chaotic thoughts

has definitely fashioned a dream after you. whatever impact you have on morpheus (make him warmer, kinder, see the beauty in humans and their short but well-lived lives, etc...), that dream because that for others

no need to buy new clothes when he can just make you whatever you want

you want the top half of that one dress but the bottom half of another? check your closet.

you want the new book from your favorite author but it doesn’t release for another six months? check your mail.

you want that chocolate that was discontinued? check your cabinets?

even if you’re not in the palace of the dreaming at all times, he insists that you live in one in the waking world. so he buys/inspires an architect to make you your dream apartment/house

if its an apartment and you live by yourself? still gets you a three bedroom for no fucking reason other than he wants you to be comfortable. there used to be a hill that blocked your window? your architect was inspired to demolish it. you want it back? your architect is inspired to build one

if it’s a house, insert lazy river (honestly, if i had the money to waste and spend, i’d get one for myself. alas, the only lazy river i get is when my sink overflows) cue to you casually floating on a donut floatie while reading a book, doing laps around your house over and over again

if you do a form of art, you’ll get a room dedicated to it. a library. a painter’s studio. a photography room. sculpting nook. all of it and more.

there is nothing you could want that he could not give you

and never ever bring up money unless you want a mysterious and rude amount of money deposited into your account to wake up to

he'll also go to great lengths if you need a particular item (exhibit a: him going into the lake to get gifts for the fates. he did all that for his items, so imagine what he'd do for you)

but you want to know what the best gift he gives you?

his coc

𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗶𝗰𝗲 this man will be begging for you to let him do things for you. in this essay—

(did you see the calliope episode? because that part of episode 1.11 is basically exhibit b for this section)

someone said something mean to you? bam. they will be plagued by nightmares of someone he loves saying those things to him until he dies.

if you’re a better person than him and won’t let him mentally torture people for as long as he likes and thinks they deserve, he’ll omit telling you that he’s torturing people. what you don’t know, won’t hurt, right?

but if you’re flirting with the line that is morally good and you do consent to letting him torture people, he might show you his progress on them and their decaying sanity

“look at what i have done with the love i have for you.”

you still get nightmares when you sleep, not because he wants to hurt you, but because nightmares can actually help you. dreams can inspire us to be better, but so can nightmares. for example, being visited by a nightmare that shows you your fear of failing that test makes you wake up and be motivated to study. what he does do for you is restrain the nightmares? he lets them scare you enough to act as a motivator, but not extremely that you are crippled with fear and anxiety

protective morpheus (currently sobbing)

when you wake and leave the Dreaming, he’s gone but there’s always a cup of coffee with you

acts of service also include making others do acts. rather than get a phone, forces matthew to carry messages between you and him instead.

if you're studying and need information on something, he'll have lucienne prepare a stack of books, and maybe even notes, for you to see to when you return to him in the Dreaming

but the biggest act of service he can do for you is meet your friends

lets you drag him to parties and dinner and brunches

might not socialize (probably will not), and you might find him standing in the corner becoming a shadow, but he won't bother you to leave until you want to

he'll watch you the whole time

takes care of your drinks (and everyone else's)

or, he might follow you around like a shadow. no matter who you talk to, he'll be standing beside you, an arm around your waist

if you're a social butterfly, he admires that about you

if you're more socially introverted, he'll hang out with you in the shadows and leave when you want to, even if you've only been there for five minutes

basically he's a simp—and he might actually proudly admit to being one because who's the one who's dating you in the end?

𝗽𝗵𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝘁𝗼𝘂𝗰𝗵 before his confinement, he wasn’t the most physical person. he wouldn’t pull away, but he didn’t reach for you either, though he always secretly liked it. after his imprisonment, he begins to reach for you. not just that, but he begins to crave your touch. touch is how he reminds himself that he is with you, you are with him, and that he is free

in public, it’s limited but clear that you’re together

the last thing he needs is hearing matthews’ teasing squawks in his ear about morpheus being the endless version of a cat

when lucienne catches pda, she’ll at least be respectful and dignified and not comment, though she will be grinning like a cheshire cat and her eyes will keep looking

your arm around his when walking around

his hand on your back

then your lower back

brushing your hair out of your face

sitting close enough for shoulder and legs to touch

standing close

(once again, I bring up the calliope episode—someone stop me from rewatching that over and over again)

did you see how close they were standing? then, when you thought they were close enough, he takes an even closer step? that. THAT.

whatever concept you have of personal space, a personal bubble, this man is inside it. yes, your arms might be linked while walking. but your sides will be pressed together.

and while it might appear that you're the one who links your arms together, he is the one who already has his elbow slightly bent and held out towards you

when you do hold hands, his thumb brushes over your skin absentmindedly, as if feeling your warmth isn’t enough and it’s a constant reminder of him that you’re there

but when you do the same to him, or gods help him, you squeeze it, he, with every fibre of his being, will feel it and nearly stop from the overwhelming feelings that threaten to send him to the ground

so keep it sparingly

...or not

kisses in public..truthfully, he's probably leaning towards no. full on make out sessions? probably not. when you guys are saying goodbye, i’m seeing more of a tight, slightly awkward dip of the head—a farewell not

but, bringing that calliope episode up once again, he won’t don't anything if you were to initiate it.

kiss on the cheek? you better hold that position for a few fucking seconds so you can let that man close his eyes and savour the intimateness that is the feeling of your soft lips against his cold cheek.

why don’t you press your forehead against the side of his head while you’re at it? you know, when you’re done kissing him but before you pull away. think of it as giving him a few seconds to revert back to cold, formal morpheus, dream of the endless, and not your boyfriend/partner

stares at you when you’re not looking

stares at you even when you're looking

stares down at you when you're asleep in his arms

stares up at you when he's down on his knees between your—sorry, wrong fic

imagine those intense eyes just looking at you and not looking away, not ashamed at taking in the beauty that is his partner

he has no qualms when someone is staring at you, because how he can be blame them

but he does have qualms when their gaze turns into a leer. that's when he'll send a couple nightmares their way for a few directions. not to mention, he'll turn his gaze from you to glare them down, and because they have now deprived him from admiring you for the few seconds this last, he blames it on them and gives them a...gift (and a visit to desire if he finds out they had something to do with it)

on the rare occasion that he's actually using his throne and sitting on it rather than dramatically sitting on the steps after he spread his coat out around him, he might let you sit on his lap (nothing more...in public)

not straddling him—god no—but sitting horizontal so your legs are over his lap and your side is against his chest with your arms around his neck and his arms around your waist

he does that when he needs to relax

he might whisper his problems and insecurities in your ear

but in private—in private—this man is draped over you

he’ll be like a cat who actually likes his owner and will curl up on you

if you’re cuddling, you’ll lie with your head on his chest and his arm around your shoulders, maybe playing with your hair

he may or may not use a bit of his sand to help you sleep if you’re having troubles entering his realm, but with him drawing random shapes on your skin or the steady rise and fall of his chest, or, if you're really lucky, he's reading aloud in that quiet, low, asmr voice of his, you're gone all too quickly

he always feels a bit stiff when the cuddle session begins, but after you lie down on him long enough, his limbs soften before gripping onto you tighter

but back to that no-such-thing-as-a-personal-bubble with him

walls

bringing into evidence, exhibit c: episode 1.03 with johanna constantine

why does he have to be so physically close with everyone (that isn't me)

likes to walk you backwards until you hit a wall

once you hit that wall, he may or may not take an even closer step

then closer

and even closer, but his arms are still in his pockets because he's cool and edgy like that (and intimidatingly hot)

close enough until he's kissing you

then he'll press against you to be even closer

we can unpack the trauma that being separated from everyone he loves for 100 years and being physically separated by a wall of glass some other day. for now, enjoy his closeness

because basically, close is still too far for him

𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 not 24/7 hanging out, because he is the king of dreams and he has a realm to run, but he does spend his time with you wisely, and just because you're not with him all the time, doesn't mean he isn't thinking about you all the time

his favourite thing is the two of you being in each other’s presence but working on your own things. he appreciates it more than he realizes, and during the times you sit to the side as he makes new dreams, he’ll sometimes put aspects of you in them—intentionally or unintentionally

when you aren't together, he'll still be consumed with thoughts of you

he thinks of you all the time, actually. and because of that, he also talks about you all the time, sometimes subconsciously. and sometimes with no reason at all—or perhaps the only reason he needs to bring you up is because you're you and he's in love with you

"y/n did extremely well on her project, did you hear?" "did you hear about my report on the rogue nightmares, sir?" matthew asks. "she worked very hard on it. i'm proud of her."

thinks about you when doing research in the library with lucienne

wonders about you when going on walks with death

mentions you on dinners with hob

dates with him doesn't have to be the most exciting thrilling thing. in fact, he likes living in domestic bliss with you. doing dishes together. helping you with laundry. watching a movie. people watching. walking your pets.

he usually leaves you alone when you’re awake and uses that time for his duties while you’re busy doing awake things anyway, but when you do fall asleep and are in the dreaming, that’s when the two of you are always together, stuck at the hip (and we're back to the closeness)

takes you out to dinner everyday where he listens to you talk and rant about your day and give you suggestions. he eventually does the same with you, and you become the first person he goes to whenever he needs consultations for his problems

insert jealous hob when he finds him and you eating and morpheus actually talking to you and not just sitting there quietly like with him

but hob gets over it (he doesn’t) and sometimes he’ll join dinner with you guys.

family dinners in his realm with you, hob, death, lucienne, marvin (and only because you invited him), matthew (though morpheus gives him a dog bowl rather than a plate)

during the moments the two of you are together, he treasures and cherishes it

and during the moments when it's just the two of you together, he'll definitely make it worth both your while

drawing it out (if you know what i mean)

and i mean, teasing you for hours and sessions that go until you wake—

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 ha no. did you see how emotionally constipated this man was? how he can't tell calliope he still loves her, admit to hob that they're friends, and ask for help from death? words are not the dream king's weapon

the most you get is a term of endearment, like my love or my beloved

always 'mine' though

but this Endless is not about to spout off a pride and prejudice speech at you, so don’t bother waking up early and going for a hike. just sleep and hang out with him in the Dreaming instead in silence

however he does have a beautiful voice—one that as his partner, you are allowed to take advantage of. cue making him read pride and prejudice at you (especially that speech: “you have bewitched me, body and soul, and i love…i love…i love you. i never wish to b parted from you from this day on.”) you with his head on your lap, him sitting against a tree with the branches over the both of you for some shade. one hand is holding up the book, the other is absentmindedly twirling your hair. when he finishes the line, he looks down at you, slightly amused but completely enamoured, especially at the giddy expression on your face, and he dips down to kiss you

he tells you that he inspired jane austen to write that speech for you—it’s up to you if you want to believe him or call it bullshit

while he might not be giving love confessions every three seconds, he does give you compliments. and not just when you do something that warrants a compliment, but randomly. because to him, everything you do is majestic and needs to be acknowledged as so

"you're beautiful" when you're in casual clothes, sweats, pyjamas, (or bare)

"what would the world do without you?" when you hold open the door for an elderly couple

and you know he says it against your ear, voice low, his whispered words hot and heavy. maybe even a little raspy—

but just because he might not be the chatterbox on the block, doesn't mean he doesn't want someone talking to him

so don't give him the silent treatment, because when he does, he becomes insufferable to everyone

he's all curt to lucienne. snappy with matthew. demanding with poor marvin. sharp with cain and abel. rude with death. threatening with desire.

no one has nice dreams and nightmares become so much worse

not you, of course. you're still sleeping perfectly fine, but you realize something's wrong when you meet up with your friends and one of them hasn't slept in days while the other hasn't woken up in days

if it's his fault, it might take death for him to realize his mistakes and apologize to you. again, no long speech, just the simple words, "i'm sorry. i was wrong. please forgive me, my love." and considering this man's flaw is his ego, that is more than enough

and if you tell him to say it on his knees he will as he whispers it against your—

but if you're at fault, he won't back down until you apologize. however, he won't leave you alone. he'll always be there in the corner of your eye, waiting for you to apologize. and when you do, he'll purse his lips, nod, and say nothing. but you'll know he's already forgiven you when his eyes soften and he gives you that soft smile that's reserved for so few people

he might not talk to you, but he does want you to talk to him, so ramble away

let's not get started on what he says in private, but i'll tell you this. he isn't so silent anymore, and he will definitely appreciate whatever you tell him in whatever form—and might even strive to create and draw such sounds from you

a plea

a cry

a groan

a whimper

a scream—

in conclusion, this man will love you with every piece of him. (and if i could, i would do the same morpheus please just give me a chance)

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗐𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗈𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 1.06 𝗍𝗈 1.11. 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽. 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝖺𝖻𝗌𝗈𝗅𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 this 𝗆𝖺𝗇. 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗋𝗎𝖽𝖾 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝗉𝗎𝗍𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇 𝖺𝗇 𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗐 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽?

𝗂'𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 14𝗁 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝖿 𝗂 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝖾, 𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗀𝗂𝖿𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽

𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌: 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘶𝘴' 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘴𝘧𝘸 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

That is the crux of your relationship. Longing glances from across the room, a moment of flirtation that doesn’t lead everywhere. For now, it’s fun. Sneaking around, teasing each other in public, the possibilities of what could be existing in the inch of space between your lips when you have your back against the wall and his chest pressed against yours, never pushing further, but not pulling away. You’re both satisfied with it for now. But how long will it last before it’s no longer enough and you both must make the decision of either being together or forever apart?

A scream rises above the crowd, tearing your attention from him. Duty and loyalty to the princess takes over your body, and you stand in search for Rhaenyra immediately. You catch sight of her white hair and see as the thick crowd, now panicked, shove the princess aside.

“Rhaenyra!” you shout out to her, but no one hears you.

No one except for ser Harwin, who despite being so far from you and on the other side of the panicking crowd, sees you grab the knife you had been cutting your chicken with and head determinedly into the crowd to defend your friend. As frustrated he is by you endangering yourself, he can’t help but chuckle at the sight of your stubbornness, loyalty, and bravery. But worry overtakes him as you disappear into the throng of bodies, gone from his view.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his father motion for him to grab the princess. Harwin stretches his head to the left before shoving aside the person in front of him, then the person behind them and every else who stands in his way. He occasionally punches someone if they won’t move. As the crowd gets even thicker, he begins to use his body to barrel his way through. He does pretty much anything that needs to be done until he catches a glimpse of you again, now having made it to the princess’ side. Blood drips down your knife. The sleeve on your pretty blue dress is ripped, and he sees blood stains around it.

You turn and your eyes meet, as if you could just feel his presence when he came near enough.

“Ser Harwin,” you gasp out. “Take the princess to safety—OH!”

The floor disappears from under your feet.

You scream out as his large hands grasp your waist, and with barely a grunt, hoist you over his very broad shoulders. The heat from his hands is familiar, the grip on your waist drawing memories from two nights before, but in this moment, all you feel is anger and disbelief as you are carried away from Rhaenyra who is picked up in a similar position by another member of the city watch.

“Put me down, ser Harwin!” you shout. You slam your fists against his back, not that he’d feel it.

“Stop moving, my lady,” he says gruffly.

You twist around so you can see a glimpse of where you’re going. One hand is still wrapped around your legs to keep you from falling. His other hand is shoving people aside to clear a way.

“PUT ME DOWN!” You try to kick, but his grip tightens.

Then he slaps your ass.

“I said, stop moving!”

Realizing that this isn’t a fight you’re going to win, you huff and stay still as he fights through the rest of the room. Only out in the hall where it’s silent, empty, and dark, does he bend down to put you gently on the ground.

You slap his chest. “You were supposed to get the princess to safety!”

“I was getting my lady to safety first,” he says unabashedly.

“You can’t put me above Rhaenyra!”

“Can’t I?”

Heat floods your cheeks at his words. You look down and see that his hands are still gripping your waist, as if he’s still keeping you safe. Silence passes between you, only the sounds of his and yours heavy breathing filling the air. Gradually, your anger ebbs away, but still his grip doesn’t loosen.

“You can let go of me now, ser Harwin,” you say softly, breaking the silence.

He doesn’t. He steps forward, forcing you take a step backward. Forwards, back, forwards, back, your eyes never looking away from his until your back hits the wall. He takes a step forward. Then another. He’s much taller than you, and much broader. His entire presence looms over you, but you don’t feel terrified or small. If anything, you only feel protected. Secure.

Loved.

He reaches for his shirt and tears a strip from the bottom. You don’t protest as he dabs the blood on your arm before wrapping it over the wound. When he’s done, he bends down to press a kiss against it.

“Does it hurt?” he asks softly.

You shake your head. The scalding touch of him being so close to you yet not doing anything is more unbearable than the knife that cut you.

“Who did it?”

“Harwin.”

“People get hurt from fights all the time. No one will know it was intentional.”

You can’t stop the chuckle from escaping. He smiles softly at you and moves even closer so his forehead is resting against yours, his breath warm over your lips.

“You can’t do that again,” he says.

You look at him challengingly. “Can’t I?”

“No, you can’t. Stop risking yourself.”

“Rhaenyra is my friend, and I have a feeling that things are only going to get worse from here. I have to stay by her side and protect her.”

He sighs, and you know he understands that he can’t ask you to forsake your friendship with her. “Then I will stand by your side and protect you,” he says instead.

You raise your brows. “Oh, will you?”

“Enough of this hiding around and being on opposite ends of the room. I want to be by your side at all times.”

“And how will you do that, ser Harwin?”

He takes your hand in his and presses a kiss to the inside of your palm. “Marry me,” he says, and you feel everything in you stop until he is all you can see and think and feel.

“Marry me and be mine.”

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗍𝖽? 𝖺𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗂𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗄 𝗌𝗇𝗂𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗌, 𝗇𝗈. 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝗍𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗑 + 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗆 𝗂 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗍𝗈𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌? 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒.

𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗌𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖾𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽. 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾𝖽 (𝗋𝗂𝗉 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇). 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾

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

You don’t know what will happen when you see each other again. Will he hurt you? Try to claim the very bounty he set on your head? Has he finally gotten tired of your cat-and-mouse game?

Your thoughts are put to a pause when Jed Walker appears ahead, just a few doors from where you’re standing. You whisper his name but it goes unheard as he pushes open a set of doors and steps through, disappearing from your view. You still don’t know what the Corinthian could want with two young mortals, but given his track record, you don’t trust him with them. If saving them means your game has to continue, then very well.

“Jed!” you whisper louder. You hurry after the boy, slipping through the doors just before they close and nearly bumping into him.

The room isn’t empty. In fact, there are four—technically, three—other people in the room. A dead mortal, two killers, and in the centre of it all, the Corinthian himself.

The Corinthian smiles at you.

You push Jed behind you. He grips onto the back of your shirt, trembling in fear as you and him both look at the Corinthian and the man being stabbed to death behind him.

Even with those dark shades on, you know the Corinthian is looking at you. You can feel his stare burning into you, taking in every inch of you greedily. It has been a century since he last saw you, after all. An entire century since he stopped you from entering the basement of Rodrick Burgess and freeing your husband and his maker, and instead put a bounty on your head.

“Hello, my lady,” the Corinthian says, his honey-like drawl drawing shivers from you. He takes a step towards you, and you take three back. “I’ve missed you.”

He hasn’t changed much since the last time you saw him—nearly a hundred years ago. He still insists on indulging his materialistic side—something he got from Morpheus’ tendency to spoil you, probably—by wearing high-end suits. His golden hair is still the same length, though he no longer wears his hat. And he still wears those damn shades that covers his eyes—eyes that Morpheus spent days crafting specially for him.

You shove Jed further back, and the boy thankfully takes the hint and bolts. You stay.

“Who’s she?” one of the killers, a woman with straight hair, asks.

“She’s mine,” the Corinthian says dismissively. “Just continue with him.”

The woman looks at you before shrugging. She raises her hand to resume stabbing the man.

“Both of you, stop,” you command, and the two behind him immediately stop. Not just their arm, but every muscle in their body has frozen in compliance with your order. Even their hearts have frozen, and though you’re sure they’re feeling terrified, their bodies can’t show it because of what you’ve done to them with a single spoken word.

“All these years, and you still can’t control it, can you?” the Corinthian says. Though he sounds slightly disappointed, he keeps his tone light, as if remarking that it was raining when it should have been sunny. The casualness in his voice enrages you.

He’d always been a nightmare, but the last time you saw him, he had also been your friend. Not the maker-and-created relationship he has with Morpheus, but a friend. You hadn’t been surprised he’d want to keep Morpheus trapped and stop you, but you hadn’t expected for him to put that bounty on your head and reveal Morpheus’ and your’s, secret. To Morpheus, it was an act of defiance. To you, it was an act of betrayal.

“Corinthian."

His features softens slightly at the name you chose and gave to him. “My lady.”

“What have you done?”

“I inspired people, just like you said I would be able to.”

You flinch, as he’s spat your words back at you verbatim. You and him had been walking through the Dreaming once, your arm linked around his. It had been after your wedding to Morpheus but before the power transference ceremony. The Corinthian had asked what your intention was for him, as while it had been Morpheus who crafted him for you, you had decided his purpose. Even Morpheus had been surprised that you would choose to craft a nightmare rather than a dream, but you defended the Corinthian by saying nightmares had just as much power influencing a person and their decisions as much as dreams did.

“Confronting one’s fears challenges a person, but when they emerge, they come out stronger and firmer in their beliefs,” you had told him. “That’s what I want you to be. To be a mirror for humanity’s darkest self so they would choose to be better.”

He had smiled down at you in response, and dipped his head in a small bow. You tightened your grip on him as you resumed your walk, the sun warm down on both of you—so different from the cold that filled the air between the two of you now.

“I wanted you to inspire others to be good, Corinthian. Not…this.”

“I’m letting them be their true selves.”

“You’ve taught them to be selfish and cruel.”

He tilts his head before taking a step forward. You take another three back until you hit the door. But you don’t run. Not yet.

“Are you disappointed in me, my lady?” he asks lowly.

You toss your nametag to his feet in response. Of all his atrocities to you, that was the worst. “You made me that,” you spit out. Lady of Whispers. The name he gave you. He was the one who blew on the flames and built your reputation when he knew that you never meant to hurt anyone. It was his fault that people feared you, when you had been the complete opposite in the Dreaming. 

“I gave you a name of your own,” he says through gritted teeth. “Something for people to know you by other than being someone’s wife.”

There is truth behind his words. People still knew you as Lady of the Dreaming, but now they feared you for you, and not because of Morpheus solely.

The two killers behind him fall to the ground, dead. Death was always the only one able to put a stop to your powers.

The Corinthian bends down to pick you your name. As he does, you seize his distracted nature and run, going after Jed wherever he is. As the doors swing shut behind you, you hear the Corinthian’s throaty chuckle, the sound raising bumps all over your arms.

You sprint up the stairs rather than wait for the elevator.

Floor after floor, you search the halls, hissing out Jed’s name. By the fifth floor, you’re breathing heavily. By the eight, there’s a sharp cramp in your side. On the tenth, you’re forced to stop against a wall to catch your breath. As you will the fire in your lungs to go away, you remember the key in your back pocket. The room reserved for you is on this floor. It’s a completely irrelevant point, but you can’t help but wonder what you would find if you entered that room: one bed or two.

A girl walks past you, her head tilted upwards to the room numbers. You stare after her in surprise, recognizing her from the picture you’re carrying.

“Rose Walker?” you ask.

She turns to you. She blinks, and you see the recognition flare in her eyes. “I know you, don’t I?” she says thoughtfully. “I think I’ve seen you in my dreams.”

That wasn’t possible. Mortals already rarely remembered the full extent of their dreams. They rarely remembered Morpheus being by their side as they went through the Dreaming, you even more, talking to them and guiding them through. The most they remembered was the warmth of your presence.

“Y/N,” she says. “You’re Dream’s wife.”

You stop. “How do you know who I am?”

“He told me I’d know who you were.”

“My husband?” You step closer. “He’s spoken with you? Is he here? Is he alright? What did he say?”

“He told me to tell you something.”

“What is it?” you ask insistently, the desperation clear in your voice. Was it an explanation for why he isn’t here? Anger or hurt? Understanding?

“He told me to tell you that I’m a vortex,” Rose says.

You freeze and stare at Rose. It takes a few seconds for the pieces to click—why your husband would want her to tell you that apart from everything else. But when it does click, your shoulders relax and you smile at her. Of course he’d have her tell you that. You never would have figured it out on your own.

“Why would he tell me to tell you that?” Rose asks. “Does it mean something special to you?”

Of course you pity her for what has to be done, but you’re also relieved that you’re almost done. But before you can give her an answer—a partial truth to not be so cruel—someone calls her name.

You both look down the hall and see Jed Walker standing there. Rose breaks into a smile, forgetting you, and hugs Jed tightly. You recognize the man behind Jed, Fun Land, who’s too busy looking at him like prey. He moves forward and starts to tug Jed from Rose, who screams at him and you for help.

You rush forwards and slam your elbow down on Fun Land’s neck, hitting a nerve that sends him crumpling to his knees.

“Run, Rose!” you bark at her, and though her eyes don’t turn gold, she does as you command anyway.The three of you sprint down the hallway, only to be forced to a stop as you reach a locked green door. You try to kick it down, but the lock is thick and made of metal. As Rose and Jed begin to knock on it desperately, shouting for help, you think about who you’d call for help—Morpheus. But he isn’t here. At least, not yet. And you couldn’t let someone like Fun Land appease the appetite that the Corinthian had inspired in him.

“Cover his ears,” you command Rose. As Fun Land reaches you, you shove the kids behind you, using your body as a protective shield. 

“Stop,” you command. Gold fills his eyes, swirling in his irises like sand. Fun Land halts a few step from you, standing completely still and waiting for more instruction. “See yourself for who you really are.”

Immediately, he flinches and recoils into himself. He starts to whimper and seek forgiveness from Jed and Rose and every other unfortunate child he’d collected that would not and should not ever be given to him.

“What are you doing to him?” Rose whispers.

“Exactly what I said,” you say coldly. If the Corinthian inspired them to be who they really are, then let them see just that. He would see the monster he is.

Fun Land’s whimpers begin to turn into screams as he slaps his hands over his eyes to hide the world. Because that isn’t enough, he digs his fingers into them, the squelch as he hits his eyeballs echoing in the hall despite Rose’s horrified gasp and Jed’s cries. You only continue to stare, true, merciless and just, just as the Lady of Dreaming should be.

Fun Land’s cries are cut off when he suddenly drops dead. His body falls to the floor, a dagger protruding from the back of his head. Standing behind where he one stood, is the Corinthian.

“What a waste of a snack,” he says with a tut of his tongue. He licks his lips. “But my lady. We haven’t finished our conversation. Shall we?”

The Corinthian tosses your nametag to you. Out of instinct, you catch it.

“I did not make you this way,” the Corinthian says. “Dream did. If there’s anyone to blame for your talent, your gift, it’s him. He made you this way, just as he made me this way.” He takes a step towards you. “This is who we are, and if you would just stop running for one second and look in the mirror and see how much better you are in this form—with your powers and without him—you would be a lot happier.”

“With you?”

The Corinthian looks taken aback. “What?”

“Do you think I would be happier with you than with my husband?”

If Morpheus made him, then perhaps he had put his affection for you in the Corinthian as well. Perhaps that was why the Cortinthian insisted the bounty be for you to be taken alive, and why you had never been able to use your powers to stop him. You’ve always known those emotions were there, even if it went unsaid by you or him. Even before Morpheus’ capture, the Corinthian’s affection for you had always been soft, gentle. Lingering touches on your arm, laughing a little too loud at your jokes, his gaze on you longer than a friend’s should. But you always ignored it, as you never saw him in the way you saw your husband. You loved the part of him that was Morpheus,, but you could not love him completely. You could never.

“I did them for you,” the Corinthian insists. “Inspired them for you. They worship you, just as everyone should. Dream never let the others see your beauty and talent, but I did. I let them see you as you really were and they adored you. Because of me, you are loved.”

His words and the veneration in his tone—something you wish he was faking but can tell is genuine—struck you into silence. He’s standing before you now, one hand brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His movement is gentle. A caress.

“My lady,” he says quietly, his voice deep and thick with emotion. “I have missed you.”

Was it possible that he was right? That he loved you in a way Morpheus loved you differently? In a way you should be loved? Whereas Morpheus hid you from the world to protect you, the Corinthian showed you to the world and gave the world a reason to fear you—your own protection. Was he right?

He’s about to brush your cheek with the pad of his thumb when you grab his wrist tightly; painfully. A stark contrast against his touch.

Through his shades, your eyes meet. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

Though you don’t see his eyes, you know they fill gold as the effects of your powers take control. The Corinthian yanks his hand back like you were the surface of a hot stove. He tries to slap you, but his hand stops inches from your cheek and he cries out in pain as his other hand grabs his wrist and pulls it away forcefully. He stares at his hand in repulsion, then up at you in anger, and just like that you know that whatever emotions he has for you is gone. The Corinthian had rebelled against Morpheus so he would not be under his maker’s will, and now you had just forced him under yours.

His lips curl into a nasty smile. He directs his attention to Rose, who’s been watching with fearful eyes this whole time.

“You don’t think she’s going to protect you, now do you, Rose Walker?” the Corinthian says, his tone sickly sweet and charming. “Do you know who she is?”

“Dream’s wife,” Rose says hesitantly.

“Oh, she’s so much more than that. She’s one of his tools.”

“His tools?”

“Dream is known for three of his tools: his pouch of sand, his helm, and his ruby. But what’s lesser known is his fourth tool: his wife. While the first three were crafted, his fourth was given to a mortal that he fell in love with.”

“Enough,” you snap, but the Corinthian doesn’t listen.

“The ceremony was beautiful. A slice from his palm to draw blood, which he placed on top of hers so that his blood may enter her veins. In his blood was his power. When the blood had dried, it was done. She had been remade into one of his tools, and like his other tools, she has powers. Did you see what she did to Fun Land?”

“She told him to stop,” Rose says slowly. You can hear her piecing it together, and as you turn to her, you see the growing fear and apprehension in her eyes. “You told me to cover Jed’s ears…it’s because you didn’t want him to hear what you would say. Your order. Is that your power? You can tell people what to do?”

“The proper term is she inspires,” the Corinthian said.

You aren’t blind. You’ve seen the slow, small steps he’s taken to Rose, as if he’s offering her his protection. And you can see how Rose has been leaning away from you and towards him too. He’s always been good with words. That he got from you.

“Dream stored inspiration in her,” he says. “The ceremony turned her into the physical manifestation of inspiration; of the aspect of our thoughts and dreams that incline us to do something.”

Rose looks at you, perhaps waiting for you to say he was lying or there was more to the truth, but you don’t say anything. You can’t.

“Dream’s coming to kill you, Rose Walker,” the Corinthian whispers in her ear.

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re the vortex.” He turns to you. “And as Dream’s tool and his wife, she’s going to kill you too if she can.”

There’s betrayal in her eyes towards you as she tugs Jed closer to her. And fear. That’s what’s in her eyes. That’s how everyone’s looked at you in the past century.

“Is he telling the truth?” she asks. “You’re both going to kill me?”

“You have to die, Rose,” you say, void of emotion. “For everyone. For your brother’s safety. You are the vortex.”

“Is that why he had me tell you that I was one? So you could finish the job if he couldn’t?”

Perhaps it was one of the reasons he told her that, a sign that he still had trust in you. But you knew the main reason he had her tell you that was to reassure you that he still loved you and was coming for you. As the vortex, Morpheus had to come for her. His message—the unspoken words behind it—was to tell you to stay close to Rose Walker so that he could find you.

In other words, he was asking you to wait for him.

“I’m sorry, Rose,” you say softly. Behind your back, you reach for the hilt of your dagger. Morpheus will find another way to get to you. But he won’t be able to do that if the Corinthian has Rose.

But before you can grab onto it, the Corinthian moves. He’s a blur of speed and strength, and you’re soon slammed against the wall with a syringe sticking out of your neck. You gasp and dig your nails into his wrist, hard enough to draw blood, but it’s too late. When he pulls the syringe out, it’s empty. The liquid burns through your veins and dulls everything immediately, and you go slump against his body as he brushes your hair out of your face.

“He’ll come for me,” you mumble.

“Oh, I’m counting on it, sweet thing,” the Corinthian murmurs. He grips your chin with his thumb and points and points your face towards him. “What do you think the reward for the bounty is?”

Your eyes widen in horror. The Corinthian smiles and nods.

“Dream, your husband who’d do anything to get you back. Well. Let’s see just how much he means that, shall we? When you get home, why don’t you tell your husband that I’m waiting for him?”

You try to push away from him, but you’re too weak. Soon, you can’t feel your limbs. Then, you begin to drift. For the first time in a long time, you’re falling asleep and entering the Dreaming. But before you do, you feel the Corinthian press his lips against your forehead. His words are the last you hear.

“I’m sorry, my lady.”

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ…

Morpheus walks slowly towards the Corinthian, the weight of his footsteps and anger to be felt by all as the world tremors. Across the waking world, dreamers encounter nightmares that haven’t been seen since the Morpheus was first captured. They stir and cry out in their sleep, unable to wake and escape the monsters. Some wake up and find that the monsters have followed them into the waking world.

They all scream.

But in the hotel, where the cult of serial killers are asleep in their seats, it is only the King of Dreams and Nightmares and the Corinthian.

“Where is she?” Morpheus asks eerily calm. His voice is deep and dangerous; wrath being barely restrained from being unleashed on the Corinthian.

The Corinthian smiles. “You can feel her, can’t you? Feel her strength? Or shall I say, her strength diminishing?”

“What have you done, Corinthian?”

“I want to kill you, Dream. And what easier way to kill you, than to kill your wife.”

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ…

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗂 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀? 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗇𝗂'𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁. 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗌, 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌??? 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗋𝖽 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂'𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽??? 𝗐𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇.

𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗒. 𝗂'𝗆 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 (𝗅𝗈𝗐-𝗄𝖾𝗒 𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝖼) 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍!

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗋, 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖽, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗐𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗂 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌: 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝖻𝗒 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆.

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!

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

𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩:   @aurorarevenclaw1927, @hueanhdang, @queen-taryn, @cyanide-mustard, @azrielloveselain, @sherazyjade

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @justviktormlolm, @amirahroronoa, @sunna-fangirls, @mrs-captainsteverogers, @absbdbshhs, @urbanbts, @theamuz, @ac-procrastinator-13, @thegreatestsandwich, @julegrav009-blog, @harrypotter55, @blossomedfloweroflove, @lestaikkeullsokka, @thetrashypanda423, @ponyboys-sunsets, @izzicle, @dilfsandtherapy, @mischiefmanaged71, @grippleback-galaxy, @cynic-spirit, @thecrazytealady, @violet-19999, @junobutbored, @avanisbored, @redskull199987, @bilesxbilinskixlahey, @ladymoon666, @celestialceremonials, @mm2305, @ttae-yong, @thegreatestsandwich, @notabotiswear, @boofy1998, @crimsonsabbath, @megumimind, @itsnanabun, @spygrrl99, @regulusblacksimpsblog, @maverey, @storm4433, @writerinlearning, @lokigirlszendaya, @thesadvampire, @thestarsanctuary, @floreoo, @pinkpunkdynamite, @jesllianaquilesrolon, @aegeanblues, @anjimimimoo, @imaginativefanatic, @book-place, @littlemoistcarrot, @lorosette, @wondermia69, @commanderfreethatdust, @flowerpersephone, @carrietrekkie, @mividaesmeh,

@tea-effect, @lex-the-flex, @dreamamubarak, @witchxlove, @mxtokko

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌, 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎!

ᴋɪᴍ ɴᴀᴍᴊᴏᴏɴ "𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳. 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘰 𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯."

both of you nearly miss the boat in the first place since he misplaced your tickets that morning. you’re both middle class passengers, so you are offered a space on the lifeboat but he isn't. you relinquish your spot on the lifeboat to stay with him as much as possible, preferring to die with him. he gives you his lifejacket and makes you promise that you’ll always keep it on. but as hard as the two of you try to stay together, when the ship sinks into the ocean, the currents tear you away from each other. as you’re shivering alone in the ocean, the lifejacket he gave you being the only thing keeping you afloat, you think about that and wish you never nagged him to hurry. you’re wallowing in self-pity and grief as you think he’s dead, when a lifeboat whistles at you and pulls you on board. it was one of the first to launch, hence why it’s so empty, though there are already other passengers that have been pulled on board, none of whom is namjoon. you are taken on board the carpathia, where by some miracle, you find namjoon and the both of you reunite in a bone-crushing hug and he proposes to you on the spot. the two of you live the rest of your days in the city, never stepping foot on another boat again.

ᴋɪᴍ ꜱᴇᴏᴋᴊɪɴ "𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘴. 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰 𝘰𝘯."

he’s a first class passenger who falls in love with the third class passenger. sneaks you into first class dinners just as you sneak him into third class dinners. he finds himself genuinely enjoying the rambunctious energy in third class, while you find some amusement in the prim, properness, and underlying subtleties in first class. when his parents discover this little affair, they demand he break up with you but he refuses, and the two of you continue to see each other in private. when the ship hits, his family is the first one ushered onto a boat: just four of them on an entire boat. he tries to get you on board too, but you are denied. because this is early on in the sinking, neither of you think the worst yet. before he’s lowered, he promises to search for you and seals it with a kiss, and you believe him. you manage to get on a different rescue boat and are rescued. but he never keeps his promise. the two of you live out your lives in the same city, never meeting again.

ᴍɪɴ ʏᴏᴏɴɢɪ "𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳, 𝘧𝘢𝘳, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦. 𝘪 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘰 𝘰𝘯."

he was one of the engineers on the ship and managed to get you a ticket because of that. he works during the day, but at night he’s all yours. takes you on tour around the ship and shows you secret rooms and passageways. both are you are on the deck when the iceberg hits, and he makes you promise to find a lifejacket immediately before rushing away to help contain the damage. that is the last time you see him. the ship descends into chaos soon enough, and you are lost in the crowd as he remains on board, sticking to his duty to the very end. he stays because his fellow engineers are also his brothers and he would never abandon them, but he also stays for you. he knows that he can’t do anything but delay the inevitable, but even as the room begins to fill, he’s still doing it in hopes that every second he delays is more time for you to get to safety and live. you are his last thought as the ocean claims him. despite his sacrifice, it still wasn’t enough, and you succumb to the same fate as you freeze in the ocean after having given up your raft for someone else. both of your bodies are found but you are never identified. your bodies are buried separately.

ᴊᴜɴɢ ʜᴏꜱᴇᴏᴋ "𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳. 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘰 𝘰𝘯."

you meet on board after a night of dancing and realizing that the other is the dance partner you’ve been searching for the entire time. you spend veery second of every day from then on together, dancing together every night and only knowing joy as you both make each other laugh. even though you’ve only known each other for days, he proposes to you and you accept, vowing to get married the day you return to shore. when the boat hits, he tries to get you on a boat but both of you know that neither of you will be able to get to one. not wanting to spend your last moments in fear and preferring to maintain that happiness the two of you have found in each other since you first met, the two of you spend your last moments dancing to the music still playing upstairs. even when the music dies, the two of you are still dancing to the music he hums underneath his breath. his song is the last thing you hear before the ocean joins you dancing. though you try to hold onto each other, your hands slip away from each other. neither of your bodies are ever found.

ᴘᴀʀᴋ ᴊɪᴍɪɴ "𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘪 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘪 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰 𝘰𝘯."

he’s a second class passenger who you meet during dinner. he learns that you’re one of the nurses on board. you meet when he visits you because he has a sickness and you treat him. he thanks you by taking you out to dinner. your relationship consists of a lot of shy flirting and subtle touches and stolen kisses when you’re not working. he confesses in you his fear of dying from his sickness, and you reassure him that you’ll ensure he lives a long life and die of old age. when the ship hits, your first thoughts are to check the injured and help as many people on board. you manage to get him on a lifeboat by using the sickness he came to you as an excuse, saying he won’t survive the freezing temperatures. you reassure him that you’ll get on the next boat, and he reluctantly believes you. as his lifeboat is lowered down, your eyes meet as he looks up at you and you look down at him. he sees the flare going off in the sky behind you, and he sees the goodbye in your smile. he realizes that you’ve lied and tries to get off but they pull him back since he’s rocking the boat, and he screams your name over and over again until his voice is raw and sore. he is rescued. you are not. your body is found and he buries you. he keeps his promise to you and live a long, happy life before dying a natural death of old age.

ᴋɪᴍ ᴛᴀᴇʜʏᴜɴɢ "𝘸𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘰 𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯."

you meet on board after dinner when you both decide to get some fresh air on the deck. he’s already on the deck when you go out, leaning on the railing and looking absently at the ocean. you don’t mind him any attention at first, other than noting he was handsome. he is the first one to take notice of you, as when he’s about to head back in, he catches sight of you looking up at the sky and counting the stars and his attention is yours immediately. rather than going in, he requests for the rest of his dinner to be brought out to him and the two of you eat outside under the stars. when the evacuation begins, as a first class passenger, he is one of the first passengers who is offered a seat in a lifeboat that is far from full. however, he offers up his position to a third class passenger who is pregnant and instead goes to search for you. he finds you in your cabin and hugs you tightly, promising you that as long as he’s there, his arms around you, nothing bad will happen. you let yourself believe him as the two of you lay down on your bed and go to sleep before the ocean makes you. centuries later, in a documentary, your bodies are found together, his arms still wrapped around you.

ᴊᴇᴏɴ ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ "𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘰 '𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘸𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦."

this man is jack dawson. is one of the first people to board because he wanted to sketch the passengers coming on board. was just minding his business until you boarded, and suddenly, you’re the only thing he’s capable of sketching. follows you around from then on, sketching you the entire while. he’s by your side when the ship completely sinks, and he’s holding your hand when both of you fall into the icy black water of the ocean.  you know this hopeless romantic is going to pull a jack and give you the entire door to float on even though both of you can fit. he justifies it as him being too bulky and if he goes on, you’ll both sink. he’ll reassure you that because of his bulkiness, he’s more able to preserve his body heat and survive in the water longer than you. holds your hands the entire time, blowing his warmth into them. and when you wake to hearing people calling you, just like the fate of poor leo, he had frozen while sleeping and there’s nothing more you can do other than promise you’ll keep him with you as let him go, watching him disappear underneath the dark ocean, before you call for help and get rescued. his body is never found.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗌. 𝖼𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾'𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗍 9 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀

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

Like always, there is a look of adoration in Morpheus' eyes. He looks handsome, having foregone his usual long black coat for a formal suit of that time. He's even managed to tame his messy hair — something Mervyn and Hob must have helped him with. As you get to where he stands, you see his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"Don't cry, my love," you whisper. You place your palm against his cheek and rub your thumb under his eye. And like always, he leans into your touch, finding comfort in you. He turns his head and press a kiss against your palm — all while not breaking eye contact with you, the coy bastard.

You shake your head and smile.

The memory fast forwards, and suddenly he's saying his vows. He doesn't speak quietly — he has no shame in everyone hearing how much he means to you.

"I vow to always find you, as long as you wait for me. I vow to love you for as long as you let me. And I vow to be your husband until you want me no longer. All I am is yours until you cast me aside. And I beg of you to never."

Thank the gods you had said with your speech first. His speech had rendered you overcome with emotion to do anything else but cup his face and kiss him, both of you sealing your promises of forever with that act.

And both of you had kept your promises to each other. He remained by your side, as you remained by his. Until now.

He, by no fault of his own, disappeared from your side.

And you, also by no fault of your own, disappeared from his side.

A cruel twist of fate. Perhaps the universe restoring balance to the centuries of happiness the two of you lived together. Perhaps that had been enough, and it's time you stop trying to delay the inevitable. Perhaps it's time you stop and succumb to the exhaustion and pain of being with Morpheus.

I vow to always find you, as long as you wait for me.

Wait for me.

Morpheus' vow jerks you back to consciousness. Your eyes snap open, staring directly into the hunter who's looking down at you greedily. His mouth is curled into a hideous snarl, and his pride at seeing you weak and defenceless has drawn his head close enough that your noses were nearly touching.

Behold pride, you think as your hands drop from his wrists in feign unconsciousness, the downfall of all men.

You grab onto the sides of his head and dig your thumbs into his eyes. You try not to think about why your muscles memorize the exact amount of pressure and angle to do it so.

The hunter jerks backwards, screaming, his hands flying to his eyes which has begun to bleed. You cough violently as you take in as much air as you can to soothe the fire in your lungs, all the while scrambling to your knees and trying to get away.

A hand grasps onto your ankle.

You're pulled backwards with a scream.

"Where do you think you're going, lady?" the hunter growls. "I'm not done with you yet—"

"Remove your hands from me."

You feel the man go still. His hand falls from your ankle, and you scramble forwards. You don't need to look back to feel the shift in the air, but you do anyway because looking at them is the least you can do.

The man pulls out his saw from his bag. Without hesitation, he places the blade over his wrist and begin to move back and forth. He screams out in pain and begs for relief, but doesn't stop his motions. The hunter looks over at you, eyes glassy with gold that resembles sand, as his hand falls to the floor.

You're out of the bathroom before he begins his other hand. Before Death arrives for him.

You begin to run and don't look back.

Your throat is throbbing.

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

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

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

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

Is cereal that interesting to warrant a convention? you wonder as you scan the lobby. Nothing looks too out of place, apart from more people with name tags. It wasn't weird that there were adults taking part in the convention, but it was weird that there wasn't a single child in sight. A strange familiarity with those two words only made you more uncomfortable.

"Ma'am?" the receptionist calls. "May I help you?"

You tug up your turtleneck before approaching the reception desk and smiling at the receptionist. She visibly relaxes and smiles back, even wider than before.

"Do I know you?" she asks, peering at you curiously like everyone else who looks at you. But no matter how hard they look, they'll never be able to remember just where they remember you. Dreams had a funny way of being that way.

Even if she doesn't remember, her smile changes from being polite to being genuinely friendly, as if her muscles remember that you were a friend.

You motion for a notepad and pen. The receptionist scurries and puts the tools before you.

1 room, 1 night please, you write down.

She doesn't question it. She eagerly nods and asks for your name, which you also write down.

"You already have a room, ma'am," the receptionist informs you.

You raise a brow. A room? You never reserve your hotel rooms ahead. That guarantees someone waiting to kill you when you get there, as you learned a few decades ago in Manila.

The receptionist seems to understand the confusion on your face. "Perhaps you reserved the room for the convention?" she suggested.

But what interest would you have in a cereal convention—

The invitation.

The memory is jarring. Suddenly, you can picture it clearly. You can even feel the parchment between your fingers as you opened it, and the gasp you let out as you dropped the envelope and an eyeball rolled out, the nerve still attached.

The iris was blue, a shade nearly as light as Morpheus'. You knew it was no coincidence.

You take a step back from the receptionist, reeling that you've walked straight into a trap. You're so caught up in trying to figure out a way to get out without alerting anyone that you hear the receptionist's warning too late and your back hit something large and firm.

You spin around, your hand instinctively going to the hilt of the knife hidden underneath your shirt, before freezing in recognition at the man in a green cloak and cane.

"Lady Y/N?" the man gasps, gawking at you.

"Fiddler's Green?"

You've never seen Fiddler's Green personified as a human before, but the warmth that surrounds him in unmistakeable and makes you relax.

He dips his head in a respectful bow as he puts an appropriate amount of distance before you — a law Morpheus decreed in the Dreaming. He had been more possessive back then, especially since it was right after the power transference ceremony. Though you thought it ridiculous, you saw the slight relief it brought him so you allowed it to remain, pretending you still didn't know about it.

The appropriate response to a bow is to return with a small curtsy, but after a century of running, your first response is to run. You have to go before you harm Fiddler's Green. You'd never be able to forgive yourself for hurting someone so important to both you and Morpheus.

But it's because he's so important to Morpheus, and you've always known him so loyal to the Dreaming, that you think about your words carefully before speaking.

"What are you doing here?" you ask hesitantly, your voice still a bit rough from the fight. "Why have you left the Dreaming when you are so vital to it?"

You wait for the gold to appear in his eyes, but it doesn't appear.

"I am not vital to the Dreaming," Fiddler's Green says. "You and lord Morpheus are, and you were both gone. I left to go search for you, but I stayed for the humans. I do worry for the punishment I will receive. I know lord Morpheus has been calling back his other dreams and nightmares, but I wouldn't exchange it for the knowledge I have learned from the people who visit my glades every night."

You soften at the pureness in Fiddler's Green, but something catches your attention.

"My husband? He's free?"

Fiddler's Green looks surprised. "Why, yes, lady Y/N. He's been back for a few months, I believe. You haven't seen him? I thought that was why you were here. I thought perhaps he sent you after us."

You fight back tears of relief at the news that your husband has managed to break himself free from his cage. Your only regret is not being the one to have helped freed him, and you hope he doesn't resent you for that.

But what if he does? What if he thinks you have abandoned him? What if he thinks you've cast him aside? A hundred years, and he never received a visit from you. Now he's been free for months and you have not received a visit from him.

Why had he not come looking for you?

"There is something else you must know, lady Y/N." Fiddler's Green bends to your height. "The Corinthian is here."

You look at him in panic. How was it possible that you, him, and the Corinthian were all in the same place at the same time? You hadn't meant to come to the convention, yet there you were. Fiddler's Green definitely didn't prepared to se you or the Corinthian, which meant he was unaware too. What could be the reason for three pieces of the Dreaming to be near each other?

"I'm here to help Rose Walker find her little brother, Jed," he continues. "I fear both her and the boy are in danger from him."

"Then you must return to the Dreaming and let my husband know," you say without thinking.

The second the words leave your mouth, gold fills Fiddler's Green's eyes. He straightens and turns on his heel, and despite telling him to stop, he marches out of the hotel without another glance back, leaving you alone with your whispered apology going unheard.

Shit, you think. You try to dismiss your worries by entrusting Fiddler's Green's safety to Morpheus. He would be safer in the Dreaming than here with the Corinthian and no Morpheus.

You grab the piece of paper he had been holding. It's a missing poster for Jed Walker, and contains a picture of him with an older girl — Rose Walker, you presume.

If two mortals were being preyed on by a nightmare, then it was part of your responsibility as lady of the Dreaming to protect them. Morpheus can deal with the Corinthian. You just have to trust he'll come.

Of course he'll come, you think as you pocket the poster. I'm his wife.

In the corner of your eye, you catch sight of a man in a beige suit. There's something charmingly offputting about the man even from a distance — something you've only seen another man possess before.

You head in his direction immediately, only to be stopped by a man with the name tag Fun Land.

"Only guests are allowed in the convention."

"I think—"

"Guests only."

You eye him irritatedly. You glance at the extra name tags on the table, one of which you recognize coldly. Slowly, you look back up at Fun Land, then at the other convention attendees who are also wearing name tags. The conversations you manage to overhear are still talking about collecting. Only now, you're starting to understand what this fucking convention's really about.

"Can you check if I'm on the list?" you ask tightly.

"You're a guest?" he asks dubiously. "Name?"

"Whispers."

His eyes widen. You don't entertain the excitement in his voice as he apologizes and starts to ramble about how he was a fan. You snatch your name tag from his trembling grasp, his palm slightly sweaty, before starting your search for the Walkers in the basement, where you also coincidentally saw the man in the beige suit head down.

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ…

You push Jed behind you.

He grips onto the back of your shirt, trembling in fear as you and him both look at the Corinthian and the man being stabbed to death by two others behind him.

Even with those dark shades on in the dimly lit room, you know the Corinthian is looking at you. You can feel his stare raking you up and down, taking every inch of you greedily. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.

It has been a century since he last saw you, after all. An entire century since he stopped you from entering the basement of Rodrick Burgess and freeing your husband when you were right outside the door, and instead put a bounty on your head.

"Hello, my lady," the Corinthian says, his honey-like drawl drawing shivers from you as always. He dips his head in a bow — more mocking than respectful. He takes a step towards you, and you take three back. "I've missed you."

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ…

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝖺 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗆 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐-𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋?

𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗂 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗃𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾, 𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎! 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍'𝗌 𝗎𝗉𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝖿𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝗂 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇!

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!

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

𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 @aurorarevenclaw1927, @hueanhdang

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 @justviktormlolm, @amirahroronoa, @sunna-fangirls, @mrs-captainsteverogers, @absbdbshhs, @urbanbts, @theamuz, @ac-procrastinator-13, @thegreatestsandwich, @julegrav009-blog, @harrypotter55, @blossomedfloweroflove, @lestaikkeullsokka, @thetrashypanda423, @ponyboys-sunsets, @izzicle, @dilfsandtherapy, @mischiefmanaged71, @grippleback-galaxy, @cynic-spirit, @thecrazytealady, @violet-19999, @junobutbored, @avanisbored, @redskull199987, @bilesxbilinskixlahey, @ladymoon666, @celestialceremonials, @mm2305, @ttae-yong, @thegreatestsandwich, @notabotiswear, @boofy1998, @crimsonsabbath, @megumimind, @itsnanabun, @spygrrl99, @regulusblacksimpsblog, @maverey, @storm4433, @writerinlearning, @lokigirlszendaya, @thesadvampire, @thestarsanctuary, @floreoo, @pinkpunkdynamite, @jesllianaquilesrolon, @aegeanblues, @anjimimimoo, @imaginativefanatic, @book-place, @littlemoistcarrot, @lorosette, @wondermia69, @commanderfreethatdust

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌, 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎!

words of affirmation though he isn't the most vocal as an Endless, he does become vocal as a lover. or, specifically, he wants you to be. remember when i said he likes it when you talk to him? this applies here. (of course, by the time he's done with you, you won't be able to form words. but he'll accept desperate mewls of his name.)

call him by his name

not dream, but morpheus

gasp, groan, grunt, scream, whimper, murmur — every adjective of ‘said’ — say it in that way. he loves when you say his name and he the different ways you say it is akin to music. and if you whisper it right in his ear, his name hot against him so he can feel your desperation, he might just give you what you want and fuck you harder and faster

you tried to hold your moans back once

biggest mistake of your life

it doesn’t matter if you were only trying to hold back because you were in the library and mervyn, lucienne, and matthew were just three shelves down having a very serious meeting

though normally private in pda, perhaps that day morpheus was too frustration in being king and just wanted to be your lover. only a king had to worry about looking good in front of others. as your lover, all he had to worry about was pleasing you, and hearing the sounds you make was his signal that he was doing well

you thought that the sound of the shelves being rocked, your heavy breathing, and a book falling every now and then was telling enough what you were doing, and yes, you were a bit embarrassed to be found in such a compromising position with your skirt bunched up to your waist, one leg hooked around morpheus, and your head tilted to the sky as he attacked your neck

so when you bit down on your lip and slapped a hand over your mouth to hide your moans?

he is insulted (and you know how petty he gets) and fucks you even harder and faster than before

hoists both of your legs around his waist so he’s even closer and hits a spot in you that has you moaning obscenely and seeing stars. there’s no use hiding or explaining that away, but you don’t even think of the others anymore. all you can focus on is how he slams repeatedly into you again and again, one had rubbing furious circles on your clit, whispering orders in your ear to never deprive him of your sounds ever again

that as his lover, he owns every part of you (he definitely owns me), including those delicious sounds he purposefully and rightfully earns

and when you start making those sounds again, he is so fucking pleased with himself that he gets even harder

your hand falls from your mouth on its own and finds his hair, tugging on it, harder and harder as you reach your peak and he follows shortly after when you clench around him—all done with a loud cry of his name from you and your name coming out as a pleading grunt from him

when the two of you finally catch your breath, you peek around the shelves and find them gone

morpheus smirks at you before dragging you to the table for part two since “they’re not here anyway.”

always asks for consent

no matter how caught up he is in his emotions or pleasure, always asks you if you’re doing alright and if he’s doing alright touching your body

this man has a praise kink. tell him he’s doing well

tell him he’s fucking you so good as tears run down your cheeks and he’ll all but cum in you in that moment

tell him you were made for him as he bottoms out in you, and he’ll flip you over to your stomach and have his way and ruin you, leaving you a rambling mess who’s only coherent thought is his name

“you can take a little bit more of me, can’t you?” he whispers against your ear as you bite your lip to hold back your whimpers as he pushes inch by inch further, deeper, closer, into you. “you’ll do that for me?”

“you’re gonna make me cum” > “i’m going to cum”

he’ll make you squirt in thanks for reminding him that you’re orgasm is a product of his hard work

did you see how he pleaded with calliope to let him help her? imagine him begging to let him make you feel good

"i can make you feel so good, my love," he whispers as he puts one nipple in his mouth, suck and bite it gently, tugging on it, before releasing it and going to the other one. "let me?"

praise talk is his dirty talk. more into overstimulation and praise rather than edging and degradation cause he’s too in love with you to ever say those things or have you think, even for a second, that you are anything less than too good for him

type of person to say “i love you” as he fucks you

at the most intense moments, like when he’s about to orgasm, he mindlessly rambles out pleads for you to always stay with him and he needs you and you’re the only thing he needs (say less)

so tell him you need him. tell him only he can make you feel this good. because he’s definitely a giver, and the best compliment you can give a giver is to thank them for their service and tell them they’re doing a good job

physical touch this is an Endless who falls hard and intensely in love, as we see with his past lovers. it stands to reason that he'd fuck the same way. he makes sure that he is touching every inch of your body and you are touching every inch of him

has a thing for walls

likes to fuck you against them. either your back to it with your legs wrapped around his waist, or the side of your face pressed against it with your hands on either side as he takes you from behind

he will also eat you out with your back against a wall. makes it his personal mission to make your legs woozy enough that you literally collapse and he has to hold you up or you’re falling on the ground

overstimulation

worships your body

kissed every inch of your body once

on the days that you don’t feel the most confident, he’ll whisper his gratitude towards those parts against your skin until you believe him

is still a sucker for eye contact

looks up through his lashes as he eats you out

looks down at you as he fucks into you

but just because he wants to be gentle and passionate with you, doesn’t mean you can’t be rough with him. in fact, he welcomes it

tug his hair hard as he eats you out and you’ll hear the most guttural groan which you’ll feel vibrate in your cunt

dig your nails down his back and his hips will snap against yours in a speed that reminds you your lover is not a man, but an Endless

suck and bite his neck and enjoy watching him gasp and tighten his grip against your hips, enough to leave his handprint on your skin

however, there is one time you can elicit some roughness from him, and that’s when you ride him

you’ve ridden him on his throne

it was your idea the first time, and his idea every time after

legs on either side, his arms wrapped desperately against your waist as you slam down onto him and he slams up against you

he grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs your head backwards (see gif as example), exposing the column of your neck which he can mark and litter with kisses and bites

a very passionate lovemaker and puts emotions other than lust into it. when you two have sex, he doesn’t just do it to get rid of frustration or because he feels lust for you, but because he loves you enough to want to share this other part of him that so few get

is the type to link your hands together while he slides in and out

presses his forehead against yours when on top of you. he expects you to do the same when you’re on top

if he’s not waiting at your cunt with an open mouth as you orgasm, then he’s kissing you, as if to swallow the sounds of pleasure you make and further drowning in you

can unclasp your bra with one hand

pulls your underwear down with his teeth

bites on thighs

and neck

and chest

i’m not saying this man cries during sex (not that there’s anything wrong with that). but he does constantly have glassy/teary eyes during the show, so don’t be surprised if he gets a bit overwhelmed with his feelings for you and shed a tear or two

just kiss it away

acts of service he's always worshipped you before his capture, but after, he turns into a sinner looking for absolution from the only higher being he'd beg from. and the first step to absolution is looking for it on his knees

the first time you have sex after you reunite, he begs for forgiveness for being gone from you so long in his throne room

sits you on his throne and sinks to his knees before you

doesn’t even bother locking the door because he has no shame in anyone seeing him beg for absolution to you

and he doesn’t hold back from it either, alright? this Endless is making the most obscene noises as he loudly slurps and groans at the taste of you and moans at the sounds of you and ruts against his throne at the feeling of you, you, you

the first time you cum, he doesn’t stop and keeps fucking you with his tongue until he triggers a second one less than a minute later

he’ll add a finger soon enough

crooks it at just the right spot that it presses against the spongy part of you that makes your back arch off the throne and cum for the third time. at this point, your cum has started to drip off his throne, and he thinks about adding it as a design to his chair (you slap him on the back of his head as a no)

inserts another finger and starts pumping it in and out, in and out, even doing a scissor motion every now and then. you come the fourth time

the fifth time, he does all that plus play with your clit with his tongue. flicks at it, sucks on it, does everything you can possibly imagine be done with a tongue and two fingers until you squirt

and he still drinks it all. he takes those two fingers and uses it to scoop up all your cum and drinks it all

he always swallows whatever he’s able to draw out of you and whatever you’re willing to give him

and don't forget to sit on his face

he'd be more than happy to die underneath you, smothered by your thighs and cunt

if you try to do hold back and hover over his face, he'll ask you first if you like to squat over chairs rather than sit on them, before grabbing your things and pulling you down and not releasing you until he's done

if it isn’t clear yet, this man is a giver. gets genuine pleasure when he is the one to give you pleasure and can probably cum just from seeing you orgasm from his ministrations (he has and has no shame in it)

it might be how his possessiveness shows. knowing that only he can give you orgasms that intense is something he prides himself on

probably why he doesn’t mind when others look at you. all he’s looking at is your reactions, and you never show interest. you never give them the looks or sounds you make with him, and that’s enough that he just sits back, smirks, and pities the poor person who tried to hit on you

quality time as kim namjoon says in all night: "we keep all the party in this room all night. we don't wanna put it on the brake, hold tight."

the first time you reunite, he eats you out for hours

only stops because your body literally cannot go any longer and you might pass out (he debates whether he wants you to but lets you rest)

but the first time he fucks you, he doesn’t stop until you’re a whimpering, drooling mess who’s only thought is morpheus

and you do pass out

he’s there when you come to, and he starts again

morpheus rarely does quickies. he’s too intense and long-term for that. he likes to take his time to worship you and he doesn’t want to end because he ran out of time or he has an appointment with someone else. when he’s with you, you’re all he’s thinking about

however, he does like to take his time teasing you

and by that, i mean he can give you little teasing touches all day to get you worked up

hand on your upper thigh when eating with others

presses his front against your back as he reaches for something in the cabinet

might even touch you through your underwear without giving you too much—just to keep you wanting and waiting

he can last a pretty long time, and sessions with him usually involve you cumming so many times that you don’t think you’ll ever be able to cum again (you will. he’ll show you)

always engages foreplay. involves a heavy make out session coupled with groping that leads you to being wet enough that he can just slip inside you

likes to fuck you where its comfortable for you—bed, a couch (walls are his guilty pleasure, though)

will fuck you anywhere in the dreaming, though, cause it’s all him

might even be more intense for him since he can feel whatever surface he’s fucking you on and how hard he’s fucking you or how tight and desperate you’re holding on to the edge of that table

morning sex isn't as common since that's when you wake up from the dreaming

night is definitely prime time for sex

you know you're in for a long time when you have sex before you're even in the dreaming. when that happens, you better hold on, since you'll wake up more exhausted than before you slept

gift giving could be into toys, but he has to be the one who made it and he has to be the one using it on you. but why would you need toys anyway when you can have his cock

might be offended if you think he needs to use a toy to get to orgasm, as it suggests that he’s not enough

and if you say you want a toy just for the times he’s busy, he’ll tell you that he’s never too busy to give you an orgasm and proves it to you in that point

you’ll have to tell him that you can’t take enough if you want him to stop

rather, he uses toys to overstimulate

vibrator on clit while his tongue searches deeper in your fold or vice versa

the gift he does like to give you is lingerie

he gives you an assortment of different colours in different materials

his favourite is whatever makes you feel the most confident

gives you lingerie that is meant to be ripped off you

when he rips a set of lingerie that you actually really liked, he’ll apologize with kisses and promises that he’ll make you more before fucking you senseless

buys you lingerie from la perla. when you wear it to sleep and you arrive in the dreaming in it, he preens in delight

sometimes, he’ll give you lingerie from the dreaming while you’re in the dreaming. that’s completely under his control, and he can make it disappear in an instant

speaking of giving you toys in the dreaming, if he makes it, that he can get behind cause he has absolute control over it. his finger becomes the remote

that little underwear he gives you? with no warning, starts to fucking vibrate during dinner with lucienne. doesn’t ease up until you get up, flushed and with wobbly knees, and run to the hallway where you cum with a poorly concealed moan

when you return to the table, he looks to you with a knowing smirk. thankfully, lucienne remains unaware (or at least has the courtesy of pretending to be)

in the waking world, you like to wear his clothes after you wake up. in return, he takes your underwear

when you fuck in the dreaming, you wake up drenched and with a wet spot on your blanket. he sends you a new blanket as an unfelt apology which he’ll ruin the next night anyway

back to his greatest gift to you being his cock

i see him longer than wider (but not long enough to hurt you. 27-inch dick fanfic writers, stay back). you know, keeping in theme with his whole lean yet lanky physique

might be long enough that you can’t deepthroat him completely, though he appreciates the attempt

but the one time you steel yourself and manage to take him in all whole

nearly cums in your mouth immediately

wouldn’t expect you to do that all the time, of course. but on the special occasion that you want to put the focus on him, that’s the way to go

the way to morpheus’ heart is not through his heart, but through swallowing

all in all, this Endless is guaranteed to find his pleasure in yours, so make sure to tell him that he's doing well, keep your moans loud and uncontrolled, and he'll fuck you out of this universe

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗂𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗆, 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗍 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾 — 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽. 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗋, 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝖾.

𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅-𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍-𝗍𝗒𝗉𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍, 𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾 (𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌). 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌. 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀.

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

𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @aurorarevenclaw1927

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Morpheus sighs heavily as he straightens in his seat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He needs to find you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I cannot."

Lucienne pauses. "My lord?"

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

"Perhaps you can ask your siblings—"

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

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

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

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

But what? What could you possibly be running from?

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

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

"She is not safe, lord Morpheus."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It was the Corinthian, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It takes Lucienne a few days to conduct the census.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But sir—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I have her name, at least?"

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

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ…

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

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

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

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

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ…

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

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

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

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

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!

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

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