friend. The island will be there whenever someone feels lonely, lost, or desperate for an escape. It’ll be there to welcome you. To give you a corner to hide. There is no sadness there. No loneliness or confusion. Only…”

Dream’s lips tickle over the shell of your ear. “… hope.”

And then stillness.

The water settles in a gurgling slosh. In the distance, a patch of land once again floats. There to welcome new dreamers. Wanderer Island blurs. The heel of your hand presses over your eyes, overwhelmed.

Blindly, you tug on Dream’s coat; a mute request. Between one inhale and the next, wood underfoot is exchanged for sand.

Everything is the same down to the last blade of grass and tree composition. Either your vision was so clear Dream could pluck every last detail from your mind or…

Or he remembered the Island with the same clarity as you.

You sink to your knees. Sand crumbles around your digits when you dip them into the pliable sand.

“Hi. There you are.”

Nothing, then…

Grass sprouts unprompted around your hand, tiny daisies twining across your thumb. Utterly impossible, yet tonight, here, anything is possible. A choked laugh escapes you. Your cheeks ache from your beaming smile.

“She’s missed you,” Dream reveals quietly.

Your head lifts in surprise. You stroke the miniature, perfect blooms. “I missed you too.”

With another tickle, the flowers and grass retreat, shrinking into the golden beach. Several moments pass by until you unearth the strength to stand. Dream’s profile greets you. He’s turned away, giving you privacy, but subtle uncertainty lines his features. Sensing your attention, he peers towards you, then past you.

“Thank you,” you breathe. Despite your verbal gratitude, Dream’s attention remains fixed over your shoulder. “What?”

His low words reach you over the sound of lapping waves. “Are you not going to say hello to an old friend?”

You follow his line of sight. Behind you, at a distance with falling dreams as his backdrop, stands a tall, pale-haired figure.

Everything inside you falls very, very quiet—all those tumultuous emotions freeze. Your head snaps back to Dream with a stifled gulp. It can’t be real. Surely it’s some mirage, a feedback loop, a ghost conjured from your love for the now-gone nightmare.

But Dream only slants his head in a marginal, affirming nod. You dare to peek behind you once more. There he stands. The nightmare. Not a twisted joke.

Your feet carry you towards him without conscious thought; half-running, half-walking, stumbling all the while. Corinthian stands with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders in a slight slouch. His nude-coloured slacks and white shirt shine like beacons in the pale moonlight. Round shades cover his eyes, his blonde strands fluttering in the light breeze.

He's a figment. Not quite tangible until your body crashes into him, your arms scrambling to hold onto him. “Oh, God!”

Dry, humoured, “Not quite.”

Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can feel it, if not hear it. A pained, whining sound bubbles up in your throat, gripping him closer.

“I… how…” You wrench yourself back, a horrible thought occurring. You search his handsome features. That infuriating smirk always curling his mouth is absent. “Do you remember me?”

Corinthian stands there, not moving, with no real emotion on display, either. Your heart sinks. Could it be that he—

Dull throb flares across your forehead. He’s flicked you—

A wide, toothy grin stretches across Corinthian’s mouth. “Gotcha.”

With a choked laugh, you punch his shoulder, hugging him close with a wide smile. “I hate you.”

A pleased hum. This time, the nightmare’s arm settles around you. “Hate you more.”

You’re not sure how long you both stand there. When you do part, reluctance keeps your hand on him. Fingertips connecting to some part of him. Remembering the Dream Lord you came here with—who gave you this, his present—you find Dream no longer on the beach. Or anywhere in sight. He’s given you privacy and time. Your heart softens further.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

Corinthian’s subdued question tugs your attention back towards him. You almost wish he didn’t remind you. Because now you’re faced with the reality that even though he’s been returned to you, there’s much you both need to overcome and fix. That losing him did not magically wipe away the wrongs he’s done. If you hope to return to the relationship you once had, you’ll need time.

You consider him for a moment.

“You’re always forgiven,” you tell him honestly.

Standing in the moonglow, you pretend you don’t notice how something coiled tightly seems to loosen inside him at your reassurance. Instead, you reach for his face. Your fingertips brush over Corinthain’s glasses, and his hand snap out, wrapping around your wrist tightly. Bones making up his jaw roll beneath the skin. Tension throbs between you while seconds tick by. Through clenched teeth, Corinthian unwraps his hold finger by finger.

You tug his shades away from his face. He’s tense as a bowstring, his head slanted at an angle. The same jagged teeth sit where most have eyeballs. They’re hooded, though. His discomfort—and anger at said discomfort—couldn’t be more perspicuous.

His shades close as you fold arm temples one at a time. You hold his stare, staring right at those jagged teeth with a slight frown. You extend his shades back to him mutely.

“But my trust is something you will have to earn back,” you state earnestly.

The nightmare hesitates halfway to reaching for his glasses. Those pale fingers dance over them before he plucks them from you.

“Sounds like a fair deal,” he muses absently. You expect him to put the shades back on, but instead, Corinthian hooks them on his shirt pocket. Turning to go, he calls out a honeyed, “You coming?”

He gazes at you over his shoulder, jagged teeth on full show, and you feel yourself smile.

“Always.”

Sun shines luminous and warm today. The Wanderer Island stretches as far as your eye can perceive, teeming with life and greenery around every corner. Flowers and trees bloom everywhere—an awe-inspiring marriage between tropical and temperate climates. The Island once again oozes a sense of magick and wonder that was once so prominent here. No place in the universe can compare.

“Rebuilding is almost complete,” you begin conversationally. “The Dreaming is more beautiful than ever.”

The Endless keeps pace beside you, a pensive sound rumbling from him. “It was not without aid.”

A smile twitches your lips upwards. “You’re welcome.”

Two weeks have gone by since Dreamfall. Things have mended—between you individually and the atmosphere around the Dreaming. While Corinthian’s return was met with some side glances, no one discussed it further. Dreamfolk trust Dream to make the right decision. Or perhaps Gault was right; they’re wiser than to outright question.

“The Corinthian has also been making progress,” Dream says. “I am hoping to place him under supervision and monitor his conduct. To make sure what happened is never repeated. Should the need arise, he will be allocated duties back in the waking world.”

Joy flutters in your heart. “Yeah? That’s great. Someone you trust, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“And?” you probe. “Are you going to tell me who or not?”

In your peripheral, Dream inclines in your direction. “Yours.”

You nearly trip. “Dream, I—” You clear your throat, pausing. “Are you sure? It didn’t exactly work out last time.”

Dream’s intent scrutiny slides over your facial features. “It was due to no fault of yours. And this Corinthian is the same in all but one function. He will not fail again. He has a different purpose now.”

There’s a solemn sort of finality about the way he articulates those words. A tiny shiver skitters down your spine. He will not expand further upon those words. Whatever that purpose is, you imagine time will reveal it.

You chew on your inner cheek. “Okay. I would like that.”

You smile at him. But Dream’s expression stutters, overcome by some foreign emotion. His mouth parts, then closes, his fingers folding into white-knuckled fists.

Just as you’re about to ask what’s wrong, Dream speaks: “Wanderer. Stay.”

You muster up an uncertain, perplexed smile. “I’m right here.”

Dream marches closer, sunshine caught in his onyx hair.

“Stay however long you want,” he insists softly. “Stay forever if it should so please you.”

Shock envelops you, freezing you in your spot. You’ve told him, didn’t you? That you would stay forever by his side if only he asked. Now he’s asking. Except confusion and unease battle in your chest. Can you trust his word? Did Dream change enough? He brought back Corinthian. He freed Gault from the Darkness. He insists this is a new age. But…

“And if I wanted to leave?” you question. “If I chose never to return, what then?”

“It would sadden my creations—”

“I’m asking you.”

Dream falters, shackled by your insistence. His lashes flutter, his head lowering in near palpable struggle. You’re challenging him, but you refuse to continue with the charade. If he wants forever, you can’t live with the fear he might change his mind about it.

“It would pain me, also. A great deal.” He hesitates again, and it’s bizarre because this degree of uncertainty is not something you associate Dream with. “But you are free. You've always been free. The Dreaming is your home. Should you wish to return, its gates will always await you.”

Doubt twists your mouth downwards. “I thought that once—”

“I swear it. No matter what the future may hold. No matter how angry I get, I shall never again take the Dreaming away from you.” Sheer power woven into those words leaves no room for doubt. It’s a vow. He will not break it. There would be a price to pay if he did. Dream’s fingertips ghost over yours, a graze leaving fire in its wake. “I read your book in the library. I did not wish to tell you sooner because I worried you would leave. Because… you were right. I could never understand the sheer devastation. Or the harm I inflicted.”

You drag your hand back, stepping away from him. Dream’s features fall subtly. You face away, giving him your back while you process. Raising the hand he was caressing seconds prior, you cradle it to your chest. Sunshine prickles your cheek, but you ignore it.

“I’m not ashamed of my past,” you tell him, turning back to face him. “I always knew there was a chance you could read it. So, what did you think?”

He appears pained. At least now you know why he’s been so melancholy these last several weeks. “That I should wish for nothing more than for you to stay by my side.”

Those unadorned words devastated you.

Smiling through your inflated, overjoyed heart, you mumble, “Stay forever… I can’t technically do that.”

But Dream is unruffled. If anything, you glimpse the beginnings of hope starting to take root in him.

“I’ll seek a way,” he avows.

“To what?” An incredulous chuckle escapes you. “Break the curse?”

Destiny’s warning jump back to the forefront of your mind, and you swallow thickly. You don’t dare to ponder freedom for longer than an indulgent moment.

“Yes,” Dream replies.

You stare at him. Tall and dark, sunlit and more open than you’ve ever seen him. Determined and golden. Your Dream Lord. He terrifies you. You love him.

“You can’t interfere,” you remind him emptily. “And I might die.”

“Or you may live,” Dream argues. “Freely. And choose for yourself. Always.”

“Trying to bait me, Dream Lord?”

Sudden tension between you loosens around the edges. Once more, the susurration of the trees trickles into your mind, elevating the brewing anxiety.

A thousand years. The curse has defined your existence and has kept you alive this long. What are you without it? There’s always been an unspoken acknowledgement that you could never break the curse without dying. Simply too much time has passed. No mortal vessel can survive over a millennium otherwise. When you asked Destiny, it was only to understand more about the nature of the curse. Not because you ever assumed you could survive breaking the curse.

Dream’s mouth compresses as if he’s attempting not to smile. “I would never.”

“Stay by your side, huh?” you mutter, looking away while you mull over your conversation. “And what exactly would that entail?”

His response is immediate, smooth, “Whatever you wish.”

“A companion, then?” Your words pitch lower and silkier while you close the minimal distance with relaxed, unhurried steps. Dream’s eyes darken a shade. “An emissary? A consort? A queen?”

His black-clad shoulders lift with his inhale.

“Those are but words,” he murmurs silkily. “For you would be all those things, and more.”

You examine his profile, those starlit irises, the doubt swimming there. Does he doubt you would stay? After such long years harbouring this affection for him? Silly, wonderful anthropomorphic personification. “I’ll stay, but only if you answer a question.”

“Even if the price were a hundred thousand questions, Wanderer, I would pay it gladly. What is this question?”

Narrowing your eyes, you scrutinise him. Dream does not balk under your exigent examination, waiting patiently. Biting back a smile, you permit your features to relax. He’s unfairly fun to tease.

“What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?”

Relish bubbles in your chest at the way Dream’s expression comes undone. As if from a thousand questions he was bracing for, nothing could have prepared him for this. Birds chirp a merry tune somewhere in the tree line, a warm breeze ruffling Dream’s dark hair while he gazes at you with utterly confused wonderment. A slight, fond smile curls his lips.

“A thousand years,” he begins in a bewildered drawl. “And still, you ask the same question.”

You laugh faintly, shrugging. “Well, in all fairness, you never answered me the last time. Which was very rude, by the way—”

In an inhale Dream of the Endless materialises in front of you. His hands slip to hold your face, cupping it with delicate hands as he tugs you closer. His kiss falls over you like stars. Silky, gentle warmth that washes over you with such fervent passion you gasp against his mouth. Your hands grasp onto him blindly. You part only long enough for you to gulp down oxygen before your mouths meet again, and again, and again, burning with need unquenched. Heat spreads through every inch of you. A thousand years being cold, floating unearthed, but now someone is holding you.

Dream presses another kiss to your mouth, desperate and hungry, gentle in his handling, and you return it with equal enthusiasm, equal need. Dizziness envelops you, and Dream pulls back, his forehead resting against yours. You shudder, a delicious heat licking up your senses. This closeness hurts better than anything ever has. You remind yourself to breathe, to remember this is real, he’s here, holding you, and nothing matters in this moment. Whatever the future holds, you do not fear it. Because Hob was right: there are people out there who love, and that makes all the difference.

Dream’s thumb grazes over your bunched-up cheek. Your smile is wide enough to light your entire face.

It continues with a gentle, rasping: “I’ll tell you one day, stardust.”

an:

Never apologise, never explain.

I set out to write nothing more than a fun little story that I expected to have maybe 3-4 parts max. Something entirely self-indulgent and fun for no one but me and maybe one or two mutuals. I never quite expected it would become as beloved as it did. I suppose here, in the end, I would like to take the time to thank everyone who read this and supported it. Be it by commenting, making edits/art for it or just sending me encouraging/funny messages. You guys are the reason this story became what it did. I'm immensely grateful for each and every single one of you. It was a rough month, but I'm glad I could offer you this conclusion at long last. Thank you for being here, thank you for being kind, and thank you again for reading.

Goodnight, and see you all in dreams, wanderers ☾ ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

#the sandman #dream of the endless #dream x reader #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #the sandman netflix #sandman imagine #morpheus imagines #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #sandman fic #fanfiction #sandman netflix #sandman neil gaiman #morpheus fic #dream fic #tom sturridge #fic: today i bury you in me

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lilpunkrock · 2 years

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where you go (i will go) — part xi

Summary: Your resting hours take an unexpected turn. Empathy presents a defining moment. When Matthew gives you an idea, you decide to venture where you have never gone before.

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x Fem!Reader

Words: 5.3k+

AN: Things are ramping up. Enjoy the chapter, my friends!

. . .

“Burning cities and napalm skies;

Fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes…

I’m scared, I’ve never fallen from quite this high;

Falling into your ocean eyes.”

ocean eyes, Billie Eilish

. . .

part xi

The prickle in your nostrils that coaxes you into alertness is beloved, familiar. The gentle sting of saltwater. Other senses spring to life after the first–the bright melody of seabirds singing above you, a plush warmth beneath the palms of your hands. Sand. When your eyelids flutter open, a robin’s egg sky greets you.

Slowly, you rise to your feet, patting remnants of sand off your clothing. Now, this is new, you think as you spin in a circle, drinking in your surroundings. The white gold sun above and green foliage of the mountains to your right tell you that you must be in your unconscious. After all, you know it’s winter in the Waking World.

As your gaze sweeps over the honey-gold beach stretching endlessly before and behind you, it occurs to you that there’s something familiar about this place. When your eyes turn to the Tiffany blue tide of the ocean to your left, it finally hits you—this place looks exactly like Dream Country’s shore. If Dream Country’s shore was crafted by a middle-aged mother in desperate need of a tropical vacation rather than a tall and broody Endless, that is.

It’s on pure instinct that you turn to face the opposite side of the beach. Where empty sand stood moments ago, there now stands a dark, slim figure with a shock of charcoal hair. There’s only one person you know who would wear leather lace-up boots to the beach. “Dream?” you call incredulously, squinting at his familiar figure through the brilliant sunlight.

The Dream Lord approaches you slowly, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, seemingly impervious to the warm sun beaming down on the two of you. A fresh breeze swoops over the sea, ruffling his hair like raven’s feathers. Your eyes follow the movement carefully, observing the shuffle of the sand as his boots glide over it, the way the sunlight imbues his pointed nose and high cheekbones with the slightest hint of pink. As he comes to a stop before you, your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Am I dreaming?”

Dream’s dark brows curve upwards, partially disappearing under his wild hairline. “Was it not you who once told me that deities do not dream?” he responds.

Your lips fall into a hard line. “Touché. But this isn’t a memory, either…so, what is this?” Your gaze flickers from his face, to the sand at your feet, and back again. Tentatively, you kick up a spray of sand with the tip of your shoe. It peppers the pant leg of his black jeans ungracefully, but it does make contact. Curious now, you reach out to poke him once in the center of his chest. His sinewy form is surprisingly sturdy under your prod. “Are you even real?”

A lick of amusement flickers through his ocean blue eyes, as fleeting as a flame. “Was it not you who once said that, since you do not dream, I cannot intervene?”

His words give you pause. Because he’s right–that was what you’d told him the night you sat together on the beach, your soul battered and broken by the weight of your memories. The sentiment still made sense to you now. The level of unconsciousness that deities retreated into when in need of a recharge bore no dreams, no nightmares. It was a place between wakefulness and sleep. As the King of Dreams and Nightmares, he should have no dominion over this space.

“You do a lot of quoting me to be the real Dream. He prefers to kind of tell things like they are,” you comment, peering up at Fake Dream’s features curiously. For being a figment of your unconscious, he looked so real. Down to the dipped Cupid’s bow above his rosebud lips, the dimple at the tip of his nose, the capricious flare of his perpetual bedhead.

Your heart flutters at the perfection of these details, then clenches with the realization that it was you who must have soaked those details in, locking them up in some corner of your mind to be used here. Because, at the end of the day, this wasn’t a memory. You had never stood on a honey-gold beach with the Dream Lord by a Tiffany blue ocean.

After eons stuck reliving the last moments of your mortal life, why were your resting hours suddenly changing? First the shadow that had overtaken your memories, and now this. Did it have something to do with the shift that the Fates had described? The formation of the attachments between you and Dream? Your mind reels with possibilities. You shift your feet deeper in the sand in response, seeking to ground yourself. You could ponder the ‘how’ and the ‘why’ later. Right now, slipping into an unconscious free of memories felt like much more of a blessing than a problem.

“So, this is my unconscious playground, then. What are you doing here?”

Fake Dream’s brows rise higher at your question. “We are in your mind. Why do you have me here?”

His question sends a rush of blood flooding your cheeks. You suspect you know exactly why your imagination would have brought him here. A jolt of paranoia crackles through you as you wonder whether thoughts and feelings play aloud in an unconscious mind. Your eyes flicker through the air around the two of you, as if looking for thought bubbles. Fake Dream or not, you’d still rather him not know the truth. “Not important,” you say hastily, waving him off. “I’ve never had a choice like this before. It’s always been reliving memories or staying awake…so, what do we do?”

Fake Dream watches you thoughtfully. After a long pause, he dips his chin, saying, “You say you have never been given a choice. What would you like to do?”

Under the robin’s egg sky, you respond with a smile.

. . .

“And then they said a ‘darkness’ was coming, and that I needed to be very careful with my abilities and decisions. Said I needed to ‘choose wisely.’”

“Well, that’s some cryptic bullshit.”

Laughter rings through the open air of the grove as Matthew ruffles his feathers proudly from his perch on your knee. You beam up at him from where you lie in the grass, crossing your arms behind your head to make better eye contact with him. “Tell me about it. Cryptic bullshit is kind of what they’re known for, though.”

The lush flora and fauna of Fiddler’s Green paints a flawless masterpiece behind Matthew’s feathered form, his dark body standing in stark contrast to the scarlet phlox, baby pink Russell lupine, and pale baby’s breath flourishing around you. A fluttering monarch lands on a Black Eyed Susan mere feet away from your face, dipping its feet into the flower’s golden pollen. You smile at the sight.

“You have any idea what they might’ve been talking about?” Matthew asks, drawing your attention back to him. His eyes gleam like black marbles in the sunlight as he peers down at you curiously.

Did you have any idea what they were talking about? There were certainly possibilities that you’d pondered since the Fates had come to visit you a couple of days ago. Admittedly, it had been a welcome distraction from your thoughts of Dream and the bizarre turn your resting hours had taken. Contemplating the Fates’ warning didn’t totally rid your mind and heart of their anxious buzzing about the Dream Lord, but it did help.

“There are some possibilities. I mean, they could have been referring to my work crafting with Dream. Maybe something about the words and images I’m placing into the minds of dreamers? Or maybe it’s something to do with my abilities, my function…maybe I’m supposed to do something new with it?”

“Something new, huh?” Matthew cranes his beak toward the sky, contemplating. When he looks back down at you, his talons grip your knee a little tighter. “What about Desire’s bonds? Maybe you can do something to them. I don’t know…maybe you can break one?”

You give him a small, wistful smile. Blades of grass tickle your cheeks as you shake your head. “No, no, my friend. I don’t think it’s that. I’ve only ever touched one once. Hurt like Morningstar’s Hell. After that experience…well, I honestly don’t know if I could break one. At the end of the day, the Endless are more powerful than deities like me…I’m not sure it’s even possible.”

Matthew ruffles his feathers lightly, repositioning his talons on your knee. “Well, regardless, they said your scales are staying balanced, right? Seems like Desire’s not good enough to keep that from you anymore.” He cocks his head at you, suddenly quiet. You can practically hear the gears churning in his head as he contemplates his next words. “What would happen if your scales stayed unbalanced, anyway?” he finally asks, curious eyes blinking owlishly at you.

Your lips part at his question, surprised. Surprised that he finally asked, surprised that he didn’t ask sooner, really. In the months that you’d known each other, you’d never brought the subject up. After all, it wasn’t exactly something you enjoyed pondering.

“Well, it’s normal for the scales to be thrown off balance sometimes. But if I failed to re-balance them for too long, if they became too askew to fix?” You pause, licking your lips nervously. Matthew watches you carefully, expectant. With a deep breath, you tell him the truth, “I would be unmade, my friend. Like our Dream Lord unmakes a dream.” Your fingers twist through the blades of grass beneath you, a small outlet for the turbulence churning in your chest. “The only difference is, there’s no replacement for me. Think about it–why do you think the world devolves further into chaos as gods and goddesses fade to nothing? There’s no one left to preside over their functions and ensure order after they go. When it comes to deities…you only get one shot.”

“You spoke of me.”

You sit up with a start. The rumble of that familiar baritone pulls your eyes forward, past Matthew, to Fiddler’s Green’s newest visitor. Dream of the Endless approaches the two of you from the opposite side of the grove, his dark cloak rippling behind him in the sweet, floral-scented breeze.

As Matthew hops from your knee to your arm, allowing you to stand, your eyes can’t help but drink in the faint shadow along Dream’s jaw, his proud nose, the way his ears barely peek out from within that wild hair of his. Fates, he really did look like Fake Dream. Or, rather, Fake Dream looked just like him. Your unconscious had outdone itself. You weren’t sure whether to be pleased or begrudged about that.

“Oh, hey, boss!” Matthew crows, snapping you out of your reverie. He flaps his wings and takes flight, soaring to perch on the Dream Lord’s shoulder, instead.

Dream inclines his head to peer at Matthew with a shadow of amusement. Still, his feet draw him closer to you. The lush grass and clusters of flowers seem to part around him instinctively, making way for their creator. “What might you two be up to?” he inquires, dark brows arched with intrigue.

Matthew ruffles his feathers, sticking out his chest proudly. “Oh, you know, pondering, theorizing, plotting. Big brain shit.”

Your fingers twitch anxiously at Matthew’s words. You hadn’t yet decided whether you were going to say anything to Dream about the Fates’ visit. While you valued his wisdom and wanted his insight, you worried that the conversation might shift to Desire, which could snowball into you revealing far more than you intended to. You still hoped to resolve things without having to muddy the waters of Dream’s relationship with his sibling further.

“That sounds like dangerous work,” Dream responds. His pale gaze drifts from Matthew to you, eyes settling on your faintly pinched brow, the slight tension in your jaw. Fates, he can read you like a book. With a quirk of his brow, he continues, “Is it something I can help you with?”

You nibble at the inside of your cheek nervously. Your heart wants to scream ‘yes.’ And yet, your mind roars ‘no.’ You settle for something in between. “Maybe. But we can save that for another time. We have work to do, yes?”

His attentive gaze studies you several moments longer. You force yourself to hold eye contact, his eyes burning into yours like sapphires. You wonder if he can tell you’re hiding something. Multiple somethings. The thought of it unsettles you, makes your stomach turn curdled and sour. You don’t like keeping things from him. You don’t want to. You’ve shared more with him in the past few months than you have with anyone in your entire divine existence. To keep something from him feels wrong.

The past few months have shown you just how fervently curiosity drives Dream’s decisions and actions. That’s why you’re all the more surprised when he inclines his chin slightly, his expression relaxing. “Indeed. Another time, then. Let’s go.”

. . .

When you gaze into the waters of the Dreaming hours later, you find your reflection looking the most peaceful it’s been since you first read Dream’s book. Peace seems to be a consistent side effect of your time spent in the Dream Lord’s presence, of time spent watching him craft dreams and nightmares, of hours spent working together to weave first meetings and first words. The Dream Lord’s own countenance is reflected in the waters mere feet away. Though he does not sit on the dock beside you, he does crouch, his pale gaze trained on the swirls of teal and lavender stardust above you.

When your reflection smiles back at you, the expression is genuine, unforced. Slowly, you dip one bare foot toward the water, tracing the paths of constellations reflected in the dark waves. Where these waters once frightened you, you now feel comfort in their presence. Your hands have touched many of the minds hidden within them, threads of connection that you feel thrumming in your body even now. Besides, with Dream near, you suspect you don’t have much to worry about in the way of rogue dreams and nightmares.

A quiet sigh escapes Dream as his eyes shift to follow the patterns you draw in the waves. You could almost swear that new ripples break the surface when he speaks. “There is something I have wanted to ask you for quite some time.”

You cease your doodling, pulling the tip of your toe from the water and drawing your knees to your chest. You turn your head to face him slowly. There are many possibilities for what his question could be, a handful of which send your heartbeat stuttering in your chest. Praying that he can’t hear it, you nod gently. “Of course. Go ahead.”

Dream’s eyes fall away from yours then, something that surprises you. As he stares at his reflection in the waters of the Dreaming, his Adam’s apple bobs, his jaw winding itself tightly. You suspect he’s weighing whether or not he truly wants to say what is on his mind. You grant him space in silence, studying his expression as it shifts from contemplation to resolve. “I suspect I have had many attachments of my own over the eons. I have had partners. A son, even.” He swallows thickly, his jugular taught as rope. His voice is raspy, forced, as he asks, “Have you…?”

Your lips part in surprise at his words. Granted, you hadn’t just seen your name in the Dream Lord’s book that night. There had been other names from millenia gone by colored in red and purple, even two attachments that had shone a brilliant shade of green. Not to mention the rumors you’d heard of Dream’s failed relationships from throughout the eons. You had been so preoccupied with stressing over the attachments between the two of you that, admittedly, you hadn’t given the other names in his book much thought.

Your eyes drink in the sight of him–his slightly furrowed brows, his tightly clasped hands, his eyes staunchly affixed on his reflection. It’s evident that this question carries weight, that it’s something he has been pondering for a very long time. A dull ache permeates your chest at the thought. You wish he would have asked you sooner. Eager to smooth the discomfort from his features, you shake your head firmly. “No. While your relationships technically fall within my domain, I don’t intervene with attachments of the Endless. Nor any other lower gods and goddesses, for that matter. I’ve always considered that to be potentially… problematic, to put it lightly.”

The crinkle between Dream’s eyebrows smooths. Though he gives no response, his jawline does loosen, his Adam’s apple falling back into place with a thick swallow. The ache in your chest softens as you watch him thoughtfully.

When your thoughts return to the list of names in his book, a question of your own comes to mind. Warmth tinges your cheeks as you contemplate it, weighing whether or not you should ask.

“Have you had many lovers?” you finally say, mind lingering on the attachments you saw in his book. Killala. Nada. Calliope. You already know he’s had partners throughout the eons. And yet, some morbid sense of curiosity within you wants to hear the words from his own mouth. Though their names lacked the white philia attachment that you shared with Dream, the eros and philautia attachments you’d seen between them left a sharp pang in your heart. An emotion you knew well, yet hesitated to identify. Jealousy.

Much to your astonishment and quiet pleasure, your question actually seems to surprise Dream. His face goes hilariously blank at your words, his eyes turned pointedly from you. You almost feel a little proud at being able to pull such a reaction from him. You watch as his small, full lips work slowly, contemplating. After a long pause, he purses them, murmuring, “...one might say I’ve had a few.”

A heavy swallow works down your throat as your heart flutters like butterfly wings in your chest. What was this bizarre mix of emotion that held your throat in such a vice? Nervousness, embarrassment, envy? You lean forward slightly, seeking to catch his eye. “What happened?” you ask quietly. Perhaps his answer would give you a reason not to look further into the philia attachment between the two of you, a reason to finally lay your worries to rest. Or perhaps it would do exactly the opposite. Regardless of the outcome, you wanted to know.

Dream’s eyes remain fixed on the waves for a long time. So long that, taken off-guard as he was, you wonder if he didn’t hear you. When he does finally turn in your direction, there is a shift in his gaze that steals the breath from your lungs. A hesitancy, a wariness. The first sign of uncertainty you may have ever seen from him. For so long, you’d sought openness from him, a crack in the armor. Now that you’re faced with it, the intensity is almost too much to bear.

“I am not entirely sure.” The Dream Lord’s voice is soft. Almost sad. “Perhaps that is why the process continues to repeat itself.”

You study him in silence, pondering the rumors you’ve heard about him over the eons. Rumors you’d purposely sought out over the past few months since you’d met. You’d thought that the tales might help you understand him better, that they might help you solve the enigma that was the Dream Lord. You’d heard tales of a Dream King who banished his lover to Hell when he felt she had rejected him. Whispers of a Dream King who refused to help his son out of devotion to the natural way of the world, a decision which cost him his wife and child. Rumors of a Dream King who was different, happier, before Desire sowed romantic interest for a sun in his lover’s heart. Of all of the rumors you’ve heard, it’s the last that hurts the most, pressing upon your heart like a bruise.

He was proud. He was stubborn. He placed his value in his function and prioritized it above all, at times to a fault. Others deemed him unfeeling, bound to his rules too tightly, steeped in hubris.

But as you hold the Dream Lord’s starlit gaze, you feel yourself flip the page, seeking the other half of the story. He was prideful and confident because he suspected the only being in this world he could truly rely on was himself. He was bound to his rules and function because in a world that was perpetually changing, they alone remained constant. It was easier to be set in your ways than it was to bend for another, only to end up rebuffed or abandoned. It was easier to wall off your heart than it was to place it in another’s hands, cautiously hopeful that they’d care for it kindly.

A bittersweet ache throbs in your chest, heavy and sorrowful. You blink away the prickling that begins to surface at the back of your eyes. Your fingers itch to reach over and touch his arm, his hand, something. Instead, you swallow thickly, flattening your fingers against the wood of the dock. “Love is as much about sacrifice as it is about reward,” you say softly, voice barely audible over the whisper of the waves beneath you. “Love is…difficult.”

Dream’s lips part slightly at your words, his cool gaze regarding you thoughtfully. For a moment, he sits still as a stone, perhaps allowing your statement to sink in. When he finally shifts, lifting his chin at you ever so slightly, a twinkle has surfaced in his eyes, outshining the wariness. “Interesting words coming from the Deity of Love,” he murmurs, the ghost of a smile in his voice.

You smile at him slowly, unable to ignore how the weight in your chest eases with the lifting of his demeanor. “To say that my work is complicated would be a grave understatement.”

Stardust dances in the Dream Lord’s eyes at your words. A crinkle surfaces between his dark brows as he gazes at you in earnest. The urge to swipe your thumb across his forehead, to smooth any worry from his skin, is sudden and jarring. “How do you do it? Giving love so freely, expecting nothing in return?”

His question gives you pause. It’s your turn to furrow your brow as you nibble at the inside of your cheek, searching for the right words. “Hope and expectation are two different things, Dream. I think we always hope to receive love in return. I mean, how could we not? But expectations are different. Expectations imply that love is selfish and self-serving, when the exact opposite is true. It’s not about you. It’s about them.”

Your eyes pull from his, turning to the dark waters of the Dreaming. Faint shapes and flashes of color flicker from within the ocean’s depths as billions upon billions of minds fulfill fantasies and face fears tonight. As they find loved ones and soulmates, hearing those beloved first words for the very first time. You smile. “I give them love without expecting reciprocation because they deserve it. Everyone deserves love. And, well, it makes me happy.”

As you dip a toe back into the waves, you call out to the dreamers within. The response is immediate, a pouring of molten warmth into your soul that fills you up, up, up, until you’re sure you must glow with light. You wonder if he can see it, if he can feel the way your soul sings as it calls out to them. “When it feels this good to give, why would you not?”

. . .

“Hey, look at this one!”

The Triton’s trumpet you lift from the sea is as big as your hand, a magnificent twist of cream, gold, beige, and umber. Tiffany blue waves splash at your rolled-up pant legs as you slosh back toward the shore. When you toss the shell at him, Fake Dream catches it with nimble hands.

“This is really what you wish to spend your resting hours doing?” he says, his deep voice echoing over the tide. Slowly, he bends to place the Triton’s trumpet alongside the pile of empty conches, murexes, and whelks at his side.

You run a hand through your hair, hastily gathering the wind-swept strands away from your face. You back-track into the waves slowly, toes digging into the sand to keep your balance. “What else would I want to do?” you call to him. “I spend my waking hours forming love attachments between mortals, talking to an ex-human bird, and watching the King of Dreams and Nightmares craft fantastical, mind-bending creations. Why wouldn’t I want to spend a little time doing something normal?”

“Normal is relative. Governing dreams and nightmares is normal for me. Crafting attachments is normal for you.”

A dry laugh escapes you as you gaze at him incredulously, an amused smile on your lips. You plant your feet firmly in the sand, placing your hand on your hips. “Okay, smartass. You know what I mean. Doing something human.” Something with a rough, spiked surface pokes the underside of your toe, and you dip down quickly, plunging an eager hand into the water. Your fingers procure a white Jewel Box from the sand. When you spot the tiny sea creature still living within it, you return it to the ocean with a smile. “Life is about more than functions and the big, sweeping grand scheme of things. It’s about the little things, too. Life’s simple pleasures. Why do you think I get coffee every morning?”

You spend a few quiet moments sifting your feet through the sand, looking for more shells under the clear blue water. A dip of your hand into the sand rewards you with half a sand dollar. Its ivory surface is smooth as stone beneath your fingertips. When you raise your head, showing it to Fake Dream with pride, you find him watching you thoughtfully. With his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat, a black-clad, pale-skinned man standing on a sunny beach in boots, he looks like someone who’s never had a lick of fun in his life.

As your eyes drink in his tall, dark, and broodiness, a thought occurs to you. When you wade through the water toward the shore, it’s with purpose. Stopping a mere foot away, you look into his ocean-blue eyes with earnesty. If your cheeks warm as his gaze holds yours–well, the sunlight is brilliant today, isn’t it? “If you were to do something just for yourself, just for your own enjoyment…what would it be?”

. . .

The smell of the saltwater is sweet and familiar in your nose as you weave through the diner by the sea. You turn and twist and side-step quickly, dodging patrons and servers in spite of the fact that you could pass right through them. It’s about the little things. Life’s simple pleasures. The words you’d spoken to Fake Dream last night in your unconscious echo in your mind, bringing a smile to your lips. When you look out the wall of windows on your right, a panoramic view of an ivory beach and dark blue waves greets you. Early winter has turned South Carolina blue-toned and chilly. It’s not the honey-gold beach and rolling green mountains of your dreams, but it’s beautiful, nonetheless.

You turn your gaze forward, approaching a young man and woman sitting in a corner booth of the diner. The list of assignments in your pocket had linked their names with a purple philautia attachment. Their first date at this restaurant was one of your last assignments of the morning. A steaming cup of Cliff’s coffee was narrowly within your reach.

But as the crowd of patrons thins, clearing your way to the table, all thoughts of caffeine leave your mind. Because the pale purple philautia attachment isn’t the only thread present at the table. A black thread, thick and pulsing, snakes from the young man’s chest, slithering across the floor and out the restaurant’s door, linking him to someone beyond this place.

Your eyes settle on the freckled face of the red-haired woman at the table. Her emerald eyes and smiling, lightly-glossed lips reveal a mix of eagerness and nerves. The dark-haired man across from her leans forward, his body language engaged, listening intently as she talks. It appears that their date is going well. And yet, you know that the presence of the black thread means that somewhere out there, there’s another mortal who has caught this man’s attention.

Was he secretly thinking about them, even now? What if he contacted them after this date instead of the girl sitting across from him? Today, it was only a philautia attachment between them. But tomorrow, it could be an eros, a philia. How long before he abandoned the potential relationship between them for something that Desire had sowed, instead?

You brace yourself for the panic that typically sets in upon spotting Desire’s handiwork. The thoughts that frantically race through your mind as you brainstorm solutions, ways to fulfill their attachment that will strengthen it enough to keep Desire at bay for a while longer. But the panic never comes. As your jaw clenches tightly, it’s anger, hot and molten, that surfaces in your chest instead. The emotion quickly boils over, spilling into your stiffening shoulders, your shallow breathing, the digging of your fingernails into your palms.

You are sick of this. Sick of Desire’s attempts to destroy you over a fate you never asked for. More than that, you’re tired of watching Desire ruin mortals’ chances at love, at happiness. You’re tired of watching mortals walk into the same trap that you had once walked into yourself. Tired of knowing that there would be others like you out there if you didn’t put an end to this.

The memory of Matthew’s words crashes over you in a wave. I don’t know. Maybe you can break one.

When your hand lifts, reaching for the black thread slowly, it’s of its own accord. Your palm tingles with the memory of your last attempt to touch one of Desire’s bonds. But the humming of your own power under your skin is overpowering, insistent, urging you to try.

Try.

When your hand closes around Desire’s thread, it’s as if a blade has been driven clean through your palm, muscle and all. You cry out, releasing it on instinct. Just as quickly as the pain had come, however, rage follows. Rage at Desire’s meddling, at all the hurt and misery they’ve caused you. Rage at the fact that touching the thread hurt. Rage at yourself for letting go.

With a snarl, you close your fingers around the dark bond again, gripping tighter. Pain ignites across your skin, branding you. But this time, you don’t let go. The humming under your skin gets stronger the longer you hold it, growing and growing. As agony roars through your arm, your power rages alongside it, escalating from a hum, to a vibration, to convulsing. The quake within you is jarring, seismic. Something greater than you, something out of your control. Your mind struggles to wrangle it, to channel it toward the bond in your hand.

Bend. Bend to me.

The seconds stretch on like millenia. And still, despite your determination, the agony becomes too great. You release the thread with a hiss, cradling your throbbing palm to your chest. When you lower your gaze to peer at your skin hesitantly, you find no physical affliction. But the brand upon your spirit is grizzly and red.

In that moment, standing in the center of the diner, seeing all and being seen by none, something clicks in you.

You reach out with your burning hand, fingers plucking at the philautia attachment between the couple with purpose. Its pale lavender darkens to a radiant purple, pulsing like a heartbeat. Thank you, it calls out to you.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper in return. Your feet move beneath you, carrying your plotting mind away from your attachment, away from the young couple, away from Desire’s thread.

For now.

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ohraicodoll · 2 years

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Possession | Chapter 2

Chapters: 2/5 Fandom: The Sandman (Comics & TV 2022) Rating: Mature Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Original Female Character, Dream/Reader Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Original Female Character, Matthew the Raven, Lucienne, Calliope, Mervyn Pumpkinhead Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Sexual Content, Past Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Possessive Behavior, Domestic Violence, Jealousy, Trauma Responses Tags: Complicated Relationships, General complicated feelings, Dream is an IDIOT, they both have baggage, Past Relationships, Angst, OFC: Dahlia,1st POV

Summary: Could the Lord of Dreams ever really be claimed? What was a human to a goddess?

3rd in the Fragments Series | Read on AO3 Writing Masterlist Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 Previous in Series: Touch Starved Next in Series: Interwoven Chapter Warning: Trauma response, mentions of domestic abuse CHAPTER 2: LIKE THE STARS CHASE THE SUN

Nothing immediately registered as different upon my entering the Dreaming. Morpheus wasn’t present at first, but it wasn’t a big deal. I’d gotten better at taking myself around the Dream Realm on my own and he was usually somewhere in the Heart of the Dreaming, doing work, or somewhere nearby. It wasn’t that hard to find him, especially once he knew I was there. He always found me, no matter how busy he was. What did feel different was the way the palace felt a little emptier, that static charge of electricity I always felt around the Lord of the Realm curiously lesser. There was an absence to the halls, the colors just a tone less bright. The palace staff usually milled around, used to my presence at this point, but I hardly ran into any of them. The throne room lay empty, the long stone room feeling cold and barren even under the churning sky of chaotic raw dream power. The shores at the edge of the realm where Dream usually crafted new dreams and nightmares were gray and still. His chambers were blank and bare without him. I couldn’t find him and he wasn’t finding me, which was the first sign that something was off. A sharp stab of anxiety peaked before I shoved it down. I entered the library, navigating the maze-like walkways and levels to where I knew the tables and desks Lucienne liked to work at always were. The aisles converged into a crossroads, a large statue of Morpheus looking over the room and cathedral painting on the ceiling. Books piled on the table, some on a cart waiting to get put away, but it mostly seemed like a project halfway through completion. Lucienne and Merv were going over something at one of the tables, not noticing my approach while having a hushed conversation that seemed tense. It wasn’t until I was nearly at the edge of the table did they jump at my sudden appearance, caught and looking nervously between each other. I noted it, adding it to the growing list of weird things that were happening. “Hey, where’s Dream? I’ve been all over the place and haven’t been able to find him yet,” I asked the librarian, knowing she would know something out of everyone in the realm, glancing between the two and their tense forms. Mervyn chewed on a cigar, pumpkin eyes squinting nervously and ash raining down on the floor, “Uh, he’s out.” My brow raised, “Out?” Lucienne sent him a sharp glare, eyes saying something I wasn’t privy to, before turning to me, “What he means is Lord Morpheus is taking care of a matter in the Waking world. He should be back…at some point.” He was in the Waking? My eyes narrowed. It wasn’t often he had something to take care of there as he’d been more focused on getting the Dreaming situated, much less without telling me. Every time he had he’d made the effort to appear and whisk me away to somewhere private. Not only that, but we had actually planned to meet up for once with a promise that he would show me the outer dream isles. It was rare he actually set plans for anything, much preferring to keep me in his room my entire visit. “What did he have to take care of?” I asked, confused, “I just came from there and he hasn't mentioned anything. We were supposed to meet.” Lucienne was shifting on her feet now, uncomfortable knowing that this wasn’t something she could easily play off, and that made me nervous in itself. Merv scratched the back of his pumpkin head, harrumphing and shrugged, “It wasn’t exactly planned, but listen, kid. The boss just had to run real quick. He’ll wrap up helping Calliope and as soon as that's done, he’ll be right back!” “Mervyn,” Lucienne hissed, eyes wide and berating. I could see the woman next to me wince as the words sank in. Calliope? A sinking feeling was starting to hit, mixing with something like bitterness and nausea, “Whose Calliope?”

Merv realized his slip up, far less skilled at knowing what to say than this friend, and his carved face grimaced. “Oh, shit,” the pumpkinhead grumbled.

The librarian very much was going into damage control, hand gently resting on my arm as she tried to quickly divert my attention to her and away from the custodian worker, “Perhaps you’d like to wait for Lord Morpheus in the throne room-” “Whose Calliope, Lucienne?” I bit out the words, pulling away and wrapping my arms around myself. Dream had never mentioned dealing with other humans really, besides a man that he said he meets at a pub every now and then. But never a woman, that I would remember. In the same way he had branded me as his, I felt the tight coils of jealousy as the thought of mine, mine, mine rang through me. It didn’t feel like this was a normal situation, a nothing meeting that was inconsequential. We had plans and he had ditched them to help this person without even telling me or having Matthew tell me. Lucienne and Mervyn both knew who they were. That wasn’t nothing. Especially with how these two were acting. Lucienne glared at Merv from the corner of her eyes and sighed, wincing, “It is a complicated situation and one I would prefer my lord explain fully to you. But-” she caught me off as I opened my mouth to protest, “- I understand that you wish for at least some answers. Calliope is one of the nine muses and as well as Lord Morpheus’ former wife. She called for aid and he is currently helping her with a situation.” My body froze, heart screeching to silence as it clanged through me like a bullet ricocheting. Former wife. Wife. Wife. The word stabbed through me, painful and sharp, hurting in a way I didn’t want to completely analyze and hadn’t expected to feel. He had a wife, or used to, but he had been married all the same. It was a hard concept to wrap my head around, something that seemed so average to other people but he was anything but average. He was an Endless, beyond the normal conventions. Yet he had loved someone enough to marry them before, had loved this Calliope enough to make her his wife. And he’d run off, bailed on me, to go help her. The thought felt like acid on my tongue, acrid and painful. “He’s helping his wife in the Waking world,” I mumbled, the words sounding dead and eyes unseeing. “Ex-wife!” Merv tried to correct helpfully, “And it’s not like he still loves her or anything, girlie, probably just cause he feels bad about how shit ended between them! Cause oh boy was that a mess, the realm was in a state for years! I mean with what happened with their kid and everything-” My head whipped towards him as Lucienne let out a sharp curse under her breath, “Their kid?” Everything felt like it had turned upside down and I couldn’t understand. Yes, we had never talked about past relationships beyond the one from each of us. He had said he’d had past relationships but he didn’t talk about any of them and I didn’t ask. It was a line into territory that felt shaky, uncertain. Beyond fooling around and enjoying each other’s company. But this felt like something he should have mentioned, something I thought he would have divulged. Or maybe I was thinking too highly of what we were and our relationship. After all, when had he willingly shared anything personal about himself of his own accord? I hadn’t told him about Aiden, why would he tell me about Calliope? About their child? His child. What did I even know about him? “I’m gonna just go,” Merv pointed behind him, backing up cautiously as I stared at him with wide eyes, “I’ll catch ya later, Loosh.” “Mervyn-” I called, but Lucienne grabbed my arm a bit more tightly to draw my attention back, letting the dream escape into the bowels of the library. “Yes, they do have a son, but I highly recommend you do not mention him,” her brown eyes stared me down, apprehension and warning in them, “ Lord Morpheus will be back soon, I promise you. Just please do not jump to any conclusions and let him explain things.” My heart was thundering in my head, my brain completely scrambled. I could only nod, pulling back from her grasp but not really seeing anything. The words Calliope, wife, and son were ricocheting through my mind and thoughts, warring with the challenging declaration of mine. I felt numb and sick. Without saying anything, I pulled myself through the Dreaming, blinking and disappearing into Dream’s chambers. Morpheus didn’t owe me anything. Yes, while we were technically exclusive, I think, we weren’t together. He didn’t owe me a history of lovers, explanations on his whereabouts, anything. He wasn’t human, wasn’t really a man. He was the embodiment of stories and dreams and ageless. I was a blink in the span of his life, a mere entertainment. Just a human. One of the nine muses. A goddess. I sat on the edge of his bed, one that he didn’t need but had made for us, and waited in the dim light. He hadn’t changed it from the last time I saw it, curtains draped over all the walls and light catching through the thin gauzy fabric. An antique dining tray sat next to the bed and branches of trees grew through the walls, blossoms full and bright. But it felt empty, the beauty hollow, absent its creator. Time passed, though I’m not sure how long as the sun didn’t rise or fall normally. But I could almost feel the passage of night through my sleeping body, feel each tick of the clock as I waited and waited with only my spinning thoughts for company. The longer the wait, the more they tumbled down into darkness. Old scars surfaced, the memories pushing up like flowers from a grave. That feeling of abandonment, of jealousy, of not being enough. They spun and spun, telling me that I wasn’t worth the dreamlord’s time or attention. He obviously wasn’t thinking of me, hadn’t considered that I’d come looking or that we had plans. I felt dumb, pathetic, thinking that I was owed anything from a being as old as the universe. Why would he waste his time on me when someone more important had called him away? “You’re pathetic, you should be grateful for my attention.” He was the Prince of Stories, able to weave a narrative and make you believe anything. I was just the sucker. Hours passed. I thought about how this felt so similar to waiting by the phone, waiting for someone to call you only for it to never ring. Hoping you were on their mind, that they thought of you. That thought made it all feel worse.

The shadows shifted, my eyes staring blankly at my feet. The feeling of Dream’s power washed over me, caressing every inch of my skin. I watched his shoes come into view, the fire on the hem of his coat shifting and swirling almost into faces in the darkness. My heart stuttered and I smothered it, shoved down any feeling because it would hurt worse to hope only to be shattered. The soft touch of his fingers lifted my chin until I was staring into those starry eyes of his, a black pit against the paleness of his face and the shock of dark hair. His brow was furrowed and a small frown touched his lips, but he was closed off for the most part. I wondered if he was confused to see me, wondering why I was sitting in the darkness of his room waiting for him. Probably just realized I existed again. “Little dreamer,” he whispered and took in the heavy solemnness of my face, “Apologies, I did not intend to make you wait this night. I-” “Forgot?” I finished dryly, emotionless. Morpheus frowned even more, trying to take in my tone and the way I held myself. He could tell something was wrong, but couldn’t quite see the scope of it, “I did not forget. A matter I had to deal with took longer than I expected. It was not in my wishes to disregard you.” Bitterness twisted my insides and that kernel of anger that seemed to always be present, burning in the center of my being, couldn’t help but flare to life. I was jealous. I was hurt, mostly by myself because I had believed myself to be more important, less easily discarded. But that had always been my problem. I was so eager for affection, for feeling wanted, that I would take anything. I wanted to lash out, to buck against this feeling I had worked so hard to not feel again. “How’s Calliope?” the words slithered out of my mouth like a coiled serpent, thrashing and spitting in warning. And he froze, the words hitting home and his touch leaving my skin like he had been burned, as I finally shifted into being present and met his gaze fully. Icy heat crackled under my skin, burning and destroying in a reminder to myself. I knew then he wouldn’t have told me about her, about where he’d been, that he’d helped her. I was owed nothing, I never asked. We had never crossed that line until recently when Thomas had tried to claw back into my life. We had claimed each other and now were dealing with the consequences. The more you put in, the easier it is to hurt. “Who told you?” the dreamlord inquired softly, steel lacing his words and eyes hardening to obsidian. Indignation caused me to scoff, lips twisting down, “Usually asking who tattled on you that you were out with your ex-wife isn’t the best way to play off that nothing happened, just FYI.” He clenched his jaw, taking a step back further away from me that I was quick to note, and drew himself up, “You are misconstruing my words. Calliope called upon me for help, nothing more. She was in a similar situation as I once was and did not have anyone else to turn to. I would not leave her like that.” Similar situation. I swallowed, only knowing of one such situation he had been in, but wanting to be petty all the same. Yes, it seemed like a decent excuse and I wasn’t upset he had actually helped her but I had waited and waited, feeling small and insignificant. And that made me want to dismiss him, make him feel not worthy of a reaction. “Okay,” I shrugged, feigning indifference and the word bland. The twin stars in his eyes flashed red with annoyance at the dismissal, muscle ticking in his jaw, “I can taste your anger, little dreamer, do not try to hide it from me.” “I’m not angry,” I bit out harshly, “I’m…irritated and bitter that I didn’t even know you were married once and that I waited more than half the night not even hearing anything from you, only knowing you had ran off without a word to help your wife. Like what am I supposed to think, Morpheus?” The sky outside the window was darkening, the smell of rain on the wind. I stood from the bed, trying to give myself some height instead of craning my head up to meet his. His cloak was even more wild than usual, a shadow that wrapped around him and spread into the room like a living thing. Gone was the smirk and relaxed expression he wore when we usually were together. He was back to being the King of Nightmares, the figure I’d faced down in my dream months ago now. Nothing but hard lines and unearthly countenance. “I would trust you to know I would not betray you,” Morpheus bit out, “I do not take this between us as lightly or as flippantly as you believe I do. A long time ago, Calliope was my wife, yes. But that time has passed and is not something I am eager to return to. She was entrapped as I was, if not worse so I answered her call. Would you hold that against me?” I shook my head, throwing my hands in the air, “I’m not mad you helped her! Yes, that is awful and I’m glad whatever happened to her was dealt with. I’m upset because I didn’t even know she existed! I don’t like feeling jealous and insecure and like a forgotten play thing. I already feel so small in comparison to you and you bailing doesn’t help. You could have done anything, left word, sent Matthew to tell me instead of wasting time I don’t have.” Because I was only a human. Anger was burning hot through me, at myself and him. For putting too much of myself into this. For letting myself get carried away and not laying down boundaries and rules and some sense of self. Protection. Time and time again, I forget to protect myself. Like so often, I got swept away by the magic and now I was drowning and I had only myself to blame for letting him in farther than he should have. “There is so much about you I don’t know,” I gritted out with a shrug, exasperated and hurt, “I will probably never even be able to comprehend all you’ve experienced, but I would hope that you’d share something. At least something as important as her!” Morpheus’ face was stoic, closed off as he looked down at me. He was every bit a monarch, larger than life and encompassing, “And what would you have me share? Shall I tell you of my entire existence, of every past lover and secret to give you alone to prove my word to you? To make you feel worthy?” “Now you’re misconstruing my words,” I growled back, “Like fuck, Morpheus, any mention of this would have been nice? Any mention that you had a kid with her?” I knew the moment I said it that we’d reached dangerous territory, the air sucked from the room like a blackhole. His body went unnaturally still, chin upturned and lips pressed in a thin unforgiving line. Lightning crackled in the distance and a wind bit at my skin, cold and harsh. I remember that black void in my nightmare when I first confronted him, the way only a look from him had made me feel like I could be crushed like a bug. I felt that again, the weight of his power and who he was. Not anyone, but the embodiment of so much. And I’d opened my mouth, had thought myself impervious to that look after all this time. But I wasn’t at all. My body locked up instantly. The reaction, one I hadn’t experienced in a long while, crashed into me suddenly and I knew my face had paled under that stare, anger sizzling out as if the oxygen had suffocated it. Words barreled through me, yelling to hide, make yourself small, don’t draw attention. Brace yourself, survive, apologize, beg for forgiveness. I swallowed thickly, the first hints of fear towards him on my tongue for the first time in a while. “That is not a discussion we will be having, Dahlia” the King of Dreams whispered into the darkness like a thundercloud, oppressive and terrible, and my name was acrid in the air, “In time, I may share myself with you. But do not make demands of things you do not understand.” My mind took the words in, twisted them, added the threat there. Don’t or else. Don’t or else next time he may do worse. I shriveled in on myself more and more, wanting to hide from the darkness of his gaze, the oppressive wrap of his power around my throat. “I’m sorry,” the words come out like a reflex, frantic and desperate, “I- I shouldn’t have-” I freeze up, mouth clamping shut as I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry seeps out of my pores and onto the ground. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry coated my skin, colored my eyes, as I curled in like a dead bug. My body was shutting down, closing in on itself. Old, reactive, a defense I thought I had moved on from but I had never done well with anger. I had learned to make myself small to hide, make myself small to protect myself because you never know what may happen when that anger is directed at you. I’d brace for it like one would brace for a tornado, hands over my hand and a prayer on my lips. Breaths quick and frantic, I lowered my head and stared at my feet, averting my eyes and willing the sting of tears to go away. Crying doesn’t help, crying makes things worse, crying is annoying and only draws more attention. “Forget I said anything,” my voice is quiet and choked, a clamoring rush of words jammed together, coming out in an effort to placate that anger directed at me, “You’re right, I shouldn’t have gotten mad or questioned you. I-I mean we’re not even really together, it’s not my p-place. None of it matters, just please forget I brought it up.” The words are desperate and placating and fearful. Silence fills the room, my hands clenched tightly at my side and chin pressed down into my chest to avoid looking at him. I’m a taut wire, pulled to the brink of snapping. The lightning outside the window had faded and his power still pressed against me sharp and metallic but the intensity had diminished. His pale fingers reached out and grazed the outside of my clenched fist and I flinched without meaning to, causing him to pause and register the reaction. I held my breath, waiting and waiting, bracing myself as nails dug crescent shapes into the palms of my hand. Instead, his power faded instantly, completely, and the tension vanished as if it had never been there. It was like air had been flooded back into the room, the change so startling I felt off-kilter. Dream didn’t hesitate and stepped closer to wrap his arms around me, pressing me into his body tightly as his nose skimmed my hair. I was still stiff, tightly wound and closed in on myself but he enveloped me like a warm blanket. Softness versus the hard touch I was expecting, had feared. The contrast was night and day, the Nightmare King no longer standing before me and now only Dream, the lord I had come to know. “Never think that you cannot question me, little dreamer,” his lips moved against my temple and body soaking my own frozen one with warmth as we whispered the term of endearment, “You are mine and I am yours. I meant that when we agreed. It is your place to ask these things of me and it does matter. You matter to me.” I felt that wire pulled to the bring begin to relax, inch by inch, as my body tried to calm itself from the reaction it was undergoing. Until finally, after a few minutes of him holding me like I was the world, I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my face into his chest. He relaxed, breathing a sigh of relief, and kissed my hair and stroked my back. This was the Dream I knew, the one that laid with me and showed me his realm and sometimes was a cheeky asshole. The one that laughed quietly in my company, worshiped my body, claimed me as his and gave himself to me. He wasn’t Aiden, wasn’t a monster lurking and waiting to swallow me whole. He wasn’t lying in wait, waiting to find an excuse to spring out and punish any small fault.

His arms held me tightly and I held him back, all energy leaving me and exhaustion taking hold. I could feel his apology in the way his fingers threaded through my hair and lips pressed soft kisses to the crown of my head. Morpheus’ eyes were back to sparkling diamonds, no longer hard but trying to convey that I was not worthless and that he saw me. I didn’t say anything, couldn’t form the words, only swallowed the hard lump in my throat and pushed away the sting of tears. “I will make this up to you tomorrow, I swear it,” Dream whispered in the darkness of the room, “It truly was not my intention to upset you tonight. That is the last thing I wish.”

I only nodded, eyes blank and unseeing. I let him guide us both to the bed and laid down nestled into his side, bodies stretched out against each other and legs entangled. There wasn’t much time left in the night before I’d have to wake up, but we stayed like that, quiet and fully wrapped around each other. I didn’t want to say that I didn’t fully believe him, didn’t put much faith in I’ll make this up to you. It was a line I had heard too many times to count and had never been followed through on. It had been whispered after a bottle had been shattered against a wall, after shouts had drawn the neighbors to call the police, after I’d laid huddled in a corner hearing “It won’t happen again.” I could pave the world in the number of times I’d heard I’ll make it up to you. But all I could do was hope Morpheus was different, that maybe he really did mean it. His fingers wrapped around mine over his heart and he held me firmly against him as if I’d sink through the bed and disappear from his arms if he let go. The name Calliope rattled through my brain like a warning, a thunder cloud, and I woke up with bitterness on my tongue. _________ (Author’s note: Mind you, I love Calliope. I feel bad she keeps getting dragged into fics but it does make good story fodder. So this deals with her a bit. Communication was gonna break down between the two eventually, that's what happens when you don't define a relationship. This part is where we start touching on darker topics so TW: for abuse, trauma, etc going forward on this one)

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