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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐢.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: you encounter a strange string of coincidences in the forms of old friends

⊹ tags: violence, you don't do well coping with being separated from your husband either, more longing but from reader's perspective this time, established relationship

⊹ warnings: violence, cursing, spoilers for 1.09

⊹ word count: 2671

⊹ previous part: part i.

⊹ up next: part iii

⊹ now playing: thoughts by faime

𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚠, 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚠𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚐𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎

You wouldn't think a bathroom stop counts as you stopping from running, but the bounty says otherwise.

Your pants are barely up after having taken a piss when the door is kicked open and a hand clutches around your throat. You cry out in pain as your head is slammed against the mirror, carving cracks into the glass. Large fragments break off and fall into the sink next to you, but the piece is just out of reach.

You gasp desperately as you dig your nails into the hunter's hands, but the hunter — a man in his mid forties who you've already narrowly escaped from twice before — learned his lesson from his last attempt and now wears gloves and earmuffs.

You manage to kick his knee, forcing him away from you. But freedom lasts only for a few seconds, and despite your attempt at running away, he grabs your hair and yanks to the floor. He straddles you as he resumes his grip back on your neck, this time with both hands squeezing tight enough that you know it’ll be hard for you to talk for a day or two.

"Bounty...needed...alive..." you choke out.

The hunter scoffs and leans closer to you. "I wanted that bounty the first time I tracked you. Now, this is personal." His grip tightens, and black dots swarm your vision and block him out so all you can hear is his voice in your ear and the stench of cigarettes and bloody. "You hurt my pride, lady Y/N."

Pride. The downfall of all men.

Though the situation doesn't warrant the memory, thoughts of your husband flood you anyways. Perhaps it's because he's always in your thoughts. Or perhaps he's chosen to make this appearance to give you solace from the pain as you black out. For when you open your eyes, you aren't in the dingy gas station bathroom anymore, but a green meadow with trees around and flowers blooming throughout.

Just because you're untouched by Death doesn't mean your memories throughout are vivid or intact. But you remember everything about that day, from the smell in the air — crisp, clean summer air with a fresh breeze that brings around the smell of petals — to the touch of the sun's warmth and your soft, chiffon wedding dress against your skin.

Unlike a dream, you aren't in control. Your body moves according to the memory. You move down the aisle between the three or four rows of seats. At the end of the aisle is a large willow tree, its branches drooping over a white arch where Lucienne stands. She bids you a small smile, which you return with your own, before your eyes shift to him.

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!

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐟.

𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴!

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄.

[ 𝐚 ] — angst

[ 𝐟 ] — fluff

[ 𝐬 ] — smut

more specific trigger warnings will be seen in the fic!

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 — [ 𝐚 ] , [ 𝐟 ]

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘴: 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘺. 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭: 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘮

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒.

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐬' 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬. — [ 𝐟 ]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐮𝐬' 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 – 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧. — [ 𝐬 ]  >>> 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬. — [ 𝐟 ] 

𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗:

[ + ] 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘴

𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒.

𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. ⏤ [𝐟]

if you'd like to be tagged in everything i release for the sandman (series parts, headcanons, & imagines), please let me know in this shelf.

if you’d like to be tagged in just a specific series, then please let me know in that specific series’ masterlist.

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

𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓

Hii!! I just wanted to say your headcanons about the corinthian's love languages were so cute!!

Idk if you've read the sandman comics but in one of the issues when the corinthian is recreated he sorta adopts this young kid, and at one point when he thinks him and the kid are in danger he offers to be uncreated again or killed if it means the kid is safe. But then the character reassures him that they aren't there to hurt him or the kid.

I just thought you'd appreciate knowing that since your little snippet about him being good with kids was super cute, and also accurate to his character. Surrogate father-figure corinthian is the best corinthian and no one can convince me otherwise 😌

𝖺𝗁𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎!

𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈. 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗌. 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 (𝖽𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗒) 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂'𝗆 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗂𝗅𝖿 𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗀𝗒.

𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈, 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆-𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀-𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀-𝗍𝗈-𝖻𝖾-𝗎𝗇𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾-𝖿𝗈𝗋-𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾-𝗁𝖾-𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗌-𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾 (𝗇𝖾𝗂𝗅 𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗇, 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗆 𝗂 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌?). 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗈𝖽, 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗍𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾. 𝗂 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗏 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝖼 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾.

𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝗅𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖺𝗇? 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀? 𝖺𝗆 𝗂 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗏𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗄𝗂𝖽𝗌? 𝖺𝖻𝗌𝗈𝗅𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒

𝐬𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫:

𝖽𝗂𝗅𝖿!𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝖽𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗀𝗇𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗄. 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌

𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖼𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁 𝗈𝗇. 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝗌𝗎𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗄𝗂𝖽𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗒 𝗁𝗂𝗆? (𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍.) 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖺𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆.

𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝖿 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝗅𝖿, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖺𝗇. 𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗎𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗇𝗂𝖼? 𝖻𝗎𝗍

𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉𝖽𝖺𝖽!𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗄𝗂𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗂𝗆𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒. 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗋. 𝗀𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗁𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗈 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗄𝗂𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝖻𝖺𝗅𝗅 (𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗍'𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝖾'𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝗁𝗒𝗌𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝖽, 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾)

𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 (𝖽𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗒) 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗒, 𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗉𝗎𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽

I just discovered ur blog and I just wanted to say I love ur writing 😩

aah thank you! you have no idea how much that means to me!

i love you as a reader <3

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐟.

𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴!

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄.

[a] — angst

[f] — fluff

[s] — smut

more specific trigger warnings will be seen in the fic!

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

𝐛𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜. — [ 𝐚 ] >>> recently released

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒.

𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒗𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓…𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒌 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏!

𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒.

ᴊᴇᴏɴ ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ

…𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐄𝐎!𝐁𝐅 / 𝐌𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐀!𝐁𝐅

𝖼𝖾𝗈/𝗆𝖺𝖿𝗂𝖺!𝗃𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗄𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗑 𝗃𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 !

…𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄!𝐁𝐅

collegestudent!jungkook x collegestudent!reader

𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 !

…𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐋!𝐁𝐅

𝗂𝖽𝗈𝗅!𝗃𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗄𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗑 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜. — [𝐟]

𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 | 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞/𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: how the past hundred years have been for the wife, the king of dreams, and the nightmare

⊹ warnings: cursing, description of graphic violence

⊹ word count: 788

⊹ up next: prologue/teaser

a wife is on the run, and has been for the last hundred years.

she stopped briefly in boston, and now she pays the price. she looks on at the scene as two women and one man recreate the painting she stopped for to admire. 𝘫𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴**, was the name of the painting. 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳, **will be the name of the crime when news of it breaks out.

she can’t take her eyes away. even when she whispers at them to stop, they continue. the man still lies there, lifeless eyes boring into the wife’s for help she can no longer give. the woman is still hacking away at the man’s neck, and she won’t stop until the head is completely severed. the third woman is still holding the man down, as if he’s still resisting and not dead.

“i’m sorry,” the wife whispers. her words have no effect on any of them. not anymore. she hears voices start to shout. alarms begin to blare.

she takes a step back, trying not to throw up as she steps right into a puddle of the man’s blood. as she flees, her right foot leaves behind bloody prints on the floor.

this all happened because of her, of course. all because she thought she could rest for two seconds and stop running. she won’t make that mistake again.

she’ll keep running and won’t stop, as that’s what he last asked of her.

the king of dreams is trapped, and has been for the last hundred years.

in a basement in london, trapped in a glass bubble built by an amateur magician that was rodrick burgess, and confined by his pathetic son, alex burgess, who’s only act of freedom from his father had been to follow into his father’s footsteps, the king of dreams is breaking free.

he has more pressing matters to attend to, but his wounded pride, his ego, and his anger at being kept away from his wife, brings him to bestow a gift upon alex burgess so he may feel a fraction of the despair he had been forced to endure. only when he is done, then he returns home.

the black sand is cold and hard underneath him. this is the first touch of comfort he’s felt in a hundred years. lucienne, his ever so faithful librarian, rushes to his side and breathes in relief at the sight of him. he won’t admit it, but seeing there brings relief to him.

but it is _her _name he whispers first. he doesn’t need lucienne’s verbal answer to know. he is the dreaming, and the dreaming is him. he can feel the ghost of her touch over his kingdom, just as he can feel that she is not there. the mere thought that someone has taken her is enough for him to swallow an inch of his pride and accept lucienne’s help in standing. he is too weak now, but he won’t be for long.

he is coming for her, as that’s what he last promised her.

a nightmare is free, and has been for the last hundred years.

he sits in the apartment of his current lover. rain drips down the window, but the view of the new york skyline at night is just as visible as ever. the city is big and crowded, perfect for him.

“he’s free,” he says, slightly disappointed. has a hundred years passed that quickly? “he’s out of his cage.”

he wipes away a drop of blood trailing down from his eyes before standing. in the corner of his apartment, the news is on. tonight’s headline: insane women murders stranger. like all the past victims of this serial killer, they were driven insane, causing them to harm themselves and others. the nightmare smirks at the only mark the killer left behind: a trail of one right footprint in the same shoe size as he sent her last christmas.

“so, i’m afraid i’m gonna have to go,” he tells his lover. he moves to the mirror and buttons up his shirt. he needs to look his best for what was to come. for _him _and her. “and i’m not gonna stop until i’ve reshaped this world to look just like me.”

a flash of lightning outside illuminates his reflection. this nightmare, rather than possessing eyeballs, have mouths in their place instead. the nightmare slips his shades on before brushing his lover’s cheek as he walks past. his lover stares ahead without moving, his eyes missing from his sockets.

he will do whatever it takes to be free, as that’s what they made him to be.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗂𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗋, 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗍 788 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌? 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌??? (𝗂’𝗆 𝖺 𝖼𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖼 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍’𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌.)

𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗋𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌. 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗈𝗏 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝖿𝖾'𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗎𝗌.

𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

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